One of my English students in Taiwan returns from a business trip in the Netherlands and tells me that she is so happy to be back. "Why?" I ask.
If you are Taiwanese, you know the anwer.
"The food. I had to eat hamburgers, sandwiches, and pasta every day" she says, whining a little bit.
If you are not Taiwanese, I will educate you a little now.
If you are foreign, you think, "Taiwanese food, not bad, maybe a little oily sometimes, but sometimes pretty good." A burger or a sandwich every once in a while is necessary to ease the monotomy, but, you know, it's not terrible.
However, if you are Taiwanese, you love Taiwanese food. You could eat at Maxim's in Paris every day for a month, and you'd still be pining for some niu rou mian (牛肉麵, beef noodle soup) with a little manguo bing (芒果冰, mango on ice) for dessert. Such is the nature of human beings.
Food brings us home. We remember those meals our grandmother made us when we were kids. If you feel nostalgic for home, you can always make yourself some traditional dishes, right?
And so, I am home. I spend the weekend with my dear grandmother. She makes me the most incredible food. My food. Jewish food. Hummus, baba ghanoush, borscht, meatloaf, her homemade pie, a Middle Eastern lentil salad, all served with pita.
It's all fresh, simple. A world away from Taiwan. Grandma smiles as I eat all her food, as I thank her profusely.
"I'm going to get fat," I tell her.
"Nobody loses weight in my house," she quickly responds.
I am back home.
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