The Dinner Table

I enjoy eating good food.....perhaps even interesting food. (I have some stories.) I love writing about food. I love talking about food. I want to know what you are eating, what you use to give it its flavor, and if at that point, I am not asking too many questions......what does your plating look like? Literally, what are you serving it on or cooking it in? Right down to the details. People who cook and enjoy it, are like people who are highly intelligent. Both, attractive. I know most of us cook, but some people...COOK, and actually do it well. When I have time to sit and watch something, some of my favorite shows, are traveling shows where the host is learning about these beautiful cultures, and the food of their regions. It is so intriguing to me, to see how and what people eat. What we call "eew!" is someone else's, "yum!" I respect the diversity in people's cultural eating, so, I try my best not to turn my nose up to something that I have never eaten, or have been accustomed to.

On the missionary field, you learn that when a host is offering you food, you kindly accept. Bridges are built over food. Connections are created. Trust, is established. This goes even deeper than that. When a person is offering you food, they are giving you food from a pot, pan, dish that they use to feed their own families. That detail is significant and important to remember. Eating someones food, is honoring them, their hard work and their sacrafice. Sometimes the family is giving you all that they have. Hunger is a pain that most people want to see, filled, in others. A full stomach means, good health, peace, joy, focus, etc. It does not matter what is on that plate, receive it and respect the cook. One of the times I traveled to the Dominican Republic, and I went to a family's home with a small group of missionaries, The house was very small and very full. Upon approaching the home on a dirt road, you saw chickens running around. It was nothing unusual....but keep that fact in mind. We sat with this family and fellowshipped, listened to their stories, then prayed. Before we left, the Woman of the house had one of her children bring me a plate of food. It was rice, mangu, chicken, and an egg. When I tell you that chicken was fresh, it was F.R.E.S.H.....right down to the egg. I had so many thoughts going through my head, while I said thank you, with a smile on my face.

First thought: "Oh my gosh! I did not know eggs had blood vessels that you're supposed to see."

Second thought: "What would my Grandmother do?" (She and her sister were Missionaries. She was a local missionary and her sister traveled abroad as well.) Answer is, she would eat it.

Third thought: My inner feistiness popped up on an emergency call and said: "Raven, suck it up, take one for the team and eat the food!"

So, I did. With all eyes on me. No pressure at all. It felt like ages, chewing. I loved the love and care of the host and her family. I valued that connection that was made, and I would do it again.

Fast forwarding, some years later; I was at a friends home from the church that I attended. It was a Mexican family. The Mom made menudo; a popular Mexican dish. It smelled so good, but the cow tripe (cow stomach) was not cut into bite sized pieces. I had no problem with the fact that it was cow stomach. I eat cow tongue tacos. It is the same to me. The problem was that it was chewy. Chewy to the point that, not even my canine teeth could rip through it. So, my jaw is hurting, and the family is looking at me, sort of laughing at my struggle. Not laughing in a malicious way. The woman of the home kindly asked; "Are you okay?" I replied; "Yes, I'm okay."

I wasn't. I was NOT okay. In fact, I was dying inside. The tripe was cut into long strips, which made such a tough part of the cow, so hard to eat. I tried wrapping it up in a tortilla with a spritz of lime......nothing helped. Nothing stopped the impending nightmare and embarrassment that was about to take place in my life, at that dinner table. The longer I chewed, the more time I had, to think about what I was eating.....and what IT ate, before I ate, IT. My mouth started to water. Not in a way that I was salivating over something savory.

My thoughts: "OH GOD! PLEASE, NO!"

I gagged. I gagged so hard, everything almost came right up. At the dinner table. I gagged in front of the entire family. Like a hard gag. I was mortified! The Mom was kind enough to swap out my bowl of menudo, with a bowl of beans and tortillas. No one was upset. They just laughed about it.

Another moment, was in Florida, having dinner with family. We cooked and ate Cuban food outdoors, under the setting of orange and mango trees. It was beautiful. Even in a more coveted meal situation like this, there was still a great sense of pride that the hosts had, serving my family and I. Mi casa es su casa.

The dinner table is such a diverse table that we all meet at. Some with a lot and some with very little. Even serving foods we may not have ever had before. Humans have the same things in common; the need to share, To be loved, to connect, and the human right, to be full.

Raven Nicole