That time I offended an Italian man’s tastes in Tallinn, and how he irked me too
Although I had a nice time walking around the picturesque city of Tallinn, grabbing a quick lunch was proving to be a challenge. Especially since I had gotten used to the plethora of authentic options across Riga, Vilnius and Kaunas during my travels through the Baltic states. Compared to those cities, Tallinn was quite a bit more touristy and therefore the options around the main old town didn’t look too appealing.
Walking by a cafe, I spotted “Estonian cheese plate” listed on the menu posted outside. “Aha!” I thought. “What a convenient way to try some local cheeses!”
I popped inside and ordered the cheese platter and a hot chocolate – one of my favourite flavour combinations.
At first glance, the cafe was super adorable, but as I looked around it began to look quite touristy. Apart from the cute little tables and chairs, the main decor of the place was a central display of local products like jams and liqueurs. It looked a lot like an airport duty free shop display.
Nevertheless, I was excited about digging into a plate full of Estonian cheeses!
I noticed a man with long, dark hair walking around authoritatively. I assumed he was the owner or perhaps the manager of the place as he was instructing the younger employees. I noticed he had a thick and recognizable Italian accent when he spoke English with the customers. He strode back and forth in the tiny cafe, gesturing exuberantly as he spoke.
He glanced at me a few times as I ate. I assumed he was just making sure I was enjoying my snack. A few minutes later, he popped over to my table, hand resting on his chin, brows furrowed, and his face set in a dead serious expression.
“Where you from?” he asked me.
“Canada,” I responded proudly.
“Can I ask you a question if you don’t mind?”
“Sure…” I said hesitantly, expecting him to steer the conversation towards something I so frequently encounter when I travel: a series of questions that pit my racial, spiritual, cultural and national identities against each other as though I’m some kind of living, walking oxymoron. (That’s a whole other blog post!)
He didn’t. Instead, a totally unexpected conversation ensued.
He swung his head backwards in a half circle, while gesturing with his hands, letting his voice slide into a higher register, and emphasizing certain words with an exaggerated vocal wobble.
“Whyyyy you eat cheese with chocolate? You should eat with waaater.”
I stifled an amused smirk. He must have been holding this back for a while.
He continued this impassioned rant, obviously completely disturbed by my choice of flavour pairing, but trying to be respectful regardless.
“Each cheese has a flaaavour, a distiiiinct flavour but if you eat it with chocolate it all taste the saaaame,” he said, the concern in his voice so serious as though he is trying to talk me out of a terrible major life decision.
“No it doesn’t!” I piped up, “I can taste them all distinctly”
“Noooo,” he said, throwing his head to the side, dismissing my comment as though I just told him that Nickelback is a good band.
“Chocolate has a full flaaaavour, it’s like 360 degrees, it coats your mouth with flavour so if you eat something else, it tastes like nooothing. It all taste the saaaame.”
“It doesn’t taste the same!” I objected. “I can taste the different flavours”
“Yes it doooes”
“Have you tried eating it with chocolate?” I challenged him.
“No but I know it doesn’t taste right. Chocolate has such strong flaaavour. When you put something else with it it tastes like noooothing. I mean, it’s okay if you like it but It tastes the same.”
“But I can taste the difference” I insisted.
The conversation went back and forth like this for a few minutes, during which time I smiled politely and he gestured wildly with his hands, letting his head roll around on his shoulders with every slide of his voice.
Eventually, he gave up and left me to enjoy my plate of “Estonian cheeses” which I soon realized was a total scam. Two out of the three cheeses on my plate were distinctly Italian: Taleggio and Pecorino.Not that I have an issue with Italian cheese; I love it! But to try and pass them off as “Estonian” was a straight up lie.
I was irked.
If you’re wondering why I haven’t named this cafe, it’s because I don’t recommend you go there. My food was enjoyable, but the fact that the menu was misleading did not sit well with me.
Luckily for dinner that day, I ended up having an amazing traditional Estonian meal at Poobel, a restaurant recommended by my walking tour guide.
Can anyone recommend some real Estonian cheeses?
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