And so it Goes

It’s funny how humans have the capacity to segment their lives into chapters. By far the most unique chapter in my life has been the one titled Ghana. It seems like just the other day I was making my decision to move to Ghana – at the same time the US lost Ghana in the World Cup.

But my time in Ghana was filled with memories. And Ghana kept them coming until the very last day. I found myself at lunch with my colleagues for a final meal at a venue known as Starbites that serves coffee and pastries (with an expanded lunch and dinner menu). We asked the manager how he came up with the name. His response – it’s a big secret. Our response – Hmm..doesn’t seem like such a secret to me. (The Starbites logo also looked like that of a Seattle coffee chain.)

Anyway, it was the restaurants’ grand opening, and four of us decided to try the bacon cheeseburger. After discussing Startbites’ marketing strategy, our burgers arrived. They looked delicious. The only problem was that they were all missing the burger. Between the two halves of bun sat a slice of cheese, a slice of bacon, a slice of tomato, and some mayonnaise. It turns out, the chef didn’t know that burgers come with the beef patty. Really? Really.

Humored to be going out on comical note, I began to prepare for the next chapter. Knowing that I was going to be traveling to Italy and France for my Ghana Epilogue, I had every intention of picking up some important phrases that would help me blend into the Italian and French culture. With Rosetta Stone, I envisioned taking the cultural high-road and travelling through Europe to avoid the potential imbroglios. As it turns out, I know two phrases. In Italian, I’ve mastered the boy runs (il bambino corre). Which I’m sure has many practical uses. And my French is a paltry voulez-vous coucher avec moi (ce soir)? My derisory understanding of these Romance languages is shameful. But at least I can't be as embarrassing as the cast of the Jersey Shore…

Everything in Excess

Over the years, I have come to understand that what for many occurs in moderation, for me occurs in excess.

A few months back, my American colleague Kyle, and I, spent the better part of the afternoon trying to find a venue in Ghana that was broadcasting March Madness (read: Kyle was on the phone all afternoon, I listed to his conversation in the background). Through a series of fortunate events, we learned (Kyle learned) that Champs, the one-and-only-American-sports-bar-in-Accra, was expected to play the games. So on the Saturday that coincided with the Round of 32, we proceeded to Champs, with the intent of seeing some half-court buzzer beaters, cinderallas-in-the-making, Dick Vitale’s proclamations of upset cities. Upon arriving, the bouncer stopped us and informed us that to gain admittance, we needed to fork over $12 for an all-evening open bar. $12 for an open bar? Really? Needless to say, it changed our strategy a bit. I can’t prove it, but I’m confident we were responsible for them raising the open bar price the following week. (Yes, we returned…we are opportunists).

Maybe it is attributable to the American affinity towards consumption, but we recently went on a staff outing to the Labadi Beach Hotel’s Buffet brunch. As far as I know, it is the most gluttonous activity in all of Accra. As the proud American that I am, I was clearly in favor of the brunch festivities. The entire faculty arrived over 30 minutes early to the affair. We scoped out the offerings and strategically selected a table that provided quick access to the main serving table. As the whistle sounded to commence the buffet (okay, there was no whistle), I came out like a ravenous beast.

I one-upped gluttony. Not knowing when I would indulge like this again, I channeled my inner Kobayashi. For starters I had potato salad with peaches, chicken and vegetable stir fry, baby corn with tomato and basil salad, cold roast beef, cucumber and feta sprinkled with poppy seeds. As I moved into the main dishes, I savored potato wedges, skewers of grouper and muscles, lamb chop, spicy-yet-sweet fried plantains, stir fry noodles, British boerwors, and roast rump. I cleansed my palate with some vegetable sushi rolls dripped in soy sauce, fried eggplant with parmesan cheese and tomato sauce, and a mixed fruit bowl. To satisfy my sweet tooth, I shoved down a raspberry yogurt parfait, a Belgian waffle covered with toffee and maple syrup, a slice of coconut cake covered in a blackberry spread, a plate of strawberries doused in chocolate fondue, and a noticeable helping of tiramisu.

It’s times like these when I know that I’m proud to be an American. Or at least proud to reinforce the international perception of the overindulgent, gluttonous, excessive American.