Culture in Indonesia

Taiwan Treats: Shaved Ice.

2009-06-19T07:46:00.000-07:00

Of all the Taiwan Treats I've cataloged, likely none are as distinctly Taiwanese as shaved ice. It's designed with Taiwan's climate in mind, as it's the perfect refreshment for a steamy-scorching subtropical summer. It can feature a variety of toppings that evoke the cuisines and produce of the island, from syrupy mango to starchy-sweet redbean and taro. And perhaps more than any other dessert, it shows off the playfully inventive nature that makes Taiwan so unique.

First, a layer of shaved or crushed ice is taken from a larger cube. Sometimes it is served 'fresh', elsewhere it is soaked in a sweet syrup. This is heaped generously into a vessel, which can range from a modest cup, to a family-sized platter. Next, toppings are heaped on- one topping, two toppings, or maybe nearly a dozen, depending on the creativity of the vendor.

I had read about shaved ice before coming to Taiwan, and I was intrigued to try it. So on our first afternoon in Taipei, Bordeaux and I found a rather modern shop that specialized in it. With stark white walls, glowing red lanterns, and an open hi-tech kitchen, it hardly resembled the simple shaved ice shops described in out guidebook. We later found out that this was a national chain, with locations all over Taiwan. The shaved ice we sampled that afternoon was 'pineapple ice', which sounded tempting, and was described on the menu as being the most traditionally Taiwanese. We took the glass mug out onto the porch, and tasted it. Though the flavor was pleasant, the pineapple flavor was way too sweet, and the syrupy consistency was terrible for the tropical heat of late afternoon. I left the shop feeling more sickened than refreshed. We tried another Meet Fresh a week later, and sampled an entirely different concoction- shaved ice with red bean, taro, and lentils. Though the wholesome starchy flavor was delicious, the ice was again way too syrupy and filling.

Thankfully, I wasn't put off from trying it all together. We searched out a different shaved ice shop, and tried a new dish- pudding shaved ice. As I've written before, pudding in Taiwan is more like a flan, or a caramel custard. The pudding was placed in the bowl first, and it was topped in a mountain of ice and sweetened condensed milk. Against all expectations, this dish was actually less filling and far more refreshing than the two we'd tried before. The non-flavored ice nicely countered the sweetness of the pudding, instead bringing out its rich milkyness.

But perhaps the best bowl we've had came after out lunch at Hsinchu's Eating Temple. In a neon-painted four story tower next to the temple, we ordered a bowl of mango shaved ice. The ice was crushed into a feathery texture, and spooned over a bowl of fresh mango and pineapple. The tropical fruits mixed perfectly with the finely shaved ice, making the ideal tropical treat for a humid tropical afternoon.

In Search of the Stinky Snack.

2009-06-19T07:44:00.000-07:00

Though Taiwan has countless local specialties and hundreds of unique delicacies, few dishes have are as iconic of the island as one: chou dofu, stinky tofu. If you’ve ever been in the same neighborhood as a stinky tofu vendor, you’ll need no explanation of its name- its aroma (for which there is no polite description) is nearly strong enough to knock a passer-by off his scooter.

Though the stink failed to tempt me, I was curious to try the dish. I don’t seek out food simply because it sounds strange or unusual- but I was curious to see how stinky tofu could be so popular despite its smell. In search of the food, Bordeaux and I visited a popular weekend market. We strolled among other food stands and carnival games, brushing past the inviting aroma of grilled squid and sizzling scallion pancakes, in search of a less pleasant stench. Eventually, we caught the smell- quick, disgusting, and gone. We backtracked, but failed to find the source. We circled around, made enquiries, and finally found the stinky tofu. We ordered one, and took it away to try. Piled with pickled vegetables and drizzled with a spicy sauce, it almost looked tempting. But it only took one bite to dispel me of that feeling- it tasted much like it smelled, a mature barnyard flavor that didn’t compel me to complete the dish.

The experience left me feeling unsatisfied. It was gross- but not so disgusting that I felt sick after eating it. Nor did it taste so good that it was worth suffering through the smell. It was just mildly unpleasant.

Thankfully, I got the chance to try it again. At a raucous ghost month parade, I caught the familiar stench among the singed scent of fireworks. The smell grew stronger, almost overpowering, as I approached the stand. I ordered a skewer, and took a bite. Amazingly, though the smell was considerably worse, the flavor was considerably better. The tofu was firm, flavorful, and nicely spiced with the pickled vegetables and chili. It was much better than the first, proving that even the stinkiest foods deserve a second try.

Taiwan Colors: Taiwan Teal.

2009-06-19T07:42:00.000-07:00

Teal is not a color you encounter often. Too clinical to be comforting, too out-dated to be hip. But strangely, it seems almost to be the national color of Taiwan. It appeared in plastic phones, on pharmacy walls, and faded wooden doors. Yet odd as it is, it works. It paired surprisingly well with ocher bricks and vibrant red banners. And almost to assure us of its place in the Taiwanese color spectrum, it flows vibrantly through the halls of the new airport terminal.

Eating Taiwan Famous.

2009-06-19T07:41:00.000-07:00

If you mention that you're visiting another town in Taiwan, you're more than likely to be told what kind of food you should eat when you get there. Despite its small size (or perhaps because of it), every town in Taiwan seems to have a local specialty, a 'famous food' that all visitors are obliged to try. Taiwan has a highly developed internal tourism infrastructure (unlike its international tourism infrastructure, which I'll discuss later), and one of the highlights for most Taiwanese travelers is sampling all the famous dishes of the island. People will pile into a car to try stinky green-bean curd, or board a bus to sample a rice lunch box. After a month and a half living in Hsinchu, Bordeaux and I decided to join these culinary travelers. We set out on a railroad trip around the entire island, and top of our itinerary was trying Taiwan's famous dishes.

The town of Chaiyi sits at the line where Taiwan dips into the tropics. Yet it's special dish hardly evokes its torpid climate or lush landscape- turkey rice. It's nearly as simple as it sounds, strips of tender turkey eaten over a bed of white rice, and paired with a chunk of pickled turnip. It has a wholesome and hearty quality, reminiscent of a plate of Thanksgiving left-overs.

Our next stop was Kaoshuing, Taiwan's largest metropolis, and an attractive oceanfront city. After browsing in hip shopping streets, we headed over to the city's largest nightmarket. There we sampled a regional specialty, more associated with nearby Tainan than Kaoshiung. Named 'coffin bread' in English, it's a thick slice of texas toast fried, cut open, and filled with a creamy seafood chowder. Looking at it for the first time, I remarked to Bordeaux that it was the strangest food we'd eaten in Taiwan. He rightly pointed out that it's also the most American. It is in fact a remnant of American naval presence in southern Taiwan, and almost seems like a dish that could be served at an American seaside diner.

The next morning, we traveled across the Love River to the old area of town for another specialty, milk fish congee. It was a watery rice soup that contained not just milkfish, but also oysters, clams, and other fresh seafood. Eaten with chunks of long chinese donuts, it made a complexly nuanced breakfast- at times sweet and buttery, alternately fresh and salty.

Arriving for lunch at a famed restaurant in Hualien, we for the first time found a line of diners. We briefly wondered if we should reconsider- but eventually gave in and joined the queue. The line moved quickly, and we were soon ushered to a shared table in a cavernous dining hall. The wait for our dish gave us time to consider- is being famous a good thing? Are we going to discover that this dish rests on its fame, nothing else? Then the paper dishes of bianshji were placed in front of us. The light broth was browned with charred garlic, almost giving it the flavor of Vietnamese pho. But it was set apart by the plump dumplings that floated in it- filled with an incredible mixture of ground pork and shrimp. Looking around the room, we saw that some tables had wisely ordered an extra bowl, so that each member of their party could savor one more dumpling.

Our trip definitely gave me some ideas to consider about travel. In a sense our mission to try Taiwan Famous ran counter to the traveler mandate to seek one's own path- yet at the same time, it was fun to insert ourselves into another culture's mode of tourism. And as we saw with these foods, sometimes a food is famous for a reason.

Taiwan Treats: Avocado and Pudding Shake.

2009-06-19T07:40:00.000-07:00

I've written before about Taiwanese pudding- a ubiquitous treat, rather similar to a spanish flan, or a caramel custard. Somehow, it seems to find its way into everything. At a seaside market in Hualien, Bordeaux and I sampled one of the strangest Taiwan treats yet- a smoothie of ripe avocado and Taiwanese pudding. We simply ordered an avo shake, but apparently the pudding is added to sweeten the mixture. It was blended until the ripe avocado and the chunky custard were smooth, then plopped into a plastic cup. And- surprisingly- it was delicious. Rich, creamy and decadent, with a richness from the avocado, and a caramel sweetness from the custard.

PS- Bordeaux and I totally got spotted by a reader while we were out shopping yesterday! This is a big world, and we definitely don't have a huge readership, so it was a totally surprising experience. Thanks for coming up and saying hi, and I hope all of my readers are as hip as you!

Taiwan Colors: NEON.

2009-06-19T07:35:00.000-07:00

One of the most surprising things about Taiwan was finding that it had a teeming urban youth culture- and that culture had a color scheme. NEON. You'd glimpse it in downtown alleys, on electric-blue cargo shorts, and hot pink baseball caps. But it came out best at night, when the hues of the neon signs seemed to reflect in hip night market stands and blazing arcade parlors.

Breakfast shop.

2009-06-19T07:32:00.000-07:00

Does the ratio of staff to dining space say something about a restaurant? For though the dining area (and the kitchen, for that matter) at this Taipei breakfast shop were minuscule, the staff numbers were huge. There were at least nine people manning this formica canteen- one woman dishing out ladles of fresh soymilk into plastic cups and bowls, and eight or so men in white sweat-tinted uniforms working elbow-to-elbow in the kitchen. One tended the scallion omelettes, one handled steamed breads and foot-long doughnuts, another three unloaded the bamboo steamers, and the rest busied themselves in all of the other myriad tasks of preparing a delicious Taiwanese breakfast.

Of the three daily meals, the one I enjoyed most in Taiwan was breakfast. It was entirely because of incredible breakfast shops like the above, where I sampled delicious morning treats. I ate shaolingbao, soupy pork filled dumplings that dripped (ok, exploded) when I bit into them; danbing, tasty rolled egg pancakes filled with bacon, tuna, or cheese and spring onions; and scallion omelettes, eaten in thin sesame seed bread. And all, of course, eaten with a glass of fresh, chilled soymilk.

Two farewell dinners.

2009-06-19T07:31:00.000-07:00

I should point out that despite appearances here at Primitive Culture, I'm not actually in Taiwan anymore- and haven't been, in fact, for several weeks. But several factors have kept my blogging stranded on the island- partly a busy transient schedule and irregular internet access, but mainly I think a surplus of material to write about. There were so many incredible places I went, delicious foods I ate, and strange drinks I tested that I still haven't been able to wrap up my coverage of Taiwan. But I really should get moving on- and I can always write about Taiwan in the future- so I'll finish up my coverage of Taiwan with two final dinners.

One of the pleasures of eating across Taiwan is that in addition to local Taiwanese specialties, you can sample from a broad range of Chinese cuisines. The main style of Chinese cooking in Taiwan is from the Fujian region, but Szechuan, Cantonese, Hakka, Beijing, and Shanghai style are also present. Additionally, one can search out more obscure regional styles as well. Before we even landed in Taiwan, Bordeaux and I read about a restaurant in Taipei that served Shanxi style cuisine. We put it on our 'must eat' list, but every time we visited Taiwan something kept us from dining there. Finally, on one of our last nights in the country, we actually made it.

The place was packed, and seemed popular with groups of work colleagues, who ate with loosened ties. We surveyed the menu, picking a sour noodle soup, a fried pork dish, and a lamb stew with unleavened bread. After taking our order, our waiter checked to make sure we really wanted the last dish- and emphasized that there would be some work involved. We assured him we did, and within several minutes we were presented with a round disc of hard, fleshy dough. Our task was to prepare it to be added to the soup, by tearing it into little pieces- "the smaller the better", our waiter suggested. We tore the pieces smaller and smaller, until his look of disapproval changed to a nod, and he whisked the pieces of dough back to the kitchen. They returned several minutes later in a hearty meat and vegetable stew, the tiny pieces of dough now soaking up the slightly sour-broth. It was tasty and very filling, the flavours more subdued than our other dishes: a deliciously vinegary bowl of noodles, and crunchy pork coated in dry spices.

Our next farewell dinner was ordered after we returned to Hsinchu after a week spent travelling around the island. Bordeaux and I returned to one of our favorite restaurants, a place we knew simply as 'The Big Chief.' It got its name among the expat community several years ago, when the restaurant had displayed a carved Native American head over its entrance. The style and owners have since changed, the Native American head removed, but the name has lingered none the less. It's a large, two story restaurant, whose spacious haphazard interior is crowded with tables and banquet chairs. It's usually packed with families, the soundtrack for dinner a mix of boisterous conversation and playing children.

We ordered three dishes for our final meal: a favorite dish, a new dish, and a strange dish, all of which we enjoyed with the obligatory green bottle of Taiwan Beer, an unusual rice-based beer. The favorite dish was a Szechuan style gongbao chicken, which we'd enjoyed frequently over our two months in Taiwan (the Big Chief also does an incredible gongbao scallops). The tender chicken had a spicy, smoky flavor thanks to long strips of dried chilli, but the spicyness was cut with the crunch of peanuts. Our new dish were the evenings vegetables: a plate of steamed bokchoy and stir-fried mushrooms and bamboo shoots. And our unusual dish was a Taiwan specialty: shrimp salad. The first time I heard of it, I thought it sounded like something that would be served at a suburban '60s luau: crispy battered shrimp, slices of juicy pineapple, and a tangy sweet mayonnaise dressing topped, all topped with colored sprinkles. It never really won me over, but the Big Chief managed to make the dish exceptionally well- the shrimp buttery crisp, nicely sweetened by the dressing and fresh pineapple. I ordered it mainly to get a picture of it, but really it was the dish that made the meal Taiwanese- by adding just the perfect element of sillyness.

Same same, but...

2009-06-19T07:30:00.000-07:00

On our last day in Taiwan, Bordeaux and I zipped around the town of Hsinchu, taking our last glimpses of the island. We peeked into shrines, stopped at a tea stand, and admired a grand temple.

The morning after flying out of Taipei, we set out on city streets in search of breakfast. Having just come from Taiwan, certain sights seemed strikingly familiar. Yet as much as it looked like Taiwan, small details stood out, signaling that we weren't on the island anymore. Like the large Chinese temple, with the tuk-tuk parked out front...

...or like the Chinese shrine, with the pink taxi blasting past...

...or the stone lion, with a garland of marigolds around his paws.

Clearly, we were back in Bangkok, a city that draws from so much of the world, yet has a style that is all its own.

Chiang Mai.

2009-06-19T07:29:00.001-07:00

After returning to Thailand, we headed north to Chiang Mai for a week of relaxation. It was a great chance to get back in touch with all of the things I love about Thailand- the tropical climate, the dazzling architecture, and the distinctive sense of style. And of course- the food.

On leaving Bangkok.

2009-06-19T07:29:00.000-07:00

Last week, after a year of residency, Bordeaux and I packed up our belongings and handed in the keys at our Bangkok apartment. It was a change we'd been preparing for over the past few months, but it wasn't necessarily an easy one.

Over our last week in the city, we revisited a few favorite spots. We had dimsum at Vanilla Garden, shopped for t-shirts at Chatuchak, and sipped chaa yen at the Erawan Tea Room (pictured above). It served as a reminder that we had it pretty sweet in Bangkok. The food in Bangkok is unquestionably among the best in the world; the shopping is amazing; and the city has such a personality and a distinctive sense style.

