So we have found ourselves at number three in the top five best moments from our Balinese honeymoon. And this one is particularly memorable because it finds me spitting partially chewed food into lovely Indonesian vegetation. Let’s proceed.
The food. When I was growing up, I wasn’t known for having much of an eclectic palette, though I could authoritatively tell you the nuanced differences between Jiff Crunchy Peanut Butter and the generic store-bought brand, so I had my niche. Also, I may have taken the record for the most consecutive days spent eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sort of still hold a grudge against my parents for not checking with the Guinness people and getting this family the notoriety we all so deeply deserved.
Anyway, exploring different cultural food wasn’t something I started to do until my 20s, but once I dove in, I dove in. I mean, I should still be your go-to guide for the best places to eat a Chicken Caesar Salad in the country, but I also mix it up with food using more than three ingredients and have even gotten CB to branch out a bit himself.
However, in the months leading up to our trip, we’d get asked what kind of food was indigenous to the area and when I started reading about it, I decided maybe not to share my findings with CB. Mainly because then I’d have to travel to Bali alone and that would make for a sad honeymoon. Though, there would still be Putra.
Anyway, what I read about Indonesian food was right up my alley – a little bit of Indian, a little bit of Thai, and a twist that was all their own. This was going to be awesome. CB, on the other hand, was a little less convinced. Turns out he knows how to use Google and figured out that his best friend Cumin and its sidekick Coriander were staples in pretty much everything served. So obviously he was psyched.
Sidebar: Did we know that coriander and cilantro were basically the same thing? Right, I didn’t either. And I’m mild-to-very allergic to cilantro. So this was an interesting discovery.
Nonetheless, we dove right in. From our first night in Bali to our second to last day, we said yes to pretty much anything. We ate everything from a boiled chicken sans its head (which I’m still convinced was just detached from its body moments before it arrived on my plate), to some suckling pig, rice, and additional mystery meat thrown in for good measure. Delicious fruit, incredible coffee, more carbs than you could shake a stick at, and the experience of saying “Sure, I’ll try that!” and going for it. We were all in.
However, by day seven or eight, CB called a time out. As we were walking in town one night after dinner, we decided to stop and get some gelato. I don’t remember what flavor mine was, but it was fine. It was gelato.
CB, on the other hand, got some delicious mango gelato and immediately freaked* (*I am taking dramatic license here. I know when CB reads this he will say he didn’t freak. But take a look at the conversation below – does he sound like a well man to you? Exactly.)
CB: “I can taste the cumin.”
Me, rolling my eyes: “There is no cumin in your mango gelato.”
CB: “I swear to God, Beck, there is.”
Me: “There’s not.”
CB: “Taste it!”
And so I did.
Me: “It tastes like mango gelato. It’s delicious.”
CB: “With cumin.”
Me: “You’ve officially lost your mind.”
CB: “I think the taste and smell of cumin is ingrained in my nostrils or something and so it taints everything I eat.”
Me: “You’re definitely tainted, that’s true.”
CB: “How do you not taste it?!”
Me: “Because I’m normal and rational and know that there’s not cumin in your mango gelato. You’ve gone ‘round the bend.”
Me: “You better brace yourself because we have your sister’s special dinner in two days and I guarantee it’s going to be full blown Indonesian.”
CB: “It’s like you’re threatening me.”
Me: “I’m not threatening you, I’m just saying. We’re in Indonesia…I’m guessing our special dinner will be something local.”
Let me back up. You see, CB’s sister gave us this lovely gift for our honeymoon in the form of a romantic dinner at our resort. We had our own little tented villa off of the main restaurant, right next to the Koi pond, lit only by candles and adorned with flowers. It was quite fancy and we got all dressed up for the occasion.
However, as the dishes began to roll in, I started to get this sensation in my mouth that I was being poisoned.
Me: “Is there cilantro in here?”
CB: “I don’t think so, no.”
Me: “But I’m starting to get tingly. I think I ate cilantro or something. I’ve actually felt this a few times while we’ve been here and I usually just stop eating whatever it is. But I think I maybe didn’t stop in time.”
CB, staring over at my plate: “Oh wait….what’s this?”
And then he picked up a leafy substance that slightly resembled cilantro.
Me: “I think I put that in my mouth.”
CB: “Are you feeling ok? You look a little pale.”
Me: “No, I think my throat is going to close! It’s still in my mouth!”
CB: “Then spit it out!”
Me: “We’re at a romantic dinner! I can’t spit my food out!”
CB: “Either spit it out or we figure out if I know how to do proper resuscitation!”
Me, panicking: “Oh my God, it’s starting to itch and burn!”
CB, as we see the waiter come around the corner towards our table: “Hurry! He’s coming!”
Me: “Oh my God we’re going to get kicked out! Your sister is going to kill me!”
And with that, I turned around, spit into a plant, wiped my brow from the panic-sweat, and greeted the waiter with a guilty smile because I couldn’t tell if he saw me spit my meal into the shrubbery. Luckily, he was too polite to say anything if he did, and so we waited until he left to completely melt down.
CB: “Remember when you’ve been making fun of me all week for not liking the food and then you spit it out right in front of our nice waiter? You’re so rude.”
Me: “I hate you.”
CB, laughing: “This is the most romantic meal I’ve ever had.”
Me: “I can’t believe I almost got poisoned in Bali.”
CB, still laughing, getting way too much enjoyment out of this: “I can’t believe you’re so rude that you just spit your food out into the landscaping. If you didn’t like it you just didn’t have to eat it.”
Me: “I should’ve spit it at you.”
And that, my friends, is how you do date night on your honeymoon.
|Pre-poisoning. Also, that bush to my|
left never stood a chance.