Good morning, good afternoon and good evening readers,

Sometimes when I sleep, I dream about what we are going to have for lunch the next day in the office. Nobody knows because everyday is a delicious game of lunch-time roulette. The fruit and vegetables here are so fresh and flavourful and the meals they make from this… well let’s just say you have to eat it to believe it. I have done several internal food dances in my head since arriving here and my body only wants to dance when the food is something special. I’m so enthusiastic about it that I am going to write you a poem about Armenian food.

Uh-hum.

They say that the proof of the pudding is in the eating,
Well, Armenian dishes feel like a loving greeting,
And every time that we sit down to eat,
I marvel at the buffet of savoury treats.

Will there be bulgar wheat?
Will the carrot be garlicky?
I tell you the dinners here are a thing of artistry,
Will there be tabbouleh?
Or will there be salad?
I love it so much that I am writing this ballad,
Will there be matzoon?
I think I’m losing my head,
Please tell me we will be swimming in a sea of bread?

The Dolma is to die for,
But the tomato stewed lungs give me breath,
And whenever I eat these dishes
I just want to marry the chef.

In gluttony and kindness,
C x