tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75086106904478561152024-03-13T19:48:23.819-07:00Hungry PassportHungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.comBlogger180125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-51664762310197497672010-12-12T21:54:00.000-08:002010-12-13T11:48:03.169-08:00A new home for Hungry Passport<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you've come to this site looking for the Hungry Passport blog, you'll find it at its new home:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.hungrypassport.com/"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>http://www.hungrypassport.com. </b></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Please bookmark it.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">See you at the new place, which still has </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">that new blog site smell!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thanks!</span></div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-35244035549658146862010-12-08T00:20:00.000-08:002010-12-08T00:34:47.834-08:00In Defense of the Bacon-in-the-Chocolate Trend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FmH8LrHna66zIEfYhC19KjPA6l1iCfhRI07cxBIato_lwZca0w7Jvd_vCf7LiFxcWX1Ys_vra3N1Sx_gfakt7tD7-BZH0dFTSfAfxm4sNtfQvTz2GBAi1z-Uf32j7AW5JjKYNXtoVOfr/s1600/DSC_8804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FmH8LrHna66zIEfYhC19KjPA6l1iCfhRI07cxBIato_lwZca0w7Jvd_vCf7LiFxcWX1Ys_vra3N1Sx_gfakt7tD7-BZH0dFTSfAfxm4sNtfQvTz2GBAi1z-Uf32j7AW5JjKYNXtoVOfr/s400/DSC_8804.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I’m seeing a backlash these days against the bacon-in-the-chocolate trend, but I think maybe it’s more of a backlash against food fads in general. Most fads are annoying and entirely disposable. They barely make a blip on the radar screen of Time. But trends that are worth their salt stand the test of time and transcend their trend status. That’s how classics are born.<br />
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Will bacon-in-the-chocolate stick around to become a classic? Who knows? Quiche is so 70s, pasta salad so 80s, stacked anything so 90s and bacon-in-the-chocolate so aught-years. But we still eat quiche and pasta salad. They're not such relics that we'll never eat them again, not that I'd call either of them classics. <br />
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But consider that anyone who has ever eaten pork in mole sauce in a Oaxacan restaurant has already discovered that pork and chocolate are natural friends. Like chicken—but with more flavor and better texture—pork truly shines in sweet applications, which is why you find it nestled under a layer of pineapple slices in Hawaii, topped with sweet and sour sauce in China and slathered with sweet or perhaps sweet-salty-hot-sour sauces most everywhere else.<br />
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But don’t eat bacon and chocolate together because it's The In Thing. Eat it because you like it. And if you don’t like it, find something you do like, and eat that instead. Maybe you'll start a trend.<br />
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I'll continue eating bacon with chocolate and pork with mole. And I'll carry on with my experiments to see what other concoctions I can devise to delight my taste buds. If the trends catch up with me, so be it.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Bacon Walnut Maple Fudge</b></div><br />
This is not fudge in its strictest sense, but a liberation from the candy thermometer, one that yields tiny cubes of heaven in just a few easy steps.<br />
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First, a word about bacon: A good smoked bacon is what you want to use. Applewood smoked works well and is often the only smoky bacon you can find outside the South. (Watch out for "smoke-flavored bacon." That stuff is nasty.) Most regular grocery store bacon is unworthy of the poor hogs who gave their lives for its production. Use the best tasting bacon you can find for the best tasting fudge you can produce. If you don't live in the South, consider investing in a membership in one of the bacon of the month clubs.<br />
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16 oz. semi-sweet chocolate (or bittersweet or some combination of different chocolates—whatever makes you happy)<br />
14 oz. sweetened, condensed milk (do not use fat-free—the consistency will be off)<br />
2 tsp. pure vanilla extract<br />
1 Tbsp. maple extract or maple flavoring (maple syrup won’t work)<br />
1 c. walnuts, lightly toasted & coarsely chopped<br />
6 slices of smoked bacon, cut into ¼-inch lardons, cooked well, drained & cooled<br />
coarse sea salt, to taste<br />
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Lightly coat an 8- or 9-inch square pan or baking dish with non-stick spray and line with baking parchment or waxed paper.<br />
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Heat milk and chocolate in bain marie (or double boiler) over medium heat and stir to blend. Add extracts and stir to completely incorporate. Then stir in nuts and bacon.<br />
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Pour mixture into prepared pan and smooth to even thickness with a spatula. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt.<br />
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Let cool for a few minutes and then refrigerate, uncovered, until fudge is set, about 2 hours. Cut into desired size pieces. Store any remaining fudge uncovered, as sealing it causes moisture to melt the salt.<br />
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Enjoy a piece with a big ol' glass of milk. Or if you're just too sophisticated for that, ruby port will do nicely.Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-48399942592392973082010-11-27T12:07:00.000-08:002010-12-04T19:27:18.789-08:00Giving Thanks for Duck ConfitSome years Thanksgiving involves a big ol' celebration with loads of people, but this has been such a busy autumn for us, with too much out-of-towning, that Himself and I decided on a quiet meal at home alone this time. Since I'm not a traditionalist when it comes to Thanksgiving, I refuse to succumb to the pressure most everyone else feels to have turkey. Himself is just fine with this stance, so instead we celebrated with one of our favorite dishes, duck confit and fingerling potatoes roasted in duck fat. That not only satisfied the desire for something rich and tasty for Thanksgiving, but it also provided the month's self-assigned blog entry on a type of game or exotic meat.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGWpB85vNiyPr-q_Vvxk1nscEIQHr9q_givregAyNyVoAdy5NoB8Zm8gJDGilREQfTPauhfFVN5sPVTUwf5OfaUTPV_wTP1Cy3gjUYXl8fQ2UFB_A7Bgh2y6FFqWGu4q3nVozkKCsXU1e/s1600/DSC_8679.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGWpB85vNiyPr-q_Vvxk1nscEIQHr9q_givregAyNyVoAdy5NoB8Zm8gJDGilREQfTPauhfFVN5sPVTUwf5OfaUTPV_wTP1Cy3gjUYXl8fQ2UFB_A7Bgh2y6FFqWGu4q3nVozkKCsXU1e/s400/DSC_8679.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Duck confit and duck fat--where miracles begin!</i></div><br />
Rather than roast a whole duck, we opted to break into a cache of duck legs cooked and stored in their own fat, the traditional Gascon way of preserving meat. As with last month's pheasant, we didn't have to contend with buckshot, because we did our hunting in a local French import warehouse that opens its doors to the civilian population a few times a year, usually the weekend before a holiday or special occasion. There we loaded up on confit, cheeses, olives, olive oil and a few other treats. It's great getting to pick up a package of six duck legs for what we'd typically pay to order a modest portion in a restaurant. While the package of confit contained a good deal of fat, we grabbed a jar of duck fat, too, which should keep us in rich, tasty meals long after we've polished off the last of the duck legs.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7awept6SgH3X47cP-vfEWxNpIKcXJvewxxmUgrxWl3wQ9JHq-62cNXV9AwpfPNNZox71vBWs8DBA1byqr5HQMerEBvfTU11IqeMu-gdQSaH2Yfsj7T5PddS2aDC0IiZ4EXd7qXfQ0FGTi/s1600/DSC_8603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7awept6SgH3X47cP-vfEWxNpIKcXJvewxxmUgrxWl3wQ9JHq-62cNXV9AwpfPNNZox71vBWs8DBA1byqr5HQMerEBvfTU11IqeMu-gdQSaH2Yfsj7T5PddS2aDC0IiZ4EXd7qXfQ0FGTi/s400/DSC_8603.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Three duck legs on a bed of roasted potatoes: one for Himself, one for me & one to fight over!</i></div><br />
Since the duck is cooked during the confit process, it was essentially ready to eat right out of the package--but so much better when we applied some serious heat to it in a ripping hot pan with the melted fat. This not only warmed the meat but gave it a nice, crispy skin to crunch into.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVq1VU3sdag4mSuXWThhFhb3jOLpEDh4D0cDuTlDArNYr1OEp5F3_0euDbjRJh-sD4J9EGMW5i-W0De2OWIRMYFFL34YmUFrdosiVFj6-suUm0fwJ26b94eLidV0J4KeHzwklQoyGE1-f/s1600/DSC_8601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVq1VU3sdag4mSuXWThhFhb3jOLpEDh4D0cDuTlDArNYr1OEp5F3_0euDbjRJh-sD4J9EGMW5i-W0De2OWIRMYFFL34YmUFrdosiVFj6-suUm0fwJ26b94eLidV0J4KeHzwklQoyGE1-f/s400/DSC_8601.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>With all that fat and dark meat, we decided on a pair of accompanying dishes that would be healthy companions to the oh-my-gawd richness of the duck and potatoes. So we double-cooked some kale, first boiling it first and then giving it a light sauté with red onion and garlic, and sassing it up with red wine vinegar and some red pepper flakes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBvyrs3DiYY5LfaZUGNmvVez7a6LNRK3Y_RxByzOOJU4ggdHkvU-tKCRCMwDdevedTI-cr4rQ37Bi2qi_ldIA-CJcGSno8IO9WxiErqM4S0P1aiRDlAh6ClvdkbAgA4RLd6k4JIU-_o4m/s1600/DSC_8602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBvyrs3DiYY5LfaZUGNmvVez7a6LNRK3Y_RxByzOOJU4ggdHkvU-tKCRCMwDdevedTI-cr4rQ37Bi2qi_ldIA-CJcGSno8IO9WxiErqM4S0P1aiRDlAh6ClvdkbAgA4RLd6k4JIU-_o4m/s400/DSC_8602.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>And we tossed slices of oranges and roasted beets with slivers of onion and shallot, olive oil and red wine vinegar to make an amazing salad that just kept getting better and better--and more and more neon!--every time we pulled the leftovers out of the fridge. It was practically dessert, and that was a good thing, because we didn't actually plan a dessert for this meal.<br />
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I wish I could regale you with stories of a grand Thanksgiving dessert to cap the meal, but we were so full that we just didn't want one. Pumpkin pie? Frankly, it's never been a favorite around here. Pecan pie? Love it, but it just wasn't in the cards this time. So we went for a few drops each of The Good Stuff, which is both a lovely treat and a fine digestif: extra vecchio balsamico from our last trip to Italy. It's truly amazing how satisfying that can be, how the tang cleanses the mouth and the earthy sweetness satisfies the urge for a dessert finish to the meal.<br />
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So I'm thankful:<br />
♦ for the bounty of the farmers' market that provided the seasonal beets, kale and potatoes.<br />
♦ that we didn't feel we had to tie ourselves to tradition and cook someone else's version of the perfect Thanksgiving feast. The tradition we DID embrace this time was the Gascon tradition of preserving duck so that it can be quickly and easily prepared and enjoyed--and I'm thankful for that, too.<br />
♦ for the luxury of the balsamico, which was a treat indeed; and<br />
♦ for Himself, who understands and appreciates my enthusiasm for bucking traditions and doing things differently. This has enabled us to enjoy past Thanksgivings shared with friends as we celebrated the holiday with menus as varied as last year's Croatian feast and the previous year's spread of comfort foods from our home turf of Tennessee.<br />
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Later in the evening, too close to bedtime to eat another meal but far away from breakfast not to eat a little something, we settled on a simple dessert to cap off the day, vanilla ice cream with a drizzling of the balsamico. Then with nothing more on our minds at bedtime than mulling over the possibilities for how we wanted to prepare those remaining three duck legs, we purred ourselves to sleep. A nice cassoulet perhaps?...Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-50968634090316951932010-11-15T14:49:00.000-08:002010-11-15T23:00:49.361-08:00C'mon and EAT MY BLOG!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht6An7LflqxzJ_rLwkXD6Q9Aev3JOyzm1fZPQeJpo0_yXCE6aR9JfZHoTkMb3BVqc3ALUu4NDnSZFxRGRZJilvmKTeIwPQ-Z07FNJWCSuoo7btvJ0QlGBBJMy_pX1K52ukQOzrngFrh2bf/s1600/EAT+MY+BLOG+informational+postcard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht6An7LflqxzJ_rLwkXD6Q9Aev3JOyzm1fZPQeJpo0_yXCE6aR9JfZHoTkMb3BVqc3ALUu4NDnSZFxRGRZJilvmKTeIwPQ-Z07FNJWCSuoo7btvJ0QlGBBJMy_pX1K52ukQOzrngFrh2bf/s400/EAT+MY+BLOG+informational+postcard.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's time to treat your sweet tooth while doing a good deed for the hungry of the Los Angeles area. <a href="http://eatmyblogla.wordpress.com/">Eat My Blog</a> is holding its third bakesale, where more than 50 baking food bloggers will be ready to tempt you with more than 2,000 baked goodies.</div><br />
These aren't your run-of-the mill bakesale offerings, but the creations of people who are serious about their sweets. Goodies this time will include smoked salt toffee, chocolate whoopie pies, coconut cranberry chews, bacon brownies with bourbon caramel sauce, curry macarons, bacon caramel popcorn and marshmallows in at least three flavors, candy cane, bubblegum and eggnog (I'm making those last two myself). So what if you're on a diet? These treats will make spectacular holiday gifts!<br />
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This time we'll even have homemade catnip cookies and doggie biscuits for the four-legged friends in your life. All items will be priced between $1 to $4. Visit us in front of Tender Greens at 8759 Melrose Boulevard in West Hollywood, Saturday, December 4 between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. Bring a friend. In fact, bring as many friends as you can fit in your car. <br />
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Our previous two bakesales raised more than $8,000 for the Los Angeles Regional Foodbank. Mark your calendar, bring your wallet and let's do it all again!Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-8171327469350653732010-11-07T08:35:00.000-08:002010-11-07T09:23:02.380-08:00The Olive Harvest: I'm Mediterranean For a Day<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.caltech.edu/">The California Institute of Technology</a>, a.k.a. Caltech, has a lovely canopy of mature olive trees shading a central corridor of its tony, ivied campus. But only in the last few years have they made an effort to collect the olives that create a monounsaturated mess every autumn. Nowadays the school, which is better known for its affiliation with NASA and Jet Propulsion Laboratories than for olive production, holds an annual harvest that is open both to students and staff and to the outside as well. Since I'd never picked olives before, I figured it was high time I gave it a try.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfT7kvaBmb_2l0apHdQem4HGe3-TANF18yo3ZKNKnA7fn_jL6A2x5wYtDxbxwDW1qhO5jfPGiXiwpwWL1JFiy2wTe6it2hmv5CiS6Gzy_cOmCHZSxkdk5WN3G8ipXN-MOhly5X7js1_j_/s1600/DSC_8333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfT7kvaBmb_2l0apHdQem4HGe3-TANF18yo3ZKNKnA7fn_jL6A2x5wYtDxbxwDW1qhO5jfPGiXiwpwWL1JFiy2wTe6it2hmv5CiS6Gzy_cOmCHZSxkdk5WN3G8ipXN-MOhly5X7js1_j_/s400/DSC_8333.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> These are mission olives, which Franciscan monks from Spain planted at the missions they established up and down the Pacific coastline in the late 1700s.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>The first thing I learned is that, despite their diminutive size, olives hurt like the dickens when they pop off the tree and hit you on the head, cheekbone or some other prominent part of your body!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2EvKebKRFp1FocIuD6iMQ_wMGsI59lKQ8lIxKvxmQ7RHbGooWFv1r8dV5wcgvb-khvRq6qljTl1fJeIOlMsvZJCqTph2-uUoJU68dwyLu1c7Oqp0oeVt09eI80dx-i0YLURs886VOEqI/s1600/DSC_8321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2EvKebKRFp1FocIuD6iMQ_wMGsI59lKQ8lIxKvxmQ7RHbGooWFv1r8dV5wcgvb-khvRq6qljTl1fJeIOlMsvZJCqTph2-uUoJU68dwyLu1c7Oqp0oeVt09eI80dx-i0YLURs886VOEqI/s400/DSC_8321.jpg" width="265" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Teams of volunteers tackled each tree, with one person climbing the ladder to comb the olives off the branches with what essentially looked like a leaf rake, while the others remained below to collect the fallen fruit. Check out these amazing ladders, with a single support post and rungs that taper from an extra wide stance to quite narrow at the top. (By the way, note the cannon in the background--it appears to be aimed squarely in the direction of Pasadena Community College, just a couple of blocks away. Coincidence...?)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmUlovzk1vh3cHAf761xP53FVF7yZb_1lsngCPAQcCm6usS0pAr1wy_-vrYdJcv6bU4GfgcTWDGT8wJZBaFzMaoGZe5m4nfhaiojvHMoEgJxpwfmAl_xuS_yNxUD8CH2W7KKVzDrhCwrxF/s1600/DSC_8322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmUlovzk1vh3cHAf761xP53FVF7yZb_1lsngCPAQcCm6usS0pAr1wy_-vrYdJcv6bU4GfgcTWDGT8wJZBaFzMaoGZe5m4nfhaiojvHMoEgJxpwfmAl_xuS_yNxUD8CH2W7KKVzDrhCwrxF/s400/DSC_8322.