The woman working at the cheese counter looked surprised when we told her that we did indeed want all 2 kilograms (4.5 pounds) of orange cheddar. Regardless, she wrapped it in plastic and handed it over the counter. 

We set our block of cheese gently into the cart, on top of the brick of butter and next to the eight packets of Philadelphia cream cheese. After scrounging up some bacon, milk, pasta, and parsley, we were ready to begin our seven-hour mac and cheese marathon.

Kevin, Nahanni, Audrey and I had banded together to represent the U.S. in the International Dinner last Sunday. This yearly event is organized by Rotex, a Belgian organization of former Rotary exchange students.

The dinner (lunch, in Euro speak) presents a chance for exchange students to share their national cuisines with each other, their host families and Rotary members. For us four Americans, that meant cooking 50 portions of mac and cheese. Thus, Saturday afternoon found us wondering through the supermarket in the small city of Mons, poring over the staggeringly diverse cheese selection, trying to find some plain old cheddar.

But if Sunday was to be a day of international cultural exchange, then Saturday allowed us to explore the differences within our own country. It was a perfect Northwest/Northeast divide: Nahanni and Kevin representing Oregon and Washington State, respectively; while Audrey, hailing from New Jersey, and I filled out the East Coast delegation.

The West Coast quickly took control of the supermarket operation. Kevin led us fearlessly through the maze of brightly lit aisles, while Nahanni pranced alongside. The East Coasters? We were pushing the cart. But shopping can be a tedious activity, and soon ceased to entertain the wayward spirits of our West Coast compatriots. It was not long before Kevin and Nahanni had skittered off in search of edgier, less 'mainstream' activities, such as filming themselves flashing the 'W' sign while putting pineapples into the carts of unsuspecting strangers.

Luckily for our progressive, new-agey friends, there were still two East Coasters in charge of the cart. And if there is one thing that East Coasters, especially New Englanders, know how to do, it's taking care of the gritty work. Audrey and I tore up and down the aisles with the force of a nor'easter, pulled the cart up at the checkout counter with the deft hand of a seasoned lobsterman, and frowned at the final cost with the ingrained frugality of the lobsterman's wife.

West Coasters, to their enormous credit, are very creative and capable of making big plans. Back at Audrey's house, where we were to cook and then spend the night, Kevin and Nahanni provided the vision to plan the construction of a final, composed product from the jumble of ingredients piled high on the kitchen table. Kevin got started right away, measuring out proportions for the sauce, while Nahanni quickly worked out how to use the stove, which was incredibly complicated — at least by New England standards. Audrey and I, lacking the vision of our transcontinental neighbors, set about reducing our 2-kilo block of cheddar into little pieces.

Ari Snider is a high school junior from Belfast studying abroad in Belgium through Rotary International. He currently lives with a host family in Waterloo, not far from Brussels. His discoveries and adventures abroad have been the subject of his blog Belfast/Belgique, which he has graciously allowed us to post here.

If anything represents the American Dream, however, it's people from different walks of life putting aside their differences to work for an ideal greater than themselves. In our case, that ideal manifested in 50 portions of decadent, cheesy goodness garnished with chopped parsley and crispy bits of bacon. As the evening dragged into night, we set the first pan in the oven. Audrey's host family came, ate dinner, went to bed, and still we cooked. Nahanni edited the footage she and Kevin had filmed in the supermarket into a polished, three-and-a-half minute short film, and still we cooked.

We pulled the last batch out of the oven at midnight. It was well after one o'clock when Audrey and I finished washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. We made sure to whisper, for Kevin and Nahanni had fallen asleep on the couch.

But there would be little rest that night, even for the weary. We woke up early Sunday morning to the task of fitting our 50 portions of gorgeous mac and cheese, if I do say so myself, into plastic containers that we could take on the train to Charleroi for the exotic dinner, which was to be held in a university dining room.

By the time we arrived, tupperware in hand, the long buffet tables were already hung with flags and piled high with an array of exotic dishes. Countless delicious scents wafted through the air, mingling with the multilingual banter of 150 excited exchange students.

The United States' table featured such unique delicacies as soup in a bread bowl, cornbread, Caesar salad wraps, spicy chicken wings, pancakes, Jell-O, and pigs-in-a-blanket. It is often said that the U.S. lacks a national cuisine, but where else can you find mini hot dogs wrapped in butter rolls?

The other tables were just as impressive. Rows of tacos, a pile of golden empanadas, a plate of elegant sushi rolls, pots of steaming brazilian beans, and a thick Australian stew all intrigued the eyes and set the stomach rumbling. I was particularly thrilled to see such a mouthwatering display of Mexican cuisine, which is nearly nonexistent in Europe.

Flags and national colors abounded, making the whole scene feel like the dining hall at Hogwarts before a quidditch match. The Mexicans were an exuberant sea of red, green, and white; the Brazilians a mob of green, speckled with blue and yellow. The three Japanese girls wore delicate floral kimonos. One South African girl had converted her flag into a dress. We Americans decked ourselves out in little flag stickers and tossed a football over the tables. Unfortunately, the Australians' idea of cultural expression consisted of luring naïve foreigners into eating spoonfuls of straight Vegemite.

The host parents and Rotarians arrived in force around noon. Kevin, Nahanni, Audrey and I took shifts serving our mac and cheese, which was incredibly popular. When not on duty, I took time to sample the other nations' cuisines. The empanadas were heavenly, perfectly crisp with a rich, meaty filling. My Indonesian friends had cooked up a rich green curry that burned with spicy heat. The burritos, needless to say, were fantastic. Unfortunately, the pigs in a blanket had all been snatched up by the time I came around.

The meal continued for several-several hours. After we had all eaten our fill of multinational delicacies, we launched into a spirited round of the Belgian Exchange Student song. The cheer starts with a call and response of "Ozzy! Ozzy! Ozzy! Oi! Oi! Oi!", then delves into vulgar portuguese curse words before dissolving into wild cheering and clapping.

With our bellies full and our minds at ease, we started to dance.

Note: Two fellow exchange students, Kevin Celustka, mentioned above, and Kendra Barton allowed me to publish their photos from the exotic dinner along with my own. I am very thankful for their generosity and photographic talent. Enjoy!