the breakfast special

We were putting together our final update on China yesterday and sorting through our myriad photos, when we realized that we don’t say enough about breakfast in our posts.  Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day and usually one of the first words out of my mouth in the morning (right after coffee).  While traveling in India and Asia, breakfast provided us not only essential nutrition every day, but also a chuckle some mornings. 

In Goa, for example, Aman and I ate a delicious breakfast each day at the beach outside of our awesome dome at the blissfully serene Yab Yum resort. 

Looking back now, these were some pretty awesome mornings.  We would put in our breakfast order the night before, which typically consisted of a request for fresh fruit, homemade bread with butter and jam, some type of eggs (for Aman), and Indian hand-pressed coffee.  In the morning, someone would set everything up at our breakfast table and call towards our dome to let us know that it was ready.  Most mornings we were already awake by the time breakfast was being set up, but we would wait to get out of bed until we heard the gentle noise of glasses and plates clinking outside.  On one morning, however, we were late getting up.  When the breakfast boy called, I popped my head out of the thatched door into the dazzling morning sunlight. 

Okay, thank you, I said with a smile.  We’ll be right there. 

Ma’am, the breakfast boy said.  He looked like he had to run, but he didn’t move from his spot beside the table.  He glanced down helplessly at the table of food he just set, but didn’t say anything else. 

Yes, I am just going to let Aman know it’s ready, I told him.  We’ll be right there. 

Ma’am, the breakfast boy said again.  I can’t stay. 

Okay, this didn’t surprise me, as breakfast hour was quite busy at Yab Yum and I was sure that he had to run another order to someone else’s dome.  Sure, that’s fine, I said as I turned to head back into the dome to get Aman.  We’ll be right there. 

Ma’am, the boy said yet again, this time a little more firmly.  He wore the same helpless look on his face. 

Yes?  I asked, genuinely not understanding what the problem was. 

The boy looked at the food, and then at the sky.  Ma’am, it is noisy this morning. 

Huh?  I thought, as the thought appeared on my face.

It is too noisy this morning, he repeated, reading my confused look. 

I looked at him blankly.  What is he talking about, I thought to myself.  I’m sorry, I said…  He was trying to tell me something, but what was it… 

It is noisy, ma’am…  the birds. 

I stopped and listened, and sure enough he was right.  The crows were particularly loud this morning.  But what did this have to do with anything?  And then I got it.  What he was trying to tell me was that there were a lot of crows nearby, and either he or I needed to stand near the table, otherwise the birds would swoop down and steal my breakfast. 

Ah, I see, I told the boy.  Thank you. 

I walked outside to guard our food, as the boy tore down the beach and back to the kitchen.  I took a seat, started pressing the coffee and called for Aman to come join the crows and me for breakfast.  When he came out, I explained to him that it was noisy this morning.  I smiled when he gave me the same confused look that I had given the breakfast boy minutes earlier.

In Ko Phi Phi, a breakfast buffet was served at the waterfront restaurant of our hotel each morning.  Generally speaking, Aman and I have had great luck with breakfast buffets since starting this trip.  But, Ko Phi Phi was definitely the exception to this trend.  Our first morning in town was a gloriously sunny day.  Aman and I walked to the restaurant to scope out the situation.  The buffet was small, so there were little options.  And what was provided did not look very appetizing.  But it was free, so we decided to give it a shot.  Aman went to speak to a woman making eggs and omelets while I put some bread in the toaster for us.  I poured two cups of coffee and set them down on an empty table.  I grabbed our toast and some butter but, realizing that I would need more than just bread to make it through the morning, I started peeking in the chrome buffet trays.  The least offensive-looking option, I thought, were some roasted potatoes so I put a spoonful or two on my plate.  I walked over to a chrome tray where Aman stood surveying the seasonings for his eggs:  ketchup, chili flakes, salt, etc.   We seasoned accordingly, and sat down to indulge.   I took a sip of my coffee as Aman put a forkful of eggs in his mouth.  The eggs taste sweet here, Aman said as he made a funny face.  I looked at him, at first, not knowing what to say, as I took a forkful of roasted potatoes and, slowly, started to think the same thing.  So do the potatoes, I said slowly.  We looked at each other, in silence, chewing.  I felt a smile coming on, and saw the same look in Aman.  Do you think that salt was sugar, I asked, taking another forkful of potatoes.  Probably, Aman replied, as he dug back into his eggs.  We tried not to laugh as we continued to eat.  Who puts an unmarked jar of sugar next to ketchup and chili flakes on a buffet table, I asked.  Yeah, I didn’t see that one coming, Aman replied.  The next day, we stuck to toast.

