Category: Food

Summer Break #2: Chicken of the Sea, Greek-Stylie

Peter and I were ambling down the boardwalk in Eressos, on some half-baked errand or other, when we saw…a bloodbath. Flashing knives. Bright-red gore.

At first, I thought Costa was butchering a sheep, right there on a restaurant table.

We got closer and saw that the carcass was, in fact, a tuna.

I’ve seen guys cutting up tunas at Hunts Point fish market in the Bronx, but that was a pretty tidy operation. This was a sloppier affair.

Just working on lunch

Costa had bought the whole fish directly from a random fisherman who’d caught it not far offshore. The guy was someone from another island, Costa said, where they’re experts at catching very big fish. (On Lesvos, they’re masters of sardines.)

He'd used a very, very big hook.

Costa had hired the strolling vendor, a Bangladeshi guy who normally walked along the beach, to help him cut it up. He’d put aside his stack of cheap fedoras and board of sunglasses, and was now up to his wrists in tuna meat. He looked pretty pleased.

An older woman was there collecting the scraps for her cat. “Do I need to cook it first?” she asked.

Costa laughed, in his husky way, through his beard. “No!” he declared, and sliced two chunks off the loins he was slicing up. He thrust them at us, to demonstrate.

When you look up 'raw' in the dictionary, this picture is there.

I’d like to say it was the most transcendant sushi ever, but it was almost too intense. Gamey. It reminded me a little of the whale we ate in Norway a decade ago, like they were from the same murky depths. Serious stuff–it tasted like you could live off one scrap for a week. But a cat would be delighted.

The crime scene

Check out those yellow bits in the photo above. Yup: yellowfin tuna. It never occurred to me that those words, which I’ve read only on can labels, meant something concrete, in real life. Somewhere out there in the sea is a fish with little blue bits on his fins too.

We left Costa to clean up. Remarkably, everyone else at the restaurant was placidly enjoying their lunches, not batting an eye. If they’d been butchering a sheep, of course, the tourists at least would’ve run off screaming. Why are fish so different?

Do they not bleed?

We returned that night. Two kilos of tuna, for our party of 12–we barely made a dent in the full 55 kilos the fish had weighed when hooked.

Grilled. Squeeze of lemon. Salt. Pepper. Cooked all the way through–none of that Asian-seared business.

It was perhaps the most amazing fish I’ve ever eaten. With heat, the gaminess dissipated. The fat oozed through the meat, which flaked.

I saw exactly what all that canned tuna was meant to be. And it sure ain’t chicken.

Summer Break #1: Name That Fruit! (A Mediterranean Mystery)

Help me out here, Internet. I’m trying to identify a mystery fruit. Or maybe fruits.

There are three stories to tell:

Incident #1: Lebanon
A nice Druze woman on a bus in the Chouf mountains in Lebanon told me her favorite fruit was Persian aprict–mishmish ajami. She said it stayed green, and was both sweet and sour, and was not very fuzzy.

Sadly, I was scheduled to leave Lebanon just a couple of days later, and had no time to look for this fantastic fruit.

In lieu of a picture of that fruit, or of that woman, here at least is a nice photo of Peter with a Druze man.

Peter's Photo Pro Tips: Always compliment a man on his mustache.

Incident #2: Greece
After the fantastic ladies at our favorite restaurant in Eressos showed us how to make Easter lamb, they pointed to a crate of fruit and told us to help ourselves.

They called the fruit milorodaxino–literally, “apple peach.” From far away, all piled in the crate, the fruit did look like kind of crappy little Golden Delicious apples. Up close, though…best nectarine ever:

The mystery apple peach

And, as you can see, green all the way through.

Was this the phantom Persian apricot, by another name? The farmer who grew the fruit was there outside the restaurant, all burly forearms like Popeye and a mustache to beat the band. He was the only one that grew this fruit, he said. End of story.