Perhaps saddest of all was leaving our apartment behind. We'd found a great little space that suited our needs perfectly, was close to the BTS and a friendly local wet market. It wasn't perfect in every way- the kitchen was practically nonexistent, and the karaoke across the street was a pain- but it was our first home together, and we were both very comfortable there. We've packed up our favorite things (the lamp above, included) and shipped them on- so hopefully they can serve us where-ever we next call home.

For the next few months we'll be traveling nonstop- and while I'm excited about seeing new places and searching out new foods and styles, I am rather sad about what I'm leaving behind. Though there were certain things I didn't like about Bangkok- the pollution, namely- I didn't leave the city glad to be rid of it. The past year has been incredible, and I only hope I can take some of what I've learned and experienced with me.

Hello, Danang.

2009-06-19T07:28:00.000-07:00

An hour and a half after leaving Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi Airport, our tiny plane touched in Vietnam. We arrived in Danang, our gateway to central Vietnam, and the city where we would begin the next phase of our travels.

Though it's Vietnam's fourth largest city, the leafy avenues move at a sluggish, leisurely pace. Since Bordeaux and I had previously spent most of our time in Hanoi and Saigon, it was strange to see a Vietnamese city that wasn't constantly swirling with activity.

Thankfully, even though we were somewhere new, there were a few comfortingly familiar sights (and flavors) to remind us of why we'd come. More on that coming soon, of course...

Beachside Banh Mi.

2009-06-19T07:27:00.000-07:00

Beachside banh mi stand at Danang's China Beach. I don't think drive-up was ever this good at home...

Sinh to bo.

2009-06-19T07:26:00.001-07:00

The avenues of Vietnam are dotted with shops and stands offering an incredible variety of sweets, from chewy mung bean parcels, to creamy ice creams, to buttery pastries, to colorful glasses of che'. As plentiful as the options are, however, nothing can compete with sinh to- the simple fruit and milk shake.

It's hard to choose a favorite- dragonfruit is refreshing, and ripe mango is pretty hard to beat- but lately I'm really fond of sinh to bo, avocado shakes. I first tried a variant in Taiwan, which was made with creme caramel pudding. Though the Vietnamese version is sans pudding, it's still relatively sweet, as its often made with condensed milk. When the balance is right though, the earthy flavor of the avo melts through, lending an offbeat nuance to the rich creamy shake.

Scenes from a Hoi An market.

2009-06-19T07:26:00.000-07:00

Perched at the edge of Hoi An's old town, it's crowded stands almost pressing over the Thu Bon river, sits Hoi An's central market. Though the market's entrance is guarded by stands trying to lure tourists with Tiger Balm and ceramic pagodas, push through and you'll find the darkened interior contains a busy working market.

The ground leading inside is a mountainous landscape of herb and vegetable peaks, giving way as you enter to sloping white hills of noodles. Shoppers pause at eight-inch high stools, to sip rich drip coffee or crunch on snacks, like crispy banh khoai or fertilized duck eggs. And at the very edge, where sunlight slices the market open, fresh fish are unloaded from boats coming off the river.

Street Treat: Sugared Ginger in Hoi An.

2009-06-19T07:25:00.000-07:00

It's undoubtedly very touristy, but I love the sugared ginger sold by street-vendors in Hoi An. It's crunchy/stringy texture and sharp flavor make it the perfect snack after a mellow meal or during a stroll through the market.

Will resurface soon.

2009-06-19T07:24:00.001-07:00

I think this is the longest I've been quiet since I started PrimitiveCulture (hopefully I've still got one or two readers checking in), but I'll try to start posting regularly again. At the moment I'm at the Ho Chi Minh City airport, preparing to return to Thailand. The past month here has been incredible, and though we've been busy working, Bordeaux and I had a great time traveling from Hoi An to Phu Quoc via Saigon. Even though we covered a bit more of the country, I still feel as though I barely know it-- but as always, I got enough of a taste to make me want to come back for much longer some day.

There's a lot I still want to write about- delicious market treats, another cooking course, and --possibly the highlight of the trip-- a too-quick trip across the Mekong Delta (pictured above). But more on all of that soon...

Red Bridge Cooking Class in Hoi An.

2009-06-19T07:24:00.000-07:00

Back in March, when Bordeaux and I went to Hanoi, we briefly considered taking the long train trip down to Hoi An. Thankfully, we stuck around Hanoi-- at the time, we of course didn't know that we would get to return to Vietnam, and have the chance to spend almost a week in Hoi An. While doing a little online research in Hoi An back then, I encountered the Red Bridge Cooking Class. It sounded great- a chance to cook some local Hoi An dishes in an attractive riverside setting. I bookmarked the page, setting aside just in case.

As we prepared to visit Hoi An, the cooking class at Red Bridge was on the top of our must do list. Upon arriving in town, we stopped by Hai Cafe, where the classes are organized. Two classes were offered at Red Bridge- a half day class and a full day class, each with only one menu available. The full day class offered the chance to make pho bo (beef noodle soup), cha ca (grilled fish) with dill, lemongrass shrimp in banana leaves, and chicken and banana flower salad. Though we love all of these dishes, the menu didn't sound right to us- both pho and cha ca with dill are more associated with Hanoi, and we know how to make banana flower salad. Instead, we chose the half-day class, which seemed to focus more on Central Vietnamese cooking, and had some dishes we wanted to know how to make- eggplant cooked in a claypot, seafood and pineapple salad with fresh herbs, rice paper rolls with freshly made rice paper, and banh xeo, 'Happy pancakes.'

We met the other students at the Hai Cafe, in Hoi An's old town. There, we got the first sign of a major difference between other cooking classes we'd taken-- the number of students was much larger. As we waited for the class to depart, more and more people came, and the class quickly grew to around 20 people- massive, compared to the five person average we'd had at other cooking classes. Thankfully, multiple guides appeared, and we broke up into small six-person groups.

Like most cooking classes, this one began with a market tour. Hoi An has a great central market, and the tour took great advantage of it-- introducing us to local flavors and herbs, strange vegetables and fruits, and interesting utensils that revealed local cooking techniques. Our guide was great- informative, engaging, and funny.

She dropped us at the pier, where we boarded the boat to the cooking school. The trip was a definite highlight- a twenty minute float down the muddy river, past fishing traps and under arching palm leavess. Along the way, an old woman in a canoe, smiling between chomps of betel-nut, motioned our boat over. When we got close, she lassoed us, and hitched a lift off us.

We arrived at Red Bridge Restaurant, easily the most attractive setting for any cooking class we'd taken. Set right on the river, the kitchen was surrounded by lush tropical greenery, and decorated with bamboo blinds and white silk lanterns. After a quick tour of the herb gardens, our guides wished us a good class, and departed-- and we were left to merge the mini groups into one massive class.

We took seats in classroom like rows of chairs, and after a twenty minute wait, our cooking teacher emerged. He seemed tired, bored, and a little disinterested in the class-- fair enough, if he has to teach multiple 20 person classes a week. There were some weak jokes in his script, but he seemed so lifeless that they passed by without him changing the tone or speed of his reading. He proceeded to make the first dish, the seafood salad, completely on his own-- simply showing it to us. The dish was whisked away by one of the many assistants, and he proceeded on to the claypot eggplant. For this, we got our first taste of 'cooking'- we were shown to our stations, told to slice the eggplants, plop it in the boiling water, and add a cup of tomato sauce. We then returned to our seats, and the claypot eggplant was taken away by the staff. It proceeded basically like that for the rest of the class- we made fresh rice paper, but not the filling for the rolls; we quickly made the banh xeo, being prodded to hurry up the whole time by roaming cooking assistants. If any students made a mistake (which I, of course, made several) the assistants became vaguely annoyed, and either corrected them sharply, or simply did it themselves.

Having spent about an hour watching a cooking demonstration, and maybe fifteen minutes actually cooking, we were lead to the dining room for a late lunch. The lunch, at least, was fantastic. The seafood salad was tangy and spicy, the claypot eggplant rich and flavorful (made with, I suspect, more than just a cup of tomato sauce), and an extra dish, steamed ocean fish, was fantastic.

So now, some thoughts.

Good: The class was well-organized, and aside from the way too long wait for our chef to show up, ran smoothly. The market tour was informative, the boat trip was enjoyable, and the lunch was spectacular.

Bad: Maybe I'm hard to please, but the class was run too smoothly. It felt a little like a Theme Park of cookery-- fair enough, this is Hoi An, after all. But there was nothing personal, no individual character to much of it. We were rushed along an assembly line, getting to slice a vegetable here, and roll a salad roll there. Our cooking instructor was clearly bored, and it affected the atmosphere of the class. And really, aside from the discussion on the market tour, we learned nothing about Vietnamese cuisine and culture, or about what makes the cooking of Hoi An and Central Vietnam unique.

Verdict: Would I recommend it? It's complicated. As Bordeaux pointed out, this was the least enjoyable cooking class we've taken. At all of the others, we enjoyed a connection with our instructor and felt like we really got to try our hands at making some local dishes. At the best classes- like Hidden Hanoi- we actually learned about the culture through learning about their cooking.

And yet, I get the sense that almost everyone at the class had a great time. It was, all in all, a pretty fun day-- there were certainly more activities than at any of the other cooking classes I've taken. And we got an outstanding lunch in an incredible setting. And the price- $18- means that it was actually incredibly inexpensive.

So I think for a visitor to Hoi An looking for a fun day out, it's actually a great activity. It gets you beyond the old town to see some of the surrounding countryside, and you get a great lunch out of it. But for someone really interested in cooking, and in the cuisine of Central Vietnam- I think it's kind of disappointing. The full day class, I read later, is done in smaller groups, and is more geared towards this category of student- but it's a shame that the menu doesn't focus more on regional dishes, or offer some variety or choice. Numerous restaurants throughout Hoi An offer private cooking classes, where you have the choice of what to make-- and that may be the better option.

One day of eating in Saigon.

2009-06-19T07:23:00.000-07:00

Even though I've managed life in Bangkok for over a year, the city of Saigon still intimidates me. I am, however, fascinated by it-- it's a colorful town with a tropical atmosphere, and its streets and sidewalks teem with activity. I almost chose to live there, rather than in Thailand, and I'm still curious about what life would have been like. Despite, I feel as though I can barely began to comprehend the city, can barely see over the traffic of whirring motorbikes-- making eating, in a sense, a challenge. Searching out a distant market seems daunting, seeking specific street-snacks seems impossible. Thankfully, there are enough good flavors and tastes in the city that I was well-fed on my last visit, despite my lack of adventurousness.

On our last full day in Saigon, Bordeaux and I took a leisurely breakfast at La Fenetre Soleil, an inviting upstairs cafe. Though it's located up a dingy staircase and down a dark hallway, it manages to attract it's fair share of fans (including a fellow blogger). My breakfast was a double dose of rich Vietnamse coffee: an iced black drip coffee, and Vietnamese coffee french toast. The latter was particularly spectacular: smooth and well-flavoured, and drizzled with sweetened milk (though I don't know what peanuts have to do with Vietnamese coffee, they added a nice crunchy texture).

For lunch, we ducked behind a downtown mosque, to a shady courtyard curry shop. The richly spiced dishes were excellent- particularly a beef curry with tender strips of okra. It was eaten with roti, which were crisped golden brown. The beverage, though simple, should be noted- bubbling soda water with two wedges of lime, and a little white sugar. After drip coffee and avocado shakes, it's my favorite Vietnamese drink-- perfect for the steamy tropical heat.

For dinner, we chose an outdoor restaurant near the central Ben Thanh market. Among our dishes were grilled shrimp on sugarcane, and a crunchy banh xeo pancake. We have another restaurant there that we favor, and we should have gone there again-- they didn't live up to the quality of their neighbor. At least the Saigon beer was cold.

Hopefully next time I'm in town I'll be better prepared, and feeling a little more adventurous. In the mean time, for an expert's guide to eating in the city, cruise Robyn's Saigon articles on Eating Asia.

An invitation to lunch.

2009-06-19T07:22:00.000-07:00

Maybe it was a little premature to announce the return of regular entries... I'm sorry about the lack of blogging lately- a mix of too much work, miles of travelling, and too few precious minutes of internet access have left my blog trailing behind my life. We're currently in Trang province, where our work is taking us among a string of gorgeous islands. Our favorite island so far is Ko Libong-- it's the largest of the islands, but also one of the least visited. In fact, there are only three small guesthouses on a single beach-- the rest of the island is used for agriculture and rubber tapping. Even the beach with the guesthouses manages not to feel too commercial, as it's split right in the middle by a small village.

While walking past the village yesterday, we passed two boys picking coconuts from a tree. They stopped us, and directed us to watch as they chopped them open, then offered us each a drink. It was much tastier than other coconut juice I've had-- as fresh as possible, and still cooled by the shade of the tree. We gave them back the coconuts, and after they each enjoyed a drink, they hacked the coconuts in two. With a twist of the blade, the smaller boy created a spoon, and gave us a half to enjoy the tender coconut flesh.

On the way back through town later that afternoon, Bordeaux and I stopped at a general dealer's to get a drink. While we relaxed in the shade, we were joined by a man from the village, who was taking a break from working. He was building a new guesthouse, he explained-- pantomiming nailing, in case we didn't understand. After asking us the usual questions about where we were from, and where we were staying, he invited us to join him for lunch. We were each given a plate heaped with rice, and we served ourselves modest spoonfuls from the soup bowls. The first was a clear broth with chunks of beef, the other a spicy-sour curry of shellfish. Though it was a modest lunch, it was very tasty. And more than anything, it was a generous gesture on our host's part-- and it was certainly far more interesting than eating at our guesthouse. Finished, we thanked our host, who suggested we come back in 2009 to stay at his guesthouse. Hopefully we'll return to take him up on the offer.

I l Penang.

2009-06-19T07:21:00.001-07:00

With our time in Southeast Asia drawing to a close in just over a month, Bordeaux and I had to make one quick visa run. We had been planning on just crossing the border for a night, but a good friend in Bangkok who recently visited Kuala Lumpur convinced us we should try to see more of Malaysia. I'm grateful she did, because so far Penang has been incredible-- rows of beautiful pastel shopfronts, offbeat mid-century style, and an incredible mix of cultures and religions. I can't remember the last time I felt so enamored of a city-- perhaps when I first saw Bangkok or Hanoi. To be honest, I'd been starting to feel a little 'travelled out' lately-- and Penang has totally reignited my drive.

Of course, the fact that food and coffee in Georgetown are fantastic helps-- we spent much of today eating, sampling (among other things) roti, chicken rice, and Indian sweets. More on all of that to come...

Tropical style in Penang.

2009-06-19T07:21:00.000-07:00

Penang is a city with serious tropical style.

You can see it in the spectacular doorways...

...and the mix of colours and patterns in the tiles, which should clash, but don't.

And in its more distinctive features, like the bamboo curtains that work both as advertisements, and as protection from the equatorial sun.

And most of all, in the colors-- deep pinks, blues, and greens-- the hues so intense that they seem to sizzle in the midday heat.

Hair Saloon.

2009-06-19T07:20:00.000-07:00

There is one feature of the Penang style landscape that I wanted to single out in particular-- the hair saloons! (No, not a typo as I thought when I saw the first sign). Georgetown's streets are dotted with these little beauty parlors, most decorated in pastel hues and mid-century decor. Air-conditioning was often the chief advertising agent. I never saw anyone emerge freshly coiffed, unfortunately-- but I can only imagine these shops specialize in modish flips and hi-so bouffants.

And, as an aside, I just wanted to share that I am counting down the days-- only ten left in Asia! Obviously, lots of sadness, things I know I'll miss, food I'll crave the instant I step on the flight, etc etc-- but right now I'm really looking forward to the change of scenery. Additionally, it'll be great being back in the US after almost a year and a half absence!

Eating Malaysia with the help of Eating Asia.

2009-06-19T07:19:00.000-07:00

Recently, my jet-setting friend Tim found himself in Taipei, where he encountered a number of the tasty and unusual treats that I wrote about during my time there. Coincidentally, I was also in a new city on the same day that he posted his entry, and I too was following the tips of another blogger in order to track down some delicious dishes. However, while I had for Tim only an odd collection of stumbled upon snackfoods to recommend, my informant-- Robyn, of Easting Asia-- offered me a fantastic list of well researched tips.

Her first tip led us to Jalan Transfer, where we found a sidewalk roti stand. We joined the other patrons, who were eating on communal tables under the shade of a slanted metal awning. Bordeaux and I were each served a toasty roti fried with egg, and a bowl of a rich tomato based chicken curry. Though I'm normally a coffee drinker, I ordered instead a glass of hot milky tea. It was served lightly frothed, and so hot that the glass had melted the ice cubes placed around it even before it got to the table.

We followed her next tip to dinner, to a Chinese Nyonya restaurant called Shing Kheang Aun. We were lucky to find a vacant table, because the place was packed-- crowds of families and groups of old friends all enjoying their dinner. I had come with a list of recommendations, and while my efforts at pronouncing our order amused the proprietor, it worked perfectly. We were treated to an outstanding dinner of kiam hoo masak Belanda (pork and salted fish with sweet red chilli), assam heh (crispy shrimp coated in a tangy tamarind sauce), and our favorite dish, gulai tumis (fish in a red curry soup).

All of these dishes were just a prelude to our next morning, where a tip from Robyn directed us to the Pulau Tikus market. There, we had a long palm-sugar sweetened breakfast as we sampled various treats and snacks. Our first stop was a 'pan cake' stand, where we got a slice of giant spongy pancake. It was filled with a layer of dark palm sugar, laced with crunchy broken peanuts.

Next we ordered some treats from a table serving Nyonya sweets. We ordered our soul savoury bite, a slice of white carrot cake. It had been a favorite dish of ours in Taiwan, but we especially liked how it was served here, topped with chili and garlic. Next, we ordered two sweet snacks-- a glutinous bar of brown rice, and a moist slice of a darkly flavoured cake.

Finally, we managed one last stop, to grab a coffee and check out one more recommendation: appom, Indian coconut milk pancakes. They were baked in clay pots over charcoal stoves, and had a nicely toasted flavour, tempered by a slight creaminess. It was the perfect morning of sampling new treats, even if I did get a little sweetened out-- though I did still have to stop by the first stand again before we left, for another slice of the giant palm-sugar pancake.

Thanks again to Robyn for the outstanding tips! If you're interested in food in Asia, you're probably already reading her blog-- but if not, be sure to check out Eating Asia.

Be sure to check out I am a Viking too, for his entries on unusual food discoveries in the British Isles, original cartoons, and essays on Japanese culinary culture.

Leaving Asia?

2009-06-19T07:18:00.000-07:00

Well, I may be departing from Asia late this evening.

Then again, I may be stranded in Bangkok indefinitely, thanks to the efforts of the anti-government mob who have stormed the airport.

I am trying-- desperately trying-- to leave Asia on a positive note. Because, yes, there have been things that I didn't like-- the constant pollution, loose city sidewalks that splatter muddy water, nasty taxi drivers, agonizingly slow Lao buses, being called 'friend' by touts, the ubiquitous Korean mullets on teenagers, massive insects, tacky tourists who think that being in Thailand is justification for going shirtless on city streets and getting their hair done in hideous cornrows-- and now, also clapping-hand waving protesters.

But all of that is really insignificant when compared to how incredible my time here has been. The wealth of things I've seen, the flavors I've tasted, and the range of experiences I've had makes all of those problems really meaningless. That point become obvious to me when I tried to assemble photos for the above collage-- which in no way could possibly reflect what I've seen and done here. From drifting down the Mekong in Laos, to testing my chili tolerance in Thailand, to finally getting to see the ruins of Angkor in Cambodia, to sampling unusual foods in Taiwan, to admiring Penang's streets in Malaysia, to drinking rich drip coffee in Vietnam... it's been unforgettable. I know that, no question, I'll be coming back soon.

Then again, check back with me how I'm feeling if I do get stranded here this evening.

Stuck.

2009-06-19T07:17:00.001-07:00

Never mind, I'm stuck.

To Cambodia.

2009-06-19T07:17:00.000-07:00

Well, Happy Thanksgiving everyone. We may have found a way out. Instead of turkey and stuffing, I may be eating amok and samlor in Siem Reap. We are potentially going to have to travel overland to Cambodia, and then fly out of there. Bonus! We thought we were done with long bus trips, but we'll be travelling all day tomorrow. Bonus! We have to deal with the nasty Cambodian border crossing, where everybody wants a bribe. Bonus! We are only waitlisted for a flights once we get to Seoul, so we may have to spend a night.

Thanks, PAD.

Scenes from a hasty departure.

2009-06-19T07:16:00.000-07:00

1. With bus tickets to Cambodia purchased and an evening in Bangkok planned, Bordeaux called Asiana Airlines to reconfirm our tickets out of Siem Reap. 'But you can fly out of Thailand tonight,' the operator told him. Out of Suvarnabhumi? No-- U-tapao, a military airport three hours out of Bangkok. We threw together our bags, cancelled our plans, and grabbed a taxi for the long trip, arriving finally at the army base to find a line of travelers snaking to the door.

2. After two hours in a single line, we reached the counter, where we were divided up by airlines. They checked us in, and sent us through security, where we found another long wait. Asiana and Korean Airlines formed two lines, and we wondered which would be first to board their first. Neither, as it turned out-- Malaysia Airlines appeared out of nowhere, pulling their passengers through the security check to get them onto their plane quickly. Despite the confusion, no one complained or stressed-- we were all just happy to be leaving. Finally, at close to 2:00 am, we were allowed to board.

3. A short flight later, we arrived in Seoul-- I almost didn't believe that we were leaving until Thailand until we reached Incheon airport in South Korea.

4. Walking out of our plane, we were greeted by a crowd of reporters, anxious to catch footage of the first flights to emerge from Bangkok.

5. We had hoped to spend the day in Seoul, but we were left with too little time to make the daytrip. Instead, we had five hours at Incheon airport, to browse in bookstores, look at high-end window displays, and enjoy a lunch of warm Korean dishes, complete with kimchi.

Eating American in Los Angeles.

2009-06-19T07:15:00.000-07:00

The above photos are not documentation of a bizarre three-course meal, but rather some samples of my first weekend eating again in the United States. Though I obviously had regrets about the food I'd be leaving in Southeast Asia, I was pretty excited about the food I'd be returning to in the US. And luckily the port of entry for my return was Los Angeles, the ideal place to get started eating.

We only had a weekend in LA, which was way too short to get in everything we wanted-- but we managed to do pretty well for ourselves. Highlights (most of which are illustrated above) included a greasy diner-style patty melt, an excellently prepared homemade Thanksgiving dinner, almond and cherry scones with a latte at Peet's Coffee on Larchmont, and a decadent pumpkin-spice cupcake at Swinger's Diner.

And though it doesn't exactly fit with the theme, I will also single out one of our best meals-- a delicious (and long awaited) Ethiopian dinner on Fairfax.

Sadly missed? Zankou Chicken, and even a single Taco Truck. Next time...

Eggnog Cookies and a Celeb Sighting at the Nob Hill Shop,Stroll.

2009-06-19T07:14:00.000-07:00

Christmas last year in Bangkok was an odd experience-- lots of lights, Christmas music, and homemade treats, but it all felt strangely disconnected in the tropical clime. So this year, we planned our return to my hometown of Albuquerque, New Mexico with the holidays specifically in mind. So far, it's been great-- we were greeted upon arrival with a chill in the air, my sister has helped Bordeaux with some holiday treat making, and we've even gotten to join in some local festivities.

Last Thursday, we took part in the Nob Hill Shop & Stroll. Nob Hill is Albuquerque's hippest neighborhood, a stretch of Central Road lined with cafes, salons, and boutique shops. For the event, the street was closed down, and pedestrians were free to browse in shops, sample street-stand treats, and enjoy roving musicians (pictured above: mariachis in Santa hats, of course).

After squeezing through the crowds in a few shops we ducked into the Flying Star Cafe, for a rich glass of hot chocolate and a giant eggnog cookie. Coming in from the cold, the decadent treat was the perfect cap to the evening. We also got a little bonus celebrity sighting: Ewan McGregor looking very handsome one table over-- thanks to New Mexico's burgeoning role as a low cost filming locale.

First Snow of the Season Oatmeal.

2009-06-19T07:13:00.000-07:00

Has the theme of my last post suggested what I missed most in Bangkok? Seasons. Ok, we had hot, cool, and wet-- but in Thailand I was missing autumn, winter, spring and summer. In addition to being able to dress for the seasons, or enjoy a change in the weather, I'm happy to be eating seasonally again.

We had our first snow fall this morning (it was light and didn't stick, but it counts!), so I started the day with a warm breakfast. My current favorite breakfast is a bowl of oatmeal, garnished with berries, nuts, and either dark brown sugar or maple syrup. Pictured above is a bowl of oatmeal with walnuts and dried fruit from Flying Star, the Albuquerque Cafe that I mentioned in my last post. It's a great local spot for breakfast, from the above, to delicious muffins, to big plates of huevos rancheros.

What are you eating for breakfast?

Exotic/Mundane.

2009-06-19T07:12:00.000-07:00

HSCBC has an advertising campaign called 'point of view', where they compare two things, and show how they can be differently understood according to their cultural context. Images of sumo wrestling and muay thai alternate the words 'violence' and 'art', showing how a little shift in geography can mean a total shift of mind.

I was thinking of this idea a lot in my final days of travel, as I realized how Southeast Asia had become so mundane to me. Two years ago, the towering temples of Bangkok had seemed completely exotic-- yet after my year and a half of residence, they had become quite ordinary. Contrarily, the adobe houses and big blue skies of New Mexico had once been quite commonplace for me, but had since become rather romantic in my mind. At the point where I could pass by a gorgeous glittering wat without raising an eye, I knew it was time to leave Thailand. I wanted to be able to reinvest Asia with a little bit of the exotic I had lost.

I know there's a lot to be said against the exotic. It's a distancing device, a potential method of primitivization, it's the opiate of the tourist. But I have to say that a lot of what keeps me connected to the world is the draw of the exotic. Is there a way to construct the exotic so that it doesn't rest on out of date tropes and patronizing ideas of a disconnected world? What does the exotic mean nowadays, and should we still be opposed to it?

And next...

2009-06-19T07:11:00.001-07:00

... is all a little unclear. And sorry Bkk, you didn't even make the shortlist. The one thing that's for sure is that I'm ready to be settled down for awhile. After five years of being highly international, I think I'm ready to be domestic...

Pink Pan Dulce.

2009-06-19T07:11:00.000-07:00

I don't know if it would work as a party food, but I imagine a big table piled with this Mexican sweet bread would look pretty fantastic. I guess you could dye the topping in another hue, but it would be difficult to beat this electric pink.

Lucky Boy.

2009-06-19T07:10:00.000-07:00

It's hard not to like Lucky Boy at least a little. The name that sounds like a brand of soy sauce. The sun-bleached pastel pink and yellow of the exterior, the dated neon sign. The interior that looks like it hasn't changed in 30 years-- probably hasn't-- with avocado green tables in the booths, and faux wood-grain walls. And the concept, a mix of Chinese-American chop suey standards and American fast food, is neither 'authentic cuisine', cutting edge fusion. Maybe that's what makes it fun, though. You can order a chili burger with a side of fried rice, a sweet and sour combo, or the unusual 'egg foo young burger', pictured below-- and don't forget to get a vanilla milkshake or a rootbeer on the side.

Lucky Boy-- Located on the corner of Constitution and Carlisle, in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Brrr.

2009-06-19T07:09:00.000-07:00

We've had a few light flakes over the past week, but yesterday morning it started snowing, and didn't stop until long after dark. The white stuff piled up over the day, leaving my neighborhood piled with a powdery three inches! I'm guessing readers from colder climates are probably rolling their eyes, but after a year without seasons, it felt great to be back in the cold.

We spent most of the day warm inside, but we did venture out for a walk-- a few blocks over and across the park to the drugstore, where we gathered ingredients for Bordeaux to make candy cane hot chocolate. Yum. Pictured above is Bordeaux in the park, enjoying his first snow fall.

And today? Mostly melted, turning to slush. Oh well...

Lights of Madrid, NM.

2009-06-19T07:08:00.001-07:00

We've really been trying to make the most of Christmas this year: searching out good recipes for baking, making our own Christmas cards, and browsing at local shops. We've also been able to take part in a few local events. This past weekend, we traveled north through sparse hills and shadowy valleys, to the town of Madrid. We arrived at dusk, just as the light was beginning to bleed light pink and pale violet, just in time to watch the town's strings of lights flicker on.

Madrid isn't a town, exactly. It had occupied a bustling career as a coal mining center in the 1850s, and was even one of the first places in New Mexico to receive electricity. After falling into derelict as a ghost town, it was revived as a community for artists, who now operate a string of quiet galleries, shops, and cafes. Every year in December, the town is decorated in strings of Christmas lights, and weekend openhouses are hosted for visitors.

We went up there this year to view the lights, enjoy a warm latte, and do some shopping ... well, maybe not the shopping. I have to admit that the style of artwork popular in Madrid isn't really my thing. The town looked rather charming though, and had a truly welcoming atmosphere. The shop owners were friendly and inviting, and many even offered cold-weather treats, like peppermint cookies, handmade toffee, and warm mulled cider. One artist even had a fire ready, with marshmallows for roasting.

Mexico.

2009-06-19T07:08:00.000-07:00

We're currently taking a break from winter, on a family vacation to Puerto Vallarta. This is definitely the most vacation-y vacation I've taken in a long time, and it'll be an odd switch from the backpacking Bordeaux and I have been doing for the past few years. I have to admit, I'm pretty excited about travelling--- and not having to make any decisions myself, for once. Whee!

Be back in time for Christmas!

Toucan.

2009-06-19T07:07:00.000-07:00

I was hoping to have my first Mexico post up today, but I forgot to bring my camera usb-cable with me to Mexico. I'll try to be quick and get one up tomorrow after I return home. In the mean time, I'll offer a taste of the tropical style I'm enjoying here in Puerto Vallarta.

It's been interesting being back in a tropical clime, yet one where the sense of style is so vastly different from Southeast Asia. Browsing through the boutiques here, we've seen white cotton textiles embroidered with blocky animal shapes, wooden crosses covered in tiny silver milagros, and-- a personal favorite of mine-- massive over-the-top paintings of brightly colored toucans. Toucans are such awkward birds, that even when rendered gracefully, they come off looking a little clownish. The paintings are a little too baroque to go with our style, but I think the toucan prints above are a good compromise. The pared down scientific quality of the above prints might work well with our more understated tropical lifestyle.

Walton Ford.

2009-06-19T07:06:00.001-07:00

There is something a touch dull about those toucan prints, though-- maybe they're just a little too innocent. For it to really work well with our style, we might need images that are just a little off, just a little dark-- like the zoological watercolors of Walton Ford. Though he uses the tropes and style of eighteenth/nineteenth century naturalists, he uses his works to comment on themes like colonialism and the natural sciences. I like the bizarre painting of the gluttonous heron above, or the ominous image of the gharial and the monkey below. Anyone know if he's done one of tropical birds?

Street Treat: Paleta.

2009-06-19T07:06:00.000-07:00

Looking out at the frosty breezes whipping around my house this morning, it's a little hard to imagine-- but up until yesterday evening, we were sweltering in the tropical Mexican heat. There was one treat in particular we sought out to cool us off: paletas. They're described as Mexican popsicles, but popsicles conjure images of flavorless coloured ice, melting into sticky syrup in the wrapper-- these are too tasty for that. They were sold in street-corner shops and out of bell-ringing push carts, and came in both water and fruit base varieties. I tried pistachio, creamy and full of chopped nuts; pineapple, packed with frozen chunks of fruit; and vanilla, coated with crunchy granola and chocolate. There were more tempting flavors that I never got to sample, unfortunately-- like rice, lime, and sour tamarind.

Asia 2008.

2009-06-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

I hope everyone had an incredible holiday-- around here, there were heaps of sweets baked, much time spent with my family, and numerous incredible meals enjoyed (both out and in). It's been fantastic and overwhelming, and only now is my mind starting to clear from all of it. And, it being New Year's Eve, the perfect time to look back over the past year as I start to plan the next.

Even though we squeezed in LA, northern New Mexico, and Puerto Vallarta in the last month, 2008 was really about one place-- Asia. We spent one half resident in Bangkok, one half living as itinerants, and en route visited some incredible places. Below are a few of the many locales we inhabited this past year that most deeply impressed me.

8. Trang Province, Thailand, October to November
It's hard for me not to look back at Trang with mixed feelings. The work I was doing was stressful, we had to spend an average of 4 to 5 hours a day on boats and buses getting around, we got trapped in several monsoonal showers (including once on a longtail boat-- not recommended) and I spent most of my time there feeling exhausted. But looking back at it from a comfortable distance (and in a drier locale), I'm able to appreciate what a spectacular chain of islands it is, and how lucky I am to have gotten to spend a week travelling among them. My favorites were was Ko Sukorn, with its pastoral rice fields and villages; Ko Libong, which had a subdued desert island appeal; and Ko Lao Liang, the isolated rock where we slept in tents, kayaked and snorkeled, and enjoyed fantastic seafood meals.

7. Mekong Delta, Vietnam, October
The year 2007 was centered around the Mekong, as Bordeaux and I traveled by slowboat, bus, and ferry along the route from Northern Thailand through Laos and Cambodia to Vietnam. We were missing one major part, however: the delta. So when work pointed us toward Phu Quoc island in southern Vietnam, I made sure we'd be getting to see the delta as well. The best night of our trip was in Ben Tre, where we sampled delicious Elephant Fish spring rolls, enjoyed a lazy afternoon drinking drip coffee, and cruised under palm-arches in a tiny canal. The glimpse I got of the rest of the area-- pastel colored houses, knotted waterways, and decadent Cao Dai temples, had me promising I'd return.

6. Kep, Cambodia, April
It came down to a choice between Kep and Sihanoukville, and I think we chose wisely. It wasn't the waves that drew us to this seaside Cambodian town, it was a meal-- pepper crab. Thankfully, the dish-- freshly caught crab covered in an oily curry powder sauce, exploding with the bite of green Kampot peppercorns-- justified the trip from Phnom Penh. The incredible atmosphere didn't hurt either-- we slept outdoors in a four-poster bed, that looked down from its balcony perch over lush tropical forest, ruined modernist villas, and the distant sea.

5. Central Vietnam, September
The cities of Hue, Danang, and Hoi An are often used to break up the long trip between Hanoi and Saigon, but the region is a deserving destination in its own right. It's certainly one of the best places to see traditional Vietnamese architecture-- like the ornate ruins of Hue's citadel, and the lanes of traders' houses in Hoi An. And while we didn't have too much luck with the regional cuisine, despite it being so widely touted, we did stumble across a few incredible dishes-- like grilled pork and starfruit wrapped in rice paper, avocado shakes, and crispy banh khoai pancakes.

4. Khao Sok, Thailand, May
I don't know if there are many places in the world that can compete with Khao Sok-- a tangled jungle inhabited by tapirs, sunbears, and tigers, stretched along a spine of limestone karsts. The highlight of our visit was a night on the emerald green Cheow Lan reservoir, a flooded forest where we slept on a floating bamboo hut. We were taken on guided boat trips to see otters and hornbills, but the real highlight was spending hours kayaking under the shade of the forest, as gibbons and langurs looked down at us with curiosity.

3. Penang, Malaysia, October
Penang was more necessity than vacation-- we had to do a visa run-- but it was without question one of my favorite places we visited in Asia. The city of Georgetown is gorgeous, the people were friendly, and the multicultural cuisine -- Indian banana leaf curries, Hainanese Chicken Rice, Nonya desserts-- was spectacular. Our visit came toward the end of our time in Asia, when we were starting to feel worn out, but in Penang I felt (temporarly) revived, with my curiosity renewed. Next time we return to Asia, Malaysia is at the top of my list for places to visit.

2. Hanoi, Vietnam, March
Bangkok will always have a place in my heart, but it's got serious competition from Hanoi. The city's sense of style is bipolar, with European avenues, Chinese temples, and Socialist monuments all battling it out, but it gives the city a unique energy and feel. We enjoyed some of the best coffee we'd had in all of Asia, and sampled some of the best street food-- like greasy binh my trung heaped with fresh cilantro. If I were to move back to Asia-- I'm sorry BKK-- it would likely be to Hanoi.

1. Taiwan, June to August
Was Taiwan my favorite place in Asia? Well, no-- but it was definitely the most surprising. I went there for work, for Bordeaux, and I went with low expectations-- which were quickly blown away. Taiwan has a gorgeous natural landscape of dramatic rocky shores, towering peaks (including the highest in East Asia), and verdant bamboo forests. It also has some of the most fascinating urban spaces I've visited in Asia, from the glamorous monuments of Taipei, to the intellectual museums and teashops of Taichung, to the hip nightmarkets of Kaoshuing. The food was incredible, and nearly every day involved sampling a new treat, like fiery gongbau chicken, peppery scallion pancakes, and creamy coffin bread. Really, I don't know why more people don't visit Taiwan-- but I'm sure I will again in the future.

And to CPT in 2009.

2009-06-19T07:04:00.000-07:00

And with our time in Asia behind us, it's time to look on... to Cape Town, South Africa in 2009. I hope you'll follow me there.

Big chili.

2009-06-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

Puerto Vallarta is a touristy town-- there's not much way around that fact. But it is, importantly, a town. This isn't a flock of resorts clustered on the beach just for the service of American tourists-- it's a real community with a history and a life of its own. This has its benefits. Instead of being at the mercy of resort buffets or toned-down taco bars, we were able to sample the flavors of the city. There were informal lunch counters, open-air asada grills, and sidewalk empanada sellers all tempting us. And when I saw this taco stand, it's wooden counters crowded with lunch-time diners, I knew I had to try it.

We arrived just at the right time, and squeezed up to the crowded counter as some satisfied customers left. Glancing over the hand written menu dangling above the stewed meats, we placed our order. While waiting for our food, we eyed the clutter of condiments that decorated the counter. As we lifted the ladel out of a plastic bin filled with a deep black-red salsa, the chef caught my eye. 'Careful,' she urged me gently in spanish, 'take just a little. It's spicy.' Oh, that's ok! I assured here-- I love spicy food. She shrugged a polite smile, and reached under the counter, producing a two-inch roasted jalapeno that she rested on my plate with a devious wink. The joke was more visual than anything else, of course-- the biggest chillies aren't generally the spiciest. But to play along, I thanked her and bit in. The skin of the chili was blackened slightly, soft and crinkled as crepe. It left a deep smokey flavor on my tongue with the first bite, which slowly gave way to a green spicy bite. Not too hot, but delicious-- it was a first course that left me with high expectations.

Thankfully, the food itself was just as flavorful. My flimsy paper plate arrived in front of me crowded with food, two corn tortillas browned on the grill and piled with chopped meat, onions, beans, and cilantro. I bit into the taco de birria first, the tender stewed mutton immediately bleeding a savory flavor of roasted peppers. Next I tried the tripas, which I had been curious to try since I landed in Mexico. Upon ordering it, our chef had spread it onto the grill, where it popped and sizzled for a few minutes before she scooped it into the palm of the tortilla. It gave the meat a slightly crunchy exterior that suprised me, and a rich griddled flavor that surprised me even more. I was lucky to have ordered it when I did-- as we sat there munching contentedly, several hopeful diners stopped by to order the tripas, and were informed that I had gotten the last order. Yup, just in time.

Mexico Colors: Blue, white, and just a little yellow.

2009-06-19T07:02:00.000-07:00

I was in Mexico on vacation, so thankfully it didn't take much work to figure out what the colors of Puerto Vallarta were. They were, after all, the featured colors on the Jalisco state license plate. Beyond that, the colors blue and white, frequently paired with a splash of yellow, flowed throughout the city. The hues gleamed in glossy painted tiles, shone on colonial balconies, and brightened up neighborhood liqour stores. And, more obviously, they were the colors of the city's star attraction, the beach, where they appeared in the blue waves, white sand, and glints of yellow sun.

A brief confession.

2009-06-19T07:01:00.000-07:00

Before I conclude my coverage of Puerto Vallarta, I really should clear one thing up. I may have given the impression that all of my dining was done at sidewalk stands, or informal lunch counters. But that's not exactly the case. Now, it isn't completely untrue, either...

Our first lunch was, after all, picked up from a stand right on a cobblestone lane. We followed the smell of roasting carne asada, and bought a bag of tacos to take home. The grilled meat was so delicious that it needed little else added to it in the corn tortillas-- though a little onion and cilantro added a nice bite.

And there was the grilled fish on the beach, one of our best meals. We followed a rule learned in Thailand, to see where the local tourists go to eat, rather than the foriegn. We squeezed around a small table, and enjoyed grilled marlin, dusted with coarse salt and flavored with a squeeze from a slice of lime.

And of course the empanada, which we picked up on the way home, when we were too full from lunch, but still couldn't pass up. The flaky pastry exterior was frosted with sugar, and the milky custard inside was still warm when we divided it up at home.

But the best food we had-- by far, absolutely the best-- was at Villa Rosa, the house we rented for our visit. Though the place had funky kitsch decor, and a pool with a great view of the city, its best asset was Carlos, the chef. He managed to make every dish perfectly, from the lime tang of his guacamole, to shrimp simmered in coconut milk, to perfect flan, to french toast laced with orange zest and coated in cinnamon. But somehow, me writing about late breakfasts in my pajamas doesn't exactly fit with this blog...

Milton's on Central.

2009-06-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

The film industry coming to Albuquerque has had strange effects on the city. Parking lots tented up and streets blocked off for shoots. Celebrity sightings in coffeeshops. And offbeat locales suddenly becoming movie sets. Like Milton's Family Restaurant. I had passed the diner often while cruising pass on Central; almost tempted in as I glanced up at its retro '50s signage, but put off by its dim interior and greasy windows. Apparently I wasn't the only one drawn to it, though-- it's interior, unchanged for decades, has made it the perfect set for period films. So with a little motivation from Hollywood, I finally made it in.

We arrived after 7, the cold air already dark with the early sunset of winter. The film industry hasn't drawn any crowds-- the parking lot out back was empty, the diner's interior somehow even emptier. Nor has it left the place with any added gloss-- the mood inside was sombre, with a vague odor that makes you decide to keep it safe when it comes time to order. We passed the college students finishing their meal, the wiry men sipping coffee, and grabbed a discreet booth in the back.

The menu pages stuck-- together, to the table, to our fingers-- so we ordered quickly. A cheeseburger for me-- safe, right?-- with green chili. Bordeaux ordered a milkshake, but the waitress's face gathered up in look of worry. 'You know, before you order, it's just me working the counter tonight, so I can make it for you, but it's gonna be awhile. I just don't want you getting your hopes up, then having to wait, is all.' He ordered a glass of water instead, and she nodded gratefully. She brought our drinks, chilling in the type of goldenrod glasses that probably haven't been made since the early '80s, then disappeared.

We weren't in a hurry-- I don't know why we would have come here if we had-- so we settled in, to observe our setting. It was easy to see how it would be a great movie set, with its flagstone walls, and brown-and-orange vinyl booths. A set of black and white photos of the store's founders hung above the coffee machine, the glass in the picture frames grimy with half a century's accrued grease. The only thing that seemed to have changed in the space were the cheap foil decorations that criss-crossed from window to wall. A passer-by with a loaded camper's backpack drew our attention outside; across the road, a yoga class was just beginning. The yogi and his disciples would disappear over the course of our meal, obscure behind the veil of fogged-up windows.

Our plates arrived at the table, heavy with mounds of food. The burger was actually delicious, really. Well charred meat, strips of smoky green chili, and crisp rings of white onion. But the visit wasn't really about the food, was it?

Meal finished, we took the paper check to the register, where we found no one waiting for us. We looked out through double glass doors, where we saw our waitress-- her sweater gathered tight around her, puffs of smoke alternating with gasps of cold air escaping from her mouth. She came back in, rubbing her arms as she slipped behind the register, and greeting us with a faint smile. We handed over some bills and coins, and slipped a tip in next to the register.

Sugar cane.

2009-06-19T06:58:00.000-07:00

Even though we've left Asia, we thankfully haven't left the food behind. Just after we got back to the US, we attended a Thai cooking demonstration at an Asian grocery store in Albuquerque. We've had good luck with local Vietnamese restaurants (though not Thai), and we've been experimenting in the kitchen, on meals like kaeng massman, green mango salad with crispy catfish, and canh chua. We even started the year by making a New Year's Eve feast of Cambodian catfish sandwiches, banana flower salad, and grilled beef salad rolls (the vodka fizzes Bordeaux mixed to drink and the glazed bananas and cinnamon ice cream my sister served for dessert weren't strictly Asian, but paired nicely). The past year and a half were spent mainly trying new dishes and experimenting with unfamiliar flavors; this next year will hopefully be about making some of those flavors our own.

On the side, we've been pursuing some other food interests. I've been doing a lot more food-reading, and have been studying a diverse selection of cookbooks (including the Time Life volume on Southeast Asia, from which the above photograph was lifted). I've been enjoying breakfast, from simple bowls of muesli and fresh berries to decadent almond french toast. We've also been experimenting in baking: last weekend was a two-layer cinnamon and chile cake, this weekend will be homemade donuts.

Julia versus Anthony.

2009-06-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

Does good food-writing have a gender?

One of my goals for 2009 is to develop my skills at writing about food; toward that end, I've been trying to read more food writing by a diverse selection of writers, chefs, and restaurant reviewers. And in early days of this process, I seem to have struck on something: I don't like male food writing.

To explain what is probably an unfair generalization, let me compare two very different works: My Life in France by Julia Child, and A Cook's Tour by Anthony Bourdain.

I completed My Life in France last week, and though the book was almost entirely set in France (a country that doesn't particularly interest me much), and while the stories are all about French food (which I'm not crazy about), I enjoyed the book. I started A Cook's Tour two days ago, and though the book is set in many countries around the world (several of which really interest me), and it covers both Vietnamese and Cambodian cuisine (both of which I strongly enjoy), I'm having trouble pushing myself to get past the third chapter. The difference, I think, is in their attitudes toward food.

