Apr

3

I lived on the border of Texas and Mexico for a couple of years. We were invited to eat over at a neighbor's house the first week were were there. They served us dishes I had never seen before, although it sounded exotic when they told me what it was in Spanish (I didn't know the language then). The food tasted very different from anything I had ever eaten. It wasn't as palatable as I had hoped. Two of the other members of my party who came with me decided not to eat the dinner. They just ate homemade tortillas and drank their cokes. I ate the dinner and when I lapped that up the matriarch quickly replenished my plate with another large helping. I ate all that, too, just to be polite. I got rather sick, perhaps just from overeating. The next day the patriarch of the family called us and said that I was welcome any time — but not the others.


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  1. George Parkanyi on April 4, 2008 1:00 pm

    My family comes from Hungary, and so do I (barely) as a 1956 expat. Food in Central Europe and in most cultures is about hospitality as much as it is about eating. There is a whole dance around the offer and acceptance that goes far beyond whether one is hungry (”Eat!, you’re so thin”; “Mom, I’m 52 and I am NOT thin” goes down a lot when we visit my parents), or whether one likes the food (”You don’t like it!” “No Mom, you just didn’t see me take the 5th helping” also happens.)

    The host has gone to great trouble to give of him/herself to sustain the guest - symbolically the giving of life itself, and to refuse that hospitality in most cases is not only taken as a lack of appreciation, but as an outright insult. What someone is saying when they put out a meal of their culture is “this is part of who I am.” I am not surprised at all that your friends were not invited back.

    (To mess with my mother a bit I did buy her “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” and as often as I can slide it into conversation, like to bring up the scene where the young guy is first being introduced to the extended family. He starts chatting with his fiancee’s aunt, and when he tells her he’s a vegetarian, she asks “What’s that?” “I don’t eat meat.” “YOU DON’T EAT MEAT!!??” The noisy room of 50 people goes dead silent. There is long, pregnant pause. “OK, I make lamb!”, and everybody parties on.)

    Cheers,
    George

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