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Most of the olives raked from the trees landed on the burlap tarps, but quite a few bounced off our heads and either landed in the grass or skipped across the pavement. A number of volunteers brought their small children with them, little sprouts who chased the errant olives and flung them happily into the tarps and waiting buckets. It was a real Tom Sawyer kind of day--we had so much fun we kind of forgot we were working. Of course, I'm sure we'd view it quite differently if this was our job in and day out.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDLQ2e4nrQ5atUTvfqhiEk5t2pkDsEnGRpuHkNaguF8Gj_1ffdXiHEybGBY_PHcl9i_Unwwaey6aRU6rdvIZ3eFbTaKATX9HTnlsUsLzntcISTFgGcT_Gi5sLv-1egklOy4Nh7NUKu8b2/s1600/DSC_8325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDLQ2e4nrQ5atUTvfqhiEk5t2pkDsEnGRpuHkNaguF8Gj_1ffdXiHEybGBY_PHcl9i_Unwwaey6aRU6rdvIZ3eFbTaKATX9HTnlsUsLzntcISTFgGcT_Gi5sLv-1egklOy4Nh7NUKu8b2/s400/DSC_8325.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> At noon we recessed to enjoy a lavish buffet of olive-based Mediterranean fare, including moussaka, hummus, tabbouleh, tapenade, gyros and kalamata bread. There were also large pans of assorted olives (I was wishing I'd brought a zipper bag with me!), an array of olive oils to sample and escargot cooked up on the spot and served to us on rounds of baguette. I should have photographed the layers as I piled them onto my plate. I wanted a taste of everything, and I got it! For the most part it was incredibly healthy stuff, and it was all quite good.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkbGDQQP5f07bU-r1gej2Zi6hVPKhlUonomMwGL9SoDxpvxnD2AUlRPgIKPUimlEcfq8aiKr06_XK0iAgY7arUxaHFZcZQQ4n1FyzaYCQGELH-2p_WIdxN0-Z8KIPpwXQR-Ac9P-hKtNRi/s1600/DSC_8331.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkbGDQQP5f07bU-r1gej2Zi6hVPKhlUonomMwGL9SoDxpvxnD2AUlRPgIKPUimlEcfq8aiKr06_XK0iAgY7arUxaHFZcZQQ4n1FyzaYCQGELH-2p_WIdxN0-Z8KIPpwXQR-Ac9P-hKtNRi/s400/DSC_8331.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Lunchtime brought a little messy recreation as students with hands coated in olive oil engaged in a tug-o-war in the center of the sun-dappled grove. A woman bearing a large tin of olive oil gave each student's hands a liberal glug-glug-glug before the tugging commenced. The winning team (pictured) chanted "meat truck! meat truck! meat truck!" in between battles. Nothing against my vegetable-loving brethren, but I'm not surprised by who won. My guess is the victors got to pick which food truck was going to be visiting campus. The carnivores carried the day.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOWJVGnNZTI3RLDenNwtI8mDIj6wNB4mZ5OGa_v5hTYeM9fN-J3xg9yAexiE0giZCiDeGS9mHiqRVzvsU4zbLKR3ZDokBU6VD_y8iysEu9pcOJeJplinlQ5RS-wxkFNlOdLkdQxXTLS5J/s1600/DSC_8309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOWJVGnNZTI3RLDenNwtI8mDIj6wNB4mZ5OGa_v5hTYeM9fN-J3xg9yAexiE0giZCiDeGS9mHiqRVzvsU4zbLKR3ZDokBU6VD_y8iysEu9pcOJeJplinlQ5RS-wxkFNlOdLkdQxXTLS5J/s400/DSC_8309.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The event featured an olive-pressing demonstration, a job that seems pretty low-tech, considering that it was taking place on a campus where students train to work in space exploration, among other extraordinary engineering pursuits. This is a more modern version of the ancient screw press, not as quaint as the giant stone wheels you still find doing the job throughout the Mediterranean. It takes about 11 pounds of olives to yield a liter of oil, so rather than pressing all the olives this way, our harvest will be shipped to Santa Barbara for oil production. As for learning the technique of brining olives, our brining expert was sick that day, so this lesson will have to wait for next year's harvest. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOKZm8BmMp9GHZdNUVS_pYZEqv6aAFDW-CZ1EzOwYgzrBFDapHA2NXsmr40VFZPbISjGxM6OZXloyBNeO5gb7Kbzk3sqcy-WAUj-yCHSzmjh3ZpjaVxae3J9_RWXuFnxrHYTpNX8OB7t2/s1600/DSC_8319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOKZm8BmMp9GHZdNUVS_pYZEqv6aAFDW-CZ1EzOwYgzrBFDapHA2NXsmr40VFZPbISjGxM6OZXloyBNeO5gb7Kbzk3sqcy-WAUj-yCHSzmjh3ZpjaVxae3J9_RWXuFnxrHYTpNX8OB7t2/s400/DSC_8319.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Two down--a gazillion to go!</i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i>It was instructive learning through hands-on experience what autumn brings for those who live amongst the olive groves that cover the Mediterranean. Olive harvesting combines long hours of what is essentially tedious labor with a great social opportunity. When you pitch in with a group to do this job, you find that you have a lot of time to talk as you work. And you come to understand how a collective effort like this can be so central to the life of a community.<br />
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Caltech's students may be preparing themselves for the most high-tech jobs on this planet and possibly a few others, but I appreciate their cheerful embrace of one of the oldest and humblest chores on Earth. <br />
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<i>To hear the story behind how Caltech students spearheaded this effort a few years ago, <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=9946798">check it out on NPR</a>. If you're interested in keeping up with the project--and participating next year--visit <a href="http://olives.caltech.edu/">Caltech's olive harvest website for more information.</a> </i></div></div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-25072211245478805902010-10-26T14:58:00.000-07:002010-10-26T15:02:35.297-07:00Sweet & Salty & SpicyIt's funny how a feature of one cuisine can jump out at you and remind you of a cuisine on the far side of the world from that one. This happened when Himself and I noshed at Lotería, a Mexican restaurant in Hollywood this past weekend. To drink, he ordered a <i>michelada de mango</i>, a combination of beer with fruit juices. One sip and I was ordering my own.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKKQ3ugoc-R7lbQ5z6zRGpHYoL6I8SRgxCbEaBM0TUNGBvDHwsEjfapqzpYW2NhJfFOTzHv6qNHm-SLSKWTBGJcXa-De4x086cgAywjpQZgZB8yiq7iLJEl1C65WB7DFvCdxQ7jlPONaf/s1600/IMG_0109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKKQ3ugoc-R7lbQ5z6zRGpHYoL6I8SRgxCbEaBM0TUNGBvDHwsEjfapqzpYW2NhJfFOTzHv6qNHm-SLSKWTBGJcXa-De4x086cgAywjpQZgZB8yiq7iLJEl1C65WB7DFvCdxQ7jlPONaf/s400/IMG_0109.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>michelada </i></div>This one was a mixture of Cerveza Sol with mango and lime juices. While the combo of beer and fruit juices was appealing, what really won me over was the rim, which was coated with a mixture of salt and crushed chili peppers. It reminded me of Thailand's <i>prik kab kleua</i>, a dry mix of salt, sugar and crushed hot chilis that you dip slices of fresh fruit into. Most every meal I've had in Thailand has ended with a platter of fresh fruit and a bowl of this sweet-salty-spicy mixture.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsy5CNPshs_P-YiHD-tHVYMpZevtbIvTv2zYNd0xZ2RJMF2WzY-_X2d4PnGN_uJcXz8r0jRPenH-Tm5mvNbi7rcAfIe4bQKRF-EQOybHKF34ZPlhYRLgkpIco_96W7K7ogy8A6YR539U9I/s1600/DSC_1720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsy5CNPshs_P-YiHD-tHVYMpZevtbIvTv2zYNd0xZ2RJMF2WzY-_X2d4PnGN_uJcXz8r0jRPenH-Tm5mvNbi7rcAfIe4bQKRF-EQOybHKF34ZPlhYRLgkpIco_96W7K7ogy8A6YR539U9I/s400/DSC_1720.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>fresh watermelon, pineapple and papaya with a dish of prik kab kleua</i></div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpA7t7D9vUQaNH528iVZODmF0q63qJCcVOgjVzXl2ibbnZmtmIc_jDhJx3K7jPsT68wmpRU6KIefIAIdjYdOSAlB9RsscUBJDyqTJGBBJqJa7MHbPOGGeQVhaWKYVd7xYy2-hR3nb8_boH/s1600/DSC_2165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpA7t7D9vUQaNH528iVZODmF0q63qJCcVOgjVzXl2ibbnZmtmIc_jDhJx3K7jPsT68wmpRU6KIefIAIdjYdOSAlB9RsscUBJDyqTJGBBJqJa7MHbPOGGeQVhaWKYVd7xYy2-hR3nb8_boH/s400/DSC_2165.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i>prik kab kleua with star fruit</i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">As you can see, the first mixture is much lighter than the one just above. No two batches will be exactly the same--it's all up to the individual taste of the person preparing it. And if the fruit isn't quite in season, a little extra sugar helps balance out the blend.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">While the coating on the rim of the glass of michelada didn't contain sugar, the aim was essentially the same--to mix the sweetness of fruit with saltiness and spicy heat. It's refreshing, hydrating and cooling on a hot day. Even if it's not especially hot, it's still a winning combination.</div></div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-57817309073570252172010-10-19T18:10:00.000-07:002010-10-25T13:32:33.428-07:00Couscous Bang Bang!The recent couscous festival was a bang, with an abundance of wonderful North African food and music and a great positive vibe. But I've heard several people--people who weren't there--comment, "I like couscous, but why would you devote an entire festival to it?"<br />
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It's like this: What rice is to Asians and what corn is to Native Americans, couscous is to North Africans. It is such an integral part of the culture that it transcends being a mere ingredient in a dish. It's elemental--in fact, I've found that the words in several North African dialects for "couscous" are interchangeable with the word "food." It's THE food of the Maghreb, that is, a good portion of the Sahara and what's above it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLobEthYsRm-K0MF27XbhwcT8NKmbU33-Neyo9fcyYN2wNt1aESm_jEBd29O8tRsi_KSnrLJGxotOvbLQUgYYzhPcuInV0jSmOf0UjjJXcb_NayCKIc_SrKEd-JfOy84K3-IpnI_QdQsve/s1600/DSC_7977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLobEthYsRm-K0MF27XbhwcT8NKmbU33-Neyo9fcyYN2wNt1aESm_jEBd29O8tRsi_KSnrLJGxotOvbLQUgYYzhPcuInV0jSmOf0UjjJXcb_NayCKIc_SrKEd-JfOy84K3-IpnI_QdQsve/s400/DSC_7977.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>chicken and beef cheeks braised in tagines and served with couscous </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
We're not talking about that five-minute instant stuff you mix with boiling water. Authentically prepared couscous is steamed for three hours, over either broth or water; every 30 minutes it is fluffed and massaged with a bit of oil, and put back in to steam until 30 minutes later, when the process begins all over again. The result is couscous that is perfectly hydrated--light and fluffy, not soggy and leaden. And amazingly flavorful.<br />
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Couscous is good in either savory or sweet dishes, so you might have a bed of couscous soaked with the juices of braised lamb and a generous serving of lamb perched on top for dinner, followed by more couscous mixed with honey, spices, fresh fruit, rosewater--you name it--for dessert. It has great versatility.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjJ2N-X04K5MFDgNX7wW0b8poxKABYHBsUa_jhWTCIxdjWqcjofGDhGTsLjGR9HroWzgqCbtUfapJ1RGUcy14-cAJmxBj44SLqdtV92Eugy7bfD4xccARm3r0IolAjrpJnnU4Xu51QGa2/s1600/DSC_8086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjJ2N-X04K5MFDgNX7wW0b8poxKABYHBsUa_jhWTCIxdjWqcjofGDhGTsLjGR9HroWzgqCbtUfapJ1RGUcy14-cAJmxBj44SLqdtV92Eugy7bfD4xccARm3r0IolAjrpJnnU4Xu51QGa2/s400/DSC_8086.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Yeah, I know this photo is out of focus, but it expresses so well the character of authentic couscous, which looks like it could just fly right off your plate--it DOES, actually!</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>I assumed that couscous was a pasta, but it turns out that it's not. Rather, it's a grain, semolina wheat, that has been rolled by hand in what is quite a labor-intensive process. Couscous first showed up in 13th century Spanish and Syrian writings and is thought to have originated with the Berbers, North Africa's indigenous people. It didn't take long to spread from there, to become a staple of cuisines throughout the Mediterranean and beyond. Couscous is high-gluten and low-moisture, so it keeps well in harsh environments, perfect for the desert.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhg2FbMF_WIPV2MWu-AOKkdwlb_qWmQINwMWhJX-i3f4wGjFNNelI4TNyfzwHyHNmAVy-KRhBVhtd93ycFXzndV7vy9JfQ9xkVS-EwSX2e3oy3CO3n9Lv_VV5Uu4LBUbsIzhKOpgkSnOh/s1600/DSC_7963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhg2FbMF_WIPV2MWu-AOKkdwlb_qWmQINwMWhJX-i3f4wGjFNNelI4TNyfzwHyHNmAVy-KRhBVhtd93ycFXzndV7vy9JfQ9xkVS-EwSX2e3oy3CO3n9Lv_VV5Uu4LBUbsIzhKOpgkSnOh/s400/DSC_7963.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> Tagines are earthenware vessels used for cooking meat until it is succulent and juicy, perfect for topping a plate of couscous. Vegetables cook up nicely in them, too.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Couscous made a good point of departure for sampling more North African cuisine and exploring different styles of cooking. The rabbit with currants and pine nuts was cooked in tagines, while the lamb was smoked whole in a giant smoker. Traditionally it would have been spit roasted, but the sheer volume required for the festival necessitated stationing a large smoker in the parking lot. The point was to present slow cooked lamb, so I'd say mission accomplished!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_ftA5Gm86vne3jQ4piEDu82lGvzI6Km-GQroVQ4kUkanx2j40hyphenhyphen63hyphenhyphenl3JB0tBvQlHHs2oUVm1C18pyhupfhjGHeEgTxggTt6oHffKYcKEFNVs6bFGNpv5AM3vBjZ5e6W8VN2ZsloOD0/s1600/DSC_8031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_ftA5Gm86vne3jQ4piEDu82lGvzI6Km-GQroVQ4kUkanx2j40hyphenhyphen63hyphenhyphenl3JB0tBvQlHHs2oUVm1C18pyhupfhjGHeEgTxggTt6oHffKYcKEFNVs6bFGNpv5AM3vBjZ5e6W8VN2ZsloOD0/s400/DSC_8031.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Rabbit and lamb on corn tortillas (a concession to the Southwest!) with a generous dollop of harissa, a condiment made of pounded chili peppers.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4Gh35OUrG-bK85ET8qhXz92avWOs2hhSX19h_cruj7e1Y6RhecwLcU5bu2IwueN4tBmrozKbs7YIMdIIEw-WGNtXJ-yiu-6gTzZk_9D8KvpUzx3JDwRvX7gdGd5KTdvLfkEHOOnFoVFD/s1600/DSC_8021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4Gh35OUrG-bK85ET8qhXz92avWOs2hhSX19h_cruj7e1Y6RhecwLcU5bu2IwueN4tBmrozKbs7YIMdIIEw-WGNtXJ-yiu-6gTzZk_9D8KvpUzx3JDwRvX7gdGd5KTdvLfkEHOOnFoVFD/s400/DSC_8021.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <i>Assembling a briq (by the way, while the expression goes, "Never trust a skinny chef," I frankly don't think I'd trust one without some serious tatts!)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Also on the menu was the briq, a thin crepe-like pastry of durum wheat filled with bites of food (shrimp in this case), a dollop of harissa and a raw egg...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8QyyNwRk1GVSMhXpJExOFoXu3fsUvjiwPVg44_u_q80kSxqYU_YFLtESgsbUe2YTpYdlAd7xF_hnRZJg966oh1xssXQWPSBd3jW_nG6bWr8EjiB3V57gInmxp0BCLWRNoMhnJXHdi01E/s1600/DSC_8172.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8QyyNwRk1GVSMhXpJExOFoXu3fsUvjiwPVg44_u_q80kSxqYU_YFLtESgsbUe2YTpYdlAd7xF_hnRZJg966oh1xssXQWPSBd3jW_nG6bWr8EjiB3V57gInmxp0BCLWRNoMhnJXHdi01E/s400/DSC_8172.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">...and folded into a tidy package before cooking. It is placed in the shallow side of a pan tilted over a fire with hot grease. You spoon the grease over the briq as it cooks so that it cooks quickly but without becoming soggy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7S6bHLE69kdwQ_usgm_axKoJ_WpL4p7oPKhm-Og1nhQyKn3GaRzZuSOO28rcLPDcVgRH2gABMfF2eaZODNyhLPCre5ITHKWE2iX3CL6VxzW3qFEX2iCUnAheaZfgEhBcty0gEuUo3icTQ/s1600/DSC_8166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7S6bHLE69kdwQ_usgm_axKoJ_WpL4p7oPKhm-Og1nhQyKn3GaRzZuSOO28rcLPDcVgRH2gABMfF2eaZODNyhLPCre5ITHKWE2iX3CL6VxzW3qFEX2iCUnAheaZfgEhBcty0gEuUo3icTQ/s400/DSC_8166.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>mmmm, briq!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpST1fiJfmSdvmI_dxC8b7Qqk3pJkStdSbnwz9bglJrZcwyP6j1UbwUVzRufaxLiJINYPYAb12Xv7lUFUwQ-D8qx4aDaw5xHfHswkx8Kj_bpso_oISFxuRzyNaiDJTCLxQM5rvzDAeXfs/s1600/DSC_8189.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpST1fiJfmSdvmI_dxC8b7Qqk3pJkStdSbnwz9bglJrZcwyP6j1UbwUVzRufaxLiJINYPYAb12Xv7lUFUwQ-D8qx4aDaw5xHfHswkx8Kj_bpso_oISFxuRzyNaiDJTCLxQM5rvzDAeXfs/s400/DSC_8189.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Confession time: Between you and me, I adore couscous made the proper way, but I can't devote three hours of cooking every time I want some. So I'll have to get by on the quick stuff, until I can make it out to a Moroccan restaurant--or back to next year's couscous festival. I'll be there, and I'll be sure to be hungry when I get there.</div></div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-85433736063253621542010-10-18T21:30:00.000-07:002010-10-18T21:30:34.799-07:00Beyond 52 Cuisines: #53 BasqueHey-ho, <i>told</i> you we're not finished with these cuisines! The world is a huuuuuge place and its foods and flavors, practically unlimited.<br />
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This month we set our sights on the cuisine of the Basque country, the region of southwestern France and northwestern Spain that loves bullfighting, gourmet club and Basque autonomy. The least volatile of these three things to talk about is gourmet club, so we're in safe waters here. The Basque not only love to eat and drink, but they enjoy doing all the planning, gathering, cooking and cleaning together as well.<br />
