Tripwolf Blog

The fourth Thursday in November is coming up, and if you’re in the U.S., you’re probably starting to salivate from anticipation.  Thanksgiving began as a lesson in sharing – Native Americans taught the clueless Pilgrims how to grow corn that would help them survive the harsh winters, and after the harvest, they celebrated together with a huge feast.  But we all know how Pilgrim-Native American relations eventually turned out, so these days, Thanksgiving is all about gorging on food and spending time with your family (who else would be okay with your elastic-waistband pants?), and in the U.S., it actually rivals Christmas as far as scale and anticipation are concerned.  When I was living in London, I made sure to end my stint there in time to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family in Chicago, and as I was traveling through Asia last year, whenever backpackers asked me when I was going back home, my reply would be, “In November, in time for Thanksgiving.”  But this year, I’m cooking my first Thanksgiving dinner in NYC with my husband, Michael, and we’re having a bunch of our fellow stranded friends over for dinner.  Sure it’s sad to not be my family, but the prospect of cooking and eating a fourteen-part meal is pretty awesome in its own right.

Would the Pilgrims laugh or cry if they could see how we’ve immortalized them?

I always figured that most of the world would have a good grasp on what Thanksgiving’s all about, considering how much it’s referenced in TV and movies.  But many of my friends from traveling are shocked when they hear what actually happens at a Thanksgiving meal. 

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I’ve lived in 4 countries. Due to the large amounts of time I’ve spent in each, I’ve explored their regions, learned 2 new languages, experienced their holidays, and eaten my weight in their traditional foods. Through this, I gained a heightened understanding of their culture.

If only it were practical to spend years in every place on our “must visit” lists. Short visits can be fabulous, but getting ushered into Disney-like tourist traps can be frustrating – leaving you wondering if you even saw the “real” Italy at all. My best tip for getting an authentic hit of local culture on your trip? Head to a grocery store.

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NYC has a pretty impressive array of food events going on every week, most of which draw an equally impressive crowd of foodie nerds willing to wait in long lines for artisanal, homemade or sustainable this-and-that. A couple of weeks ago there was the Dumpling Festival, but this week was the long-anticipated Brooklyn Underground Chili Extravaganza. With rules like “chili comes in a pot, pot does not come in the chili,” and “vegetarian chili competes on an even field with carnivore chili,” it was understandably popular. Unfortunately, it was so popular that I didn’t even come close to trying any of the ten chili entries. Since I’m not so much into defeat, I ended up making my own damn chili the next day.

even the judges don't have any chili

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Who doesn’t love dumplings?  They’re kind of like sex – even a bad dumpling is better than no dumpling at all.  I’m used to equating dumplings with Chinese potstickers and Japanese gyoza, or maybe Polish pierogi when I’m feeling like a non-meat filling.  But it turns out things are a little more complicated than that.  After a day at the NYC Dumpling Festival that featured such unlikely contenders as Indian idli and Italian gnocchi, I was left wondering: what the hell is a dumpling?  Had my assumptions been mistaken this entire time?  After a few Google searches and a skim of Brian Yarvin’s book “A World of Dumplings,” I found out that dumplings are present in practically every world cuisine except for countries of Africa.  It makes sense – who wouldn’t want to stuff a piece of dough with some meat and see what happens?  But as it turns out, there’s not much of a set standard for what qualifies as a dumpling, and the forms these “dumplings” take can surprise and even shock.

As far as I can tell, there are the following families of dumplings:

The “Yeah, I know that’s a dumpling” Dumpling:

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Pictured above is a typical meal at a Korean restaurant that we got for less than $20 US. In terms of some of the other Korean cuisine we have tasted this past week, what we got this time was pretty tame. We had something the other day which was four different parts of a cow — stomach, liver, intestine, and lord knows what else — served raw and without seasoning. Could it get anymore primal? Anyways, this here is from a restaurant called World Duck, and I’ve tried to identify all the different components with numbers to give you a better understanding.

1. A very common spinach look-alike that I’m guessing grows everywhere. Served pickled and spicy.

2. Pickeled and hard boiled quail egg smothered in roasted jalapeno. Surprisingly good.

3. Jerkified minnow fish. These are as salty as they are popular and go well with beer.  The texture is a little sharp and takes some getting used to.

4. Grass clippings with bean dip and sesame seeds.

5. Roasted garlic cloves, eaten straight up. Bad breath is of no consequence.

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Hot dogs, hamburgers, sausages and beer are the standard for summer barbecues, and let’s just say that I went to quite a few barbecues this year and wasn’t shy around the grill or the keg.  Usually that is enough to make me check myself and start eating vegetables to balance things out, but between vacations and out-of-towners who wanted to try all of NYC’s best food (see “Bauernfruhstuck: Breakfast of Champions,” “Perfecting the Classic Crepe,” and “England: Good Food, Horrible Death”), this summer ended up being pretty relentless on the arteries.  Some people detox by doing a cleanse or an all-fruit diet, but I don’t have the willpower for that sort of thing.  So I turn to Vietnamese food.

Aside from being extraordinarily healthy, there seems to be three universal themes in Vietnamese cuisine: crunch, contrast and balance.  You’ll probably find yourself using uncooked lettuce leaves as a wrapper, or tossing julienned cucumbers and fragrant herbs with some noodles.  In fact, you’ll have fistfuls of herbs in every dish you’re eating, rather than the condiment-sized amounts that Western cuisines generally call for.  Salty fish sauce, the most widely-used ingredient, is reinvented again and again through unique flavor-combinations with sugar, chilies, oyster sauce, etc. — it’s this complexity that engages all of the taste buds.  But, more than anything, it’s the balancing act that pulls it together, the magician’s touch that ensures a mouthwatering combination of textures, flavors, and colors.  There’s no whining here – you’ll WANT to eat your vegetables.

