Oops. I forgot one photo from the MX trip. This is from La Parroquia, in Campeche. On the menu, the yogurt is called lavin, which is really the word for yogurt in Arabic (in Spanish, the ‘v’ sounds pretty much like a ‘b’). Warms my heart, somehow.
Author: zora
Mexico Trip Photos Are Up
See all the clowns, crazy Maya relics and big cars here, in my little Flickr set.
Food Fight
This is totally brilliant! Thank god it’s animated–no french fries died in the making.
I like how the falafel is a suicide bomber. Genius. Although…are those sausages supposed to be Austria? Those are definitely not Vienna sausages. But thank god for that too. I think I might throw up if I saw chunks of Vienna sausage, animated or no.
La Cochinita Tuerta
I put the “Spanish Word a Day” gadget on my Google home page. But that’s not how I learned my nickname in Spanish.
When I was in Merida, I saw this restaurant with an exceedingly cute logo. Its name is La Cochinita Tuerta. I didn’t know what Tuerta meant, so I just looked it up.
It means one-eyed. Ha. I thought the cute little pig in the tutu was just winking at me.
Also funny: when I googled “cochinita tuerta”, all I got was a guy complaining about what an awful name for a restaurant this is, and what, are they just making fun of people with one bad eye?
I don’t take it personally. As long as the food’s good… And even better, maybe I’ll get a discount if I march in and say, “Yo soy una cochinita tuerta!”
Love Bites
Back in mid-2006 I complained about getting screwed out of a trip to Amsterdam and missing out on Thorwald Voss’s Love Krokets.
Since then, I’ve been in touch with the Grand Master himself, Chef Thor, or Chef Kroket, as he is more commonly known.
This morning he emailed me to say that he has abandoned the Love Kroket (curses! I never tried it–and neither did you, I bet; read more about them here) in favor of a more streamlined fried-food experience: gourmet bitterballen.
If krokets are doughnuts, bitterballen are the doughnut holes–handy and bite-size, and so small that you wind up eating a larger quantity of fried crispy goodness than you would if you stared down just one kroket. Also, bitterballen have a better fried-surface-area-to-inner-goo ratio.
Thor is calling his new bitterballen Love Bites. Naturally. Read all about them here. For those of you who don’t read Dutch, just know that Thor has been working on these delicious little beauties (all vegetarian, btw) for seven years, and they currently come in three flavors: Popeye, a combo of spinach and gorgonzola; Coco Thai, a spicy coconut curry job that is, incidentally, baked, not fried; and Torri Jappi, a teriyaki approach, with mango and ginger.
I cannot wait to let the Love Bites rock my world this summer!
In the meantime, I’m wondering… If Thor was going by the moniker Chef Kroket, what will he be called now that he’s focusing on a new fried snack? Chef Balls? I hope so!
[Here’s my report on meeting Chef Thor, a few months later…]
Cool, Honey
Years ago, Tal (aka The Idea Man) and I were sitting around at a cafe, I think. We were drinking our hot drinks, and Tal said, “Wouldn’t it be cool if someone made little individual honey capsules to dissolve in tea?”
Lo. The dream is realized! Not by Tal, but he’s the one who sent me the link to Honibe Honey Drops, a clever new product from our neighbors to the frozen north.
Tal’s original vision (as I remember it, anyway) involved a gelatin-capsule sort of coating around a portion of honey, whereas this Honibe business looks like it’s solid all the way through. Either way, though, a good idea. Also, I like the lemon-honey option from Honibe.
…All this reminds me, incidentally, of a photo I didn’t get to take in Mexico, of the logo for Mielitron, a honey-processing company. As the name suggests, it’s a very high-tech operation, and the logo is this groovy robot bee. I imagine it rampaging over the countryside, large as Godzilla, growling, “I am Mielitrrrrrrrrrrooon!” And drowning whole villages in honey….
Schmap! Or, why online travel guides are still kinda crappy.
Very randomly, a photo I took, of shiny pink doughnuts, is now included in a rather nifty-looking online travel-info operation called Schmap. Here’s the specific page, a review of Baltimore’s Lexington Market.
