Okonomiyaki and Jazz

I finally got a chance to taste one of the most popular eats in New York right now: Okonomiyaki. Originating from Okinawa, Japan, it's a flour pancake with meat/seafood, scallions, veg and sometimes cheese, topped with shredded bonito fish that dances around on the hot plate when it is served. The pancake was bursting with flavor (the extra sauces were a bit much!) and I wished I'd had an ice-cold beer to wash it down. We sat at the bar at Izakaya Nomad and watched the chefs prepping tataki over a grill that they occasionally seasoned with a big slab of fat. Of special mention were the purple sweet potato fries that were in a lighter-than-tempura batter and came with a mentaiko aioli that had been blended with marinated cod roe, really unique.

Afterward, we rode our bikes a mile South to Small's Jazz Club in the Village where we arrived just in time for the 7:30 set. Fukushi Tanaika, one of the most well-known contemporary Japanese jazz artists, was on the skins with his quartet. Joining him were his countryman Hide Tanaka on bass, Texan Marc Devine on piano and Seattlelite Chris Johansen on tenor sax. Their set was an impromptu tribute  to Hank Mobley, a tenor sax composer well known for hard bop and soul jazz.

The venue is a basement with a small bar and a couple mirrors allowing you to see behind the musicians. The intimate setting was perfect for the quartet, who got everybody in the joint jumpin' to the beat. It was incredible to have Fukushi gush about how big of an influence Hank Mobley was for himself and Hide while they were growing up in Japan. The existence of the Fukushi Tanaika quartet had to certainly be influenced by some of the U.S. Jazz Diplomacy and VOA Radio that disseminated the uniquely American music around the world during the Cold War years.

Gustu and Culinary Diplomacy in Bolivia

Just saw this article in the New Yorker about how Chef Rene Redzepi, founder of the top-rated restaurant in the world, started a restauarant with an NGO in La Paz, Bolivia. It combines culinary diplomacy with a seemingly functional two-way development model. 

Some excerpts: 
 "Meyer realized that their strategy was flawed: they could not run an ambitious restaurant and teach staff members the rudiments of kitchen work at the same time. He devised a two-tiered system for training employees. Melting Pot would start a network of entry-level cooking schools in El Alto, where their students lived. The top graduates would be eligible for scholarships to continue their studies at Gustu."

and

"Seidler needed to please many kinds of people: prominent Bolivians, the local press, the international press, travel bloggers, food tourists, regular tourists, backpackers, Bolivian ex-pats who are nostalgic for flavors from their childhood, and judges for Latin America’s Fifty Best Restaurants, a ranking started in 2013. She had to come up with a formula that nobody else had. “It is almost like an international game,” Meyer told me. “We don’t compete with the restaurant next door.”

Maté, Bizcocho and Wool

Our quest for good king crab was fulfilled at a spot called "Volver," along Ushuaia's waterfront. The restaurant was staffed by a husband/wife combo who were the nicest people ever and gave us a rundown of their sustainable crabbing practices. Afterward, I was able to find my favorite brand of Yerba Maté along with my favorite brand of bizcocho biscuit to have with the Maté. Any Maté fantatic knows that a sweet, buttery biscuit is the perfect thing to accompany the bitterness of Yerba Maté. This brand knows their stuff, they even put the Maté gourd on their package to let everyone know:

A cold rain came down throughout the afternoon, causing the temperature to drop significantly and sending us scrambling for last-minute warm clothing for our boat trip. We stopped by an artisan market on the waterfront and met a nice older man who spun clothing out of alpaca and wool in the style of his mother. I bought a wool Ruana, which is a cross between a Sarape and a Cape. B got a Chalé, which is like a shawl. Both kept us warm as we sipped our delicious Maté, eating bizcocho and playing cards into the night.

Day 1: Beers, Broodjes and Boat Hotels

Our flight from NYC to Brussels was on Jet Airways, an Indian flight continuing on to Bangalore. I managed to obtain the bulkhead seats for my brother, father and I before the flight so we could sleep. Unfortunately, cultural differences on personal space resulted in several Indian passengers stepping directly over us in order to cross from one side to the other while we were sleeping. We created a makeshift carry-on barrier to keep passengers from stepping on our feet, which led to a small confrontation that was eventually settled by the flight attendant in our favor.

First order of business in Brussels was a quick breakfast before catching our train to Kotrijk. After clearing customs it was a short train ride to the station where we grabbed espresso and one of my favorite takeaway snacks: broodjes. A broodje is a simple sandwich on a french-style roll but this ain't no Subway. The bread is usually freshly baked and filled with tasty meats, cheeses and veg. In selecting a good broodje, one must often choose between the butcher shop or bakery which have their respective strengths and weaknesses on the meats and bread front.

