Most memorable meals...
I have to confess that I have had many delightful repasts over my lifetime. My wife is fond of pointing out that, in looking at my body, I don't appear to have gone hungry for much of it; shedding weight is often a struggle. In answer to the question, two instances stand out, but for reasons other than you might expect:
- first: while traveling through Bulgaria in a VW camper van, in 1970, with several other adventurous young wanderers, we became lost, and found ourselves in a remote commune in the countryside. We were almost out of gas, totally out of food, and very hungry from not having eaten almost all day. It was a remote communal farm with but one outlet for food and supplies; to purchase anything, you needed to use tokens, earned through work on the farm. Of course we had none, and couldn't earn any either. We were strangers who soon attracted a crowd, including the local Russian Commissar cop. He wanted us gone. The 'Cold War' was still on; there was no love extended to America at the time. Luckily, my van did fly a small Canadian flag, which helped somewhat. A pretty young girl spoke some English. At great risk, she went and bought a huge loaf of fresh warm bread, some butter and honey which she 'smuggled' out and handed to us. We quietly, secretly, handed her some cash, which we hoped would not be found and bring her harm. Down the road, out of sight of that Commissar on his bicycle, we ate one of the simplest, but most memorable and physically satisfying meals of my life - not fancy, not expensive, just hunger quelling.
- second: actually, I don't recall much about this lunch; can't tell you what I ate... other than that my portion of the bill (shared with an old family friend) included 7 Martinis that I consumed; he had about an equal number. It was a 'learning experience'; my introduction to Martinis; my first and last meeting with them. Not sure how I managed to find my way back to my office later in the afternoon. I can only recall that I was told, on arrival, to immediately go home and pack a suitcase for an emergency trip west (with my boss). For the next 8 hours, I sat in the back of a small private jet, listening to its four engines screaming as we flew to the coast (refueling on the way). My head was already pounding from the Martinis before boarding; my ears ached all the way to the Pacific. My stomach was churning. Whatever I ate at lunch was trying to escape. I didn't much care about food for another 24 hours after. Obviously, though, according to my wife, I recovered!!!
hyea:
