Of Goulash and Gappiness

For some reason, (vaguely related to learning Russian, but I can't remember how exactly), words beginning with 'h' are often pronounced with a 'g' in our family. That will, I hope (gope?) give a clue to the heading of this post, (a feeble excuse for giving into the temptation to alliterate).

The post itself is about the Dalai Lama, who came to Budapest once when I was there. One of my friends was doing something at the Central European University, where he was staying, and was to some extent responsible for taking care of him.

After he'd gone, it suddenly struck her that the student dining room, staffed by Hungarian cooks, whose approach to cooking generally leans toward the meaty end of the spectrum,  might not have been able to supply His Holiness with the nuts and vegetables that she understood were his staples. When she asked if he'd been all right, she was told cheerily, 'He was fine, he just ate lots of goulash like everyone else. He even had second helpings. He said he loved it'

That is good manners.

But I don't know why I'm surprised. Everything I've ever read about the Dalai Lama suggests he is a bit of an angel - I suppose it goes with the job - and this charming article only adds to the mounting evidence on that score.