I had reservations about my fellow travelers when I first laid eyes on them in the lobby of our Prague hotel, and they were confirmed a few hours later when we sat down for lunch.
Almost as soon as the menus appeared, hands shot up. "I don't eat fish," one young woman announced after reading about the smoked trout salad with caviar. "I don't eat lamb," a middle-aged woman barked on seeing it offered as our main course. Our bemused waitress conferred with our guide, and solutions were found.
The young woman, I learned, didn't like the "texture" of things from the sea. (Her dismissal of the salad had nothing to do with health.) The anti-lamb lady didn't eat "young animals." Though she didn't inquire about the age of the pig she received as a substitute.
I used to be a picky eater, but then I started traveling. It seemed rude to refuse foods I was graciously served, and also wrongheaded: the whole point of travel is to experience the new, even - some might say especially - at the table. I don't like everything I eat abroad, but I usually give it a try.
The waitress returned for our drink orders. The restaurant sat in a vineyard overlooking the city, in a country famous for beer. The two ladies ordered Diet Pepsi.
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