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Chowing Down at the Heritage of India Festival in Valhalla, NY

8/6/2015

1 Comment

 
Photographs and text by Len Boccassini
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
RaaSa Fine Indian Cuisine, Elmsford, NY manning their stand.
    This past Sunday, the Heritage of India Festival came to Kensico Dam Plaza in Valhalla, New York, and being huge fans of both the central Asian influenced Northern Indian cuisine and its more vegetable-laden Southern counterpart, Karen and I could not resist the temptation to spend a gorgeous Sunday afternoon partaking in some spicy Asian goodness.

    Approximately a half hour drive from northern New Jersey, the festival was held in the shadow of the Kensico Dam in Valhalla, New York at the northernmost tip of the Bronx River Parkway.
    The dam was completed in 1917, replacing a smaller, less grandiose version built 32 years earlier. The 1,843 foot long granite structure was built by some 1,500 workers, the great majority of whom were of Italian descent. A large number of these workers' families settled in the area following the dam's completion and still remain today, contributing to the growth and character of Valhalla and surrounding communities.

    Today, the park that fills Kensico Dam Plaza is picturesque, spacious and perfectly manicured. There are places to walk, bike or just relax beneath the shade of one of many beautiful trees seemingly grown for the supreme purpose of summer relaxation. Of a more somber nature, there is also an 80' stainless-steel monument called, "The Rising", commemorating area residents who perished in the terror attacks of September 11th. The base of the memorial is called the "Circle of Remembrance" and bears the names of each of the 111 victims and inscriptions written by their families. To read the inscriptions and then stand within the memorial is truly a moving experience.
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
    Admission to the festival was free and the festivities were set to begin at 12:30 PM. As is usually the case, we arrived early with the preconceived notion to throw on the proverbial "feedbag" and get down to some serious eating. Though the distant smells of Indian cuisine filled the air and tested our resolve to resist an all out sprint toward its source, we were equally struck by the beauty of the setting. Set in the shadow of the dam itself, we couldn't envision a more perfect location to hold an event of any type, particularly one of such a colorful nature.
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
    We made our throughout the grounds amidst a series of tents and vendors hawking an array of colorful Indian garb, crafts and wares. The vendors were friendly and always ready to offer most of their inventory at a significantly reduced price than the product was tagged. Sitar and tabla-laden music filled the air and we found its source to be a grand stage that featured an ever-changing cast traditional Indian dancers. It was colorful and interesting, and perhaps at times, mesmerizing. But even so, that wasn't why we came to Valhalla. Nope. We broke our gaze from the stage and headed directly towards the area that held the food vendors.
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
    Entering the food area, we found perhaps eight to ten food vendors. However, what the festival may have lacked in vendor participation, it more than made up for in varieties of foods prepared by those who were on hand. Both the traditional foods of Northern and Southern Indian cuisine were well-represented and before long, there were some serious lines to get a taste of their ethnic culinary offerings.
    As I drifted through the crowd, I was immediately taken with a young man of Indian descent who was at a open-air griddle (tava) making what is called, Dosa. Dosa is a fermented crepe made from rice batter and black lentils and is a staple dish in Southern India, as well as other countries such as Sri Lanka and Nepal. It was obvious the gentleman took great pride in his work and the manner in which he nimbly created these circular masterpieces upon his tava was spectacular.

    I stood before him and watched him create several of his delicious crepes, and noticing my camera slung over my shoulder, he smiled widely knowing he had an admiring audience. As he finished his seventh or eighth crepe, I stood before him and held up two fingers and said, "I'll take two."

    With nary an unnecessary movement, he ladled some ghee (clarified butter) on his tava and started the entire process again. When finished, he folded each one into what looked to be a compartment-less egg carton and carefully spooned coconut chutney on one end and a very zippy - okay, spicy - masala on the other. He smiled, handed them to me. Gleefully, I peeled off twelve bucks and raced to our table.
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
    As we ripped into the Dosa, we found the filling to comprised of an essentially bland puree of potatoes, peas and carrots, but somehow, it worked nicely with the lightness of the crepe and the tangy bite of the masala that left your lips tingling.

