(This is the third installment in a five part series all about my history with food. The first two installments are here and here.)
In the past four years, I've been a very lucky traveler, visiting Portugal, France, Sweden, Scotland and England, St. Lucia and a bunch of cool places within the US. Like so many other people, I am obsessed with foreign food. The minute I step on an airplane (or get in the car), I want to know where and what we're eating next. And when I finish the next meal, the cycle starts all over.
Fortunately, I've never even had a truly bad experience eating in a foreign country (unlike my husband, who has a very nasty story about a particular meal in Costa Rica). Not everything is completely to my taste, but I've had way more good meals than even mediocre.
I learned to love omelets in France, and couldn't keep myself away from 4 am crepes. My horizons were expanded with haggis in Scotland (yum - and I'm serious) and reindeer in Sweden (I didn't think about Rudolph for a second). London is home to the best Indian I've ever had. And Portugal, where I spent 10 days on my honeymoon, introduced me to the concept of the chirrascura (grill-based restaurant) and the very lightly sparkling wine vinho verde. I didn't even like sparkling wine until I drank that.
But possibly the best thing about eating while traveling is that when I come home, I have a whole new appreciation for the food I eat everyday. It's fresh and new again, and exciting.
Growing up near Annapolis, practically in the water, I've eaten all types of seafood since I was little. Every time I come home, I appreciate the food I grew up with like a tourist. Crabs, crab soup (cream and Maryland), crab cakes...and oysters and rockfish and Old Bay on everything.
I really couldn't ask for much more.
And, on that note, I am off to Paris for a week of eating and drinking, with a little shopping and sightseeing thrown in. I'll be collecting notes for future posting...when I'm not delirious from the food.
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