Posts Tagged ‘Food’
• Czech Republic
Smažený sýr. Those two words have defined my culinary experiences here in Prague so far. Together they mean fried cheese, which is a staple of traditional Czech cuisine that sort of resembles a mozzarella stick shaped into a square patty approximately the size of my face. I’m the first to admit that I’m an incredibly picky eater but I wasn’t too nervous about Czech food before I came here because I heard that it would involve a lot of meat and cheese (both of which I normally consume with vigor). But I wasn’t quite prepared for the overwhelming heaviness of Czech cuisine that makes it almost impossible to eat on a regular basis. Fried cheese is just about the lightest and most delicious piece of Czech fare that one can find, which is probably why it’s actually everywhere. I would be surprised if there were a Czech restaurant in Prague that didn’t carry some version of fried cheese on it’s menu, but it also appears in it’s fast food form at stands all around Wenceslas Square. If anyone other than me has ever viewed the No Reservations episode about Prague, Anthony Bourdain samples a fried cheese sandwich at one of the above mentioned stands. He remarks that it’s a great thing to have around to combat the freezing Prague weather and I personally could not agree more.
When I’m not consuming a fried cheese sandwich on my way to class, I’m usually staked out in one of the 4 kitchens in our hotel-dorm. Grocery shopping in the Czech Republic has certainly been an interesting experience thus far, mostly because of the odd variety of food that is provided at the grocery stores we shop at. For example, the selection of bread at Tesco is literally impossible to comprehend. The entire section is filled to the brim with different croissants, pastries, donuts, and every shape of roll you could ever imagine. But if you want to stroll over to the cheese section to pick up some cheddar cheese, you’re straight out of luck. Most of the cheeses sold at grocery stores are of the bland variety, so it’s certainly a challenge to find something flavorful enough to give a meal the kick it really needs. It’s been kind of weird adjusting to the ingredients that are popular here, but over the semester I’ve managed to come up with a few creative meal solutions–most of which end up resembling a version of Mexican food that I like to call “Czech-Mex.”
In terms of restaurants, I’ve found a few solid places that serve international cuisine, but the majority of restaurants in Prague serve traditional Czech food. However, there are a surprising number of Mexican restaurants in Prague, many of which are within walking distance of the city center. It’s great that food also isn’t particularly expensive here so I can go grab a hefty dose of nachos regularly. But going out to dinner sometimes isn’t as simple as it seems on the surface. The Prague dining scene caters primarily to tourists, so over the semester I’ve tried to pick up the tricks of the Prague restaurant trade and now I’d like to share my tips for dining in Prague. For all of those who wish to visit someday, I think these are important points to keep in mind when going out for a meal in the city.
Tips for Dining in Prague:
1. If you order a salad, don’t expect it to have lettuce. Lettuce is pretty rare here and is usually not included in restaurant salads.
2. Don’t pay more than 40 crowns for a beer (approximately $2.50). Anything higher than that is a ripoff and there are plenty of places where you can get a half liter for somewhere between 20-30 crowns.
3. Bread on tables in restaurants is not complementary; if you touch it, you pay, so feel free to send it back if you don’t want it put on your tab.
4. Always check your receipt when paying at a restaurant or bar. A few kids on our trip got charged once for napkins so make sure you know what you are paying for
5. Don’t expect to be served tap water. The Prague tap water is fine to drink but it’s not a social norm so it isn’t an option in many restaurants
6. When tipping in the Czech Republic, just round up. If your meal is 182 crowns, pay 190, etc. It may feel weird but it’s highly unusual for Czech people to tip above 20-30 crowns at maximum (about 1-2 dollars) even for expensive meals
7. Try the fried cheese. Seriously, It’s amazing.
It’s easy while abroad to fall into a routine of frequenting the places that you know and like. As much as we all claim that we want to venture out and try new things, sometimes it is just easier to remain close to home. My program has an easy fix for this syndrome. It’s a process of debts and paybacks that has been in place since week one.
When my friend Angelina stumbled upon a small hut serving up fresh boiled dumplings, she brought a group of us to try it. That spot (we call it “secret jiao zi”), has become a favorite lunchtime option. It took Juli weeks to repay Angelina for the find, but she did eventually. Juli’s spot was a Malaysian curry restaurant around the corner and down the street from our dorm. Hidden on a back street, we never could have found the place without a guide: Juli’s debt was nullified. It wasn’t until this past week that I realized Angelina had yet to try my favorite Gou Tie location. Situated at the end of a street of quick lunch places we refer to as “Dark Alley,” is a family who stands over a hot oily wok and fries up the most delectable beef dumplings. One lunch there yesterday and my debt, too, was repaid.
