Let’s talk food

As previously mentioned, my language skills are mythical rather than legendary.  So I am indebted to a chap called Nigel, who we travelled with on a previous visit to Bulgaria, for the following top tip for ordering easy food in cafes where you don’t know the language.

What you do, is to master the local phrase for “a cheese sandwich please” (fortunately this happens to be my all-time favourite food, it is probably my Desert Island Discs Luxury).  And then you say the phrase and smile.

Either a) you get a cheese sandwich.  Result!

Or b) (more likely) the person the other side of the bar says yada yada yada pollywog pollywog?  Which almost certainly means “alas we don’t do a cheese sandwich but we do this local alternative which I am sure Madam will find most acceptable”.  And so you reply “Yes please! Smile nod or locally appropriate gesture.”  And something turns up which Douglas Adams would describe as almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a cheese sandwich.  And the good news is, for those of us of a conservative food disposition, that it is not like the item that Bill Bryson’s waiter saved him from ordering: “It is, how you say, what ze little cow thinks wiz.”

Anyway we started off this trip with a determination to sample the local specialities, to the extent that we even ate Indonesian in Amsterdam and Sid seems to have eaten his own weight in Viener Schnitzels.  We’ve eaten many mystery German sausages and quite a lot of stuff in Hungary that was that give-away bright red colour that proudly proclaims “Paprika* involved here”.  And we have not yet had Indian or Chinese and even not many pizzas.  We might not tell you when we do.

BTW tonight we were recommended a fish restaurant by the river in Dunfoldvar which did a splendidly red “kettle stew of catfish”.  It was also served with a bright red bib, so that splashes would not mark the Sid And Doris Epic Journey clothing forever.  Actually, if you are ever offered the opportunity to eat catfish, there might be something nicer on the menu, including how you say, what ze little cow thinks wiz.

*Which also reminds me that sadly for you, gentle reader, we have foregone the opportunity to visit the World’s Only Paprika Museum in Kalosca.  Apparently it tells you everything there is to know about paprika.  Hmm.  That reminds me of the story about the little boy who was interested in penguins, and his parents bought him the biggest ever book all about penguins.  And he read it very solemnly and said to them “I now know more than I wanted to know about penguins”.  Sid and Doris agreed that actually they probably already knew at least 90% of everything they wanted to know about paprika (It’s red.  It’s a spice.  It grows in Hungary), so it wasn’t worth a 6km detour in the boiling sun.