The Year of the Human Being

In Ethiopia, mastering how to tear off the right amount of communal injera and propel the morsels into your mouth without tasting your berbere-stained fingers scores big points. The contrast of my guide Gitachew’s smile against the shadowy gojo bet served as confirmation. Our host muttered to his wife, and she rose from her Lilliputian stool to roast the coffee. In a place where so much is hard to come by, Abyssinia’s ancient bean is cheap and plentiful. Heavy smoke peeked out from a well-worn stewpot, and when it was presented before me, I knew to waft the suspended aroma to my nose with my right hand. Again, Gitch gave me a smile.

In a world where traditions taper under the reigns of corporate chains, food is often the final respecter of a culture. A drive through the Southern USA harbors miles of hackneyed highway, intermittently interrupted by ticky-tacky towns. Yet, within a short distance, the traveler’s palate is rewarded with a palette of barbecues, all unique - from the mustard-based sauce of South Carolina northward to the tang of vinegar. Where attire has assimilated and dialects have disappeared, cuisine remains.

Food is the fastest facilitator of cultural ken. It not only offers insight into what our planet yields in a particular place, but educates us in etiquette. I met a sadhu in Rishikesh, India who promoted vegetarianism because humans are the only creatures capable of farming. This was an unprecedented argument for me, and one that seemed so logical I wondered why I hadn’t heard it before.

Food is the primary purveyor of cultural pride. When you’ve made new friends with a native, the first foray into local life is frequently a seat at the table. Minutes into meeting Augustin in Spain, he insisted on ordering the most expensive cheese I’ve ever consumed, for no other reason than the fact it came from his village of Cabrales.

But, perhaps the best part about opening your mind to foreign fare are the stories you get to tell the next time you open your mouth. There’s an odd liberty in sampling something folks back home find shocking. Whether it is deep-fried scorpion in China or oven-baked guinea pig in Peru, victuals that vex your pals make for thrilling tales.

Gitch’s approval in the gojo wasn’t because of baksheesh, but because he wanted me to understand his people…and there may be no better way to understand a culture than through its food.