Our little game, while not serious, is very effective in pushing us out of our comfort zones. If I have a debt to repay, I know I need to get to work finding someplace special and previously unknown. It’s wonderful to be shown a new place, but it’s even more satisfying to bring friends somewhere you yourself found and to know that they plan on returning to it.
As of right now I’m debt-free, but it’s only a matter of time…
There are a lot of things in life I’m really not good at. A lot. But there is one thing that no one has ever questioned me about. I, Alexa Herzog, am an eater. I eat more than most people I know and I think more about eating than just about everyone (excluding a handful of Herzog family members…you know who you are). It was one thing I really treasured. I know how to eat. No sissy “can you make that not spicy?” or “I’m going to need a to-go box”.
But I’m having some feelings of inadequacy in Senegal. The first night I arrived with my host family I was served an untraditional Senegalese meal: “”macaroni avec viande”. But this was no Hamburger Helper. Tender chunks of beef in a light tomato sauce covered a big pile of wide macaroni noodles. Although it wasn’t the salad I have been craving, it was a nice respite from fish and rice all the time. The problem was that I was served a portion fit for Michael Phelps. I ate what felt like a lot (and hardly made a dent). When I was finished, I told the maid who came over and started barking at me in Wolof. My host mom rushed in, “that’s all? You’re full? Eat more!” I assured them I was really full and would feel sick if I ate more, but told them it was delicious. Reluctantly, they let me leave.
Since then, things have only gotten worse. I have to remember that the Senegalese ternaga, or hospitality, that I’ve heard so much about manifests itself in very different forms than what we consider welcoming behavior in the US. Often times, at least pertaining to food, it feels pushy and kind of oppressive.
I’m really starting to question all of the foodie values I treasured about myself!
Of course, I’m still the voracious eater I always was. I’m just getting served gigantic portions (much bigger than the rest of the family) as well as some foods I am less than crazy about. Last night I was served two different meals, which happens from time to time. The one I liked best, whose name I can’t remember, was a fish stew over some yummy seasoned rice that was creamy, like a risotto. I happened to be eating with Mariam, our other maid. I bit into something hard like a rock. I spit it out – it was baby pink and completely round. It looked like a bead from someone’s jewelry. “What’s this?” I asked her in French. She doesn’t speak much French…she looked around for a second, pointed to the fish, and then opened her eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. She pointed to her eyeball. Later I found what I think was the pupil/iris floating around on a piece of cabbage. I’m usually a pretty adventurous eater, but being caught unprepared for fish eyeball was a little unsettling.
It’s been hard to be questioned about something I felt confident in. I’ve been feeling this way a lot because of the language barrier. I really like to talk to people, to get to know them and their stories. And usually, I can have a conversation with just about anyone that’s willing. People here are very chatty and friendly. Especially with toubabs (white people). But as soon as I meet someone, and the French or Wolof introductory phrases start spewing out, I freeze. I’ve given so many weird answers to a simply “ça va?”
The good news is I can already feel myself getting more comfortable and letting go of not talking because I’m insecure. I know I won’t learn if I keep doing that. Unfortunately, after the eyeball incident, I think my food fortitude is waning. Today I’m heading to a village for four days with no electricity or running water. I’m anticipating a lot of simple fish-based foods. And this time, I’m going to try to psych myself up to enjoy some fish eyeballs. My French teacher here told me that she prefers the eye sockets to the actual eyeballs themselves. Sounds delicious! Maybe I’ll wimp out in the moment, but just like I feel uncomfortable every time I try to strike up a conversation with a cab driver, I think the forced discomfort of eating something new can really pay off. And don’t worry Herzog family (and fellow foodies): I’m keeping detailed food notes to share with you when I return. I’m sure this will be the first of many foodcentric posts to come (including a more in-depth analysis of the included picture).
So I officially want to quit school and become a professional chef.
We had the COOLEST cooking class ever on Friday. It lasted for almost four hours and took place at the Instituto Gastronómico de Argentina, which is situated in a beautiful, European section of town. The institute is in a cute, white marble building on a tranquil, tree-lined street. Inside the building, there are tons of classrooms with top-of-the-line cooking gear and elegant kitchens — granite and stainless steel all around. Plus, everyone in there walks around in cooking uniforms and tall chefs hats. It was like a dream.
Once we got to our classroom, we split up into three groups and each got our own cooking station and supplies. I was with three other girls, and we were basically the dream team. Everyone got to wear chef’s coats and we literally did everything ourselves (including cooking big slabs of meat, dicing and sautéing seven huge onions, filling and folding almost fifty empanadas, and cleaning up all the dishes we used along the way).
