Tag: Food

April 18, 2011

Thailand, Let Me Count the Ways, part 1

Ah, Thailand. The whole time I was there, I was making a mental list of all the ways in which I am totally down with Thai culture. The Thais and I—we are copacetic. For example:

1. Take your shoes off.
Aside from appealing to my sense of hygiene and aesthetics, the no-shoes thing is great as a traveler. Padding around on the cool stone floor of a museum in bare feet is lovely. And when a class of schoolchildren swarms in, they’re all soft and shuffling instead of crashing and stampeding like elephants.

And if you happen to stay in the nicest hotel in Phetchaburi, because it’s the only place that has a room, but it’s not like it’s actually a super-nice hotel, and that room has wall-to-wall carpeting—well, it’s nice to know that a significantly smaller number of people has walked on that carpeting in shoes, when compared with an American hotel of the same vintage.

And shoes-off culture supports excellent footwear. As someone who currently owns three pairs of Worishofers, I am thrilled by Thailand’s slip-on shoe scene. I apologize from the bottom of my heart for never starting that photo essay of all the ridiculous shoes I spotted in Bangkok. But I could never take the photos because I felt like I’d been gawking too obviously to then whip out my camera.

First in the photo essay would’ve been these spongy, Crocs-like things shaped like big, bulgy cartoon animal feet, complete with little claws. They came in pink and orange and blue and yellow, and I saw otherwise perfectly normal-looking people strolling around in them. One woman was all suited up in a gray pencil skirt and a white button-front blouse…and these bright-pink shoes. And not even in an ’80s-Working-Girl-high-powered-commuter way.

2. Kids are quiet.
Speaking of schoolchildren: They’re so good in Thailand. And they look cute in their uniforms. And their matching haircuts. Draconian? Nah—if those matching haircuts are contributing to their good behavior, I’m all for them.

3. Colors are fabulous.
Speaking of bright-pink shoes. And taxis the color of Barbie’s dream house, or an iridescent green beetle, or a turquoise sky. And monks in safety-orange robes (“saffron” is a euphemism).

Granted, it’s not color like Mexico has color. Everything’s a bit more muted. But it’s also much more broadly applied and non-gender-specific. The king dresses his dogs in little pink coats. And as you saw above, schoolkids wear lavender uniforms.

4. Conflict is avoided.
It’s a stereotype of Buddhist culture, but keeping your cool is valued in Thailand. Yelling is rude, as is pushing or shoving.

You never see people shouting at each other in the street, or someone having a one-way fight on a cell phone. I didn’t realize how relaxing this was until I was away from the hair-trigger freak-out zone that is New York City.

The no-conflict ideal trickles into the physical realm as well. If you stop in the middle of the sidewalk to snap a photo of some obscene-looking mannequins…

…no one jostles you, or curses you under their breath, or shouts, “Hey lady, getthafugouttathaway!” They just flow around you, barely breaking stride.

And taxis never honk. In a taxi one night, someone passed us too close, and our driver had to swerve out of the way. He briefly slowed down, but just kept driving. No horn, no fist-shaking. After about 10 more feet, he reached out the window and flipped his mirror back into place.

Plus, you’d never see a sign like this in the US:

5. OK, and: THE FOOD!
This is all I raved about after the last trip, so I was trying not to fall into that pit of oh-my-god-then-I-ate-that-and-that-and-that again. BUT. MY GOD. These people are insane. Everyone is eating at all times, no lie.

My analysis of Thai culture came largely from reading the Bangkok Post at breakfast every morning, then cherry-picking the quotes that seemed to illustrate my preconceptions. An academic I am not.

But how can you not extrapolate a whole wonderful worldview out of a news story about some white-collar criminal who is required to turn himself into the police but gets waylaid, and then produces the excuse “I was on my way to the police station, but I got hungry, so I stopped at the mall.”

Then we were in the Jim Thompson House museum, reading news clips from the 1950s, when the World Bank imposed austerity measures. (No one imposes austerity measures anymore. Did we just decide they don’t work? Or did we forget about them?) Women were asked to refrain from wearing makeup and stockings. Men shouldn’t go out drinking. And everyone was asked to eat only three meals a day, maximum. Please. If they could. That would be great, thanks.

So, Thailand, I love it and all its crazy eating and dressing and sweetness and shyness…but.

(to be continued…)

March 30, 2011

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.

March 14, 2011

5 Essential Travel Strategies

Recently, a friend suggested I write a book about how I travel. But I doubt I’m the only person who thinks this way, and it doesn’t really merit 200 pages of musing. And I’m happy to give away my so-called wisdom for free. These are the things I tend to do on the road. How about you?

Rule #1: Accept any FOOD you’re given.
Food is the easiest, most concrete way to make a connection with someone with whom you might not share anything but this moment when you’re both munching on pig-blood-soaked coconut and smiling at each other. It doesn’t matter whether you don’t speak the same language, or live under different political systems or whatever.

