Don't worry, it's still me, so I also took pictures of the Coast Guard ships that I spent a couple of weeks working with :)
Showing posts with label yumminess. Show all posts
Showing posts with label yumminess. Show all posts
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Green with Envy
I have spent three out of the last seven weeks working out of Oakland, CA, on a project that involved the U.S. Coast Guard. Unlike my colleagues on the project, who all have significant prior military experience in very nasty situations but refer to downtown Oakland as the "Green Zone", I preferred to stay in downtown Oakland, smack in the middle of Chinatown. And when they would stroll in each morning talking about the steak they ate at Outback Steakhouse the previous night, I would tell them about the delicious hole-in-the-wall a 2-minute walk from my room, serving up tasty Cambodian food (unidentifiable fish in a banana leaf, just like Phnom Penh), or the Japanese place a stone's throw away that served a giant spicy tuna salad less than $5. And I could see it written on their faces: they had food envy. But they refused to venture into Oakland after dark, and they missed out. Their loss, not mine, because I'm still fondly remembering the 8-beer sampler from the brewpub (the Columbus IPA is good, but the Blue Whale Ale is tastier) less than a quarter-mile from my hotel's front door.
Don't worry, it's still me, so I also took pictures of the Coast Guard ships that I spent a couple of weeks working with :)
Don't worry, it's still me, so I also took pictures of the Coast Guard ships that I spent a couple of weeks working with :)
Saturday, August 16, 2008
The Inevitable Big Mac Attack
There's something about spending a significant amount of time away from home that makes you CRAVE foods from home that you don't normally eat. One night Lizzi and I spent an entire evening fantasizing about what fast food hamburger we would eat first when we got home: McDonald's? Burger King? Wendy's? In the end, it didn't really matter. We just wanted something familiar. So when we stopped in Bangkok, we satisfied our cravings with cheeseburgers, chicken McNuggets, and sodas that seemed as big as oil barrels.
But when we reached New Delhi, it was different. We weren't necessarily craving food from home, but there was something about New Delhi that screamed foreign, even alien, to me. Even before we'd left for the trip, we'd heard that McDonald's in India were something to be seen, so when we came across one on our walk back to our hostel, we couldn't resist. McDonald's in India is like Chuck-E-Cheese here in the U.S. It's pure spectacle! Everything is bright and shiny; families are there for their big dining-out night. It's chaos, but in a good way.
So we dove right in, ruining the dinner we'd planned with a McVeggie Burger and a McAloo Tiki Burger. Yeah, it's a little different, but I now can't help passing a McDonald's in Boston without wondering if they've got a McCurry Happy Meal.
But when we reached New Delhi, it was different. We weren't necessarily craving food from home, but there was something about New Delhi that screamed foreign, even alien, to me. Even before we'd left for the trip, we'd heard that McDonald's in India were something to be seen, so when we came across one on our walk back to our hostel, we couldn't resist. McDonald's in India is like Chuck-E-Cheese here in the U.S. It's pure spectacle! Everything is bright and shiny; families are there for their big dining-out night. It's chaos, but in a good way.
So we dove right in, ruining the dinner we'd planned with a McVeggie Burger and a McAloo Tiki Burger. Yeah, it's a little different, but I now can't help passing a McDonald's in Boston without wondering if they've got a McCurry Happy Meal.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Daal Bhatt, American Style
Written and Posted from Hong Kong
I'm sitting upstairs surrounded by 7 happy babies, watching Aladdin for the hundredth time in a week, humming along to that song where Aladdin becomes Prince Ali and rides through the town on the monkey-turned-elephant. I look up in time to see the two directors of the volunteer program peering into the room, asking if they can talk to me for a minute. Flashback to that moment as a babysitter when I worried that maybe Mrs. Brenner KNEW that I didn't make her cute little boys brush their teeth before putting them to bed and THAT'S what she wanted to talk to me about. Except that no, she just wanted to give me a present for my 13th birthday (a candle! phew!). And this time, the directors just wanted nothing more than for me to cook a western meal for 25 people that night, people who included the babies in the room, babies who had, until that night, eaten a diet exclusively consisting of rice and daal. Why oh why didn't they just have a stupid candle for me?!
I settled on spaghetti and meatballs, a salad without lettuce, bruschetta, and ice cream and cookies. Typical Nepalese kitchens don't have an oven, so anything that couldn't be cooked over an open flame was out. And I was cooking for at least 25 people, so I needed big quantities. Big quantities at affordable prices, since we were talking about a meal that was being paid for by people who build orphanages and schools and finance micro-credit loans for a living. Except that it's impossible to cook western food in Nepal for affordable prices, especially if you want to make such exotic things as spaghetti! The total bill came to about $90, which is CRAZY-high by Nepalese standards. Then again, I ended up feeding about 35 people, which is CRAZY-lot of people on short notice, even by my standards.
The meatballs were a buff-chicken mix. Not buff as in, "hey, that shirt makes you look really buff" but buff as in water buffalo. Because in places where the cow is holy, the water buffalo is a tasty treat. The spaghetti didn't turn out quite right because the Nepalese household in charge of cooking the spaghetti didn't understand that you don't turn the water OFF once it boils and the pasta goes in (like you'd do with, say, RICE), but that you boil the pasta right there, IN the boiling water (oh the insanity!). The meatballs (all 70 of them) took forever to make because we could only cook 5 at a time in this teeny tiny little pan. But the bruschetta was some of the best that I've ever made, if I do say so myself, and the salad actually had real vinegar in it (and bonus!, it didn't make anyone sick, which is huge, considering it actually contained real raw vegetables).
The absolute highlight of the evening occurred when I walked into the kitchen at the orphanage and saw my Didi (Nepali for big sister) eating the entire meal in one big bowl -- spaghetti, sauce, meatballs, parmesan cheese, salad, bruschetta, all mixed together in an Italian-style jumble, complete with extra salt and a few chilies thrown in for flavor. She looked up at me from her bowl, spoon poised above what had essentially become a bowl of American-Italianized Daal Bhatt, and said, "ekdam mikto chaa!" which is Nepali for "very delicious!" I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was totally and completely lying but I didn't care at all, not even one little bit, because half of the people who ate dinner that night had never even seen spaghetti, kind of like I'd never even seen daal bhaat before I started eating it twice a day, and there's just something about cooking your brother's birthday dinner (minus the cake) in a little town outside of Kathmandu, using a teeny tiny pan and one burner and no power, that is the kind of thing that makes you realize that the world isn't so big after all, and that sometimes home is only as far away as an overpriced jar of green olives and cooking dinner for an impromptu hodgepodge family.
I'm sitting upstairs surrounded by 7 happy babies, watching Aladdin for the hundredth time in a week, humming along to that song where Aladdin becomes Prince Ali and rides through the town on the monkey-turned-elephant. I look up in time to see the two directors of the volunteer program peering into the room, asking if they can talk to me for a minute. Flashback to that moment as a babysitter when I worried that maybe Mrs. Brenner KNEW that I didn't make her cute little boys brush their teeth before putting them to bed and THAT'S what she wanted to talk to me about. Except that no, she just wanted to give me a present for my 13th birthday (a candle! phew!). And this time, the directors just wanted nothing more than for me to cook a western meal for 25 people that night, people who included the babies in the room, babies who had, until that night, eaten a diet exclusively consisting of rice and daal. Why oh why didn't they just have a stupid candle for me?!
