I fixed it. -zach

I still remember the rich nutty taste of that sauce, how delicious it was and how the flavor made such perfect sense even if my mind hadn’t caught up with the idea of it yet. What’s more, I learned that the chef who had made up this dish from Guatemala, and while of course I knew that such a place existed, it had never occurred to me to think of what Guatemalan food might be like. The dish I was enjoying was not the tacos and enchiladas I understood Mexican food to be… it was Mexican-food-like, but somehow a little different.

That experience did more than just introduce me to a unexpected and delicious dish – it left me with a sense that my experiences and expectations of food were pretty narrow, and that if I let my curiosity open up a little bit, I might find more unexpected and delicious food out there.

But about eight years ago my wife and I were in Italy and met my cousin who is in film/video production in Italy (he moved there from Boston after meeting a girl in college, now lives like an Italian). Anyway, we had one night out in Milan where he was covering a furniture show and he recommended we all go to an Indian place. The concept of being in Italy and eating Indian food seemed incredibly random and almost obscene but we went along with it. It was one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my life. The flavors were so pronounced, the food fresh, and the staff (who knew/loved my cousin) were incredibly friendly.

There was something about this meal with my transplanted Italian cousin, his Serbian cameraman, the transplanted Indian manager/owner, and the middle eastern wait staff that was sort of transformative. Since this trip I’ve become much more aware of different foods and different cultures when I travel (Morocco on my honeymoon, a recent vacation in Thailand) and when I’m shopping (Matsuwa markets in Edgewater, Indian groceries in Edison–yes, I live in Jersey). The globalism of food (like the globalism of anything) has its downside, but it can also make you more aware of the world around you.

I am a latebloomer when it comes to food and flavors. Because of this, I have clear, explosive memories of many “firsts”, most on a trip to Europe as a teenager. I first had duck at the home of a family friend in Denmark – that woman had a gift and the roast duck melted in your mouth. My mom leaned over during dinner and said, “Enjoy this because it’s the best duck you’ll ever have.” And she was absolutely right. I sampled some of my first salmon and lamb* in Iceland. The salmon was such a vivid red color, I mistook it for a peeled tomato. I also had my first cup of french press coffee on that trip and dragged my mother all over the place in order to find a press to take home.

One treat that my non-cooking mother provided over the years were liverwurst sandwiches. I was SURE I would hate it – c’mon it’s LIVER. But I was, happily, quite wrong. Mom would pick up fresh hard rolls, slice a tomato from my grandfather’s garden, spread a little mayo, add two slices of Mother Goose liverwurst, and some sweet gherkin pickles on the side. This was a richly delicious sandwich that I still treat myself to once in a blue moon – the crispy, chewy roll, fatty sweet liverwurst, juicy tomato and crunchy, tangy pickles. It’s such a simple thing full of so much pleasure and many great memories.

*It was my first truly prepared lamb. My first lamb was my farm cousin’s pet lamb, one of a pair named Soup and Dinner. Dinner succombed to disease and was thrown in the incinerator – the yard stunk of wool and meat for two days. Shortly after, Soup was butchered and prepared for Sunday dinner. At the time I was horrified, but have since enjoyed many of the meaty products from my uncle’s farm.