Spoiled Rotten

I used to complain about cafeteria food on my small college campus. It upset my stomach, they weren’t serving what I was in the mood for, it smelled funny, and the list goes on. We are required by Kalamazoo College to live on campus for nearly three full years before unleashing us into, another United States city for a study-away program, or like in my case, another country for study-abroad. Two days in Hungary and the ease of that cafeteria was a far-off dream.

  I had studied and written about Hungarian culture for months before traveling to Budapest. I knew things about Communism, battles they’d lost, that it was strange to smile at strangers, not to hail a cab on the street, but rather to call ahead. What else did I need to know? 

  One thing. Many fewer people speak English than anticipated. No “crash course” in Hungarian had been provided by Kalamazoo College, the academic portion of the program was to be taught solely in English. These as well as two visits to a rural French town where many or most spoke English indicated to me that many people in Hungary would also speak English. I was traveling to Europe after all.

Wrong. While many Hungarians between 15-30 speak English, many of those whom are employees of the supermarkets do not. 

Day one: jet lag.

Day two: tackle Hungarian daily life.

  Our dorms in Hungary came equipped with a full kitchen. Stove top, full size refrigerator and accompanying freezer - much much more than what I had experienced in my two years of dorm life at K. It was finally time to tackle cooking. At school in the past I’d gone grocery shopping on several occasions of course, but never for food that would be cooked anywhere other than my microwave. At home, meals were often bought or cooked for my younger sister and I. This alongside the impatience of both parents to pass on any skill at cooking they’d acquired over their 40 some years has left Hannah and I fairly inadequate in a kitchen setting. 

     Crazy as it may seem, learning to cook for the first time on your own is not made easier by living in a foreign country where not only can you not understand labels, but certain elements of a gleaming US superstore are missing in a Hungarian corner market.

     Vegetables and fruits were easy. Bread was easy, although I did try a few different types as I wanted to try many, and in America bread typically lasts a week or two. Cheese was difficult, all of the names were different, and I am not such a guru that I can decide which I want based on texture or color. Meat to some degree you know the look of, but when "csirke" means turkey rather than chicken, things tend to get a little messy. Cognates don't quite exist in Hungarian. All sauces, chips, crackers, soups, yogurts, etc. were a toss up. 

  Another poor American habit, or perhaps a Peterson bad habit is to grocery shop til’ we drop. Almost always, we tend to leave the grocery store with a car load. (Thanks to preservatives for not allowing us to go bankrupt). My Hungarian shopping experience was no different.

While the corner market, Spar, was without a cart to fully load, I managed to drag an overflowing basket to the checkout counter. Spending a whole lot too much, and realizing too late grocery bags and groceries were not a package deal in Hungary, I managed to cause quite the stir in basic English and hand gestures. We communicated “plastic bag” with a point accompanied with a carrying motion similar to cradling a baby. Another charge of the credit card and I was off with four or five plastic bags full of fruits, vegetables, cheese, mystery meat, and anything else I didn’t need to understand the label for. (Thank God I have no food allergies!)

People stared as I climbed the steep hill toward my dorm building. Carrying the several “Spar” bags - still naive to the cool of carrying an H&M bag rather than a plain grocery store bag - I was blissfully unaware of the mistakes I had made.

Three days later everything spoiled.

Another misconception. Hungarian food is not packed with preservatives or chemicals to extend their shelf lives or plump them up. Hungarians rather make several trips to the market per week, buying only what they are sure they will cook within a day or two.

After that first trip I got better and better at deciphering what was good, what I could consume within a day or two, and names of certain products with the help of Hungarian friends. I also learned what I was able to cook with what means I was given.

  I can make a mean omelet and hash brown breakfast ... lunch ... and dinner! Becoming an independent adult is a work-in-progress, right?