Travel and Taste
From the Gourmande Edition
This piece appears in the Gourmande Edition of Cassiopeia, written by the lovely Juliana Sakr, and photographed by our very own Gizelle Sakr. You can find more from Juliana here, and more from Gizelle here.
Prior to October last year there were two things I was afraid of — birds and travelling.
Why do I fear birds? Well it’s kind of unexplainable. Maybe I’m jealous because they can fly at any given moment and I can’t, yet they still insist on walking in circles around my feet, waiting for me to drop some crumbs.
As for traveling, I had sworn against it for life. I made this oath to myself when I was 12 years old. On that fateful day, I was headed for Disneyland Paris with my family and friends, and when we arrived they got off the train while the doors started to close in front of me, leaving me behind. Due to this experience I would deny every chance to leave the country or even take a train unless I had to. But, I arrived at the stage where I was about to step into my twenties and my comfort zone was suffocating me. I heard myself asking for something new, something that would make me scared. The feeling of being comfortable was growing into a fear itself.
During my time travelling I would catch myself becoming anxious and then healing that anxiety with gratitude for what was in front of me. The first time I remember doing this, there was a plate presented in front of me holding a variety of fresh pastries in Sweden. When I took the first bite into the cardamom pastry I had immediate flashbacks to when I had tasted the essences of the small pod. Every bite I’d take of my Dad’s signature Kabsa and how I dreaded accidentally catching a cardamom pod in my mouthful. The annoying pod was bitter, floral, earthy and inconvenient to chew on its own. Still without it, the dish would be unfamiliar, lacking the abundant and grounding taste that ties the entire dish together.
I am shit-scared of birds. From magpies to the occasional tiny sparrow. While in Stockholm, I visited a cafe called ‘Pascal’ and there were a few of those small brown birds by my table. If I was back home I probably would’ve ran out. But in Stockholm while tasting the flavours of those pastries I told myself “yes I am afraid, but I would much rather be trembling in Stockholm with this pastry in my hand than back home eating something I’ve had countless times”. So I told myself I was just cold and took another bite. The surprise of the pistachio-filled pastry spoke louder than anything else and I swear I reached a new dimension with every bite. Don’t even get me started on the cinnamon pastry, it tasted like an episode of Gilmore Girls where the lalalalas are playing.
From that moment on, the squealing aversion to the occasional pigeon would not impact me and the opposing voice demanding that I should’ve stayed home got quieter. I realised food is familiarity. The taste in the travel was a gentle reminder of “you’ve faced this before”. I was grateful I’d faced fears. Taste is powerful enough to heal. If you had told me on that train years ago that taste lingers, traces of it follow you back home and it becomes immortal, I would have believed you and a little more in myself. Gratitude for the food on your plate makes every bad day better. I can’t ever be in that cafe again with that same fear again. Flavours, whether sweet or savoury, remain sacred. Taste helps you face fears.