A culinary journey
In a foreign country, where I don’t know anyone, keeping busy is the only way to stay sane. Battling the constant rain has been an issue, but Sunday began nice enough, so I ventured out to SM City for my weekly haircut, and another brawl with the Filipina Ric Flair that the Riviera Spa calls a “massage”.
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I don’t fit in here. I mean, that was a given before I came over here. I’m a born and bred central Canadian, armed with southern US spirit. Against the backdrop of the Philippines, I am a total fish out of water. Of course, I didn’t realize I quite literally didn’t fit.
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The day started out innocently enough. Alone in a strange country over 10,000 miles from home, I decided to follow what has become part of a Sunday routine and get a haircut.
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In late June, I was surprised with the offer of a lifetime from my employer: help with our international expansion, and you get to live in the Philippines for the next few months. I had been waiting years for this kind of opportunity to come along, and after a consultation with my wife, I accepted.
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My wife is Polish, her grandmother an immigrant, coming to Canada shortly after the second world war. Her family has maintained their roots, and are proud of their heritage. When I met her, I was introduced to a wide world of Polish cuisine that I not only had never eaten, but in a lot of cases wasn’t even aware of. Now, I anticipate every Wigilia when I’m given the chance to eat my weight in mushroom naleśniki, and pierogi.
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Montreal style bagels. Just hearing those words is often enough to get even the pickiest eater’s mouth watering. It’s a Canadian staple; a heavy savory bread, wood fired, and served fresh. When done right, there’s nothing better.
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