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| A seafood dish I ate in Beaune, France |
Before Europe, I (as well as many of those around me) would have undoubtedly described myself as a "picky-eater." I was guilty of all the common food crimes committed by my kind. I put ketchup on steak, I wouldn't eat the chunky parts of salsa (you know, the actual
salsa), and I ordered chicken & fries off of any menu whose options didn't fit my particular tastes, if you could have even call them that. That all changed when I went to France in the summer of 2014. Desperate to make a good impression on a family whose language I hadn't even begin to learn, I headed Charles's every word of advice. "Always finish your plate," he warned, "We even use a piece of bread to clean the plate when we're finished eating." To anyone normal eater, this would seem like a simple piece of advice. To me, this was the was the second worst thing he could've said to me. The first being, "We like to run in marathons for fun."
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| An example of Savory Crepes |
I couldn't imagine getting through a meal without careful inspection & dissection of any ingredients I couldn't stomach. Having a "clean" plate without a small pile of onions, tomatoes, or any type of crunchy food that would throw off the texture of my meal
completely. You wouldn't believe the agony of my first meal with the family. Unbeknownst to them (although looking back, Charles probably told them about my struggles to have a laugh at me), I carefully examined my meal: potatoes with broccoli & cheese, and a modest slice of baguette (on the table, never the plate). Seemed simple enough. However, it was all mixed together in some sort of yellow, lumpy mound. I thought to myself, "Okay, I like potatoes. I like broccoli. I like cheese." So what was the big deal if they were all mixed together? Even though internally I was screaming excuses like "The Texture!" "What if there's a big piece of broccoli?" "If there is even one uncooked potato you're gonna gag!" I was so eager not offend of put off my boyfriend's family that I carefully ate a modest forkful of the cheesy-broccoli-potato mush.
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| Assorted meat plate from Bourgogne |
With Charles's eyes lingering on me, I chewed and swallowed my first bite. Lo and behold, as you probably already guessed, it wasn't too bad. I slowly ate another bite, and another, still cautious of any large bits of broccoli or uncooked potato, until there was little left. Confident that the meal wasn't going to kill me, or at least make me gag, I used the remainder of my baguette to clean my plate just as Charles had instructed. I could tell he was pleased with my effort. This would be a precursor for a long summer of him forcibly making me try new foods and a few petty arguments (never forget the time I walked away from him on a beach in France because he wanted me to eat a banana).
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An example of Tomate Farcie
a personal favorite |
Over time, I began to try an abundance of new dishes. This didn't come without struggles. For awhile, I went through the same routine of examining and mentally evaluating my meals. "Tomate Farcie: I like beef. I like tomatoes. I like rice." It was difficult at first to get used to the mix of textures, but eventually I began to embrace it and discovered what I did and didn't like. I enjoyed the way the tomatoes tasted with the beef, but not too much the rice. If I didn't like the taste of something, it was usually improved with bread. If it wasn't improved, chances are, I just didn't like it. Like onions. I
hate onions. And there's nothing wrong with that. You're not a picky-eater if you
try things and figure out what you do and don't like.
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| French Tacos. Enough said. |
I'm thankful that I was so desperate to impress Charles's family. In the end, I tried so many amazing foods and while I had my fair share of unappealing meals, I figured out what I did and didn't like and this gave me the confidence to continue to try new dishes. If I had never had this confidence, I would have never discovered French tacos... they deserve their own post. By the time you read this, there will probably already be a link to an article dedicated to them.
I was first introduced to Brigadeiro by a Brazilian friend in college. He had just recently transferred from another university and had shown great interest in me. Being kind, intelligent, and most of all, foreign, I began spending time with him and his other Brazilian cohorts. After one evening of raggae music, drinks, & FIFA, one of the guys brought out a plate of what looked like fudge. He told me pinch off a piece of the chocolate mound. It was creamy and fudge-like but unlike anything I had tried before. This is how I became introduced to the Brazilian dessert Brigadeiro.