Incident #3: Astoria, New York
When we returned to NYC, one of the 24-hour produce stores (yes, we have more than one) had these “honeydew nectarines” in stock:

Honeydew Nectarines

They looked the same, but they were kinda crappy–a little mealy, not intense flavor. The woman who runs the store admitted they were not at their best. It was hard to tell whether it was not the same fruit at all, or just a typically poor American rendition of it.

And because she’s Greek, Peter asked her if she knew if these were the same as the milorodaxino. No, no, she said–those are part apple, and these were part melon.

Er, I think she’s wrong on both counts, because that would be like serious fruit miscegenation, so unfortunately I have to discount her as an unreliable source. But I appreciate that she makes an effort to source new and interesting fruits and veg–we also got these neat bulbous cucumbers from her, and some great liver-colored heirloom tomatoes.

Second data point: After writing all this, I flipped over an old issue of Cook’s Illustrated, and it had an illustration of peaches and nectarines. The Honeydew variety was on there. The issue was from 2002–so this isn’t a new strain.

Further data point: Turkey
Check out these marzipan fruits in a storefront in Istanbul. A couple of them look like they could be the mysterious fruit.

Check out the top row, next to the "kivi"

Ala elma = “ala apple” according to Google translate, which is maybe just the variety name of an apple, like Gala?

Or this one:

Check out the greenish things...

Papaz erik = “pastor plum”

Obviously, the fact that these were rendered in marzipan makes it especially difficult. In retrospect, Peter and I should’ve gone to the adjacent market and looked for the real-fruit equivalents, instead of getting distracted by an antiques store.

So gardeners, travelers, botanists, Lebanese fruit-lovers: tell me what you know. Have you eaten any of these things? Are they all the same? Are they different?

Bottom line, really, is: Did I miss the Best Fruit Ever by not getting those mishmish ajami in Lebanon in the first place?

(If you like stories about cross-cultural plant identification, also check out my old story about purslane[PDF]. That one took years to solve. Now that the internet is more full of information, I expect to solve this question in minutes. Right? Hello? Anyone?)

The Mini-Mex Algorithm

On the occasion of a major update to my Cool Cancun & Isla Mujeres travel app (for iPhones and now for Android* too!), here’s just a few reasons to love this part of Mexico. If you’re a regular reader, you know I have a soft spot for Cancun. It’s why I wrote the app, to share all the cool things no one knows about it…and Isla Mujeres and Puerto Morelos too.

Oh, so THAT's what that stands for...
Public bench/library in the park in downtown Cancun. Just register to get a key, and check out books as you like.
Coco Bongo promo dudes hiding out from photo-mad tourists in Cancun.
Genuine maid cafe in downtown Cancun. Was just opening--unclear whether staff really dress as maids.
Aw, poor little Chocomilk! Cutest dog name ever.
Genius can with screw-top lid. And always good mango juice.
Ana is ruling the market for haircuts for dogs. She has totally blanketed Isla Mujeres in signs.
Man bites shark.
How you might feel after too many days on Isla Mujeres...
This drug is available even in the Cancun airport pharmacies. Not sure if it causes or cures.
Somehow it's more existential with 'a' at the beginning.
Queens of Carnival on Isla Mujeres, on display at the cultural center
Crazy architecture in Puerto Morelos. Everyone calls the complex in the big photo "the Star Wars building."
Grown man with a Spongebob purse. Reason I Love Mexico #3438

Spring Cleaning and Queens Writers

That's me, chillin' in Astoria. (Actually, Donald Baechler sculpture at the Fisher Landau art center in LIC.)
I’m back in Astoria. Not for long, but for all of April at least. I have a massive stack of notebooks and photos (a digital stack, but a stack nonetheless) from my travels in the United Arab Emirates and Qatar–I’ll put those together into a few posts soon.

