I’ll Have What They’re Having

Aug 7

One of the first questions people ask before traveling somewhere new is,

"Do you speak the language?"

Usually, the answer is no.

I've spent weeks in countries where I knew little more than hello, thank you, and please. Enough to be polite. Rarely enough to hold a conversation.

It never stopped me from finding my way to good food.

I've Pointed At More Menus Than I Can Count

Sometimes it was because I couldn't pronounce anything.

Sometimes because I couldn't read a single word.

Other times because the menu had been translated just well enough to become even more confusing.

So I'd do what I've done in almost every country.

I'd look around the room.

What was everyone else eating?

What kept coming out of the kitchen?

Eventually, I stopped trying to order perfectly.

I simply relied on the people who already knew what was good.

Some of my favorite meals began exactly that way.

Some Conversations Never Needed Words

I've smiled across restaurant tables with people I couldn't properly speak to.

Accepted dishes I couldn't name.

Watched someone's face light up when I enjoyed something they'd insisted I try.

Those exchanges were brief.

Sometimes they lasted less than a minute.

But they never felt small.

After a while, I stopped feeling awkward about not speaking the local language.

Good hospitality has a way of making people feel understood before they understand each other.

Food Was Usually My First Introduction To A Place

Long before I understood a country's history, I understood the way people gathered around food.

Standing shoulder to shoulder at a market stall.

Families lingering over dinner long after the plates had been cleared.

A bakery already full before the sun came up.

A waiter insisting I try one more thing before bringing the check.

I couldn't always understand the language.

I understood that.

Food Is How I Remember Places

Years later, I rarely remember what I ordered by name.

I remember where I was when I ate it.

Grilled octopus overlooking the caldera in Greece.

Jamaican beef patties between neighborhoods in Toronto.

Street tacos standing beside a busy road in Mexico.

Ceviche after a long morning in Peru.

A bowl of noodles I ordered by pointing at the next table in Vietnam.

One bite can bring back an entire afternoon.

The street.

The weather.

The conversation.

The version of me who happened to be there.