Travel -Sometimes You Just Don't Fancy Octopus

Familiar Food in Strange Places

One of the best things about traveling in my book is the adventure of immersing myself into another culture - casting off pre-conceived stereotypes about people, food, customs. My favorite type of vacation is to rent or swap a house in unfamiliar place, figure out how and where to shop and then get cooking. Unfortunately I run across fellow travelers who do not share my enthusiasm for the unfamiliar. Is anyone familiar with that delightful British play - Shirley Valentine? When Shirley lets on to people at the next table in Greece that the fish they are eating is octopus, the woman faints!

I have memories of a former room mate's parents visiting when I was first in America. Always an intrepid cook I'd sweet talked a lobster fisherman whose daughter I taught , into giving me six beautiful small lobsters. Armed with my as then un dog-eared copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking (I still have the book) I prepared Homard Thermidor for the visiting parents. "Oh dear", sniffed room mate's mother, "George and I aren't keen on foreign food. I think we'll just have a cheese sandwich".

In my wild and wandering youth I hitch-hiked from Calais to Istanbul on a wing and prayer and student budget. I remember being taken in by a family in Yugoslavia; father had served in the resistance and befriended many British troops. I had a lousy sinus infection; had broken up with the boyfriend I'd begun the journey with and was feeling very sorry for myself. In a whitewashed kitchen, one wall lined with history books, another with huge hooks for hanging meat, we sat around an oilcloth covered table communicating in gestures and odd words in English and French. No iGoogle translator back then. Their kindness to me was touching and I guess I was homesick. Offered a bowl of a very unfamiliar soup I burst into tears. There was consultation, much nodding, prodding. The youngest child scurried off to grandma's house next door and returned with a jar that was placed in front of me. Pickled onions from England! "Now you are happy" the mother said beaming, wiping my face with her apron. Now I was happy - something familiar. Two onions were sliced and placed between great slabs of dark bread - pickled onion sandwich. Ah, the fall back on the familiar; comfort food to comfort in a foreign land!

Most recently in Ethiopia I was growing weary of the heavy starch laden, spiced dishes where all ability to identify the ingredients was masked by a cooking technique that involved deep frying followed by boiling. We were invited by an Ethiopian to a party. "Bring an appetizer from your country" was the response to our "What can we bring?". Lord, in a country where even Cheese Whiz and Ritz crackers are not to be found we went into a huddle. My son had recently received a shipment of frozen meat from Kenya and there, in the box nestled bacon! Got it. The local bakery was a source for crispy, fresh mini baguettes. Lettuce and tomatoes were readily available. Pureeing roasted red peppers into Hellman's mayonaise (purchased at the embassy commissary) the "gourmet" mayo was slathered on the baguettes and BLT's Addis style were assembled. We cut each baguette into bite size pieces and secured them with a toothpick on which was skewered a cornichon. They were a hit.

I took my then 9 year old grandson on the equivalent of a grand tour a few years ago. Days of traveling, cruise ship lavish buffet lines, incomprehensible menus and a general overwhelming of the senses had him a bit low when we explored Malta. In a restaurant in St. John's Square in Valletta he read the menu and with a quivering lip said "there's nothing to eat". "American?" asked the waiter. We nodded. "Wait one minute". He bustled off returning 15 minutes later with a toasted cheese sandwich for Ben. The kid's face lit up. "That was the best food we've had" he announced. His joy was completed by the arrival of a root beer float. "I know America " the waiter said, "you like food that speaks your language". How true.

Fish and chips in Johannesburg last month while getting through a family crisis; canned tomato soup during a sand storm in Libya; corned beef from a tin courtesy of a stranger whilst stranded at railway station in Greece in the wee hours and everything closed; eyes closed tasting hot dogs loaded onto a skewer - I had been expecting sheeps' entrails hence the eyes closed! Familiar foods in strange places. All part the journey.

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