[OPEN] A Culinary Adventure

[hungary]

A Culinary Adventure
Open

“Oh, that looks good! And that, too! Then again, what about that…?”

Situated at a small table tucked neatly beside a window, Erzsébet leaned over the menu spread out before her on the table and considered all of the items. She hadn’t thought it possible for a diner to carry such a wide variety of options and yet this place carried everything from crêpes to tollatsch. They even had some of her favorite Hungarian dishes on the menu, much to her delight.

Of course, such a wide variety of food presented the problem of just what she was to order. Her plan had been to sample a bit of the world through its wide array of cuisine, yet now she realized just how difficult such a thing would be. With so many dishes to try, just where did she start? How could she pick between the culinary extravagance of one country over the other?

“I wonder,” she mused, her eyes scanning the menu in thought.

Her gaze paid particular attention the prices, and some of the higher values were enough to make even her hesitate. Though her family had never struggled for money, prices like that could make even a rich man lose everything in the bank if he kept spending so extravagantly. Indulgence had to be balanced with frugality, and though she wanted to just sample everything in the menu, she knew it wasn’t practical to do so.

Besides, she would never be able to explain such a high bill to her parents—all right, so she would, but it would be embarrassing to admit that she had purchased an entire menu of food just for a sampling. Perhaps instead she should spread the menu across her stay here. It wouldn’t cost so much each trip, and it would be nice to stop by the diner every Monday after school for a few snacks.

Erzsébet smiled. “That’s it, then! I’ll sample a country each time I come by here.”

Just the possibility made her mouth water in anticipation. So many delicious foods just waiting for her to taste them. Where would she start, though? Armenia? Lithuania? Portugal? Again, she was left with the dilemma of just where her culinary adventure should begin. Erzsébet scanned the menu once more, waiting for any dish or country to pop out in her mind, when she finally spotted something.

She waited until a waiter passed by, the same waiter that had escorted her to her table like a true gentleman and flashed her a smile with a charm that read just a bit fake.

“Excuse me,” she said to catch his attention, and when he stopped to turn toward her she gave him a smile. He looked tired. Perhaps that inability to seem entirely genuine stemmed from a long shift. Her smile took on a sympathetic edge as she moved the menu across the table toward him. “Could I please have everything listed under the Italian section?”

“Everything?”

She cast a glance back at the menu and the several items listed under the neatly curled font that spelled out ‘Italy’ before she nodded.

“One of everything should suffice, yes.”

He looked uncertain but, when faced with the certainty of her expression, didn’t say anything to argue. Instead, he reached for the empty glass of water, murmured a small ‘excuse me’ as he took it to get her a refill, and left her to sit in silence with her menu.

Erzsébet traced the list of items she had pointed to in an idle gesture as she watched him walk toward the kitchen with her order. She could appreciate the way his body filled his uniform, the elegant line of his body. His hands, when he had reached for her glass, had been the hands of a violinist, the fingers perfect for holding a bow between them more so than balancing a tray of food.

Then again, his choice of occupation was his own, and if there was one thing Erzsébet had been taught in life it was that one shouldn’t go shaming another for their career or judge them for working at something they didn’t approve of. When he brought her a fresh glass of ice water, the lemon wedge perched on the lip of the glass dripping juice down the side, she thought about asking him if he had ever played an instrument.

Instead, she took her water with a grateful smile and offered her thanks when he told her how long her food would take to arrive. Better to not know lest she mourn the loss of such potential in the musical world.

[Sadik Adnan]

Culture was like a flower; depending on what it was given, it would bloom and grow and flourish differently. Some flowers grow larger than others, having more nutrients in the soil and more sunlight. Some grow better without much light and without many nutrients, pushing through difficulties with their own strength and perseverance. Others still are given everything need and pop out as small, almost insignificant little buds that most people would just pass idly by without a second thought. Whether they flourish into large, blooming plants or shrivel away under their own lack of power, flowers grow in some way.

