Adventures in food

I've been to the grocery store a couple times, to pick up a few things: milk, bread, tea, yogurt--basically comfort food, right? Today I actually went for a big haul, and since it was raining, the driver took me. I ditched out on the office midafternoon (I finished proofreading my article and sent it off, and started a draft of the book review, so I was feeling all entitled) and went to what was presented to me by the housemates as the big, fancy grocery store. It was indeed in a fancy neighborhood; Jubilee Hills is the Bel Air of Hyderabad. No goats or cow pastures there. All glass store fronts with a few small stalls mixed in. Yes, some coconut vendors but more consistently visible affluence. Magna, as the store is called, is actually a multistory shopping complex with a food court on the top floor. The grocery part is a little small (the Food Bazaar in Hyderabad Centre was shinier and had more variety) but I found what I needed. The driver, I guess, is meant to look after me while I'm running around. So he came into the store and went around with me. He speaks very very little English, and of course I don't speak any Hindi, much less Telegu (the local mothertongue). It was fun, him trying to help me and me trying not to dawdle too much because he mistook my lingering over the shelves as confusion. Like this: he was offering me the bag of cooking oil, while I was trying to mime "I want one in a bottle" by clicking my nail on the bottle of insanely priced olive oil (about 12 dollars for a 4 oz bottle). I did know "aloo" was potato, and he then went on to tell me the names for mint, onions, green onions, and a bunch of stuff I didn't recognize. I'm a decent mimic, and Telegu and Hindi have some similar sounds to Spanish (roll your r's for example) so I repeated them convincingly. 6 hours later I have no idea what they were.

All fun until I get to the cash register. There were no prices on anything (this isn't common; the previous two grocery stores I'd been to have prices clearly marked on everything). I had taken 1400 rupees out of the envelope of our spending cash and brought it with me. I had a little over 100 on me. All told R1500. This is about 37.50 (divide by 40). TONS of cash. No way I could spend that much. Wrong. So when the total hits 1600, I tell the guy to stop. I need to put some things back. The driver (whose name I don't know, embarrasingly enough) starts to bargain with the manager. I'm gesturing I'll put back that overpriced box of cereal. No, No, he says. I hear a lot of words, the two I understand are "madam" and the name of the company. He's trying to negotiate that they let me take all the stuff, even though I'm about R150 short. That's like three bucks, but I know in terms of the local economy that's a lot. And I am an American, so I'm deeply embarrassed by this. The manager, who does speak English, seems to agree to whatever bargain the driver's struck. I still insist on putting back the Corn Flakes and the potato chips. I've got enough! with R10 to spare, which I give to the kid who helps us with the bags down to the car.

The most insane part comes next. He takes me back to the flat, where he's annoyed that there's a delivery truck blocking the entrance to the parking under the building. The street is flooded, and he's doubly annoyed at the security for making him park on the street and having me walk along the very wet mud. I resist the urge to say don't worry about it, it's OK. This, I gather, is about pride in his job. He sends me up to the flat, and he's going to carry the bags up. I can't offer to help. He doesn't understand, and I'd be breaking the order of things. Ok. So I go up. As I ascend the stairs, there's a woman who calls for my attention. She's cleaning the stairs, and wants money. I'm cleaned out. I try to mime this, but feel like a jerk. I get to the door and it's locked. We don't have keys; there's a housekeeper who lives here--he's got the only set. He's out to lunch. This keeps happening, and we keep asking for a copy of the key. No go. The solution is that the housekeeper, Hirin, leaves the key with the security guards at the office when he goes out. So, after the driver brings my 6 bags of groceries up and goes off to the office to get the key. Hirin comes back, all apologies, and lets me in. He goes in first, and there's someone behind me coming in: it's the woman from the stairs (or I think it is) I'm flustered and I find a R5 coin and give it to her. She comes in (she's with Hirin) and she's carrying laundry to be delivered to one of the housemates. I'm putting food away in the kitchen. Next thing I know, both this woman and Hirin are staring at me, watching me put food away. It's really not that much: some fruit, some biscuits, tea, cereal, potatoes, tomatoes, mint, onions, Diet Coke, milk. I think Hirin is hovering, wanting to help and I'm waving him off: it's OK. I can do this. I figure I can get away with this as the dutiful wife or something. But the woman is flat out staring. She reaches out to touch a can of chilled soda, and flinches at the temperature. She's chattering away to me. All I can do is smile and nod, but I'm embarrassed. Staring. Lots of staring. It happens constantly: women, men, kids. The kids are easy; I can smile and say "hi" and they smile and say "hi" back. I need to start doing that with grownups.

In other food adventures: we went to Senor Pepe's Tex Mex today for dinner. It's right down the street, and I didn't feel like ordering in again (the delivery restaurant dinners are often salty, salty, salty). Amazingly, the chicken burrito was a reasonable facsimile of what you get in the Americas. Tomato, onion, bell pepper as the main flavors. They had pinto beans too. The rice was totally Indian, and they serve yogurt with the meal. But, hey. The Mr. had a lamb chimichanga--that was less familiar. Not bad, but not comfort food either.

I can't wait until I can eat without feeling nauseous afterwards. This is with everything. Toast. Yogurt. Anything. I'm told this will pass eventually; it's part of the physical dislocation of traveling halfway around the world.

Tomorrow: dinner at the Sheraton. A fancy client is in town and there's a party. Dressing up and everything.

I finally have my computer back (my laptop locked me out for the past few days) so I can upload photos. Patience young ones, patience.