Now I’m just enjoying a little minor calm. I was supposed to be jetting off to Lebanon at the end of this week, but when I got back from the UAE, I realized that was utter folly. My brain was totally full, and I was fried. There’s nothing like canceling plans to make you feel like you suddenly have all the time in the world!

This is false, of course. I have to write a book, on a deadline. The deadline’s not till December, but at the rate time is whipping by, I’ll be freaking out soon enough. Actually, I’m doing a little preemptive freaking out, just so I’m in practice when the time comes.

This leads me to point #1 of this post: the return of the Queens Writers Fellowship. After last year, I’ve got a small crew of people who pop in from time to time. But I’d love to have someone in the office for the better part of April. We have lots of space, facilities for lunch, good coffee, etc. Drop me an email and tell me what you’re working on. I’ll be here typity-typing all of April (except for April 5, 6, 20 and 27).

Point #2 of this post: Astoria Ugly is rolling along. It got a mention in the Wall Street Journal recently, because I imagine when you type “astoria new apartment buildings” into Google, the word “ugly” just auto-fills. AsUg, as I’ve started calling it, is more than a year old, and the ugly just keeps coming. It couldn’t have gotten this far without the excellent winter blogsitting of an architect named David, who has since moved to Puerto Rico. I never met him in person. I love the Internet.

Point #3: Queens Love is rolling. I’m contributing, but barely. More than 10 other Queens geniuses are filling it up with images that make my heart swell with borough pride. Queens Writers Fellowship participant Jeff Orlick is the genius who started it. I predict more great things.

Point #4: I have to warn you, there might be a lot more pictures and a bit less text on this blog in months to come. All writing energy is getting channeled elsewhere.

And on that note, back to work.

Winner, Winner, Enchilada Dinner!

Thanks a million for all the fun comments in the giveaway for copies of my new Moon New Mexico guidebook!

This is real-time winner-picking: I’m going to random.org… (Sorry, no lovely assistant is awake yet this morning. Must rely on computers.)

…and I’m asking the random-number generator to pick four numbers between 1 and 17:

#4
…
#6
…
#17
…aaaaaaand…
#14

That means the winners are Joanna Marsh, AV, Monica and Trudi!

Congratulations all around, and thanks again for playing. May you all have a New Mexico sojourn in your futures! With plenty of sopaipillas and enchiladas.

Blood, Bones & Butter: Where were the editors?

As a former Prune employee, I’ve been looking forward to Gabrielle Hamilton’s Blood, Bones & Butter for an awfully long time. I ran out the first night the book was released, bought two copies and read it immediately. Even though I already knew lots of Hamilton’s backstory, it was compelling, and it was as well written as I’d expected. Which is to say, splendidly written.

But all I could think when I was reading it was:

Where were the goddamn editors?

It’s a complete disgrace that for a book this heavily bankrolled and long anticipated, the publishers could not hire someone to tidy it up the way it deserved. The misspellings, typos, repeated phrases, inconsistent verb tenses–nothing egregious for a writer to produce, but nothing that should make it to print. It all made me so aggravated that about halfway through, I started keeping a list.

This is a book about food. It should not have the following errors:

  • mis en place
  • McDonalds
  • hors d’oevre
  • ouef en cocotte
  • barbeque
  • blanche

That’s just copy editing, and the process should’ve caught motly, Ballanchine, koochy koo and Chang Mai too.

There also should have been editor to say, “Gabrielle, you’ve described two different places in Greece as ‘orange-scented,’ this guy feeds you apples and honey twice, and maybe there’s another word to use besides ‘meandering’ twice in the first two pages.”

Don’t get me wrong: I am not slamming Hamilton. No writer can make her own text perfect. After a surprisingly short time, you just can’t see anything. And the reason “orange-scented” seems like the perfect phrase and comes to mind so easily is because it’s already lodged in your brain from when you wrote it 500 words ago, and then promptly forgot that you had.

