Cultural sensitivity

Of course it is fun when abroad to point out the quaintnesses of the locals. But breakfast raises serious questions.

Yesterday, I took what looked like a sweet bun enhanced with cream and strawberry jam. I was right about the strawberry jam, but the whipped cream was mayonnaise and the whole hid a slice of fried Spam®-like substance. This morning I exposed myself to fried soft noodles with added tofu. Both dishes were edible, no doubt about that. But both also struck me as being not quite right for the first meal of the day. And yet all around me were people who, by their actions, proved me wrong. So clearly (and obviously) this is something cultural, rather than being innate. And equally clearly, there are some breakfasts that, while odd, I relish, for example idlis. I wonder whether the adoption of local breakfast habits might be one of the last aspects of assimilation.

Oh, this morning there was also a little croissant-shaped pastry, dusted with icing sugar, neatly sliced in half, and stuffed with peanut butter. Cross-cultural, or what?