I settled on spaghetti and meatballs, a salad without lettuce, bruschetta, and ice cream and cookies. Typical Nepalese kitchens don't have an oven, so anything that couldn't be cooked over an open flame was out. And I was cooking for at least 25 people, so I needed big quantities. Big quantities at affordable prices, since we were talking about a meal that was being paid for by people who build orphanages and schools and finance micro-credit loans for a living. Except that it's impossible to cook western food in Nepal for affordable prices, especially if you want to make such exotic things as spaghetti! The total bill came to about $90, which is CRAZY-high by Nepalese standards. Then again, I ended up feeding about 35 people, which is CRAZY-lot of people on short notice, even by my standards.
The meatballs were a buff-chicken mix. Not buff as in, "hey, that shirt makes you look really buff" but buff as in water buffalo. Because in places where the cow is holy, the water buffalo is a tasty treat. The spaghetti didn't turn out quite right because the Nepalese household in charge of cooking the spaghetti didn't understand that you don't turn the water OFF once it boils and the pasta goes in (like you'd do with, say, RICE), but that you boil the pasta right there, IN the boiling water (oh the insanity!). The meatballs (all 70 of them) took forever to make because we could only cook 5 at a time in this teeny tiny little pan. But the bruschetta was some of the best that I've ever made, if I do say so myself, and the salad actually had real vinegar in it (and bonus!, it didn't make anyone sick, which is huge, considering it actually contained real raw vegetables).
The absolute highlight of the evening occurred when I walked into the kitchen at the orphanage and saw my Didi (Nepali for big sister) eating the entire meal in one big bowl -- spaghetti, sauce, meatballs, parmesan cheese, salad, bruschetta, all mixed together in an Italian-style jumble, complete with extra salt and a few chilies thrown in for flavor. She looked up at me from her bowl, spoon poised above what had essentially become a bowl of American-Italianized Daal Bhatt, and said, "ekdam mikto chaa!" which is Nepali for "very delicious!" I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was totally and completely lying but I didn't care at all, not even one little bit, because half of the people who ate dinner that night had never even seen spaghetti, kind of like I'd never even seen daal bhaat before I started eating it twice a day, and there's just something about cooking your brother's birthday dinner (minus the cake) in a little town outside of Kathmandu, using a teeny tiny pan and one burner and no power, that is the kind of thing that makes you realize that the world isn't so big after all, and that sometimes home is only as far away as an overpriced jar of green olives and cooking dinner for an impromptu hodgepodge family.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Zero Tolerance
Posted from New Delhi, India
From the very beginning, we knew that getting a refreshing, frosty, adult beverage was unlikely in India. Between Hinduism and Islam, drinking isn't entirely smiled upon. In fact, whole cities are dry. But it's possible to find alcohol here and there. The local beer is Kingfisher, and it can be found just about everywhere. But that's the rub -- it's everywhere. If you want a beer, it's going to be a Kingfisher (if you look around really hard, you can find Cobra and Foster's too, but they really aren't any better). Kingfisher is an ok beer. It's a lager; the brewers evidently took the best recipe Old Milwaukee had, but made little headway in improving it. If the beer is ice cold, it can be very refreshing on a hot day, but after two months, I need something else.
And don't think for a minute that you can find a decent mixed drink to fill the gap left by Kingfisher's mediocrity. Just like their tea, Indians like their liquor syrupy sweet. We were in Cochin when we decided that we NEEDED a drink. I ordered a Cuba Libre, one of my stand-bys at home, and when it arrived, I was so shocked by its sweetness that I looked like Popeye. Even though there was technically liquor somewhere in that glass, I wasn't about to swim through the sea of sugar to get to it.
What's worse is that most of the liquor is local. Why import millions of bottles of quality liquor when you have a labor force of 1 billion that can turn out an average bottle of liquor in less time? If you look down a bar menu, it's a guarantee that you've never heard of most of the brands of liquor: VAT69, Black & White, Bagpiper, and so on. Even buying just a shot and a mixer separately leaves you smacking your lips, wondering if you really did order rum or maple syrup in a highball.
The point of all this is that I need a drink. A good, stiff drink. It's been months since I've had a decent martini, and I'll wait as long as I have to to get one. But I really need a beer, a hand-crafted, microbrew that's NOT a lager. So if anyone is looking to buy me a drink when I get home, I like my martini slightly dirty, extra dry, up with extra olives and I desperately need an ice-cold Dogfish Head 90-minute IPA. If you even consider sending a Miller Light my way, prepare to get wet. That is all.
From the very beginning, we knew that getting a refreshing, frosty, adult beverage was unlikely in India. Between Hinduism and Islam, drinking isn't entirely smiled upon. In fact, whole cities are dry. But it's possible to find alcohol here and there. The local beer is Kingfisher, and it can be found just about everywhere. But that's the rub -- it's everywhere. If you want a beer, it's going to be a Kingfisher (if you look around really hard, you can find Cobra and Foster's too, but they really aren't any better). Kingfisher is an ok beer. It's a lager; the brewers evidently took the best recipe Old Milwaukee had, but made little headway in improving it. If the beer is ice cold, it can be very refreshing on a hot day, but after two months, I need something else.
And don't think for a minute that you can find a decent mixed drink to fill the gap left by Kingfisher's mediocrity. Just like their tea, Indians like their liquor syrupy sweet. We were in Cochin when we decided that we NEEDED a drink. I ordered a Cuba Libre, one of my stand-bys at home, and when it arrived, I was so shocked by its sweetness that I looked like Popeye. Even though there was technically liquor somewhere in that glass, I wasn't about to swim through the sea of sugar to get to it.
What's worse is that most of the liquor is local. Why import millions of bottles of quality liquor when you have a labor force of 1 billion that can turn out an average bottle of liquor in less time? If you look down a bar menu, it's a guarantee that you've never heard of most of the brands of liquor: VAT69, Black & White, Bagpiper, and so on. Even buying just a shot and a mixer separately leaves you smacking your lips, wondering if you really did order rum or maple syrup in a highball.
The point of all this is that I need a drink. A good, stiff drink. It's been months since I've had a decent martini, and I'll wait as long as I have to to get one. But I really need a beer, a hand-crafted, microbrew that's NOT a lager. So if anyone is looking to buy me a drink when I get home, I like my martini slightly dirty, extra dry, up with extra olives and I desperately need an ice-cold Dogfish Head 90-minute IPA. If you even consider sending a Miller Light my way, prepare to get wet. That is all.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Dinner on a Banana Leaf: The Highlight Reel from Kerala
Written in Cochin, Kerala, India
Posted from Udaipur, Rajasthan, India
After spending five days in Goa trying to understand the bizarre mix of culture and beach that we encountered there, we were ready to go to Kerala. We were excited for the opportunity to actually SEE things in India, rather than walking along the shoreline watching other people watch things. Just like in Bangkok and Sri Lanka, we were lucky enough to have a friend offer his suggestions on what to do in his home state. Nitin, if you are reading this, we want you to know that you absolutely MADE our trip to Kerala. We followed Nitin's itinerary to the letter, doing everything he suggested doing, even staying in the places he suggested we stay. We had an amazing time there, and I feel sad that there's a chance that I'll never be in the place that calls itself "God's Own Country" ever again. It is indeed a holy place and I'm here to tell you why.
Nitin's itinerary was a whirlwind 5-day tour of Kerala that Matt and I elected to stretch into two whole weeks. We didn't rent a car in Kerala (because we are not that crazy) so we had to rely on public busses and tuk-tuks to get us from place to place. Public transportation adds loads of time into any itinerary, and this is particularly true in India. But even though we added an additional 9 days into Nitin's plan, it almost felt too short, because there is just that much to see.
We started out in Fort Cochin, which is basically a city-within-a-city just outside of Kerala's second-largest city. It's an old place, and when you're there, you keenly feel the history all around you. There is a beautiful Catholic Church and old Portuguese mansions. There are canals and chinese fishing nets. Fort Cochin is also home to the oldest synagogue in a British Commonwealth, a fact that Matt and I found particularly interesting as we walked around the section of the city known as Jew Town, filling our noses with the scent of ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon. Walking around Fort Cochin gives you the sense that you've kind of stepped back in time, to a place where the pace in Kerala slows, and where the religious influences of a lifetime ago still hold strong. Being there was oddly surreal.
After Fort Cochin we boarded our very first vomit comet in the direction of Munnar. After the heat of Fort Cochin, the cool mountain air of Munnar was so unbelievably welcome. We changed into pants and long-sleeved shirts and headed out in the late afternoon to eat our first truly Keralan meal -- dinner on a banana leaf. Literally. They take a banana leaf, throw some rice in the middle, and then surround the rice with all kinds of daals (which are thick lentils stews, basically), and curd (yogurt), pickle (which isn't like a pickle at all, but more of a spicy/sour/salty condiment that you have to develop a taste for), and curries. Everything is vegetarian and everything is eaten with your hands (sorry dad, I know that makes you shudder). In our case, everything was unbelievably delicious. Unfortunately, we were so hungry that we forgot to tae a picture, so you're just going to have to imagine it.
Munnar is where tea is grown. And when I say that I mean that on every available hilly surface, there is a tea plant. You cannot imagine how green it is. I'm not exaggerating at all. It's just the greenest green of greeness that you can possibly imagine, as far as you can see. And it's so stunningly beautiful that even after spending a day soaking it up in its entirety, you just want to stand in awe at the beautiful green all around you. We met the most fantastic rickshaw driver ever, Manish, and for about $30, he spent the day with us, showing us all the beauty that Munnar has to offer. We could have spent a week there, relaxing in the mountain town, hiking amidst the tea plantations. If only we'd had more time!
After Munnar we got back on the REAL vomit comet and went to Periyar, where we were promised a chance to see wild elephants. Well, the elephants weren't interested in being seen, but we did have a chance to drive beautiful jungles and score a look at the largest squirrels in the world. Seriously. They're called Giant Squirrels for a reason. My general philosophy on viewing animals is that when you're in their home, you play when they want to play. And if they don't want to play, you soak up every bit of their home that you can, because a home can say a lot about a creature. The jungle was no exception and Periyar, with its cardomom plantations, enormous coconut palms, and beautiful lakes, was a wonderful place to have a cup of tea. Or seven.
Our guesthouse owner in Perriyar recommended a place for us to stay in Allepey, and although we were skeptical of his enthusiasm, we had no choice but to take his advice when Jose of Katakayam Guesthouse met us at the bus station in Allepey. And thank goodness he did, because the busride to Allepey was one of the hottest and busiest of all of our bus rides and we were really grateful that someone was there waiting for us with a rickshaw and a friendly face. By the end of that evening in Jose's house, we were even more grateful. We spent that night in the company of Jose's three beautifully intelligent boys, all three of whom were in love with Matt from the instant that they met him. And if that doesn't warm a girl's heart, nothing does.
The reason we went to Allepey was to experience Kerala's backwaters, which we did on our final two days in the State. We booked a houseboat tour which enabled us to spend 24 hours cruising the narrow lakes and waterways, getting an up-close glimpse of the people who live there. A houseboat looks like something out of Waterworld, but trust me when I tell you that the scenery is much better. You float by coconut and mango trees and kids call out to you, waving hello and asking for a school pen. And if you're lucky, like we were, your hosts are incredible cooks and they help you pick out fresh prawns when a guy on a boat comes by selling fresh prawns. We DID take a picture of that meal.
Our time on the housboat ended way too quickly and before we knew it, we were back on a bus to Cochin, where we spent our last day in Kerala walking around the city of Ernakulam, checking out the incredible shops selling expensive 22K gold jewelry, and satisfying our cravings of home with Pizza Hut.
All in all, our time in Kerala was exactly what we hoped it would be. We saw everything we wanted to see (except for the elephants, but I already talked about that) and I felt like I really got the chance to experience the State. We knew that Northern India exists at a different pace than Southern India, and we were really grateful for the chance to have a laid-back couple of weeks in the subcontinent. And of course, we couldn't have had that experience without Nitin, because he made our guidebook virtually useless, he was THAT helpful. Thank you Nitin! Your home is a lovely, wonderful place, filled with people who love it like you do, scenery that makes you rub your eyes its so amazing, and food that makes you stuff yourself until you think you'll explode!
Posted from Udaipur, Rajasthan, India
After spending five days in Goa trying to understand the bizarre mix of culture and beach that we encountered there, we were ready to go to Kerala. We were excited for the opportunity to actually SEE things in India, rather than walking along the shoreline watching other people watch things. Just like in Bangkok and Sri Lanka, we were lucky enough to have a friend offer his suggestions on what to do in his home state. Nitin, if you are reading this, we want you to know that you absolutely MADE our trip to Kerala. We followed Nitin's itinerary to the letter, doing everything he suggested doing, even staying in the places he suggested we stay. We had an amazing time there, and I feel sad that there's a chance that I'll never be in the place that calls itself "God's Own Country" ever again. It is indeed a holy place and I'm here to tell you why.
Nitin's itinerary was a whirlwind 5-day tour of Kerala that Matt and I elected to stretch into two whole weeks. We didn't rent a car in Kerala (because we are not that crazy) so we had to rely on public busses and tuk-tuks to get us from place to place. Public transportation adds loads of time into any itinerary, and this is particularly true in India. But even though we added an additional 9 days into Nitin's plan, it almost felt too short, because there is just that much to see.
We started out in Fort Cochin, which is basically a city-within-a-city just outside of Kerala's second-largest city. It's an old place, and when you're there, you keenly feel the history all around you. There is a beautiful Catholic Church and old Portuguese mansions. There are canals and chinese fishing nets. Fort Cochin is also home to the oldest synagogue in a British Commonwealth, a fact that Matt and I found particularly interesting as we walked around the section of the city known as Jew Town, filling our noses with the scent of ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon. Walking around Fort Cochin gives you the sense that you've kind of stepped back in time, to a place where the pace in Kerala slows, and where the religious influences of a lifetime ago still hold strong. Being there was oddly surreal.
After Fort Cochin we boarded our very first vomit comet in the direction of Munnar. After the heat of Fort Cochin, the cool mountain air of Munnar was so unbelievably welcome. We changed into pants and long-sleeved shirts and headed out in the late afternoon to eat our first truly Keralan meal -- dinner on a banana leaf. Literally. They take a banana leaf, throw some rice in the middle, and then surround the rice with all kinds of daals (which are thick lentils stews, basically), and curd (yogurt), pickle (which isn't like a pickle at all, but more of a spicy/sour/salty condiment that you have to develop a taste for), and curries. Everything is vegetarian and everything is eaten with your hands (sorry dad, I know that makes you shudder). In our case, everything was unbelievably delicious. Unfortunately, we were so hungry that we forgot to tae a picture, so you're just going to have to imagine it.
Munnar is where tea is grown. And when I say that I mean that on every available hilly surface, there is a tea plant. You cannot imagine how green it is. I'm not exaggerating at all. It's just the greenest green of greeness that you can possibly imagine, as far as you can see. And it's so stunningly beautiful that even after spending a day soaking it up in its entirety, you just want to stand in awe at the beautiful green all around you. We met the most fantastic rickshaw driver ever, Manish, and for about $30, he spent the day with us, showing us all the beauty that Munnar has to offer. We could have spent a week there, relaxing in the mountain town, hiking amidst the tea plantations. If only we'd had more time!
