One of the unknowns when we venture into another culture is what we will eat. We have never starved. But sometimes, the cultural norm is outside our Midwest American foodscape. I tend to be a more adventurous eater, but I don’t like meat. My husband is a meat and potatoes guy, but is easier to please with fast food and traditional meals. What we look for in food adventures while traveling are usually on opposite ends of the food spectrum. Compromise is often required.

In Japan, we find ourselves gravitating to restaurants with traditional meals of both fish and meats like chicken or beef. Each of us can have a protein of choice served with miso soup, a pickled vegetable, and plenty of rice. Both of us leave full. I may have fish eggs and wasabi. He leaves with his fill of fried chicken or maybe seared pork.

There are wonderful surprises along the way. In a mountain rest house along a trail, I have a traditional plum compote. It is an ume fruit in a sweet bean paste cooked in a sweet syrup. When in Japan, I think you have to try to local delicacies. My husband sticks with the ice cream. Why mess with what you like? We each leave happy.

In a Tokyo museum, we have tea in an interactive setting. Sitting in a dark room, flower blossoms are superimposed on our tea through the magic of technology. When we pick up our cup, the blossoms whirl and the petals scatter in beautiful rings. The tea is divine, but the artistry is breathtaking. Chrysanthemums and cherry blossoms are now permanently linked with tea in my memory.

On Takeshita street and again in a Tokyo mall, we splurge on dessert crepe. The crepe is rolled into a cone and filled with crème, brownies, ice cream, fruit, cheesecake and other goodies. It is decadent and so rich we have to share for risk of a sugar coma.

Seeking a hefty meal, we visit a traditional steak house. The restaurant was in an ordinary neighborhood and served working class men on their lunch hour. My son and husband are excited to have some steak. I am just along for the ride (and the only female on the premises).

The waiter brings us giant bibs with our silver wear. A little while later the cook comes out and tells us to put on the bibs so they can bring our food. He seems pretty insistent so we dutifully put on our bibs that cover our entire torso. I find it comical, until……

The food comes out on red hot cast iron plates. The food cooks on our plates in front of us. The meat sizzles and pops. The bib is a first line of defense from searing grease and boiling sauce. Suddenly I understand. What seems strange is really quite practical.

Adventures in eating are really cultural discovery. Over the years, I have come to appreciate my expanded horizons. I have ritual food frenzies based on where we are. In Ireland, I must have Banoffee pie, fish and chips, Guiness stew and Tayto’s. In Italy, I need truffle pasta, tiramisu, and Gorgonzola. In Portugal a meal is not complete without a form of codfish and Sangria. And so it goes… I am a few pounds heavier and a whole lot richer for our adventures in eating.