You may notice several things in the picture above. There is a ginormous pan on the table overflowing with food. Second, there is no one sitting directly in front of me, meaning that the colossal meal is not being shared among a large dinner party. And perhaps most obvious, the two ladies at the adjacent table are looking bemusedly at Yun, my roommate, travel buddy, and dinner companion, and me, and the other lady looks plain flabbergasted. At the time, the red-haired woman switched her glance between Yun and me, laughed, and put up her hand in high-five sort of way. The photo was taken at a communal table in Wirsthaus Wöllinger in Munich in late March on spring break–the snow-covered ground and 28-degree temperatures are not my exact idea of an Easter vacation, but I’m not one to complain about traveling, no matter the weather conditions. Neither Yun nor I speak a lick of German, and we quickly realize that something may have gotten lost in translation when we ordered our dinner. We had asked our waitress if the restaurant made schweinshaxe (pork knuckle), and she said “Ja!” and some other stuff that we didn’t catch. But she said “Ja,” and that was enough. We ordered and sipped our beer in hopeful anticipation of a traditional Bavarian meal. Well, we did get our schweinshaxe–two, in fact. And two of everything else, including pork loin, duck leg, red sauerkraut, plain sauerkraut, balls of what may have been potato, and something that tasted similar to polenta. After taking a moment of surprised silence to evaluate the situation at hand–namely, the mountain of food–we realized why the woman kept holding up her five fingers. As she and her party left the restaurant, she said “Fünf leute!” Here we had a feast fit for five. And so we feasted. We were given a side of gravy, but all the meats were so tender and juicy that we barely needed to use it. The pork knuckle, hard to maneuver with a fork and knife, fell apart almost the second I put it into my mouth. I don’t know whether the fact that we ate almost all of the platter is funny or gross. What I do know is that it was tasty (nevermind the fact that we forever swore off food when we beyond-cleared the line between satisfied and stuffed-to-our-eyeballs)! We had to take about 45 minutes to sit and let our food settle before getting up and making our way back to the hotel. It certainly was one of the most memorable food experiences I have had. Our promise of asceticism lasted all but 11 hours: We had a whole and hearty breakfast the following morning. What surprising food experiences have you had thanks to language barriers?