Traveling Through Food (And Mistakes)

I’ve always believed that the soul of a place lives in its kitchens. Not just the famous restaurants with long waits and polished plates, but in the steaming street stalls, the handwritten menus, the grandma-run bakeries where the air smells like history.

So when I travel, I follow my appetite. I eat what I can’t pronounce, I point at dishes I don’t recognize, and I say yes to whatever is offered, often without knowing exactly what I’ve agreed to. This has led to some of the best meals of my life—and more than a few unforgettable missteps.

The Bite That Burned and the Lesson That Stayed
In a small coastal town, I once said yes to a bright red pepper stuffed with what looked like rice. What I didn’t know was that the pepper itself was aggressively spicy—so much so that I couldn’t feel the roof of my mouth for hours afterward.

But while I sat in a shaded alley, sweating and laughing and crying at the same time, the shop owner brought me a glass of milk and a warm smile. He mimed the warning I hadn’t understood before, and we both laughed at my mistake.

That meal wasn’t about the heat or even the food. It was about humility and connection—a moment of being human in a place where I didn’t speak the language, but shared a language of curiosity.

Ordering the Wrong Thing—and Loving It Anyway
One of my favorite accidental meals happened when I tried to order soup and ended up with something gelatinous, savory, and completely unfamiliar. I was tempted to send it back or pretend I wasn’t hungry, but I stayed. I tried it slowly, unsure at first, then intrigued.

By the end of the meal, I wasn’t just full—I was surprised. Surprised that my taste had expanded. Surprised that something I would’ve never chosen became something I’d seek out again.

Travel taught me that food is one of the safest ways to make mistakes. You try, you learn, you grow—sometimes with a second helping.

The Dish That Made Me Homesick
Not every food experience abroad is exotic. Some are unexpectedly familiar. I once bit into a piece of bread in a tiny town and was instantly transported back to my grandmother’s kitchen.

There’s something grounding about discovering that across oceans and time zones, someone else is baking something that tastes like home. It reminded me that food is a bridge—between cultures, between strangers, between memories.

Sitting Still, Tasting Deeply
Food slowed me down. It gave shape to my days. It made me pause. Sit. Savor.

It wasn’t just about eating—it was about observing and absorbing:

How locals ate slowly, talking between bites

How children asked for seconds of street corn

How spice vendors encouraged tasting before buying

Each bite became a moment of learning—not just about ingredients or technique, but about what a culture values, celebrates, preserves.

What Mistakes Taught Me About Myself
Every food mistake reminded me of my limits—and stretched them. They taught me to laugh at myself, to be open to surprise, to find joy in what I didn’t understand.

More than anything, they reminded me that travel isn’t about getting it right. It’s about being present enough to taste something new, and brave enough to keep tasting even when it’s unfamiliar.

The Takeaway: The Menu Is Only the Beginning
Traveling through food is an invitation—not just to eat, but to explore. To say yes. To sit down. To get it wrong, and to try again.

You don’t need to understand the dish to appreciate it. You don’t need to be fluent to say thank you. You just need to be hungry—not just for flavor, but for experience, for connection, for the story inside the bowl.

Because the most memorable meals aren’t the ones you plan for. They’re the ones that surprise you—mistakes and all.