This is exactly why there are editors. Unfortunately, the good ones seem to be all retiring, and younger editors appear to be hired for their trend-spotting acumen, and not for caring about the words themselves. And copy editors are often just inexperienced freelancers who don’t yet know they’re being paid crap.

I just proofed my husband’s new book, for free, to spare the fiasco caused by cheap-ass copy editing on his previous one. But his publisher is not Random House, and it’s not sending him on a 19-city publicity tour. A good copy editor can be had for less than the cost of one or two days’ book tour. (For the record, he had excellent in-house editors on both occasions, who really got into the nitty-gritty of his wording. But that still doesn’t produce clean copy.)

I know I sound like a crank, dwelling on this. I have already tacked 35 years on my age, and donned a little crochet sweater, just typing this up. No–the aging started when I began keeping the list of typos.

But, really–I’m not the only one who’s bothered by this. Right? Right? People just don’t mention it because it seems like a diss on the author. But it’s a systemic failure. Chime in and make me feel less cranky, please.

Buy This Book: Day of Honey

For weeks, since I read Day of Honey cover to cover in a big, delicious rush, I’ve been mulling over a lengthy proper review in my head. Great books about the Middle East are so rare that they deserve splendid treatment.

But I finally realized that’s not going to happen. I already lent my copy to someone else, and gave three more copies to friends. All the details are slipping away. But here’s the essence: Annia Ciezadlo writes about people in the Middle East like they’re real live individual human beings, not political pawns or members of the “Arab street.”

Ciezadlo was a reporter in Iraq not long after the war started, then settled in Beirut just before Israel’s war with Lebanon began in 2006. The book covers her time in both countries, with the added complication of basically being on her honeymoon with her Lebanese husband (also a reporter) when she first heads to Baghdad.

Even with all the chaos around her, Ciezadlo focuses on the still points, the regular daily rituals people go through even when–especially when–everything else is going to shit. This naturally leads to food–the seemingly simple grilled fish Iraqis treasure, the beautiful preserves the Lebanese live on in wartime, and, where the book gets more personal, what Ciezadlo’s mother-in-law teaches her to cook in Beirut.

Day of Honey is also one of the best-written books–on any topic–that I’ve read in years. There’s so much wit here, and sharp observation, and hilarious turns of phrase (why yes, those freelance mourners who crash funerals and chant the Quran–they are “a kind of squeegee men of mourning”). I’d quote more, but, as I said, my book is lent out. Instead, read this review in the New York Times, which is densely packed with some of the finest lines (though certainly not all).

A note about the cover: Don’t judge by it. One of these years, American book publishers will understand that not every book about the Middle East needs to be covered with children and flowers to make it less scary.

And here’s another link to buy the book, just for good measure. And please tell your friends.

New Goodies

Just wanted to let everyone now that a new version of my iPhone app, Cool Cancun & Isla Mujeres is out. And it should now really be titled Cool Cancun & Isla Mujeres & Puerto Morelos–but that’s just a little unwieldy, no? I added 20 new listings for my favorite under-the-radar beach town, which is only about 20 minutes south of Cancun Airport–so an easy day-trip, or a great destination on its own. The price is still a bargain at $1.99–spread the word to anyone who’s headed down that way for spring break or beyond.

And I just got a huge box of the brand new Moon New Mexico guide! They look great, if I do say so. They have more color photos, and overall, I think the book is just a bit tighter all around. I found some really excellent restaurants, and got out to some even farther corners of the Land of Enchantment. And, as usual, the update website is there as backup–I’ve already got one small change posted, in fact. (Such is a guidebook writer’s life…)

Watch this space for a book giveaway later this week!

Mexico #5: Snack Break!

OK, time for less narrative, more pretty pictures.

