Rice and Bananas, Tea and Coffee

We're only a few days away from arriving in Toronto and settling back into the old apartment. Just in time for garden planning and seed buying... one of the many ways home is tempting us to come back. Of course, I will dearly miss our year of adventure, and apologize in advance if months from now, I still seem worlds-away distant or lost in thought. To be honest, the thing I love mostmostmost about travelling is not marvelling at historic temples, hiking in dense jungles or wandering through grand museums. For me, its doing those basic, everyday things we all normally do without much thought, because when you're in a new place, these tasks are suddenly so different that you immediately feel like you yourself are new, reborn as a child of sorts. Interactions with people, getting from place to place, using currency; it feels familiar, and yet totally fresh and kind of amusing. Food is another thing of wonderment - new produce, dishes, smells and table etiquette. Even the familiar staple foods from back home... seeing them in their raw, living, plant form at their tropical source is a delightful and curious thing. Here I would like to share a few of these moments, of those foods that even a strict Toronto locavore may find hard to resist.

Rice. A staple food to billions of people, and the perfect food when you want to eat a million of something. Owing to my Asian heritage, I've known this little pearl of a grain f

or as long as I can remember; it has been the colourless background to a zillion

meals in my lifetime. When I was sick, rice gave me an easily digestable soup (in the form of congee). When I was dieting, rice gave me a low-calorie, gluten-free snack (in the form of rice cakes and crackers). Rice has always been there for me, like a true pal. Yet only until recently have I touched a living rice plant. Now, rice has given me an unforgettable picture of south Asia: the vivid green colour of endless rice paddies.

Bananas. Everyone's favourite peelable raw fruit actually comes in a ton of varieties. Banana trees grow farmed or wild in the tropics, and fruits develop from the large, singular "flower" which droops from the tree stem and hangs in mid-air. The young flower on its own is edible, say, in a Thai or Lao style salad or soup. But when left to mature on the tree, the flower's outer "petals" wither and fall off, each layer revealing a neat row of curved fruits which grow meaty and green.

Tea and coffee. Two of the world's most popular drinks, source from two of the world's most unremarkable-looking plants. Why or how did someone figure that drying, fermenting and roasting their plant parts would yield such a highly-addictive, flavourful brew is beyond comprehension. I can tell you first-hand that a freshly plucked tea leaf is tough, fibrous and lacks any distinct or pleasant taste. Similarily, the white flesh of a coffee berry smells just like nothing. Unlike any of the aforementioned crops, coffee seems to be the only one that the locals themselves don't consume regularly. Another by-product of our strange global food economy.

See you back at home!

Eating, Hand To Mouth

Most of you reading this have been taught at a young age not to touch your food with your hands, a practice that is constantly reinforced by social norms. We've probably even tried to detach a pizza slice using a napkin, or pour peanuts from bowl to hand, to avoid touching other people's food. Perhaps we fear the disapproval of our germ-conscious peers, or maybe we seek to set an example in hopes of reducing our own microbe intake. After all, touching food is unsanitary, barbaric, and impolite... right?

But in countries such as Malaysia and Indonesia, eating with your hands is not uncommon; in India and Nepal it is the norm. A few simple practices ensures hygiene, such as visiting the nearby sink or water bucket before and after your meal, and always using your right hand to eat instead of your dirty-job left hand.

My first hand-eating experience was a banana leaf thali - several indian curries spooned onto a banana leaf, served with rice. Using your hand, you mix the curries and the rice, working it into a good consistency to scoop with your fingers and pop into your mouth with your thumb. It felt incredibly awkward, messy, and kind of gross. My fingers were uncoordinated, and I ended up with food all over my palm and chin.

A few weeks later, I found myself sharing food with a friendly couple from Malaysia, who clearly found great pleasure in eating. I noticed their utensils went untouched, as they happily hand-scooped the food into their mouths. They explained how they loved eating with their hands, because you could really "feel" the food through the sense of touch.

This simple explanation gave me the permission I was looking for to start enjoying the feel of my own food, and slowly the guilt and embarrassment from years of utensil-culture shrank away. I discovered the joy of tearing into a fresh, warm chapatti (flat bread), the smooshy feeling of rice and curry between the fingers, and the softness and weight of paneer (cheese) or spiced potato in your hand. Eating with your hands is not only convenient and immediate, but also satisfying and gratifying on an unfamiliar level. Give it a few tries yourself... you might find you like it.

Delicious Murder - Part Two

Okay, so you're a meat eater. You eat cow, pig, fish and chicken meat; maybe even rabbit, lamb or deer. Perhaps you don't eat certain animals because of religious rules. Or perhaps because something is just not quite right about it. Or maybe you're a person that would try anything.

I thought myself to be a rather courageous, adventurous eater. Recently, I tried horse meat in Russia, yak meat in Mongolia, reindeer meat in Finland, and kangaroo meat in Australia, taking some care to consume animals that are common and plentiful, and not rare or endangered. I've always scoffed at people who refuse to eat certain animals simply because they feel some special affection towards it. Oh, a lamb or rabbit is too cute to eat? And just because a pig is somehow not as cute means you don't mind eating it? They are still two living beings, said the left-hemisphere of my brain. What's the difference between killing one animal or killing another?

When I read in my China guidebook that there was a food market in Yangshuo that sold dog meat, I knew I had to see it for myself. Before we get into this subject further, let's get one thing straight: most Chinese people do NOT eat dogs. One last thing: be warned that there is a rather graphic photo below, so please do not continue reading if you may be bothered by it.

This food market was like no other I had ever been to, on my travels or even in China. It was in a dark warehouse, there was blood on the floor, and even the air felt thick and heavy. The butcher stalls in the back were mostly selling poultry, but some had dogs and cats. The dogs were all of the same breed - a white, short-haired dingo-type dog. There were live dogs in wire cages under the tables, and roasted dogs hanging from hooks at the front. It was fascinating and horrifying. I took a couple of quick, out-of-focus photos, and made a beeline for the exit.

Having grown-up in a culture where dogs are man's best friend, this experience really spun my head around. Even if I had mentally prepared myself, I don't think I could have walked up to the stall and paid for a piece of take-out barbeque dog, let alone stuck around to gawk for a bit longer, especially with caged dogs looking on. The whole scene seemed cruel and unnecessary.

The same question from before stuck in my mind: what's the difference between killing one animal and killing another? I didn't have any reaction to the chicken stalls at the same market, with their stacks of caged chickens against the wall and their displays of delicious cooked chickens. Is it just a matter of getting used to eating new and different animals? If so, where is the line between civilized, moral human beings and murderous cannibals?