I’m not sure how I feel about Schmap. There’s a whole range of travel-planning services online that don’t quite nail it, mostly because they have good structure but ho-hum content. Or even no content: I just today got an email touting Outalot, with a gorgeous interface for what is really glorified directory assistance–at least until all those clever Web 2.0 users show up and write the content themselves.
With Schmap, you get map-based travel planning, so you can see just where everything is at once. But its actual reviews of sights, restaurants and hotels from Wcities is probably uneven (I haven’t checked out more than Baltimore). Wcities provides those little blurbs for a lot of online travel services, so it’s not particularly opinionated, so as to please the most customers. The writers who do it are certainly not well paid, and I’m sure there’s very little attention paid to keeping the information actually up to date. Fortunately Schmap publishes the copyright date along with the review, so you can at least get an idea when it was written. So Schmap is probably great for major sights that don’t change much, but for discovering bars and restaurants, it might get a little long in the tooth.
Schmap points to the impasse we’re at in moving travel info online. Except for a few really devoted and specialized websites (such as Turkey Travel Planner and Luxury Latin America; I write for the latter), the best research and writing still goes into standard guidebooks.
Don’t be fooled by user-generated content: most people on TripAdvisor saying “this is the best resort in the Riviera Maya” don’t know jack, because of course they haven’t been to all the other resorts. (Only I have.) They’re really saying “this is the best resort I’ve ever stayed at”–and what does that mean for you? There’s no way to tell. Apply the same skepticism to readers’ polls in magazines–overexcited travelers, on perhaps their first vacation in years, and maybe even on a paid-for trip to a convention, can launch a perfectly average hotel like the JW Marriott in Cancun onto the top of the Conde Nast Traveler Gold List.
But of course guidebooks lack all the snazzy mapping features you can use on the web, and they take forever to physically print. As everyone knows, even if you get a book hot off the press, the research for it was done at least nine months before. (Or everyone should know–I’m looking at you, the reader who wrote to Rough Guides complaining about lack of coverage of major hurricanes in the Yucatan guidebook that arrived on the shelves just three months after those storms.) With an update cycle of three years, info can get pretty stale.
Lonely Planet has made an effort to speed up the editing and printing time, sometimes shaving off a couple of months on its city guides, and it even updates many of its better-selling guides every two years (with full on-the-ground research, I might add–not phone calls). Meanwhile, Rough Guides now actually take a couple of months longer to be published than they used to, since parent company Penguin decided it was more cost-effective to move all printing operations to China. One company gets it; one company might, but can’t do anything about it, thanks to the smothering print conglomerate it’s part of.
Following its sale of a majority stake to BBC Worldwide, Lonely Planet is actually making a big push to move its content online. Whenever that happens, that’s when we might begin to see something nifty and Schmap-like, with actual content written by reasonably well-paid experts (and not as a filler side gig, as a Wcities commission would be). It should also be kept up to date, if LP continues to invest in its writers.
But I’m still not holding my breath. I feel like people were promising me this kind of stuff back when I was working at a tech magazine in 1999. I gave up on my Palm, 3G mobile phones never really took off, and we still don’t have flying cars. And we still certainly don’t have good travel content online. Somebody text me when the future gets here, please.
Bacon Genius
Sent to me by Jen, brilliant archivist at the St. Louis arch (friends in high places!): On the aptly named Not Martha website, instructions for making bacon cups.
I especially appreciate an effort in which the author has to say her kitchen filled with smoke, there were open grease fires and it took three hours–AND it was totally worth it, and everyone should try it. Danger is welcome!
Alice Waters Can Kiss My Ass…Kind Of
Every time I read anything about Alice Waters and how much she relishes local, adorable, fresh-garden-soil-strewn, covered-in-a-hand-knitted-cozy produce, I want to fucking strangle her.
One perfect peach for dessert? Thanks for the tip, lady.
