They say language is the cornerstone of culture. They say that it is the basis for the way people think, feel, and perceive the world. And they say that it is best experienced over a plate of food---that the conversations held round the table with family are the most meaningful. That it is not the conversation with a friend on the phone that matters most, but the one face to face at the local cafe. If language is the hammer used to forge our understandering of other cultures, food may very well be the anvil. This is something we realize without ever speaking. It is evident in the way we talk about Italians and their cooking, or Russian mothers and the way they feed to show affection; in the way we speak of food as something to be experienced, not merely as something that is functional at best and an annoying part of our day at worst. Food is clearly integral to the way in which people live life.
But...let me ask a question. What happens when you are unable to participate in the beauty of a good meal? What happens when food is not something that can be enjoyed? What happens when your taste buds have betrayed you since birth, sucking out your ability to simply eat, without trouble or inconvenience? But most importantly, how does that inability affect one's opportunities to experience culture?
These are questions I have had to deal with my entire life. In the States, it is a problem easily avoided most days. We come from a culture that believes in choices, and this is reflected in the shear number of options we have each and every day. So over the years, I have slowly but surely cherry picked a few preferred dishes from the multitude. These days, it's easy to go to lunch and find one of those few good meals. And at home, I am simply able to choose what I eat. If only I never wanted to travel!
But I do. And travelling to Russia was hard because of that. I liked very few foods I found there, and almost none of the genuine Russian dishes. Thankfully, my host family was amazing, and they catered to me out of concern for my health and because that was simply what they wanted to do for me, their American son. They went above and beyond what I could have ever expected or asked for them to do realistically. Because of their willingness to serve me spaghetti and chicken, I was even able to experience the eat-until-you-can't-move culture of Russia. And I loved it. But I still came home a few pounds lighter and wondering why I couldn't just enjoy food like everyone else.
Now, two days into my Serbian year, I've already experienced trouble finding food I like. I've found meals that I can eat, but I still feel like I'm missing something. When I look at a plate of Serbian food, I want to like. I want to like it so much. But then I don't, just like I didn't like the plate before that, or the Russian food a year before that, or the food in the States before that. And it makes me feel like I'm in the wrong somehow. It makes me feel like I'll never be able to participate 100% in the language-over-food exchange that is so important to so many cultures. So sometimes I get sad.
On those occasions in the past, I've just sucked it up and move on. I'll do that here too. What I'm missing is just one puzzle piece, and though it's a piece I don't need to complete the entire picture, it's a piece I'd like to have. Maybe one day I will. But until then I'll just keep trying new things, and scraping along with the few foods I like.
I didn't choose this for myself. No one ever would. Yet to let it defeat me would be to let what I am unable to do define my life. I am able to do so much, and that is what one ought to focus on. There are just times that I wish everyone else could see the picture from my perspective. That at least once in everyone's life they would take a bite of something and hate it, and then imagine having that feeling every time.
But...let me ask a question. What happens when you are unable to participate in the beauty of a good meal? What happens when food is not something that can be enjoyed? What happens when your taste buds have betrayed you since birth, sucking out your ability to simply eat, without trouble or inconvenience? But most importantly, how does that inability affect one's opportunities to experience culture?
These are questions I have had to deal with my entire life. In the States, it is a problem easily avoided most days. We come from a culture that believes in choices, and this is reflected in the shear number of options we have each and every day. So over the years, I have slowly but surely cherry picked a few preferred dishes from the multitude. These days, it's easy to go to lunch and find one of those few good meals. And at home, I am simply able to choose what I eat. If only I never wanted to travel!
But I do. And travelling to Russia was hard because of that. I liked very few foods I found there, and almost none of the genuine Russian dishes. Thankfully, my host family was amazing, and they catered to me out of concern for my health and because that was simply what they wanted to do for me, their American son. They went above and beyond what I could have ever expected or asked for them to do realistically. Because of their willingness to serve me spaghetti and chicken, I was even able to experience the eat-until-you-can't-move culture of Russia. And I loved it. But I still came home a few pounds lighter and wondering why I couldn't just enjoy food like everyone else.
Now, two days into my Serbian year, I've already experienced trouble finding food I like. I've found meals that I can eat, but I still feel like I'm missing something. When I look at a plate of Serbian food, I want to like. I want to like it so much. But then I don't, just like I didn't like the plate before that, or the Russian food a year before that, or the food in the States before that. And it makes me feel like I'm in the wrong somehow. It makes me feel like I'll never be able to participate 100% in the language-over-food exchange that is so important to so many cultures. So sometimes I get sad.
On those occasions in the past, I've just sucked it up and move on. I'll do that here too. What I'm missing is just one puzzle piece, and though it's a piece I don't need to complete the entire picture, it's a piece I'd like to have. Maybe one day I will. But until then I'll just keep trying new things, and scraping along with the few foods I like.
I didn't choose this for myself. No one ever would. Yet to let it defeat me would be to let what I am unable to do define my life. I am able to do so much, and that is what one ought to focus on. There are just times that I wish everyone else could see the picture from my perspective. That at least once in everyone's life they would take a bite of something and hate it, and then imagine having that feeling every time.
