Each time I come back home from a work tour abroad - usually following the Indian cricket team - talk at home with the wife invariably revolves around the new animals I have found to eat. Beijing, my one big non-cricket tour, was by far the most productive, carnivorously speaking, but every place I've been to has thrown up interesting options. Most of the time, I have found my way around alone after friends and colleagues took their leave with stricken expressions and a "you go, boss, we'll hit the Indian restaurant".
I don't mean to judge anyone. Not at all. I steer clear of Indian restaurants abroad because food, to me, is an integral part of experiencing a different culture, place and people. But I understand that others may want to pack parathas in their suitcases or make a beeline for the nearest Taj restaurant (there's one in almost every city in the world - seriously). People travel for different reasons, after all. I particularly feel for my vegetarian colleagues, who have it cruelly bad sometimes - like the chap who survived on rotis and curd and chocolates for 45 days in Pakistan.
That's that for the media contingent. I have often wondered how the cricket contingent is handling its gustatory situation. Five-star hotels will usually rustle up what the players want. Despite that, I have known vegetarian Indian cricketers to struggle, and the blandness of the preparations drive even non-vegetarians to the nearest KFC or McDonald's outlet. Encounters with 'cheeseburgers', of course, are legend.