Eating my Way Through Four Continents

It’s been quite the week of international cuisine, I realized, as The Funasaurus commented on the odd noises emanating from my stomach last night. The Funasaurus had to work late on Tuesday, so at the very last-minute I texted a fellow-foodie and we dropped everything to go out for Ethiopian. It was fabulous and I got to satiate my craving for kitfo. As every other time that I go to Ethiopian, our hostess seemed unsure as to whether we really meant RAW, raw when we said we wanted our kitfo raw. (How it’s traditionally served. Grow a pair and eat it the right way, the flavors are so much better. Salmonella-schmallowmonella.) We nodded vigorously, and said, “RAW.” When the seven tons of food appeared that we had ordered, we dove in. And made considerable progress. And then we started sweating a) from the heat b) from the vast quantities of raw meat bulging in our intestines. (Are you hungry, yet?)

Then the hostess came over, looked at the bit of meat left on our plate and was like, “You didn’t like the kitfo.” We reassured her that we did and that it was delicious. “No, you didn’t eat it,” she insisted. I swore it was my very favorite thing in the world (it is) and that we were just full. She shook her head and looked like she was about to cry. I tried to eat more to prove I loved it, but I was in agony, my stomach was about to explode. So I asked for a box and she dolefully told me I could leave the kitfo.

Normally, I do not get this much grief. (Normally, I don’t eat as many chickpeas, either, though. They were particularly tasty that night.) I was almost annoyed, I wasn’t lying and I hated that she refused to believe I had enjoyed myself. So I left a big tip and took home my doggie bag of flavorful raw meat. And am determined to eat nothing but raw meat when I go back next time to prove my point, digestive track be damned.

Wednesday night my Colombian friend had me over for dinner. His parents were in town and had made all of this traditional Colombian food. Some sort of meat so tender it actually melted in my mouth, fried yucca, and plantains. So good. Plus, we got into a nice heated discussion about whose language had more words (see how me = victorious HERE) and it made me realize just how much Spanish I don’t remember. Sad. I guess this is a good time to start watching telenovellas, again.

Then last night The Funasaurus had a very good day at work, so I told him we should get sushi to celebrate. I don’t know that he was particularly in the mood for sushi, but I sure was, so I peer-pressured him into deciding that’s what he wanted to eat, too.

And that’s the story of my international cuisine-y week. Plus, some leftover Nutty Bars that someone left at our house from a game night two weekends ago. I haven’t had those since I was a kid but, you know, they are really awesome.