The U and the Taste are Silent

There are a few "little" things that I am having to get used to in my new home. Things that you don't think about before you head across the border, but that quickly become part of your consciousness, providing entirely more worry than they should.

One of these things for me, is the addition of an extra "u" in certain words. Since Canada still adheres to the British way of spelling things (though, I will note that they use the Oxford Canadian Dictionary), words that normally end in "-or" in American usage, tend to change to "-our" in British/Canadian spelling. This fact has caused me no end of stress, as I pore over cover letters and résumés with obsessive-complusive fervour [Ack! There's one now!] to ensure that I have not misspelled a word that even a Canadian first-grader wouldn't mess up. Eventually, I just decided to avoid this class of nouns altogether in my correspondence until I actually have a job. After that point, I can just use the American spelling until I get used to using the Canadian version. When I slip up, all I have to do is shrug and say, "Sorry! I'm from the States!" People here will turn their heads slightly sideways, nod, and giving that look of understanding that only Canadians can give, they'll say, "It's ok. You'll get it next time, eh?"

But this regional variation has got me thinking. Humour, honour, flavour... yes, their dictionary definitions are identical to humor, honor, and flavor. But do they mean the same thing? One of the more fascinating topics I covered in my undergraduate language courses was how the way we use language influences the way we think. Or, vice-versa, depending on who you talk to; it's a "chicken or the egg" kind of debate. For a simplistic example, German syntax very often places verbs- the heart of the thought- at the end of each clause. Germans, in general, also tend to "save the best for last," whereas the French will very often eat the tastiest pieces of chocolate in the box early on. The French language, of course, has no such rules about the placement of verbs.

So I can't help but wonder if Canadians think of something different when they say or hear the word "flavour." I think they must. I have lived here for a couple of months now, and I have only managed to have two meals at restaurants that had anything resembling what I would call "flavor." And I had to go to some of the more far-flung and ethnically diverse areas of town to get them: Little India, and a part of town heavily populated by Ethiopian/Eritrean immigrants. I have been to other ethnic restaurants in Toronto, and even some run-of-the-mill European restaurants (Italian, French, etc.), but they all have one thing in common: flavoUr. The meals I had in each of these restaurants certainly tasted like something. They had a flavoUr, but I would not go so far as to say that they had flavor. Even the French restaurant, which I assumed would drench every morsel in sauce, came up lacking in saveur.

Thus, I am led to conclude that the Canadian palate is- cuturally- bland. Of course, it is entirely possible (and quite likely) that I am the oddball. After all, I was raised on the "Holy Trinity" of bell pepper, onion and celery, with a healthy dose of garlic thrown in. I was weaned on Tabasco Sauce, and use crushed red pepper with impunity. This is not the norm across the United States, either (cf. Kansas). Perhaps one day, when I am able to entertain, I will cook a spicy and savoury (!) dinner, invite all of my Canadian friends over, only to have them talk about how overwhelming my food is. I'm ok with that. They will have their first encounter with flavor.