Nothing tastes the same when you live abroad. Almost nothing.
Occasionally you find that one food that tastes exactly the same as home. Same seasonings, consistency, everything.
You might think this has improved with globalization and the rise of the multinational food companies. It has not.
When E was pregnant in New York, she only found one food that tasted of Sweden – cheap fish fingers.
I usually don’t have a problem with this. But I have been teased then disappointed twice now in two days.
Both days, I went for walks at lunch, only to be drawn impulsively to the food court at the Kista mall.
Yesterday, I tried a chicken taco from Taco Bar, the only thing Sweden has that resembles Taco Bell. The first bite held promise. But then the seasoning was off. And the chicken was not grilled, but sort of boiled and covered by very un-Taco Bell-like sauce.
Then today, I got a falafel pita. And the first bite evoked New York City at the turn of the milennium. Had I finally found a replacement for my beloved falafel shop on Broadway?
Well, maybe. What was that purple thing?
Beets? Ummm, that’s not like New York.
And what was that tang? Oh, the veggies are all pickled.
I had trouble finishing it.