When Cultures Meet

The party went great. The American still hates my food because I put some seasoning on the blasted chicken. Just a very basic rub. Some oregano, some cumin. But no, that’s too exotic. The poor guest had to pick off the visible bits of seasoning manually. At least, the mashed potatoes seemed to be satisfactory.

The Latin American guests were stunned that N was the one to do the dishes and lay the table for dessert.

“I told you, she’s a feminist,” one explained in a whisper.

Klara discovered zucchini bread and loved it.

N said one whole sentence to an adult other than me at the party.

And I was in heaven because I had Latin Americans to talk to.

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6 thoughts on “When Cultures Meet”

  1. For the Sabbath, I did a roast chicken with paparika, mayonnaise and marinade. It was too hot for someone. I cooked and did dishes. Either that makes me a feminist or someone who was gloriously single for many years and has no desire to go back to that state.

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  3. I could see the seasoning being too hot for someone — my autistic brain hates even the mildest spicy food, it’s physically painful and sets off my rosacea. But picking off visible seasoning is a bit odd. I’m glad it went well, though.

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    1. I can very much understand not wanting very spicy food. But I’d never serve it anyway because it’s definitely not to everybody’s liking. This was the mildest seasoning but I wanted to have something on the chicken. It’s too bland otherwise.

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