It was too early to check into Bootel Ahoi, so we dropped our bags and wandered around. town. Koffehaus is a charming cafe in one of Kotrijk's scenic squares that had decent food and a few older couples drinking some wit beers at lunchtime. We even got a suggestion to check out the "bar for weirdos" at the train station. It was quite the scene of characters drunk by early afternoon who regarded us with polite curiosity as we drank espressos trying to stay awake. "Why do you come here to Kotrijk?" was the usual refrain. "For the bikes and the beers" was more than enough to elicit smiles from our fellow weirdos.

Turkish Lebanese

Our last night in Capurganá, we sat down for a simple fish soup at a restaurant called "El Tur.Co." Turco in Spanish means Turkish. I bet Betty (while already playing cards) that the owner was either Turkish or had a Tourism (Tur = tour) company on the side. When I asked him he told me he his parents were from Lebanon and that he had been born and raised in Colombia.

So why the Turkish front? Apparently, much like "Chino" in Colombia can be used to describe any person of Asian descent, "Turco" is a generalization for anybody from the Middle East. Some might find this a little insulting, I think its a remnant of Colombia's insular history. FYI I was not able to order Tabbouli off the menu.

Iguana Soup pt. II

Last time Elizabeth and I were in León, our friend Anry took us to eat iguana soup, not having a camera, I was a little bummed not to document it, so without further ado:

 

The crab guarding the iguana is an an important part of the flavor.

Fritanga/Mexifusion

Nicaragua might just have the best street food in Latin America. Fritanga, you can find in virtually any city here, loosely translates as "cheap food." It's usually chicken or beef, grilled on a bbq and served with salad, fried plantain and tortilla. When we rolled into Estelí from San Salvador, we had worked up quite an appetite, treating ourselves to some genuine Mexican-made tacos. The secret, behind Tacos Mario's Mexicanos is that they use Quesillo, a salty type of not-quite-matured Nicaraguan cheese that makes the marinated beef and chicken burst with flavor in every bite.

The next night, we decided to take a walk. You can't really expect to find a fritanga joint as easily as to stumble on to one. Most are away from touristy centers and are almost always run out of people's houses. After a few minutes, we followed our nose to a remote side of town and were treated to some of the freshest chicken I've ever had. There's something so delicious, simple and natural about fritanga, we are making it a daily routine. And at $3-4 a plate, it's by far the most economic option here.

Iguana Soup

Our new friend from León, Anri had made a comment about Iguana Soup being good for hangovers. Though we weren't in need of hangover recovery we wanted to give it a go. 60 Cordobas ($2.50) got us a huge bowl of soup with plaintains and potatoes and surprise, surprise a crab hanging off the side of the bowl. The iguana meat was the bottom torso and was a fairly good-sized lizard.

The taste wasn't too distant from chicken, although it was definitely gamier. I'd say it's like if chicken had more of a venison flavor, not bad. My only regret was not bringing the camera....

Chicharrónada at Dam of the Faith

  CHEECH-A-RON aka Chicharrón you've probably seen in the US, albeit in a liquor store or grocery in a Latino neighborhood, is fried pork rinds at its most simplistic; something must more magically delicious in this context. The conversation began over dinner with our neighbors, Carlos and Beatriz. Carlos asked if we liked Chicharrón, to which we responded with that universally recognized crumpled up face. Shocked, he asked if we had ever had it "Costeño-style," and then promptly invited us to a "Chicharrónada" the following weekend.

We piled into their car and took the windy Las Palmas highway up to "Embalse La Fe," Dam of the Faith, a lake created by Medellín's principle water source. Entry to the park and lake cost about $4, which includes just about everything you need to have a great afternoon. We found a cooking site and Carlos proceeded to get to work. The meat he purchased was nothing more than pork ribs and stomach cyts, but as he stressed "the fatty part has the most meat," a tried and true method. He sparked the coals and when they were red hot, he threw the pork into a frying pan and placed it on top, no oil, just a little salt, pepper and cooking in its own fat.

The pieces varied, from the salty thin parts that I had known from having Chicharrón in restaurantes to the more meaty pieces, like bbq pork ribs but with a distinct and delicious flavor. I had about 7 or 8 pieces, not too big, but extremely filling and complimentary with an ice cold beer. After the bbq, we headed out on boats (included in the price) to explore the lake and beautiful scenery of La Fe. Even cooler was the fact that boat rentals were included in the entry price and Elizabeth and I were able to rent a "Water Bike," something I'd never seen before. All in all, I'd say the Chicharrónada at La Fe was one of the better Sundays I've had in Colombia.

The Expat's Guide to Pickles

To me, a good sandwich isn't really complete without a couple hearty dills on the side, even if it's made with the typically smaller sized sliced bread that only seems to be available in Latin America. But far outweighing the lack of large sandwiches are the horrible imposters posing as pickles in Colombian supermarkets.


