The Path Trough Tummy - Entry 8
D8.M5.Y19.
São Paulo
Writing Challenge - entry 8
To begin, a pre-appetizer of forest-strawberry preserve with some water to chase. Then the appetizer of double-smoked bacon or good prosciutto, a good stinky cheese and a few Bitterballen on the side and maybe Burek with a glass of Kefir. Although most of these are somewhat readily available and with a little bit of effort I could have them every day, I'd really prefer not to. Writing this is making my mouth water. Another candidate for favorite appetizer could be a nice slice of bread (or two) with some foie gras, a slice of ripe cheese, a little fig and then honey drizzled on top of it all. Next, I'd have this specialty that my grandmother introduced me to. It originated in Hungry, as I am lead to believe, and then it traveled through broken telephone game of recipe exchanges and pass downs until my grandma turned it into the magical dish I would sell my soul for. In simple terms, it is a crêpe that has been wrapped around minced meat and mushroom medley and then deep fried in a batter of old bread crumbs, herbs and spices. It is topped with another top-secret recipe sauce which is similar to tartar sauce. That, on its own, can be a whole dish, but I like it with mashed potatoes and some spinach. I'm also a sucker for a wicked lamb chop. And then comes the dessert. I do have a sweet tooth, but rarely favor cakes. I love tulumba, soan papdi, profiterole, pistachio gelato and gelato al limone, and many others. But the desert I once cut all my hair off for and is usually the favorite is the ordinary household baklava.This may just be my dinner table from heaven.
Before I move on, I am aware of the simplicity of my top eats and am being reminded of a very pleasant food memory that I'd like to share. It could very well be my top food memory of all time! I found myself at a village carnival. Annual celebration of the village, its culture and inhabitants was being celebrated. There were artisan stalls selling hand made sweaters and tapestries, small rides and a carousel, loud music, toy stand selling single-use water guns and similar cheap entertainment. Figuratively, I didn't notice any of this because there was a bull on a spit seducing me with the smell. As I approached, I gave a man some money and he handed me a warm bun. I filled it with toppings from the trays in front of him and approached the bull. Next to it was another man. He wore an apron over a plaid shirt and carried a big knife. He asked me "shoulder or butt?", but he was really offering any part of the roast. When I answered, he proceeded to carve enough meat to feed three quarters of Africa, but he said I was skinny and needed it. The resulting sandwich was delicious and it left me in stains from head to toe. It will never be my favorite sandwich. However, it made for a remarkable memory of spending the day with my family celebrating existence of a village we happened to be passing through and enjoying it with the locals. That is what makes it my favorite food memory.
São Paulo
Writing Challenge - entry 8
For most things in life, stuff that comes in grams is far more exciting than the things that come in pounds. But when it comes to food, those kitsch designer plates that occupy eyes and minds of chef competitions, elite restaurants and pompous magazines have no place on my dinner table.
Before you get all wound up with palettes and hints and notes of aromas, know that I am a foodist through and through. I appreciate all food, whether it once used to go "Mooooo", "Quack quack", "Baaaaa", "Tweet tweet", "Oink" or made some completely different sounds. This appreciation of cuisine is a bit of a birthright really that has then been significantly enriched by travel far beyond reaches of corn-fed, cage raised, perpetually pregnant cocktail industry of steroids and antibiotics of "AAA burger" billboards. This makes picking a favorite very very difficult.
Obviously, a favorite has to be better than good. It has to be greatness. It has to be art. It has to mean something. More importantly, for something to be a favorite, it can't be an everyday thing. We get bored of the everyday. A great slice of bread and butter, with some salt, paprika, garlic and oregano is always close to my heart. But, it will never be the favorite. I am not going to venture into the murky waters of trying to pick the absolute favorite dish, meal or recipe of all time, but I will narrow it down to a precious few that can always melt my heart.
Obviously, a favorite has to be better than good. It has to be greatness. It has to be art. It has to mean something. More importantly, for something to be a favorite, it can't be an everyday thing. We get bored of the everyday. A great slice of bread and butter, with some salt, paprika, garlic and oregano is always close to my heart. But, it will never be the favorite. I am not going to venture into the murky waters of trying to pick the absolute favorite dish, meal or recipe of all time, but I will narrow it down to a precious few that can always melt my heart.
To begin, a pre-appetizer of forest-strawberry preserve with some water to chase. Then the appetizer of double-smoked bacon or good prosciutto, a good stinky cheese and a few Bitterballen on the side and maybe Burek with a glass of Kefir. Although most of these are somewhat readily available and with a little bit of effort I could have them every day, I'd really prefer not to. Writing this is making my mouth water. Another candidate for favorite appetizer could be a nice slice of bread (or two) with some foie gras, a slice of ripe cheese, a little fig and then honey drizzled on top of it all. Next, I'd have this specialty that my grandmother introduced me to. It originated in Hungry, as I am lead to believe, and then it traveled through broken telephone game of recipe exchanges and pass downs until my grandma turned it into the magical dish I would sell my soul for. In simple terms, it is a crêpe that has been wrapped around minced meat and mushroom medley and then deep fried in a batter of old bread crumbs, herbs and spices. It is topped with another top-secret recipe sauce which is similar to tartar sauce. That, on its own, can be a whole dish, but I like it with mashed potatoes and some spinach. I'm also a sucker for a wicked lamb chop. And then comes the dessert. I do have a sweet tooth, but rarely favor cakes. I love tulumba, soan papdi, profiterole, pistachio gelato and gelato al limone, and many others. But the desert I once cut all my hair off for and is usually the favorite is the ordinary household baklava.This may just be my dinner table from heaven.
Before I move on, I am aware of the simplicity of my top eats and am being reminded of a very pleasant food memory that I'd like to share. It could very well be my top food memory of all time! I found myself at a village carnival. Annual celebration of the village, its culture and inhabitants was being celebrated. There were artisan stalls selling hand made sweaters and tapestries, small rides and a carousel, loud music, toy stand selling single-use water guns and similar cheap entertainment. Figuratively, I didn't notice any of this because there was a bull on a spit seducing me with the smell. As I approached, I gave a man some money and he handed me a warm bun. I filled it with toppings from the trays in front of him and approached the bull. Next to it was another man. He wore an apron over a plaid shirt and carried a big knife. He asked me "shoulder or butt?", but he was really offering any part of the roast. When I answered, he proceeded to carve enough meat to feed three quarters of Africa, but he said I was skinny and needed it. The resulting sandwich was delicious and it left me in stains from head to toe. It will never be my favorite sandwich. However, it made for a remarkable memory of spending the day with my family celebrating existence of a village we happened to be passing through and enjoying it with the locals. That is what makes it my favorite food memory.
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