Culture was the same in this aspect. A people could be planted into a location and given everything they needed for survival (Food, resources, other people to continue the race, etc), and become a growing, moving, living nation, having very distinct traditions that set them apart from everyone else around them. Music, beliefs, cliches and proverbs, and food; all of these things played into what the culture would be known for. These were the colorful leaves, the petals, or the flower of culture, the history of the people providing the stem, and the community and struggles being the soil and weather for the culture to grow and fight through. And, indeed, some cultures had much more than others as they grew.

Sadik was very fond of his culture, finding it to be the most beautiful flower to ever exist. It was rich, unique, strong, and righteous. They had music of their own, a language that was spectacular, and food. The food of Turkey was the most delicious thing in the world. Sweet for some dishes, a bit spicy for others, but always a pleasure to the pallet. The Turkish people were the origin for some of the most amazing foods in the world, though no one would ever believe him when he said that-- after all, the Greeks had done such an amazing job at making the world believe otherwise. But Sadik knew it, and other Turks knew it, so he would always live as the advocate.

America disappointed him a bit though. There was no REAL culture in the country, not in his mind. It was a mesh up of a lot of other cultures, and while it was beautiful in its own way, it had the appearance of a Common Madia. Though it was part of a family of beautiful flowers, it looked like a weed, and therefore rather lackluster in the eyes of world. America was part of a great family of nations in the Americas, all with rich, beautiful cultures; however, it wasn't the most beautiful in the world, lacking the luster of a distinct culture. Sure they had coined their own music, and that spread through the world quickly. Their language was a mix up of a bunch of other languages; that is, the majority spoke English, but many spoke other languages such as Spanish, Chinese, Italian, Dutch and so on, but they didn't have a common language among all people. They didn't really have their own food, either, anything that really set them apart from the rest of the world. There was nothing in America that Sadik could eat and say "This is a truly American dish".

But perhaps that's why Sadik ended up at the World's Diner. It was just that; a diner of the world. He had passed by it so many times, and often times he had seen Turkish meals on the specialty menu which made his heart giddy, but he either never had time or never had enough money. Finally, though, he set aside time and saved up money-- it was time for him to splurge, just once.

He spent a long amount of time standing outside, looking at the menu posted in the window. Sadik wanted to know what to get the moment he walked in, that way there'd be no dilly-dallying with drinks and "oh one moment while I check my menu" or anything like that. Sadik was a man with a mission and nothing was going to stop him.

The small, fancy letters on the menu before him sang to him, his face close to the menu to see it better. His mind was tickled with the thought of enjoying meals signature to places he'd never been to before, such as Sweden and Switzerland, while the temptation to get meals more familiar to him, from Bulgaria and Germany, meals that he did not eat all the time but always did so with joy when he had them, were very much combating in his head. He knew he'd never have the money to afford it all, but he was so tempted and so desiring to do so. After all, he was a large man who needed a lot of food to keep going; didn't it, then, only make sense that he have a large meal?

His mind torn, Sadik inevitably decided to go inside and sit down. Perhaps someone on the wait staff could help him decide.

Looking around the nicely restaurant, he noted a few things as he waited for the host to appear. The color red was most obvious throughout the restaurant: the lamp shades had a red hue, the seat cushions were a reddish tint as well, though perhaps a bit more maroon. The menus were bordered with red, and some of the items on the list, the restaurant's specialty items perhaps, were in red as well. It was a clever act of coercion, and the designer of the restaurant deserved credit for being so craft.

The floor, not colored red, was not carpeted, but a very fancy wooden pattern. It was pleasing to the eye and, mixed with some darker colors, made to seem eternally clean. Again, the thought put into it was remarkable.

But the most outstanding piece that Sadik noticed in the restaurant was found through a customer. He knew not her name, though he had seen her often. She was on the same team as he was, and he was fairly certain that she lived in his dorm- granted he hadn't been home much in the last few weeks- making her face very familiar to him. Perhaps he heard her name in passing-- in fact, he was pretty sure that she introduced herself to him. Alas, though, he knew not her name. But he knew he knew her, and in knowing that he knew her, he had motive to approach her with a devilish plot.

"Hey there." He said, walking over to the table in a rather casual way, a smirk on his face. "What a coincidence, seein' you here, huh?" It was, admittedly, obvious he didn't know her name, but by this point he could say he cared. He possibly had the opportunity to get someone to pay for half of his meal.