A Lactose of Manners
I created TheGlorifiedGypsy website, not only to appease the busloads of backpackers who literally knock my door down for sage travel advice and tips on how best to pack a rucksack, but to also spread the love. As such, I don't intend to use my powers* to shame individuals or voice my personal gripes. However! Disregarding the seven other guys** in the dorm room who don’t appreciate the daily intrusion, or the clear violation of hostel rules (“No Guests Beyond This Point"), not many things annoy me more than modern backpackers’ eating habits. On this topic I must vent.
You only have to re-read the About section to appreciate I am of humble origins and that food – what I prefer to think of as “nature’s nutrition” – is of considerable importance to me. More so than most people, I suspect. So, when I enter the shared kitchen facilities to observe what others have bought or are in the process of cooking, it’s my blood – rather than any water*** – that boils.
For starters: the fridges. Throughout the world one could always count on the presence of the basics: butter, milk and white bread. And Daddies Sauce. There was always salt and pepper on a greasy shelf. Always a pack of Maggi noodles a kindly backpacker had bequeathed the kitchen upon their departure or accidentally forgotten to label clearly with a marker pen. Not an more sadly.
Open a shared fridge these days - as I did this morning in order to research this blog – and one is more likely to find cartons of gone-off soy or oat milk and yellowing kale. Hardly the stuff to cure a hangover. There has been a seismic shift in the eating habits of modern backpackers, which, if you were to believe them, is based on lactose or gluten intolerances - modern phenomena striking anyone born after 1990 and/or exposure to “wellness” websites - and eating more “ethically”.
To be fair, it’s not everyone. I’m fairly certain there was a 2 litre bottle of milk on the lower shelf. I can’t be 100% it was, however, on account of its owner double bagging and double knotting the handles.**** (Now there’s a backpacker I’d happily buy or accept a beer from).
The absence of ready-made “eatables” in the shared fridge is explained more when one takes the time to observe people actually cooking. In bygone years hostel kitchens would sound like a crazy scientist’s laboratory,^ what with all the pots of water boiling and bubbling away. But I’m referring to a time when a human could survive on a diet of pasta and/or Maggi noodles and a jar of tomato sauce; while a sprinkling of some imitation parmesan cheese would give it a real gourmet touch.
Not anymore. The plethora of TV cooking shows has allowed most people to incorrectly think they’re professional chefs; it’s now normal to occupy the kitchen for hours at time in order to prepare more sophisticated dishes. Wild rice salads. Quinoa. Truffle infused mushrooms. Slow-cooked pork shoulder.
I mean, why make a pasta sauce from scratch when Paul Newman has already gone to the effort to knock up a batch?
And the looks they give anyone who should dare try to cook alongside them, say, or ask for a very small plate of the lamb shank in red wine sauce which you're only doing because you're worried about that person's daily calorie intake. Unbelievable. And to think the red wine came from a proper bottle rather than a cask! Who does she think she is!
When a backpacker has enough money to buy free range lamb rather than, say, a packet of budget beef cuts, I am of the opinion that person should not be staying in a hostel.
* This blog; my influence.
** Sadly this hostel is in the stone age still and separates backpackers according to gender, rather than, say, sleep pattern or attractiveness or the potency of one’s flip-flops. Sexist much!
*** Though inevitably at some point I will also boil water.
**** Classic technique. I pioneered the double bag – double knot system in Goa in 2003. I forget the month. Out of respect for the effort shown by the owner of food stored in this manner, backpacker etiquette prohibits further investigation. Plus, the double knot was impossible to open!
^ Not to mention health hazard.
A milk with no name: This milk is for anyone to use. How do I know that? Easy. The owner may have placed the bottle in a bag but they haven't bothered to tie it up. Note it's a single bag too. Like the strap of a dress coquettishly falling over a lady's shoulder, this milk is screaming: "come and get it!"
Double bagged-double knotted: the technique I pioneered in India is still going strong. Note the passive aggressive message on the bag as well. Classic stuff. Cristian has really set a marker down here: mess with my milk and I'll mess with you. (Or, as he says it in his accent: "Due toca mi meelk i gonna keel due"). He's also a physically imposing chap and puts many people on edge.