Simply James

How going abroad in college made me realise just how little my friends and I know about food.

As I touched down in Stockholm in January for the beginning of my six-month Erasmus, I felt more than confident in my cooking ability. I had ‘the essentials’ as they’re known in Ireland. I could cook pasta, lardons, pesto and rice to perfection, and maybe a nice fry up every so often. Fionn, who arrived with me, was in the same boat.

I decided to steer clear of potatoes, chicken, and most of all vegetables because those foods always seemed like a lot of effort at home. I was well able, though, all I needed was ‘the essentials.’ Yet, as the days went on, more and more dirty looks were being shot in my direction as I cooked in our communal kitchen. A look of disgust at what was formulating on the simmering pan.

The Italians that lived next door decided to have a gang of us over for dinner about one week into our stay, branded ‘Italian night.” Fionn and I didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t any kind of pre drinks or party, which confused us at first, it was just dinner and a few beers. A concept that took time getting used to, especially considering we’re a bunch of 21-year-olds.

The dinner they produced was amazing. There was pasta, lasagne, bread, sauces, salad and olive oil. All served with love and pride. Then my Parisian neighbours hosted ‘French night’. They fed us bread, all kinds of cheese, ham, crackers, marmalade and an organic red wine. “Organic wine makes the cheese taste nicer”, they said. Trying to seem cultured, I’d nod along in agreement, but really I was baffled.

It was a revelation, these college students really cared about how their food tasted and how it was presented. At college, and I’m sure my fellow students would agree, eating was always just to fill your stomach, nothing more. I couldn’t believe it.

Don’t get me wrong, I have been exposed to these foods before. It seemed like every day my mother was trying to get me to taste new foods growing up, whether it was her homemade banana cake or something new from the English Market. But it never dawned on me to buy those foods myself, the likes of olives and tzatziki were always either in the fridge or I wouldn’t eat them, simple. Yet these Europeans rack up thirty euro in the vegetable aisle alone.

The prospect of an ‘Irish night’ was then thrown out there, and I instantly knew I was in trouble. They’d ask, “what are we having for Irish night James”, or “what’s the typical Irish meal you can cook for us?” There I was, enjoying all their exquisite food and once Irish night was mentioned I panicked.

Rather than hosting Irish night and feeding overcooked pasta and lardons to these food connoisseurs, I choose to ignore the idea as much as I could until it eventually faded in their memory.

My dear mum was traumatised at the thought of her son shying away from cooking for his friends, and it resulted in her sending me what seemed like the incredibly detailed instructions of cooking roast beef, potatoes and vegetables. While I sent back a thank you message, I knew in my heart of hearts that it wasn’t going to happen. Cooking a meal like that for ten people, I just didn’t have it in me, it wasn’t possible.

My next ‘food’ experience on erasmus came when the Italians strolled into the kitchen while I was cooking my beloved pasta, you’d never have guessed. I began to sprinkle everyday salt on the pasta, but that was my first mistake. The Italians proceeded to tell me that I should never put small salt on pasta, only large granules to keep the flavour. “What?”, I thought. Pasta was my only dish, a dish that never disappointed. They were picking apart the one dish I believed I had mastered. But, sure enough, I took their advice and haven’t stopped using it since.

Then they asked, “what are you having it with James?”. On that particular day I was feeling adventurous and decided to mix a tomato sauce with tuna. So I proudly told them, hoping they’d be impressed, but my proposed meal was met with laughter. The Italians were amused that I was cooking fusilli, a type of pasta, with tuna. Again, mind blown. I had never chosen a pasta depending on what it’s being served with. I liked fusilli because it was easy to pick up with a fork, but that’s it. All I could think about was poor mother, helpless at the thought of me looking like a food virgin over here in Sweden, while at the same time sending me recipes for bacon and cabbage. It’s every Irish mammies worst nightmare.

Another strange experience was our first communal ‘pre-drinks’ as they’re called. Fionn and I, yet again, didn’t know what to expect, so we thought “we’ll just go with some Captain Morgan and a few cans so we don’t make a show of ourselves.” What can go wrong? But what we were met with truly stumped us. We were greeted with bowls of olives, cheese and crackers.

Never have I been to any form of pre- drinks that served olives. The best we’d get back home is a few packets of Doritos, and that’s nearly too much. Fionn, like many of us, winced at the thought of chasing a slug of Captain Morgan with a few olives, so we just drank our beer and headed into the city.

They always ask me what food I miss the most in Ireland, and my response is potatoes, which confused them greatly. “Why don’t you just cook potatoes,” they’d ask. Of course, they seem like a straight-forward food to cook, but there is just something about them. Firstly, you have to decide how to cook them, then peel them, then what to have them with, it’s just all a bit too much. Again, mother had sent me in-depth cooking instructions for potatoes, but it was just too big a mountain to climb.

Three months later, it’s more or less the same. Once a week I treat myself to steak, mushrooms, onions and hash browns (easy to throw in the oven), but other than that it’s strictly pasta. Even last week, I bought lovely chicken skewers and beef for a barbecue, but I knew my inhibited cooking ability would ruin the good meat. So, when the Italians, who were in their element, asked me if I wanted them to cook my meat on the barbecue, I swallowed my pride and said yes. It was for the greater good.

Eating Haribo’s and crisps at night has been substituted, albeit against my will, for vegetables and crackers with tzatziki. All of these years my mother trying to get me to taste foods and ‘expand my taste buds’, and within months of meeting Europeans I’m finally listening. Although I’m still primarily cooking ‘the essentials’, the vegetables are definitely being cut a lot thinner.