Recently I received a mysterious package. Not like someone left it on my doorstep, ran away, and it turned out to be a baby mysterious, but a package that I wasn’t expecting. I of course tore into it immediately like a kid at Christmas. And by kid I mean myself last year at Christmas.
Turns out it was hundreds of small packages of Cholula. One of the greatest tasting hot sauces on the mass market today. If anyone works for Cholula, or knows anyone who does, I can be convinced to work for you. Seriously. I love you.
But I digress. The sender turned out to be my father. So I duly thanked the old man for his gracious gifts. As the honorable man that he is, he admitted that he was in fact the sender, but was not responsible for the gift itself. Apparently I have friends in high places. Or at least friends willing to walk into restaurants and take hundreds of packets of Cholula, pack them, and attempt to ship them to Sweden.
The attempted shipping was what went wrong. Which is where my dad came into play. With the help of his trusty green card, he was able to navigate the tricky customs situation between Sweden and the US. Actually, I think he just slapped a label on it and drove to the post office. But that’s almost the same thing.
Since then I’ve been smothering my food in Cholula. Rice and beans. Meat. Potatoes. Pyttipanna. Spaghetti. It’s been amazing. I’ve even attempted to recreate what I like to call Red Sea Goldfish. Goldfish crackers mixed with lots of hot sauce and eaten with a spoon. I’ve substituted cheese tortilla chips for the Goldfish, it’s not quite the same but it will do.
Moving to Sweden and having lived here now for over two years, it’s amazing how homesickness can manifest itself. Sometimes it’s missing the big things, like family and friends. Sometimes it’s missing the little things, like Cholula and smothering cheesy snacks with hot sauce. Either way, when one or the other shows up on your door step, it’s a good day.
Welcome to Sweden. And Cholula.
Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden