Stunted turnip

It took a journey to the other side of the world to discover my own culture. Before that, being Finnish was for granted and so was the food I ate every day. How could I have known the potatoes weren't yellow in the southern hemisphere, or that somewhere people didn't know the wonderful taste of rye bread? I was also used to making the choice of daily servings of fruit between worm-holed apples or Spanish mandarins.
When I was 17 I was faced by the heat and humidity of Australian summer. I was overwhelmed by the variety of fresh, seasonal and local produce. Finland had nothing to offer compared to this! The sad little turnips next to the imported, still green bananas were just a distant memory when I started collecting my own exotic harvest in the shopping trolley.
So there was more than one variety of pears? Avocados actually weren't equal to the price of gold? I thought corns always came in a tin can and dragon fruit was a myth.
However, it soon turned out I was once again fooled by the pretty exterior. I realised that big, shiny and colourful weren't synonyms for taste. My favourite meal, boiled baby potatoes with fresh salad, lacked all the flavour. Potatoes were white and watery and so was the salad. The all-year long summer made fruits and vegetables grow fast and out of proportions, but it didn't contribute to the taste. Their seedlings didn't have to fight for survival in the harsh, arctic conditions, so they became lame, lazy and they lacked character. Australian strawberries were a big fat lie.
To be grown up in Finland is to be stunted and sad. We are bitter, cynical, hardened and covered in bad bits. We are covered in dirt that you have brush away until your fingers bleed. We curse the length of winter, the shortness of summer, the heat and the ice. We take longer to prepare, longer to soften, but after all the effort there's a prize of mouth-watering taste. We have soul and character that you will fall in love with.
Oh, and our food is nice too.