After Munnar we got back on the REAL vomit comet and went to Periyar, where we were promised a chance to see wild elephants. Well, the elephants weren't interested in being seen, but we did have a chance to drive beautiful jungles and score a look at the largest squirrels in the world. Seriously. They're called Giant Squirrels for a reason. My general philosophy on viewing animals is that when you're in their home, you play when they want to play. And if they don't want to play, you soak up every bit of their home that you can, because a home can say a lot about a creature. The jungle was no exception and Periyar, with its cardomom plantations, enormous coconut palms, and beautiful lakes, was a wonderful place to have a cup of tea. Or seven.
Our guesthouse owner in Perriyar recommended a place for us to stay in Allepey, and although we were skeptical of his enthusiasm, we had no choice but to take his advice when Jose of Katakayam Guesthouse met us at the bus station in Allepey. And thank goodness he did, because the busride to Allepey was one of the hottest and busiest of all of our bus rides and we were really grateful that someone was there waiting for us with a rickshaw and a friendly face. By the end of that evening in Jose's house, we were even more grateful. We spent that night in the company of Jose's three beautifully intelligent boys, all three of whom were in love with Matt from the instant that they met him. And if that doesn't warm a girl's heart, nothing does.
The reason we went to Allepey was to experience Kerala's backwaters, which we did on our final two days in the State. We booked a houseboat tour which enabled us to spend 24 hours cruising the narrow lakes and waterways, getting an up-close glimpse of the people who live there. A houseboat looks like something out of Waterworld, but trust me when I tell you that the scenery is much better. You float by coconut and mango trees and kids call out to you, waving hello and asking for a school pen. And if you're lucky, like we were, your hosts are incredible cooks and they help you pick out fresh prawns when a guy on a boat comes by selling fresh prawns. We DID take a picture of that meal.
Our time on the housboat ended way too quickly and before we knew it, we were back on a bus to Cochin, where we spent our last day in Kerala walking around the city of Ernakulam, checking out the incredible shops selling expensive 22K gold jewelry, and satisfying our cravings of home with Pizza Hut.
All in all, our time in Kerala was exactly what we hoped it would be. We saw everything we wanted to see (except for the elephants, but I already talked about that) and I felt like I really got the chance to experience the State. We knew that Northern India exists at a different pace than Southern India, and we were really grateful for the chance to have a laid-back couple of weeks in the subcontinent. And of course, we couldn't have had that experience without Nitin, because he made our guidebook virtually useless, he was THAT helpful. Thank you Nitin! Your home is a lovely, wonderful place, filled with people who love it like you do, scenery that makes you rub your eyes its so amazing, and food that makes you stuff yourself until you think you'll explode!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
No. More. Rice.
Posted from Cochin, Kerala, India
I can't do it. I can't take another bite. It's everywhere, comes with every meal. Rice. I love it, but today I hate it. I love Indian food, but I can't take another bite of rice. I need meat. I need fresh vegetables. I'm sorry, India, my mouth will be a rice-free zone for at least the next 24 hours.
I can't do it. I can't take another bite. It's everywhere, comes with every meal. Rice. I love it, but today I hate it. I love Indian food, but I can't take another bite of rice. I need meat. I need fresh vegetables. I'm sorry, India, my mouth will be a rice-free zone for at least the next 24 hours.
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Half-time Show
Posted from Colva Beach, Goa, India
Before Lizzi and I first met, I had already visited well over half of the states in the U.S., and I was excited to see the remaining few on my list. Simply put, I loved the adventure of the national parks, the hub-bub of big cities, and hospitality of small towns. Like a kid staring at a plate of food, you could say that I had eyes only for the macaroni and cheese. But then I met Lizzi and we talked of travel and adventure worldwide, and it was as if someone had just revealed the largest dessert cart ever! My eyes grew huge at all of the possibilities. And here we are in India, having traveled through a good portion of southeast Asia along the way. I can comfortably say that ten years ago, I would never have imagined a trip like this.
But even with my newfound appetite for the tastes of the world, I find that I still miss the flavors of home. Not just the feeling of being someplace I know with a language I understand, but literally the tastes I've grown to know and love: the food! Being an adventurous eater, I never realized that I could miss food from home the way I have in the past few days. On the long bus ride from Margao to Palolem yesterday, I found myself drifting through daydreams of mouth-watering barbecue, whether Texas-, Oklahoma-, Memphis-, Virignia-, or Carolina-style; pizza with real pizza sauce bursting with garlic and oregano; and, of course, sandwiches, piled high with cured salami, rare roast beef, and juicy turkey.
Although I'm excited for the next 54 days and the tastes I haven't even imagined yet, I also can't wait to get home to some of my favorite foods that I've missed terribly over the past two months. Cheese steaks from Vino's in Philly, lobster rolls and spicy Bloody Marys from J's Oyster Bar in Portland, the Roma hoagie from the Italian Shoppe in Arlington, slow-roasted pork barbecue from Jammin' Joes on Route 29, a kielbasa sandwich with cole slaw and fries from Primanti Bros. in Strip. Oh, and salad! A fresh Greek salad full of red onions, feta, and ripe kalamata olives from any pizza joint worth its salt on the east coast.
But I digress. Being in India so far has been a great experience; we couldn't have picked a better halfway point. The food is familiar and delicious, a reminder of the many times we sought comfort in a tangy curry when schoolwork threatened to bog us down. We have 54 days remaining, which is not nearly enough time, but we will make do. There's plenty of new food to try, and as for traveling, my eyes are only growing wider.
Before Lizzi and I first met, I had already visited well over half of the states in the U.S., and I was excited to see the remaining few on my list. Simply put, I loved the adventure of the national parks, the hub-bub of big cities, and hospitality of small towns. Like a kid staring at a plate of food, you could say that I had eyes only for the macaroni and cheese. But then I met Lizzi and we talked of travel and adventure worldwide, and it was as if someone had just revealed the largest dessert cart ever! My eyes grew huge at all of the possibilities. And here we are in India, having traveled through a good portion of southeast Asia along the way. I can comfortably say that ten years ago, I would never have imagined a trip like this.
But even with my newfound appetite for the tastes of the world, I find that I still miss the flavors of home. Not just the feeling of being someplace I know with a language I understand, but literally the tastes I've grown to know and love: the food! Being an adventurous eater, I never realized that I could miss food from home the way I have in the past few days. On the long bus ride from Margao to Palolem yesterday, I found myself drifting through daydreams of mouth-watering barbecue, whether Texas-, Oklahoma-, Memphis-, Virignia-, or Carolina-style; pizza with real pizza sauce bursting with garlic and oregano; and, of course, sandwiches, piled high with cured salami, rare roast beef, and juicy turkey.
Although I'm excited for the next 54 days and the tastes I haven't even imagined yet, I also can't wait to get home to some of my favorite foods that I've missed terribly over the past two months. Cheese steaks from Vino's in Philly, lobster rolls and spicy Bloody Marys from J's Oyster Bar in Portland, the Roma hoagie from the Italian Shoppe in Arlington, slow-roasted pork barbecue from Jammin' Joes on Route 29, a kielbasa sandwich with cole slaw and fries from Primanti Bros. in Strip. Oh, and salad! A fresh Greek salad full of red onions, feta, and ripe kalamata olives from any pizza joint worth its salt on the east coast.
But I digress. Being in India so far has been a great experience; we couldn't have picked a better halfway point. The food is familiar and delicious, a reminder of the many times we sought comfort in a tangy curry when schoolwork threatened to bog us down. We have 54 days remaining, which is not nearly enough time, but we will make do. There's plenty of new food to try, and as for traveling, my eyes are only growing wider.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Getting Lay'd
One of the unanticipated benefits of traveling around the world is discovering new and unexpectedly amazing tastes in the strangest places. At home, I don't really eat potato chips. Growing up, my parents kept chips in the house, but they were a lunchtime snack exclusively, a mere accompaniment to my daily bologna sandwich. But over the past few weeks, I've become something of a chip connoisseur. Why? In part, because chips are a tiny reminder of home and all of the wondrous junk food available there.
