Mea culpa

"I converted for the food," says my roommate as he wolfs down another bite of salmon during our annual fish luncheon, at our local parish. I know where he is coming from. I didn't become Orthodox for the amazing meals after church, but they certainly did not stand in my way. There is an added advantage if one is a skinny bachelor in that every old lady in the church wants to send me home with leftovers. It would be inhospitable for me to decline.

At our parish in Modesto (St. James'), most of the meals were standard, Californian fare. It was all very good, but it was familiar. Since moving to Portland (St. George's), we have discovered the wonders of Lebanese cuisine. The after-church lunch is not as regular, most Sundays providing an assortment of pastries, bagels, or cookies, but once in a while some meticulous old woman decides to bring something amazing. I don't have names for everything, or really for anything except kibbeh, usually a meat-based patty (it doesn't sound like much, but I'd give you my big toe for some of that right now). I usually just see something rolled-up or folded-up and I grab it. There is almost always a crust to it, so biting into it is like biting into a soft fortune cookie.

Living in Portland provides an array of cuisines from which to choose. There are, of course, your all-American joints, Italian restaurants, and French restaurants, but add to that the Lebanese, Vietnamese, Thai, vegan, Cuban, and (I am told) Eritrean, and you have enough to keep you busy. We lack a lot of good, Mexican options, but I live a block from the best Mexican stand in town, so it doesn't matter to me. While here, I have eaten everything from squid to alligator to Che Guevara (a vegan burrito), and I have loved it all.

This evening, I was standing in church, waiting for things to get started. An older gentleman, Rajid, walks up to me and starts shooting the breeze in his broken English (not bad for this, his third language after Arabic and French). He finally says to me, "we should get lunch together - you and me. What is your favorite food? We will have your very favorite food. What is it?"

"Actually, I like all kinds of food," which was a little untrue if you factor-in British food. "All kinds!"

"No, no, but what is your favorite?"

"Well, really, I love friend chicken."

I can't reproduce, in words, the heartbreak that drained the smile from his face.

"But it is so simple," he replied.

"What can I say? I come from a family of southerners."

"Maybe someday you will learn to like Lebanese food."