“We’re a restaurant – we should expect this kind of thing!”
We’d just placed our order at an unassuming burger shack at the end of a long bike ride around KosterHavet National Park, located on a car-free island off the coast of Sweden.
I’d stuffed my back pack with snacks I knew each of us could eat, but the idea of “real” food was alluring, so we brought out our food restriction cards, translated into Swedish no less, and started the interview.
Pure beef patties for my little one who’s mast cell disorder reacts to all the fillers? Check.
Gluten free, dairy free, soy free buns? You’re kidding me!
Our burgers might have been pretty plain, but they were well-seasoned by the young waiter’s unexpectedly welcoming service – a lesson that even some of the “best” restaurants back in New York have yet to learn.
We were charmed, we were fed, and we were “adventured.” And as we climbed back up onto our bicycles, the rumble in our kids’ tummies had been replaced with the confidence that their food restrictions don’t have to hold them back – and that even on a tiny island off the coast of a foreign land, they don’t have to carry this burden alone.