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For our anniversary earlier this month, Himself and I decided to stay in and cook a feast, sort of our own private Basque gourmet club. I've been toying with the idea of visiting <a href="http://harmonyfarmsonline.com/">Harmony Farms</a> in La Crescenta once a month to pick up some sort of wild game or exotic meat that I can't find in the local market, something I don't often cook--perhaps some meats I've yet to try cooking. This looked like a good time to begin that enterprise while indulging in the next cuisine. So we toddled on up to Harmony Farms to peruse our options. In addition to hormone-, pesticide- and radiation-free meats and soy products, they carry a dizzying array of meats that you don't find just anywhere. It's a great place to rummage and plot and scheme over your next special dinner menu.<br />
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We've fixed pheasant a few times before, always with the extra ingredient of buckshot. It's so nice <i>not</i> to have that component this time. Dinner should never be capable of setting off a metal detector! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhhfi3b6gS1GZf04DM3P38MKtEzCZUFA9IjV33CS0Gii24f1PXHN7-jIX22Lj68pGS_wlSO1zCXBaF3-uvZaaUcDuaQDm5Vd_O3EneFKwbm2tYgVWagN6xSEzitc3vKGLS04ULz3s2mLo/s1600/DSC_7857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhhfi3b6gS1GZf04DM3P38MKtEzCZUFA9IjV33CS0Gii24f1PXHN7-jIX22Lj68pGS_wlSO1zCXBaF3-uvZaaUcDuaQDm5Vd_O3EneFKwbm2tYgVWagN6xSEzitc3vKGLS04ULz3s2mLo/s400/DSC_7857.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The mélange of flavors in the Basque pheasant recipe I found in a book called <i>Dressing and Cooking Wild Game</i> blends the zing of green olives and capers with the rich sweetness of prunes and brown sugar. Sounds odd, but this combination works. I cut up the pheasant and gave it an all-day soak in a marinade of white wine, white wine vinegar, olive oil, brown sugar, prunes, green olives, capers, garlic, bay leaf and basil. This combination of flavors reminds me of what is known as "Old California" cuisine with its Spanish influences, in which a single dish might include olives, onion, raisins and oregano, giving the dish a happy intensity of aromatics, umami, saltiness, sourness and sweetness. Essentially, all parts of the tongue get something to excite them.<br />
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While pheasant is more or less the same size and shape as a chicken, cutting and eating it is more of a challenge, because pheasant is much leaner and more muscular. Its flesh clings more tenaciously to the bone, even after it has been cooked sufficiently. It was quite tasty, and our sofa lions all paraded in, trilling, leg-rubbing and kneecap smooching, eager to convince us they hadn't eaten in many days. There was plenty of pheasant for everyone, and the pusses didn't seem to mind the bits of caper and herbs clinging to their allotment.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GcT9bgLGmmWXFXOZqEaylI1LIXsPri1rlrqpKuhxnyqAyuovQgTT0d95poDfjdgHIyJTRtiIzv4LAPXvi47H9ILQZzyjFQmBHFk6iilYXk1ixXkqjS9GMlgaD2KhsFSSfFdIW-jDrF9y/s1600/DSC_7836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GcT9bgLGmmWXFXOZqEaylI1LIXsPri1rlrqpKuhxnyqAyuovQgTT0d95poDfjdgHIyJTRtiIzv4LAPXvi47H9ILQZzyjFQmBHFk6iilYXk1ixXkqjS9GMlgaD2KhsFSSfFdIW-jDrF9y/s400/DSC_7836.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The cuisine of the Basque territory contains a lot of potato dishes and features a dish called pipérade, a blend of cooked sweet peppers and tomatoes (by the way, the three primary ingredients in this dish show just how ingrained the foods of the Americas are in this region). The potatoes are baked in a pipérade of red and yellow bell peppers, shallots and lots of fresh herbs, which season the creamy fingerlings and give them a glorious aroma as well. It's a good idea to make this dish in a generous quantity so you can enjoy it for several days. Himself suggested using the leftover potatoes the next morning in a frittata. That would have been a grand idea<i> if</i> we hadn't gobbled them all up with total abandon. Next time we'll make more than we can eat in a single sitting.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKMFx8WIKiIbUy2sAOTm-xEcVgyrP8Eu6ZfvTa7pGel_u3gq34SVNaSTKhO1pRM0Q0E-TZWgsAm7XCoGwAAcvSF2_dH7iZz58idfcKJFNDhv63z31dDh01ExMVdZRIlvyi_Lwx8ZBtnQv/s1600/DSC_7790.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKMFx8WIKiIbUy2sAOTm-xEcVgyrP8Eu6ZfvTa7pGel_u3gq34SVNaSTKhO1pRM0Q0E-TZWgsAm7XCoGwAAcvSF2_dH7iZz58idfcKJFNDhv63z31dDh01ExMVdZRIlvyi_Lwx8ZBtnQv/s400/DSC_7790.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">We topped our salad of baby spinach greens with a creamy and intensely garlicky dressing and some chopped hard-cooked egg. I want to try some of the leftover dressing over cooked spinach sometime. It should be quite good. You can fine tune the amount of garlic you use--this recipe calls for both fresh garlic and garlic powder. But the Basque way is to use a heavy hand when adding garlic to the mix. I have no problem with that!<br />
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</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfN_AYtc3u-V0LEf72QlMBklyZmy1Xm9k_VhLPpQgdx80rkT0R5Acj0VCeEZeUzZ-lnrf2c2I6abY6hWUV-KGGn67U4wn9fA2LOkfcms8Wl3rnuVDvhEx6J6ijXhQLKo-O8POdoUCId7J/s1600/DSC_7873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfN_AYtc3u-V0LEf72QlMBklyZmy1Xm9k_VhLPpQgdx80rkT0R5Acj0VCeEZeUzZ-lnrf2c2I6abY6hWUV-KGGn67U4wn9fA2LOkfcms8Wl3rnuVDvhEx6J6ijXhQLKo-O8POdoUCId7J/s400/DSC_7873.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>A favorite meal finisher is some fresh fruit with a local cheese, such as idiazabal. If I hadn't been too lazy to go to the cheese store, that's what we'd have had (and then there's the fact that to save my life I can't leave a fromagerie with only one cheese). While the Basques aren't huge on dessert, they do have a fondness for custard and custard-filled tarts. So for dessert we made Basque crème, a.k.a. natillas. It is essentially a cooked crème anglaise, made with generous use of cinnamon. The resulting crème is quite thick, and the instructions say to thin it out at service by stirring in more heavy crème. Considering how much heavy crème, along with eggs and sugar, is already in there, I choked. I just couldn't do it. Probably a good thing. Himself and I have enjoyed a spoonful each after meals the past couple of days. It's so rich that that's all we really want or need. Natillas is certainly made to savor, it's so rich and flavorful.<br />
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The nice thing about all these dishes is that they can be enjoyed as part of a regular meal. It's not like you have to announce that you're having a specially-planned Basque dinner to enjoy them.<br />
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Following is the recipe for Basque pheasant. If you can't lay your hands on a pheasant, chicken works just fine, too. You'll still get the distinctive blend of flavors that speak of this region:<br />
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Cut up one bird, arrange it in a single layer in a 13-by-9-inch baking dish, and pour over it the following marinade: In a medium-sized bowl stir together 3 Tbsp. brown sugar, 3 oz. white wine, 1/4 cup olive oil and 1/4 cup white wine vinegar. Then stir in 2 minced cloves of garlic, 1 bay leaf, 1 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley, 2 Tbsp. dried basil leaves, 1/2 cup pitted medium prunes and 1/2 cup pitted medium green olives. Pour this mixture over pheasant pieces and cover the dish with plastic wrap. Refrigerate overnight--or all day--turning the pieces a couple of times.<br />
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Preheat oven to 350°F, remove plastic wrap and bake bird uncovered until it is tender, turning once. Baking should take about one hour, depending on the size of the bird. Remove bird, olives and prunes to a serving dish and, if desired, spoon pan juices over it before serving.</div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-12468668836351456412010-10-15T10:50:00.000-07:002010-10-15T14:26:21.008-07:00Distinctive Weekend Cocktails<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3mA2a7v2-SKTjpc_g1eUstWC-wgaBSrvAj0W9rshFaGtbuXiDxreNtKmg-KH67-WNNCnz3GpZLQJcPGz1DhLjMkQTCvBoXrDH7gNVVoTM3HWmnE5NLkfKYr3vChecORISZOcrYr3pNKuJ/s1600/DSC_6819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3mA2a7v2-SKTjpc_g1eUstWC-wgaBSrvAj0W9rshFaGtbuXiDxreNtKmg-KH67-WNNCnz3GpZLQJcPGz1DhLjMkQTCvBoXrDH7gNVVoTM3HWmnE5NLkfKYr3vChecORISZOcrYr3pNKuJ/s400/DSC_6819.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Himself, a.k.a. Hungry Passport's husband, a.k.a. Andrew Penn Romine is taking on a new challenge in his blog. Each Friday he plans to write about a different cocktail--not your run-o-the-mill stuff (and no, rum & Coke is NOT a cocktail. Neither is 7 & 7. Neither is anything made with jug mix--all of which are liquid versions of fast food). It's about hearkening back to the classics, the first entry being the cognac sazerac. I'll let him fill you in on the details. So please visit <a href="http://www.andrewpennromine.com/">Ink Gorilla</a> to find out what you should be mixing and drinking each weekend.<br />
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And if you're encouraged to start some serious cocktail mixing beyond each Friday's offering, I suggest you pick up a copy of <i>Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails</i>, by Ted Haigh, a.k.a. Dr. Cocktail. It's history in a glass, tasty tasty history. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTTvD-w0orkJaLeDIdZmj4Y4pHcno7xlIQgB7Vs1HLNTfquBkwYMJ_prnx8K4IYJs0ryZgIuYn_iwuYgUtjnp85uaR9WTLJ_6cHUbF9NntmAk836v1N1ojPJkf5aG8fLT-8zk4tHd7ziO/s1600/DSC_9499.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTTvD-w0orkJaLeDIdZmj4Y4pHcno7xlIQgB7Vs1HLNTfquBkwYMJ_prnx8K4IYJs0ryZgIuYn_iwuYgUtjnp85uaR9WTLJ_6cHUbF9NntmAk836v1N1ojPJkf5aG8fLT-8zk4tHd7ziO/s400/DSC_9499.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Himself behind the bar</span></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Cheers!</span></div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-16855708896771512702010-09-30T13:45:00.000-07:002010-09-30T13:45:06.820-07:00Report from the Deep Freeze: I HEART Bigos!Yesterday I pulled a container of bigos out of the freezer and moved it into the fridge so I could have it for lunch today. Now it's lunchtime, and I'm in heaven.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSK6zw2crZdbR2wxVKKWxwwPPt3FrxiGv1T5ZoHr-Jad5PK4z4N1VDez_uEUv3Cg0d2A9Wuz2BvePt_gx3OvYrElsP2ySzVJhj9kDjzSXKeZBcaF_cHQw_ivjv3i_Xb1E6Y6MFUuEQqY_I/s1600/DSC_7698.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSK6zw2crZdbR2wxVKKWxwwPPt3FrxiGv1T5ZoHr-Jad5PK4z4N1VDez_uEUv3Cg0d2A9Wuz2BvePt_gx3OvYrElsP2ySzVJhj9kDjzSXKeZBcaF_cHQw_ivjv3i_Xb1E6Y6MFUuEQqY_I/s400/DSC_7698.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div> In case you don't recall, while reporting on <a href="http://hungrypassport.blogspot.com/2010/08/week-49-polish.html">Polish cuisine during week #49</a> of my <a href="http://hungrypassport.blogspot.com/2009/09/52-cuisines-in-52-weeks.html">"52 Cuisines in 52 Weeks" adventure</a>, I made a big pot of bigos filled with beef, Polish sausage, sauerkraut and mushrooms. It's addictive stuff, and I love it cold. I just put it into a pretty bowl today so it would photograph better than in the deli cup I froze it in--and out of which I was eating it while standing in the open refrigerator door when it occurred to me I should tap out a blog entry about it. If it weren't in the 90s today, I'd heat it and have it with some mashed potatoes. But it's good to know that Poland's classic "hunter stew" is not only edible straight out of the fridge, but PRIMO served cold.<br />
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And here's something I already knew but that was reinforced for me today: When you make a big batch of something with the intent of freezing part of it, and it's something you know tastes better a few days after it's made, then wait a few days after you make it before you freeze it. This way it will be at the peak of flavor when you're ready to eat it, whenever that might be.<br />
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I neglected to include a recipe in the Polish cuisine blog entry, so I'll do it now. I apologize for the oversight. While there are many ways to make bigos--and as a hunter's stew it accommodates most any sort of meat you want to chuck into it--what follows is a good basic way to make it.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Bigos</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Soak 4 ounces of dried mushrooms in warm water for between 30 minutes and an hour, until they're completely hydrated. Squeeze water out of mushrooms and set them aside (strain any remaining grit from this mushroom broth and keep the broth to make soup another time).<br />
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While the mushrooms are hydrating, dice one large onion and set aside. Cut a pound of meat(s) of your choice into bite-sized pieces, along with two Polish sausages and 6 ounces of bacon.<br />
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Melt a tablespoon of lard (I used bacon drippings, but you can use canola or vegetable oil if you must) in a large, thick pot and brown the meat, sausage and bacon. Then add in the diced onion and cook until transparent. Add the mushrooms and a pound of strained sauerkraut to the pot and enough beef broth to cover it all. Sprinkle in some caraway seeds and a tiny bit of sugar. And a splash of red wine. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and let simmer for about 30 minutes.<br />
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Taste to see if it might need a bit more salt (the kraut and sausages may give you as much as you want) and season with salt and black pepper as desired.<br />
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Serve hot, cold or room temperature.Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-82966458193844457302010-09-24T16:51:00.000-07:002010-09-24T16:57:49.102-07:00The Imposter in the GardenThe healthiest plant in my garden these days--and for quite some time now--is what is known as a curry plant. This frosty-green perennial is available for purchase at the gardening center alongside herbs like oregano, thyme, parsley, tarragon and sage. While, I've never known what to do with it, I've been happy to let it coexist with all the other herbs that regularly make their way into whatever I happen to be cooking.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwj21b1ttTttMbSkxs3gwVtfaQCiHgb-d22T_diEsFfqGv_B-2b7vkyunBa7JcWr8B61_mjGxB2ZzjdDPU8Nb9FBuqIk8Lcxcg7ofJqQQJIpjplvvmUHwvXUbS1kb1aVkx-khNBZcAvRO/s1600/DSC_7597.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwj21b1ttTttMbSkxs3gwVtfaQCiHgb-d22T_diEsFfqGv_B-2b7vkyunBa7JcWr8B61_mjGxB2ZzjdDPU8Nb9FBuqIk8Lcxcg7ofJqQQJIpjplvvmUHwvXUbS1kb1aVkx-khNBZcAvRO/s400/DSC_7597.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> While the aroma of the curry plant is vaguely similar to that of a generic curry of some sort, no curry seasoning blends actually contain this plant. Recipes for curry are innumerable, with each cook possessing the secrets to family favorites. Different spice blends lend themselves to particular dishes, whether based on chicken, fish, vegetables or tofu, and to different seasons as well. Some curry blends make you sweat and cool you off in summer, while others help keep you warm in winter. Most curries include some combination of cinnamon, coriander, cumin, nutmeg, fennel seed, cardamom, fenugreek, turmeric, saffron, tamarind and quite a number of other spices and flavorings. But no curry plant.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_owAR2StYrORB7IvuK_cbEPyiqxqkizaiIQ-HgtTFhZ_VZp9tcnJhVWe0chSns_ZGuxN3acY4JUUwBsR9wdOrh6Kfa4kCi5gJj0w6hQfBmJI-dY4auOnszVeq_NunzQ5zM9_ypq3dcan9/s1600/DSC_7605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_owAR2StYrORB7IvuK_cbEPyiqxqkizaiIQ-HgtTFhZ_VZp9tcnJhVWe0chSns_ZGuxN3acY4JUUwBsR9wdOrh6Kfa4kCi5gJj0w6hQfBmJI-dY4auOnszVeq_NunzQ5zM9_ypq3dcan9/s400/DSC_7605.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Yesterday I finally became curious enough to do a little research and find out what this plant really is and how to use it. I discovered that we have an imposter in our midst. It turns out that this plant has neither culinary nor medicinal qualities. Except for its use in potpourris and wreaths, it does nothing to merit the space it takes up in the garden. I realized that I've been had by a plant! How sad is that? I fumed about this at dinner.<br />
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"I'm going to rip that plant out of the ground and throw it into the dumpster tomorrow," I told Himself. "I feel like going out there with a flashlight and pulling it up right NOW!"<br />
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"Feeling just a bit vengeful, are we?" he chuckled.<br />
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So I picked a frond of the pretender and nibbled a bit of it. Not much flavor, really, just enough chlorophyll to let me know I was chewing on a plant. Then I slept on it (on my decision, not on the plant. Sheesh, you readers!). In spite of its dishonest ways, it <i>is</i> greenery, and it does smell nice. It's pretty, too and one of the few things thriving in my deserty backyard.<br />
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Oh, what the hell? For now, the imposter stays.Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-22400247672389631432010-09-21T09:48:00.000-07:002010-09-22T10:00:49.140-07:00Home From the Greenbrier: A Retrospective How do I sum up the Greenbrier experience?<br />
