Twenty years ago, my grandfather (or Pop Pop as we called him) sailed down the east coast with my mother and my stepfather on their sailboat, the Second Wind. They took their time, departing from the Chesapeake Bay and making their way to Florida, stopping along the way to explore picturesque coastal towns and really enjoy the journey. Mom and Terry were rescuing Pop Pop, whisking him away from his small apartment in the assisted living facility he’d moved to with my ailing grandmother. Mom Mom had battled Parkinson’s disease for some time, requiring my grandparents to relocate from the North Carolina log cabin on Lake Gaston that had been the entire families summer getaway spot for decades to a Maryland complex with on-site healthcare resources. Parkinson’s is a terrible disease, robbing the body and the mind of all independence and draining physical and emotional energy from the caretakers. When my grandmother passed, Pop Pop was trying to adjust to his new normal, back in Maryland where four of his five children lived, but far from the idyllic lake house he’d occupied for so long. I imagine that his little apartment was unbearably quiet, though his sons and their families visited when they could, and the complex provided many opportunities for residents to gather and socialize.
My mother was the only one who was far away, living in coastal Florida and preparing to start retirement free of the confines of a home on land for a nautical nomadic life straight out of a Jimmy Buffet song. She and Terry came up the Intracoastal Waterway to Maryland and collected him.
Now there are many stories that I could tell of this voyage down the coast, but I’ll share this one: My grandfather, in his eighties at the time, had never tried Chinese food before this trip.
That’s right. No fried rice, no egg rolls, no lo mein, no crispy shredded beef.
One could argue that his cabin on the lake was not in the delivery zone of any restaurant and that the closest town of consequence* – Roanoke Rapids – was unlikely to be on the cutting edge of culinary delights boasting a Bojangles, a Cracker Barrel, and the best spot for NC pork barbecue – Ralph’s. But my grandparents hadn’t always been at the lake. They had resided in the Maryland suburbs of DC where my mother, and even I, had been born while Pop Pop worked at the Navy Yard and Mom Mom had helped out at the elementary school where I attended kindergarten. There would have been a plethora of international options beyond the square pizza I remember getting when I was little.
So mom introduced Pop Pop to house special fried rice and egg rolls. He loved it! Of course he did – it’s delicious. So why had he never tried it before? Fear is the short answer. He didn’t know what to order and he didn’t want to look stupid, or worse – order something he didn’t like and abandon it. It was easier to stick to the familiar, which I think we can all relate to in some context. I can remember my Great Aunt Carolyn visiting me in Central Florida during my theme park years and showing absolutely no interest in visiting Epcot during the Food and Wine Festival because she didn’t like “foreign food.” Despite my protestations that eating one’s way around World Showcase was the best thing ever, she was more comfortable with what she knew.
My grandfather passed within a year of returning from the sailing adventure with my mom, officially from complications after knee replacement surgery, but I’m convinced it was really of a broken heart facing a future without Mom Mom. He often spoke excitedly about that trip, though, and I’m so grateful that he had such joy during that time.
I had illusions that I was more worldly, traveling with a sightseeing list alongside an eating list, but honestly, I wasn’t much better. Sure, I’d had Chinese food, French delicacies sampled on a trip to Paris for my fortieth birthday which included escargot, as well as crepes, souffles, tarte tatin, and all manner of pastry, and I never tire of Mexican and Italian food. But it turns out, I was just as comfortable in my narrow culinary zone.
When I started my mystery novel Murder in the Mix, I centered the plot in the NYC restaurant world, making my first victim a celebrity chef who dies in her own kitchen, leaving the ghostwriter of her next cookbook/memoir to find the murderer. I watched endless hours of Food Network and talked to chefs whenever I could without freaking them out (mystery writers know what I mean – mention that you write about interesting ways of dispatching people, even fictional ones, and it’s awkward pretty quickly). It’s true that the more we learn, the more we realize that we really know nothing.
I never had Greek food until I moved back to Maryland in 2005, where all pizza places seem to also offer Greek specialties. Like Pop Pop, I had no idea what to order at first, but it turns out that people love sharing their favorite food with others – well, not actually sharing their plate, but they will be happy to make recommendations. So, I discovered chicken souvlaki, warm pita with fresh hummus, and tzatziki. AMAZING! Other foods I tried and loved in my late thirties/early forties:
Fresh salmon fillets (not canned)
Fresh asparagus
Brussel sprouts, roasted or fried crispy
Apple cider donuts
Spaghetti squash
Zucchini lasagna
Eggplant Parm
Nashville Hot Chicken
But I still have blind spots. I had my first bowl of Pho just a week ago, much to boyfriend Dave’s delight. He happily slurped his pho declaring that he almost wished he’d had a cold because “this would kick its ass.” I liked it okay, but I think I prefer ramen which I’d learned to make courtesy of Home Fresh meal prep lunches we had delivered during the scariest parts of the pandemic. I skip the soft boiled egg, but the broth and noodles with vegetables and sliced chicken are delicious and nothing like the instant noodles I’d had in my twenties.
I’d seen Indian food before, but I found it intimidating, much as I imagine my Pop Pop would have. Nothing was recognizable to my insulated American eyes except naan, which resembled pita bread and was safely delicious. I asked for recommendations. My friend gave me a butter chicken recipe for the Instant Pot and that was delicious, so thus emboldened, I went with Dave to one of his favorite Indian restaurants and had Chicken Tikka Masala** and Chicken Korma. I’m now annoyed with myself for not enjoying tikka masala before.
I’ve discovered “grilling cheese” (which is incredible), Moroccan beef bowls, and Mediterranean spiced dishes with feta and tomatoes through another meal prep service geared toward healthy eating. I don’t love everything. I could do without lemongrass, olives, kimchi, and anything with a runny egg, but finding new foods to love is just as good as finding new authors to read. Ask around your circle of family and friends and see what cultural exploration you can take on, even if it’s just through DoorDash or GrubHub this weekend.
*This is not a slight to Littleton, NC, which was closer, but there was not much to that one-stoplight town beyond a hardware store and the Piggly Wiggly.
** Indian food can be spicy, so maybe start with the mild and venture from there as you are comfortable. I do not recommend starting with a vindaloo as a first dish. Maybe work up to that.
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