There are so many foods that I think are delicious but my host family hates and vice versa. My love of oatmeal is not appreciated by anyone else and my host mom’s love of fermented fish makes me gag. Remember when I made Christmas cookies? Yeah, no one liked them. And they were ridiculed by the principle. Poor cookies. So when someone expresses interest in trying American food I laugh because most of the time they hate it.
Well this evening my host family and I went out to dinner at a fancy pants restaurant in the capital. I’ll back this train up and say that this was a completely random dinner. One minute I was lounging around the house in my village finest (oversized cartoon shorts and a giant T-shirt) and the next minute a car is pulling out of the driveway and I am rushing to pull myself together before we go out to eat.
This is the first time I have ever eaten foreign food with my host family aside from an afternoon of experimental sandwich making at the house. We ended up at a foreign restaurant where my host dad immediately started chatting with the first white people he saw and I hid at a table in the corner with my host mom and brother to pick out our orders.
We chose pizza and spaghetti. Note to the world: Din, my seven year old host brother, has never tried either of these things. I recently read a story about a kid who tried a cheeseburger for the first time and barfed all over the place. Cheese is not so popular for the unaccustomed palate I guess. I figured Din would hate both dishes.
My spaghetti comes and I convince Din to try a bite. The kid doesn’t like food. He hardly ever eats. But he loves the spaghetti, like “Mom, order me a plate of that” loves it! Then the pizza comes, he tastes and likes that too. Success…and no one barfed!
After dinner my host mom told Jip, another host brother, that I’m going to America soon and need lots of hugs.
Can I bring him home with me? I really need to find me a Thai baby to keep around in the States.