In My Life in France, Julia describes how she developed a deep love and passion for the culture and cuisine of Franceover a decade living in Paris and Marseille. Food plays a prominent role in every chapter, as her husband introduces her to the flavors of France, as she comes to know Paris through its bistros and food artisans, and as she cooks staggering meals in her awkward kitchen. She is always eating, but it's not just about the food; it is a means of connecting to others, and of experiencing the world.

Donuts.

2009-06-19T06:56:00.000-07:00

Are donuts the new cupcake?

The above is a picture of a lemon-pistachio donut I made over the weekend, trying to follow a recipe from San Francisco based Dynamo Donuts in the Dec/Jan issue of Readymade Magazine (the recipe isn't online). It is, unfortunately, the only donut pretty enough to photograph, as the project was a bit of a flop-- they didn't rise correctly, I had the wrong size of circle-cutter, I burnt a few of them in the oil. Oof. They still tasted good, for the most part-- although a little too lemony for me.

The rise of the donut might be the result of a few trends colliding-- the wane of the cupcake, the recession calling for a treat with less frills, and 'breakfast' being the restaurant trend of the year (according to Bon Appetit, anyway). I certainly like the American-ness of the treat, though I have to admit, most donuts aren't very good-- way too sugary, no flavor. But the same is true of most cupcakes, unless they're well made. I imagine a well made donut with creative flavors could actually be pretty good. Can anyone recommend a good donut place?

On the subject of breakfast, be sure to check out my boyfriend's blog this week, as he attempts a new breakfast for every day of the week. I just completed Day 1, a stack of buttermilk pancakes with berry syrup. Yum.

An American Abroad.

2009-06-19T06:55:00.000-07:00

In early November, Bordeaux and I passed through Penang on a visa-run from Thailand. While shopping for breakfast in a neighborhood market, we were chatted up a friendly pastry seller. 'Where are you from?', he asked. The US, I answered. 'Oh!', he responded with more excitement than I was used to, and he raised a thumbs up. 'Obama!' It was the first time in my adult life that someone had mentioned my president, and I hadn't felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment.

The experience of being an American abroad is unusual. On one hand, it would be assumed that by living outside the country, I was renouncing my home country in some way. Yet once I've left its borders, my American-ness becomes pronounced, something I'm forced to wear. I'm introduced as being from America, silently feeling accountable for its misdeeds and mistakes. Upon telling a kid in Syria that I was an American, he responded by imitating the sound of a bomber jet. If I wanted to avoid being 'the American', I would remain in America.

But really, I don't want to avoid being American. I love my country. It's only in the past eight years that I've been made to feel as though I was somehow inherently anti-American: for being on the political left, for not wearing a flag-pin, for not supporting the war, for supporting immigration rights, for not being a Christian, for being a gay man who would like the right to be able to get married in my own country.

So I'm thrilled to start today with a new president, a new administration, and hope for a change that will course through the entire country. I hope we will no longer be a people ruled by fear and hatred, but motivated instead by fairness and equality. And no, I won't be staying in the US to enjoy the new administraion-- but I'll be very proud to be the American abroad.

Photographs taken from the NY Times. And be sure to check out Pret a Voyager's on-the-ground photos of the event; you can really feel the excitement of the day.

The Somewhat-Great Trek.

2009-06-19T06:54:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm not even done writing about New Mexico, but it's already time to move on. So file plates of enchiladas with grilled fish on the Mekong and streetfood in Phuket, among the many topics I've wanted to write about, but haven't had time to squeeze in. I promise I'll get to it all once I'm settled... hopefully.

We're departing from Albuquerque today on what will be the longest period of transit I've ever under taken. We're flying first to Chicago, staying three nights with a friend, flying to Frankfurt, waiting out a ten hour layover at the airport, then flying to Johannesburg. From there, we'll enjoy some time visiting around Gauteng, Limpopo, and Mpumalanga, before finally moving down to the Cape, where we will finally-- finally!-- settle down.

Of course, once we do get there, that's only the start once again.

Thanks for bearing with me during what will likely be a period of very infrequent postings! I'll try to see if I can squeeze in a post from Chicago. Hope everyone is doing well.

Chicago.

2009-06-19T06:53:00.000-07:00

I had only been to Chicago once before, and even then it was only by chance. My parents and I were flying to Spain, and a several hour layover at O’Hare became a 24-hour delay. So after a night in the only dodgy hotel we could find with a room, we spent a few hours strolling downtown and gazing at impressive old buildings. Not enough really to give me any sense of the city. So when my friend M___ invited us to visit on our way to South Africa, I decided to rework our route.

And in a way, Chicago was a fitting city for my departure from the United States. Though it’s not a city I know, it was the setting for some family history, where my grandmother lived and worked as a young woman, and where she met my grandfather. Beyond that, Bordeaux and I had come to the partly to experience winter, and we would certainly get one last dose of it in Chicago. And lastly, we entered the US with a weekend of eating American in Los Angeles—where better to go out eating a few last American meals than in Chicago?

The few days we spent in the city were obviously not enough to see much, but it give us a glimpse at least. We checked out the Art Institute, admired old houses as we rumbled past them on the El, and visited incredible independent bookshops, cafes, and design stores. Our few days also gave us a chance to see why so many people consider Chicago to be one of the best cities for eating in America. Chicago boasts an incredible variety or international cuisines-- including at least two Thai restaurants per city block, one of which we enjoyed a delicious bowl of khao soi in. But really, it was two American standards we were after: hotdogs and deep-dish pizza.

Hotdogs weren’t difficult to find. We passed tiny counter restaurants, and catering trucks that steamed the cold air. But how to find a good one? Though it’s not always a reliable method (think of overrated Pink’s, in LA), we opted for one of the classic shops: Clark’s. Bordeaux ordered a chili dog, and I had a Polish sausage with sauerkraut and mustard. The food cooking behind the counter looked relatively ominous, with sausages boiling in brown water, and chili bubbling an intimidating shade. Thankfully, it all tasted good. Years of a developed sense of New Mexican superiority over anything resembling ‘tex-mex’ have disabled me from ever ordering chili, but I have to admit that Bordeaux’s hotdog was much better than mine.

The next night, after a little experimental Chicago theatre, we returned to M___’s apartment, where her boyfriend had ordered us a pizza: a massive deep dish pie filled with sausage, onions and green peppers. It was my first time eating deep-dish, and it was more fantastic than I could have imagined. Though pizza rarely makes a featured appearance on Primitive Culture, I have to admit that it’s actually one of my favorite foods. It can be modified and played with so easily: made with different crusts, topped with delicious and unusual cheeses, and serve as the ideal base for experimental ingredient combinations. This one definitely deserves a spot as one of the best I’ve eaten.

It was so good, in fact, that we sought out another deep-dish pizza for lunch the next day. Hours before the flight that would take us over the Atlantic and out of the US for who-knows-how-long, we had one last delicious American meal.

South Africa.

2009-06-19T06:52:00.000-07:00

Well, we've made it to South Africa, and have had an insanely busy week of seeing friends, visiting family, making big announcements, and staring at wild animals in Kruger National Park. We're heading back to Cape Town this weekend, where I'm looking forward to finding an apartment, settling in, starting up some big projects, and getting back to writing more regular entries from my new home.

Future entries won't be exclusively shots of wild animals, I swear.

Monday Night Slam

2009-06-19T06:47:00.000-07:00

Monday Night Slam (June 8, 2009)

'Monday Night Slam' invitation from Bombay Elektrik Projekt and Friends of Tibet

Bombay Elektrik Projekt’s raucous, informal and super-friendly Monday Night Slam, gets a Tibetan flavour this fortnight, as acclaimed poet-activist Tenzin Tsundue reads out his works. Monday Night Slam regulars, don't miss the special night and watch him perform in the flesh! We continue to seek out the best wordsmiths from across the city, so spread the word out to poets, closet writers, spoken word artists, musicians, any one with a performer's soul. We're anticipating a big night, as and the gorgeous, Rohini Ramanathan (catch her on Red FM, where she captures a million hearts with her voice) will be in charge of proceedings as always. Big ups and loads of love and respect to our resident contributors this month. Monday Night Slam creatives designed by Sathya.

A N N O U N C E M E N T S

2009-06-19T06:46:00.000-07:00

The Chinese occupation of Tibet is continuing and once again World Tibet Day is approaching. As you are aware, July 6, the birthday of His Holiness the Dalai Lama is observed as World Tibet Day by Tibetans and their supporters worldwide.

We saw an Uprising in Tibet in 2008 followed by a silence. The Chinese government continues to suppress those who dare to express their opinions. We believe that World Tibet Day is an excellent opportunity for people like us living in free countries to show our support and solidarity with Tibetans living under the Chinese military rule.

Founded in 1998 by Richard Rosenkranz, a Pulitzer Prize nominee in history, World Tibet Day was created with three main goals: first to create an annual worldwide event to help restore essential freedoms for those living in Chinese-occupied Tibet; second to increase awareness of the genocidal threats to the Tibetan people; and third, to celebrate the unique beauty and value of Tibetan culture and thought. World Tibet Day has grown into one of the most important events on the Tibetan calendar. The event is held on July 6 – birthday of His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama.

We are asking you and/or your organisation to join us in observing July 6 (Monday) as World Tibet Day in your locality/country. Please send us a small note at: info@worldtibetday.org on what you plan to do on this day. Share your ideas and suggestions. Help us to make 2009 World Tibet Day a success.

Please check our website (www.worldtibetday.org) for helpful ideas on staging the event, and for a Message on WTD from HH the Dalai Lama.

So Goes January, So Goes The Year

2009-06-19T06:44:00.000-07:00

When I woke up today on New Years I did two things.

The first thing I did was to shoot a gun.

The second thing I did was to become a vegan.

This is going to be tough. I am 43 minutes into my fast and freaking out.

I am about to go grocery shopping with Kevin and try to get some food for my first week.

The purpose of this whole not eating meat thing has very little to do with any sort of health concerns on my part.

Basically it is a spiritual act of self-denial to help me focus on both God and the goals that I want to achieve in my life for 2009.

We have a saying at work : So goes January, so goes the year.

Part of the my spiritual goals is to keep a prayer list and consistently pray for people every day.

I will also be reading a devotional every day.

Also, I really want to focus on my work related and creative goals. I want to become the best at my job as a financial planner. I also want to help take Journeyman Ink to the next level. I want to write some really good poems and finally create some art.

Basically I have a lot of wants and desires for 2009, more than I have ever had for any other year in my life.

You can't get new results doing the same old stuff, or as Einstein says “Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Hopefullly this fast will be both a symbol and a mile-marker as I try to continually change and improve my life and the lives of those around me.

Wishing the Art Star World a Happy New Year and all the best for 2009!

Fast Details:

Here is what I can't eat:

Sugar, sugar substitutes and sugar products (desserts, soft drinks, etc)

Table or Box Salt
Drinks including caffeine (coffee, tea, etc)

Bread, enriched grains, and rice

Meats, fish, poultry, dairy products, eggs

Fried foods

Margarine, shortening, high fat products.

Here is what I can eat:

Whole grains: Brown rice, Oats (including Oatmeal), Barley and Pasta.

Legumes: Dried Beans, Pinto Beans, Split Peas, Lentils, Black Eyed Peas

Fruits: Apples, Apricots, Bananas, Blackberries, Blueberries, Boysenberries, Cantaloupe, Cherries, Cranberries, Oats, Oranges, Figs, Grapefruit, Grapes, Guava, Honeydew Melon, Kiwi, Lemons, Limes, Mangoes, Nectarines, Papayas, Peaches, Pears, Pineapples, Plums, Prunes, Raisins, Raspberries, Strawberries, Tangelos, Tangerines, Watermelon

Vegetables: Artichokes, Asparagus, Beets, Broccoli, Brussels Sprouts, Cabbage, Carrots, Cauliflower, Celery, Chili Peppers, Corn, Cucumbers, Eggplant, Garlic, Gingerroot, Kale, Leeks, Lettuce, Mushrooms, Mustard Greens, Okra, Onions, Parsley, Potatoes, Radishes, Rutabagas, Scallions, Spinach, Sprouts, Squashes, Sweet Potatoes, Tomatoes, Turnips, Watercress, Yams, Zucchini, Collard Greens, Turnip greens

Seeds, Nuts, Sprouts

Olive Oil, Seasonings, and Spices

Liquids: Spring Water, Distilled Water, 100% all natural fruit juices, 100% all natural vegetable jucies

Knowing When You've Lost (NFL Wildcard Weekend Predictions)

2009-06-19T06:42:00.000-07:00

And as much as it hurts, I can't even say I'm mad.

Don't get me wrong, this is by far the most demoralizing loss I've ever seen as a Cowboys fan and it's even more embarassing than Tony's blunder in Seattle.

Let's put this in perspective; this is the same team that was pretty much handed the Lombardi in the preseason, and once Brady went down and Manning's Colts had a lackluster start, there was a strong sentiment that the Superbowl was theirs to lose. Even though the Giants and Titans were tearing up the schedule, there was a sense that this was the Cowboys' season and they were throwing it away.

After Sunday's 44-6 whoopin from the Eagles, consider it thrown.

Funny how preseason hype (Favre to the Jets, Cowboys as unstoppable) means so little and when it comes down to it...all that matters is how the games are played.

Come on, did you expect to see this weekend's wildcard schedule look like THIS?

Atlanta at Arizona

You have the team who lost their franchise QB and was sooo bad last season that their coach jumped ship before the season ended versus a team that hadn't won a division title since Ford was in office.

I expect an incredibly high scoring game as the offenses on both clubs are potent. Arizona's defense is suspect and I don't expect them to prevail.

Wordless Wednesday - Ukulele Factory

2009-06-19T06:38:00.000-07:00

Taken at the Kanile'a Ukulele factory in Kaneohe, Hawaii. Visit Hawaii-eCards.com to send this photo (and many more like it) as a free eCard to someone special!

Boerekos.

2009-06-18T08:02:00.000-07:00

Though I’ve approached South Africa from overseas four times now, this was the first time in which I didn’t arrive in Cape Town. Instead, I was welcomed back to South Africa by the city of Pretoria.

Having Pretoria serve as my entryway back into South Africa was an odd experience. Unlike Cape Town and Johannesburg, which are distinctly world cities, Pretoria has an oddly insular atmosphere-- despite being home to a range of foreign embassies and consulates. Beyond that, it has a traditional vibe, with distinctly Afrikaner overtones. You can see it in the city’s landmarks and architecture: the orange brick apartments, the towering Voortrekker monument. You can see it in the style: men wear their shorts a few centimeters higher above the knee, blond children walk into grocery stores completely barefoot, and women favor a red henna tint in their hair (I refer to it as a Pretoria rinse). And to some degree, you can see it in the food, where hints of boerekos work in among the dishes on refined café menus.

In the past, South African food had a reputation for being heavy, bland, and uninteresting. Thankfully, opinion has changed in recent years, with more people paying attention to the country’s diversity of culinary influences, unusual local ingredients, and traditions of homecooking. I have to admit that over my last period of residence in the country, I didn’t pay much attention to the food. So this time, I’ll be making that one of my focuses. In particular, I’ll be focusing in on boerekos, ‘farmer’s food’: traditional South African cooking, a mix of Afrikaans, English, African, and Malay traditions. In many ways, the above boerewors is a classic example: farm style sausages made with dry Malay spices. While it may not be as photogenic as the Thai curries and Cambodian salads I’ve previously featured on this blog, let’s hope it’s just as tasty.

Padkos.

