When I interact with new people, I find myself grateful to have a strong stomach. I remember frequently complaining to my dad growing up about the “spicy” food he would make, meals full of vegetables and meat I wasn’t very keen on. He made what he liked—chili, jambalaya, fajitas, and curry, just to name a few staples in our meal rotation. Even basic meals like pasta he would fill up with spicy Italian sausage, slices of mushrooms, and chunky tomatoes. He never heeded my protests about dinner: he would just tell me to eat around what I didn’t like, or not eat.
Most of these meals I grew to love, tomatoes, spices and all. And even though I still don’t put mushrooms in my own pasta sauce, I can’t stand to not have it full of vegetables and robust flavors. Even if I never learned to love Cajun food as much as him, I did learn how to eat and appreciate whatever I was given, which has turned out to be a valuable skill in connecting with people from other cultures.
When preparing for my internship in Ethiopia two summers ago, Travis warned our team up front I might not like injera, the sour, fermented, Ethiopian pancakes on which most food is served. But I found the warnings to be exaggerated to my palate—the spongy texture was new and it was certainly far from sweet, but I really enjoyed injera, especially smothered in the flavorful red and yellow lentils it was served with. I never mastered the technique of eating injera (you tear off pieces and use it to scoop up the rest of the food—I just kept accidentally scooping it onto my shirt), but I still find myself craving it from time to time.
One of my travel companions was not so keen on the food. Her attuned senses (one time she could pick oregano out in a tea blend just by smell) got overwhelmed by the sour and spicy, and she often just nibbled at lunch with an upset stomach. When one of the translators called me “true Gumuz” for trying a particularly spicy Ethiopian dish, the compliment had a stinging undertone as I knew it would make her feel bad for something she had little control over. We talked about it later, and I encouraged her by pointing out all the other ways she had earned the Gumuz translators’ trust and approval—areas I considered her to be much stronger in than me!
Food is like its own language, one that every cultures speaks in its own way. Through a meal, one can communicate who they are, family or cultural history, and even how they feel about someone—and to share it with others can be really personal. I think one of the most precious gifts I received at Moody was a gift of food—a delicious tofu, spinach, and bone broth soup on a day wen I was feeling sick. It’s hard to cook in a dorm, but this soup was hand-made by a soft-spoken friend of mine who I couldn’t always read. But when she gave me that warm container of soup, I knew she loved me deeply. It warmed me, heart, body, and soul, and I ate every last drop. (Side note—tofu is one of those “strange” things my dad forced me to try. Even though I hadn’t liked it then, I loved this second time.)
Last summer I had a similar experience when I visited an international church as a part of a new diaspora language project. We were hoping to meet people who might speak minority languages from this particular region of the world. My fellow researcher had taken the bus to Denver, so I was her chauffeur from the bus stop to the church. The bus she had to catch to get home was at 2 o’clock, which gave us just enough time to attend the 11:45 service and hopefully connect with a few people.
However, as we started chatting with people, they were all quick to invite us to their potluck after service. I could see the regret in my friend’s face as she tried to politely decline, insisting that it would make her late for her bus. I felt the same regret in my own heart—after all, in my mind, refusing food is the cardinal sin of intercultural connection! The congregants insisted though, and when the worship service ended at 1:15, the lady sitting next to us eagerly rushed us down to the fellowship hall. “You have time! You have time!” She beckoned us past the line of people already forming downstairs, sat us at her table, and brought us bowl after plate of delicious soups, noodles, and fried vegetables. As my friend tried to explain her allergies and find out what was in the food, I just started eating everything, praying there were no peanuts (my own allergy!) and praying we would still make the bus.
The lady who had served us sat across from us and we all began to talk, me between bites of the delicious, spicy, unfamiliar food. Eager to show my appreciation (but also panicked as the minutes ticked away), I shoveled vegetables into my mouth without the slightest idea as to what they were. The woman across from me grinned in satisfaction as I ate. My friend, nibbling on the soup in front of her, used the opportunity to make meaningful connections with another woman at our table and was able to get her contact information. My three bowls were empty by the time we rushed out to the car, but our stomachs and hearts were full. My friend shared with me that those two connections were worth every minute of staying.
It may seem like a small thing, but I’m thankful I was able to partake in a part of their culture without hesitation, and to see the joy that it brought them to enjoy something so personal to them. To accept an invitation into who someone is—through food—is simple but meaningful, and I owe it to my dad, who always inspired (and required) me to try new things. Father’s day just passed, and it’s a quality of his that I’m always reminded to be grateful for. His job brings him all over the world, and his stories of eating strange and sometimes unsettling food just reinforces the lessons he taught me growing up. Try something new—the greatest compliment you can give to the cook is eating what they gave you.
Thank you dad—not only for a strong stomach and palate, but also for teaching me that food can show love just as much as words. I taste it every time you cook. And I hope I share it every time I eat. 😉
Love everything about this post, Audrey! I think the Lord was definitely preparing you for the global missions field when He gave your Dad a job that included a lot of traveling, along with a love for cooking delicious food for his family. I’m glad you can appreciate the diverse palate you have now, as you are meeting people from around the world!