A day in the canteen – a guest entry by Mark Hindmarsh

So I thought for the guest blog entry that I would try to explain to you the comedy that is having a meal here in the

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Hospital canteen. The first thing to understand is that Rorie and I (being the revered guests that we are) are allowed to sit at one of the special doctors tables. These are like any other table, with the exception that they are raised about 10 cms from the floor level on a little platform. In a hospital that has scarce resources I always find it funny that they thought to build in this architectural feature, so those that are deemed superior in society would be able to survey those minions beneath them from a higher level while dining. 

As we approach the table, 3 or 4 of the canteen girls (who are aged 13 to about 20) flock over to see how they can see to our every culinary need. Once seated, we go though more or less the exact same conversation with them every evening. What follows is a classic example of the conversation (translated into English from Bangla for those of you who aren’t yet fluent) 

Canteen Girls: Peace be with youNHS Boys: Peace be with youCanteen Girls: How are you? Good?NHS Boys: Yes we are fine, how are you? Canteen Girls: Good. What do you want?NHS Boys: Rice, Chicken, Vegetables, Dahl. Do you have bread?Canteen Girls: Er, bread no. 

The girls will then invariably potter off to get the requested food. The thing you need to understand and that makes this conversation so stupid is that the canteen only ever serves rice, chicken, vegetables and dahl and never has bread in the evening plus, quite frankly, we only ever get what there is available anyway. What do you imagine this is, some sort of restaurant? 

Anyway, while this conversation is going on, it’s not uncommon to see the security guard from the front gate stride into the canteen, lift up a man hole cover (which being such a hygienic hospital sits in the middle of the canteen floor) and immediately report his findings via walkie talkie back to his superior. We genuinely have no idea why this happens and why it should be the responsibility of security to ensure quality drainage is even more of a mystery. If we do find out we’ll report it to the world. 

Before the girls return with our main meal it is not uncommon for us to be presented with one of my favourite Bangla delicacies, “sweet fat fried in fat” (SFFF). It is exactly that, a lump of dough, heavily sweetened, fried in oil, moulded so that it is shaped rather like a small pastie. I’ve tried explaining the girls that sweet follow savouries, but alas, to date with no avail. Rorie, being the generous chap that he is, often passes on his SFFF to his companion here for a double helping. For the record, yes it is absolutely rank tasting. 

Then the main food arrives. Cold of course, as the natives prefer to eat only with their hands, and they wouldn’t want those delicate mits burnt now would they. Now believe me, 2 months of cold rice and scrappy chicken meat is starting to wear a little thin. The meal is soon over, generally as I don’t finish it, and it is time to move on to tea. That’ll be a simple process….. 

Again I blame the natives for this. They love sugar out here. I don’t necessarily mean sweet things, but actually putting loads of sugar in various dishes that you wouol think didn’t require it. So, although I know Bangladesh has some of the worlds finest teas, it’s basically impossible to ever taste them as they are masked by excessive amounts of sugar, oh and condensed milk (did I forget to mention that?). Now, we’ve learnt how to ask in Bangla for tea with no milk and sugar, but this invariably results in laughter from the girls, or a blunt rebuff as the batch of tea waiting already has sugar in it. Who wouldn’t want loads of sugar in their tea anyway?