Our menu started with empanadas salteñas, which come from the Salta region of Argentina and which many people consider to have the richest flavor because of the mix of onions, potatoes, beef and seasonings that are savory and bold. All in all, we assembled around fifty tasty pockets of heaven. We fried half of the batch and baked the rest. After that we made a puree of batata which is a type of sweet potato commonly used here. We also made a casserole-ish dish out of corn, red and green peppers, onions, tomatoes, cheese and a type of rue.
Then came the meat.
One of the most popular cuts of beef here is called “bife de lomo,” which, after doing some research, I have determined is about the same as an Eye Fillet. We all got to learn first-hand how to cut, season, and grill huge slabs of this meat. Definitely a first for me! Luckily, with the knowledge I gained in this class, I now feel like a grill master and could probably even explain how to cook a perfect steak almost as good as this guy.
The teacher had also prepared something called “matambre” (which literally translates to “kills hunger”) a couple of hours beforehand. It is essentially what looks like a quarter of a cow prepared in a pan with tons of seasonings and juices, all of which is slowly roasted for hours until tender.
For dessert we made two things: first, homemade alfajors. In case you forgot, or haven’t read about them in my other posts, I will say that they are like big cookie-sandwiches filled with dulce de leche (which is like caramel) and topped either with chocolate or some other coating. In our case it was a freshly made meringue. After that we made these little wonton-looking pastries that we filled with jellied quince, fried, and topped with sprinkles. Even though I am more of a chocolate girl myself, I couldn’t say “no” to that.
All in all, it was hands down one of the best experiences I have had here so far. The time passed so quickly and the food was incredible. AND, we got to take all of it home with us at the end… which meant I walked out of there with what felt like fifty pounds of food and enough to feed me for the rest of the week. We also got to sample as we went along, and I can tell you that there is nothing better than eating a freshly made empanada straight out of the oven. Buenísimo!
I may have just ruined Chinese food for myself.
Yesterday we got the opportunity to take part in a traditional Chinese cooking class. We each signed up for the dish we wanted to cook and were broken up into groups to learn the dish and then make it ourselves. I picked 宫保鸡丁or more commonly called “Kung Pao Chicken”. This was the real deal. Not the knockoff dish we find in the States, but the original spicy chicken with peanuts that the Chinese eat almost daily.
I was so excited to be back in a kitchen as I put on my apron, washed my hands and took my place next to the burner. But, as our cooking teacher began to show us the steps, I became more and more horrified with each passing minute. First was the oil. So much oil. Enough oil to coat 20 woks, much less one. Then came chives, garlic, ginger and chili sauce, making the room smell sensational. Next he added soy sauce, and as with the oil, this was enough soy sauce to feed a small army. Finally, just before the chicken, peanuts and thickner (a mixture of cornstarch and water) went in, there was sugar. My instructor handed me the canister and told me to add what I thought. Already concerned about the amount of oil and salt that was coating my dish, I spooned a little bit of sugar into the wok and looked up for approval. “Tai shao le!” “Too little!” he proclaimed, and immediately dumped the rest of the sugar canister into the sizzling pan.
Granted, the chicken was delicious and my classmates and I devoured every bite of it. But I can never order it in a restaurant again without thinking of my cooking teacher and that bowl of sugar. Sure, I knew that Chinese food was not the healthiest. It’s hard to ignore the lingering oil at the bottom of my rice bowl each time I finish a meal, but I didn’t want to see behind the curtain. Watching it be made changed everything. I can no longer live in my blissful state of ignorance. I have to own up to the fact that China is clogging my arteries.
In my daily explorations of Ho Chi Minh City, I’ve come across some fascinating scenes, individuals, and, well, foods, some of which are shown in the slideshow above. On every street corner, there is something extraordinary to be found among the madness of ordinary life. Even after the initial two weeks of infatuation, words still can’t quite encapsulate my ceaseless feelings of awe and wonder in this place that is so different than anywhere I have been before. I’ve learned that, for the most part, a smile and an awkwardly pronounced cám ơn (‘thank you’) can go a long way, and these small gestures may even lead to extended conversations with strangers. I am grateful for the patience and open-mindedness of the locals who have genuinely welcomed me into their culture, who have graciously forgiven me for my unintentional mistakes, and who have become part of my exponentially expanding mosaic of experiences here. While these photos are only a small piece of the puzzle, hopefully they give you a glimpse into my current reality.
