Just Guyton

สวัสดีค่ะ — Sawatdee kha! Good morning!

This morning, while doing my walk, I started thinking about food.

This should surprise absolutely no one.

Somehow that turned into me thinking about all the places I’ve never been.

I’ve traveled all over the United States, but I’ve never traveled outside of the country. I would love to. I’d love to experience different countries, different cultures, and—let’s be honest—the food.

Especially the food.

International travel, however, is expensive. So for now, I experience pieces of the world wherever I can find them.

And sometimes, the world comes to you.

I spent about twenty years of my life working in food service. For roughly ten of those years, off and on, I worked for a little Thai woman I’m going to call Miss P.

I was a waitress and cashier, and I helped in the kitchen too. But Miss P taught me things that had absolutely nothing to do with my job.

She taught me a little Thai.

She introduced me to Thai television.

She taught me about her culture and her food. She taught me about ginger—sick? Ginger. Upset stomach? Ginger.

And she fed me.

One morning she made me what she called a Vietnamese pancake. I didn’t know the proper name for it then, but looking at it now, I believe it was bánh xèo, a crispy Vietnamese savory pancake.

Whatever its proper name was, I remember eating it.

Those are the kinds of things that stay with you.

She also taught me something that surprised me at the time: Thai people generally aren’t sitting around eating every meal with chopsticks. A spoon and fork are much more common for everyday Thai meals, while chopsticks are often associated with certain noodle dishes.

So apparently some of us Americans have been confidently requesting chopsticks while somebody in the kitchen is thinking, “Okay then.”

Miss P also introduced me to Thai horror.

And listen.

If you have never watched a Thai horror movie in its original language, you are missing out.

Do NOT dub it.

Read the subtitles and be scared properly.

I remember watching my first one before I had learned much Thai at all. I had absolutely no idea what these people were saying unless I was reading it, and I was still scared to death.

You don’t need to speak the language when the ghost is doing ghost things.

Fear, apparently, is multilingual.

All those years later, that influence is still part of my life.

Chris and I go to an Asian market about once a week or every other week. Sometimes we have a recipe in mind. Sometimes we grab ingredients and create our own Asian-inspired dish.

Our diet has changed considerably. We eat low-carb now, and we rarely eat out anymore. But our love of Asian food survived the dietary purge.

And when we do have a cheat meal?

I want the little hole-in-the-wall place everybody keeps raving about.

No offense to Panda Express. If that’s your thing, enjoy every bite.

But if I’m spending my cheat meal on Asian food, I want the place where I might have to ask what something is. I want the place where somebody is cooking food that reminds them of home.

Twenty years in food service also taught me not to confuse expensive with authentic.

Chris and I learned that lesson at a supposedly authentic, rather bougie Mexican restaurant we tried once because the reviews were fantastic.

Chris ordered something involving octopus because apparently that man looked at a Mexican menu and thought, “You know what this evening needs? Tentacles.”

I stayed safely within my normal menu rotation because I know who I am.

We ate.

We looked at each other.

And basically came to the same conclusion:

The cheaper Mexican place near the house was better.

At least Chris got his octopus.

That’s the funny thing about food. A beautiful dining room, high prices, fancy descriptions, and glowing reviews don’t necessarily tell you what you’re about to experience.

Sometimes some of the best food is hiding in a tiny restaurant you almost drove past.

I know because I’ve worked on both sides of that kitchen door.

During my years in food service, I personally saw food that customers probably imagined had been lovingly cooking in the kitchen all day arrive frozen in a bag with a use-by date.

And I’ve watched fresh ingredients come through the door and become somebody’s dinner.

There is a difference.

Maybe that’s why food means more to me than simply eating.

It has introduced me to people.

It has taught me words in another language.

It has put things on my plate I never would have known existed.

It has scared the living daylights out of me through Thai horror movies—which technically has nothing to do with food, but we went down a rabbit hole and here we are.

I’ve never been to Thailand.

I’ve never eaten breakfast in Vietnam.

There are countless places in this world I may never get to see.

But I’ve been fortunate enough to meet people who brought pieces of those places into my life and were willing to share them with me.

Maybe experiencing another culture doesn’t always begin with buying a plane ticket.

Sometimes it begins with being curious.

Sometimes it begins with listening to somebody tell you about home.

And sometimes it begins with a little Thai woman handing you breakfast and saying, “Try this.”

The world is enormous.

I may never get to see all of it.

But I’ll keep tasting it whenever I get the chance.

Except the octopus.

Chris can have that.

—Guyton