    Not yet through with the southern Indian experience, we headed back for two additional item we wanted to try - Medhu Vadai and Idli.
    Medhu Vadai, for lack of a better description, is basically a fried lentil doughnut. It is a popular snack or breakfast dish that is usually served with coconut chutney. Originating mainly from Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, it is often traditionally prepared during festivals and weddings.

    What I found most surprising in regards to this dish, was its unexpected savoriness. The vadai's firm, light texture was far less dry than I anticipated it would be and the coconut chutney it was served beside, was pretty much the perfect accompaniment.

    Idli is another traditional breakfast item popular throughout India, as well as Sri Lanka. It is a savory cake that is usually two to three inches in diameter that is made by steaming a batter made from fermented black lentils and rice. I found the idli somewhat bland in the sense that it drew most of its flavor from the Sambar (lentil-based vegetable stew or chowder based on a broth made with tamarind) it was served beside.
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
Medhu Vadai
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
Idli
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Karen enjoying her "Idli".
    As we sat and enjoyed our ethnic goodies, the temperature was steadily creeping toward the 90º mark and the sun had taken its place almost directly overheard. Although the low humidity made it a pleasant enough afternoon despite the heat, it was time to cool down with a couple of libations before moving on to indulge ourselves in the cuisine of Northern India,

    It wasn't the first time we'd partaken in Taj Mahal Lager, and with each tasting we seem to like it more and more. It's slightly more malty in comparison to the Kingfisher, but it's light body made it the perfect elixir to cool down on this steamy afternoon.

    After our "beer" break, there was a particular item that kept drawing my attention - something labeled Gobi 45. By all outward appearances, it looked to be a fiery, spicy version of fried cauliflower, and being a fan of spicy and cauliflower, it was something I just had to try. In doing so, I found it was a tad salty and not quite fiery enough for my tastes.
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
Gobi 45
    I would like to add, that in addition to all of the great Indian cuisine vendors that participated in Sunday's festivities, there was one specific vendor called Samosa that hails from Dobb's Ferry, NY. These guys really make the rounds through the festival circuit and it was not the first time Karen and I have had the pleasure to enjoy their terrific fare. Their little meat pies are as scrumptious as they are exotic; my personal favorite being their "Wild Boar Samosa". I've also heard great things about their "Saag Paneer Samosa Pie" and their newest creation, "Curry Pork Belly Naanwich Wrap". Both are on my must try list!

    If you would like to try any of their delectable samosas, just head over to 74 Main Street in Dobbs Ferry, NY and tell them Foodidude sent you!
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
The good folks of SAMOSA, Dobbs Ferry, NY.
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
SAMOSA's "Wild Boar Samosa"
Heritage of India Festival • Foodidude.com
The SAMOSA crew hard at work.
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Foodidude's Year In Review: 14 Most Memorable Moments of 2014, Part II

12/30/2014

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by Len Boccassini

#7 - Oink, Oink! It's Larry Rosenberg!

        Say what you will, but nothing leaves quite the impression on me as does great hospitality, and Chef Larry Rosenberg's hospitality is as genuine as can be. Sure, he can be described as light-hearted, zany, eclectic, and perhaps to a degree, over-the-top ebullient. He weaves a tale like no one I know and enjoys surrounding himself with plush, pink pigs of various sizes. Sometimes it seems his entire arsenal of adjectives is comprised of porkish words like "crispy" or "oinky" or "piggy" and he seldom hesitates to offer the fact that he was born and raised as a nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn who has had an unorthodox infatuation with bacon. He reiterates over and over that for him, “oink” is the new “oy vey". But that is the persona the public has come to embrace. I, on the other hand, have come to know a far different Larry Rosenberg.
    The friend I've come to know is a thoughtful man who cares about the impression he leaves upon others, and that, in my mind, matters above all else.