2009-06-18T08:01:00.000-07:00

Less than a week after arriving in South Africa, we headed into Kruger National Park. Though I've been in the park before, this was my first time doing it South African family style. Instead of staying at a lodge, we rented out restcamp cabins, and catered our own meals-- starting with a stop for some padkos on the way in.

Though the Afrikaans term padkos could be translated as 'road food', it bears no resemblance to the street-side noodles and sidewalk satays I enjoyed in Asia. Instead, it's food for the road, packed ahead and meant to be eaten on a trip. For our first stop, we had two dishes: frikadelle and sliced beef tongue. Though a little heavy for a morning snack, the frikadelle was easily likable, as it was well spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg and coriander. And though I hesitated a little before biting into the tongue, it was surprisingly tasty as well. It paired particularly well with a tangy peppadew chutney, giving it the distinctly South African combination of savoury and sweet.

Kudu.

2009-06-18T07:36:00.000-07:00

While in Kruger, we did get to view quite a few real kudu-- but the one I was admiring the most was this well designed one on our National Park dishes.

Eat your liver.

2009-06-18T07:33:00.001-07:00

Are there any foods you don't eat? Bordeaux and I have been cooking for other people quite often lately, so we've been finding out a lot about what different people won't eat: no egg, no basil, no cilantro, no tofu, no chili. In comparison, I tend to think of myself as really eating almost everything-- though every now and then, I do run up against something that I'm not exactly eager to try. Like liver.

Had I ever eaten liver before? I doubt it-- but somehow I got it into my head that I wouldn't like it, perhaps from some mass pop-culture aversion to the stuff. But my mission this year is to learn all about boerekos, and it's impossible to do that without at least eating a little liver. And really, I admire the eating of liver-- if you're going to eat an animal, it's more responsible to eat the whole animal.

So at an outdoor cafe in Pretoria, I ordered a simple meal of chicken livers on toast. The dark grey livers arrived in a small bowl, bathed in peri peri, a South African hot pepper sauce. I spread it on the toast, and gave it a try. I have to admit, my first taste was a little off-putting. The slightly metallic tang, the stodgy texture. But it grew on me-- despite its downsides, it has some rather redeeming qualities. It certainly has far more flavor than most meat, possesses a richer taste and complexity, and took on the spice of the peri peri well. I could certainly see ordering it again-- with less hesitation next time.

Apartment complex.

2009-06-18T07:31:00.000-07:00

We've arrived safely in Cape Town, and have been busy this past week seeing friends, revisiting old hangouts, checking out what's changed-- and searching for an apartment, a much more stressful process than I expected. The hardest part of our search is that we found the perfect place on our first day. It had everything we want-- character, views, high ceilings, and a great location-- and one thing we didn't want-- a lot of other applicants. Hopefully we'll find somewhere soon-- nine months is long enough for me to be itinerant. I'll update as soon as there's a lease with my signature on it.

This is not a story about wors.

2009-06-18T07:28:00.001-07:00

Though it sort of starts out that way. Hungry for lunch and nothing on our schedule, Bordeaux and I hopped on a train to Claremont, following a tip from the Rough Guide that advised that women often set up grills to sell boerewors around the station. Of course when we got there, there were no ladies, no grills, and no boerewors for sale. Thankfully, we found Maheera's.

Maheera's is the kind of shop that sprouts up near railway stations, selling cold cream soda, tubes of chapstick, and airtime vouchers. And in Cape Town, they're one of the best places to sample local fast food, which is an offbeat mix of British, Afrikaner, and Malay flavors. We ordered two wors rolls with chips, a small dessert to share, and took them back to the train station, where we ate them on the steps. The roll was not accompanied with chips, as I had assumed, but filled with them-- even better. And the whole thing was doused with a tasty soaking of vinegar, and a drizzle of salt.

But the unexpected star of the meal, the focus of this entry, was the dessert. A golden ball of fried dough called a koesister. The Malay cousin of the Afrikaaner koeksister, it's smaller, rounder, less syrupy, and infinitely more flavorful. The glazed exterior is flaked with coconut, and gives way to a doughy interior studded with spices, sharp with cinnamon and clove. Had we not already eaten the wors and chips, we easily could have returned inside to buy a few more-- as it is, the koesister provides more than ample reason to make a return trip to Claremont.

Heat wave.

2009-06-18T07:19:00.000-07:00

Though we're still far from settled in, we have managed to start assembling something of a routine in our lives. We set the alarm at 5 three days this week, waking early so that we could climb Lion's Head under the coolness of dawn. Monday we found the mountain obscured by fog, so we had to make do with hiking through the drizzle to Signal Hill-- but Wednesday was perfect, and a cool morning breeze revived us as we made it to the top. This morning, however, felt a little different. Though we actually started our hike earlier, the air was noticeably hotter-- thanks to a little heat wave that's settled on the Western Cape.

The heatwave here is pushing the temperatures toward 40, and it's definitely having some negative effects, with wildfires ripping through the dry bush around the outskirts of town. Firefighters have managed to keep them in control, thankfully, though they have become overly exhausted in the process-- backup has been called from other provinces. While it may sound indulgent, we've decided to make the most of the heat-- by enjoying Cape Town's
gorgeous beaches. Somehow the 40 degree weather doesn't seem so bad after coming out of the freezing surf to enjoy a granadilla popsicle.

The eating island.

2009-06-18T07:18:00.001-07:00

I can’t exactly say that it makes much sense. I’m from New Mexico, where I grew up on smoky red chili enchiladas and sopapillas drizzled with honey; I’ve lived in Bangkok, where the sois were lined with stands selling fiery curries and crispy grilled chicken; and I’ve traveled extensively in Vietnam, where I lived on rich avocado shakes and savoury pork and mushroom rolls. But the food I’m missing most lately—it’s all from Taiwan.

Lately small cravings have been nagging at me whenever I start to get hungry. I’ve been thinking about flaky scallion pancakes, steaming pork ball soup, or crispy Beijing duck dipped in hoisin sauce. And I’d love to wake up to dan bing rolled with tuna, soupy steamed dumplings, and a glass of warm soymilk; or end the day with smoky Szechwan style chicken and peanuts and spicy mapo dofo.

Taiwan gets a reputation among foreigners, particularly its resident ex-pats, as having terrible food. After two months of exploring local markets, food stands, and restaurants I have to say that the reputation is entirely undeserved. In reality, I think Taiwan is one of the most underrated food destinations in all of Asia. With a week spent circling the island, you can sample a wide range of regional Chinese cooking (even better than on the mainland, some say), graze among unusual delicacies at the teeming night markets, and search out local specialties—every city seems to have one or two dishes it’s ‘famous’ for. There are tea-houses, where you can select a few plates of traditional snacks to savor while you sip; vegetarian buffets where you can pile your plate with Buddhist-friendly stir-fries; roadside drink stands where you can get an icy mango slush or creamy milk tea to sip while zooming on your motorbike. The cuisine is a mix of Mainland, indigenous, Hakka, Japanese, and American traditions, remixed into something distinctly Taiwan.
Wherever on the island you find yourself, there is always something new, unexpected, and delicious to try.

A neighborhood tart.

2009-06-18T07:17:00.000-07:00

As much as I enjoy traveling, I also enjoy being settled—in part, because the idea of ‘neighborhood’ is so important to me. I love developing a few favorite local spots, recognizing other people who live and work near by, and getting in synch with an area’s unique character. And keeping check on the flow of people in the neighborhood can bring unanticipated benefits, as well. Bordeaux and I have a general rule that if we see large crowds gathering in unexpected places around our neighborhood, we investigate. This could conceivably be a faulted plan, should we stumble into a high-tension political rally, or some sort of riot, for example. But our experience has more often proved that where we see parked cars and gathering families, there’s often something good to eat.

Thankfully, these instincts proved correct on Saturday. Though the parking spaces across the street from us are generally empty on weekend mornings, on this particular morning the sidewalk was lined with cars, with more pedestrians ambling over from spaces found further away. We postponed our trip to the supermarket, and followed them into the leafy pedestrian avenues of the public gardens.

Immediately, a group of boys surrounded us, brandishing Styrofoam takeout boxes.

“Hey, buy from me!”--“Eight Rand! Eight!”--“Fine, O.K., two for ten Rand!”

“I don’t even know what you’re selling…”

But by that point, they’d moved on to other potential clients. Continuing in, we discovered a teeming high school fair. Kids and parents were crowded around folding tables, competing for customers. We found tables crowded with curried mince wrapped in roti, boerewors on the grill, and slap chips drowned in vinegar. Desserts were even better represented, with heaps of traditional South African treats like milk tart, malva pudding and pineapple cheesecake, and some non-traditional treats, like marshmallows speared on bamboo skewers. But these could hardly distract me, as I quickly found a table selling my favorite South African dessert—peppermint crisp fridge tart.

I’m guessing that some people may be unlucky enough never to have encountered such a thing, so let describe it for you. A peppermint crisp fridge tart is not a delicate dessert, not a carefully crafted confection. Any aspirations the word ‘tart’ may have at evoking qualities of refinement are made impossible by the awkward and overbearing bulkiness of the word ‘fridge’ preceding it. But this is exactly why it’s so delicious. There are no pretensions here—just an incredibly rich, decadent, homemade dessert consisting mostly of very simple ingredients. The base of course is a healthy supply of ‘Peppermint Crisp’, a brand of flaky chocolate bars filled with a green honeycomb of biting minty flavor. These are crushed, mixed with a sweet milk sludge, and leveled into a crust of ground biscuits. It is then left on its own to chill in the fridge, as if even the act of baking would be too extravagant for this dessert. The result is spectacular.

The easiest way to conjure its taste is by evoking—though I know this benefits only my American audience—Girl Scout cookies. While some may favor those odd coconut rings or the shortbread children (and maybe one or two people like the hard little oatmeal-raisin discs), the best of the cookies is obviously the Thin Mint. The melty chocolate coating, the biscuit crunch, the fresh peppermint flavor—this may be the only reason Girl Scouts continue to exist. Eating a slice of peppermint crisp fridge tart is like taking a box of Thin Mints, churning it with vanilla ice cream and graham crackers in a blender, and then eating the end result with a spoon. Only better.

The entire pie was purchased on Saturday, and as of this writing there is a slim slice left in the fridge. We had a little help, but the two of us did most of the consumption. Which brings me to a realization. While being involved in your neighborhood can certainly have some major benefits, it doesn’t always benefit your health.

View of Lion's Head #9.

2009-06-18T07:09:00.001-07:00

There is somewhat of a vague hint of depression mixed in with the sea breeze over in Milnerton—but at least the distant silhouette of Lion’s Head offers some comfort.

Eating to the Mekong's end.

2009-06-18T07:07:00.000-07:00

While Bordeaux zipped off on the back of a scooter, I retreated with my backpack into a tiny pocket of shade. The line of motorbikes and trucks in front of me growled impatiently, waiting for their turn to board the ferry. Feeling a tugging on the hem of my t-shirt, I looked down to find a child, who waved a stack of lottery tickets in my face. Her mother approached, and I assumed she would point out the obvious problem the girl—that I was a clueless foreigner, and didn’t know how to play the lottery—but she simply motioned to the child, and looked at me with her lips pursed in an insistent frown.
To feign being busy, I turned to browse at the snack stand behind me. Packets of candied fruit, bags of coconut taffy, boxes of dry biscuits; all coated in a thin veneer of red dust from the road. I was grateful I’d had a decent breakfast before leaving Saigon. I had come to Mekong Delta for a number of reasons, but the main reason, I reminded myself ironically, was to eat.

My desire to taste the Mekong Delta had been growing for some time, developing out of a vague collection of cravings into a refined and pressing hunger. It had started, perhaps, when my boyfriend Bordeaux and I first decided to move to Southeast Asia. After some deliberation, we had settled on Saigon as our ultimate destination. In retrospect, it’s hard to say why exactly. Bangkok seemed the more accessible option, but horror stories about the pollution, traffic, and urban chaos put me off. But why Saigon? Really, I knew nothing about the city, or about Vietnam in general. If I’m honest, I’ll admit that it was perhaps the idea of being so near to the Mekong Delta that drew me. Though I had no real knowledge of the river, I had assembled a mental pastiche of images, gleaned from travel brochures and old movies. Images of slim boats drifting over sluggish water through an arcade of palm fronds, and giant catfish sheltered just below the surface. Tropical and mysterious, the qualities that were drawing me to Asia to began with.

From our arrival in Bangkok to the culmination of our journey, we spent a solid three months traveling. And throughout that time, the Mekong River was a constant guide. We followed it from town to town, drifting downriver at only a slightly slower pace than its muddy brown water. And along the way, we came to know and love how the river tasted. We could feel its richness and fertility in the dripping golden papaya we savored on the banks of Chiang Khong, on the first morning that we saw the river itself; we grasped its salty aquatic flavor in the crisp squares of fried river-weed coated in sesame seeds and dabbed with chili sauce, which we sampled on the promenade in Luang Prabang; and we has tasted its history and culture in the sliver of green mango that garnished a French baguette sandwich in Phnom Penh. But, as close as we came, we didn’t get to taste the river to the end, to the delta.
We made it to Saigon, but only briefly. After only a week in Vietnam, Bordeaux and I boarded a plane and returned to Bangkok. Despite the misguided preconceptions I’d had, we had both turned out to adore the city, and were eager to try living there. So though Vietnam seemed fascinating, we left—never having made it anywhere near the delta. The river’s end remained unseen and untasted, as our plans of living near the Mekong Delta came to an end.

The hunger pangs, however, didn’t end quite so easily. Getting to the delta became a constant goal, a desire I nursed as we lived and traveled throughout the region. And so it happened that over a year later we finally made it there—and I found myself alone, waiting at the ferry port of Ben Tre.

Thankfully, our hotelier returned quickly, and instructed me to climb onto the back of his scooter. We zoomed off, leaving the sun-soaked chaos of the port behind, and slipped into shadow among the leafy gardens of a quiet neighborhood. We passed a string of sugary candy-coloured houses, clacked over a canal on a thin wooden bridge, and twisted into the gate of his guesthouse.

It wasn’t, as I had imagined when I made the booking, a charming boathouse tipped over the river itself, with a hammock slung on the verandah from which I could gaze into the flow of the water. Instead, it was an inland compound of modern mint-green buildings, surrounded by trees. But even though we weren’t on the river itself, there were signs of it everywhere. The air felt sticky with humidity, as if we’d just come on shore after a quick plunge. The garden was flourishing with fruit trees, with pomelos and papaya hanging heavily on straining tree limbs. And a network of shallow streams and canals criss-crossed the yard, giving the feeling that the earth may sink or be swallowed in a flood at any moment. As I climbed off the bike, I found Bordeaux peeking into one of these streams.

“Come, look here.”

All along the bank, there were tiny fish with cartoon eyes, hopping out of the water and onto land. Mudskippers. I’d seen them before in nature documentaries and wildlife books, but they were infinitely stranger in real life. Yet somehow, their amphibious lifestyle seemed to make sense here, where the dividing line between water and earth seemed so thin.
Looking into another patch of murky water, we spied the vague outline of a large fish. It came up to greet us, it’s lips barely breaking the surface of the water. We gazed around the lush garden, continuing our search for wildlife, and spotted a low metal cage partly obscured under some bushes. Looking in, we caught the glimmer of scales on a muscular snake.
“Cobra,” the guesthouse owner informed us. “Maybe you’ll have some for dinner?” We laughed politely, assuming he was joking—though we would later be corrected of this assumption as we looked over the menu for dinner.

