Through the screen of my kitchen window peer two little girls dripping wet from playing in the rain. They tell me how good it smells and inquire what I’m doing. I inform them I’m cooking rice and more specifically food from India. I have to agree the “Sweet Chicken Curry with Yogurt” and the “Pilaf” I am cooking smell amazing. The simmering aroma of cloves, cinnamon, and red pepper fill my kitchen and waft out into the yard.
They then suggest we could eat together. The Lao phrase “eat rice together” is a common expression and doesn’t always imply the invitation should be accepted. I pause, wondering what is best to do in this situation. After all, I have just moved into my new house and this is the first time the neighbour girls have come to visit me.
Through my head race all the North American cautions. Where are the parents of these girls? What would they think of their children eating with a “stranger”? If I invite them tonight will they be back every night for supper?
After their inquires and suggests continue that we should eat together, I throw caution to the wind and invite the girls to join me for supper on my front porch. Aside from the raisins in the dish, the meal passes the test and they empty their plates, confirming again that they ate “Indian” food and not “Falang” (French or western) food.
After all what does one call a recipe from India/Bangladesh prepared by a Canadian in a kitchen in Laos?
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