As many of you know, I love food. I don't know if I am a foodie exactly, because I wouldn't say my love of food is refined. I like it all. From every part of the world. A few years ago, when I was contemplating adopting from a number of countries (China? India? Ethiopia?), a friend of mine joked that I was choosing my child's country of origin based on my food preferences. Maybe because my own heritage is English, she went on, I felt a desperate need create a family with at least some culinary proficiency. Although I still maintain that some English food is good (Shepherd's Pie is the best comfort food of all time), I admit that I fell in love with my husband partially for his family's Greek cooking. And, I guess I did not hate the idea of simply having to learn to cook Chinese food for my son who still prefers Chinese cuisine over anything else, and who has a huge appetite. Oh, the sacrifices.
So, I was very excited to go to China for the first time -- mostly because of meeting my son, but a distant second was the thrill of exploring the food. Would it be like the Chinese food we get here? How is it different in different parts of China? What would be my favorite meal? (I really spend a lot of time thinking about these kind of things...) But, alas, the irony: I was pregnant with Peter. In my first trimester. And very, very nauseous. I didn't want to eat anything except grilled cheese, the only thing that sounded good to me at the time. I became that American that walks around in a foreign country searching for grilled cheese! I hate those people!
So, watch out, China. I am not pregnant this time, and I am very very hungry. Nicholas and I are going to do some damage.
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