Ways of the World

It seems that this has been a week of cultural experiences and eye-opening adventures.

At dinner last week a friend was telling stories about her trip to India, and we were all amazed by the sights, sounds and tastes that she described. The most interesting fact she shared was this: in India, the petty crime rate is fairly low, especially given the extreme poverty and overcrowded cities, because the faith of the region is based on a religion that believes in karma. A simple notion, the people of India believe fully in the concept that what you do and how you behave will inevitably come back to you, good or bad.

I think that's an interesting way to live—and without debasing their culture by making light of it, I couldn't help but apply that principle to our life here in America. If every action I took had a direct result on someone else (which it usually does) and ultimately that action comes back to me in the form of a distinct and equal reaction, would I choose to behave differently? Would the ill-tempered bus driver calm down? Would the grouchy old lady be kinder? Would the rude and pushy teenager give way to those who need more time to board the bus? Would patience abound? Would general kindness be more evident? Would commuting actually be pleasant?

And, then, while this was all on my mind, I got talking with a few people about the foods of the world, and realized that I am poorly versed on many cultural cusines. I hadn't eaten at a Lebanese restaurant, had never really tried Vietnamese foods, and had only tasted Indian food (takeout) once. My palette was sorely virgin when it came to the ways of the world.

Sunday night was an opportunity to try to change that. We dined at Old Jerusalem, a small and visually unremarkable Lebanese and Middle Eastern spot in Old Town, featuring fresh and authentic dishes from the region.

I'd had some of it (hommus, falafel), but never in a full meal such as this, and most often out of a plastic Whole Foods container. Last night, however, my senses were awakened by the unique paradox of the citrus/parsley blend of the tabbouleh with the creamy nature of the feta dishes, the thinly sliced meats of the shawarma were balanced by the spices and the rice on which they laid gently. I was pretty amazed at how delicious it all was, and how I had neglected to ever try this food before, simply out of fear of the unknown.

Overall, I was impressed, both with the food, and with the entire experience of it all.

And then the dessert comes, and it is a small slice of homemade Baklava, a honey-lemon pastry dish with layers and layers of flaky crusts on top. We all shared, inching in with our small dessert forks, to sample the delicacy.

And, then, the cultural finale of the evening was upon us: Brett tastes his portion, settles back into his chair, and says calmly, and quietly, "I'd rather have a Toaster Strudel."

Needless to say the wine was almost coming out our noses. Not that he didn't appreciate the entire meal and the dining experience of trying new things, but at some level, we all want to go back to the basics. The comfort foods of our youth. The more familiar.

But, I must tell you, at that exact moment, nothing could have stopped our table at laughing at the truth and simplicity of his statement.

Because, sometimes, you just would rather have a Toaster Strudel.