    Larry, along with his partner, Kane Jeong, are the creators of Bacon Bites, producers of the famously delicious line of chocolate-covered bacon treats. He is a virtual marketing machine and his whimsical antics in pushing his product has resulted in many referring to him as "P.T. Bacon".

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Photograph by Len Boccassini © 2014
    This past autumn, we were invited into his home to conduct an interview with the mastermind behind the chocolate-bacon delights, and truth be told, we were overwhelmed by his kindness, gratitude and generosity. Oh, yes, and of course his hospitality. Oink, oink.
Foodidude Exclusive™ with Chef Larry Rosenberg

#6 - July 4th with Salamander Sauce's Timothy Kavarnos

        The owner of Salamander Sauce Company, Tim Kavarnos, and I hit it off immediately even if we hadn't met in person for almost a year after our association began. We'd spoken on Facebook, Twitter and on the phone - heck, I even wrote the description for his Whiskey Hot Sauce that he utilizes to market his product long before we even thought about meeting face-to-face. But we eventually did meet and it was nothing less than expected.
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Karen of "Karen's Kucina" with Tim Kavarnos. © 2014
    The day we'd chosen to meet up was July 4th at a local watering hole on Division Street in New York City called "Forgtmenot". Yes, that is no typo. It is spelled F-o-r-g-t-m-e-n-o-t.

    We may have had some control as to our choice of destination, but we definitely had no control over what Mother Nature had in mind. I say that because sheets of driving rain blanketed the city and it seemed nothing like the warm, holiday weather we'd expected.

        But if nothing else, Karen and I are the pictures of persistence and sharing a single umbrella, we dodged raindrops in the midst of periodic torrential downpours and walked the two miles or so from the World Trade Center Path Station to Forgtmenot. When we finally arrived, another dilemma presented itself - the World Cup was in full swing and the joint was filled to capacity with cheering fans. There were four small tables out front beneath an even smaller awning that were also filled, but even that would not ruin our day.

        As soon as it became available, we grabbed a small round table and were soon met by our friend, Tim. Undeterred by the errant raindrop that managed to find its way onto our foreheads, the three of us filled that table with all kinds of brews, grub and hot sauce and yapped away for the next several hours beneath that tattered awning that hung above a myriad of puddles forming on the sidewalk. And you know what? We couldn't have had any more fun than if we sat partying on a tropical sun-soaked beach. It was that good.

        And after the final minute of regulation of World Cup action ended, the bar emptied out and we took the party inside. And there we remained for the next couple of hours sucking down drinks while heavy rains pounded the streets outside. When it was finally time to depart, we promised our friend we would soon do it again. Some things are worth the wait.

Salamander Sauce's "new" Whiskey Hot Sauce
Salamander Sauce: Fighting Fire with Flavor

#5 - Meeting John and Shannon of Slider Street

        Friends are delivered to you in many unexpected manners. In this business, I come into contact with numerous people I have much in common with and have been fortunate to call a good many of them "friends". A handful of those I have met along the way have led to friendships I value immensely and will always cherish. Yet, two of those friendships are of such exceptional depth and were so instantaneous, that I would be remiss if I did not mention the affinity we feel towards these two people here and now. What started out as mere business, has blessed us with lifetime friends in the way of John and Shannon, owners of Slider Street in Hoboken, NJ.

        There's little else that needs to be said here other than "Happy New Year, to our dear friends."

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Shannon, John, Foodidude & Karen.
"Slider Street" Restaurant Review
Foodidude Exclusive™ w/John & Shannon of Slider St.