We spent the afternoon strolling around town, peeking into coconut candy workshops, being hailed by men wanting us to witness a cockfight, and sipping iced drip coffee in a neighborhood joint. We returned to the guesthouse as the air was cooling down, just in time for dinner. We sat at a table outside, under a pitched canopy of dried palm leaves. After being presented with two icy green bottles of Saigon beer, we were handed a menu, though we had little reason to actually look at it. We’d booked this hotel with a purpose, to eat their specialty dish: elephant ear fish. The fish that had greeted us as we arrived, in fact.
We had only to order and we were immediately summoned to the same stream where we’d had that sighting. Gripping a long net, our waiter scooped into the water, and lifted out a massive silver fish. He dropped it onto the soil, and as it began to make desperate somersaults, commanded me to take a picture. I obligingly took one shot, though I wasn’t eager to document the last undignified moments of my dinner’s life. Satisfied that I’d captured the moment, he grabbed the fish, and disappeared into the kitchen.
When we next saw the fish, it was in a much-altered state. Supported in a wooden frame, it was held upright, and was set on our table with fins splayed, looking almost as if it had swum there itself to join us. Its skin was now more golden than silver, its scales crisp and flaky. It’s tender meat seemed ready to melt away at the first jab of a chopstick. Accompanying it were a bowl of rice noodles, a stack of thin rice paper, and a plate crowded with piles of pineapple, bean sprouts, tomato, and fresh green vegetables and herbs.

I snipped off a morsel of the fish with my chopsticks, layered it on the rice paper, rolled it up, and bit in. The green vegetables tasted sharp, the pineapple exuded an acidic tang, and the well-fried fish was luxuriant fatty. The rice paper contained it all, holding it in for a moment before the flavors revealed themselves on my tongue. I dipped a second piece into the sauce of chili, garlic and fish sauce; it tasted even better.

Over the next week, we crossed the entire delta, and continued our slow tour of Mekong flavors. We rode to the far Western border, past wide grassy expanses dotted with Khmer-style temples and pinnacles of limestone, to slurp on sour spoonfuls of canh chua ca. We rode over the waves to the pristine palm-fringed beaches of Phu Quoc, where we dined on salty caramel-sweet claypot fish. And in every meal, in every dish, and at the bottom of every bowl, we encountered the same flavors. Spicy, tangy, salty, sour, and fresh. The flavors that I had come to know as the taste of the Mekong River itself.

Bo Kaap take-away.

2009-06-18T07:06:00.002-07:00

The more one looks around Cape Town, the more striking it is that there’s good food available everywhere. Leaving the train station, an inconspicuous shop selling air-time and hair-gel, with a counter that serves richly spiced curries. Late night, a stand sitting outside of a club, sizzling with the smell of cooking boerewors. A tiny bakery tucked between two larger stores, quietly selling koesisters coated in flakes of coconut. Most often, we glimpse these sightings at the wrong time—we’re not hungry yet, we’ve just finished dinner, or simply aren’t in the mood for a little take-away. Thankfully on Thursday, our sighting came at the perfect time—just as we starting to decide where we should grab lunch.

We were walking through the Bo Kaap, an historic Muslim neighborhood, when we spotted a small crowd gathered around a busy street-corner grill. Stepping through the curtain of charcoal smoke, we looked in at what he was selling: grilled sausages, steak, and chicken. We grabbed a to-go meal of wors and chicken, and took it home. The wors—what can I say about it really?—was fine, a pretty standard grilled sausage. The chicken, however, was fantastic. Its skin was crisp from the heat, and stained a golden red from the marinade of spices. But best of all was the chili sauce that garnished it—not the syrupy sweet ‘chili sauce’ that is so popularly poured out of a bottle here in South Africa, but a bright green sauce that tasted smoky and spicy.

Working on:

2009-06-18T07:06:00.001-07:00

Hey, how’ve you been? Well, two whole weeks without a single entry posted on Primitive Culture—that might be a new record for me. Not really the goal a blogger should aspire too, though. I could definitely give some reasonable excuses—mainly that we still don’t have home internet, thanks to the confusing systems of South African internet providers. But mainly, we’ve been so busy with some other projects that I haven’t had time to think about this blog.

The past month has been packed, and filled with unusual appointments and activities. To mention a few: we’ve travelled to distant spice shops for palm sugar and five-spice; we’ve gotten friends to write letters on our behalf; we’ve played with fonts, designs, and layouts; we’ve waited in line in government offices; we’ve met with realtors and developers, backing out of a lease at the last minute; we’ve poached pork fat and shelled nearly a kilo of raw peanuts.

The first project is that I am on my way toward getting a permit that will allow me to legally stay in South Africa. With Bordeaux as my sponsor, I’ll be able to keep living here legally—a privilege (or right, rather) same-sex couples enjoy in South Africa. One that we don’t get in the United States, sadly…

The other project… I don’t want to go into it too much right now, there’s still too much undecided. But I will offer one clue: Piesang.

Salomies at Victoria Food World.

2009-06-18T07:04:00.002-07:00

When someone cares about the food that they’re serving, you can really tell. The people at Victoria Foodworld care. The first time we happened on their shop, we were ignorant about most of what they offered. What is a salomie? What is a gatsby? They answered our questions proudly—curry wrapped in a roti, and a long sandwich filled with meat and salad and fries, respectively-- and in almost poetic terms.

Most importantly, we could tell that they cared by how the food tasted. We had to wait, as this wasn’t simply fast food slopped onto a plate. It was carefully constructed in the secluded kitchen, from which we could just detect the fragrant scent of meat and spices. People wandered in off the street, buying bottles of cold soda, or single cigarettes. Finally, our food was set before us. We had each ordered a salomie; the golden rotis were set before us, filled with fragrant curry.

The salomie is a simple combination of three main parts: roti, curry, and salad (optional). Should any one part be lacking or mediocre—the roti dry, the curry commonplace, the salad wilting-- the whole composition will suffer. But every element was executed with precision. The roti was flaky and buttery, the curry so freshly made that seeds and pods of spice burnt as we bit into them, creating a mild fire that the crisp cucumber salad helped to cool.

“Do we work in Woodstock?” the proprietress asked us we paid the check on our last visit. No, but we’ll definitely come back for the salomies.

Bad Picture: Afternoon light on Halong Bay

2009-06-18T07:04:00.001-07:00

My photography is certainly not of a level that most of my shots are a success—I generally take at least a dozen pictures of a single subject, then later edit and select the decent one or two. Often, many of my photographs come out very badly—they might be blurry, poorly framed, lacking a subject, or looking like I photographed them while dropping the camera. Yet every now and then, one of these ‘bad photographs,’ ends up being appealing to me in some way. While it may not get anything right photographically, it still manages to communicate something about the subject—sometimes even better than a good photograph can.

Like the above shot of Halong Bay, for example. It’s really not something you’d put in a frame—there’s no clear subject, the details of the boat are slipping right of the edge of the picture, and there’s something in the foreground that has been reduced to out-of-focus fuzz. But despite all of this, the picture somehow captures the mood of the afternoon cruise even better than my other pictures. The glowing colour of the light, the rolling forms of the karsts, even the total lack of focus is actually a benefit; it all somehow captures the sense of languidly enjoying the last warmth of an afternoon out on the beautiful green waters of Halong Bay.

Good Neighbours.

2009-06-18T07:03:00.001-07:00

Have you been to Cape Town’s Neighbourgoods Market? If you live in South Africa, you’ve got no excuse—it’s unquestionably the hottest spot to be on a Saturday. Held at the Old Biscuit Mill in Salt River, the NG Market is a sprawling complex of local designers, boutique shops, and hand crafted foods.

One half of the market is made of dry goods, and it’s a great place to come to see what South Africa’s local designers are up to. You can buy funky underwear or hip jewelry in the designer’s tent, seek our one-of-a-kind home-wares at Plush Bazaar, and browse among the charming textiles of local marvel Skinny Laminx. It’s a great opportunity to shop beyond the malls, and to meet the designers who actually make the goods on sale.

The other section of the market is a cavernous two-room spread of food sellers; the ideal place to enjoy breakfast, brunch and lunch on Saturday. The first room is composed mainly of food artisans, and contains a dizzying array of vendors. You can buy baguettes, cupcakes, cured meats, fresh fish, ripe avocados, tubs of hummus, either to devour on the spot, or to take home for an impressive weekend dinner. The second room contains vendors making more substantial meals. There’s an impressive range of offerings, including South African, Greek, Mexican, and Indian foods.

Where would I recommend eating? The Kitchen Cowboys make an incredible dry-aged beef sandwich; the more-traditional aging process creates beef that tastes exactly like it should. If it’s a sunny day, a bottle of Jack Black beer is ideal. The coffee at Origins is always worth the line and the wait—though you should really prepare yourself for that wait. And while I haven’t had them, the curries at Cumin always smell rich and tempting.

But if you’re coming by next Saturday, the only stand I can really urge you to visit, if I may be so selfish, is ours…

Piesang Update.

2009-06-18T07:02:00.001-07:00

Just a quick entry to thank everyone for all the words of encouragement and support! Piesang has launched, and we are now developing a regular and healthy routine. On Saturday mornings we’re at the Neighbourgoods Market at the Biscuit Mill, where we offer breakfasts from Taipei, and street snacks from Saigon and Bangkok. We’re also trading at the Young Designer’s Market at 210 on Long every Wednesday evening from 3 to 9, where we sell fresh salad rolls, Asian curries and soups, and tropical flavored cupcakes—like our signature ‘pepper and lime’. We’ve been getting some great attention, and are really enjoying getting to discuss the food of Asia with everyone who drops by.

This blogging break was necessary while Piesang found its roots, but it’s also been useful for me in considering the future of Primitive Culture. I’m looking forward to posting again, continuing the threads of travel, culture, and food, but focusing more on developed writing. I’ll be starting posting again next week, with a series of travel sketches fleshing out my experiences on the African continent.

View of Lion's Head #10: Into Africa.

2009-06-18T07:01:00.000-07:00

While the view from the balcony of my City Bowl flat is by no means spectacular, I at least have a decent view of Lion’s Head. Its sloping form rises beyond a row of nearby acorn trees, lifting from the rows of apartment blocks and expensive Vredehoek homes at its base, and coming slowly to a rugged blocky peak. The daily sight of its jagged face has become a commonplace—though not unappreciated—part of my life here. Yet several years ago, I could never have imagined that Lion’s Head would ever seem so familiar to me. When I came to South Africa for the first time, I was rather taken with the strange rock—far more so than with Table Mountain, Cape Town’s more iconic backdrop—and it became for me a symbol of the city. It was partly it’s odd appearance that appealed to me, but also its name, which evoked the vague absurdity of a lion’s presence among the refined boulevards and cafes of the sedate seaside town. In some ways, that incongruity suggested to me the inborn strangeness of Cape Town, a quasi Californian/Mediterranean seaport of Euro-Malay origins, and its estranged position on the southern tip of Africa. I had (and still have) no knowledge of why the mountain was named as such, but in some ways it made sense to me when I pictured how the early sailors and settlers must have seen Cape Town: as a port of entry onto a mysterious and daunting continent.

In some sense, the city filled a similar role for me on my first visit. I came to Cape Town in 2004 on a research project, the result of a lifelong fascination with Africa, and a college career in Anthropology. After spending a month completing my project in the city, I caught a bus for Namibia and began a two-month trek around the southern half of the continent. I returned in 2006 to study for a year at UCT, taking every chance I could to see a little more of Africa. In the process, I enjoyed the wide diversity offered by the continent; I camped out among an ocean of Sand in the Namib desert, sipped strong coffee in a trendy Cairo coffee-shop, and courted my boyfriend in a Swazi safari lodge. And along the way I gained a fractional sense of the people and places that make up the continent.

And now I have returned with my South African fiancé to Africa to live, perhaps permanently. Yet I almost forgot about Africa completely. Upon returning, I was so focused on developing a life in the city that I forgot how Cape Town had been for me at one time simply a gateway to the incredible countries and landscapes further inland. Over the next few entries on Primitive Culture, I’d like to present several sketches of my life in Africa. They’re not meant to prove any mastery or deep understanding of, the continent, or to make any definitive statements about its peoples. They’re only written fragments of the places that I’ve encountered. And mainly, they’re a means for me to once again rethink my home, and to develop an understanding of my position at the far Southern tip of an incredible and fascinating continent.

Welcome to Bulawayo.

2009-06-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

I pulled into town in the afternoon, a long bus trip gratefully concluded. I had crossed much of Zimbabwe that day, but the bus’s slow pace and uncomfortable seats made me feel as though I had crossed much of Africa instead. As our bus rattled to a stop, my gaze was caught by my seatmate, a round-faced church going woman wearing a prim dress and oversized glasses. She looked me firmly in the eyes, hers becoming pinpricks behind their thick lenses. “You must be careful of thieves,” she warned me in a hushed voice. “They will steal from you, and they will do it with magic, so you won’t even realize.” Then her face softened again, and with a smile she wished me a pleasant welcome to Bulawayo.

I, however, was less concerned with thieves at that moment. Over the course of the six-hour bus trip, a minor headache had blossomed into a shattering, thudding pain that was even beginning to make me feel nauseous. Whether it had been the effects of the heat of the clear winter sun trapped inside the bus, or that my only sustenance for the day had been a loaf of white bread purchased through the window from the hands of an eager vendor at a brief stop, I was feeling decidedly ill. So ill, that after making my way across town to my guesthouse, I barely gave a thought to protest when informed that the rate per night for a dorm bed was $15, more than four times the price listed in my guidebook.

The next morning, feeling a little better, I decided to take up the issue with the manager of the hostel.
“I am very sorry,” he said with a resigned tone. “It is the law now—we cannot charge you any less.” He was a tall, handsome man whose mannerisms verged on being camp. There was nothing in his face or in his voice that seemed dishonest. Still, I felt it better to ask around and verify the information.
And in fact, he was being honest. Not one guesthouse, hotel, or backpackers’ (not that there were many still in operation, to begin with) could offer a bed for less than $15. Apparently, there were so few travelers coming through Bulawayo lately, that the local government felt they needed to make as much off the few who did come as possible.

Over the course of my stay in the town, I came to find that it wasn’t only for accommodation that these laws applied. On my second full day in the city, I walked through a stately quarter of town to the Natural History Museum—which, my guidebook assured me, was fantastically out of date and old fashioned, and a bargain for only 40 cents US. As I walked into the foyer and peeked past the guard at the taxidermy animals and mid-century displays, I could tell I was not going to be disappointed. I was, in fact.
“20 dollars,” the stone faced guard mumbled when I told him I wanted to see the museum. His eyes seemed trained at a stop somewhere over my head that he had been studying before I entered; my presence had not been interesting enough to incite his glance.
“20 dollars?” I asked, a little confused. I had never heard anything quoted in Zim dollars for less than a million.
“You can go in if you’d like, but you have to pay 20 dollars US,” he replied, still looking beyond me, with a hint in his voice acknowledging that very few people actually paid that amount.

It seemed an odd scheme, likely to squash the desires of any tourists interested in visiting the town. During my stay I met exactly one other traveller, a man from Spain who was assigned to share my room with me. He had planned to stay in Bulawayo for over a week; he left after two days, complaining of the prices and the attitude of the town.

Signs suggested that the town had once been a profitable vacation getaway. A dusty sign decorated with leopard print decals marked the ‘Safari Bar’ on one street corner. A large billboard advertised flights to London, surely long discontinued. And though sun damage had nearly erased the image entirely, you could still make out the phrase “Zimbabwe: Paradise of Africa” on travel posters that hung around the town. There was a strange air of abandonment to the town, compounded by the fact that I rarely passed anyone on the street. Yet everything was well maintained and clean, giving it the Twilight Zone feel of a city suddenly and unexplainably evacuated of all life.

