Yesterday my roommate Mubark asked me if I wanted to go to lunch with him and his friend Mahmoud. I was busy working but also getting hungry so I said sure, thinking we might be gone for 30 minutes to get some Taco Bell down the street.

Little did I know that Mubark's idea of "lunch" would involve a 3 hour trip all the across town to a little grocery store and deli in Beaverton called Halal.

When we arrived we were greeted by two Middle Eastern men, Abdurahim and Hamid, who greeted my two Saudi companions like they were old friends. As Mubark ordered our food I took the opportunity to look around at the various canned goods and delicacies scattered about on the shelves or still unpacked in their original shipping cartons. Imported dates, various yogurt drinks, grape leaves, halva, and currant juice were just a few of the items that caught my attention before I was told to join my friends for eating.

I walked over to the deli section where there were some tables and chairs set out for guests but strangely not much else. Even the shelves behind the refrigerated glass deli display was barren, and I was beginning to feel suspicious about what kind of establishment we were in. Thankfully, those suspicions were quickly squashed when they brought out our food.

We each got an enormous helping of golden rice with peas, carrots, and a half chicken on top; plus another plate with lamb that the three of us shared. Everything was delicious and I was beginning to feel that the long drive might have actually been worth it. The rice was flavored with turmeric, cardamom, and other spices; and whatever they put on the chicken was dang good. For my beverage, I picked out a non-alcoholic "malt drink" that looked like a bottle of beer with the label in Arabic. Hamid, the older clerk, as well as an older man who had just entered the store, kept trying to tell me to put the drink back thinking I wanted a beer and that I hadn't noticed the words "non-alcoholic" on the label. Maybe I should have listened to them, because as I was expecting something similar to the malt drinks popular in Cuba, what I got was something that tasted like a non alcoholic beer. And beer is something I've never much liked the taste of, alcoholic or not.

After our meal (which we ate using our bare hands), I had a chance to explore the store some more. Hamid was cutting some meat a customer was ordering and it was so interesting to me I asked if I could take a photo of it. After joking if I was an FBI agent, Hamid told me to follow him as he opened the door to the meat locker and proceeded inside.

Hamid proudly pointed at the hanging carcasses and seemed amused by the look of surprise on my face. For while I am a carnivore, it's not often that I see my food in such an unprocessed state that it still resembles an animal.

He must have gotten excited about my reaction as he walked over to one of the carcasses and held it up as if it was a prized possession or possibly even an old pet. I barely had time to take a photo and then before I knew it we were heading back out of the locker so he could finish cutting up more meat for a customer.

Shortly after, Abdurahim, a PCC student in his early 20s, asked my friends if they wanted to try some new tobacco he had recently acquired. He said it was really "hot" tobacco and bet them they couldn't take more than a couple drags of it.

First up was Mahmoud. He scooped up a little bit of the stuff in his pipe and we proceeded outside away from the main entrance of the store. He lit the pipe, took a drag, and held it in his lungs. Everything seemed to be going fine, but suddenly he coughed and a stream of spittle and tears simultaneously ejected from his mouth and eyes.