Your little pig that you fed on nothing but green garlic shoots, and then when you ate it, it tasted like garlic? Well, isn’t that niiiice.
But I live in the real world, not California, and transforming supermarket food into something tasty for dinner takes more than slicing it in half and putting it on a plate and garnishing it with fairy dust.
But then…then I actually read a nice interview with the nice lady. She’s pretty freakin’ infectious. I agree with her 100 percent when she says food should be the No. 1 issue in the presidential race. And of course Edible Schoolyard is what we need more of.
Here’s the link: Go Ask Alice (on Slate.com).
Oh, to be in Californ-I-A. I ate some kale tonight. Does that count?
Good News/Bad News
Back in Astoria, alhamdulillah. Back in the US, meh. After eating all kinds of fresh tastiness in Mexico, I’m reminded of the idiocy of US farm subsidies by an op-ed in the New York Times: “My Forbidden Fruits (and Vegetables),” in which a Minnesota vegetable farmer relates how he actually had to pay fines for growing produce, rather than commodity crops like corn and rice. How can American government praise free markets everywhere but on the country’s own farmland? File with a similar question re: democracy. Grump, grump, grump.
In good news, however, I ate at Philoxenia last night–the reincarnated Philoxenia. The old one was up on 23rd Avenue, and it felt like eating in someone’s living room. One night I dug into a big plate of the heartiest kind of pork stew with hints of orange and cinnamon, the kind of thing you’d normally only get in someone’s house, while a table of 20 people celebrated a birthday. I thought the party was winding down when an older woman got up and put on her floor-length fur coat–but then she went on to sing and dance for the whole crowd.
Well, it turns out Philoxenia maybe was in someone’s living room–there were some permit issues, I heard. Now it’s all legit, and settled into my dream restaurant space on 34th Avenue, near 33rd Street. In the years when I was considering opening a cafe, that space seemed ideal, quiet but on a well-walked block–with an apartment above, even. It has been host to a couple of Mexican restaurants, and an excellent Peruvian bar. The whole time, the back room has been weird and shadowy and not very well used.
The Philoxenia team has opened up that back room and done it up like…a living room. Complete with a rocking chair sitting by the gas fireplace in the back. Totally adorable, and a good choice, considering it’s a pretty big space that in the wrong hands could feel a bit catering hall-y.
The menu, at first glance, looks pretty spare. Some salads, some mezze. Grilled fish. Lamb chops. If you don’t know what you’re hankering for, it might seem a little uninspiring. Fortunately, we were starving, and we also knew from our experiences in the old place that we were in good hands. We ordered a pikilia–a little mix of the spready mezze, the sort of thing where there’s always one clunker. But no–excellent fresh-and-garlicky tzatziki (up there with Kyklades’), really solid eggplant salad with a nice vinegary bite but still smooth, and good feta spread and mellow taramosalata. And we got a super-charred octopus tentacle–also nice and vinegary.
Then we moved in on the specials: avgolemono soup, ideal for my vague feeling of maybe a cold coming on, plus a main dish of rooster with pasta. How can I explain how good this was? Liberal use of chicken fat (the skin was still on) in the tomato sauce gave this an amazingly soft mouth-feel, and the cinnamon was so delicate and also soft. Perfect winter food.
To lighten up, we also had a grilled dorado, and a side of dandelion greens. Those greens were especially nice–not overcooked, good texture. I could feel the vitamins and minerals coursing through my veins.
Oh, and of course we had some french fries with cheese and oregano, and a Greek salad, a virtual bucketful. All that food fed four of us more than generously, and we didn’t even have a chance to try any of the other mezze. When we couldn’t face dessert or coffee, our waiter brought us all little tiny glasses of really nice dessert wine, which hit the spot. Total bill was just $100. Reminded me of the good old days of Astoria dining. More realistically, I guess that’s what happens when you don’t drink much, for a change–we had just a half-liter of very drinkable house red.
I went away feeling like I’d had a home-cooked meal, which is a rare and wonderful thing. The living room may be bigger, but I felt just as at home.
Yo heart Astoria mas que nunca!