Despite being at home in the arms of The Husband, there are just days that I feel pretty much out of place in this country.
Even inside our wee home, it feels just odd. Imagine that I have to tippy toe to the best of my abilities every time I brush my teeth (which is more than once a day) just to be able to reach the sink at a proper angle to avoid making a wet minty foam mess. It seems that things were built for more vertically gifted people, and not for petite people like me. In some restaurants, tables and counters are built for towering westerners and Arabs, making it quite awkward for teeny sized me to comfortably enjoy the eating experience.
I looked forward to the live teppanyaki style cooking station at Sukh Sagar at the Beach last night for some unlimited dosas (fermented rice Indian crepe) and uttapams (Indian pancakes). I honestly thought the set up would be similar to the Japanese teppanyaki restaurants back home, where the stainless steel griddle was placed in the middle of the tables and the chefs would do their magic right before your eyes. But we were seated on what seemed to be a mile-tall counter with equally tall stools.
I practically had to jump and hold on to the counter to get my big fat a$s onto the stool. And as I wiggled my bum in place, I discovered that the counter top was a little bit past my chest, instead of it being just below it. Talk about awkward. I didn’t bother adjusting the stool’s height because I was too busy juggling balancing myself, my bag and my camera.
Speaking of my camera, in unique eating experiences like this, pictures were, of course, in order. But due to the height constraints, I was only able to snap one photo of the dosa cooking station 🙁 I had to tiptoe, delicately balancing my petite self on the stool’s steel footrest with my stomach leaning onto the counter’s edge to keep me from having a dramatic food-blogger-fell-off-the-stool-while-taking-food-photos-which-meant-the-death-of-her-camera-and-some-bruises-or-broken-bones moment.
Good thing Dee gave added support by holding onto my side, but if she weren’t there, I probably would have fallen on my back. So I just stuck to snapping photos of the dosas and uttapams on my plate, which I did enjoy immensely, despite that uncomfortable out-of-place feeling. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy the food (My personal favorites included the spinach and cheese dosa, the mysore masala dosa, the chinese uttapam, the tomato and onion uttapam, the sweet uttampam and the chocolate dosa, which I think was unanimous favorite) or company even, I was just feeling extra emotional that night.
I waddled (Yes, I was that full…though I didn’t beat the record of 46 dosas in 1 seating), under the brightly lit Dubai skyline, deep in thought of my feelings of displacement. Could this be a natural sentiment of people, who have been uprooted by choice or chance? Or could this just be another fluke in my emotions brought about my oscillating she hormones?
Daydreaming delicious dosas,