Way back in the first century AD, a Roman gourmand by the name of Apicius sat us all at a rocky table when he declared that we first eat with our eyes.

He may have been stating the obvious – if it looks good, we’re more likely to eat it – but he might also have set a rule by which we now live … and lose out.

I vividly remember taking an American friend to a West African restaurant in the back streets of Budapest’s VIII kerület. They were less than impressed by the offer. And, in fairness, it all looked like a differently coloured gloop. The menu was limited to three choices.

The place was too small for me to turn on my heel so I released my inner martyr. It took some persuading to get my friend to stay and try it out.

We ordered all three dishes along with the fried plantain, which was at least recognisable as a variety of banana, and dug in, albeit somewhat timidly.

Everything was delicious.

Apicius might have walked out.

Or not.

What looks like gloop to me, might look tasty to someone else. What looks like art on a plate to me, might look suspicious to someone else. It’s all a matter of perspective.

And taste.

Boss, God rest him, was always suspicious of sauces, believing them to be covering up a multitude of culinary sins.

In Bangalore many years ago, I spent ten days in a retreat centre eating institutional food that my classmates raved about. They could tell what was what. I could only delineate colour: brown meant breakfast; green meant lunch.

For dinner, we were on our own. I was inordinately excited to find a local cheap eat that did plain, ungarnished lamb chops.

Food, in all its forms and fashions, is cultural.

Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin wrote Physiologie du Gout (The Philosophy of Taste), which published in 1825, a year before his death. He’s billed as quite possibly the greatest food critic ever.

He said:

The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than the discovery of a new star.

While I’ve learned to be careful about going down the Apicius route, I’m fully with Brillat-Savarin.

I like my food. I like trying new food. I like to travel mainly because I get to try new food.

In Mexico recently we stopped at Km 52 on the Rosarito-Ensenada free road to have lunch. Splash! is the brainchild of the four Nuñez brothers and where himself and the lovely C had their fill of ceviche with the ever-abundant avocado. I opted for the clams.

With starters this size, we were glad we showed some restraint. This far north in Baja California, portions are still US-sized.

It was fresh, tangy, tasty – everything food should be. And it looked good.

Further down the coast, in Ensenda, we went out for breakfast. I played it safe with my hotcakes, bacon, and eggs but regretted it. The brown gloop you see on the other two plates is frijoles – I have the lovely M’s recipe that I intend to master – and it’s delicious. The bottom plate has chilaquiles, another breakfast dish I will be adding to my menu. Again, it doesn’t look like much but it is sooooo tasty.

We’re big fans of street food, especially when we travel. It’s all about going local. We had it on good authority that the best food in this part of the world was to be found in the divey-est of dives. Walk into some place and worry that you might be in food trouble, they said, and that’s where you want to eat.

We stopped at a taco stand off the tourist track and thought we were on a winner. And we were. They were good. Very good. But not great. Not what I was looking for.

I stayed in one evening while the other two went dive hunting. I trusted them implicitly. I wanted that mouth-watering, saliva-inducing, tastebud explosion of meat and spices – the carne asada, the lime, the cilantro – all of it.

They brought me home a torta from Tacos el Regresso.

It didn’t look like much but it is right at the top of the all-time best sandwiches I’ve ever had, anywhere.

Mexico has a thing for sweet breads, pan dulce. Not the Irish kind (which is a meat) but the dough kind. The round ones in the photos are conchas. The corn-shaped ones are an exquisite take on elotito. And the pig-shaped one is a puerquito. The two one the top left remain a mystery.

I doubt I’ll have the patience to try making any of them.

These few days were a grateful reminder not to be so quick to judge.

Anyone.

Or anything.

Things aren’t always how they look.

For your reading pleasure

Apicius. (1936). Cooking and dining in Imperial Rome (c. 1st Century; J. D. Vehling, Trans.). Chicago, IL: Springer.

Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin. (1825).  The Physiology of Taste.