Buffet in Bhutan
My last day in Bhutan.
I’ve loved every minute of my stay here. But if I had to name one downside, it would be the food, or, to be more precise, the buffet. Like just about every other visitor, I had to eat my meals at the hotel: not real food, but buffet food. For goodness’ sake, buffet? Even with the finest ingredients, it’s hard to get a truly decent meal that way.
I’m not even sure those dishes are what local people actually eat. It feels like a confused compromise—the worst of both worlds—between local and Western cuisines. And when we were out and about, we were taken to restaurants for lunch. Guess what? Bloody buffet again.
To make matters slightly worse, it seems tour guides aren’t encouraged to eat with their clients. They usually disappear to some hidden corner for their own meals. Occasionally, upon my insistence, my guide Tandin, ever so sweet and caring, would join me. Mostly, though, I ate on my own. It wasn’t a big deal, but it didn’t have to be that way.
Finally, I asked to eat at a local restaurant or, better yet, in someone’s home. And today, for lunch, Tandin arranged for us to visit a farm where the owner runs a small homestay. It turned out far better than I expected.
The food was easily the best I’ve had in Bhutan. In the center of the table sat a yak dish, a special treat, even for locals in lower-altitude areas like Paro. The pumpkin soup, cooked in a rich meaty broth, was delicious, and the chili in cheese sauce was also memorable.
But it wasn’t just the food. Visiting a local home gave me a glimpse of real life. Before lunch, we sat in the kitchen sipping yak butter tea, chatting with the hosts as the fire crackled in the stove.
It happened to be Tsechu, a religious festival associated with Guru Rinpoche—the one who, legend has it, flew to Bhutan on the back of a tigress. Each district celebrates it on a different date. When we arrived, the family was busy preparing for the evening’s communal feast, laying offerings before the household altar. Young monks were practicing on long Tibetan trumpets. Later, there would be masked dances, singing, and merrymaking.
This was exactly the kind of experience I’d been craving, not staring out from a hotel window and eating yet another bloody buffet.