Bees

Bees swarm the displays of sweets in every market. I always thought people must bring the bees with them, and put them out to show off how sweet their treats are. I mean, where the hell are the bees coming from in the middle of the city? But then I saw a girl with a fly whisk actually trying to brush them away. (I guess every other vendor has just given up.) And then I noticed bees on flowers in someone’s teeny front-almost-all-concrete-patch of a yard. The ancient Maya kept bees and traded honey. Those bees are here to stay.

Here’s another Hanal Pixan specialty, mucbipollo. It’s a big ol’ tamale, studded with black beans and chicken.

Mucbipollo

We stopped at the market in Oxkutzcab–I’ve never been there early enough to see much action. But in the morning, the whole front area is filled with people selling oranges and flowers wholesale. Inside are snack and craft vendors. And this woman, selling delicate thin disks of chocolate, patted out by hand like tortillas. Her fingerprints were in every one.

Chocolate

The chocolate was completely bitter, and so intense as to be medicinal. Good medicinal.

Just across from her sat a woman shelling xpelon, the little black beans eaten everywhere in the Yucatan:

Beans

Not all tradition is good. I see this stuff everywhere too, and it fills me with horror.

Cake

I believe it’s white bread slathered with some kind of mayo-y treatment, and studded with canned peas. Hilarious, in an El-Bulli-wait-I-thought-this-was-going-to-be-something-normal mindf**k way.

Here’s some slightly more high-brow junk food:

Best Bar Snack

Poblano pepper stuffed with cream cheese (most beloved cheese of the Yucatan, aka queso Filadelfia) and shrimp, and–yeah, baby–battered and deep-fried. Tastes great even if you’re drinking some healthy green juice instead of your ninth beer of the night.*

And…well…just this:

Refriend Beans

*Wondering where to get the deliciousness? Check Pescaditos, in Cancun. Details in my Cool Cancun & Isla Mujeres iPhone app.

*Flickr set from this trip
*Mexico #1: Where the Party at?
* Mexico #2: Partying on…and on
*Mexico #3: Party Favors
* Mexico #4: Howdy, Cowboy
* Mexico #6: Back Roads

Top 10 Reasons Not to Complain about 2010

A lot of people say, “Wow, Zora—you have so much going on! Food! Travel! Your job is so fabulous!”

It’s true–there’s a little fabulousness. But what’s really going on is the plight of all freelancers: Every week, I try 80 different things. If I’m lucky, one of them sticks maybe once a month. Because the success rate is so low, it’s hard to feel I accomplished anything. So please allow me a moment to consolidate the high points of this year—I found it surprisingly satisfying when I did it last winter.

1. I took a little time to enjoy the beach in Mexico. Tacking on just four more days than usual to my last research trip, in November, gave me a surprising amount of breathing room. Near the end, I actually spent the better part of a couple of days hanging out at the beach in Cozumel and snorkeling with my dad. Too bad those days were overcast and drizzly. But that in itself was educational—I’d forgotten what it was like to have a trip depend on weather, because I have to work no matter what. But sun is what 90 percent of the people who visit the Mexican Caribbean are counting on.

Topless Pictures: Only Ladies

(1b. BTW, lowlight of the year: Totally failing to learn to scuba dive. My plan was to take my course in NYC, then do certification dives in Cozumel. But I got so panicked and agitated in NYC that I never even got my paperwork to move on. I spent two weeks gnashing my teeth at my impatient instructor, and I have a million reasons for thinking this sport is not for me: expensive, tons of gear, requires a buddy, other divers, why would I go down deep where all the color goes away, etc. But it’s entirely possible I’m just rationalizing.)

2. I really got to like Twitter. Not much of an accomplishment, but it has been fun to go from feeling baffled and overwhelmed by something to seeing it as a tool and really connecting with a few excellent people through it.

3. I finally wrote down why I like Cancun. Everyone thinks I’m nuts when I say I love Cancun. I finally wrote my defense of the place. I’m not necessarily saying that you, with your only-two-weeks-of-vacation per year, should choose it above all other options. But you shouldn’t slag it off either. And it’s cool to see other travel writers encouraging the “love the one you’re with” approach I took to Cancun. Matt Gross’s “Getting Lost” column in The New York Times (great article on Chongqing), and Afar’s “Spin the Globe” stories are especially inspiring.

