The International Writers Magazine:

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A Removeable Feast: Close Encounters of the Third World Kind 10 Tips on Etiquette for Aliens in Ethnic Eateries • John Edwards Ever stumble upon an American “Deli” wondering if it was just a typo that they dropped the h? Ever speculate whether the foul wursty ingredients of a “hot dog” once went woof? Don’t freak out! Here are 10 tips to speed you through the confusing congestion of customs and weird freeways of the “extreme sport” of foreign food eating

1.“Fast” food joints are not places to pick up cheap dates or begin your starvation regime for Ramadan. Fast means quick, not good value, or even tasty, as any one who has tried the Wimpy’s in Gibraltar could attest!

2. Don’t shudder when your dining companion describes the restaurant you’re eating in as “ethnic.” This is especially problematic if your friend is Mormon or Baha’i or Scientologist, and the servers are wearing lederhosen or kilts.

3. Don’t draw attention to the egregious bloopers of damn foreigner dinner guests from “abroad.” A friend once brought her new boyfriend to the quaint American custom of Thanksgiving, and he asked politely, “Please pass the papadums!” To which she reacted swiftly (and with venal alarm), “Rajiv, in this country we call it bread!”
Of course, the incident caused a slight pause (an embarrassing silence), quickly covered up by raucous laughter. It’s better to laugh loudly at our mistakes than to burn silently with revenge.

4. If you’re invited to someone’s “village,” don’t even think of turning down the piece de resistance. Even if you’ve never tried orangutan’s brains, ram’s testicles, or sweetbreads, pick up a fork and dig in. If by mistake, you mutter, “This tastes like crap!” be quick to add afterwards in a singsongy diplomatic voice, “But gooooood!”

5. Don’t talk amusingly and at length about the subject of “cannibalism” in Vegan restaurants. Most vegetarian restaurants are independent “green” cooperatives, which buy straight from farmer’s markets and recycle their toilet paper. The smirking waitstaff might seem like self-satisfied and holier-than-thou-art losers and louts, but please don’t lose your temper with them. They just can’t afford to serve Jeffrey Dahmer’s leftovers!

6. Avoid trying “plats” in French bistros you’ve never heard of just because they are cheap. You’ll feel like committing suicide with a mouthful of “Moules Frites” and undrinkable acrylic house wine (aka, “instant spew”). And those foppish, slightly androgynous-looking waiters with ponytails and hyphenated names like “Jean-Claude” probably did a stint with the Swiss Army in the Alps or the French Foreign Legion in Algeria, so don’t even think of returning your meal to the kitchen. They are quite energetic in mangling the limbs of “Imbeciles!”.

7. It’s considered crass and pedestrian to describe any restaurant as being “5 Stars!” There ain’t no such animal. Your favorite steakhouse or red-sauce pasta dump probably nailed in the gaudy gilt stars because it’s getting close to Christmastime. The real well-traveled bon vivant and gourmand would be a bona-fide raconteur who describes painfully memorable meals, mouth pursed like rose petals into a moue, at places with unpronounceable names (like "Les Prés d'Eugenie") as being the proud recipient of three (never five) Michelin “rosettes”!

8. Never criticize the food in front of the chef; just fink on the place on the sly to Zagat’s. Once when I was abroad I made the mistake of ordering from the local menu which was in Cyrillic, without knowing the English translation, and I ended up with an unhygienic bowl of “tripe soup”! I complained bitterly in an exceedingly loud voice, and a meat-cleaving maniac, looking quite menacing in his pouffy Chef Boyardee hat, took me to account, roaring at me in Bulgarian. Using a Universal Translator, it sounded something like, “You’ve ruined my restaurant!!!”

9. If you are with a big group of people, always offer to pay. Since entourages out for a night of fair-to-maudlin theater, and “travellers” in general are notoriously bad at math, you might not end up paying anything at all. At best, they’ll try to guestimate what the tip is, find it too difficult to figure out, each offer to pay for the whole shebang by stretching their arm out a mile towards their pockets or purses, before the richest VIP swoops in, offering to comp it to cover up everybody’s lunacy in not knowing how to settle a complicated restaurant bill. At worst, you’ll Platinum Card it, ending up with the monkey’s share of the pot: other people’s overestimated cash distributions (without IRS interference). You’ll feel like Daddy Monopoly landing on Community Chest!

10. When dining alone, especially in an unstable foreign country where, peradventure, you might one day plan on living, never ask the maitre’d for “some company.” You’ll end up handcuffed in the back of a van heading straight to the airport, while brainstorming what you’re going to say about lying about your “political refugee” status in the first place. Then eventually you'll be plonked back in your hometown, cheeks stinging with burning nettles, completely humiliated and scandalized to be without any work skills or any money, only the mockery of your former friends, and, the oh-so sorry "souvenir" (French for “memory”) of a series of menus flipped sadly like tarot cards. But then, you hastily scraped your chair on the linoleum and made a break for it, never feeling more alive and yelling at the top of your lungs, “I finally did it! I skipped out on the bill!!!” Say so long, sayonara to chew and screw. . . .
© John M. Edwards Feb 13th 2008
pigafet@earthlink.net

Bio: John M. Edwards has traveled worldwidely (five continents plus).
His work has appeared in such magazines as CNN Traveller, Missouri Review, Salon.com, Grand Tour, Islands, Escape, Endless Vacation, Condé Nast Traveler, International Living, Coffee Journal, Literal Latté, Verge, North Dakota Quarterly, Richmond Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, and North American Review. He recently won a NATJA (North American Travel Journalists Association) Award and a Solas Award. He lives in a loft in New York City, nicknamed the "time capsule." His future bestsellers, Move and Fluid Borders, have not been released yet.


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