I sometimes forget what a picky eater I am until I travel. At home it is perfectly easy to avoid mushrooms and seafood. The waitress at the Fox and the Fiddle graciously gives me extra pancakes instead of eggs when we go for Sunday morning brunch, and North American menus always have, if nothing else, pasta or a hamburger. So if offered some of that guinea pig (pictured) in Peru what would I do? Run.
I haven’t been travelling in a while, but a friend’s recent trip to Cuba (which included 2 bouts of food poisoning) reminded me what an effort food is. Food is a funny thing. In Barcelona everything has cured ham and an egg on it if it is not seafood, in Morocco I was convinced I was going to get a terible food-borne illness and die (and they put eggs on things), and in Vienna Ikea gave me sausages with curried mayonaise (blech) instead of a good ole fashioned, mixed-meat hot dog. But in Italy the food is the only thing I remember! Ok, I was only in the country for 6 hours but it was 6 hours filled with pizza, olive bread, gelato and lattes!
I went to France when I was 12 and was tricked in to eating horse. In Australia the government is encouraging people to eat kangaroo and feral camels. I think next time I travel I’ll bring a peanut butter sandwich.