Perhaps in a greater amount, my newfound enjoyment of chips comes from the variety of enticing flavors now available to us. Long gone are the days when barbecue, sour cream & onion, and nacho cheese were the best chips flavors Lay's could offer. What would you think of Spicy Seafood chips? Or maybe Squid & Chili? Or Crab Curry, Nori Seaweed, or even Barbecue Spare Rib? I've tried them all, and they are tasty! Maybe even better than the simple barbecue back home. But I daresay that my favorite flavor so far is Pork Bulgogi. Don't ask me how Lay's gets all those flavors packed into a crispy potato wafer, but they do.
India is no exception. Although we haven't tried them yet, we've spotted Mint Mischief and Masala Something-or-Other in the convenience stores around the beach. You can bet we'll have plenty more Getting Lay'd stories by the time we get home.
Perhaps in a greater amount, my newfound enjoyment of chips comes from the variety of enticing flavors now available to us. Long gone are the days when barbecue, sour cream & onion, and nacho cheese were the best chips flavors Lay's could offer. What would you think of Spicy Seafood chips? Or maybe Squid & Chili? Or Crab Curry, Nori Seaweed, or even Barbecue Spare Rib? I've tried them all, and they are tasty! Maybe even better than the simple barbecue back home. But I daresay that my favorite flavor so far is Pork Bulgogi. Don't ask me how Lay's gets all those flavors packed into a crispy potato wafer, but they do.
India is no exception. Although we haven't tried them yet, we've spotted Mint Mischief and Masala Something-or-Other in the convenience stores around the beach. You can bet we'll have plenty more Getting Lay'd stories by the time we get home.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
A Lot of Thai
Written in Thailand, Posted from Sri Lanka
A couple of weeks ago now, back when we were still in Chiang Mai, I took an AMAZING cooking class. Those of you following along have already heard about the class, but up until now, I haven't had the time or the energy to write about it. Sometimes, when you do something you've been waiting a long time to do, it's hard to find the words to write about it. And while it may seem silly to say it, I've been waiting a long time to take a cooking class. That I took my first cooking class in Thailand is awesome. But that I took my first cooking class with one of the sweetest women I've ever met, in a class with just three other people, where we cooked no less than 6 different Thai dishes, AND we got to wander around a market with our teacher? Well that's the kind of thing that makes a girl dream about cooking for the rest of her life. (Don't worry Daddy, I'm still interested in the law thing. For now anyway.)
I heard about this cooking class via the Internet, of course. But then I heard about it from everyone I talked to in Chiang Mai. "You want to take a cooking class? Go to A lot of Thai." So I did. I signed up for the all day, 7-hour lesson. It came to a whopping $30. And a whopping 6 pounds -- which is how much weight I felt like I gained from all of the food that I ate. Because here's the best part about the class: everything I made was tasty! SUPER tasty.
Like I said, we made six different dishes -- pad thai, green curry chicken, tom yum soup, fried spring rolls, and stir-fried chicken with vegetables. We also ate some sticky rice with cocounut milk and mango for dessert, but our teacher, Yui, did most of the prep work for that. I just had to find room to stuff it in. Since the rice was purple and the mango was amazing, I managed just fine.
Here are a few things you should know about Thai cooking:
1) Each dish uses the fewest and freshest ingredients possible. Everyone, even people who hate cooking, knows that this makes for the tastiest food.
2) The following ingredients are in just about everthing you make: palm sugar, fish sauce, kaffir lime leaves, garlic, tamarind sauce, cilantro, chilis, and purple basil (otherwise known as holy basil or Thai basil).
3) This is what you didn't know about the above ingredients: kaffir lime leaves come from a lime that's all knobbly and wounded-looking. The wee little limes that are everywhere in Thailand are just plain old regular limes, but they're amazing. You can use dried kaffir lime leaves if you can't find fresh ones. Palm sugar is made from the palm coconut tree. It has the consistency of maple sugar, and I could eat it by the fistful. At home, cook with brown sugar instead. Fish sauce is really salty. If you want to cut the salt, use half fish sauce, and half low-salt soy sauce. Tamarind sauce in Thailand isn't nearly as sour as the tamarind sauce we get in the US. Since the point of the Tamarind sauce is to make things a little more sour, just use what you need to in order to balance the flavors. Balancing the flavors! That's the point of Thai cooking. So you can do a lot of things by feel and taste, rather than by recipe. I love that in a meal. Most of the garlic that they use in Thailand is grown in Thailand, and the skin on the garlic is so thin that when you saute it in oil, the skin kind of crisps up nicely. So you can LEAVE IT ON FOR FLAVOR! That's brilliant because it saves time AND adds flavor! Most of the garlic we get at home is big and the skin is thick and coarse. So you have to take it off, which is kind of a pain in the ass, but whatever, we're used to it. The firmer the chili is to the touch, the spicier it is likely to be. If it yields a lot when you squeeze it, it's probably fairly mild.
4) In order to make a really decent fish stock, you use shrimp heads. Seriously. Shrimp. HEADS. If you're a vegetarian or vegan, you make your decent stock by using garlic skins, the really tough lemongrass stalks, and the bottom tough part of a green onion.
5) Oyster sauce has some sugar in it. So if you're making a dish that calls for oyster sauce, you can reduce the amount of palm sugar you use.
6) You can add holy basil to taste. This is music to my ears, since I love the stuff and can't eat enough. You can also add cilantro to taste, which is also music to my ears, since I truly can't stand cilantro and it's perfectly acceptable to leave it out.
I took a bunch of pictures from the class, partly because I'm a dork, but also because there was this really sweet father-son duo in my class who forgot to bring their camera. So when you look at the pictures, say hello to Ben and Jim! Ben's a teacher in Chiang Mai and his dad came to visit him. How cool is that?
I wanted to post the recipe for Pad Thai, courtesy of the cookbook that Yui provided. But I accidentally sent the cookbook home in the last box we sent back to the States. So you're just going to have to wait until we get back. In the meantime, you should go out there and find a good recipe for pad thai. But if yours doesn't taste quite as spectacular as you want it to, don't blame me. There was magic in Yui's kitchen (which, incidentally, was outside), and there was magic in Chiang Mai. But I'm hoping that those of you who are feeling adventurous enough to venture out to an Asian grocery store and throw this simple noodle dish together get even a bit of the magic I experienced under Yui's tutelage. And in case you don't, well, then that's just one more reason to hop on a plane and visit Thailand.
A couple of weeks ago now, back when we were still in Chiang Mai, I took an AMAZING cooking class. Those of you following along have already heard about the class, but up until now, I haven't had the time or the energy to write about it. Sometimes, when you do something you've been waiting a long time to do, it's hard to find the words to write about it. And while it may seem silly to say it, I've been waiting a long time to take a cooking class. That I took my first cooking class in Thailand is awesome. But that I took my first cooking class with one of the sweetest women I've ever met, in a class with just three other people, where we cooked no less than 6 different Thai dishes, AND we got to wander around a market with our teacher? Well that's the kind of thing that makes a girl dream about cooking for the rest of her life. (Don't worry Daddy, I'm still interested in the law thing. For now anyway.)
I heard about this cooking class via the Internet, of course. But then I heard about it from everyone I talked to in Chiang Mai. "You want to take a cooking class? Go to A lot of Thai." So I did. I signed up for the all day, 7-hour lesson. It came to a whopping $30. And a whopping 6 pounds -- which is how much weight I felt like I gained from all of the food that I ate. Because here's the best part about the class: everything I made was tasty! SUPER tasty.
