Only In America: Salt Lassi

In India, travelers are often heard saying “only in India.” The saying sprouts forth when expectations are completely trashed, trampled, and transcended. At a pageant on a holy day, a spinning wheel of fireworks got loose and rolled through the group of children performers and into the crowd. The show went on without hesitation. No one seemed to be hurt. “Only in India,” I murmured. In the USA, or “America” as the Indians like to call it, the show would have stopped, injuries would have been rampant, and lawsuits would abound. Days before the pageant, I had witnessed a father with his baby on a four foot wide stone wall about 20 feet off the ground. The baby freely crawled around, apparently safely. Somehow the babies are more sensible there, I guess. In America, the baby would fall and the father would be charged with endangering the welfare of a child. In a Himalayan village in India, the main steps from the bus stop into the village were lined with barbed wire. Steps were missing and uneven. That didn't stop the elderly and infirm at all. In America, there would be public outcry, victimized elders, and a host of handicapped access violations.We simply live in different cultural realities, having no idea how much our cultural ideologies shape our apparent realities.

Utter amazement has nothing to do with right or wrong, cultural superiority or inferiority.... it's just a natural by-product of having one's cultural based perceptions of reality dashed to the winds and sent into hyperspace to come out in some bizarre universe you never imagined existed. I suspect Indian visitors to America find themselves saying “only in America” when they become flabbergasted by flagrant reality checks.

The phrase “only in India” drifts into “in India, anything is possible” which has it's origin in the idea that money can buy most anything. With enough rupees, better yet dollars, anything is possible. I like to twist the statement into sarcastic wit when I am dumfounded.

Today, I had the opposite experience... that of “only in America”. And I have to say I hate to use the word America to mean the USA because it's as if we are the only country in North America, or North and South America, which to many citizens of the US, who are blinded by manifest destiny, may seem to be reality. Having traveled and gained some perspective on the matter, I feel otherwise. The USA is just one little part of the world. Traveling, I try to say USA or United States when I am questioned about my country of origin. That is usually the second question taught in English class in India, if my usual conversations with Indians are any indication. It falls between “what is your good name?” and “first time, India?” which is then followed by “are you married?” and “why not?”. I often find that if I say, “I'm from the United States.”, the inquisitor says “what? .... oh... you mean America.” And so I slip back into saying “I'm from America” so I can avoid one more step in a painful conversation based on little connection beyond 5 sentences in English. When I say “America”, invariably some European or Israeli traveler overhears and glares at me with serious shade, and then I have to explain myself.

So, anyways, today in San Francisco, America, I mean US, I ate lunch at a Chinese restaurant, and feeling not quite sated since lunch was also my breakfast, my thoughts wandered to the local Indian boutique slash ice cream stand, Bombay, which sets on Valencia at 16th street. The other day, I passed by and noticed they sold chai, in addition to exotic flavors of ice cream, like fig flavored. I'm not much of a tea drinker, but a chai for sentimental reasons appealed to me. Then I remember the lassi, an Indian smoothie made of yogurt and often fruit. That sounded better than chai... something with calories and nutrition to help make up for no breakfast. I strolled down the street feeling like I was once again a traveler, freely walking about the world. I sauntered into the ice cream shop, a simple affair with a counter, and sparse cheap metal tables and chairs. I studied the menu on the wall. “Chaat” caught my eye along with “puri”, both Indian snacks. But I focused on the Lassi offerings and found mango, sweet, or salt as the options. Mango cost twice as much as the others, so I thought a plain salt or sweet lassi would do. You can find the same options in chai, sweet or salt. I decided to try the salt lassi, since sugar is not a big draw for me. The young man behind the counter politely took my order with mannerisms that took me back to India. I watched him put a stout tablespoon of white powder into the mix. That seemed like a lot of salt, if that's what it was. But since he was of Indian descent, I figured he knew how to make a dish of his own country. I took the plastic cup and straw and sat down to enjoy my taste of the subcontinent. I sucked through the straw to find the most amazing flavor of salt and sour milk. I tried again. It was still awful. I laughed as it reminded me of culinary surprises in India. I resolved to just drink it. I took another sip, thinking I would probably get used to the saltiness. It still tasted just as bad. I considered just walking away with it and throwing it out, thinking maybe it wasn't really that bad, but just wasn't adapting to my unique tastes. I took another sip. My stomach began to feel queasy. There was no doubt that I could not simply drink it. And I decided that this was beyond tastes, it truly was bad. And the clerk needed to know so he wouldn't be making the same mistake over and over.

I got up and returned to the counter and said, “I think this has way too much salt in it.” The young man apologized and said he'd make me another. He didn't even try to taste the rotten one. This time I caught him as he was spooning in the salt, and said “no, not that much... little little..” holding my thumb and first finger together. He only put part of a spoonful in... more than I might have... but the lassi came out ok.

I drank it down, and wandered out on the street. The more I thought the more I laughed. Only in America would an Indian guy not know how to make a lassi. In India, they might not know how to make pizza, but they know their own cuisine. This boy probably grew up here and never made a salt lassi before. “Only in America” I laughed. “Only in America, anything is possible!”