Missionary food stories: Called — and served

"And into whatsoever city ye enter, and they receive you, eat such things as are set before you." — Luke 10:8

One of the most rewarding aspects of full-time missionary service is experiencing new cultures. And nothing embodies culture quite like food — specifically, fish heads, raw octopus and broiled eel.

Actually, I never ate the fish head, and the eel didn't quite match the hype. The octopus, however, became one of my favorites.

But when the subject of missionary food adventures arises, I feel like I've got a trump card.

Basashi.

That would be the Japanese word for horse meat. And I ate it raw.

My final area in the Japan Fukuoka Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the beautiful town of Kumamoto. The city is a peaceful mix of neat neighborhoods surrounding a modest but vibrant city center. In the middle of it all is a towering castle that emanates a sense of history.

And then there's the basashi.

Kumamoto is famous for raw horse meat. Throughout my mission, I'd heard the stories. When I came to Kumamoto, I wondered if I'd ever look down at a plate of thin red slices of an animal I would never consider a food source.

The occasion did come — at the home of the Yatsuhashi family in 1996.

This kind couple had experienced some heavy trials, but not to the extent that it weighed them down. They accepted the gospel after two of their daughters joined the church, and eventually the entire family was baptized.

Their home was a welcome place to be, especially for a worn-out elder about to eat his farewell dinner.

Brother Yatsuhashi invited us into the kitchen, and I could immediately sense his anticipation. His short frame fidgeted as he announced that we would be eating sashimi (usually raw fish). It was his attempt at a practical joke, and he wasn't pulling it off very well.

I looked at the plates on the table and immediately knew it was a four-legged animal, rather than a finned one. I told him that his attempt at deception had failed, but that I would give basashi a try.

It was a memorable evening, and not because of the main dish, which with a little soy sauce was actually tolerable. What I'll remember is the sense of extended-family comfort that I felt in the home, despite the fact that I was speaking a different language and dining on something that two years earlier would have dropped my appetite like a Ronnie Lott open-field hit.

It was a microcosm of the mission experience — one that is certainly not unique to me.