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I've perused the writings of my fellow attendees of the Symposium for Professional Food Writers at the Greenbrier during the past few days. Their reflections are comprehensive, coherent and helpful, while I still don't know what to say. I'm not inclined to merely parrot their observations or roll out a series of photos of everything we ate, since the focus was on food writing and publishing, not simply on food. In fact, I was leery of paying too much attention to the food itself for fear I'd miss out on the meat (so to speak) of the Symposium.<br />
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Instead of blathering on about it, I'll let three photos speak for me: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ9HkNHQ80dLyW1vihoI4NKESQgMnTgGf_TEXHqlUVFxes4b8EXB6YXF_juDS4fPElT9trVKHTZwtLN_PKPFBTYZWkQazA6yxO1ILhFTflAIJLeiL3gM30EgyqYjaR9d2V8GRLe8kh1iBM/s1600/IMG_1078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ9HkNHQ80dLyW1vihoI4NKESQgMnTgGf_TEXHqlUVFxes4b8EXB6YXF_juDS4fPElT9trVKHTZwtLN_PKPFBTYZWkQazA6yxO1ILhFTflAIJLeiL3gM30EgyqYjaR9d2V8GRLe8kh1iBM/s400/IMG_1078.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> The attention to detail was striking, all the way down to the chocolates on our tables in our meeting room. Notice how each one is arranged just so, with the wrappers placed facing outward? No detail was too small to escape their attention. On my bed were four pillows: a soft one for stomach sleepers, a medium one for back sleepers, a firm one for side sleepers and a feather pillow for <i>me! </i>I built a fort out of them, burrowed in each night and slept the sleep of the happily overwhelmed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiatXhOCM0e178Dp5Pjbqn4r4JX6PyM-h4y__B_lBk1vSr439YnfnAanmD9n22fUqv1j75pIITPApRkhidMeyCKjKdU1qdp4Y7E3TgIcFFsN3qMkK4ufnWt3i-oyfGpYR3qLnVG1iwueNmK/s1600/IMG_1125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiatXhOCM0e178Dp5Pjbqn4r4JX6PyM-h4y__B_lBk1vSr439YnfnAanmD9n22fUqv1j75pIITPApRkhidMeyCKjKdU1qdp4Y7E3TgIcFFsN3qMkK4ufnWt3i-oyfGpYR3qLnVG1iwueNmK/s400/IMG_1125.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Speaking of happily overwhelmed, breakfast on the final morning featured this knock-your-socks-off presentation of pork, a chunky and succulent homemade sausage wrapped in a perfect latticework of bacon. The ungenerous, antisocial part of me wanted to snatch it away and sit in the corner alone and eat it all.<br />
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I didn't do that, you'll be happy to know. The company was too good and the conversation too rich, to do such a thing. I have more friends and professional associates than I had before I went, people whose talent, work and opinions I value. People I can turn to for advice, and for whom I'll gladly provide the same. We writers do not exist in a bubble. We need each other's insights, generously given. At the Symposium, I hit the mother lode.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnG8cwpTGJO0OAng0rV7xFkwveEm-zA3gguidxGtMR4LcbA3o42XvTBn7pyhzMWJHDkD90JuGjWEzfdcCqL4_DR4pk5ZBjbMaBVyN1i5WEo7tjqiYVsL-1X0gbvfrKJ-3UTlK5hvYm6l9g/s1600/IMG_1076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnG8cwpTGJO0OAng0rV7xFkwveEm-zA3gguidxGtMR4LcbA3o42XvTBn7pyhzMWJHDkD90JuGjWEzfdcCqL4_DR4pk5ZBjbMaBVyN1i5WEo7tjqiYVsL-1X0gbvfrKJ-3UTlK5hvYm6l9g/s400/IMG_1076.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>self portrait</i></div>I love this painting of a drooling pig, hung just outside the entrance to the main dining room at the Greenbrier. It pretty much sums up the way I feel about my experience there, both personally and professionally--happy, but hungry for more.</div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-40265046822031804512010-09-17T14:32:00.000-07:002010-09-17T14:32:55.623-07:00Self Promotion for the TimidOkay, guys and gals. I have a problem with self promotion, but this competition requires a little of that, as well as a finely-turned phrase. I promise not to use the three little words with you very often, but I'm going to do it now. And those three little words are:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://bourdainmediumraw.com/essays/view/1698">VOTE FOR ME!</a></b></span></div><br />
I submitted an essay in <a href="http://bourdainmediumraw.com/">Anthony Bourdain's Medium Raw challenge</a>. Most of the points will be awarded for the writing itself, but one component is the support of those willing to go online and vote.<br />
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So please vote for me. And you can vote DAILY. I just can't vote for myself.<br />
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While you're at it, why don't you enter the challenge, too? It'll be fun. You might win. And if you do, I'll selflessly help you with the beastly chore of spending the loot.Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-43420506587427374892010-09-10T08:00:00.000-07:002010-09-10T08:00:05.081-07:00An Honor and An OpportunityI've been awarded the Apicius Scholarship to attend the <a href="http://www.thegreenbrier.com/site/foodwriters.aspx">Symposium for Professional Food Writers</a> at the <a href="http://www.greenbrier.com/">Greenbrier</a>. This is a big deal, and I'm truly excited to be going--<i>and receiving a scholarship to go!</i><br />
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According to the Symposium's website, the Apicius Scholarship is "awarded to a professional food writer whose prose rings with a clear voice and reflects the delicious joys of the table. In the spirit of Apicius, the first Roman to write cookbooks, the goal is to grant this award to that writer whose work will stand the test of time."<br />
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This profoundly gratifies and humbles me. I won for writing <a href="http://hungrypassport.com/pdf/EMEM_Spr10_Aspic.pdf">"Not Your Granny's Aspic,"</a> which appeared in the spring 2010 issue of <a href="http://www.ediblecommunities.com/memphis/"><i>Edible Memphis</i></a>. As is often the case with my assignments, I had so much fun doing the work that I forgot it was supposed to <i>be</i> work! So this is icing on a really yummy cake.<br />
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The timing of the award is propitious, since I've just completed my "52 Cuisines in 52 Weeks" blogging project and begun work on a book proposal based on it. The Symposium is the perfect place to carry my ideas. <br />
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I just wanted to share this news with you. Tomorrow I head to West Virginia to the Greenbrier, a stunning estate set in the Allegeny Mountains. I look forward to hobnobbing with other professional food writers and with publishers, editors and agents. Who knows what will happen? I feel like this is the next step up the ladder of my career as a food writer.Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-36217377919300228072010-09-08T18:15:00.000-07:002010-09-08T18:24:54.180-07:00I Hide Things in Your Food...at least sometimes I do. And it's for your own good.<br />
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There are lots of ingredients out there that you'd never want to eat on their own, or with them simply perched on top of your food. These things get mixed in--ingredients like baking soda, raw eggs (usually), dried chili peppers and worchestershire sauce. <br />
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You wouldn't eat beef or chicken bouillon cubes on their own (unless you're a freak!). So why would anyone set a whole anchovy on top of a pizza and eat it just like that? It needs to be chopped finely and mixed into the sauce or distributed judiciously, with other ingredients layered to accompany it. I've met few people who like anchovies, but I think it's because they don't know to do with them. Anchovies are ingredients and thus to be used, not foods to be consumed whole, unless you're one of those rare people with a sodium deficiency.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gPKBexwcon5sPcMjJDSg02VlmWW4L2VAgVGXBNYShQnvbkfRx1kndOcOpSOZ2pvc5jPu28JrTwzje6FEfKu-0vLjRYtofXAMC2wigcRZaQaFB0cbhF1pEF3tz010RLh2B58IkTjiJWiN/s1600/DSC_6761.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gPKBexwcon5sPcMjJDSg02VlmWW4L2VAgVGXBNYShQnvbkfRx1kndOcOpSOZ2pvc5jPu28JrTwzje6FEfKu-0vLjRYtofXAMC2wigcRZaQaFB0cbhF1pEF3tz010RLh2B58IkTjiJWiN/s400/DSC_6761.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I made pissaladière for dinner last night, the primary ingredients being caramelized onions, anchovies and kalamata olives on a flaky pastry, sort of a southern French version of pizza. (As you can see, I cheated and grated a bit of a basque cheese over it.) But the anchovies are minced and dotted throughout--they're an ingredient, not a topping. So rather than getting a mouth full of fishy saltiness (or salty fishiness), the anchovies become a subtle part of the flavor profile, one that helps make the whole greater than the sum of its parts. It's all about balance. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
The same goes for adding salt to something sweet. Ever wonder why recipes for cakes, pies and cookies call for a touch of salt? It helps balance flavors. Try baking two batches of cookies, one with amount of salt called for in the recipe and one omitting it. Do a taste test. You'll notice the difference, and the more well-rounded flavor will be in the batch containing a smidge of salt. You won't actually <i>taste</i> the salt. You'll just be aware that the flavor is better.<br />
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So if you come to my house and I feed you the best spaghetti sauce of your life, it will be because there are ingredients in it that you never thought to put in there yourself. They're probably ingredients you don't even think you like. You'll be surprised by how much you <i>do</i> like them--when they're used properly.</div></div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-86863610860770012242010-09-03T07:00:00.000-07:002010-09-03T08:03:58.499-07:00WHEW!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Fk2QeqpIO9FuNiz4BSedVYRDUYy6ulJ6gNWDe2RoqBkSukqDcWbBGhUHjXDeepRpTmHaZk03ORMgFQnhA-T4NF4GzLaVz8C5jKRTCbp1OAJGP0_uSO6lrg5V4Vdycew5gfkoMcuNKYD4/s1600/DSC_6408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Fk2QeqpIO9FuNiz4BSedVYRDUYy6ulJ6gNWDe2RoqBkSukqDcWbBGhUHjXDeepRpTmHaZk03ORMgFQnhA-T4NF4GzLaVz8C5jKRTCbp1OAJGP0_uSO6lrg5V4Vdycew5gfkoMcuNKYD4/s400/DSC_6408.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>52 Receipts in 52 Weeks!</i></div><br />
If you happen to be counting, you'll know that I posted the 52nd cuisine of 52 yesterday. This pile of receipts, menus and business cards represents a boatload of research, eating, cooking, thinking and writing--and filing. It was a lot of work, but it was also a tremendous amount of fun. And I learned an awful lot about how people on this planet view food, prepare it and share it. In short, they do it with love.<br />
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So what now?<br />
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The Hungry Passport blog had a life before this particular project, and it will continue to have one afterward. But I'm not through with my exploration of the world's cuisines, either. I've only just started. Since there are certainly more than 52 out there, I'll keep exploring, but rather than one each week, I'll focus on one each month now while continuing to blog about other food and travel related subjects.<br />
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And after a year of delicious and intriguing research, I'm beginning to draw together my ideas for a book based on this tasty escapade. It's too early to say much now, but stay tuned for updates on the book and on the cuisines.<br />
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One thing I CAN tell you is that Himself and I have talked about this project a good deal during the past few days. We agree that those meals we recall with the most fondness--and felt were the best meals--were those we had with friends. Not surprisingly, shared experiences make for the most memorable times.<br />
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I hope reading these entries has encouraged you to seek out meals you've never had before and to find out how people cook and eat in other countries. And to try your hand at cooking some of their dishes yourself.<br />
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Have a great Labor Day weekend, and go eat something you've never had before, okay?!Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-85429067562830941142010-09-02T11:55:00.000-07:002010-09-02T11:55:37.439-07:00Week #52 VietnameseAs Himself and I drag our weary bones across the finish line with cuisine #52, we know we made a good choice to conclude with. Vietnamese is the perfect way to finish, since the soothing broth in a bowl of pho and the fresh veggies in a cool spring roll are both just what our addled tums need to put us to rights. <br />
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We didn't make it to Little Saigon in Orange County, but Los Angeles has enough variety scattered throughout that we knew we could feast authentically without having to head for a specific enclave. So we went with our good friends Jeff and Judi to <a href="http://lemongrassvietnameserestaurant.com/index.html">Lemongrass Vietnamese</a> in Eagle Rock, that little jutting of northern Los Angeles that separates the San Fernando and San Gabriel valleys.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvB06yxKYlX30Dh1d5rgemlc2rZNgBiqN1VqOGX8T4vmFKrC-0tdOuG_XYZQV5lulIyKJqzbavppF3kUJA5nCK0oWkmqdIAFR0zsWBrZHsWTv-eVC4vKxdT8jm8VK2N5aLvjICZ5ZGF8B/s1600/IMG_8677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvB06yxKYlX30Dh1d5rgemlc2rZNgBiqN1VqOGX8T4vmFKrC-0tdOuG_XYZQV5lulIyKJqzbavppF3kUJA5nCK0oWkmqdIAFR0zsWBrZHsWTv-eVC4vKxdT8jm8VK2N5aLvjICZ5ZGF8B/s400/IMG_8677.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">This chemistry lab looking contraption is the set-up for making <i>Ca Phe Sua Da</i>, Vietnamese iced coffee. A vessel containing super strong coffee and hot water sits atop a glass with sweetened, condensed milk. When the coffee has dripped through onto the milk, the result looks rather like a black-n-tan. Then you stir well to dissolve the milk and blend it with the coffee, and then pour the mixture over a glass of ice. This stuff's rich, strong and highly addictive. In fact, we lost count of how many we'd had, at least until the bill showed up.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJt-U3Be8c1ZdduRujgxTEG2swD66qricioQQapDIbCmMi3-76qxW2JMdETaiUNUApx8YICpSM1HosH6DhAwvNH4ckupgSR4CbX5PzEX5S6wy-cS8LKi5ZUaTrANUOcVaVpBO9Sj-X_dlp/s1600/IMG_8681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJt-U3Be8c1ZdduRujgxTEG2swD66qricioQQapDIbCmMi3-76qxW2JMdETaiUNUApx8YICpSM1HosH6DhAwvNH4ckupgSR4CbX5PzEX5S6wy-cS8LKi5ZUaTrANUOcVaVpBO9Sj-X_dlp/s400/IMG_8681.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here it is, all mixed up and ready to drink, alongside some Vietnamese lemonade, made with lime juice and lemongrass.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKcbdvadwUWKnlAYBz2lECK_1LoLlNY-tdtgCHZvQcXpHaKvkEElfltglusq6QHPuu9In3lj2-cWH75jQvwN6CplEeRN0zfLvZc1BAFR_ASZeRoTXpiGJn0udWpDI2i5JH7ab_4u5p-Ft-/s1600/IMG_8679.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKcbdvadwUWKnlAYBz2lECK_1LoLlNY-tdtgCHZvQcXpHaKvkEElfltglusq6QHPuu9In3lj2-cWH75jQvwN6CplEeRN0zfLvZc1BAFR_ASZeRoTXpiGJn0udWpDI2i5JH7ab_4u5p-Ft-/s400/IMG_8679.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">We started with an assortment of fresh spring rolls with a ginger dipping sauce. I've grown to love these fresh rolls so much that the fried ones seem too heavy now (not that I'd turn one down). Rice vermicelli, bean sprouts, lettuce, fresh mint leaves and cooked and chilled chicken, shrimp and pork rolled into cool rice wraps are refreshing and healthy. You can eat these all day long without worrying that you've damaged your diet. (After a full year of feasting on the cuisines of the world, it's apparent that we're not too worried about that, though.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8g-lbGqDcfpijSoz1JkPThoKYfqYVCd9QIUnStvvQPs5pDGL8KVOrLl5ntTDa-Jj3Fj74yhhjU3g72I974j6X-kuIdk8Plt0dP-cCCwI_6QMDhcqE4ZpUYoJUwbk-2DEqqUZF7j9TBYYO/s1600/IMG_8685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8g-lbGqDcfpijSoz1JkPThoKYfqYVCd9QIUnStvvQPs5pDGL8KVOrLl5ntTDa-Jj3Fj74yhhjU3g72I974j6X-kuIdk8Plt0dP-cCCwI_6QMDhcqE4ZpUYoJUwbk-2DEqqUZF7j9TBYYO/s400/IMG_8685.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Himself went for the <i>pho</i>, because he's hard pressed to have anything else when he goes out for Vietnamese. (And just in case you didn't know, pho is pronounced fuh, with a short u, as in "What the fu...?!") He opted for fried tofu this time, but thin bite-sized pieces of raw beef make a bigger splash, so to speak, because the broth is so hot that when you drop in the beef, it cooks automatically, right in front of you. The beef broth (he couldn't do <i>completely</i> without the animal!) was delicately seasoned--that is, until Himself dumped in a spoonful of those rippin' hot chilis. Pho is one of the most nourishing soups around, and when you load it up with chilis like this, it's a great way to open up your head when you have a cold or a bout of sinus miseries--or to simply cool yourself down on a hot summer's day.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2-aigZFBeGrhkTEHenfihtfV7c5ILwPXdADR_IyGLYczLWciSKd91XQuxZwZxyM_7pHzDrNjnppXxey8fNnX-sJ1R1XM5N5gS4zIlc-IpcKyigBWO5qSRk8_7S1Og9guGsdr4sMCgbAmP/s1600/IMG_0903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2-aigZFBeGrhkTEHenfihtfV7c5ILwPXdADR_IyGLYczLWciSKd91XQuxZwZxyM_7pHzDrNjnppXxey8fNnX-sJ1R1XM5N5gS4zIlc-IpcKyigBWO5qSRk8_7S1Og9guGsdr4sMCgbAmP/s400/IMG_0903.