Like I said, we made six different dishes -- pad thai, green curry chicken, tom yum soup, fried spring rolls, and stir-fried chicken with vegetables. We also ate some sticky rice with cocounut milk and mango for dessert, but our teacher, Yui, did most of the prep work for that. I just had to find room to stuff it in. Since the rice was purple and the mango was amazing, I managed just fine.
Here are a few things you should know about Thai cooking:
1) Each dish uses the fewest and freshest ingredients possible. Everyone, even people who hate cooking, knows that this makes for the tastiest food.
2) The following ingredients are in just about everthing you make: palm sugar, fish sauce, kaffir lime leaves, garlic, tamarind sauce, cilantro, chilis, and purple basil (otherwise known as holy basil or Thai basil).
3) This is what you didn't know about the above ingredients: kaffir lime leaves come from a lime that's all knobbly and wounded-looking. The wee little limes that are everywhere in Thailand are just plain old regular limes, but they're amazing. You can use dried kaffir lime leaves if you can't find fresh ones. Palm sugar is made from the palm coconut tree. It has the consistency of maple sugar, and I could eat it by the fistful. At home, cook with brown sugar instead. Fish sauce is really salty. If you want to cut the salt, use half fish sauce, and half low-salt soy sauce. Tamarind sauce in Thailand isn't nearly as sour as the tamarind sauce we get in the US. Since the point of the Tamarind sauce is to make things a little more sour, just use what you need to in order to balance the flavors. Balancing the flavors! That's the point of Thai cooking. So you can do a lot of things by feel and taste, rather than by recipe. I love that in a meal. Most of the garlic that they use in Thailand is grown in Thailand, and the skin on the garlic is so thin that when you saute it in oil, the skin kind of crisps up nicely. So you can LEAVE IT ON FOR FLAVOR! That's brilliant because it saves time AND adds flavor! Most of the garlic we get at home is big and the skin is thick and coarse. So you have to take it off, which is kind of a pain in the ass, but whatever, we're used to it. The firmer the chili is to the touch, the spicier it is likely to be. If it yields a lot when you squeeze it, it's probably fairly mild.
4) In order to make a really decent fish stock, you use shrimp heads. Seriously. Shrimp. HEADS. If you're a vegetarian or vegan, you make your decent stock by using garlic skins, the really tough lemongrass stalks, and the bottom tough part of a green onion.
5) Oyster sauce has some sugar in it. So if you're making a dish that calls for oyster sauce, you can reduce the amount of palm sugar you use.
6) You can add holy basil to taste. This is music to my ears, since I love the stuff and can't eat enough. You can also add cilantro to taste, which is also music to my ears, since I truly can't stand cilantro and it's perfectly acceptable to leave it out.
I took a bunch of pictures from the class, partly because I'm a dork, but also because there was this really sweet father-son duo in my class who forgot to bring their camera. So when you look at the pictures, say hello to Ben and Jim! Ben's a teacher in Chiang Mai and his dad came to visit him. How cool is that?
I wanted to post the recipe for Pad Thai, courtesy of the cookbook that Yui provided. But I accidentally sent the cookbook home in the last box we sent back to the States. So you're just going to have to wait until we get back. In the meantime, you should go out there and find a good recipe for pad thai. But if yours doesn't taste quite as spectacular as you want it to, don't blame me. There was magic in Yui's kitchen (which, incidentally, was outside), and there was magic in Chiang Mai. But I'm hoping that those of you who are feeling adventurous enough to venture out to an Asian grocery store and throw this simple noodle dish together get even a bit of the magic I experienced under Yui's tutelage. And in case you don't, well, then that's just one more reason to hop on a plane and visit Thailand.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Clean Food, Good Taste
The first memory I have of eating Thai food occurred when I was a 18-year-old freshman in college. My best friend from high school, Becca (hi Becca!) came to visit me for my birthday and we went out to dinner at the Thai restaurant in Shadyside. (For those of you who are curious, it's where Shady Grove now lives.) Becca and I were adventurous eaters. When our peers were spending their babysitting money on whatever stupid shit they spent their money on, Becca and I were taking ourselves out to dinner at nice restaurants in Philadelphia, trying to see whether the waiters would serve us the wine we ordered, sheepishly, with our dinners (sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't). Many of my earliest and best food memories occurred with Becca in high school, not least because my behavior during these early restaurant forays caused Becca to giggle endlessly, and endless giggling is always one of my main goals in life.
I digress. So we're at this Thai restaurant in Pittsburgh, and we KNOW that we're adventurous eaters, Becca and me. We order something like a glass noodle salad, and the waiter asks us, on a scale of 1-10, how spicy we'd like it to be. "Nine," Becca says, with confidence. It's a bold choice, and we both know it, but we're bold 18-year-olds who have been served wine in some of Philadelphia's nicest restaurants. We can handle a nine from a Thai restaurant in Pittsburgh. Of course we can.
Of course, we are wrong. Terribly, mouth-wateringly, eyes-tearing, gulps-and-gulps-of-water-can't-cure-this WRONG. We realize that the source of the spice is mixed in with the glass noodles, and we avoid them, fishing around instead for the green papaya and the pieces of shrimp. It doesn't phase us, this spicy food disaster, and I remember our meal as amusing and fun, and that I made Becca laugh about something or other.
Fast forward 11 years (holy crap, Becca, did you realize that was 11 years ago?!) and I am actually in Thailand, eating actual Thai food. Since I first self-aggrandized myself as an adventurous eater, I have not slowed in my pursuit of interesting food. And yet, as we were preparing ourselves for this trip, even as I was writing that earlier post about Julie's food experiences in Barcelona, I was a bit nervous. I vividly recalled that Pittsburgh Thai food experience, and it was something I hadn't thought about in, um, 11 years.
So let me tell you a little bit about the Thai food we've encountered: it is, in a word, amazing. All of it. Excecpt maybe the Nescafe they serve you instead of the much-coveted Thai coffee. But other than that, it's amazing. There are spring rolls (better than spring rolls at home, though their contents are just as unidentifiable), soups (spicy-sweet Tom Yum soup meant to be eaten with rice, as well as noodle-based soup-like meals), rice dishes (pineapple fried rice is even BETTER here), many many wonderful noodle dishes (pad thai, fried noodles, wide and flat rice noodles), curries, yams (salads), and other things that I either can't pronounce or haven't yet tasted. There's lots of fish (fresh, delicious fish), lots of cilantro (I'm dealing with this), and every single thing we eat seems to have lemon grass and basil in it, which is okay by me, because I love lemon grass and basil. There is also plenty of beef and chicken and pork, and so far, we have not contracted the bird flu from eating the chicken. Thank god for that, right?
Every single day I think to myself, "I am going to get sick of this food and want something American." But then we sit down at a rickety table surrounded by rickety chairs, and I page through the menu, past the items aimed at tourists (ham and cheese sandwich), and order another plate of noodles. Another plate of spicy, slippery, hot, and delightful noodles. See, I JUST finished breakfast and thinking about those noodles is making me hungry. Which is okay, because if I'd wanted to, I could have eaten those noodles FOR breakfast. Genius!
Most dishes come with slices of cucumber on the side of the plate, and a wee little piece of kaffir lime (the lime that might even rival key limes in flavor and deliciousness). You also get a condiment basket that's got sugar and salt, white pepper, vinegar, and a little container holding spicy chilis floating in fish sauce. There's also this bizarre little container of "napkins" which are actually just tissues. And tourists must be very dirty, for we are the only people who use them. For those of you who are worried about my consumption of raw vegetables, I can neither confirm nor deny whether I ate those slices of cucumber.
