pillar at the WWII memorial in Washington, D.C.
Washington, D.C. – May 2008-May 2009
I was informed in January of 2008 that I would be going to Washington, D.C. in support of a homeland security operation. We will leave out the details of the work aspect and focus on the sheer culture shock that I experienced. Let’s do some comparison and contrast between our nation’s capital and the Pine Belt. At home, when I had the spare time, I would stop on my way to work at the only convenience store within 15 miles in either direction and have coffee with whoever happened to be doing the same. It didn’t matter who it was because everybody knows everybody. I tried this only once in D.C. I walked to the 7-11 that was literally spitting distance from my apartment and expulsed a cup of a dark liquid that Yankees try to pass off as coffee from a machine that looked nothing like a Mr. Coffee or a Bunn-O-Matic. There were no chairs to sit in so I walked slowly back to the register to buy time for a chance to strike up a conversation with someone. I was surprised to say the least. Every time I offered a “Good morning, sir/ma’am”, the women clutched their purse a little tighter and the men looked at me like I was chewing on the half-rotted carcass of a 60mph possum. Needless to say, I bought a coffee pot for my apartment the very same day.
In Mississippi, you will receive a “thank you” or at least a nod when you take the time to hold a door open for someone with a child in tow, a person laden with groceries, or anyone for that matter. I was actually yelled at when holding the door open for a middle-aged woman that lived in my apartment building. I was told that there was no need for me to offer my assistance to any able-bodied person that can do it for themselves. I forgot for a moment that my ancestors would haunt me should I be a contributor to the death of chivalry, so I nonchalantly let the elevator door close in her face as she walked from her mail bin to the elevator. You just can’t please some people.
Now to talk about the best part of the National Capital Region aside from the monuments and historical aspects. The food. I have never been the closed-minded type that would turn his nose up at anything set before him. My father had a very simple saying that trained me to be the way that I am today when it comes to food. “Your mama took the time to cook it. You’re gonna eat it. If it wasn’t fit to eat, nobody would take the time to cook it” He would say. It didn’t matter what it was. My father was an avid hunter and unless the animal was a pest that threatened crops or livestock, he harvested it for food. (This is a completely different subject for a different time, so stay tuned.) Thanks to my dad, I am apt to try almost any food. Washington, D.C. is home to a plethora of nationalities. You can find restaurants that complement them all.
My first time to eat sushi was in D.C. I don’t mean that garbage that the Chinese restaurant in Waynesboro tries to pass off as sushi, I mean real sushi made by real Japanese ninjas. I found out that if the food is good enough raw, there is no need to cook it. The tuna would have to be my favorite. I don’t know how to describe it. It is a fish that doesn’t taste like fish. Sashimi, crunchy, spicy, it doesn’t matter. When I was growing up, tuna only came in a can, it wasn’t ever classified as fish, and the only way to eat it was to mix it with mayo, boiled eggs, and sweet pickle relish. (I’m sure that if the word got out that tuna in a can is actually fish, someone back home is going to get really frustrated trying to batter and fry it.) The word “sushi” is just a Japanese word that means “rice with vinegar”. There are many people the south that truly believe that sushi is nothing more than raw fish. It’s a shame that they will never choose to experience the flavor of a tempura-fried soft shell crab with rice and nori with a hint of ginger and wasabi.
Sushi is one of the many ethnic foods that I was able to sample during my visit to Washington, D.C. I found myself being drawn to foods that I had never thought of trying before. My eyes were opened. I felt compelled to try everything from Afghan to Ethiopian to Thai. I enjoyed being let out of the culinary and cultural cage that I had been in for the past 28 years of my life. Little did I know that I would actually be able to visit some of the origins of these delightful dishes very soon. Y’all take care.