It felt a cold, lonely place to me. I did manage to find one comfortable spot in town, though: a friendly café serving good coffee, Greek food, and tasty desserts. And amazingly for the town, it always seemed busy. The matron of the restaurant, a large blonde woman who stood behind the counter, was always engaged greeting customers, preparing to-go parcels, and overseeing the flow of the dining room. It was in some way odd for me to see her, to see that white people remained living in Zimbabwe, were continuing their lives with some element of determination.
I found it on my first afternoon in town, and visited on my second and my third as well. I was able to get decent lattes (not Nescafe!), which I paired with a slice of whatever cake they were offering—obviously seeking some insulation from the town’s aura of depression. There was a young waitress who always seemed excited to see a new phase, and between serving customers would stop by my table to ask about my travels.

A less charming incident occurred on my last visit, however. The matron of the restaurant had taken a seat with a visiting friend, and the two were waiting for their lunch. One of the waitresses emerged from the kitchen, and politely set down their plates. The ceramic had just touched the table when the matron picked up the plate, turned it upside down, and flopped its contents onto the floor.

“No, no, no,” she stated with a firm razor-edged voice. “That is not right. That looks terrible. Go back and make it again.”

As the waitress retreated into the kitchen, she addressed her dining companion in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “You must tell them like that. Otherwise, they simply never learn…”

I returned to my hotel, where the manager greeted me and covertly pulled me aside.
“I had your money exchanged,” he informed me in a clipped tone, handing it to me in a paper bag.
I went to my room to inspect it, and found that my two twenty dollar bills had been transformed through the magic of the black market into rolls and rolls of pastel coloured paper money. I gathered it up, stuffed it into my backpack.

I woke early the next morning, before breakfast plates were set at the guesthouse, and with the streets still asleep, caught the first bus out of town.

Technicolor tropic.

2009-06-18T06:47:00.000-07:00

Maputo, the capital city of Mozambique, is positioned on the Southern curve of Africa, where it feels astoundingly out of place. If you are driving toward it from South Africa, you will likely first pass through Neilspruit, a town notable primarily for its mediocrity. It is an unremarkable city of lifeless brick apartment buildings, Hungry Lion takeaways, and Caterpillar sales-yards. Its wide streets are open to the sky, feeling a bit like a long yawn triggered by the lazy warmth of the afternoon sun. All the more surprising then, when one departs this sleepy city, crosses the border, travels several hours through dry scrub and bush, and appears suddenly in a town that seems to have been lifted out of the Technicolor tropics, transported from a Caribbean musical, and left on Africa’s shore.

The air in Maputo is sticky with a tropical torpor, which its energetic Modernist buildings seem to rebel against, vibrating in angular forms and ice cream hues of rose, lime and buttercream. Flames of bougainvillea lick against the balconies of decrepit villas, and flamboyants litter the uneven pavement with their fiery petals. Not to be outdone by their spectacular surrounds, Maputo’s citizens dress with an equal measure of finesse. Men stroll in sleeveless shirts and calf-length shorts to catch the sun; women wear bright hues, in spaghetti straps and slip-on-shoes if young, in wrap skirts and headscarves if old.

As a city, Maputo has more of a sense of history and architecture than anywhere else in Southern Africa. This grandiose vaulted market was built by someone; that art deco movie theatre was built by someone else. Perhaps most impressive is the city’s train station, a pistachio coloured confection that, depending on who you ask, was designed by Eiffel himself, or, more likely, a student of his. A heavyset tower marks the entrance, its iron dome shielding a baroquely ornate clock. Inside, travellers stroll through arched colonnades en route to catch their trains.

In mid-day, the sun can be brutal, so it’s the best time to slip under the awning of a sidewalk café. Face to the street for people watching, and spend a leisurely afternoon sipping strong coffee, sweetened with bites of a sugary pastry. The darkened interior of one such corner spot was decorated with a sprawling world map, browning now from age, that hints to an era when the city was still known as Lorenco Marques, and still a destination for the adventurous jet set.

Nearing sunset, ones attention is drawn to an old carnival ground near the waterfront. In the sunlight, it had seemed deserted; Ferris wheel caught midair, cars hanging as if stopped mid-sentence. But at night, there is no trace of abandon. Electricity switched on, the amusements are now studded with the pinpricks of light from hundred of glowing light bulbs. But most of the visitors have not come to wait in line at the carousel. Instead, they’ve come for the nightlife: the village of bars and restaurants that roll up their shutters after sunset. After a meal of flame-grilled chicken, they move to the low-key bar next door, to savour a beer in the seaside cool of a Maputo evening.

Dance and Drama in Bali

2009-02-20T03:08:00.000-08:00

The lifestyles of Balinese people is expressed in their dance. Not only do we learn about the Balinese religion from their dance creations but also we can come to understand the flow of cultural events and activities that belong to everyday life. We can discover Balinese attitudes, how they look at nature, and how they regard their fauna and flora.

The very essence of the Balinese culture is dance and drama, which is performed during temple festivals and in ceremonies. The dances performed in hotels is a small fraction of what Balinese dance has to offer.

Balinese dance goes as far back as Balinese written history with much of the heritage originating from Java. Ironically, as a result of the Islamisation of Java, the Javanese culture has disappeared but has still survived in Bali and has become part of classical Balinese culture.

Balinese dance cannot be separated from religion. Even the dances for the tourists are preceded by many dancers praying at their family shrine for taksu (inspiration) from the gods.

Dance fulfils a number of specific functions: It may be a channel for visiting gods or demons, the dancers acting as a sort of living repository. It may be as a welcome for visiting gods. It may be entertainment for visiting gods.

The typical posture of Balinese dance has the legs half-bent, the torso shifted to one side with the elbow raised and lowered in a gesture that displays suppleness of the hands and fingers. The torso is shifted in symmetry with the arms. If the arms are to the right, the shifting is to the left and vice-versa.

The Ramayana

The story of the Ramayana greatly inspires the Balinese. Many of their dances are based on this great story which is often depicted in a ballet.

The Balinese version differs from the Indian Version. It is told that Rama, as the first son in a family, was the heir to the Ayodya kingdom but the king's second wife, through her treachery forced the king to crown her own son as the King of Ayodya and asked him to send Rama and his wife into exile.

Because he respected his father, Rama went with his wife called Sita and his beloved younger brother, Laksmana into a forest called Dandaka. Usually the first act of the ballet depicts Rama and entourage in the heart of the Dandaka forest.

Rahwana, the evil King of Alengka, enchanted by the beauty of Sita, wanted to have her as his concubine. He sent one of his knights, Marica, to temp Sita by transforming himself into a golden deer. Sita, captivated by her curiosity, asked her husband to catch the golden deer.

The next act explains how Rama succeeds in hunting the golden deer but as his arrow struck the golden deer it transformed back into Marica. Meanwhile Sita heard a distant cry for help. Laksmana, who had been asked by his brother to look after his sister-in-law, tried to explain to her that the cry sounds very suspicious. But nevertheless, Sita was convinced that someone was in need of help. So she sent Laksmana to look for this person and to help whoever it is. In his desperate attempt, Laksmana asked Sita, no matter what would happen, to stay inside the guarding circle that he created.

Rahwana, knowing that Sita was protected by the circle transforms himself into an old priest. He approaches Sita and asks her for a drink. Sita, without hesitation, extends her hands beyond the circle to hand him the water. Rahwana takes the advantage, snatches her hand and takes her to his palace in Alengka.

On the way, Rahwana encounters a mighty eagle Jatayu. By every means possible, Jatayu tries to rescue Sita from the evil king but fails and is killed by Rahwana.

Rama and Laksmana find the dying Jatayu who tells them the whole story of what had happened to Sita.

In his attempt to release his wife, Rama seeks the help from Hanoman and his monkey soldiers. Hanoman finds Sita in the palace's garden. She had been asked by Rahwana to marry him but she would rather die. Hanoman convinces Sita that he is Rama's messenger and talks of a plan.

Rahwana catches Hanoman and burns his tail but in so doing, set fire to the palace's' gardens. The pyrotechnics can be very impressive.

In the last act, Rama and his troops are depicted attacking Rakhwana's palace. Finally Rama manages to kill Rahwana and therefore takes his wife back to his country.

The abridged version ends here but if you see paintings in Kamasan style based on the Ramayana story, you would notice that in the last of serialised paintings, Sita had to prove she was still pure, and had not been tainted by Rahwana, by plunging herself into a fire. Because of her faith in her husband, God saved her from the fire and she lived happily ever after with Rama.

The Indian version reveals a very different ending with Sita saved by Mother Earth, never returning to her husband.

The Welcome Dance - Tari Panyembrama

The Panyembrama is probably the most popular Balinese social dance. In keeping with its meaning in the Balinese Language, Panymebrama is frequently staged to welcome guests of honour who are making a visit to this islands of the Gods.

Four or eight young girls bearing a bokor, a heavily engraved bowl made from silver or aluminium, laden with flowers, dance expressively to the accompaniment of vibrant gamelan music.

During the dance, the flowers are scattered over the guest or audience as an expression of welcome. The Panymebrama has taken many of its movements from temple dances, such as the Rejang Dance, Pendet and Gabor, which are considered sacred and performed exclusively for God. There is an analogy between the secular Panymebrama and the religious temple dances, as all these dances are welcoming dances, the difference being in the place in which they are stage.

The Tari Panymebrama comes under the Balinese classification of Legong (individual dances), because it has no connection with other dances, has no story and was specifically created for welcoming and entertainment purposes.

The hospitality and friendliness conveyed through the smiles of the Panymebrama girls, charms the audience and so is very fitting as an opening for a show, etc.

The Yudapati Dance

Yudapati is a dance which depicts a male character but is performed by female dancers. The word Yudapati is derived from Yuda which means war and Pati which means death. The dance represents the kamikaze warrior in defending the truth. The dance was created in 1987. It is based on the Baris dance.

The dancer wears typical male attire, headcloth, shirt, carved leather belt and other jewellery. The reason for a male being performed by a female is that the choreographer wishes to reveal all the subtle gestures and movements in the dance by using the flexibility of a woman's body.

Male dance performed by females is called Bebancihan. A number of other dances have been created in the s style, such as Margapati, Trunajaya, Prawireng Puti, Wiranata and Danur Dara. They require masculine interpretation and expression which is quite hard for female dancers. Yudapati dance was originally performed for religious purposes but nowadays is performed regularly as a tourist attraction in some restaurants.

The Ghopala Dance

This dance provides the audience with an interesting insight into the lives of people who live in a simple and pure manner in an environment of blissful tranquillity. This dance originated in 1984 and usually performed by five boy dancers. The characters of the Ghopala dance are especially funny and will draw laughter from the audience.

The Ghopala theme depicts the world of children herdsmen who gleefully meet and play along the boundaries of rice fields while tending their cows. Their lives are filled with happiness as they dance and play in a way which highlights their individual characters. They never tire of their duties as herdsmen, faithfully defending the lives of their cattle. Thus the audience are transported to a distant time when people lived in peace and contentment, an age which had not yet become influenced by the bustle of business which now constantly steals our time.

The Semarayana Dance

As we know, there exists many art forms such as music, painting, poetry, drama, sculpture, etc. and, of course, dancing is yet another and is a popular form of expression. Artists will take a certain aspect of a medium, build on it to form another. This is the case of the Semarayana dance developed in 1994 as a subject for a thesis submitted by Ms Ni Nyoman Sri Armita to the Indonesian Arts Academy of Denpasar for her graduation.

The main character is Dewi Chandra Kirana, a princess from the kingdom of Daha who disguised herself as a male youth so she could venture out and seek her beloved who had disappeared without a trace.

With shoulder length hair, commonly used centuries ago throughout Java and Bali, the princess was unrecognisable as a female. The symbol of manhood which fooled people she met on the road, was the use of the Balinese male headgear called the Destar. It is made from material that wraps around the head and has an artistic formation of bunched material at the front.

Balinese males still use the destar when attending ceremonies. The feature of the destar is the decorative use of gold lines.

Dewi meets her beloved but due to her disguise and the fact that he is partly obscured when they meet, a fight develops. In the ensuing melee, the princess's destar is knocked from her head and her sweetheart, Raden Inu Kertapati, recognises her and rushes to her side to embrace her.

And, of course, they lived happily ever after.

The Barong Dance

The are several versions of the Barong Dance, as Bali has an abundance of myths and legends. There is Barong Ket, Barong Asu (Dog Barong), Barong Macan (Tiger Barong), Barong Bangkal (Pig Barong), Barong Gajah (Elephant Barong) and others.

One of the well known stories on which the Barong Dance is based, is the Kunti Seraya. The plot is very intriguing, showing the effect of the Gods intervention upon the people through supernatural powers.

It is told that Dewi Kunti, from the royal family of Hastinapura, was very ill. As a devotee of the Goddess Durga, she seeks help, however, the Goddess tells her that the price of health is her own son, Sahadewa. It seems that the Goddess fancied Sahadewa's young and luscious flesh for her dinner.

Dewi Kunta recovers from her illness and it is time to pay the price. She regrets her decision to pay the price but a promise is a promise. One of the Goddess's followers put her into a trance and enters her body. She becomes a terrifying creature and unconsciously beats Sahadewa mercilessly. She then takes him to an unpenetratable jungle and ties him to a tree. Later Sahadewa is given immortality by God and she overcomes the wrath of the Goddess and she is able to release her son.

The Sanghyang Jaran Dance

The unique feature of the Sanghyang Jaran dance is the courage of the dancers who in a state of Kesurupan or trance, calmly step and trample on red hot coals just as if they were walking in cold water.

This dance is believed to have the power to invite the gods or sacred spirits to enter the body of the dancers and put them in a state of trance. It dates back to the ancient Pre-Hindu culture, a time when the Balinese people strongly believed that a dance could eliminate sickness and disease. The is dance is usually performed in the fifth or sixth month of the Balinese traditional calendar as it is believe that during these particular months, the Balinese are vulnerable to all kinds of illnesses.

The War Dance - Gebug Ende

The Gebug Ende is a combination of dance and trial of prowess. It is usually performed by two to sixty male dancers who dance and fight on stage in pairs. Each dancer/fighter carries a one and a half metre long rattan stick as as a weapon and a shield called an ende. During the performance the two men try to beat one another with the stick while using the ende to protect themselves. The dance is called Gebug Ende as it literally means beating the ende or shield. One cannot afford to make mistakes in this dance as otherwise injury results.

The Gebug Ende is quite unique as it has certain rules that have to be followed by the participants. Led by a jury, this dance starts with two dancers, while the rest sit in a circle, cracking jokes and singing, while waiting their turn. The jury decide which of the two contestants loses the game and has to leave the stage. Then they will call the next men to the stage. This continues until all have had a turn. Sometimes the fight becomes very fierce and the dancers get thrown of the stage from the blows of the rattan stick. Bruises and wounds are common in this ritual.

Legong Trunajaya - The dance of love and emotions

The Trunajaya dance describes the emotions of a young man through love and passion. The dance movements reflect the theme of courtship and love.

Truna meaning 'single' and jaya meaning 'to win' immediately gives an understanding of the dance. Ironically, the dancer are young women who take on the role of young men. The women wear a 'destar' normally worn by men and an unusual loin-cloth called a 'kancut'. The Trunajaya is normally danced by a single female but sometimes two, dancing together in synchronous movements and to the mesmorotic sounds of the 'Gong Kebyar', a fast, rhythmic beat which goes in harmony to the dance. The dance was created by Wayan Wandres, from Singaraja, Northern Bali.