Frankie, my five-year-old granddaughter, understands Spanish almost as well as English. Yet, like many people, she’s shy about speaking another language in public.
Except when it comes to food.
Around the dining table, she says words like Bolognese, teriyaki, and quesadilla as if they were part of her everyday language. Food somehow lowers the barrier.
I’m less reserved than most when it comes to speaking another language, especially in restaurants.
Recently, at an Italian restaurant in Osaka, I struck up a conversation with our server. I started with Google Translate and a few hand gestures, then switched to writing on the paper place mat.
She wrote down her name, Misaki, and taught me how to say “one more, please” in Japanese.
When I asked for another glass of wine, she grinned and pointed to what she had written.
I grinned back and said, “Okawari kudasai.”
Maybe that’s the secret sauce. At the table, food gives us the words, and the nudge, to ask for more. It gave me my first book in twenty-three years: Inspiration From 9,000 Miles Away.
