Whenever someone mentions "travel", a few words consistently pop into my head– food, history, culture. I have to admit, these are the three elements I seek out during my overseas travel. Sampling local cuisine (the "local way", of course) while soaking in the culturally rich atmosphere and listening to a free-flow of historical tales, are usually the highlight of my travels. What can I say. When food, history and culture intertwine, an addictive concoction is born.
Aswan, Egypt, Feb. 2009.
The scent of brewing spices found my nose, and I felt my stomach growl.
A glass of hibiscus tea later, we laid the straw mat on the raw sandy floor of the family area.
I couldn't help but be fascinated about the roofless design, blue walls and sand-lined floor.
Dinner would be ready in 30 minutes, we were told.
I wasn't sure what I anticipated more– the Nubian cuisine I flew 15 hours for, or the stories of the first Nubian village.
Nadi, Fiji, Sep. 2010.
Every stall at the market had been packed up, when we got there.. at 2pm.
Our beautiful Fijian friend invited us to a dinner party. And we heard the best gift a guest could ever bring is kava roots.
To cut a long story short, our gracious hostess informed us that Fijians now buy grounded kava, and no longer grind the roots themselves.
We had a good laugh over earth-baked cassava, assorted meat and veges.
Singapore, Jun. 2011.
Never had I consciously thought food could conjure up floods of memories. Childhood memories.
Especially ones that Mum dishes out once every year, on special occasions.
The dishes that take 2 hours to prepare and even longer to cook.
"Shush," Mum often says, as she believes it's rude to talk while eating.
This once, I thought to myself, I'm happy to enjoy goodness in silence.
A whiff of familiar spices caught my attention as I reached my Bentley home.
Our Omani friend ushered us to the dining table, where we were greeted by familiar smiley faces.
With the pressure cooker whistling in the background, he began to tell us how he missed communal dining back in his home town.
Men, women and children don't usually share the same plate.
"But tonight, we'll all share. We're family," our friend said.
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