"Pepinillos en vinagre," or pickles in vinegar are just that, except without a hint of dill or spice or sweetness; the mere fact that they are passing these things off as pickles seems a great deception. If you go to a supermarket in the US, you can find a variety of differently styled and flavored pickles: dills and sweets,  bread and butter, spears, kosher dills and my favorite garlic: aka "Bubbies" brand.

So, looked up a few recipes online and decided to make them myself. Much like pickles in Colombia, mason jars are nowhere to be found, so after a month long quest that ended with me searching down back alley recycle spots in the Centro, I came up with several gallon jars. Making pickles is kind of like making beer in that you need to sterilize everything so nothing goes wrong during the fermentation process. This meant finding an 6 gallon stew pot to boil the gallon jars and lids in. My biggest problem was finding picking cucumbers, which didn't seem to exist until I found some at the last minute (and have yet to see them again). I used smaller regular cucumbers, which didn't really hold up at all for either of my recipes, which sucks because I was really looking forward to some Bubbies-type garlic dills.


I sliced a few of the non-pickling cucumbers up into smaller containers, which seemed to hold up better than the wholes, which just turned to mush. However, the gallon jars with the pickling cucumbers was a resounding success! The pickles turned out a little sweeter and saltier than I like them, but still, many times better than any sorry excuse passing for a pickle in an EXITO (Colombian Supermarket). So if you are living abroad and are having the same problem, check out this recipe (except use maybe half of the salt) and sandwich time won't be such a sad and nostalgic experience.

Jackson Heights

New York's Queens Borough has been touted as "one of the most diverse places on earth" and hankering to see how this staggering mix of 1 million immigrants gets on was at the top of my agenda today. The faces in the subway slowly changed from fairer Manhattanites to resembe the color of the global average and the buzz of different dialects further evidenced the claim of the 138 different languages spoken within the area.

I ate lunch at Korean BBQ place, bordered by a Fillipino market and Bangladeshi deli, across the street from a Mexican Cantina and Japanese hair salon. I resisted the urge to stop at the "Rincon de Chuzo" (Kebab Corner) but smiled as I had found a cluster of Colombian and Ecuadorian restaurants. I could go on for days pointing out the differences between New York and Los Angeles but instead I'll pose a hypothesis brought about by my walk through Jackson Heights: LA is more segregated due to geographic layouts of neighborhoods and their relative proximity to each other; meaning that LA's Koreatown is fairly isolated from say, a Latino neighborhood in La Puente. NY's limiting of urban sprawl (due to geographic reasons) has placed people from different backgrounds on top of each other, comprising diverse neighborhoods such as Queens. In any case, my day in Queens was a lovely venture into one of the world's most diverse areas that showed me how immigrants from different backgrounds can form a collective community.

Anthony Bourdain is a Liar

A preface. So I’ve only taken one other stab at trying the infamous Mr. Bourdain’s dining suggestions with no success. After seeing his episode on Uruguay, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with his pick at the Mercado del Puerto. The Port Market is a tantalizing assault on the senses with racks of grilled meat sizzling throughout the day as people dine-in and purchase top choice cuts for asados in the evening (See, I can sound like a pompous ass too!).

After deferring from several other choices, we ended up at “Estancia Del Puerto”. We decided to order the mixed grill plate, which included almost everything on the parilla. The presentation was impressive, but the quality fell just short of the horrible “Argentine” steak I had in Chile (Brent knows what happened). We received a bad cut of beef (which was also overcooked), the chicken was too dry, the lamb was decent, but we were only given a tiny portion.

To make things worse they completely forgot the blood sausage and almost shot our buddy Ellory’s eye out with a champagne cork. I think it was a sign when our waiter slipped out to “go to lunch” before we were even finished. I’m convinced that due to all of their mainstream success, “Estancia Del Puerto” has been able to slack on the quality and continue to suckle at the publicity teat of Mr. Bourdain.

Tacos a la Gaucho

Almost every day at Biosfera, someone cooks and we all lunch together. I’d only had one opportunity to show off my mad culinary skillz and kind of bombed: Start cooking when you’re already hungry and I guarantee you’ll always mess something up.

Determined to redeem myself, I set off to cook up some authentic Gringo Mexican food that I’d been talking up during my time. Since my go-to, chile verde was a no-go (there’s no crockpots in Argentina), I settled on tacos. Tacos are still pretty rare down here, I had to buy most of the ingredients in the imports section of the supermarket. Refried beans were about $2.50 a can and I had no success finding limes or ripe avocados.

Despite the inconveniences, Argentine burger meat worked surprisingly well for tacos and I was able to find tortillas and added salt and oil to make authentic style chips in the oven. I spiced up the tacos a little bit with garlic and served jalapeños on the side, which Chamigo Charlie devoured in an attempt to disprove my spice bias against Argentines. Avocados and mango salsa were brought in by two lovely ladies and we had more food than we knew what to do with. The only thing really missing was some great Mexican beer; in time Bohemia, in time. And now, a gaucho with guacamole:  bien hecho Manu!