When I was a kid, we had an Indonesian exchange student live with us for awhile. His name was Radi. He was a skinny, excitable chap with thick glasses who was eager to introduce his American hosts to Indonesian culture. This included ferreting out an Indonesian market and restaurant deep in an Asian pocket of the San Fernando Valley.
My parents were travelers and adventurous eaters. So even in the comparatively dismal dining scene of my childhood neighborhood, ours were regular faces at the nearest Chinese, Japanese and Thai restaurants. But here was something completely new. More