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When the Great Plains were opened up in the mid-1800’s for settlement, millions of German immigrants pounced on the chance to stake their claim; nearly 150 years later, I was growing up in Chicago, surrounded by their German-American descendants and the potato salads, schnitzels, and beer that continued to be popular.  Over time, the hearty cuisine of Germany had become standard midwestern fare – you could find decent apple kuchens in any grocery store, and even as a little Asian girl, I knew an awful lot about wursts.  So German food induces quite a bit of nostalgia in me – when Ian and Nancy, two friends from Berlin who are visiting us for the week, offered to make hoppel poppel one morning, I immediately agreed.  I’d never heard of it, but it sounded cute.  Maybe it would be light as air, like popcorn.

It turns out that the cutesy hoppel poppel is pretty much the opposite of light as air – hoppel poppel is another name for bauernfrühstück, a gargley, mouthful of a beast that sounds about as daunting as the dish really is.  Translating into “farmer’s breakfast,” it was popularized by peasants in Bavaria who needed a big, solid breakfast to get them through a morning of hard labor.  Nancy emphasized that I could use whatever I wanted as ingredients – aging vegetables in the fridge that needed cooking, bacon, cheese, it was all fair game.  But in every bauernfrühstück, the vegetables, meat and even eggs are mere accessories; the potato is the real star.

Recipe follows:

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Like Guatemala itself – a country nicknamed “Land of Eternal Spring” – Guatemala City has experienced constant rebirth. Since replacing Antigua as Guatemala’s seat of power in 1773, it has weathered earthquakes, political scandals, and daunting crime rates to become one of the largest and most cosmopolitan cities in Central America and the Caribbean. Troubles aside, Guatemala City’s architectural beauty and rich history make it an intriguing place to visit.

Guatemala City is located in a mountain valley, its borders dotted by four volcanoes. For thrill seekers, the active 2552m high Volcan Pacaya is 50 km Southwest of the city. Guides are available for hire and make the hike look simple, though some might prefer renting a burro. The terrain, streaked with dried lava, turns to rocky ash and, finally, to craters of glowing lava and a breathtaking valley view.

Back on Earth, the capital hums with activity. Traffic seems ceaseless as commuters flood the streets, often en route to beautiful colonial Antigua. Urbanites are busy but laid back. Few walk – public transport includes taxis and the new Transmetro bus system, though the colorfully tricked out “chicken buses” are perhaps better known. The military presence is strong in the capital; armed troops are a common sight.

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Call me crazy – in the world of carpaccio di trippa, crostini toscani, numerous fagioli bianci dishes and the infamous bistecca fiorentina, sometimes visitors crave something of  different flavor.  Florence and Tuscany in general is a deserving gastronomic capital of the world, yet it can be hard to find anything but Italian food. If you’re looking for something less meat-centric, or just want to switch it up a bit, here are a few places to go in Florence:

Eby’s is a latin influenced bar and restaurant (I think Eby is from Cuba) that serves up incredibly fresh meals and drinks, all topped with tropical fruits. If you’re craving a burrito, stop by.

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French food is pretty hot right now due to all the buzz surrounding “Julie and Julia,” and though I don’t know the first thing about boeuf bourgignon or duck en croute, I am a fanatical devourer of crepes.  Spinach, mushrooms, asparagus, artichokes – stuff I usually shy away from becomes as addictive as crack once they’re lovingly sandwiched in those little pancakes of happiness with some cream and butter.  A savory crepe followed by a sweet crepe of nutella or jam was truly one of the highlights of my travels through Paris and Montreal - but efforts to recreate them at home were mediocre at best.  They seemed so easy, yet the care-bear-fluffiness of authentic crepes kept eluding me and I was left with shamefully thick imposters that were fine, but nothing special.  So when Elodie, a French friend I’d met traveling who happens to be visiting me in NYC for the week, mentioned that she was an all-star crepe maker, I was ecstatic.  Crepes originated in Brittany, the region where she is from, and her stepmother’s recipe is the best ever.  Would we like her to make crepes for us one night?  Once I wiped the drool off my face, I managed to nod, uh, yes please.

Though there’s no question that the crepe is the most identifiable French dish outside of France, I had just assumed that crepes were French, through and through.  It turns out that I was wrong – though most can agree that crepes didn’t originate in France, no one can settle on much beyond that.  Some say that it is a traditional Celtic recipe, brought to Brittany when the Celts settled there to escape Anglo and Saxon persecution.  Others think that crepes are of Italian origin, introduced to France in the 5th century A.D. when Pope Gelasio had his cooks prepare the crepselle (an Italian cousin of the crepe) for visiting French pilgrims.  Still others believe that when the Crusaders introduced buckwheat from Asia Minor to Brittany in the 12th century, locals added water, cider and salt to the buckwheat flour to give rise to the first crepes.  Indeed, flour-and-water cakes such as the Ethiopian injera or the Indian dosa are staples the world over, and crepes were originally unfilled and instead used as a bread accompaniment to a meal.  But the famously rich butter and dairy of Brittany eventually found its way into the recipe, and combined with the best fruit, cheese and vegetables France had to offer, crepes as we know it today were born.

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