写真の数枚は少ないけれど、ベトナムの雰囲気が何となく伝わっているかな？
ホーチーミンシティーに来てから二週間以上経った。今でも毎日新しい経験があって、人生の勉強になっている。例えば、ベトナムに来てから、初めて「外国人」という気持ちを経験した。アメリカと日本では言葉が通じるし、文化や毎日のリズムが分かるけれど、ベトナムでは宇宙人のような感じだ。でもそれは当たり前なことだし、別に悪いことではない。ベトナムに来て、笑顔と「カム・オン」（「ありがとう」）の価値観が分かった。私のおかしいベトナム語を理解しようとしてくれるし、ナイーブな間違えを許してくれる。現地の人たちの優しさと笑顔には本当に感謝している。
Confessions of a former vegan from The 195 on Vimeo.
Today, I ate a fetus. Sort of.
Fertilized duck egg, also known as trứng vịt lộn, is popular street fare in Southeast Asia, especially known for its wholesome nutritional value. It’s served piping hot with a dipping sauce that seems to be made of salt, pepper, limes, and chili. Our fellow Vietnamese friend taught us how to properly consume our eggs, so watch the video for a quick low-down.
As a former vegan who generally shuns meat and animal products for more palatable leafy greens and tofu, I wasn’t planning on eating this fertilized egg. I’m just here to take photos, I thought as we sat down at the kiddie-sized plastic chairs in the shop. But when the time came to order, my relatively adventurous impulses gave way, and before I knew it, I had my egg and tiny spoon in front of me.
I can’t say I loved it, or that I’d want to eat it again, but it was definitely worth trying. And while it was a little tough to chow down on developing duck bits, I wholeheartedly appreciate this creature for providing me with its vitality.
In Japanese, we always say itadakimasu before eating. This may be a shortened version of anata no inochi wo itadakimasu, which, roughly speaking, expresses gratitude for the animals and plants that were sacrificed for the production of the meal. And when we are finished, we say gochisousamadeshita, which is another sign of thanks.
So to my fertilized duck egg, I retrospectively say itadakimasu and gochisousamadeshita.
今日、アヒルの受精卵を頂いた。バルットと呼ばれる卵は東南アジアで人気な食べ物で、道のお店でよく売られている。バルットの食べ方をベトナム人の友だちに教えてもらったから、ビデオを是非ご覧下さい…
自分は普段、ほとんどベジタリアンだし、肉や鶏より野菜と豆腐が好きだから、この卵を食べるのがちょっと苦手だった。「写真を撮りにいくだけだ」、と思いながら友だちとお店に言ったけど、結局バルットを注文してしまった。気がつく前に卵と小さなスプーンが現れた。
その卵が大好きだったとは言えないし、特にまた食べたいモノではない。でも試してみる価値はあった。アヒルの胎児を食べるのはちょっと難しかったけど、栄養をくれたこのアヒルにはありがたい…
「頂きます」は「あなたの命を頂きます」という、動物や植物に感謝を伝える言葉だと説明されたことがある。そしてもちろん、食後には「ごちそうさまでした」と言う。何も言わずに食べてしまったけど、そのときこそ「頂きます」と「ごちそうさまでした」を言うべきだった。
I’m here and I’m settling in. A quick rundown: we’re all housed in an international dorm complex with singles that are surprisingly self-contained. “We” is forty some students from eight or nine schools. It’s in a pretty removed neighborhood next to a funeral home and many many tombstone carving stores. At least there are choices even in death. Barcelona being a small-ish city means I walked about an hour and had pretty much crossed the downtown area, so the location isn’t debilitating at all.
During the day we take Catalán classes and Spanish classes at the Universitat de Barcelona and Universitat Autónoma de Barcelona. I’ll probably end up writing about the whole Catalán situation later but it’s nice to have largely homework-less courses before the real-live Spanish university classes start in about a half a month.
After class, I do a lot of walking and going to places and among all of this hubbub like any idealistic study abroad student, I have some expectations. Or more like pipe dreams that I think about when I’m bored. I don’t think they’ll necessarily come true, but one of five is more than I could wish for. I’m really gunning for number one.
- I’m going to meet a bunch of Spaniards who feed me and take me on their yacht to Ibiza. Why wouldn’t a nice Spaniard want to take a bumbling foreigner who’s hard to understand and needs a nap every couple of hours to Ibiza? All I know is that I actively picture myself singing that J.Lo song and jumping up and down every time she says “Ibiza.” The rich Spaniard will laugh, shake his/her head and say ‘oh la Jeannette, I am so glad I brought her here on my yacht.’
