food

I'm a picky eater. Always have been. The "holy trinity" of condiments (ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise) will never find their way onto my burger. A mushroom, no matter how much it's considered a delicacy, will never travel down my gullet. And a pickle will never be more than a fun word to say.

But my eating habits have broadened over the years. I'm long past those carefree childhood days when I would eat cashew chicken without the cashews and macaroni and cheese without the cheese. I hadn't eaten a whole lot of Indian food in my life – a little nan here, a little curry there -- so I wasn't sure how I would react to a steady diet of it. But after two months in the country, it's safe to say that…

I love it. It's ever so tasty.

For breakfast (on the rare days I actually eat breakfast) or a snack, I can have a dosa, this giant pancake thing that you rip pieces off of and dip into coconut chutney and/or sambar, this sorta thick red stuff. Or I can have idly, these fat disc-shaped rice formations that you also dip into coconut chutney and/or sambar. I don't like coconut – strongly dislike it in fact – but for some reason, all the coconut stuff here is good. I think it's because it's made with coconut milk rather than the coconut itself, although I'm not 100% certain about that. All that I know for sure is that it's yummy.

Because of the various religions and such in India, many people are vegetarian. Thus, menus are typically divided into "veg" and "non-veg" sections (there's also "pure veg" for that smaller sect of vegans). Both styles employ lots of rice and breads. And tasty curries/gravies to dip the breads in (Indians are big on dipping), as well as mix with the rice. The biggest difference is that the non-veg meals have chicken...usually. Chicken is the non-veg item featured most of the time, with an occasional cameo appearance by mutton or fish.

Since I'm an omnivore with a definite taste for meat, I expected to eat mostly non-veg stuff. And I do eat that a lot . But I've also quite enjoyed the veg. I think it's because of which particular vegetables take starring roles. In the states, tomatoes and uber-bland lettuce hog the veggie spotlight. Here, peas get to take center stage. I love peas! And corn. I love corn! I can order a pizza with corn on it – it's awesome!

Pre-India, I didn't like spicy food. But here, I adjusted very quickly – now I hardly notice it. Some other American will eat something and complain that it's too spicy. Then I'll eat it and it will seem fine. And of course I'll have to mock the person who thought it was too spicy. A few months ago, I would have been mocking myself.

Apparently some people in the states knew about paneer. Sadly I was never one of these people. I just discovered this versatile cottage cheese concoction (with a vague resemblance to tofu) and I have dug it in its myriad of incarnations. Mixed in with rice, fried up like a mozzarella stick, filling a burrito-style roll, on a pizza (though strangely, packets of ketchup also come with pizza. hmmm…). It's all good, baby. I am a proud convert to the ways of the paneer.

I have also embraced eating with my hands, a farily common practice, depending of course on what kind of food you're eating. But if you follow proper Indian etiquette, you should only use your right hand. Because, in theory, your left hand would be used for, ummm, other tasks, after the food has been digested.

Spoons are used more than forks. And at the work cafeteria where I often eat, knives are near impossible to find. Which creates the challenge of trying to cut chicken off the bone using only a spoon (or two spoons). Believe me, it ain't easy.

Finally, there is the water. Since my feeble American body is unable to handle the complexities of Indian tap water, I have to go bottled all the way. I always try to have a bottle of water with me. When you order one at a restaurant, they'll bring the bottle out to the table before opening it, just to show you that it is indeed bottled water.

At the cafeteria, people don't drink at all during the meal. After it's finished, everyone will get up, go over to the wall of sinks to wash their hands (because napkins are a rarity), then fill up a glass from these large metal tanks of water. When I first arrived here, someone told me that the tanks of water were safe to drink from. So I would have a tall, refreshing glass after every meal. And then I would find myself in the bathroom. Every forty five minutes. It took me way too long (a week and a half) to figure out it was the water creating the turbulence in my stomach. Because I was dumb.

But c'est la vie. I survived. And dropped one full belt size in the process.