4. I finally wrote down all the specific things I like in Cancun, in an iPhone app. After eight years of writing guidebooks according to extremely precise instructions, for as broad an audience as possible, I can’t tell you how fun it was to write Cool Cancun & Isla Mujeres. I got to choose the subject, I wrote in my exact style, for exactly the people I imagine will use it, and I didn’t have to worry about word count or other directives. And when something changes, I can update it immediately, instead of three years later. Totally gratifying. I’m not predicting the death of the printed guidebook anytime soon. But I’m pleased to see how well smartphone apps can share info, and I’m proud to have a little hand in it.

5. Blog posts here have gotten less frequent. Wait, there’s a positive spin! I’ve had a ton of real, paid writing work this year, so too busy to blog. But also, I go back and look at those old posts, and they’re freakin’ epic. I don’t know if I’d read them today. Shorter posts, more photos–I kinda like it. I hope you do too. (This coming month, I will have been blogging for six years. I feel ancient.)

6. Rick Bayless said he liked my cookbook! I met him in January in Bangkok. Thanks to the aforementioned Twitter, I was able to introduce myself as the person who’d commented on his tweet on why Americans aren’t willing to pay big bucks for Mexican food. And then Peter (thank god for Peter!) mentioned I’d co-written Forking Fantastic!, and El Rey de Manteca said, “Oh! I know your book! I loved it. I gave it to my publishers to show them that entertaining books don’t have to be all slick and glossy and have pictures of the chef everywhere.”

I can’t help but notice that Fiesta at Rick’s is pretty glossy after all (and happens to have a killer recipe for this stuff called salsa negra–check it!), while FF! is probably teetering at the edge of the remainder bin. I am proud not only that Bayless liked the book, but so did Anthony Bourdain and Jamie Oliver—and, more important, scores of people who’ve told me it has inspired them to cook. Which is what I hoped all along.

7. I have a place to hang a hammock. Not a personal accomplishment at all, but the process went so smoothly, it was actually life-affirming. We hired two men named Rocco, and they carried out our architect’s plan, and now we have a roof deck, a place to lounge and watch the train go by. There are some nice plants up there, and a fig tree that one Rocco gave to us. And the colors are “very Miami,” according to the green-roof dude. But hey, a little Miami in Queens almost makes sense, just like all the other aesthetic choices here.

Overall, though, I’d say we’re going for a retro junkyard vibe, against the better wishes of our architect. Yeah, that’s an ice chest on the right.

roof deck

8. I got stuck in Amsterdam. Dude, hasn’t everyone? But really—this was the volcano talking. That thing blew near the end of my research trip, and I got held over for another week. (See how I’ve avoided mentioning the name of the volcano, just so I won’t have to go look up how to spell it?)

I seem to have a knack (so far, don’t jinx me, knock on wood, alhamdulillah, etc) for apparent travel disasters turning into non-events. In this case, “disaster” was even a godsend. I had extra time to research and write. And I met some nice guys who were also stuck there, and who were visiting Amsterdam for the first time, which reminded me of what that was like. Oh, and travel insurance paid for everything, including nights in some really nice hotels. A thousand thanks to whatever arranged all that.

From Amsterdam…the second installment

9. I bought a new camera. Overcame decision paralysis and bought myself a DSLR. Now I just have to figure out how to use it.

10. I made it to Asia. Now I just have to go back. Tickets are booked for January 5. In coach (no magical biz-class “mistake fare” this time). I’ll just focus on how happy I was at this food court in Bangkok. For 21 hours of limited recline.

Food Court

Cheers to 2011, and best of luck with all your travels and new projects in the coming year! What were your greatest hits of 2010?