People pay me to tell them what to eat. Companies bring me in to speak to their employees on healthy eating at home, at work, and on the road. I have a degree in dietetics, taught college nutrition courses to culinary students, and worked as a dietitian in the eating disorders unit at a mental health hospital. I know food.

The kids and I are vegetarians. I think my husband is, too, except for that time I caught him eating pepperoni pizza in Jen & Dan’s play room during their Superbowl party. And the time he tried to act like he didn’t know the juicy burger he got off the grill wasn’t a veggie patty at Keisha & Chris’ house. And the carefully torn Whopper coupon I saw in the armrest of his car. But I digress. We’re vegetarians. And in the months leading up to this trip, we had been inching closer to an entirely plant-based diet. Nothing was official, but we were making tiny moves in that direction.

The point is that food matters to me. I’m intentional about what I eat and what I feed my family and have always planned to continue providing well-balanced, healthy meals within the context of our host culture during our travels. In fact, I love ethnic food. If given a choice of restaurants, I will choose a yummy ethnic spot over the same ol’, same ol’ American chain 100% of the time. Apart from meat, I’m an adventurous happy eater, and I don’t succumb to the pressure from my kids to provide a steady diet of junk.

Eating locally is a huge part of experiencing a culture, and I’ve often judged Americans who travel all the way to another country and eat at McDonald’s or Hard Rock Cafe. My thought bubble went something like this:

Who does that? Why bother leaving if you’re just going to try to recreate a little America in your new destination? Is your culinary palette so limited that you can’t even make it a short time eating different foods? Grow up! Embrace new cultures. Food is love.  

But now everything is different because I’m hungry.

We went to the MegaCenter shopping mall in La Paz today, and they had a food court. In the food court, they had a Cupcake Cafe, The Donut Factory, Cinnabon, Subway, Eli’s Pizza, Factory Grill & Bar, a Mexican spot that looked like Moe’s and…Hard Rock Cafe.

I almost cried.

I’ve been trying to be strong for the kids. I want them to be travel warriors who don’t turn up their noses at other people’s traditional foods. Food is on my short list of “Things to Experience While Worldschooling,” but there’s just been so much vomit and diarrhea for me to deal with since arriving. We actually went to Hard Rock Cafe first, but we couldn’t stay because they had entirely inappropriate music videos with incredibly large breasts and backsides bouncing to the beat displayed on mega screens throughout the place. I wanted that food so badly that I tried to convince myself the kids would be too hungry to notice, but when my 4-year-old son asked, “Mama, why is that boy’s mom naked?” I knew we had to go.

We ended up in the food court. It was full of the things I normally dismiss at home as we retreat to our minivan stocked with a cooler of fresh fruit, cut up veggies, hummus, and guacamole. But today, all of that cheap processed food was calling my name. It was saying, “Am-ber…Ammm-berrrr…It’s OK. You don’t have to be perfect. You can eat “food-like substances” and still be a good mom.” I agreed with the little voice and we had bad pizza, Lay’s potato chips, Subway sandwiches, and chocolate-filled churros. And Fanta. Orange Fanta, to be exact.

I know. Smh. I know. It was so bad that it was good though. My kids were so happy and I got full. And I had a burning desire to buy a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt, but I’m too cheap. Now I understand the obsession people have with those shirts. It’s not because they’re cheesy Americans wasting money on dumb souvenirs. No. They’re hungry Americans that are so happy to see a menu with familiar food that they want to give Mr. Hard Rock and his shareholders a reward for being so awesome.

I’m sure that I’ll be revisiting the whole food situation here in future posts, but here is a short rundown for right now:

• The water here is not potable. We can only drink bottled or distilled water (from a countertop distiller). We also have to use that water for brushing our teeth, cooking, and cleaning all fresh produce (along with a chemical produce wash). We can’t drink fountain drinks or any juices that were made from concentrate with added tap water. We can’t eat produce anywhere that we don’t wholeheartedly trust.
• The altitude makes baking and cooking many things very difficult. You know that little note with different directions for cooking at high altitudes that you find on packaged food and recipes? They don’t work. Pretty much everything tastes different here. Some of it is different and edible. Much of it is different and inedible.
• Meat is in everything. The local people really, really, really, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY love meat. I’ve never been anywhere where meat dominated the way it does here. Nearly every meal revolves around meat. Most of the restaurants specialize in meat. Beef, chicken…alpaca and guinea pig.
• The produce isn’t great. I don’t have a full explanation on this one yet, so I’ll have to get back to you. I don’t know whether there’s a systemic issue, if the altitude is to blame again, if I’m shopping in the wrong places or what, but the fresh fruits & veggies just don’t look or taste very good.

Our bodies are still adjusting to the food. I know that it will get easier as I gain more experience cooking at this altitude and finding the right ingredients to make things taste better than they’re tasting right now. And for those days when the hunger has built up and I want to take off my Ms. Responsibility hat, there’s always the mall food court.