Guys! Come to Morocco with me and Tamara next May, for a truly forking fantastic food trip! All the info is over here. I would love to have you come!
Category: Food
Greece Food Photos #3: Super-Traditional
Even though this is the third (fourth?) time I’ve been to Eressos, there was still plenty of new food things to find out about. One day we were out walking around in the “campo”–the little farm plots around the village. Here’s the view from the big hill and fort:
In one side yard, we happened to see this guy with a giant cauldron over a fire. He invited us in and explained how he was making trahana.
Later that day, after the guy had cooked the milk, stirring constantly, for about nine hours, till it was about a third of the volume, we popped back in. (Yes, after all the hard work was done.) He loaded us up with a foil package full of fresh, warm trahana–the milk mixed with coarse bulgur. It was sour and toasty and sweet, and the bulgur was perfectly fluffy. The guy showed us how the next day, he and all the old ladies would sit down and form the giant tub of trahana into these patties, which would be dried in the sun for a couple of weeks and then stored for winter use in soups and things.
The next night, we had dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Costa’s, and he served us these grilled trahana cups, filled with spicy feta. It was trahana-making season all over–these were from some other family entirely.
It was the grilling that made me realize: trahana is the missing link between pasta and kibbeh. Not that you were looking for one–neither was I. But…trahana is dried like pasta and used in soups. But it’s made out of bulgur, and you can work it into all kinds of shapes and cook it different ways–I had grilled kibbeh in Syria last time I was there.
It was also the beginning of tomato season. In the yard two doors down from us, we saw sun-dried tomatoes in the process of getting dried in the sun. Peter complimented the grumpy-looking man on his garden and he actually grinned.
It was not Easter, but our other favorite restaurant made us special Eressos Easter lamb, which they’d also served at the dinner after Peter and I got married. I was able to concentrate on it a bit more this time. And I even got the recipe, which, traditionally, involves baking in a community oven for about nine hours. Ingredients include cinnamon and dill–this combination strikes me as somehow quite obviously Turkish, though I have no real evidence why. This photo doesn’t even begin to capture the amazingness. Those are chunks of liver in the foreground.
My godmother (less formally, the woman who runs the hotel we usually stay at, who happened to get drafted to be my godmother back in 2005, when I had to get baptized before I could get married) brought us this pastry from the new bakery. It’s a specialty of Eressos, but as Fani told us, it’s rare to see it for sale, as it’s usually only made at home. It was filled with almonds and nutmeg.
Sweet, sweet summer…
See: Greece Food Photos #2, Greece Photos #1
See all Greece photos on Flickr
Greece Food Photos #2: Off the Truck, Off the Tree
The Greece adventures continued, with some village foraging.
Peter bought peaches from a truck, because he could:
I bought sour cherries, because I could. We made a mess, and then made compote, to go with our local yogurt for breakfast.
Truth be told, the cherries were not from a truck, but from the produce stand. A four-foot-tall old Greek woman grabbed me by the elbow and pointed and said, “Visino! Not sweet! Special!” Handily, I have learned the word for sour cherry in many languages, so I jumped right on that. Here’s the compote, with a mug of extra juice off on the right. Just looking at it makes my salivary glands twinge in longing.
We didn’t buy chickens from a truck, even though we could have.
Nor did we buy vegetables. But we ogled them, you bet.
And we ate our share of French fries that originally came from this truck, a potato processor from the next town down. Every day we watched them deliver tons of precut fries to all the local restaurants. And every night we gobbled them down. Beautiful Photoshopping, guys.
Every morning, a truck drove around selling fish. The loudspeakers made it sound like the revolution was starting. This little guy got left behind when progress marched in.
Near the end of our stay, we foraged for figs. These are Aydine figs, brought by families when they fled from Aydin in southwestern Turkey in the early 20th century. Lucky for us, they ripen earlier than other varieties, and there’s a giant tree in a vacant lot.
What fruit would you carry with you if you had to flee?
See Greece Photos #1
See all Greece photos on Flickr
Greece Food Photos #1: Setting the Scene
Now that it’s officially not summer anymore, and we’re all back to laboring after Labor Day, I finally uploaded my Greece photos. For the food-obsessed, here are the highlights, starting with Athens and getting settled on Mytilene.
