Pickled Nutmeg

Our first Thankgiving in Malaysia, with chairs borrowed from new neighbors...and no pickled nutmeg on the menu.

When you're growing up overseas, your new community tends to take great joy in introducing you to new foods. And, nearly everything was new. I mean, we were Michiganders. At this point in my life, the only time I'd tasted a papaya was when Mom decided to combine homeschooling and grocery shopping and buy a tropical fruit for the experience of it. Just weeks after our arrival in Malaysia, some uncles and aunties took us out for a meal. We enjoyed the meal and the drinks, but one uncle decided that we needed a little more to eat, and bought a big bag of pickled nutmeg and started handing out pieces to all of us.

Some people like pickled nutmeg. My siblings and I didn't. In fact, we couldn't really force ourselves to consume it. We were grateful that the lively conversation going on between our parents and the uncles and aunties meant that no one was paying very close attention to us, and we began to start hiding pieces of pickled nutmeg in crumpled-up napkins, or under a pile of chicken bones on a plate. We took great pleasure in sneakily making it appear as if the entire first order of pickled nutmeg had disappeared.

When offered a 2nd round, we all claimed that we were already excessively full.

Later in the day, the same uncle taught us how to suck the nectar out of a particular kind of flower which is common in this region--and for dinner he ordered us a large plate of ostrich in black pepper sauce. I've always wondered if he was just joking about the ostrich--it tasted like normal mystery meat to me.

{This is Day 3 in my Write 31 Days series: 31 Days of Growing Up in Malaysia}