Chicken Vindaloo?

     I'm usually really nervous about new foods in foreign countries. Thankfully, Australia is a modern European country and I don't have to worry too awfully much. After all, they have McDonalds, and everyone knows that as long as you aren't in America, McDonalds isn't so bad. Besides, I've lived in Russia and had to experience some pretty nasty concoctions. I realize half the world thinks caviar is a delicacy, but let's face it people, fish eggs are disgusting.
     My family can tell all sorts of stories on me when it comes to being picky. I'm not so bad anymore, in fact I can eat pretty much anything that's set in front of me without gagging. That wasn't the case when I was a child though, and I can remember traveling to church meetings with Dad and Mom asking for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because Elizabeth won't eat anything else.  The worst part was I wasn't keen on pb&j unless the jelly was grape flavoured.  
     Honestly though, things have been pretty normal as far as cooking and eating things that I'm used to here in Australia. The only thing that I haven't been able to find, granted I haven't been on a diligent search, is dry pinto beans. Growing up in Georgia, with a mother from Arkansas, makes one of my favourite meals cornbread and beans so obviously I'll be conducting a search party soon.  Also, the ranch dressing and mayonaise you find on the shelf isn't like the ranch dressing I'm used to.  The mayonaise here is more like miracle whip; gag me.  I've found a way around these small details, and my lessons in converting to the metric system are coming along quite well seeing as how my first week of cooking depended wholly upon using grams and ounces and setting the oven to 150* C rather than 350*F. 
     All that to say, we went out for Indian Friday night.  I've had curry before, but things are always different when they are authentic.  My first thought was to get something spicy.  When you're brain is trying to function on not crying because you feel like you could shoot a thirty foot flame out of your mouth, you usually don't focus on the way something tastes.  I asked for Chicken Vindaloo, but because their were other people at the table sharing in my dish I was pointed to a separate section on the menu.  We finally settled with a lamb curry, a mild chicken curry and a pumpkin potato curry.  I'm sure you're waiting for me to tell you how revolting it was, but you'll be disappointed, because it was all delicious.  Keep reading though because it gets better.
     I was up all night.  I'll save you the finer details, but it will be a while before I eat Indian food again.  Actually, come to think of it, it kinda reminds me of cornbread and beans. Sorry, that was unnecessary.   It's just that once again I'm reminded of that look Jamie gives me when I turn my nose up and say, "I don't like that."  Call me picky, but when a curry comes out of the kitchen with a sick, green colour I have a slight tendency to wonder what's wrong with it.  Keith tells me the rule in Africa is: don't eat anything that isn't cooked, but I learned a long time ago that just because a dish has reached a certain temperature doesn't mean it's met a certain taste. 
     Things have calmed down though and Jamie's uncle invited us over for Mexican.  It was scrumptious even though we're thousands of miles from the Rio Grande.  I did notice a similar colour between the guacamole and Indian curry, but give me a break, this is guacamole we're talking about.  Avocados are green, but I have no idea how you get a chicken dish to turn green. 
    I've decided to take it easy for the rest of the week.  Just because I'm thousands of miles from traditional southern cooking doesn't mean I can't cope.  Jamie hasn't been complaining too hard about my cooking so I'm sure things will be fine.  Plush, I've just planted my first garden and picked my first apples so as soon as I get my grandma's recipe for apple pie I'll have forgotten all about my bad experience.