In Athens, we ate lunch twice at a little taverna near our apartment. Everything was stupendously good.
But as usual, I wish I’d eaten more of the spaghetti. I just can’t quite make this magic happen at home, and it kills me.
We also had a great lunch at more of a modern hipster place, near Omonia. But no hipster nouveau-traditional restaurant I’ve ever been to has served shots of free hooch, unbidden, at the beginning of the meal. Raki all around, at 12.30 in the barely-afternoon, and then we had this. It looks like a mess but was actually a pretty presentation of a ndakos (Cretan rusk) salad. The juice from the tomatoes soaks the bread. On the right is our favorite brand of ouzo, Mini.
After Athens, we headed to Mytilene (aka Lesbos, and no, I will never stop leering). On the ferry, I received a wonderful invitation at the snack bar.
In Eressos, many friends and family joined us. That called for a certain festive atmosphere, provided handily by boxed wine. Ours had a socialist bent:
This led to lots of jokes about five-year plans, and then not doing anything at all.
We also invented a drink: watermelon juice and ouzo. Surprisingly delightful. We couldn’t decide what to name it: the Li’l Bastard and the Prince of Persia were top contenders.
By the way, there is some mild Mexican influence in Eressos, in the form of one Mexican co-owner of a cool bar. I think he might be singlehandedly responsible for introducing the idea of watermelon juice to our favorite beach cantina. As much as I resist homogenized beach culture, this was a great development.
And it’ll take a long while before this beach feels anything but Greek.
Greek Iced Coffee Culture
Americans, I hate to break it to you, but we’re getting screwed on the iced-coffee front. While you think we’ve got it made at Starbucks, Greece is totally lapping us.
Yes, Greece. You might think they’re a bunch of ouzo-drinking, tax-dodging yahoos, but da-yum, have they got the cold caffeine down. Check it:
First, we have the classic frappe, the signature drink of Greeks young and old. Whether you’re in a café in Athens or at a beachfront cantina, it should take you no less than four hours to drink a single one.
Frappes are so ubiquitous that every tiny grocery sells insta-frappe kits: a plastic cup with a lid, plus the frappe ingredients. We went on a walk out in the fields outside Eressos, and the roadside was littered with disposable frappe cups. Yup, even farmers drink frappe.
This is all dodging the issue of just what goes into a frappe. Well, I’ll tell you now: it’s Nescafe, plain and simple. Except it’s Nescafe made in Greece, so it tastes much better than what we get in the States. (Yes, I have done side-by-side tests.) You shake up Nescafe with cold water and sugar (if you like), and it turns crazy-foamy. Then you add ice and, if you like, milk. Then you sip for hours.
In our apartment at the beach, we found a handheld frappe whizzer, the same kind we have at home–but this one had a cord, a weirdly permanent detail on such a flimsy machine. (Ours is battery-powered–I guess so you can take it on picnics?)
Still don’t believe me? It’s all documented in Frappe Nation, a surprisingly gripping book by Daniel Young and Victoria Constantinopoulos. I even own a Frappe Nation tank top.
But Daniel better start taking notes for a sequel, because not only does Greece have the near-perfect frappe, but now it’s marching on to the ‘freddo espresso’ …
and, more beautifully, the ‘freddo cappuccino’–which is pronounced the Greek way, ‘fray-do cap-oo-tsi-no’. That one on the right is the newfangled thing, next to a dowdy old frappe:
I should’ve been a more diligent reporter, but I can’t tell you how they make these. They are not coming from an espresso machine. Just a different blend of instant coffee? Never mind–I just want to preserve the magic another year or two.
And I’m still not done. What’s even more staggering is the ridiculous proliferation of much goofier coffee drinks, like the Freddito:
Even weirder was this product, the Cafe Zero. We saw it practically first thing, in the metro stop at the airport. (Americans, Greece is also kicking our ass in the public-transport department–but who isn’t?) There they are, in an open fridge, just waiting for the busy jet-setter to whiz by and snap one up.
Jennifer popped it open on the train and took a cautious sip.
