Hold the Onions

Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.

Where we are: We’re in Bhutan, where tourists are required to have a guide. The country is lovely, but having to be with a guide every day makes this introvert want to curl up in the fetal position under a bed. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, in Yogyakarta. I was much less tired then.

Hold the Onions

For lunch today, I ordered a Caesar salad. I know, I know—you’re about to tell me that ordering a Caesar salad in a small-ish town in Indonesia might be a dumb idea. You’d be correct, and Caesar himself is probably rolling in his grave. But there’s only so much fried tempeh and gado-gado a girl can eat before the tastebuds stage a mutiny.

I picked off more than half a cup of sliced raw white onion—an ingredient I’ve never seen on a Caesar salad before. I ate the olives, which were also a first. The dressing appeared to contain diced pickles, but at that point, I didn’t care. I ate every bite, except for the onions. It wasn’t very good.

But when you’re traveling, especially in places where English isn’t the primary language, you learn to let go of your expectations. Not every meal is going to match your mental picture. And that’s okay. Sometimes, it’s about finding the surprises—like the attached bakery at the same restaurant, which makes a respectably decent chocolate chip cookie. We might go back tomorrow, and if I order the salad again (which I might), I’ll just pick off the onions and move on.

Traveling has taught me to adapt. Over the years, I’ve seen far too many travelers struggle with that. I’ll never forget the young American man we overheard in Ethiopia, insisting—loudly and repeatedly—that he was gluten-free. He might have had a legitimate medical condition, but watching him try to explain this to the staff of a budget hotel in Addis Ababa, where even running water was a luxury, was uncomfortable. It felt a little tone-deaf.

I try hard to avoid that kind of entitlement. First there’s the language barrier, then there’s the fact that in most places, the staff are just confused when a guest tries to change a dish, and then there’s the general obnoxiousness of telling the chef how to make the food. If your request makes it as far as the kitchen, you’re likely to be rewarded with an insulted chef refusing to accommodate you. Assuming we can customize our meals is a very American mindset. I’d rather just cope with the food the way it’s served.

It’s hard enough being a (usually, when I’m not fretting about protein) vegetarian. Vegetarianism is an alien (and often impossible) concept in a lot of the world. Sometimes, no one knows how to accommodate even that seemingly simple request. I don’t want to make people uncomfortable, or worse, cause someone to lose their job. I accidentally did that once, and I’d rather eat all manner of subpar meals than wear that knowledge again.

The truth is, not every meal is going to be perfect. It was true when I cooked at home, and it’s true on the road. I’ve been picking bits out of my food since I was a child. Sometimes you just have to eat around the onions and move on.

Take care,

Lisa

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