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Accompanying a bowl of pho is a plate of fresh stuff: bean sprouts, Thai basil leaves, slices of fresh jalapeno pepper and wedges of lime for seasoning your soup to suit your personal taste. Call it the fine tuning nob on your meal.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfar_gtWiy63wybnvjGT2WkKXtO0lmgDEe-eoQWcaeTNCeJleTaQJqNFmZik5hsMdD6In4QrdjCsK8hmvO_jBm6FpU2bfEMTJtvIZdlew6N2eOg_9FYzOkS08mdjx8ojJTtmRiamBPbnZ/s1600/IMG_8683.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfar_gtWiy63wybnvjGT2WkKXtO0lmgDEe-eoQWcaeTNCeJleTaQJqNFmZik5hsMdD6In4QrdjCsK8hmvO_jBm6FpU2bfEMTJtvIZdlew6N2eOg_9FYzOkS08mdjx8ojJTtmRiamBPbnZ/s400/IMG_8683.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Judi's <i>com tom</i> of charbroiled shrimp over steamed rice was served with a sweet dipping sauce, which played well with the smokiness of the seafood. The salad with ribbons of carrot and daikon radish gave it a fresh kick.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-wT9yYIxhYxnkNHgQ5MUzdn8eB2OZ5edfjS_iMP89aJsK7e1NagWUtPD6ItHBtl7YMXCtGKEpYbzS961JYpttiZYjzyqSUXo8H7dEMgdwhxRBOLq92TPKA2XYYCKsJE7xMLRHuo1qIhF/s1600/IMG_0896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-wT9yYIxhYxnkNHgQ5MUzdn8eB2OZ5edfjS_iMP89aJsK7e1NagWUtPD6ItHBtl7YMXCtGKEpYbzS961JYpttiZYjzyqSUXo8H7dEMgdwhxRBOLq92TPKA2XYYCKsJE7xMLRHuo1qIhF/s400/IMG_0896.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Jeff's bowl of vermicelli noodles topped with barbecued chicken included a couple of fried egg rolls (because some people just can't get enough rolled food, right Jeff?) and the same sweet dipping sauce. This reminded me a bit of having a bowl of soup without the broth. All the components were there.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh47S-wMyscRw1mxxPB9NqAiM8S5uyFaX6vLp9nSzB0xPLEQ-Id15pEc-KJ0JN4oc6TvkkSC1RtV6RhxYJ7r-1VGuvG7YbX7D9Xy8Uj03JxUgLMmD7EAsRJxylI4vr-YYhOAmZVC92yr0RW/s1600/IMG_0900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh47S-wMyscRw1mxxPB9NqAiM8S5uyFaX6vLp9nSzB0xPLEQ-Id15pEc-KJ0JN4oc6TvkkSC1RtV6RhxYJ7r-1VGuvG7YbX7D9Xy8Uj03JxUgLMmD7EAsRJxylI4vr-YYhOAmZVC92yr0RW/s400/IMG_0900.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I opted for <i>banh mi</i>, a Vietnamese sandwich. If that looks like French bread to you, that's because it is. Back when Vietnam was known as French Indochina, a good deal of culinary exchange took place. The French may be gone now, but the baguette remains. This one is loaded with charbroiled beef. Strings of carrot and daikon radish and sprigs of cilantro round out the flavors and lend a fresh crispiness to the crunchy bread and smoky beef. It came with a soy sauce-based dipping sauce, but that wasn't really necessary. The flavors and textures were rewarding without sogging up the bread.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0RsKpoGNt4ijNm5N6sU3hijG2KhDVw_erJmCa3pXH5tX1au2HlBrdlElAtXeXRcVu0gBgWrBA5L4F96MPYxgCF_zBVDLAFI0Ps6LlTXTwh6RxGxo7mMsrMDlDBa2zBhBeED2pZm9bhXP/s1600/IMG_8688.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0RsKpoGNt4ijNm5N6sU3hijG2KhDVw_erJmCa3pXH5tX1au2HlBrdlElAtXeXRcVu0gBgWrBA5L4F96MPYxgCF_zBVDLAFI0Ps6LlTXTwh6RxGxo7mMsrMDlDBa2zBhBeED2pZm9bhXP/s400/IMG_8688.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course we saved room for dessert--this is the last scene of the last act! <i>Chuoi chien</i>, or banana dumplings, are bananas rolled in won tons wraps, deep fried and served in a creamy coconut sauce. This gives you an array of textures as well as flavors. I wouldn't mind having chuoi chien for breakfast sometime.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEo3N7Zlr2YoLPQQYltxLzHzQdoirruWVCSqndHcs8xxMzcgFgpPVbpkSoWjOX9ariZQmpM3wyGAIg_XYZ49UOa7WUd-G9io9CfI05JUpKg4xNbOkNgpsYU2J9I6ijfp3FPlNB3YNfiUvP/s1600/IMG_0909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEo3N7Zlr2YoLPQQYltxLzHzQdoirruWVCSqndHcs8xxMzcgFgpPVbpkSoWjOX9ariZQmpM3wyGAIg_XYZ49UOa7WUd-G9io9CfI05JUpKg4xNbOkNgpsYU2J9I6ijfp3FPlNB3YNfiUvP/s400/IMG_0909.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Reminiscent of those slushy, gelatinous desserts I had in Thailand, <i>Che Ba Mau</i>, or <i>Three Color Dessert, is</i> a glass of red beans, pandan gelatin and coconut milk with a scoop of ice on top. You stir it up and eat it sort of like a chunky slushy, an assortment of colors, flavors and textures bombarding your senses with every bite.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
It's time for a nap and some reflection now. After 52 different cuisines in the past 52 weeks, Himself and I agree we're still eager for more. As the defeated often cry at the end of a sporting match, "It's not over!" Except that we're not the losers here...</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-6478401510652802442010-08-30T09:24:00.000-07:002010-09-01T12:17:38.114-07:00Week #51 Yucatecan (Mexican)Mexico is a huge country with a wealth of culinary variety, and so far, I've only managed to explore the food of Oaxaca and Michoacan in this blog. To remedy that, I thought I'd best sample the eats of at least one more region before my 52 Cuisine series ends. So we're feasting on the delights of the Yucatan, the part of eastern Mexico that sticks out rather like a foot into the Caribbean. If you've ever done the obligatory college spring break jaunt to Cancun or the island of Cozumel, that's the territory we're talking about.<br />
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<a href="http://www.laflordeyucatan.net/">La Flor de Yucatan</a>, in the shadow of downtown Los Angeles, is a friendly neighborhood bakery that happens to sell a vast array of savory eats as well pastries and wedding cakes. It's tiny, with no place to sit inside, and only a picnic table in back if you want to park it and dine on the spot. But that was just fine by Himself and me. The casual air made the experience much more personable, and one lady in line urged me to get an extra bottle of the Cristal Negra soda I'd picked up, saying it was very, very good and more economical to buy it that way. She was right--it was good, but I knew better than to buy two.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncHS94UodhPFgVeL_k8Uyx3eGi-3jEFqNwsTJ9S6EPcPWp2p_Qg43sMky6VD2rR2yhRVs6CLipGTA7EbwR5JBwbuw_xTYoUgB1-8lNxly0_2Q5ITLdmx6_yvfdVqMqJ8rxh_6DKxGlXiL/s1600/IMG_8658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncHS94UodhPFgVeL_k8Uyx3eGi-3jEFqNwsTJ9S6EPcPWp2p_Qg43sMky6VD2rR2yhRVs6CLipGTA7EbwR5JBwbuw_xTYoUgB1-8lNxly0_2Q5ITLdmx6_yvfdVqMqJ8rxh_6DKxGlXiL/s400/IMG_8658.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's our welcome, a fresh highly-potent habanero chili atop our container of relleno negro. Hmmm, an invitation or a warning? (It was certainly a warming!)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvpVPTI2fuIeajxLcJNby4xdtTX_M5fQiwUqWsarUoTao3Lr52QxdIpIEYD6qr0-vdlB82Sf92Tatqj1GOmsgtl3ofd8Zm_lAzHQt2kMqF164RYxW4bVW5lATTaW-wjWsS832BrLsl20f/s1600/IMG_0884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvpVPTI2fuIeajxLcJNby4xdtTX_M5fQiwUqWsarUoTao3Lr52QxdIpIEYD6qr0-vdlB82Sf92Tatqj1GOmsgtl3ofd8Zm_lAzHQt2kMqF164RYxW4bVW5lATTaW-wjWsS832BrLsl20f/s400/IMG_0884.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The <i>relleno negro</i> was a generous serving of beautifully seasoned broth with an abundance of shreds of pork. I don't quite get the "relleno" part, since nothing is stuffed. The "negro" or black has to do with the dark roasted peppers that make the broth black. Those roasted peppers added rich, smoky flavor but curiously little heat. This is great as a soup, but you can also fish out those large pieces of pork and eat them rolled up or sandwiched inside a fresh tortilla. Don't forget to sip the broth, though. It's too good to waste.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6DSf90zQezFWTRQDilYEA3B3UFDEHujTpSataZQYJk1cumUsxWfZu_l4kvQrHlVyDJEwgp_3TjbOCKT4hBBgCUYRDz39kqSh-z2-vbiF5mHbA78FBYbVPy2G8s_Aimk5esfkcm8Ddy7A9/s1600/DSC_6397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6DSf90zQezFWTRQDilYEA3B3UFDEHujTpSataZQYJk1cumUsxWfZu_l4kvQrHlVyDJEwgp_3TjbOCKT4hBBgCUYRDz39kqSh-z2-vbiF5mHbA78FBYbVPy2G8s_Aimk5esfkcm8Ddy7A9/s400/DSC_6397.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>You can buy the roasted chilis in paste form, in blocks a little smaller than a deck of cards. Just break off a tiny piece, about a half teaspoonful, dissolve it in your marinade (lime juice is good), smear it on some chicken, pork or beef, you're set to bake or grill. There is a ton of flavor in this tiny package--as soon as I opened the wrapper, the potency of the chilis hit my nose and eyes, so use it judiciously!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyS9MQs2oLRE7svwO-LaVnN8OZPb-D5e2ywlF0uzEsBxsQ6t_XaZj9-OqrtgakYSJrYTUYPH33T2N9Tn0MDN7dKDyAqSDsFhRD2sWmiUJSuLRbzi8Gqtop2zUX1FvXWcNPYfBKCZxkzza/s1600/IMG_0888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyS9MQs2oLRE7svwO-LaVnN8OZPb-D5e2ywlF0uzEsBxsQ6t_XaZj9-OqrtgakYSJrYTUYPH33T2N9Tn0MDN7dKDyAqSDsFhRD2sWmiUJSuLRbzi8Gqtop2zUX1FvXWcNPYfBKCZxkzza/s400/IMG_0888.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Panuchos</i> are crispy fried tacos loaded with shreds of charbroiled turkey and lots of fresh veggies, pickled onions and jalapenos. The panucho provides a full range of flavors in one handy little package. If you get the same item on a soft tortilla that has not been fried first, it's called a salbute.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1kpeRSuxeRCb60VaaDSma7dq7S1wM2qJkO3zZmBWXgegxkGRADhM9K8eMdZOLkgJ-GQQWFI8VTKbUQDUzwGWlUPKrOBWcKyQAXRTUVZ7LAg9dL8JZBbzG4VbnHCNEyvcVh-RY8_cBWy0H/s1600/IMG_0890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1kpeRSuxeRCb60VaaDSma7dq7S1wM2qJkO3zZmBWXgegxkGRADhM9K8eMdZOLkgJ-GQQWFI8VTKbUQDUzwGWlUPKrOBWcKyQAXRTUVZ7LAg9dL8JZBbzG4VbnHCNEyvcVh-RY8_cBWy0H/s400/IMG_0890.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The tacos contained <i>cochinita pibil</i>, which seems to be the Yucatan's most popular dish. It is pork that is marinated in citrus juice, which helps tenderize it, and annatto seed, which adds both a delicate flavor and an orange color. Then it's wrapped in a banana leaf and slow roasted. While its rather musical name is Mayan for "baby pig roasted underground," it's more commonly made of pork shoulder or loin these days.<br />
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Food Trivia Time: Know how some cheddar cheese is creamy white while some is bright orange? It's because the orange cheddar has been colored with annatto. Cows that graze in fresh pasturage produce milk with yellow or orange tinted milk fat. This has led producers of butter and cheese over the years to color pale milk products with either annatto seed (also known as achiote) or beta carotene. Since beta carotene can oxidize and turn food some unflattering colors, annatto is the preferred choice. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh257pq6xOlpoXLsQ94imymO-rDWcgQP8CO_bcNiiuc69sXY6EP-Ad5xRCDlN3QEd-CqTX6dKM_CK5RT2nnlDExOLrq0zU87f-HoPnSiCrB6LW8AAA3zGcO1qAu98NtHi9agDb-wCwY7WGf/s1600/IMG_8673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh257pq6xOlpoXLsQ94imymO-rDWcgQP8CO_bcNiiuc69sXY6EP-Ad5xRCDlN3QEd-CqTX6dKM_CK5RT2nnlDExOLrq0zU87f-HoPnSiCrB6LW8AAA3zGcO1qAu98NtHi9agDb-wCwY7WGf/s400/IMG_8673.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's a comparison of the two types of tortillas. The taco, on the left, has the usual double layer of thin soft tortillas, while the panucho on the right has the single thick tortilla that's made even thicker by frying. By the way, those pickled red onions seemed to find their way into almost everything we got, not that I'm complaining. (And if you're wondering why none of the tacos that have shown up in these blog entries have crispy tortilla shells, it's because those are a fairly recent invention that occurred right here in Los Angeles, not in Mexico. That story will have to wait for another day, though.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNkyjZYuAxBB6EPGsqBTSau6p7BX7wKTkguF6AKf1H2oLo0lsH5YZJQ512pOaRSFbhMMXrz0xDpsWzU15PlGT6xPQhWGJhJk36O8bpX4ao-wFhG6_nbIUXiLpdJAiw2Q6SxREWawyCF2B/s1600/IMG_0882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNkyjZYuAxBB6EPGsqBTSau6p7BX7wKTkguF6AKf1H2oLo0lsH5YZJQ512pOaRSFbhMMXrz0xDpsWzU15PlGT6xPQhWGJhJk36O8bpX4ao-wFhG6_nbIUXiLpdJAiw2Q6SxREWawyCF2B/s400/IMG_0882.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Because of its location and the way it juts out into the Caribbean, the Yucatan has seen more of an influx of culture and food from Europe and the Middle East than the rest of Mexico has. It shows on the menu. Take <i>kibbeh</i>, for example. This Lebanese-influenced creation is sort of a large felafel, but this type has ground beef mixed in with the chickpea flour and fresh mint leaves. It is fried, split open and slathered with habanero spread and topped with, yes, more pickled red onions. I find this more flavorful and easier to swallow than your basic felafel, which is just too dense with bean protein to eat much of it. (There's nothing like running out of whatever you're drinking just as you've tried to swallow a mouthful of felafel to make you resort to snatching up someone else's beverage!)</div><br />
</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYeilqT2xbp-Ioet2f-K9q3EvC9gYApV30QTHYUjWHRlQ-tp0ZVC8YBzV2NvF3DZkIx60Owlj-09tcBj3Nx6X0sadQK67Xj60j5dJH0RfwBHNc93YBh4HtrL2-QUZl7cEW3qqLpf4kA6H1/s1600/DSC_6389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYeilqT2xbp-Ioet2f-K9q3EvC9gYApV30QTHYUjWHRlQ-tp0ZVC8YBzV2NvF3DZkIx60Owlj-09tcBj3Nx6X0sadQK67Xj60j5dJH0RfwBHNc93YBh4HtrL2-QUZl7cEW3qqLpf4kA6H1/s400/DSC_6389.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">We brought home a bag of sweets, including these handmade <i>pastelitos</i> filled with vanilla pudding and an assortment of fruits like guava and pineapple, and crusted with sugar. There's something so very satisfying about a handmade pastry. I'd rather have one of these than a box full of the mass produced stuff.<br />
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It turns out that the fresh habanero chili accompanying our lunch is a standard feature of meals in the Yucatan, which is one of the more southern reaches of Mexico. It's pretty warm there, and all the sweating that ensues from chomping on a habanero will certainly cool you down. I'll have to work my way up to that level of heat, though. Our friend Ted once ate a whole fresh habanero on a dare, and while he survived it, it forever changed him--and me, too. Every time I see one now, I think of him. So no, neither of us were brave enough to eat that fresh habanero. But next time? Only if they have at least a case of Cristal Negra on hand for us. A case for <i>each</i> of us!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-84867026874985509312010-08-27T09:23:00.000-07:002010-08-30T10:24:35.202-07:00Week #50 HonduranHaving traveled to Honduras a few years ago, my friend Carolyn was eager to revisit its cuisine and relive her adventures in Central America. So I got together with her to sample some Honduran specialties at <a href="http://www.elkatrachorestaurant.com/Home.html">El Katracho</a> in Sherman Oaks. She got a kick out of combing over the menu and recalling where she'd gone there and which foods were familiar to her.<br />
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Unordered but welcomed as a starter while we awaited our meal was a basket of <i>catrachitas</i> (oops! didn't get a photo), thick corn tortilla chips drizzled with a house made salsa and sprinkled with a bit of fresh queso. This is not your everyday chips and salsa--these chips are denser, and this salsa richer than what I've had before. We savored them rather than shoveling them in, as so often happens when you have a bottomless chip basket set before you in most places.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphHuZ6nJQXFUkwC9eVi01Ao82zj27bB3bJSeTq21ZPayfRPU_LLDsJ1IgVROpY8v1Q1PgzZiGLD_OzThK5xrqcZkujMXdA4ReVCbmjIxry3YLI20pdDHDz2V6dLtYj-FctmEGi3WUm375/s1600/IMG_8648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphHuZ6nJQXFUkwC9eVi01Ao82zj27bB3bJSeTq21ZPayfRPU_LLDsJ1IgVROpY8v1Q1PgzZiGLD_OzThK5xrqcZkujMXdA4ReVCbmjIxry3YLI20pdDHDz2V6dLtYj-FctmEGi3WUm375/s400/IMG_8648.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Carolyn ordered the El Katracho, the restaurant's self-named platter of three treats, all of which were served on dense corn tortillas, corn being a staple food of the Mayan culture that is this country's heritage (left to right): a <i>taco frito</i>, a tortilla filled with chicken, rolled and deep fried; a tortilla topped with beans (a combination of hunger and communication breakdown resulted in my not catching the name of this one); and an <i>enchilada</i>, loaded with layers of seasoned ground pork and chopped fresh vegetables and topped with a slice each of tomato and boiled egg. It's a little difficult in this photo to figure out where one item stops on the plate and the next one begins. Oh well, it was all a lovely, tasty mess. Finger licking IS required!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92CYnWuHOfhzCncux8PJobYKm7_NJg_Dx9rnzOkSNN4sFj2kkD5EyaVAjtwc8tWQ_rwATyD2hyEBgJrhBepY8JAoXTI0KkdQtQHWAbTGLVIiq66NIXf4ZFZOyO1vFU9Baa4M_WoC91v-g/s1600/IMG_8653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92CYnWuHOfhzCncux8PJobYKm7_NJg_Dx9rnzOkSNN4sFj2kkD5EyaVAjtwc8tWQ_rwATyD2hyEBgJrhBepY8JAoXTI0KkdQtQHWAbTGLVIiq66NIXf4ZFZOyO1vFU9Baa4M_WoC91v-g/s400/IMG_8653.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I got a big bowl of <i>sopa de caracol</i>--conch soup, one of the country's most popular dishes. In addition to delicate bits of conch--that's the meat from the critter that lives inside those lovely curved seashells you put up to your ear to try to hear the ocean--this rich soup made of conch broth and coconut milk is loaded with slices of <i>chayote</i>--those are the green pieces at the top of the bowl that look a bit like slices of apple; golden planks of <i>cassava</i>; and rounds of green plantain called <i>guineo verde</i>. All three of those vegetables are super-dense and rich, which means that yes, a seafood soup can fill you up, especially when it contains a generous measure of coconut milk, a staple of Honduran cooking. The green flecks floating in it are cilantro leaves. (Himself and I made a meal of this soup that night--I'd only managed a few sips of it before I gave up and asked for to-go containers.)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirSeOHAugw6MBSfrpZ737pe3vmlZI3zdlp2wIPzM3RN20Zh_oSsMkdoxkYDNs8UWqKyoyC_oFlfwgU8r37J7VrUrxCxeRDZ-HgpYrYoumfaenlyl9uE1uISKnesoHBPxcE97V3D8PwhaIX/s1600/IMG_8656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirSeOHAugw6MBSfrpZ737pe3vmlZI3zdlp2wIPzM3RN20Zh_oSsMkdoxkYDNs8UWqKyoyC_oFlfwgU8r37J7VrUrxCxeRDZ-HgpYrYoumfaenlyl9uE1uISKnesoHBPxcE97V3D8PwhaIX/s400/IMG_8656.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I also got a <i>baleada</i>, a soft, fluffy flour tortilla that can come filled with just about anything you can imagine. Mine was smeared with fried beans, homemade salsa and crema and filled with fried egg, avocado slices and a crumbling of fresh cheese. Baleadas are near and dear to the hearts of all Hondurans, and for good reason. The delicate texture of the tortilla and the ease with which all its tasty components come together in wonderfully smooth bites make this favorite practically drinkable! Next time I'm ordering a table full of them.</div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2KPX9e3GPftDNZpVsqTtaeAfaPOu0KkLx_Km_WfrPGXS-TCqt6VblU1TtWHaO9TfNbE6mheEcrmGUt-4IE-ycB2i8HV-oFigRqAJHFQIzlRZ5gqgt8VQ8pZ6L0dgrAupw1VdPspbEGkwZ/s1600/IMG_8646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2KPX9e3GPftDNZpVsqTtaeAfaPOu0KkLx_Km_WfrPGXS-TCqt6VblU1TtWHaO9TfNbE6mheEcrmGUt-4IE-ycB2i8HV-oFigRqAJHFQIzlRZ5gqgt8VQ8pZ6L0dgrAupw1VdPspbEGkwZ/s400/IMG_8646.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Barena is a Honduran beer that for all the world looks like champagne. It is a really pale gold, and while you can't tell from this photo, it's loaded with super-fine bubbles that look like those in sparkling wine. It's incredibly effervescent and really refreshing--great for helping deal with the overload of rich food.<br />