She was grossed out. But then she got used to it. But then, near the end, she said, “I’m getting kind of disgusted. This thing has stayed the exact same temperature and consistency the entire time, and it doesn’t have any condensation around the outside of the cup.” We felt, and sipped cautiously. She was right. It was creepy. Here’s what it looked like inside:
So, OK, Americans–maybe we don’t want to import this last miracle of coffee culture. But the others? Hell, yes. And fortunately, our trendy Greek neighbor has advised us that the ‘freddo cappuccino’ is available just down the street here in Astoria, Queens. In to-go cups. Athens, we’re gaining on you.
New Mexico #6: Gallup Flea Market Haul
I already posted this on Facebook and Twitter, but here you go again, in case you missed it: my “haul video” from the Gallup flea market. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s a sensible NPR person explaining it.)
OMG, the shopping was totes guh-reat in New Mexico! I am so happy to make my voice all squealy for you, my loyal readers. It’s the least I can do, right?
But seriously, I do think all the native foodstuffs on offer were fascinating: sumac, cota, blue corn flour, plenty more mutton…oh, and oodles of sno-cones.
Here are a couple more pics from the flea market, so you can get the full vibe:
The flea market, if you happen to be out that way, is on North 9th Street in Gallup every Saturday, starting around 10am or so.
New Mexico #1: Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn
New Mexico #2: A Tale of Two Stews‘
New Mexico #3: B Is for Bizarre
New Mexico #4: Reading a Menu
New Mexico #5: Top Tastes
Flickr sets here and here
New Mexico #5: Top Tastes
I ate a lot of good stuff. There’s a Flickr set here, showcasing my post-trip belly.
Highlights included:
*Doughnut from a bakery on 2nd Street in Raton, NM
It had all the crunch of a good cake doughnut, and all the airiness of a perfect yeast one. The bakery is this very bare-bones operation–a huge room with about three tables, no decoration, and a quite old, hunched-over woman shuffling slowly from table to cash register and back. The kind of service where you just stand there and wait to be acknowledged, and she finally says, after she’s completed every aspect of the current task, “OK, who’s next?”
*Roast mutton on frybread in Crownpoint, NM
Beverly and I went to the Navajo rug auction in Crownpoint, which happens once a month or so. It takes place in the elementary school gym, and a few food vendors set up out in the parking lot. Only one had the roast mutton; others just had Navajo tacos (frybread with all the taco filling stuff on top). This created an awkward situation, because early on, I’d chatted with one girl while buying a drink and said, “Oh, I’ll be back for food.” And when I came back, I totally bypassed her and went for the mutton vendor, and sure enough, she gave me the evil eye.
But it was worth it. That there’s some locavore eating, man. Mixed in with the charred slab of lamb was a slick roasted green chile, the perfect amount of heat. It was all a little hard to deal with because there were so many bones, but we managed. I think Beverly dubbed it a Navajo gyro in the end.
*Fried chicken with red chile at Halona Plaza, Zuni Pueblo
I think I’ve raved about this particular chicken before. What’s better than fried chicken? Fried chicken with red chile on the side, of course. Eaten in the back of a grocery store, and washed down with a fountain Coke, ideally after having spent a long day in a hot car. And good thing it’s good–it’s nearly the only thing to eat in Zuni.
*Indian rice ball at The Curious Kumquat in Silver City, NM
Just when my trip was seeming like slightly ahead of schedule, I figured I’d add some tension by driving all the way down to Silver City for dinner. When I was there in April, I had just missed eating dinner at the Curious Kumquat, and I was totally staggered by Chef Rob’s ideas for food. So I grabbed Beverly, and off we drove. And drove. And drove. That town is waaaaay down there, man.
We rolled in just around dinnertime, and set to eating. Rob basically gives a list of four or five entrees, and then builds a tasting menu around each one. It’s an insane amount of work, as each little taste for each entree is different. I immediately opted for the vegetarian Indian mix (again, still trying to counteract my heavy meat intake). One of the early courses was this little deep-fried rice ball, filled with a little nugget of cheese. Like arancini gone Indian. I mean, I’m sure there’s actually an Indian treat like this, but that’s what’s so great about it–eating this made me think across all ethnic boundaries and ponder rice balls the world over. And its little fuzz of sprouts on top was just adorable. And it was perfectly spicy. And I had little hits of spices popping off in my mouth for many minutes after, as I sat there grinning.