Besides, refusing food is just rude. Somebody is being hospitable in the most fundamental way they know–offering you something that will keep you alive.

Vegetarian? You can be veg when you order your own food. But when someone shares his plate with you at a restaurant, or gives you a free kabob just because you smile sweetly and say thank you in the local language–just take it. You’ll live.

So you might get sick. Big deal. You’ll get over it–and you’ll even have another good story to tell. (Celiac–fine, you get a pass.) Just smile, say thanks and eat the thing. You might even like it. (I liked that pig-blood stuff! Who knew?)

May 27, 2009

Here Is Havana

Ooh, very promising: Fellow Lonely Planet writer, native New Yorker and generally perceptive gal Conner Gorry has finally started a blog about daily life in Havana:

Here Is Havana

Peter and I and a few other friends went to Cuba in 1996, I think it was. (Surely it’s OK to say this, and the statute of limitations has run out by now?) We were so mentally unprepared, it’s comical in retrospect. At the time, though, it was an extremely rough trip.

We didn’t fully grasp, for instance, that it would be impossible to get more money once there…and we didn’t know quite how expensive it would be. It was very difficult to get off the “official” tourist track, and the attendant 1-to-1 exchange rate. But even if we had, well, there wasn’t anything to buy with Cuban money anyhow. Our second week, we got by on one meal a day, and we rolled up to the airport with nothing but our exit tax in our pockets.

The situation was grimmest when it came to food. I still shudder when I think about the creepy, greasy fish we were served at the one restaurant we found where we could pay in Cuban pesos. My sentimental attachment to Communism was pretty well chipped away on that trip, when I realized that the system truly just failed at feeding people, much less giving them the real, simple pleasure that can come from delicious things to eat every day.

I hope this has changed a bit in years since. When we visited, farmer’s markets were just starting up, as a very controlled experiment. The few times we got fresh produce, it was fantastic. But, whoa, that was so not a trip about kicking back on the beach and eating fresh pineapple. Still, when I returned to the Dominican Republic, I was appalled at the slums and the advertising everywhere…and I really appreciated the pineapple on the beach.

So, looking forward to reading Conner’s reports, as it sounds like various policies have changed since I visited. I especially want to know about the food!

March 16, 2009

Down with Food Pr0n! Up with My New Podcast!

So, Heather over at Gild the (Voodoo)Lily was having some qualms due to her blog stats skyrocketing over some damn bacon-egg-cheese sandwich, when her far more inventive and interesting stuff causes nary an online ripple.

It’s because, sadly, hungry women (and men) are sitting at their desks, or up late at night at the family computer, staring moonily at food they’ve decided they can’t eat. And even if they did, they’d never have the gumption to make it themselves.

People, they call it food porn for a reason.

Staring at pictures of inaccessible food gets you all titillated and salivating. But when you click away, you feel empty inside.
To understand the true insidiousness, let’s look at real porn. (No, wait–not yet! Click back here, you!)

Real porn does not help you get laid. No one ever jumped up from watching a porno and said, “Gosh darn it, I’m going to a bar, and chatting someone up, and telling my best jokes, and then having terrific sex!”

No–they just shuffle off to bed, where the not-dirty-enough-to-wash clothes need to be swept off to one side, and the magazines are piling up.

Likewise, anyone watching the Food Network for more than ten minutes is not going to leap up and start cooking dinner. No, they’re going to sit there, glum, eating Frosted Flakes. And then shuffle off to bed.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll cook,” they think. “I’ll cook something fresh and healthy, but also really satisfying–something kinda Giada, not all Paula Deen.” Yup, just like the avid porn consumer wakes up the next day and meets the hot chick of his dreams, who’s smart and sweet but just a little nasty.

And just as porn fashion has inspired boob jobs and merciless muff waxing, food porn has given every would-be cook the idea that what they make has to be artfully plated and garnished with edible flowers.

I’m telling you, the food porn is soul-killing. You must switch off the TV set now. You must stop idly surfing the twee, pretty-picture food blogs and flipping through the glossy mags. Put it all away, and just go into the kitchen.

Real pleasure of the culinary kind is going to be dull and a little hard to begin with–and, like sex the first few times, it will seem messy and maybe not worth all the trouble. But trust me, it gets a lot better.

And if you happen to have overlapping needs–you’re not getting laid and you’re not eating well–this is actually handy. Not having sex means you have plenty of time to learn to cook. And learning a new skill like cooking makes you confident–hence sexy, hence more likely to catch someone’s eye. (Also, you’ll probably give yourself a couple of burns or scars–also pretty damn sexy.)

And when you cook up a hot meal for that someone–straight ticket to the sack.

What you can do

This is all leading up to: my new podcast! It’s been a long time coming, but the wheels are finally in motion over at Cooking in Real Time. There’s just a little intro post there now, explaining the premise–give a listen, subscribe and get ready for next week, when I actually cook something.

And you can too–once you put away the porn.