Almost every year I take a solo trip, usually to a place that isn’t easy to visit with the family. I find traveling alone to be incredibly rejuvenating; I come back feeling relaxed and inspired, and that sense of renewal is integral to my creativity in the kitchen. This year, motivated by my longtime interest in Buddhism, I went to Dharamsala, India, the site of the Tibetan exile community. I wanted to visit the Tibetan refugees and to try to have a private audience with the Dalai Lama, so I stayed at the Norbulingka Institute, a few miles away from the Dalai Lama’s residence.
The Dalai Lama had the flu, so his interaction with the public was extremely limited. I never got to meet him. On top of that, it was the anniversary of the Chinese invasion of Tibet (something I was not aware of when I planned the trip), and the region was under high surveillance by the Indian military. But I managed to get an audience with another important Lama, who had recently escaped from captivity in China. Soldiers stood by his side, guarding him.
While the trip was more about spirituality than about making food discoveries, I did eat very well. The local cuisine, mostly vegetarian, was a mix of Tibetan, Chinese, and—oddly enough—Italian. Pizza was available everywhere, along with pasta dishes and gnocchi, but it was all much more expensive than the rest of the local foods. Every day I ate a double order of momo (Tibetan dumplings filled with vegetables and sometimes chicken), supplemented by noodle soups with local vegetables. You could find the dumplings everywhere in abundance. Twice I was invited to the homes of local merchants, who served me chicken: We went to select the chickens, and they were killed and cooked while we were having aperitifs. I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed by how much I ate; it was five times more than the average local (though admittedly the portions were tiny and I am about twice the size of the average Tibetan).
But the difference wasn’t just in quantity; there was also a striking difference between my thinking about food and that of the locals. Although they seem to enjoy food, the Tibetans I met definitely see it as a necessity for survival—one that they can’t spend much money on. In the U.S., where food is available everywhere and we have the sense that we will never run out, it’s easy to forget that it is a basic human need. It’s a blessing not to have to think about food in that way, and being in Dharamsala reinforced that I should never take that blessing for granted.
Being there also gave me an infusion of creativity. One day I was sitting in the garden and had a flash—suddenly I was bombarded with new ideas. They are slowly making their way onto my menu, and I am very grateful.
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