You Say Potato, I Say French Fry

Since moving to England, I've really missed the opportunity to do some good outside of class. Last week I was happy to stumble across the website of a local homeless shelter which seemed to match my old volunteer work: low-key, non-denominational, and non-judgmental. I went today for my first tryout and, as usual, found a few surprises.

Oxford is such a small town, so small that it literally takes me five minutes to run myself out of town. Sure, there's a bit of scruffy neighborhood down Cowley Road, but the group I joined was just open for a few hours every evening between the day shelters and the night shelters.

In those two hours, over one hundred people showed up.

Obviously, they need the help, so I will most definitely make it a regular occurrence. Next time should go better now that I've learned where they keep the plates and cutlery. Getting the terminology down is key, too.

"Do we need more cheese and crackers?" I asked the other kitchen volunteers. No answer. Blank looks.

Someone popped in from serving tea up front. "Do we have any more cheese and biscuits?"

Oh.

"Can you pass me the aubergine?" someone requested.

I stared at the pile of vegetables next to me.

". . . You might call it eggplant."

Oh.

The kicker came when one of the volunteers popped into the kitchen and asked me, "Quick! Can you make one of the ladies a Marmite sandwich?"

Ugh. Marmite. Marmite is one of those strictly English foods. I've never seen anyone eat it who wasn't a Brit. It's meant to be really good for you, but no matter how many times I try to give it a chance, it's still disgusting.

You're not doing it right, my friends tell me. You're supposed to put only a teeny little bit on toast. And lots and lots of butter.

"Are you sure I should be doing this?" I asked, when someone handed me the jar and a knife. "I'm an American! An American!"

But, I was there to pull my weight, and I dutifully followed the instructions I had been given hundreds of times. I handed my finished open-faced sandwich to the volunteer and waited for her reaction.

"No, we need more Marmite on that," she said, handing it back. "There's barely any there."

"I'm an American!" I explained again, and, shrugging, added more Marmite.

"Ew!" said another woman. "That's way too much Marmite!"

Lesson learned. I handed in my knife, and decided to wash dishes instead. Eating it or preparing it, I just can't win with English food!