Contrary to popular opinion, Thai food is NOT eaten with chopsticks. Duh, Thai are not Chinese! So we eat with a spoon and a fork. Rather, we SHOVEL with a spoon and a fork, because the food is that good. After a week here, we've concluded that you're supposed to languish over a meal. We have come to this conclusion because this is the way the meal ordinarily transpires: we order food, a TON of food, and it comes out whenever it comes out, and we eat it (if you're us, you eat it rudely and quickly, through happy sounds of "mmmm" and "you HAVE to try this!"), and then the people who served you the food leave you alone. They're not in a rush, and they don't seem to think you should be in a rush either. When I think about it like this, I LIKE that they leave you alone, though for the first few days, it was unsettling not to see the smiling face of the server at my side every 10 mintes, asking me if I'd like anything else, refilling my water glass, urging me towards dessert I don't really want. The servers here seem to assume that if you want something else, you'll ask for it, and that you were clever enough to order enough food in the first go-round.
A word on the beer: there are three main kinds of beer here that we've seen so far, Singha (prounounced Singh), Chang (the highest alcohol content at 6.7%) and Archa. They are served in small, normal-sized bottles, or large, fantastic bottles. A large, fantastic bottle is about $3 if you time it right, and it's so economical to spend $3 on a large beer, that we do. Every day. Every day for a week, at least. There's a whisky that we haven't yet tried called Meh Kong, and our funny little bartender at the Funky Fish told us that it was too strong for him, which makes me hesitant to try it. But who am I kidding? Of COURSE I'll try it.
We haven't had proper dessert since we've been here, but I've been eating my weight in bananas, pineapple, coconut, and watermelon. The fruit alone is worth the 31-hour plane ride. I'm so not even kidding about that. Proper dessert is on the list of things to do in Bangkok.
The entire meal, from large beers down to artfully carved pineapple, comes to a whopping $10. Which means we are spending too much on food. But we can't help it because there's so much to try.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, I did have one more of those mouth-watering, eyes-bulging, what the HELL happened to that chili pepper? moment. It happened on Christmas Eve and the offensive chili was floating around in some curry that we'd ordered. I saw that it was there, noted that it was a huge chili, and bravely thought, "I'm an adventurous eater, I can handle that! I'm in Thailand! With real Thai food!" I was abruptly brought back to that moment in Pittsburgh, when, sputtering, I reached for any liquid within reach. Finding nothing to stop my tongue from falling off right there in my mouth, I quickly shoveled another mouthful of rice onto my tongue and held it there, all while making a face at Matt for laughing at me. "Ahhh," I sighed, when the burn finally subsided, "that was the hottest chili EVER!" And then, because I am a glutton for adventure, "can you spoon some of that sauce onto this rice?"
** The title of this post, "Clean Food, Good Taste" refers to the signs you see, EVERYWHERE, advertising resturants, both proper and impromptu. The title is for Eric, because I'm hoping that the reference made him smile.
I digress. So we're at this Thai restaurant in Pittsburgh, and we KNOW that we're adventurous eaters, Becca and me. We order something like a glass noodle salad, and the waiter asks us, on a scale of 1-10, how spicy we'd like it to be. "Nine," Becca says, with confidence. It's a bold choice, and we both know it, but we're bold 18-year-olds who have been served wine in some of Philadelphia's nicest restaurants. We can handle a nine from a Thai restaurant in Pittsburgh. Of course we can.
Of course, we are wrong. Terribly, mouth-wateringly, eyes-tearing, gulps-and-gulps-of-water-can't-cure-this WRONG. We realize that the source of the spice is mixed in with the glass noodles, and we avoid them, fishing around instead for the green papaya and the pieces of shrimp. It doesn't phase us, this spicy food disaster, and I remember our meal as amusing and fun, and that I made Becca laugh about something or other.
Fast forward 11 years (holy crap, Becca, did you realize that was 11 years ago?!) and I am actually in Thailand, eating actual Thai food. Since I first self-aggrandized myself as an adventurous eater, I have not slowed in my pursuit of interesting food. And yet, as we were preparing ourselves for this trip, even as I was writing that earlier post about Julie's food experiences in Barcelona, I was a bit nervous. I vividly recalled that Pittsburgh Thai food experience, and it was something I hadn't thought about in, um, 11 years.
So let me tell you a little bit about the Thai food we've encountered: it is, in a word, amazing. All of it. Excecpt maybe the Nescafe they serve you instead of the much-coveted Thai coffee. But other than that, it's amazing. There are spring rolls (better than spring rolls at home, though their contents are just as unidentifiable), soups (spicy-sweet Tom Yum soup meant to be eaten with rice, as well as noodle-based soup-like meals), rice dishes (pineapple fried rice is even BETTER here), many many wonderful noodle dishes (pad thai, fried noodles, wide and flat rice noodles), curries, yams (salads), and other things that I either can't pronounce or haven't yet tasted. There's lots of fish (fresh, delicious fish), lots of cilantro (I'm dealing with this), and every single thing we eat seems to have lemon grass and basil in it, which is okay by me, because I love lemon grass and basil. There is also plenty of beef and chicken and pork, and so far, we have not contracted the bird flu from eating the chicken. Thank god for that, right?
Every single day I think to myself, "I am going to get sick of this food and want something American." But then we sit down at a rickety table surrounded by rickety chairs, and I page through the menu, past the items aimed at tourists (ham and cheese sandwich), and order another plate of noodles. Another plate of spicy, slippery, hot, and delightful noodles. See, I JUST finished breakfast and thinking about those noodles is making me hungry. Which is okay, because if I'd wanted to, I could have eaten those noodles FOR breakfast. Genius!
Most dishes come with slices of cucumber on the side of the plate, and a wee little piece of kaffir lime (the lime that might even rival key limes in flavor and deliciousness). You also get a condiment basket that's got sugar and salt, white pepper, vinegar, and a little container holding spicy chilis floating in fish sauce. There's also this bizarre little container of "napkins" which are actually just tissues. And tourists must be very dirty, for we are the only people who use them. For those of you who are worried about my consumption of raw vegetables, I can neither confirm nor deny whether I ate those slices of cucumber.
Contrary to popular opinion, Thai food is NOT eaten with chopsticks. Duh, Thai are not Chinese! So we eat with a spoon and a fork. Rather, we SHOVEL with a spoon and a fork, because the food is that good. After a week here, we've concluded that you're supposed to languish over a meal. We have come to this conclusion because this is the way the meal ordinarily transpires: we order food, a TON of food, and it comes out whenever it comes out, and we eat it (if you're us, you eat it rudely and quickly, through happy sounds of "mmmm" and "you HAVE to try this!"), and then the people who served you the food leave you alone. They're not in a rush, and they don't seem to think you should be in a rush either. When I think about it like this, I LIKE that they leave you alone, though for the first few days, it was unsettling not to see the smiling face of the server at my side every 10 mintes, asking me if I'd like anything else, refilling my water glass, urging me towards dessert I don't really want. The servers here seem to assume that if you want something else, you'll ask for it, and that you were clever enough to order enough food in the first go-round.
A word on the beer: there are three main kinds of beer here that we've seen so far, Singha (prounounced Singh), Chang (the highest alcohol content at 6.7%) and Archa. They are served in small, normal-sized bottles, or large, fantastic bottles. A large, fantastic bottle is about $3 if you time it right, and it's so economical to spend $3 on a large beer, that we do. Every day. Every day for a week, at least. There's a whisky that we haven't yet tried called Meh Kong, and our funny little bartender at the Funky Fish told us that it was too strong for him, which makes me hesitant to try it. But who am I kidding? Of COURSE I'll try it.