We ended the meal with something else brilliant, which I have no picture for: ice cream made of Samuel Smith cherry ale. Rob explained that he hadn’t boiled down the beer, like so many recipes for beer ice cream tell you (yeah, all those recipes–I’m clearly not reading the right books), so it wasn’t sweet or too intense–just nutty and a little hit of cherry.
Needless to say, I highly recommend the drive to Silver City–from wherever you are.
*White port with tonic water and lime at Jennifer James 101 in Albuquerque.
We ate many other delicious things, but this drink was so refreshing and lovely. Writing this in muggy New York heat, I could definitely use one now…
Haven’t gone to look at the Flickr pics yet? You really should. It’s not often I show you my stomach.
New Mexico #1: Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn
New Mexico #2: A Tale of Two Stews‘
New Mexico #3: B Is for Bizarre
New Mexico #4: Reading a Menu
Flickr sets here and here
New Mexico #2: A Tale of Two Stews
The first place I headed on my trip was Shiprock, New Mexico. Not sure why–but I just feel better if I go the farthest-away places first, and get them out of the way. Long ago, I’d heard there was mutton stew on the menu at the KFC. When I called to confirm, the guy who answered the phone said, “Hell yeah man, we got it” in a very New Mexican accent. That proud response has echoed in my head ever since, so of course I stopped at the KFC first thing.
The KFC has been spruced up and moved since I was there last. It’s about the only thing that has been spruced up and moved.
I walked in and stood in line. I was the only non-Navajo in the place. And I was the only person to order the Navajo food on the menu: mutton stew with a side of frybread.
While I was waiting, I managed to spill my ice tea all over, and got to chatting with the woman who mopped it up. After I sat down with my stew, Linda came out on her break and said, “Can I eat with you?”
So nice! This never happens to me, the lonesome travel writer. Linda and I chatted about Shiprock–no new businesses, she said, except…guess what it is? I could not even begin to imagine what Shiprock might already have too many of. Give up?
A laundromat. Apparently, they need more laundromats in Shiprock like they need holes in their head, but here’s a new one opening up.
I asked her about the air pollution–it seemed better since the last time I was here, I said. Maybe the regulations on the coal plant made a difference? She said she hadn’t noticed a thing, but admitted, “Maybe I’m just too rezzed out, you know?”
All the while, I was eating my stew. It was terrible.
Completely bland, with “baby” carrots bobbing in the watery broth, and pieces of meat that were all mysterious gristle. I eyed Linda’s fried chicken with envy.
Still, I left that late lunch so happy, so nourished. A stranger had chatted me up, laughed at me (for ordering the “Navajo stew”) and with me, and given me advice (stew across street is better, but it’s best at the flea market, where you can sit in the air and the dust). I told Linda I’d keep an eye out for her at the new laundromat, and drove off to see what they’d done with Four Corners, now that it has moved.
Much later in the trip, I ate some more mutton stew, at the Pueblo Harvest Cafe in the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center in Albuquerque. The place has been given a makeover and now it looks like pretty much any casual restaurant in a pueblo casino (even though there’s not a casino here), and the menu is all over the place. But the mutton stew was really good. Thick and lamby, with great bread on the side. I wish I’d ordered a bowl, not just a cup.
But I ate it all alone.
I can’t bring myself to axe the KFC from the guidebook, even though it’s a terrible meal–who knows what other adventures readers might have when they stop in? Likewise, I can’t get really feverishly excited about the Pueblo Harvest Cafe, but maybe if I’d been sharing the meal with someone…
This is a prime example of the guidebook writer’s dilemma–recommend fundamental quality, or experience? I wrote about this same problem a few years ago, using some examples closer to home in Astoria, Queens. I guess it’s just a lesson I have to keep learning…
New Mexico #1: Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn
Flickr sets here and here
New Mexico #1: Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn
All that earlier rambling about vintage hotels was really leading up to my New Mexico trip: I had been thinking you couldn’t get a proper vintage hotel in the United States. Too much newness and constant improvement here. Things aren’t allowed to slip into dusty grandeur and stay there–someone always has to come along and point and shout and say, “Golly, look at my old-timey place, with Route 66 upholstery on the chairs!”
