I’m busy today getting ready for Josh’s mom and dad to arrive tomorrow, but I have to tell this story about our trip to Jordan before it disappears into the recesses of my brain, never to be seen again. Our last night in town we were invited to dinner at Mohammed’s sister’s house to meet the entire family. On our way there I gave the boys specific instructions to eat whatever they were served without complaining and Josh threw in a “children should be seen and not heard” advisory and we were all set.
We find the building and go up to the apartment on the second floor. Except it’s not the right apartment. The very nice people inside let Josh use their phone (because his phone wouldn’t dial out the entire time we were in Jordan) and he called his friend and eventually we figured out that the correct apartment was exactly one floor up. We had forgotten that often (or always?) over here, the ground floor counts as 0, not as the first floor.
Anyway, we made it to the right place, met the family and then the eating began. I had heard rumors and legends about Arab hospitality and how the food is endless and they expect you to keep eating and eating, but it’s entirely different when you are the one facing the mountains of food.
We started with Turkish coffee and chocolates. BTW, Camille ate chocolate all night long. If she picked one up, in a flash she had someone unwrapping it and handing it to her. I tried to remind myself one night of sugar overload wouldn’t kill her, but I wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t kill me the next day on the plane when she was bound to be a screaming mess.
Next we moved on to the main feast — roasted chicken served over saffron rice with raisins and almonds, seasoned with nutmeg. It was fantastic. However, the portions they served everyone were insanely lavish. They piled heaping mounds of rice (6 inches high covering the entire plate) and a 1/4 of a chicken on each boy’s plate — it was more food than I would have served Josh at a normal dinner at our house. So we ate. And ate. And ate. And as I just began to feel like I was making progress, another mound of rice appeared on my plate, filling in the dent I had made in my mountain. And then another 1/4 of a chicken. Plus the salad, and the olives, and the juices, and the yogurt. And I knew we had to keep eating because that is the custom. Eating a lot shows that you like it and appreciate it.
After consuming more food in one sitting than I ever have before in my life, we finally gave up and assured them that we loved the dinner and yes, the boys loved it too even though they still had enough food left on their plates to feed us all again tomorrow . . . yes, they really did like it. See how much they ate? No, really, they don’t need any more chicken. It was wonderful. All of it. Really.
Then we moved back into the living room and it was time to unsuccessfully keep Camille away from the chocolates. But then came dessert — a special pastry made just for Eid with dates inside and powered sugar on the outside. Gamely we each ate one. Mine nestled in on top of the rice, right at the base of my throat. But that wasn’t dessert. Next came huge plates with 2 squares the size of my palm of a pistachio/custard/bar cookie thing that was served with sugar syrup poured over the top. It was delicious, even if it had to fight for space in my stomach. As we were complimenting the dessert, they brought out a second, Tiramisu type dessert, followed by trays of coke and sprite. (Yes, the fear of a diabetic coma did cross my mind.)
The boys were such good sports because I know if I was struggling to fit it all in, they must have really been stuffed because there were no kid-sized portions in sight. I started to think that it was about time to pack it up and head back to the hotel because it was after 10pm by then and we had been eating since 7 and my chocoholic baby was flying high on her sugar rush. And then came the roasted nuts. Not in little candy dishes, but three huge platters of roasted cashews and pistachios. And along with that was tea? I can hardly remember now because all the edibles are running together.
By that time I was getting a little antsy because I had mentioned to Josh on our way over that we shouldn’t stay too late because we had to travel the next day and nothing is worse than traveling with overtired kids. I’m sure some things are worse, but that’s my personal worst. So I had been waiting for him to pull the trigger and announce that it had been lovely, but we really must be going . . . and I kept waiting. We had dinner, pre-dessert, 1st dessert, 2nd dessert, drinks galore, nuts and tea so we must be done, right? So I said, “We really should get going so we can put Camille to bed” and I was met with, “But we must do fruit! Can you stay for fruit?” Of course. Besides, fruit should be easy enough to cram in on top of everything else.
They brought out a plate for each person and on each plate was a whole banana, a whole apple and a 1/2 of an orange. There was no way humanly possible for me to consume this food. Thankfully Camille ate the banana and while I was feeding her they brought out a pomegranate the size of Camille’s head that had been dissected and spooned into 5 bowls, one for each of the honored guests, so I set to work on the little pomegranate seeds. Easy right? I think my pomegranate seeds were mating and multiplying in the bowl for as many as I ate, there were still a million more. And inside each of the seeds is the hard white part that actually required chewing and chewing and more chewing and in my head I was trying to figure out how much more I could take in before I threw up and wondering if I could chew some up, sneak into the bathroom and spit the white part into a napkin and give myself a little breathing room. All this while I was keeping a watchful eye on each of the boys trying to monitor if they had eaten enough to keep everyone happy. Hilarious.
The last thing served was Nescafe. Mohammed’s mom asked how I wanted my coffee and I tried to beg off and she declared, “We must do it!” So we all laughed and I took mine with milk and it was delicious, just like everything else. By then it was almost 11:30 and it really was time to get our poor baby home.
As we left Josh and I were trying to figure out how they eat like that and we realized — they don’t. We were the guests so they fed us more of and the best of everything they had. It was a wonderful evening where they treated us even better than family.