For some, one of the best things about travelling is the food. For others, the thought grips us with an indigestible sense of panic. We read travel books that warn us to stay away from raw fruits and vegetables, and in the very next breath enumerate the wonders of the assorted salads, the fresh produce spilling from the ox carts, the cheap street meat that you’re missing out on if you don’t at least try. Now, I treat my digestive tract like a shoe I stepped in dog shit with and lost in a closet for three years, but my kid’s is a sacred palace. But how much bread and cheese can we stuff into their doughy little faces before there’s a diminishing return?
What’s the saying? Boil it, cook it, peel it or forget it? And then there’s always that disclaimer, unless you’re staying at a fancy hotel. Ha. I’ve worked in enough fancy hotels in my time to know that if you equate the price point of your King-size with the cleanliness of the kitchen you should stop and think about how much they’re paying their dishwashers. Stateside (unless it's a union shop) those guys earn minimum wage no matter if it’s a HoJo or a Hyatt. I've never been so sick in my life than I was after contracting the Noro virus from the fancy schmancy Mohonk Mountain House. Lucky for them, a good portion of their well-heeled target demographic is already in adult diapers.
Too far? Okay, fine, but I'm just trying to prove a point.
But the fact of the matter is this: there is no quicker way to feel like you are in a place, truly in it and not watching from the sidelines, then to start buying food. Coming from a country where you can purchase a lawnmower and a spicy tuna roll under the same roof, there’s something so basic as to be transcendent in buying your meat from the meat man, your fish from the fish lady, your bread from the bread guy, etc. When I lived in Wisconsin and New York sometimes the only person I talked to outside of my family all day was the checkout lady at the supermarket. Or the dude at the bodega. Or the pretty girl at the wine store. But in most other places in the world you interact with five different people before you’ve even made it halfway through your shopping list. And there’s something important in having that interaction. It changes your day. It affects your mood. Whatever it does, it offers a hell of a lot more color than the splash page at FreshDirect.com.
We have our own kitchen right now. So we bought some carrots and tomatoes, washed ‘em well and gave ‘em to the kids. And all was fine. So then we bought some mushrooms and zucchini, gave ‘em to the kids. And all was fine. And then we bought some grapes and more grapes and gave ‘em to the kids… and all was not fine. Nothing major, just 24 hours of more potty and puke talk than I care to relay.
So we’re off the unpeeled, thoroughly washed, raw fruit for a while and back to the carb-heaven comfort zone we’ve so firmly established, albeit with copious amounts of couscous and tagine thrown in, because when it tastes this good, you've got to at least try.
Especially the Friday Couscous
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