- I’m going to learn to cook Spanish food. My program has set up a cooking class which I’m excited for. Still, seeing that all I’m willing to spend money on is eggs, goat cheese (which is both cheap and tastes mildly like brie) and baby spinach, I don’t see this goal getting anywhere very quickly. I even went to La Boqueria which is this great open air market from which I came away with lots of pictures of food I didn’t buy and some eggs.
- I’m going to get good grades. I don’t know; I like when I get good grades. It gives me a nice sense of superficial self-worth.
- I’m going to hit up every museum. We’ve already been to el MACBA which was quite cool. Still, there are a lot of museums and while I appreciate art, I know I’ll end up spending museum fare on fancy tapas and more goat cheese.
- I’m never going to get lost. The streets here all have names that don’t run in any sort of discernible pattern. They all also seem to circle around something except I don’t know what. The main streets are pretty big but they may or may not all have “Diagonal” in the name. Also, Barcelonans do this thing they also do in Chicago which irks me; everyone references the large body of water when giving directions. The Mediterranean may be cooler than Lake Michigan but I still can’t see it when I’m in the middle of the city. I have, however, gotten mildly good at latching on to people who can read maps though.
Again, gunning for number 1 so if you know someone who knows someone, hit me up.
Cambridge is awash with centuries-old traditions and legends. I doubt whether any one person could possibly participate in them all, or even be aware of them all. At a certain point, traditions solidify into THE WAY THINGS ARE DONE HERE. My favorite so far has been that of Formal Hall, where everyone gets dressed up, wears their robes (unless you’re in King’s College, those cuh-razy liberals don’t have robes, poor them), and drinks endlessly flowing amounts of wine while waiting ages for food to be served. As you might have guessed from their name, “Formal Halls” tend to be both formal and held in halls. Not, alas, for us currently residing in Pembroke College. The hall here is being renovated this summer, which is somewhat reasonable because it was first built in the 1870s, but also somewhat weak because the roof is from the 1920s. It’s still a young whipper snapper in Cambridge terms! But they’re allowed to renovate, I guess.
In the mean time, they’ve put up a lovely marquee tent in one of the quads where we now take all our meals, including our Formal Halls. The tent is a very nice tent: large, water-tight, and they’ve even brought in the wooden tables from the real Hall to give it that “Hall” feeling that you can’t exactly capture with just a marquee tent. Even so it feels a bit like I’m eating every meal at a wedding or graduation or high school reunion.
Competition between colleges for who has the best food is fierce. Having just come from two years of eating at Northwestern dining halls, my stomach has adjusted itself such that even the food at Pembroke, which is getting a less-than-stellar rep this summer, is fine, if not spectacular. They seem very fond of beans. But they also have fish as an option at every regular meal. And has a Northwestern dining hall ever served duck EVER? Duck and beans was the main course at the Formal Hall I went to on Tuesday. It followed pre-dinner wine, bread, and a salad featuring candied walnuts and stilton cheese (so English!), and was itself followed by a dessert of passion-fruit sorbet, pistachio cake AND a creme brulee. The dessert was so excellent. There’s a joke amongst the King’s students here that the chef at King’s puts something gelatinous on every dessert plate. I am grateful that there is no similar reputation at Pembroke.
Before the meal even starts (but after everyone is a bit less than perfectly sober because they have been drinking wine on an empty stomach while trying to numb the hunger gnawing at their insides) a gong is…gonged. Everyone gets sheepish and stops talking and looks towards the front. Then a latin grace is read – for our halls they have given a paddle with the grace written on it to a classics major to read (and it was lovely). Everyone sits at long wooden tables. You must position yourself carefully so that you can sit by people you know and/or like, because once you sit down you cannot escape for the duration of the meal. Well, you could get up to go the bathroom, but there is no running around and chatting to people sitting further down the table. During the year they also have fellows sit at a High Table, which is where the High Tables at Northwestern Residential Colleges come from. In the Hall the “High Table” is literally higher than everyone else, as it sits on a raised platform. No such luck in the tent, where the special-ness of the High Table is merely emphasized by its being oriented a different direction than all the other tables. Apart from getting to sit at a special table, the fellows get food first. Everybody else isn’t allowed to use a camera while the fellows are sitting at their table. Fellows also, outside of Formal Hall, get to walk on the grass. This is a big deal. Being a fellow is, apparently, awesome. There were no fellows at the Formal I was at this week, probably because it’s summer and being held in a tent. Before the end of the summer I get to go to a Formal Hall at King’s College, which is a proper, indoor, could-have-been-in-Harry-Potter-but-turned-them-down (so they say) type of Hall. It’ll probably be better than the one at Pembroke (and the one at Queen’s College I went to, where the Hall is from 1979 and so modern) but the tent is slowly growing on me.
Great article!
