Cross Cultural Cooking

Last night I had invited friends over for dinner, J.C. from the Congo and Nancy, from India. I had originally planned to have beef stew, but Les reminded me that Nancy was raised Hindu, and although she doesn’t actually practice that religion now, she still does not eat beef, “just in case”. So, I decided to cook some Chicken Cordon Bleu I had in the freezer. I peeled potatoes and started them cooking. Then, I went to see our next door neighbors. They moved in a few months ago, and, although I promise I have tried to get to know them, I have only been able to meet the wife and visit with her a couple of times. I knew she was having her first baby last week, and I had wanted to take dinner to them, but had not been able to contact them. This time, when I knocked, Amanda answered the door. She invited me in,showed me her brand new daughter, and introduced me to her husband, Mohammed, who is from Egypt. I was glad to meet Amanda’s family, and offered to bring dinner over. She said that I did not need to do that, but I insisted, telling her that I was cooking anyway, and it was simple to cook for two more people.
I went home and took out the Chicken Cordon Bleu (rolled chicken breast with ham and Swiss cheese inside) to cook for everyone. Then I began to reconsider. I don’t want to stereotype, but it occurred to me that Mohammed from Egypt might possibly be Muslim and, if so,I knew he would not eat ham, and he might be offended if I took him ham for supper. Since I did not really know him, I decided I did not want to take that chance.
I quickly found a chicken casserole that I had in the freezer, ready for just this kind of situation, and put it in the oven. It was frozen solid. It was going to take a little longer to cook than I had planned on. I finished the dinner for J.C. and Nancy, including a nice salad that would work for our neighbor’s dinner also. The casserole finally seemed done, and I took it out of the oven. Uh-oh. The aluminum pan it was in collapsed and spilled the casserole on the floor. Not all of it spilt. I dumped what was left into another dish, smoothed it out, sprinkled some extra cheese on top and stuck it back into the oven. It did not look too bad. By the time I had the dinner ready for Amanda and Mohammed, it was 6:30, and our guests had arrived. I ran the dinner next door and apologized for being so late. Of course they were gracious and said it was fine. I am wondering about it, tough, thinking about it from their point of view. A neighbor they barely know insists on bringing dinner. They wait until 6:30 and get a messy chicken casserole and salad…I am not sure what I would think. Maybe I will get another chance to be neighborly to them.