So come the appointed day, I showed up at the venue. It was done up in lots of streamers of cloth of a lot of bright and heavy colors (not so much in the way of pastels or light florals). There were a lot of guests, an assortment of his business partners, and the Salt Lake area Indian expat scene.
And there was a MOUNTAIN of food. I mean it. Hundreds and hundreds of trays of food, on a huge table, on racks so they formed a rising wall of steaming options.
They all were fresh, they all were assorted shades of yellow and red, they all smelled delicious. And I had no idea what any of them were.
I took a plate, and worked my way down the side of the mountain of food, taking just a spoonful of each dish, until my plate was heaping full. By no means did I have a sample of everything.
I sat at one of the tables, was social with the other guests, and ate the food. It was delicious and filling, warm and spicy. And I still had not idea what most of it was.
After I was done, I went and found my host and his new wife, shook their hands, and left, for my next appointment that day.
Some weeks later, when he came back from his honeymoon, he stuck his head in my office.
"Mark, was there something wrong with the food?"
"No, it was amazing! Delicious. I had never had anything like it before."
Apparently, I had left during during the appetizers, and the main courses hadn't even been brought out yet.
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