But I did find a place. It’s really a vintage motel. It’s the Budget Host Melody Lane in Raton, NM. It’s not dripping with Americana, though it does have a nice (but nonworking) neon sign out front. It’s just an impeccably kept up motor court, replete with wood paneling, even on the oh-so-midcentury slanted ceilings.
And it has in-room steam saunas (brand name: Thermasol Suites). I can’t tell you how splendid this is. Whenever I stay at a fancy hotel with a spa, I tell myself I’m going to go use the sauna, and if I actually do, it turns out to be this dreary little room off the side of the ladies’ dressing room, and it’s never open when you want, and so on. But…this was in my room! I could saunify, and roll straight into bed! I could roll out of bed, and straight into the sauna!
The owners say they keep the Thermasol Suites running with spare parts they buy on the Internet, thank goodness. They say the Thermasol Suites were not original to the motel, but probably added sometime in the 1970s. They say the place is so clean because the woman used to be a nun. I say it’s the most fabulous night’s rest I’ve had in recent years, and it cost me less than $60. That’s cheaper than going to a day spa.
And it left me with the exact same glowing love of the past that I’ve gotten at the best vintage hotels in foreign countries. I never thought I’d say it, but I can’t wait to go back to Raton.
In other hotel news from New Mexico, I do have to give credit to El Rancho in Gallup, NM. It’s not really proper “vintage hotel” caliber because it is too self-conscious about being a tourist attraction. But it’s well kept up and not flashy. In the lobby, Beverly and I ogled furniture made out of cattle horns and signed photos of stars we’d never heard of, then slept soundly in our motel room for $54.
And how can you not love a sign like this?
Yup: that says “Charm of yesterday, convenience of tomorrow.” (Except the lobby wi-fi wasn’t working in the morning, and we heard a girl say, “Convenience of tomorrow, my ass.”)
Or like this?
Amsterdam #5: You’ll Eat What I’m Cooking
In addition to the freelance food, I had another distinctly Amsterdammy dining experience near the end of my trip, at a restaurant with an extremely limited menu. Lots of restaurants in Amsterdam serve just one thing each night, and you either like it or you don’t (though there’s usually a vegetarian option too). I hate the tyranny of choice, so I love these restaurants. All you control freaks out there: I can’t tell you how nice it is to sit back and just say, “Bring it.”
This particular restaurant was called CousCous Club, and it serves…couscous. Three kinds–with veg, with veg and a little meat, and with veg and a lot of meat. There are three kinds of dessert too. Two wines–red or white. Oh, and three cocktails–a touch that seems positively decadent. The couscous was good and cheap, and our server was extremely sweet, which doesn’t happen very often in Amsterdam.
I ate at another set-menu restaurant, Marius, earlier in the trip. I remember enjoying it immensely, but because I also drank all the suggested wines (mmm, Saumur!), I don’t remember any of the details. Damn–I hate when I do that. But thanks to Chef Kees anyway, and to Rod and Lieselotte, who spotted me cash, even though I was supposed to be treating them. I hate when I do that too.
Speaking of distinctly Amsterdammy food situations, it was Amsterdam where I first got the idea for a supper club, in 2000, I think it was. I met someone who was going around to other people’s houses and cooking big Indonesian dinners for whoever showed, for a flat amount per head.
Took me another year to implement it back in NYC, in the form of Operation Roving Gastronome. Took me another year to realize I couldn’t make it a money-earning endeavor, even though the Indonesian woman somehow had–Amsterdam can be a little magic when it comes to money.
Then it was another couple of years later that I wound up falling into another supper club situation, as mine and Tamara’s dinners got out of control. And another couple of years till the book deal… And tonight I ate cold pizza for dinner. I need to get the Amsterdam creative spirit back.
Whee!
Earlier:
Amsterdam #1: Photos
Amsterdam #2: Two Examples of Dutch Literalism
Amsterdam #3: Adventures in Croquettes
Amsterdam #4: The Good Food