Kochi, India
I feel that much of my time in India revolved around food…or
the lack there of. My hate-hate relationship with Indian food dates back to one
of my first nights in New York. All of the residence life graduate assistants were
going out to dinner after a long day of training. One of the grads who had
lived in the city for a couple of years suggested an Indian restaurant. Being
from the relatively bland cultural landscape of the Midwestern United States, I
hadn’t yet tried Indian food. I don’t remember much about the meal itself, but
the I remember the aftermath like it was yesterday. I spent the second night in
my new apartment pooping my brains out and sleeping on the cold, hard tile
floor in the bathroom. Not wanting to recreate my first experience with Indian food,
I opted to be super careful with my cuisine choices during my time in India. My
rule of thumb was to not eat things that looked like they’d already been
digested. I acknowledge that this is an incredibly insensitive way to view
another cultures cuisine, but my digestive system escaped unscathed so I’m sort
of okay with it.
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