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As often happens, we were too stuffed to order dessert, so at home later, I tried making a super-simple Honduran sweet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrw8rzksEXR6Nz6IXZhUjxSgeoz5CMucpw96nB5OtC5MTuuYgIQy_W0X6nO7xkkyC0Dsp0jN4b_n6t1ZdgPgRMz1bcLhi3FPKKYMrDUG91BAf1Re8M2E4aYXtW_9WTMOGGi789pvEStvPg/s1600/DSC_6390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrw8rzksEXR6Nz6IXZhUjxSgeoz5CMucpw96nB5OtC5MTuuYgIQy_W0X6nO7xkkyC0Dsp0jN4b_n6t1ZdgPgRMz1bcLhi3FPKKYMrDUG91BAf1Re8M2E4aYXtW_9WTMOGGi789pvEStvPg/s400/DSC_6390.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">While I prefer mango raw and unadorned, for the sake of this blog entry I tried preparing it the Honduran way--thinly sliced, dusted with cinnamon, sprinkled with sugar, dotted with a bit of butter and baked at 400°F until lightly browned. I pulled it out of the oven at 20 minutes, because the edges were beginning to brown, and I didn't want it turning into fruit leather. This is a good way to use mangoes that aren't at peak season and therefore aren't as sweet as you'd like. But next time I'll follow through with the coconut milk theme and drizzle that, instead of heavy cream, over the baked fruit.<br />
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I figured the restaurant's name must have a story behind it, so I looked up "katracho," and boy, does it ever: A "catracho" is a Honduran. The expression comes from Nicaraguans mispronouncing the name of Honduran General Xatruch, who in the 1850s beat back the attempts of a North American adventurer bent on colonizing Central America and turning it into a collection of slave states. His defeat was and continues to be a huge source of pride for Honduras. Well done, amigos!</div></div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-83244344474025754622010-08-24T09:21:00.000-07:002010-08-28T11:04:57.233-07:00Week #49 PolishLately Himself has been trying to eat less meat, which is nigh impossible, seeing as how he's my #1 date on these dining adventures. It's not too difficult if we're eating Asian, but Polish food is particularly heavy on meat of all kinds. As we made our way to <a href="http://www.polkacatering.com/">Polka</a> in Glendale, I wondered if the meat-and-cabbage stereotype was just that, or if there was more to this cuisine. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_npSxnfvc59MyOFm4r2Rwkhcm4fD4rB0ZkxveqaWPbTJvjcIeSb5P1v4DMHqsiNYy2w2tOVaI8Xrj7nXpWnKLg5wynCB-pZOhQq0IYQvMsv2j8km06aKz9HbYmCvc2MPeLrmWAjLXQ88c/s1600/IMG_0837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_npSxnfvc59MyOFm4r2Rwkhcm4fD4rB0ZkxveqaWPbTJvjcIeSb5P1v4DMHqsiNYy2w2tOVaI8Xrj7nXpWnKLg5wynCB-pZOhQq0IYQvMsv2j8km06aKz9HbYmCvc2MPeLrmWAjLXQ88c/s400/IMG_0837.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>As expected, there was plenty of meat and cabbage on the menu. But Himself found a vegetarian plate that included <i>pierogis</i>, large flour dumplings filled with mashed potatoes and cheese and <i>palushki</i>, little white football-shaped noodles made of potato and flour. They reminded me a bit of really large spaetzle, but without the egg. There was also a generous serving of sautéed mushrooms, which provide a nice meatiness and heft to the meal. He didn't come away hungry from this meatless plate--but I'll confess, since he might not, that he <i>did</i> pinch a couple of bites of my beef.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaX7UUf9DLUt84X2UyiDq_-fA9sxdq1U3V5X_SY8PNEcWrGK3beQMShyphenhyphenK2PNDkhpCk6XM1lhNOXmiBhKKDvvrqnqvS738UkU5qMIsqc3ceO24Q4tD5eIF1XU3q2rWJtmjOI0YWvJ-3OGlm/s1600/IMG_8642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaX7UUf9DLUt84X2UyiDq_-fA9sxdq1U3V5X_SY8PNEcWrGK3beQMShyphenhyphenK2PNDkhpCk6XM1lhNOXmiBhKKDvvrqnqvS738UkU5qMIsqc3ceO24Q4tD5eIF1XU3q2rWJtmjOI0YWvJ-3OGlm/s400/IMG_8642.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I went for a trio of Polish standards, <i>gulasz</i>, slow-cooked beef; <i>golabki</i>, cabbage roll stuffed with ground beef and onion; and the same <i>pierogis</i> filled with potatoes and cheese. My plate included a couple of those little creamy smooth palushkis, too. Rounded out with vegetables and a bowl of tomato soup, this was a meal best eaten in preparation for a full day of work--or a really long nap.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmPSquOTHuE46YvzgKn40h7gKM3SwsZhbK2Z30utK_0MiojSwNzvsKo1g7r8E6RT_1yFGmFEDmGaKPJxO3i0cqcTEn6cMwbtCbnOQc3Du4gn_tjRY_WEE0D58A_RucjlR1a5H-OhUdmln/s1600/IMG_0840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmPSquOTHuE46YvzgKn40h7gKM3SwsZhbK2Z30utK_0MiojSwNzvsKo1g7r8E6RT_1yFGmFEDmGaKPJxO3i0cqcTEn6cMwbtCbnOQc3Du4gn_tjRY_WEE0D58A_RucjlR1a5H-OhUdmln/s400/IMG_0840.JPG" width="360" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Every time I have cabbage rolls I'm surprised all over again by how much I love them. As a child, I was okay with coleslaw, but I just didn't like cooked cabbage. My aged grand-auntie loved boiled cabbage and tried to instill in me a liking for it, but it was pretty awful stuff. The mere sight of those limp, sickly pale green leaves sent waves of revulsion rippling through me. I was happy to discover as an adult that if you roll up some tasty food inside a cabbage leaf, blanket it in a coating of tasty sauce and cook it, it can be quite, well...tasty! In Poland, cabbage is called "the king of vegetables." Considering its versatility and its ability to get people through a long, cold northern European winter, I'd say the title is well earned. It's a cold-weather-happy vegetable that can be further kept until the next harvest by pickling. That's where sauerkraut comes in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hiNCyNhz9uDd4tY38pwqLE-W8MDmC1OFT7KtzFJFldHamg4MS815aV-lYXnrxjbC8x4WnWc7Gjll0PR6iGXc87zuY5rvBzb6614rAVaroTR6ennbFY3GW9dQipuHvwIEPFwKjbptrHFn/s1600/DSC_6053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hiNCyNhz9uDd4tY38pwqLE-W8MDmC1OFT7KtzFJFldHamg4MS815aV-lYXnrxjbC8x4WnWc7Gjll0PR6iGXc87zuY5rvBzb6614rAVaroTR6ennbFY3GW9dQipuHvwIEPFwKjbptrHFn/s400/DSC_6053.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back home I made a whopping pot of <i>bigos,</i> a rich, meaty, mushroomy, krauty stew that I'm sure would have been even better if I'd slow cooked it on a cold, winter's day and luxuriated in the heat it provided for the house. Instead I faced August's triple-digit nightmare with the oven turned on. No matter. This was good stuff and worth the extra heat. I used beef, kielbasa and bacon, but from everything I've heard and read, the more types of meat you chuck into it, the better it is. And it's reputed to be its best after several reheatings. This recipe makes a generous batch, so it's easy to put this theory to the test. Himself and I will be eating on it for at least a week.</div><br />
Bigos is made with sauerkraut, dried mushrooms and whatever meat is available from the hunt. In fact, the Poles call it "hunter stew," because it was carried along for sustenance during the hunt, and they'd chuck into it bits of meat from whatever they'd bagged each day. It's an all-purpose, popular meal that traditionally was made in a large quantity and kept in a wooden barrel. While it is especially popular during Lent and Christmas, it seems everyone eats bigos all the time. In fact, bigos is considered the national dish of Poland.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Db7PavzGWyS5m6gcAv75_KEkT0pdhEaXBQjm6oIk12mPa1hucH1C5U0B6wPCW-ceyZnvprJxv47OmhAPlHSgHCPHC32YCiVRN_DwvXcNTj2VH1cPjA1AAf-_cWBnxJJh_4XKGbj2tQBa/s1600/Pierogis.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Db7PavzGWyS5m6gcAv75_KEkT0pdhEaXBQjm6oIk12mPa1hucH1C5U0B6wPCW-ceyZnvprJxv47OmhAPlHSgHCPHC32YCiVRN_DwvXcNTj2VH1cPjA1AAf-_cWBnxJJh_4XKGbj2tQBa/s400/Pierogis.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm including a photo of some pierogis from a demo of their production at the Polish Museum of America in Chicago, which has the largest concentration of Poles outside of Poland. These are so plump and lovely. We ate a lot of pierogis that day, some savory and some sweet. I'd never really thought about having sweet pierogis, but filled with lightly sweetened farmer's cheese and topped with nuts and dried fruits and drizzled with honey or a light syrup, pierogis are a good dessert as well as main course. It makes perfect sense.<br />
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Now, about that stereotype. Yes, Polish food is heavy on meat and cabbage, along with potatoes, mushrooms and milk products. These foods have been its staples for a very long time, and with good reason. Given the lack of outside influences between the end of World War II and the collapse of communism in Poland in 1989, this country has been a sort of time capsule of foods. While foods from the rest of the world--and fast foods--are available there now, they don't seem to factor into what is considered authentically Polish. Not yet, anyway.</div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-48564667937766017192010-08-21T09:22:00.000-07:002010-08-25T09:00:00.362-07:00Week #48 GuatemalanFor our first foray into Guatemalan cuisine, Himself and I found a place with some inspiring history. Amalia's is one of those great storied restaurants that was named for the resourceful woman who opened it. Widowed with several children at the age of 24, Amalia made the best of a difficult situation by expanding her informal food production into a restaurant that became an anchor in its community. It's a lovely neighborhood gem located a couple of blocks from L.A. City College, a mid-city bungalow converted into a restaurant, with a spacious patio where the driveway and port cochere used to be. That's where the band was set up, too. They had live music when we were there for lunch. Good live music. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDCpMypEgg9vxJ-KSr3187Qi0RAR49KqDOrqcuBF_kumSnJYqqU1FsYHN4AncVAmL3w6qzrDSzuxKu9rCmOs0SVwzoK3hLIVT621fVIf2vkb1EVVickOhREIujMIy2sRW0ryHwroxYT29/s1600/IMG_0867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDCpMypEgg9vxJ-KSr3187Qi0RAR49KqDOrqcuBF_kumSnJYqqU1FsYHN4AncVAmL3w6qzrDSzuxKu9rCmOs0SVwzoK3hLIVT621fVIf2vkb1EVVickOhREIujMIy2sRW0ryHwroxYT29/s400/IMG_0867.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Himself's lunch looked back at us, as the <i>sopa de camaron</i>, or shrimp stew, arrived with a large prawn regarding us with a look of beady-eyed indifference. Just below the surface lurked about a half dozen jumbo-sized shrimp that were fresh, plump and juicy. The broth itself tasted of fresh seafood, with none of the staleness that usually accompanies seafood broth from a box or can.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhcIC_whDe3Hd7pQjU-K2tGAXeCG_i3A-BG2K2UI2LO1TE16Yq8OG4yMuaQn9WAg8ys4r7EKdmljn4QBn3xcUT8u4UXlch0l7-qgNcPfcvwFGgI00ZgsdIQ5osyNSQ3Blk_C0Pet7hzYnv/s1600/IMG_0863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhcIC_whDe3Hd7pQjU-K2tGAXeCG_i3A-BG2K2UI2LO1TE16Yq8OG4yMuaQn9WAg8ys4r7EKdmljn4QBn3xcUT8u4UXlch0l7-qgNcPfcvwFGgI00ZgsdIQ5osyNSQ3Blk_C0Pet7hzYnv/s400/IMG_0863.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I ordered a generous bowl o' pig parts in a rich tomato broth, a.k.a. <i>revolcado</i>--crunchy ear, delicate heart and earthy liver. I know this isn't for most of you, and quite frankly, it's not really for me either. But I felt the need to try something that is considered an ordinary, everyday dish in Guatemala, where they eat a lot of innards and odd bits we don't usually find on the menu in the United States. After I got past the first cartilaginous ear, chomping on the rest of them was really rather fun (I know my dear friend Mark will roll his eyes when he reads this, since he has "texture issues" concerning foods.). But once you take your time and get acquainted with an unfamiliar texture, the squeamishness can dissipate at least a little. The soup itself was quite good, really rich, roundly seasoned and mildly spicy. The pieces of heart had fat attached, which, because it was pork, was good. Still, it would be nice to experience the texture of the heart itself without the added padding. Well, I'm glad for the experience. And glad it's behind me now.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1EzVGEC7LVKaGZPGC7XrXQ3ucnE_1uHF-WB-1btl6WPTZxLbh0m6uoY3kq2bvtAoLjdtCkrNRE5ErrgX5purHUeG6BPwlHIIrWNSfM6V2IQ-Myu2ZlOjlpNcLatD_MiOXi5ROdJmGcKa/s1600/IMG_0866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1EzVGEC7LVKaGZPGC7XrXQ3ucnE_1uHF-WB-1btl6WPTZxLbh0m6uoY3kq2bvtAoLjdtCkrNRE5ErrgX5purHUeG6BPwlHIIrWNSfM6V2IQ-Myu2ZlOjlpNcLatD_MiOXi5ROdJmGcKa/s400/IMG_0866.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>While this isn't the most inspiring picture, I'm including it for two reasons: One: I've never had refried beans made of black beans. These were really good, much richer in flavor and more satisfying than those made with pintos. Two: Behold the bits of veggie in the rice. They actually used fresh vegetables, cut up and cooked that day, not the uniform-peas-and-carrots-from-a-can. I appreciate little touches like this. Usually I don't eat the rice that accompanies such meals, because all too often it's flavorless and flecked with tired vegetables that taste like aluminum. But this rice was made with broth rather than water and loaded with fresh veggies. We picked all the seafood out of Himself's bowl, so we carried home the rest of the seafood broth and stirred in the leftover rice for a great lunch the next day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykiPzfnQHwFhZN4lv2ru4EgftmLjIIPpoHXFd8pOuBEvRq6tDZhzKYx2nhnt85MtLFtN9hJq995tpwF-kRm8BVa13Is_tE10KIFZvqoOcgT8XH5YVTIdrPag132VOtC8b_lUs2psosAAj/s1600/IMG_0868.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykiPzfnQHwFhZN4lv2ru4EgftmLjIIPpoHXFd8pOuBEvRq6tDZhzKYx2nhnt85MtLFtN9hJq995tpwF-kRm8BVa13Is_tE10KIFZvqoOcgT8XH5YVTIdrPag132VOtC8b_lUs2psosAAj/s400/IMG_0868.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'd be hard pressed to call a tortilla voluptuous, but these were thick and pliant--made with lard, of course. They reminded me of the exterior of a pupusa. One was all I needed to satisfy. And that means more to carry home and enjoy later with a grating of cheese and a little tomatillo salsa.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCmH02KTCXcEZaY6cxG0mrh_eHBbJ61ndlLiorQhDm2unRb3f7cLqn-hASBz4j1H5ADTiptOV4ygSBjK1DRfsb6vbVBrUkWzLcZ8NxkFFY236XaoLYvi6JwPYcB5eyCBqa9Sk2f0eZmu0/s1600/IMG_0862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCmH02KTCXcEZaY6cxG0mrh_eHBbJ61ndlLiorQhDm2unRb3f7cLqn-hASBz4j1H5ADTiptOV4ygSBjK1DRfsb6vbVBrUkWzLcZ8NxkFFY236XaoLYvi6JwPYcB5eyCBqa9Sk2f0eZmu0/s400/IMG_0862.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> We washed it all down with glasses of <i>jamaica</i> and <i>horchata</i>. You've seen pix of them on this blog before, but they're here again as a reminder that when you go out for Central or South American cuisine, you really should order a beverage that goes with it, not the default soft drink. It helps round out the authentic dining experience. Jamaica (pronounced hah-MY-kah, just in case you've never had it) is a sweetened drink made by boiling dried hibiscus blossoms (be sure to buy the ones specifically intended for consumption, otherwise you might end up with pesticide breath). And horchata is a lightly sweetened drink made from rice (it can also be made from almonds) and seasoned with cinnamon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwiC7Ih5PRwOy2N3gQY-HGZ5L0LpV2atXb-pFHRffkGh_wNCQdi04uBtyu2nrW4hxXfgxlBQ8D7Vb11eHTTpILfDgpD1sj1gL2LcooJgnkbNbleN52RnyIQg-abTUvW2QZXKF0eTY1aRAg/s1600/IMG_0870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwiC7Ih5PRwOy2N3gQY-HGZ5L0LpV2atXb-pFHRffkGh_wNCQdi04uBtyu2nrW4hxXfgxlBQ8D7Vb11eHTTpILfDgpD1sj1gL2LcooJgnkbNbleN52RnyIQg-abTUvW2QZXKF0eTY1aRAg/s400/IMG_0870.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dessert was wicked-good but put us both into a summer afternoon's coma shortly thereafter--and we <i>shared</i> this order! <i>Rellenitos de platano</i> are large fritters made of plantain with mole inside. They were incredibly rich without being overly sweet. Guatemala is a neighbor of Oaxaca, the region of Mexico that gave us mole. Turns out they have it in the country that is Mexico's "south of the border" too, which makes sense, since the entire Mesoamerican region is where the cocoa plant comes from. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">No canned food. No canned music. The passion of people who love the cuisine of their home and are eager to share it. The opportunity to further explore the world's foods and see how the web of food and flavoring knits itself together around the globe. This is what I love about authentic restaurants. You just can't get this experience in a chain.</div>Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-53802612625453451762010-08-19T15:01:00.000-07:002010-08-19T15:48:00.928-07:0052 Cuisines in 52 Weeks: 47 down, 5 TO GO!Only five cuisines to go in my "52 Cuisines in 52 Weeks" blogging exercise.<br />
