Guest Post: How European Food Ruined Me For Life

Today’s guest post comes from Jesse Langley of Cooks and Travel Books. Jesse lives near Chicago, and divides his time among work, writing and family life. He has a keen interest in his kitchen and experimenting with regional cuisines, and is also an advocate for online training. Here, he explains how trying some standard European dishes changed his whole outlook on food in the Midwest.

How European Food Ruined Me For Life

Growing up in the Midwestern United States in a rural farming community is not exactly the best recipe for developing adventurous taste buds. Overcooked roasts and starchy mashed potatoes with home-preserved sweet corn were standard fare for me as a kid. And everywhere you looked during frequent potlucks were the dreaded casserole,s which all contained canned mushroom soup for some inexplicable reason.

As a kid, the most exotic food I encountered was the kind of Americanized Mexican food that doesn’t actually exist in Mexico. But, for me, it started me down a path of culinary adventure and food experimentation that I’m still pursuing.

Years later, when my contemporaries were eating dull college cafeteria food, I was working on an almond ranch in the central valley in California. While they were suffering through chemistry lectures, I was sneaking off to the local mobile taco wagon which, while decrepit looking, to this day I have to say consistently turned out the most mouthwatering tacos you can imagine.

Photo by: joepyrek

And then, in university, I got a chance to continue my foodie explorations internationally.

After my sophomore year, I applied for and was awarded a university fellowship for a literary journey through London, Edinburgh and Dublin and then down to Montpellier, France. There are all sorts of foods one encounters in the former three cities, but I tend to be drawn toward simple, well-executed food.

I fell in love with the fish and chips.

There is certainly nothing complicated about the ingredients. Fish and potatoes. What could be more simple, right? But you’d be surprised how often it’s not done right. I had no idea that all my prior fish and chip dinners had been sub-par until I ordered fish and chips in the Pride of Pimlico pub in Westminster.

Photo by: wolfsavard

The fish was golden brown; nicely crisped. The inside was flaky, moist and succulent with just the right amount of doneness. The chips were a perfect complement; neither too chewy nor too crunchy. Generously salted and with a dash of malt vinegar and washed down with Guinness, this meal was one of the best I’ve ever had. I still try to re-create this meal in my kitchen, but I never seem to quite get it right. I ate many meals in England, Scotland and Ireland — but never any better than this one.

Then, in the south of France, in Montpellier, I encountered something entirely new to me. Coming from such a landlocked area, except for locally lake-caught fish, I’d never previously been exposed to really fresh seafood. And all of the fish I’d eaten as a kid, like the fish and chips in London, was always battered and fried. I’d never been exposed to the fresh briny flavor of mussels. My new-found favorite dish came in large quantities, too.

Photo by: avlxyz

The mussels arrived in a big pot covered with pungent Roquefort cheese. This combination of flavors was almost overwhelming. The mussels were fresh and delicious. The cheese, especially for an American kid used to eating cheddar, was a revelation. That was my first discovery about really exquisite cheese. When you’ve got cheese as potent as Roquefort, you don’t need much to get the job done. I ate this dish at least a dozen times during my three weeks in Montpellier, and I’m still looking for its equal back home.

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