IT is a part of ancient mercantile tradition, going back in time perhaps to the Three Wise Men, kings who brought with them gold, frankincense and myrrh. Through the ages, be it the intrepid voyagers on the silk route, the Arabs in Gujarat and Malabar, or the Taipans of South-east Asia, hospitality overt, often smothering, has been as holy as the very transaction of money and goods itself. Dancing girls, a whole sheep that rotates gently over a campfire, in the amber glow of which fine carpeting is spread, to sit upon and imbibe mellow wine from goblets of gold and silver. The medieval equivalent, perhaps, of todays fine dining places with their expensive wines, cordon bleu cooking and hushed tones. Fine dining, yes. But all is not cordon bleu. For mores as well as menus change as you traverse the globe.
Take South Africa. I skipped breakfast on the first day of my first visit there, which is why I nodded assent to my hosts suggestion of a three-course meal at lunch. I ought to have looked sharper at him, an extra-large beefy Afrikaner. When the starter arrived, I was nonplussed for a moment, wondering whether they had mixed up my order and served me the main course straight. A lesson well learnt, for prompted by my dislike for food wasted (hark back to childhood exhortations about famines in Ethiopia), I have always attempted, from then on, to locate For the not so hungry on the menu. A single dish from the selection is all I can manage.
South Africa also has the tradition of the brie. You have to be an uncompromising carnivore like me to be able to enjoy these open-air barbecue sessions, chunks of beef, fillets of fish and fat pork sausages dripping with mouthwatering sauces. But even I was surprised the first time around at a local Indian household when, after stuffing myself for over three hours, I was invited inside the house for the real meal, a vast spread of curries and vegetables, with rice and rotis to go with it.
Mauritian cooking, an exotic blend of the European, African and Asian, is best enjoyed with the pearly moonlit sea as a backdrop, sitting back on the soft white sand, a can of cold beer in hand, or still better, a glass of indigenously brewed cane sugar-based white rum, topped up with water on which a slice of freshly cut lime floats. The sea is an inescapable part of life on the island, and it is said in jest that the best time to invade Mauritius is on a Saturday evening when everyone, the Government included, migrates beachwards, partying till the wee hours of the morning.
Dubai offers a culinary range that is diverse and of superior quality. A meal out is always welcome, especially since Islam coexists gracefully with the right wines and liqueurs. Making a choice is often difficult, since, as with goods on sale, just about every country of consequence finds mouthwatering presence: Italy, France,Thailand, Mexico, Lebanon, Sri Lanka, Japan and of course, Pakistan and India. Dinner invitations are more often preferred, so as not to disturb the holy tradition of the afternoon siesta, when most of Dubai snoozes at home between one and four.
There is nothing like a good Thai meal to really get the gastric juices flowing, the genuine item, partaken in one of the cosy eateries off Sukhumvit, Bangkoks main arterial road. Be careful though of what is ordered and served, especially when the menu lists items such as black monkeys brain, dogs, lizards, beetles and snakes. I always enquire after the antecedents of each dish at the risk of causing offence to the host.
A Chinese meal on the mainland is elaborate and the food is entirely unlike its western and Indian imitations. The tastiest part is the starter, a variety of cold meats, each with its own sauce to dip into. Very, very special is Beijing Duck, especially if eaten in the restaurant of the same name in that very city. All three courses served are of the bird itself, the skin, wafer thin and deep fried, for starters, the stock, an excellent clear soup, and the spiced meat that, with rice, makes the main course. But beware all preparations of the Sichuan style, for they thoroughly singed the insides of even a hot-food addict such as me.
Sri Lanka, an indolent, gracious place in the days before the turmoil, is special. On a visit to a small factory, a colleague and I were invited to lunch by the works chief. We accepted and to our consternation not just the profferer of the invitation, but all the management staff, over 15 of them, accompanied us, leaving the factory and workmen to their own wits. Lunch, Hemingway-like, stretched well into early evening, with dozens of beer bottles emptied on the expense account, washing down a sumptuous Chinese meal, unique in that it was cooked in coconut oil.
Lunch in the US is elaborate and time consuming, three martinis each and as many courses. So is it in England, the martinis substituted by tankards of ale. The primary difference is the food. British cuisine is late Stone Age in character, when man had just learnt to roast, boil and smoke large chunks of meat. The British carve the chunks skilfully, though.
Heaven save you if you visit Germany in April or May when the asparagus season is on. With different persons taking you out each time and each one of them singlemindedly devoted to asparagus, you end up gagging on the stuffasparagus soup, asparagus salad, sliced veal and asparagus. The dessert, thankfully, is asparagus free.
In the end, however, after two weeks at a time on the road and all the exotica, it feels good to fly Air India back home, hot dal, spicy meat curry and a tasty dry subzi. And at the end of one round, I look appealingly at the hostess and she is kind and serves me a generous second helping.