When we reached Dalat, we stayed in a really nice hotel with one of the best breakfast buffets that we’ve encountered thus far on this trip.  Hot food, plus all sorts of fresh fruits and vegetables, a variety of cereals and yogurts, cheeses and sliced meats, made-to-order pho and eggs – it was beautiful.  Pleased with our options, Aman got himself involved with an omelet while I put together a ham and cheese sandwich on whole wheat.  The food was so good that we decided to grab some more… breakfasts like this don’t come around everyday, after all.  I went straight for the salad bar.  Perhaps, not your typical breakfast choice, but we were in Dalat, a.k.a. the vegetable capital of Vietnam.  And, besides, I had just eaten a ham and cheese sandwich.  So, I grabbed a clean plate and loaded it with three different types of lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes.  Next to the display of fresh vegetables were three unmarked dishes of salad dressing.  Which one, which one, I thought.  After building such a beautiful salad, it would be a shame to ruin it with the wrong dressing.  Aha, I saw a restaurant employee a few feet away.  Maybe he knows which one is which, I thought.  Excuse me, I said, pointing to the three bowls.  Are these different?  They were obviously different, but I figured I’d start with an easy question to see how much English our man comprehended.  My friend looked at me confused.  These are not the same, no?  I asked.  Perhaps if I rephrased the question…  My friend started to respond to me in Vietnamese.  He lifted a spoonful of dressing from one of the dishes and returned it to the bowl, as he talked up a storm in Vietnamese.  Gesturing as if he were still holding the spoon, he demonstrated how to put a spoonful of dressing on the salad I was holding.  Yes, that’s how we use salad dressing too, I thought.  Thank you, I said with a smile and a sigh.  The man walked away and I saw for the first time that Aman had been standing behind him the entire time watching this scene unfold.  Aman broke out a huge grin and started to laugh uncontrollably.  It’s okay… as long as you find this funny, I said as I grabbed a handful of clean spoons and small cups to start sampling the salad dressings.  In the end, it turned out to be a delicious salad.

  

Another breakfast favorite was Xi’an.  There, we stayed at a cheap hotel that offered a breakfast option (for $3 per person), but the online reviews of the breakfast were really bad.  So we chose to fend for ourselves.  On our first morning in town, we asked the receptionist where we could find something to eat for breakfast.  He didn’t seem to have a clue so we offered some direction.  We want dumplings, Aman explained.  Our guy looked confused.  Dumplings?  Aman asked, making a little round circle with his thumb and his pointer finger.  We knew that the Chinese do not call dumplings, dumplings, but we couldn’t remember what the Mandarin word was…  Another receptionist – who had a far better grasp of English than the colleague we were talking to – came to our rescue, and pointed out a dumpling place right across the street.  Score, we thought, and off we went.  We had no problem finding the place that the receptionist was talking about.

The only problem was that we had no way of knowing which dumpling was stuffed with what.  We certainly didn’t know how to ask.  So we went into observation mode, watching closely as customer after customer came and went.  Was there anyway to tell which dumpling was which?  Was there one dumpling that seemed more popular than others?  Finally, we decided to wing it.  Aman approached the window.  Nihao, he said to the young man behind the corner.  He put up two fingers and pointed to one of the bamboo baskets of dumplings that had just been accessed.  Then, he pointed to another basket and another basket.  Our man handed us a pair of four different types of dumplings in a thin plastic bag, which cost about 50 cents.  We proudly took our purchase back across the street and found a table in the hotel lobby where we down sat to eat our dumpling breakfast, feeling quite smug about our success at closing the dumpling transaction.  The first one we tried was good; it had some type of vegetable in it.  Although Aman didn’t care for it, I thought the second was okay too; it was filled with a paste of sweet potato or yams.  The third one, filled with a bean paste, was not our favorite, and we both passed on it after one bite.  But the last one was stuffed with tender meat and it was delicious.  As we were very hungry that morning, we decided to go another round, focusing strictly on the dumplings we liked.  But, how we would tell our man which ones those were?  The solution:  Aman asked the hotel receptionist to write down “four meat dumpling” and “four vegetable dumpling” in Mandarin.  Aman took the piece of paper back across the street and gave it to the dumpling man, who clearly found this all to be quite amusing.  He smiled as he filled our order and handed another thin plastic bag of eight dumplings to Aman.  Aman paid the man and said, xie xie, as he took his change and, more importantly, the piece of paper that said “four meat dumpling” and “four vegetable dumpling” so that we could order breakfast the next day.  By the third day, we didn’t need the paper – our man knew who we were.

In all, breakfast has been one of the more interesting meals of the day for us.  It’s fun to think how much the typical, local breakfast cuisine has changed from country to country.  In India, we mostly ate parathas (Indian flat bread) or dosas (Indian crepes), whereas, in Vietnam, the daily breakfast was pho (seasoned broth with rice noodles).  And, in China, it was dumplings that started our day, everyday. 

By now, we’ve reached Europe and are waiting to see what becomes the daily favorite.  Jamon baguettes seem to be the early front-runner, but otherwise, we have developed no discernible patterns.  Yesterday morning, for example, Aman ate a leftover lamajeune (Turkish flat bread pizza) from the night before and I had a roasted chicken breast.  Completely random, and I can’t possibly see these becoming a habit…