Taste the World

Every since I was a timid little freshman, mission trips had taken over my life, one right after the other. Each country presented an exquisite cuisine of which I would always remember when thinking of those countries. When I think of food, it forces me to think of the world.

I don’t suppose that many people have had the chance to try marinated chicken feet in their everyday lives, but then again I don’t live the very typical life. It was a Sunday afternoon and we just finished a three-hour service and I was starved. After trying to get through the huge crowd in front of the church doors, my new Bolivian friend and I ran towards the kitchen to inhale what the cooks had been roasting. Right then was when a huge pan of chicken feet stocked up to overflow the pan was shown to Raul and me.

I have to admit at first I was not pleased with what I saw at all. I mean chicken feet for lunch? On the other hand Raul seemed to be dying of joy. So in order to be polite, I acted quite excited as well. At first just thinking of what my mouth was about to chew on forced my appetite to gradually disappear, but as I tried one, my heart fell for something I could only hope to taste again. Tearing away at each foot, the marinated sauce just took over my taste buds and made me forget what I was eating. I can still remember holding each foot and tearing off the insufficient rubbery skin of the foot as my friends from the U.S. gazed at me with disgust. I was proud on the other hand to gobble away fifteen feet and try something new in a foreign country.

With spear in one hand, a net in the other, and goggles covering my eyes, I jumped up from a boat and dived into a new adventure. I never pictured my self scuba diving for food in the years to come, but my life proved me wrong. On my mission trip to the Philippines, my group and I were luckily sent to Subic Island where a small church had been recently built. However on the third day we were there, we had already ran out of food. This was definitely not good. We were left with two choices: go back to the city, with a five-hour drive, or stay and hunt for food. Of course we all decided to stay on the island and do as the islanders do. We skipped breakfast and began hunting for our lunch. Some voyaged deeper into the mountains and some lunged into the waters.

Source: http://www.hobotraveler.com/blogphotos/187-15-boat-on-coco-island-philippines.jpg

We launched the boat and coasted for about 15 minutes not too far from our side of the island. As soon as the boat stopped I jumped into the blue water with hopes of catching a netful of fishes. In the end however, the only person who caught anything was the pastor of the island church. Although disappointed, thanks to the pastor we feasted on a great lunch and dinner. He caught five fish and two eels with just a spear. His skill still overtakes me.

The other team failed just like I did, but brought back 10 huge coconuts they had hacked from a coconut tree and some freshly grown pineapples. For lunch we devoured the pineapples until they were all gone. I sliced open a pineapple for the first time and experienced the juicy yellow scent burst into my nose. Pineapples are my favorite fruit. Somehow the islanders poked a hole in the coconut and gave me one with a straw. As I drank my coco milk, the sweetness of the milk overwhelmed my taste buds with a brand new taste

That night the dinner consisted of leftover rice, fried fish, and fried eel. As I took my first deep bit into the fish, it was like chomping down on a handful of skittles full of flavors, but in this case the fish was full of memories. Ummah, my mother, cooked fried mackerel in a Korean-style ever since I was little. Combining the memories and the freshly cooked fish really made my night. Although deeming the eel as a new experience, it turned out to taste just like fish only with a thicker skin. The white tender meat underneath the skin simply went down my throat just as chicken would. Eel, fish, and rice takes number one on my list of seafood dinners, not only because of the taste, but because of all the joy that comes with it, the old and new memories.

Never have I ever seen my meal alive right before I demolished through it, but I was given this chance in Mongolia. Not many people even in Mongolia have the chance to eat lamb, but I was blessed enough to savor the taste forever. The two pastors in the Mongolian church I resided in brought in two lambs to what seemed the slaughter room, full of bloodstains on the floor and lamb droppings. Unfortunately, the two lambs were butchered and skinned, but for a very fortunate mission team in Mongolia. They sliced the pieces of meat into smaller portions for people to eat and shoved them inside a huge tank full of steaming hot rocks and boiled vegetables.

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After about forty-five minutes or so, we were served with huge lamb ribs and lamb breast. I waited until the elders in my group snatched away the huge pieces of meat, and reached for the skinny lamb ribs pumped with the succulent meat I had been waiting for. The ribs were still burning hot and I accidentally burned my face a bit because the ribs were so long. Each rib I downed was about ten inches long with almost an inch of pure brown meat on top. There was no other food that could re-give that taste.

Traveling has enhanced my life by giving me fresh taste buds that if they were to be filled once again in the same manner, I would remember all that I had experienced with that distinct taste. Sometimes eating new things would bring back old memories, but they have also given me new memories to hold onto for the future.