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Wowzers! It's hard to believe I'm almost finished with this challenge I gave myself almost a full year ago.<br />
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I told Himself today as we drove to the next dining adventure--Polish--that I'm not sure whether to be glad or sad about that. On one hand, at times it has been quite a real push to get these blog entries done, a considerable investment of time, money and effort. On the other, it has been a blast--a great way to learn about food and different cuisines and a great way to spend time with my friends, and with Himself, of course.<br />
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This won't be the end of it, though, when I pen--so to speak--and post cuisine #52. I'm considering continuing to post one new cuisine a month, while I'm busy blogging about other food and travel related things. And yes, I expect there to be a book to write at the end of it. After all, I've just conducted a year's worth of research. <br />
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But that's for a later blog entry. After a good--but rather heavy--Polish meal, I desperately need a nap.Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-51881055527844118172010-08-07T16:44:00.000-07:002010-09-17T09:16:34.490-07:00Week #47 Szechuan (Chinese)In the past few years I've grown so fond of the myriad flavors that make up Thai, Vietnamese and Korean cuisines that I've more or less back burnered Chinese food. But Szechuan has restored my interest.<br />
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Szechuan province, in southwestern China, is a land of bold flavors and a variety of chili pepper that will clear your sinuses and cool you down on the hottest of days. "One dish, one shape, hundreds of dishes, hundreds of tastes" they say there, referring to their passion for balancing flavors, aromas, textures and colors. I'd say they're speaking my language, metaphorically at least.<br />
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A number of people have told us that the most authentic representation of Szechuan in the Los Angeles area is the food at Chung King in Monterey Park. It seems every food blogger in town has written about this place, but with all those endorsements, Himself and I knew this was where we had to go for the goods.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> The dominant color in this meal was RED, for all the peppers so liberally strewn over our dishes.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGvUIEO90-RebW4Z9DqCSZ7ym0gmzR48DhjvSq3ogqaiYZuy-d_6DxTkr1TzkD22ZsCrUZlQC-8dlZuoBG__qjP_xi_zM3dN_N6KwXHsbzd4N2mJz6WrTL1RVu70jSCySVbnICC_36GHNZ/s1600/IMG_0823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGvUIEO90-RebW4Z9DqCSZ7ym0gmzR48DhjvSq3ogqaiYZuy-d_6DxTkr1TzkD22ZsCrUZlQC-8dlZuoBG__qjP_xi_zM3dN_N6KwXHsbzd4N2mJz6WrTL1RVu70jSCySVbnICC_36GHNZ/s400/IMG_0823.jpg" width="333" /></a></div> And for the fire extinguisher mounted on the wall right next to our table (next to the thermometer). AND for the color of my face when I'd finished my chili-laden meal (see the last pic). This was definitely a waterproof mascara meal!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2YlJX3uuj4_ertSfZCJouRsgw_16Ol82IBlooJRN59MG77SGvBGTjDrf5nd0TTwgbHSICg7pyh882ta-tDZzsuamqFCQGG7CN541WGw9wlDhtaebCy9sY6ABbU3rXaCnHEChNIG5eFUl/s1600/IMG_0819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2YlJX3uuj4_ertSfZCJouRsgw_16Ol82IBlooJRN59MG77SGvBGTjDrf5nd0TTwgbHSICg7pyh882ta-tDZzsuamqFCQGG7CN541WGw9wlDhtaebCy9sY6ABbU3rXaCnHEChNIG5eFUl/s400/IMG_0819.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Himself ordered the fish slice hot pot, which contained slabs of a succulent white fish with mushrooms, bamboo shoots and slices of a taro root gelatin called <i>konjaku</i>. A healthy alternative to wheat noodles, konjaku is gluten free and loaded with fiber. And like a follow-the-leader kid on the playground, it absorbs whatever flavors are around it. I ladled some of that zingy broth over my white rice--the first time. For seconds on the rice, I retreated to the plain stuff to soothe my burning mouth and tingling lips.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5WxvyHltC_B5fmG8ioJKRolgrxJ-XrKRN8El9Crpt3_3LRAjzhA2OW2R9IfTwBhp_uND72eS09uAvHAvQ36nAJFELZbkvw9DElm-o4m0s4XQGYlFPdQFlRzZU8rPG7xQIt-7ql38hGVyN/s1600/IMG_0820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5WxvyHltC_B5fmG8ioJKRolgrxJ-XrKRN8El9Crpt3_3LRAjzhA2OW2R9IfTwBhp_uND72eS09uAvHAvQ36nAJFELZbkvw9DElm-o4m0s4XQGYlFPdQFlRzZU8rPG7xQIt-7ql38hGVyN/s400/IMG_0820.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I ordered the fried chicken cubes with green onions and sesame seeds, and of course, a ton of chili peppers. The chicken had plenty of heat without my gobbling up any of those bright red beauties. The chicken and chilis just being neighbors on the plate was enough for me to get a heat that was strong but that never overpowered the flavors of the dish.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgQO9wrxw2cHeWLqnmJU3SetDXJBQCxxwfEiH4i6bJbFtI6_r4NnrKxbrWIfu9Kg-EgsTH0BLHA6aNKaSasJ4PutEIAsPAxL3GBKmJYRA4g9fAvFdukPjE5LYVO7hlvZz8y1bHer8v-Q9/s1600/IMG_0813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgQO9wrxw2cHeWLqnmJU3SetDXJBQCxxwfEiH4i6bJbFtI6_r4NnrKxbrWIfu9Kg-EgsTH0BLHA6aNKaSasJ4PutEIAsPAxL3GBKmJYRA4g9fAvFdukPjE5LYVO7hlvZz8y1bHer8v-Q9/s400/IMG_0813.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Not every Szechuan dish is hot, so if you're a little shy about plunging into the peppers, you have options. This dish of rice crust with pork slices came in a mild broth that coated the mouth, to cool and refresh. We ordered a pot of white rice, too, so that helped calm things down. Balance is key to enjoying the hot stuff. By the way, this dish was good on its own, so if you have timid taste buds, you also have options.</div><br />
Our big discovery: the lip-numbing quality of Szechuan food does not come from those hot peppers. I always assumed that they were so hot that the sensory overload would finally drive your nerve endings to cry "uncle!" and numb out on you. But no, there's a completely different ingredient at work here: the Szechuan peppercorn, which is not actually a pepper or a chili at all. Szechuan peppercorns are aromatic and lemony--they come from a plant that's in the citrus family. But they hold a secret: this is where the lip numbing comes in--they contain a substance that causes a "general neurological confusion," to quote culinary science go-to guy Harold McGee. Beyond flavor, Szechuan peppercorns are added to help you deal with those fiery peppers by producing both numbness and a sort of sensory effervescence, kind of like when you drink a carbonated beverage while eating spicy food. (By the way, water is the last thing you want to drink while eating hot food, because it spreads the heat, rather than washing it away.) The outer husk is toasted, ground and added to dishes just before they're served.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPLclWiT4MV2JMPNg3IIONk1JJSU8D3yB8lKmddr6rJVk2TImX5CeSlgFv_EnDKku739jYVSFAhl2qyyegii9nZ6t0Bmtv_bh0jAD1owLaudrkLuhaagFqwUbitldM6R-K24jPdBOwJ6Y/s1600/IMG_0821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPLclWiT4MV2JMPNg3IIONk1JJSU8D3yB8lKmddr6rJVk2TImX5CeSlgFv_EnDKku739jYVSFAhl2qyyegii9nZ6t0Bmtv_bh0jAD1owLaudrkLuhaagFqwUbitldM6R-K24jPdBOwJ6Y/s400/IMG_0821.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>With a face to match the pepper: devil's tongue, anyone?!</i></div><br />
You actually do have some control over how much heat you get in a Szechuan meal. These hollowed out super-hot chilis are lavishly served over your order, and you control the amount of heat you consume by eating a few or a lot--or by picking out the meat and veggies and leaving the peppers behind. It's up to the individual diner. In spite of the heat, though, the flavors shine right through--ginger, garlic and Chinese five-spice, a blend of cinnamon, cloves, star anise, fennel seed and, ta-dah! Szechuan peppercorn. <br />
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My concern all along has been that the heat would completely wipe out the flavor and leave me a done-in pile of sweat, tears and pain. But I was wrong, and I'm champing at the bit for more. Szechuan rocks!Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-26489394195859887402010-08-03T07:13:00.000-07:002010-08-22T17:10:31.502-07:00Week #46 SerbianIf you've never been to Serbia, do you actually know where it is--unless you're one of those oddballs like me who has a map fetish? Even I had to double check and see exactly where it fits in with the other Balkan States. It's part of the former Yugoslavia, one of those countries that we vaguely know is over there somewhere east of Italy. Or is that Slovenia? Or Croatia? Or the generously syllabled Bosnia-Herzegovina?<br />
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As difficult as it is for someone who's never been to Serbia to tell you just where it is, it's equally difficult to pin down exactly what makes Serbian food Serbian. So I asked my pal Tanja to join me for dinner. As a first generation American from Serbia, she's the truth meter I usually lack on these expeditions.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQ9ofxHb5Iy4g3MydYMKRdMauqunnBxEwQtRWmDxFZU8q0h3VAzB3xDV9Kh5ORohqI5apOk3khbH7ifaX3ueyVsTBIEtfX3PY46WEtypfq9xD2HZibcR_Gc5lPCk2NgpNmXzOWf3tiKt_/s1600/DSC_5936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQ9ofxHb5Iy4g3MydYMKRdMauqunnBxEwQtRWmDxFZU8q0h3VAzB3xDV9Kh5ORohqI5apOk3khbH7ifaX3ueyVsTBIEtfX3PY46WEtypfq9xD2HZibcR_Gc5lPCk2NgpNmXzOWf3tiKt_/s400/DSC_5936.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I just had to include this photo of Tanja holding a pic of her dad, a bodybuilder who was the first Mr. Yugoslavia in 1968. </i><br />
<i>How cool is that?!</i></div><br />
She suggested we go to Metro Cafe in Culver City. When I raised my eyebrows at the name and said it didn't sound terribly authentic, she assured me it had the goods. Then she rather sheepishly explained that Serbian food is more or less a pastiche of the cuisines of the neighboring countries, so there's a lot of Italian, Greek, Turkish and Hungarian on the menu. I assured her that that's fine, because food borders and political borders have little in common. Cuisine is geographically, climatically and culturally determined--no respecter of lines dictated by governments and drafted by mapmakers.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir_BAaZJgtyfhW9b4WjkHRqQnV1zDzrzq94unVlTLHBPSpnw93qBCwDD0q_NJTjyV4HNCotLC22M7T7h_bl-ox2c6Is2Yhh0XQ-5VATqw6H02-LbVuNow2zgmRk_5C-mEWN-Cay5GG1b0f/s1600/DSC_5935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir_BAaZJgtyfhW9b4WjkHRqQnV1zDzrzq94unVlTLHBPSpnw93qBCwDD0q_NJTjyV4HNCotLC22M7T7h_bl-ox2c6Is2Yhh0XQ-5VATqw6H02-LbVuNow2zgmRk_5C-mEWN-Cay5GG1b0f/s400/DSC_5935.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>We did start off with a Serbian treat, because the first thing to hit our table was <i>ajvar</i>, known as "Serbian caviar." A spread of roasted red bell pepper, egg plant and chili peppers, it was richly textured, full flavored and mildly hot. Take a look at the spellings of these cousin words: ajvar and caviar. And neighboring Turkey's word for caviar is "havyar." See the etymological similarity? I imagine you could step into a kitchen next door and ask for one of these, and they'd know just what you were talking about. Well, that's enough of a foray into linguistic geekdom for one blog entry, but thanks for indulging me! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9HDnxJTOFpZspeAnIoQgrzjxDareKBzdPKVZftyTyLA622UXbazjbAXZjOpFeo1qZAC-nbRHgrsFm-I_TXGxpekCW6Bmk1QdUneRbz6DAdlcOBA5F7BxTfbr3d3YZWuzKgz2QgfVwwtZ/s1600/DSC_5940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9HDnxJTOFpZspeAnIoQgrzjxDareKBzdPKVZftyTyLA622UXbazjbAXZjOpFeo1qZAC-nbRHgrsFm-I_TXGxpekCW6Bmk1QdUneRbz6DAdlcOBA5F7BxTfbr3d3YZWuzKgz2QgfVwwtZ/s400/DSC_5940.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> Next was a basic Greek salad. At least you didn't see it in my last blog entry! This lightly dressed pile of tomatoes, lettuce, onions, cucumbers and feta was a nice fresh intermission in between the rich flavors of the other dishes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLqigEMn9dokfgkHj38MN3YJLBKnfZwyzdUTl-9AhxK87yEc5Wr66dDMpiOOQ4ErVov0bMXd3tzv4FNqUVlMvw7Zky31TvYIYZ3cKXBi78pOxufoPaOWkTVpidV6wPYyigCipkL-CPkha/s1600/DSC_5944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLqigEMn9dokfgkHj38MN3YJLBKnfZwyzdUTl-9AhxK87yEc5Wr66dDMpiOOQ4ErVov0bMXd3tzv4FNqUVlMvw7Zky31TvYIYZ3cKXBi78pOxufoPaOWkTVpidV6wPYyigCipkL-CPkha/s400/DSC_5944.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> In spite of being completely landlocked, Serbia still manages to get its share of fresh seafood. These steamed mussels were dressed in a light sauce of tomato, garlic and parsley that made a nice soup for mopping up with that piece of charred bread on top.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBsGJwmbTIdnIihewYNX7uz8UJsUxr2X0H_UW4dHsBhldOZiU7sfJ3GG845voeuSjbM0gEOSUZE4w_xDuX_fjpVXQJkLXZc6nAsckbyFjDd_6k5Ss5_-Y2MIbVBciDjqPRgHbeFTI-GdQ/s1600/DSC_5943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBsGJwmbTIdnIihewYNX7uz8UJsUxr2X0H_UW4dHsBhldOZiU7sfJ3GG845voeuSjbM0gEOSUZE4w_xDuX_fjpVXQJkLXZc6nAsckbyFjDd_6k5Ss5_-Y2MIbVBciDjqPRgHbeFTI-GdQ/s400/DSC_5943.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>My favorite dish was the<i> pasulj</i>, Serbian white bean soup. What made it a hit with me was that I detected the presence of smoked pork in it. You just can't go wrong with that. It was basic but hearty and nourishing, mildly seasoned, except for the garnish of cracked pepper. The door was propped open, with the ocean breezes whisking in, so even though it's August, there was a crispness to the air that made this soup even more welcome. Our server noted that the recipe comes from the chef's mum. Okay, in unison everybody say, "Awwww!!!"<br />
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The menu contains plenty of meat--they certainly don't shy away from it in veggie-happy LA. Our mutual friend, Vanessa, who is also of Serbian extraction, says the Serb table is all about meat, meat and more meat, "with the odd stew thrown in for digestive purposes." Well that's okay by me!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioz4M7CqIP1ZfEyU6ovkYRF-QKCh4Xf8ifYbhfAJj9TjMEWJB-ORxQMthGipW7Q0ORgT5ssNC3sTr-ISL6cpMiN7jmVwr6ITwDK8UWyI4df-3AUAHMB1cRzIdezPcqY_oTZubeZ8BHDntR/s1600/DSC_5950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioz4M7CqIP1ZfEyU6ovkYRF-QKCh4Xf8ifYbhfAJj9TjMEWJB-ORxQMthGipW7Q0ORgT5ssNC3sTr-ISL6cpMiN7jmVwr6ITwDK8UWyI4df-3AUAHMB1cRzIdezPcqY_oTZubeZ8BHDntR/s400/DSC_5950.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i>Chevapchichi</i> is considered one of the national dishes of Serbia. These are beef sausages, but traditionally they were made of a combination of beef, pork and lamb. Still, these were really good, with a nice bit of char bestowed by the grill. They were served on a bed of sweet onions with some ajvar--which is an accompaniment as well as an appetizer--and fried potatoes that somehow managed to be more grease than potato. I don't mean this in a bad way. They were incredibly good!<br />
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Tanja shared a recipe for pasulj, the Serbian bean pot we'd had, from one of her family cookbooks. The funky measurements in it make me think it was converted from metrics to avoirdupois, which is what we use here in the U.S. (who uses .35 ounces of anything?) Between the odd measurements and some ingredients being listed with no measurements at all, I decided to do a little searching. I think I've managed to cobble together a recipe that is to the spirit of the original.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRxDhzCLxFSZI2PY3g4QPAFzFqNdFSnxLfm02ZcP4zU33_DHBNDUzY01Z2-KIAV8g_pVcCLdbzc0av0FMToXZDvEppt0yW_cCb4LAcPOuoFsIYPlIXi2eDmcaTD-WqlNdulZ1P-GEYZCB2/s1600/DSC_6034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRxDhzCLxFSZI2PY3g4QPAFzFqNdFSnxLfm02ZcP4zU33_DHBNDUzY01Z2-KIAV8g_pVcCLdbzc0av0FMToXZDvEppt0yW_cCb4LAcPOuoFsIYPlIXi2eDmcaTD-WqlNdulZ1P-GEYZCB2/s400/DSC_6034.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Homemade pasulj: I'll pick out the bay leaves and parsley stems before serving.</i></div><br />