We haven't had proper dessert since we've been here, but I've been eating my weight in bananas, pineapple, coconut, and watermelon. The fruit alone is worth the 31-hour plane ride. I'm so not even kidding about that. Proper dessert is on the list of things to do in Bangkok.
The entire meal, from large beers down to artfully carved pineapple, comes to a whopping $10. Which means we are spending too much on food. But we can't help it because there's so much to try.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, I did have one more of those mouth-watering, eyes-bulging, what the HELL happened to that chili pepper? moment. It happened on Christmas Eve and the offensive chili was floating around in some curry that we'd ordered. I saw that it was there, noted that it was a huge chili, and bravely thought, "I'm an adventurous eater, I can handle that! I'm in Thailand! With real Thai food!" I was abruptly brought back to that moment in Pittsburgh, when, sputtering, I reached for any liquid within reach. Finding nothing to stop my tongue from falling off right there in my mouth, I quickly shoveled another mouthful of rice onto my tongue and held it there, all while making a face at Matt for laughing at me. "Ahhh," I sighed, when the burn finally subsided, "that was the hottest chili EVER!" And then, because I am a glutton for adventure, "can you spoon some of that sauce onto this rice?"
** The title of this post, "Clean Food, Good Taste" refers to the signs you see, EVERYWHERE, advertising resturants, both proper and impromptu. The title is for Eric, because I'm hoping that the reference made him smile.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Patatas Bravas and "Bar-theeeeh-lona"
Hey everyone, say "hola" to Julie, because she is currently in Barcelona! My girl tried the mayo I couldn't be happier for her because people, in case you didn't know, the mayo in Spain is transcendent. It's good like the motherfuckinghazelnut from Italy, good.
[Incidentally, it is a bit weird to be writing a shout out to someone who can't even read this blog yet. But when we make it public, there's not a doubt in my mind that she'll start at the beginning and read all the way through. So Jules, when you get to this post, know that I was thinking about you while you were gone, that I did, in fact, check the weather every day, and that I'll be wearing my lucky bean until you get back, just in case.]
I went to Barcelona many years ago (ohmygod I just realized that it was TWELVE years ago!) with my dad and my brother. Actually, I went with my dad to visit my brother because Andy was doing a rotation there while he was in medical school. Remember those doctors who have done some world traveling that I talked about before? Well one of them is my brother, Andy, and while he was in med school he decided not to let four years of a grueling education and absolutely no money stop him from seeing bits and pieces of the world. Andy, in case you never knew it, that's always been an inspiration to me. Have no money? Have a desire for a change of scenery? You can make it happen, kiddo.
Anyway. Barcelona. I often credit Barcelona with what I call my "food-awakening." Kind of like a sexual coming-of-age experience, but with food. I never knew that olives, plain old ordinary olives, could taste like THAT! I didn't know that I would eat ham! Tripe? Sure, I'll try tripe. And SANGRIA is awesome (particularly when you're 16)! I still remember the bright red tomato sauces, the crusty fresh bread, the salty ham and fish, and the fresh briny taste of the mussels. Really. I STILL remember it. In fact, I haven't eaten lunch yet and just thinking about it is making my mouth water a little bit.
Before Julie left for Spain, she would call and tell me that she planned this part of her trip or that she was so excited to see this thing, and inevitably, at some point in the conversation I would tell her, "you have to eat this. You have to try that. Don't miss this, even if it sounds weird." Every time, I could practically hear her smiling at me on the other end of the phone, "okay, sure, I'll try it."
I think that since that very first trip abroad, travelling has always been, at least a little bit, about food. Food, for me, is a window into people's lives. What we eat is so directly tied to how we live our lives, where we come from, and even to a certain extent, where we're headed. I wanted to Julie to try the mayo because I knew she would probably like it. And I also know that she doesn't generally like mayo, but that to miss out on eating it while she was there would be to miss out on a tiny piece of Barcelona. And with an opportunity of a lifetime, why miss out on something so consequential as even the tiniest piece?
When I think about our trip, I often fantasize about the curries, and the new vegetables, the street vendors, and the liquor, and all of the food that's out there that I don't even know that I'll love. Of course, this is probably why my dad emailed to tell me not to eat the traditional raw fish in Thailand because, as he said, "if anyone was going to eat it, it would be you." Right-o! I'm excited to try these things because not only are they a tiny piece of the place that we'll be, they're also a window into those people and cultures out there that I don't even know that I'll love.
So with that, Bon Appetit, Julabelle! The next time we're all in DC and go to Jaleo? It will get to have a whole new meaning for you because in every single delicious bite you'll get to taste a bit of this adventure that you're on. And really, what could be more important than carrying a bit of adventure in every bite?
[Incidentally, it is a bit weird to be writing a shout out to someone who can't even read this blog yet. But when we make it public, there's not a doubt in my mind that she'll start at the beginning and read all the way through. So Jules, when you get to this post, know that I was thinking about you while you were gone, that I did, in fact, check the weather every day, and that I'll be wearing my lucky bean until you get back, just in case.]
I went to Barcelona many years ago (ohmygod I just realized that it was TWELVE years ago!) with my dad and my brother. Actually, I went with my dad to visit my brother because Andy was doing a rotation there while he was in medical school. Remember those doctors who have done some world traveling that I talked about before? Well one of them is my brother, Andy, and while he was in med school he decided not to let four years of a grueling education and absolutely no money stop him from seeing bits and pieces of the world. Andy, in case you never knew it, that's always been an inspiration to me. Have no money? Have a desire for a change of scenery? You can make it happen, kiddo.
Anyway. Barcelona. I often credit Barcelona with what I call my "food-awakening." Kind of like a sexual coming-of-age experience, but with food. I never knew that olives, plain old ordinary olives, could taste like THAT! I didn't know that I would eat ham! Tripe? Sure, I'll try tripe. And SANGRIA is awesome (particularly when you're 16)! I still remember the bright red tomato sauces, the crusty fresh bread, the salty ham and fish, and the fresh briny taste of the mussels. Really. I STILL remember it. In fact, I haven't eaten lunch yet and just thinking about it is making my mouth water a little bit.
Before Julie left for Spain, she would call and tell me that she planned this part of her trip or that she was so excited to see this thing, and inevitably, at some point in the conversation I would tell her, "you have to eat this. You have to try that. Don't miss this, even if it sounds weird." Every time, I could practically hear her smiling at me on the other end of the phone, "okay, sure, I'll try it."
I think that since that very first trip abroad, travelling has always been, at least a little bit, about food. Food, for me, is a window into people's lives. What we eat is so directly tied to how we live our lives, where we come from, and even to a certain extent, where we're headed. I wanted to Julie to try the mayo because I knew she would probably like it. And I also know that she doesn't generally like mayo, but that to miss out on eating it while she was there would be to miss out on a tiny piece of Barcelona. And with an opportunity of a lifetime, why miss out on something so consequential as even the tiniest piece?
When I think about our trip, I often fantasize about the curries, and the new vegetables, the street vendors, and the liquor, and all of the food that's out there that I don't even know that I'll love. Of course, this is probably why my dad emailed to tell me not to eat the traditional raw fish in Thailand because, as he said, "if anyone was going to eat it, it would be you." Right-o! I'm excited to try these things because not only are they a tiny piece of the place that we'll be, they're also a window into those people and cultures out there that I don't even know that I'll love.
So with that, Bon Appetit, Julabelle! The next time we're all in DC and go to Jaleo? It will get to have a whole new meaning for you because in every single delicious bite you'll get to taste a bit of this adventure that you're on. And really, what could be more important than carrying a bit of adventure in every bite?
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