I listened to the gravel crunch beneath the tires, peering out the window to glimpse the rugged red siding of an old building, crawling with vines and surrounded by fields of wildflowers. It was the day of my first JBT finance department luncheon, and we were headed into the Helsingborg countryside, well off the beaten path, to Tomatens Hus. Along with the other fifteen or so department members, I ambled toward the quaint restaurant and was seated alongside my co-workers in a rustic greenhouse that had been refurbished into an outdoor dining room.

Next to me sat the other department newcomer, a June 2013 MS Business Administration graduate of Lund University. I was grateful for his company amongst the stiff, older crowd with whom we had come, and I was quick to ask his name: Yawn, Yom, Yod…. To this day I’m not exactly certain what he replied, but upon seeing my blank stare and raised eyebrow, he quickly added “The worst name for international translation that could ever be given to a child!” We both cracked a smile and in no time, I was able to easily converse with a local Swede for the first time since my arrival in the country.

Along with my new friend and me, Anne-Sofie, Kristofer, and Johann all rested around the whimsical turquoise and white polka dot table, atop which sat woven baskets, spilling with baby pink carnations. Like clockwork, a crisply dressed waitress came to our table and asked in Swedish what I knew to be “What can I get you to drink?” Using my cripplingly limited Swedish vocabulary, I carefully responded, “Vater, tack.” Unlike several of my previous social experiences with my co-workers, the conversation flowed easily and remained, for the most part, in English. When the waitress returned, Johann translated the “Tomato House” menu for me.

After briefly discussing the seasonal items, which included both a tomato mozzarella salad and a pork chop topped with tomato chutney the majority of the table requested a unique dish – tomato pie with fresh greens. It wasn’t long before a plate heaped with fresh salad and steaming tomatoes of all varieties, carefully contained within a flaky, buttery crust sprawled before my eyes. We dug in. Utsökt! Every plate was soon wiped cleaned of the Scandinavian delicacy, which we were disappointed to learn was a Tomatens Hus secret recipe. Despite the fact that we ached from our hearty meal, all agreed that coffee and pastries were in order.  We wanted to savour more delicacies of the farmhouse and we certainly wanted to postpone our return to the office as well.

Soon the scent of traditional rolled Swedish cakes topped with tomato jam and strong Swedish coffee filled the small greenhouse space. A chuckle came from all my lunch-mates as my nose crinkled at the taste of the bitter liquid so soon after the saccharine marzipan cream.

By all accounts, the outing had gone much better than expected – for the first time I was feeling rather comfortable in my home far, far away from home. When the call of unattended stacks of papers and accumulating emails back at the office became so loud we could no longer extend the leisurely afternoon, we all began to stand and walk toward the nearby cottage to settle our bills.

I’m not sure if the cobblestone patio was just too uneven, the air in the greenhouse just too thick, or the tomatoes in my stomach just too heavy… but what came next is what I will likely remember as one of the most disastrous occurrences during my time in Sweden. I briskly stood and, without warning, found myself inexplicably tilting much too far to my right side.

Kristoffer was the only one who intercepted the look of dread in my eyes, and although he thrust his arm in my direction in an unsuccessful attempt to save me, I clattered to the floor taking with me not one, not two, but three chairs.

All sound within the greenhouse ceased as I awkwardly struggled to untangle myself from the puzzle of arms and legs I had created.  Once I had risen, I stifled a cringe brought on by the pain shooting through my neck and wrist and eyed the room of frozen bodies, breathlessly waiting to gauge my reaction.  Not knowing what else to say, I resounded, “WOW! I didn’t realize Swedish coffee was THAT strong!”

To my relief the joke, so painfully terrible that it rivaled the ache in my back, did the trick and the room burst into laughter. Thankfully, as our party continued inside to pay our bills, the incident seemed to pass almost without notice. I purchased two bags of fresh tomatoes, climbed back into the car and let the memory evaporate in a cloud of gravelly dust as we pulled away.