<b>Serbian Bean Pot</b><br />
("Pasulj")<br />
Yields about 4 servings<br />
Based on a recipe from <i>Yugoslav Cookbook</i> by Olga Novak Markovič (Cankarjeva založba, Ljubljana, 1986)<br />
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12 oz. white beans<br />
Approximately 3 pints water<br />
1 medium onion, finely chopped<br />
1 medium carrot, finely chopped<br />
parsley root (if you can’t find this, use a few parsley stems and chop the leaves for garnish)<br />
2 cloves of garlic, minced<br />
12 oz. smoked pork, cut into small bits if you use bacon<br />
2 bay leaves<br />
2 tablespoons tomato sauce<br />
1 chili pepper (I used a Serrano), seeded, deveined and minced<br />
salt and black pepper, to taste<br />
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Wash the beans well and soak overnight. <br />
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The next day, strain off the soaking water and add fresh cold water. Add to the bean pot all ingredients except salt and pepper, and simmer until beans and meat are tender.<br />
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***Remove the meat (if it’s a whole piece) and add a roux, made of 2 oz. fat (measured by volume) and 2 oz. flour (measured by weight). Simmer everything until thickened. <br />
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Season with salt and pepper when cooking is finished.<br />
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If you keep the pork whole, slice pieces of it and place one in each bowl and then ladle soup over it and garnish with chopped parsley.<br />
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***Now, about that roux: Some people panic as soon as they read a recipe and see they'll have to make a roux or even a liaison. So we're going to cheat. I'll teach you a little trick so you can get around it. Mind you, it will taste much better if you actually take the time and effort to make a roux, because the flavor and texture will both improve the final product. (And you have to promise me that someday you'll learn to make a proper roux, alrighty?) But for now, this is what we'll do: cook half of the beans in a separate pot and purée them before adding them to the main pot about a half hour before cooking is finished. The result will be a nice rich, thick potage.<br />
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Dessert is problematic. The Serbian dessert menu includes sweets that are emblematic of other countries: Greece's baklava; Hungary's dobos torte and Turkey's Turkish delight or ratluk, as they call it in Serbia. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38bGKyly3z5CCldiN7cpOuZheGSZb5mu7vyF9Ey22Y26LVNLm1lnewBAyd3yO-7c_dWX5K2tLiblKIR5tUnA5dUtWsUlZtXhWkwYACLLvxk9MAPnP8ItyiOVxXV9XtgSxP8iODMiW98RV/s1600/DSC_6049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38bGKyly3z5CCldiN7cpOuZheGSZb5mu7vyF9Ey22Y26LVNLm1lnewBAyd3yO-7c_dWX5K2tLiblKIR5tUnA5dUtWsUlZtXhWkwYACLLvxk9MAPnP8ItyiOVxXV9XtgSxP8iODMiW98RV/s400/DSC_6049.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span id="main" style="visibility: visible;"><span id="search" style="visibility: visible;">Serbia has rice pudding too, but here they call it <i>sutlijaš</i>. And they top it with cinnamon and molasses, so I figured, why not? </span></span>In the interest of portion control and not being a total glutton, I spooned the finished product into individual ramekins rather than one large bowl. And I stirred in the cinnamon while the rice cooked, so it would be well distributed. Himself and I test tasted two servings, one with molasses drizzled over it and the other with syrup. Hands down, the molasses was the winner in our household. But honey would be good, and I'm sure something rich like chestnut honey would be even better. <br />
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So, Serbian cuisine? As Tanja noted, when your homeland has been occupied by the Ottomans for a few hundred years and when it lies amongst an assortment of other countries with their varied cultures, it's easy to just absorb what's close at hand. But what Serbia has absorbed is, quite smartly, the good stuff. So if you find yourself wandering past a Serbian restaurant, stop in and have a bite. It will be good.Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7508610690447856115.post-62858396426868738732010-07-28T17:42:00.000-07:002010-09-17T09:23:08.690-07:00Week #45 GreekJust between you and me and the gatepost--as my grandma used to say--I'm getting a little weary of trying to sort out the differences between Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cuisines. So much of it is so similar that when I ask, "What's the difference between your stuffed grape leaves and those of the country next door?" the inevitable response is, "Ours are better."<br />
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I yearned to do something a little different this time, so I headed out for groceries, not to the generic corner market but to <a href="http://www.papacristos.com/index1.html">Papa Cristo's</a> on Pico at Normandie in Mid-City Los Angeles. This beloved LA institution is a Greek grocery, restaurant and catering company that keeps the city's Greeks--and Greek food lovers--supplied with plenty of imported and authentically prepared food.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUq-pyQTXNXksI-5ODetxmyghK_UVWDN5qT1BFgPkEspGg5auhD3bqEzf255HRTjouPR6hcdwuUr3pNYiOBmO7rASvY-EVZzSyAyfuxgCWNhkE2K_Dew2ANkNJCV415tv_eUS-Bc7KX7p/s1600/DSC_5960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUq-pyQTXNXksI-5ODetxmyghK_UVWDN5qT1BFgPkEspGg5auhD3bqEzf255HRTjouPR6hcdwuUr3pNYiOBmO7rASvY-EVZzSyAyfuxgCWNhkE2K_Dew2ANkNJCV415tv_eUS-Bc7KX7p/s400/DSC_5960.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Here's my haul, which I used to make dinner, with plenty of items I can use for quite some time--a good olive oil, some seasonings to which only Papa Cristo himself knows the formula and a nice bag of Greek sage that's still on its woody stems. And masticha, which we'll get to in a little bit.<br />
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What I didn't want to do was make what shows up on every Greek menu--or what people typically think of when they ponder Greek food. So no hummus, no baba ganoush, no baklava.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAtO8JSdkGojFy2RFTldTLnVsQTz5cg5D2IaybszxqVaQpatV7ZcAayQA9gjHS4oCWiLNtqOKSeZtrsbsWGE-5oRSWzIGSUhKTWd70HGoy2XPbrnOkgptwDpzOeViOdd7umuYYsjZ0l9Z/s1600/DSC_5966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAtO8JSdkGojFy2RFTldTLnVsQTz5cg5D2IaybszxqVaQpatV7ZcAayQA9gjHS4oCWiLNtqOKSeZtrsbsWGE-5oRSWzIGSUhKTWd70HGoy2XPbrnOkgptwDpzOeViOdd7umuYYsjZ0l9Z/s400/DSC_5966.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Instead of feta, which is what usually comes to mind when you think of Greek cheese, I selected wedges of a couple of completely different cheeses to go with the rustic bread that's made on-site. The cheese in the center is <i>kaseri</i>, a sheep's milk cheese with a little goat's milk thrown in for good measure. It has an herbal quality to it that I suppose is the result of grazing livestock in a scrubby landscape filled with rosemary, thyme and oregano. Its slight chewiness reminds me a bit of provolone. The cheese in the lower right is <i>kefalotiri</i>, a tart, saltier and slightly drier cheese made from sheep's milk. Having been around since Byzantine times, this is a cheese with some history. By the way, its name comes from the Greek hat called a <i>kefalo</i>. Now whenever I see one those hats, my wacky mind's eye is sure to envision someone wearing a round of cheese on his head.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCMcKbsGCXj1KU70ZQt_6tOYiM9G-6z57ghCabpYsEOelTvOmU9KSQ_J-Qh8EEn5tM5cmUNkqM0TlDylKmG4EhyzuswEXrMHB8q_pVMltksLnZp8faU1mQMraLFe6Mn60mvosQiW7TO7O/s1600/DSC_5977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCMcKbsGCXj1KU70ZQt_6tOYiM9G-6z57ghCabpYsEOelTvOmU9KSQ_J-Qh8EEn5tM5cmUNkqM0TlDylKmG4EhyzuswEXrMHB8q_pVMltksLnZp8faU1mQMraLFe6Mn60mvosQiW7TO7O/s400/DSC_5977.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>Okay, so the canned beans seem like a cheat, but they're <i>Greek gigantes</i>, the largest lima beans you'll ever find. One glance and I'd swear they were actually fava beans, but they taste like neither limas nor favas. They have a mild flavor and with a slightly dry texture to them--in spite of their tenure in the can of sauce--so the mildly spicy red sauce was a good addition. I cooked up some of the couscous-type sour frumenty Greek pasta. It's made of durum wheat and has a robust sourdough flavor. Then I started layering: I spooned the hot pasta and beans over a bed of chard and let it wilt, then drizzled the dish with the olive oil and a little red wine vinegar (not too much, since the pasta is naturally sour) and sprinkled on one of Papa Cristo's spice blends. Served with bread and olives, it was a satisfying main course. With it we had glasses of retsina. This Greek white wine is famously pine-tasting, crisp and dry, but full of flavor.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnv1vt-fmIJ_-Q9PBtVJ2LsNxVsCyObFb-YjOc4p4WxooK1aZdYLpSzwbDKrtejHCYIklq52iXZ7CZPE4Au6dCXFTDIGzqTu-FwbHKrbSzIsszYdMOiRM9e_ezlAR_EByRqz3qsI0lDEs/s1600/DSC_5979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnv1vt-fmIJ_-Q9PBtVJ2LsNxVsCyObFb-YjOc4p4WxooK1aZdYLpSzwbDKrtejHCYIklq52iXZ7CZPE4Au6dCXFTDIGzqTu-FwbHKrbSzIsszYdMOiRM9e_ezlAR_EByRqz3qsI0lDEs/s400/DSC_5979.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I love love love leeks. But right up there on the list with turnips and rutabagas, they must be one of the world's most under-appreciated vegetables. While the traditional Greek way to have them is simmered, drained and then drizzled with olive oil and vinegar, I decided to instead top these with <i>avgholemono sauce</i> made of eggs, lemon juice and some of the leek broth (chicken broth is more traditional). While the leeks were simmering I tossed in a branch of the Greek sage to zazz up their mild butteriness with a little woody-herbally flavor.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjba8Nb5ogmcoiM5a3Aagtd-6sHqJEJLiuPjNYRj-HT653Hbg-FvQf9XRz7nPBQr8kNThpl2BZgwm27BM04EzjSd1LoxHYP1y30XCTG9LDFIv0Iu-1-wf1lxIfIWhJzGNth3EeHLkXZ415k/s1600/DSC_6000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjba8Nb5ogmcoiM5a3Aagtd-6sHqJEJLiuPjNYRj-HT653Hbg-FvQf9XRz7nPBQr8kNThpl2BZgwm27BM04EzjSd1LoxHYP1y30XCTG9LDFIv0Iu-1-wf1lxIfIWhJzGNth3EeHLkXZ415k/s400/DSC_6000.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I also picked up a can of calamari, a.k.a. squid, since I can't find the fresh stuff at our much more generic local grocery stores. These tiny little guys were packed in brine and still raw, so I gave them two minutes in a pot of boiling water with a couple of lemon halves tossed in. I've never cooked squid, and what I found on the subject said to cook it either two minutes or 30 minutes, explaining that if you go past two minutes they become tough, and then it takes a good half hour to tender them up again. Two minutes was perfect--they were delicate and not at all rubbery, which is my usual complaint with calamari. I detest eating what feels to my mouth like a basket of deep-fried rubber bands!<br />
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I made up a bit of <i>ladolemono</i> to dip them in. This intensely lemony dressing is a popular accompaniment in Greece to all sorts of seafood. It's a great addition to your stash of quick fix-ups--just whisk together a couple of tablespoons of fresh lemon juice, a half tablespoon of Dijon mustard and a quarter cup of olive oil, and season it with salt and black pepper to taste. This sauce has some serious pucker power, so cheat if you need to, by adding just a smidge of sugar while you're whisking to make the sauce a little less aggressive.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgaaDriKCPZWAG-xvYbchb5ZrhUKj-B3X5_MmTe3CDwENZkTvKI_wyI_oxLRxeSa_F8rGNfC12HWE87sCmUmKVVlZB68Xtnvch-O6_qV2ni73-zDY44hCyYC4eQ9DSCNrU4yMV7Rgru7X/s1600/DSC_6002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgaaDriKCPZWAG-xvYbchb5ZrhUKj-B3X5_MmTe3CDwENZkTvKI_wyI_oxLRxeSa_F8rGNfC12HWE87sCmUmKVVlZB68Xtnvch-O6_qV2ni73-zDY44hCyYC4eQ9DSCNrU4yMV7Rgru7X/s400/DSC_6002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's the body of one of the calamari. Larger ones can be stuffed with a mixture of something wonderful and then breaded and lightly fried. I'd say this size would be perfect for piping in a mixture, just like you would with a squash blossom. Just pull out that cartilaginous spine first (don't worry about the other bits inside--they're edible). I guess this is an experiment to reserve for another day.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYlIzXU8mWeh41F7ZTtRVGWWUC8Jj79DOWyMN-bKHnZlncF-lNRbQNWgNnGJc0xZc9x7m78sxj8he5zCHCmuJJWrIT6vpqDpPUyI5QYalPWkP8bN2QT678o9wkmFBSvVh_CbeWWAbBVgLp/s1600/DSC_5993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYlIzXU8mWeh41F7ZTtRVGWWUC8Jj79DOWyMN-bKHnZlncF-lNRbQNWgNnGJc0xZc9x7m78sxj8he5zCHCmuJJWrIT6vpqDpPUyI5QYalPWkP8bN2QT678o9wkmFBSvVh_CbeWWAbBVgLp/s400/DSC_5993.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The baklava in Papa Cristo's pastry case called long and loud, but I opted for these crumbly cookies laced with chopped nuts. I had them with some ouzo, which is the color of water when you pour it into the glass but turns milky when you add water to it. Ouzo is an <i>aperitive</i>, meaning you're supposed to have it before dinner, to get the digestive juices flowing in preparation for the meal. But I've jumbled up everything else in this meal, so why not have the <i>aperitive</i> at the end? It still aids digestion. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq-svOZNVGMLPV8raM_EKiSa88ONo0gmaQXlwcarDt_pyfzPPzFP9rywb1u7IHCGOjhgBXhN7viNnlKHNOuuRvoDbVsOYYEjxlppxUe5znxTsuvLxebdzwDJImfO1s7DjW8fXNaXWnLOaf/s1600/DSC_6012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq-svOZNVGMLPV8raM_EKiSa88ONo0gmaQXlwcarDt_pyfzPPzFP9rywb1u7IHCGOjhgBXhN7viNnlKHNOuuRvoDbVsOYYEjxlppxUe5znxTsuvLxebdzwDJImfO1s7DjW8fXNaXWnLOaf/s400/DSC_6012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Leftovers: For lunch the following day, I varied things a bit and had the remaining ingredients as a cold salad: a bed of chard, then the pasta and beans, with the rest of the calamari cut up on top and a bit of the kefalotiri grated over it and drizzled with just a touch of the ladolemono. I didn't mind having this two days in a row. It's a good way to get a lot of flavor and variety in one dish--and to use up leftover bits that are too few to make much of a meal on. A handful of those huge beans, a couple of calamari and a few gratings of cheese, combined to provide all the protein I needed for one meal.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PQEKEha68NjjdADHKLaXh29pIb2aA5jvq5z7fDxOF2gevVGpXpwH3aqmAVMLVQ5qSkKmZXR6WHypWbibyRlHMhpDuQuNoFxawtlW_iNrw02U5ivla4vTWbYd9KbF8cD7yCemwRufXjLf/s1600/DSC_5956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PQEKEha68NjjdADHKLaXh29pIb2aA5jvq5z7fDxOF2gevVGpXpwH3aqmAVMLVQ5qSkKmZXR6WHypWbibyRlHMhpDuQuNoFxawtlW_iNrw02U5ivla4vTWbYd9KbF8cD7yCemwRufXjLf/s400/DSC_5956.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> Snack time: People love their "spoon sweets" in Greece, and <i>masticha</i> is a favorite. Growing only on the southern part of the island of Chios, the evergreen mastica tree produces a pleasantly resinous tasting sap that is used to flavor this yummy paste. Get a spoonful of this white taffy-like substance and dip it into a glass of water to make a "lollipop" of it, called a "submarine." It's a great treat on a hot day. While masticha looks like it might be employed in some other way in the kitchen, this is the only way I've ever heard of anyone eating it. Hmmm, looks like an ingredient that's just begging to be experimented with, doesn't it?</div><br />
For breakfast the following morning we toasted some of the leftover rustic bread and enjoyed it with the cheeses and some rose petal preserves. I was still swooning from the rosewater ice cream I'd had during my Persian adventure the previous week, so a rose petal strewn breakfast made me quite happy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAlmnTlOxgC7A2unGbzQQMMUFDcmIJ9UIe4fwOojhDVX7wPc-8a6xDXcF-pPGQ1f8qJztHbPewvZ4iS8TI-YQgUiPvbd48BxXz6rx-AhKeO-qdOIqzCTRvRc3Zu-QhJbgxabTCE-Qb5IU/s1600/DSC_6022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAlmnTlOxgC7A2unGbzQQMMUFDcmIJ9UIe4fwOojhDVX7wPc-8a6xDXcF-pPGQ1f8qJztHbPewvZ4iS8TI-YQgUiPvbd48BxXz6rx-AhKeO-qdOIqzCTRvRc3Zu-QhJbgxabTCE-Qb5IU/s400/DSC_6022.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>For future reference, rose petal preserves are quite liquidy and don't work well on rustic bread with its large crumb (that's baker talk for holes in the bread created during the rising process). It leaks through and you have to lick it off your plate. It's also difficult to photograph as it seeps through, so I'll just have to document it this way, with those luscious petals sliding off the spoon.<br />
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Yeah this is Greek-lite, I know. But it was fun poking around in the market, reading labels and becoming overwhelmed by the variety of food available. When you're dealing with a cuisine that is several thousand years in the making, your choices are practically unlimited.Hungry Passporthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12198279448241185376noreply@blogger.com1