Greetings from the other side of the world.
It’s been a good week, although the days seem to run
together. I though Friday was Sunday, Saturday was Tuesday. What day it is
doesn’t really matter though. Except Sundays. I get to sleep in a little bit
and go to work a little later. Then there’s church in the evening. It’s Palm
Sunday today, the start of the most holy week, so I’ll be extra sure not to
miss it.
On this Palm Sunday I am thinking about my family too. Every
year, on Palm Sunday or Easter, for the past 7 years or so, my grandmother has
treated our family to a large lunch at this restaurant and Inn near my
hometown.
To say the meals are delectable is an understatement. They
are simply the best meals I’ve ever eaten.
This year, I’ll miss the warm
popovers with lemon curd and the special Sunday menu the chef
prepares. Last
year it was ostrich tenderloin for me. Other years I’ve had bison steak, duck, and
lamb. The lobster bisque has chunks of meat floating in it. I’ve never
forgotten a meal we’ve eaten there.
The building is an old historic landmark with fireplaces in
every room. When we start going, it was only a handful of us: my grandmother (Mom
Mom), my parents, sister, my aunt and uncle, and my great uncle. I’ve brought a
friend before, a fellow Marine, and my sister brought a couple people from time
to time too. But, the immediate family has certainly grown over the last
several years.
My sister got married. Then the next year, her first born
was there. Then I got married. Then we had a child. Then my sister had another
baby. This year will be our 9-month-old Timothy’s first time. Next year, my
sister will have another one. We’ve grown so much as a family, they have to
give us a whole room to ourselves. It’s probably better that way too. We like
to laugh.
I’ll miss it this year. It may be “Southern cooking day” at
the chow hall today – which means some kind of boiled meat slathered in BBQ
sauce – but it doesn’t hold a candle to the pheasant my wife says she’s going
to have this year. Ohh, and crème brule. They have the best crème brule.
Of course, the time there isn’t just about amazing food. It’s
about amazing time with family. The conversations and the time spent with them are
just as memorable. I miss them all dearly, and my thoughts and prayers are with
them constantly.
But, since this post has become more of a foodie blog today,
I’m going to continue that trend to recap the highlight of my week: lunch with
Afghans.
Every week at this forward operating base I’m now at we get
to break bread with our Afghan National Army counterparts. They host the meal.
And it’s authentic.
We walked over their compound where they escorted us into
their chow hall – three long rows of benches with a huge spread on the tables.
Each place setting had real silverware and plates (the chow hall is paper and
plasticware). In the middle were silver platters piled high with spiced rice
and baskets of fried potatoes. Little bowls of what I’m almost positive was
goat meat were laid out for each person. And there was orange soda. Afghans seem
to love their soft drinks.
That lunch was the best food I’ve eaten since getting here.
The conversation with our Afghans was a little difficult,
having to speak through interpreters, but the non-verbal communication said it
all. They love having us here. They are truly grateful for the attention and
help we’re giving them. Yes, our cultures are completely different. Yes, we do
things differently. But, there is a mutual connection of making this place
better than it was 10 years ago.
The Afghans who serve are extremely patriotic and proud of
what they do. They see their service, just like us who wear a U.S. uniform, as
a privilege and an honor. Afghans are not bad people. The insurgents who fight us
and torment the citizens of this country are. Most Afghans don’t want them
around either. And many are proving that by wearing the military uniform of
their country.
I’ve known this for a while. I don’t just read the news
reports from mainstream media. I seek out the other news, and I see the other
side of the story firsthand.
Don’t believe me? Come to Afghanistan and see for yourself.
And have a meal with them.
Whether it’s with family or with complete strangers –
nothing unifies a group of people and creates wonderful memories quite like
sitting down at a table full of food and eating together.
