What was the most delicious meal you ate?
Runners up
My favorite meal could easily have been Thanksgiving dinner at the BVS house. These volunteers did a great job cooking everything and hosting a twelve person meal, including cooking the turkey while at work!(Photo forthcoming)
Another great meal was earlier this fall, after picking apples in western Illinois. Cat taught us how to make egg rolls, Carol made rice krispie treats (with added strawberry syrup, which only turned them pink), and apple cider and apple sauce that I made (much love to Emily for teaching me oh so many years ago!)
Being a picky eater, I tend to eat things that I have enjoyed since childhood. I'm much more comfortable eating chicken nuggets and pizza than flambée, soufflé, or crème brûlée. That said, this year has been a virtual oddeysey of victuals. I must give mention to my first, second, and third ever experiences with sushi.
If you've heard my philosophy on work, you could probably extrapolate and guess that I'd rather be a robot that requires no food. Eating is a required function to me. There is no distinguishing new delicate flavor transitions, or pairing wine with my meal. I get hungry, find something that won't take forever to make, and eat until I require no more.
Now, I know that eating can be a source of enjoyment. I am, after all, still somewhat human. I do get enjoyment out of food, but in the same way that a drug addict gets enjoyment out of the drug he injects: I do not enjoy the prospect of being forever slave to the power of this thing I consume, but I can't help finding myself coming back for more. I have a big sweet tooth, and when I say that I mean I have to budget for candy. I could live on sugar. In fact, I ate a block of peanut butter fudge while writing this.
My favorite meal could easily have been Thanksgiving dinner at the BVS house. These volunteers did a great job cooking everything and hosting a twelve person meal, including cooking the turkey while at work!(Photo forthcoming)
Another great meal was earlier this fall, after picking apples in western Illinois. Cat taught us how to make egg rolls, Carol made rice krispie treats (with added strawberry syrup, which only turned them pink), and apple cider and apple sauce that I made (much love to Emily for teaching me oh so many years ago!) Being a picky eater, I tend to eat things that I have enjoyed since childhood. I'm much more comfortable eating chicken nuggets and pizza than flambée, soufflé, or crème brûlée. That said, this year has been a virtual oddeysey of victuals. I must give mention to my first, second, and third ever experiences with sushi.
If you've heard my philosophy on work, you could probably extrapolate and guess that I'd rather be a robot that requires no food. Eating is a required function to me. There is no distinguishing new delicate flavor transitions, or pairing wine with my meal. I get hungry, find something that won't take forever to make, and eat until I require no more.
Now, I know that eating can be a source of enjoyment. I am, after all, still somewhat human. I do get enjoyment out of food, but in the same way that a drug addict gets enjoyment out of the drug he injects: I do not enjoy the prospect of being forever slave to the power of this thing I consume, but I can't help finding myself coming back for more. I have a big sweet tooth, and when I say that I mean I have to budget for candy. I could live on sugar. In fact, I ate a block of peanut butter fudge while writing this.
The Winner
So know that, during Summer orientation, when we decided to take the group to a Pakistani restaurant, my stomach churned with nervous energy. I had eaten Ethiopian a year earlier, which ended with a stomachache and a distaste for ill-lit long tables. This would surely be no different.
Of course, it was. For starters, I was the contact person, and even though his English did not garner accolades over the phone, the manager was extremely friendly and eager to welcome our group. When we arrived, the manager introduced himself as the owner, and walked us to our table. He had the kitchen make us some complimentary bread with dipping sauces as an appetizer before the waiter arrived. Then he took our order. I cannot name everything we ordered, except that I know naan is what I imagine manna tasting like. The explanation isn't so far fetched as to why I like the meal: most everything involved chicken as the centerpiece to the dish - chicken with rice, curried chicken, spicy chicken with curried rice. It was great. And there was always more bread.
The owner kept returning to make sure we all were enjoying ourselves, and for the bulk of our meal, we ate in private. Yes, the lighting was low, but the conversation that persisted as we passed dishes to one another transformed it into something akin to the last supper. There would be no crucifixion the next day, only a drive to New Windsor; we didn't wash feet for another week. But there was an aura to the meal of complete fellowship that is indicative of the community within the church.
Anyone who has volunteered in BVS can tell you that orientation meals become more than simply serving food to one another. Perhaps because there is not always enough to go around, the spirit of the thing fills the room and creates an abundance of welcome. No matter what is on your plate, you fit in here. Meals are more than a break to ingest calories.
This journey of self-sacrifice and service has proven time and again that, wherever I take advantage of something so basic as food, there is a whole lot more to be thankful for than I imagined.
So know that, during Summer orientation, when we decided to take the group to a Pakistani restaurant, my stomach churned with nervous energy. I had eaten Ethiopian a year earlier, which ended with a stomachache and a distaste for ill-lit long tables. This would surely be no different.
Of course, it was. For starters, I was the contact person, and even though his English did not garner accolades over the phone, the manager was extremely friendly and eager to welcome our group. When we arrived, the manager introduced himself as the owner, and walked us to our table. He had the kitchen make us some complimentary bread with dipping sauces as an appetizer before the waiter arrived. Then he took our order. I cannot name everything we ordered, except that I know naan is what I imagine manna tasting like. The explanation isn't so far fetched as to why I like the meal: most everything involved chicken as the centerpiece to the dish - chicken with rice, curried chicken, spicy chicken with curried rice. It was great. And there was always more bread.
The owner kept returning to make sure we all were enjoying ourselves, and for the bulk of our meal, we ate in private. Yes, the lighting was low, but the conversation that persisted as we passed dishes to one another transformed it into something akin to the last supper. There would be no crucifixion the next day, only a drive to New Windsor; we didn't wash feet for another week. But there was an aura to the meal of complete fellowship that is indicative of the community within the church.
Anyone who has volunteered in BVS can tell you that orientation meals become more than simply serving food to one another. Perhaps because there is not always enough to go around, the spirit of the thing fills the room and creates an abundance of welcome. No matter what is on your plate, you fit in here. Meals are more than a break to ingest calories.
This journey of self-sacrifice and service has proven time and again that, wherever I take advantage of something so basic as food, there is a whole lot more to be thankful for than I imagined.
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