Special Report: Blogging from Iraq

A shot in the dark, part 2

stryker2I caught myself staring into my lunch today. I was hungry but felt defeated with each bite. My cheese tortellini depressed the hell out of me. When we arrived in Iraq almost two weeks ago, I was excited to find little cartons of soymilk. Every kind of food you could ever want has been available. The possibilities once seemed endless. I had hoped it would never end.

"You should try the peach cobbler. I make it myself."

I looked up from my tray. Across from me sat a man with a name tag that had "Rodney" embossed on it.

"Well Rodney, if that is your real name," I pointed at his chest. "I've yet to finish my pasta, and I'm not sure if I'm going to. Ma says no dessert until I finish my dinner."

"Well, I'm from Georgia and if anyone is qualified to make some peach cobbler, it's me. I really think you should try it."

I smiled.

Rodney, if that is his real name, is one of those people who will talk your ear off if you let him.

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"What's your name?" he asked.

"Jenny."

"Well Jenny, everyone's got their niche here. I do a little bit of everything, since I'm a supervisor and all," he said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I like to hang out with the bakers. That's a real interesting art form, you know?"

"I never imagined it would be in a place like this," I said.

"You know, most of these boys eat better here than they eat at home. They ain't eating Top Ramen. No cereal for dinner here. They've got choices," he said.

"I dunno. I hear some guys complaining that it's all the same food after awhile."

"I don't know how that could be possible. You could eat something different every day, even if you're here for a year."

And he's right. There are plenty of choices. Too many it would seem. Still, I've heard many soldiers say, "I hate this stuff."

"Maybe it's just not the same? They miss home. Ramen noodles aren't bad if it's made with love," I said.

And right there I realized what was missing from my lunch.

I looked at Rodney, with all of his good intentions and wondered if it was enough. If anything, this food was a placeholder. I was waiting for something better to come along.

Rodney kept talking but I was thinking about other food. Food I'd had before. Better, more satisfying food. Food I'd seen in movies. I thought about the kind of food that hasn't touched my lips in six years and wondered if I should try it again, if only for a night. And I thought about the food I'd have when I returned home.

"Rodney," I said, "I'm going to try that peach cobbler. And I hope it's as good as promised. I'd hate to be let down."

Rodney smiled, and as I started to clean my tray up to leave, he said, "This may be a shot in the dark but I'd bet you love cinnamon. Am I right?"

"Yes. It's true."

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"I put a couple of cinnamon sticks in to cook with the peaches. I promise it's the best peach cobbler you'll ever have."

"OK Rodney," I smiled and left. I grabbed a piece of Rodney's dessert on the way out.

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