Every morning, I get the exact same breakfast I’ve had for the past five months. It’s scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon, turkey sausage, and grits.
In Baghdad, you would expect that some locals would be serving the food, but ironically, the people serving the food to me are neither Iraqi nor American. They are Indian.
They are all very polite, too, which is something I’m used to from all the cruise ships I’ve sailed. One guy in particular is really terrific to me. His name is Dinesh. I presume he is in his mid-20s.
Early on, I established myself as the guy who puts his grits on top of his eggs. It’s a southern thing. I won’t make fun of the weird crap you eat, so let’s just leave it there. Anyway, Dinesh is always happy to oblige my weird eating habits. He takes care to ensure the right amount of grits goes on top (even though I’ve never complained about the amount).
He doesn’t speak a whole lot of English, but he is better than most at the dining facility. There is one dude who only knows the names of the foods, but don’t dare ask him what kind of glaze is on the Roast Pork Loin. His response is usually “roast pork loin” said as if he’s asking me whether I want it. When I ask again and get the same response, that’s when I’m pretty sure I don’t want the pork anymore.
(Photo from Flickr)