#4 - Celebrating Paul's Da Burger Joint's 25th Anniversary

        I was overjoyed at the invitation I received to attend Paul's Da Burger Joint's 25th Anniversary celebration. After all, the reputation of the little establishment's terrific burgers precedes itself and it was indeed a burger I wanted to try for quite some time. Located on 2nd Avenue at St. Marks Place in the heart of one of the East Village's hippest neighborhoods, I could hardly wait to see what all the hub bub was about!

        The celebration that took place on July 19th, began with an invitation-only tasting that unveiled several new menu items that Paul's planned to be offering on a regular basis if they were well-received. During the hour-long tasting that treated members of the press and foodie community to samples of these delicious new offerings, manager Matt Wardrop and his team of chefs graciously prepared tray after tray of these very same items, and had them passed through the gathering crowd outside at no charge. It was a gesture hard to ignore, and one I found spoke volumes in regard to the integrity of Matt and his staff.
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Camille and Foodidude take a bite out of Paul's Da Burger Joint. © 2014
        The burgers were everything I heard them to be - legendary deliciousness. But food aside, the afternoon was a delight. Great music, great people, and more than a few great stories. One tale that sticks out in my mind dates back to the time Spike Lee entered the establishment and perused the menu. He looked up and uttered, "Five bucks for a burger?" Without missing a beat, Paul looked him in the eye and retorted, "Ten bucks for a movie?"
        All in all, it was a terrific day filled with enjoyable people and delicious food, and definitely one of the summer's highlights.
"Paul's Da Burger Joint" Restaurant Review
"Paul's Da Burger Joint" 25th Anniversary Bash

#3 - "Karen's Kucina" joins the team at Foodidude.com

        For me, it was a no-brainer to add Karen Romanelli to the mix of regular contributors and columnists here at Foodidude.com. Not only is she my partner in business and in life, but her prowess in the kitchen speaks for itself and her wherewithal in concocting exciting flavors is often nothing less than spectacular.

       Having grown up in a similar environment as myself - that is, a large Italian family that takes food preparation very seriously, we share a lot of the same sensibilities when it comes to the many Italian dishes we enjoyed as youths, particularly when it comes to something of a more ethnically inspired recipe.

        Although we sometimes battle for kitchen time, and infrequently disagree on the minutia of just how something should be prepared, the differences are purely regional in regards to our ancestors upbringing and more times than not, we have a ball comparing notes and experimenting with bold, new flavors.

    I am an adventurous eater, and besides Andrew Zimmern, she is perhaps the only person I've ever met who can battle me fish head for fish head. And I mean that in purely a complimentary manner.

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Karen's Kucina

#2 - Interviewing Rob Russo, Proprietor of Girasole

        Typically, the topic I write most about is food and the personalities behind the meal. Although the subjects of my interviews are usually very serious in regards to their restaurants or their talents over a stove, I often find them to be flamboyant, eccentric, whimsical and even at times, outrageous as the interview progresses. My point here is that in my line of work as a writer who most often writes about food and the preparation of food, I am seldom immersed in a topic that has any greater significance than another tasty morsel or two to pop in my mouth or should I say, something far more important than mere food. This was not the case when I interviewed Rob Russo.
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Photograph by Len Boccassini © 2014
    Rob Russo, along with his father Alfonso, is the proprietor of Girasole Cucina Italiana in Bound Brook, NJ. He is also my cousin through marriage, and I never realized until very recently just how little I knew about him.

    The "Rob" I thought I knew is very meticulous in how he approaches his business and life in general. He is respectful and polite; congenial and accommodating; loving and supportive; dedicated and devoted to both his family and his business. He is hard working, ethical and measures each word long before it leaves his lips. His sense of "hospitality" is obvious even when he's away from his establishment and merely pouring a glass of wine. That was "Rob" as I knew him.

    However, that was only part of the story. The "Rob" I had recently come to know as we sat and shared lunch is far deeper than I ever imagined. And as his family's tale spilled from his lips, I found myself shocked by all they had lost as a result of the earthquake that hit southern Italy in 1980 and impassioned by how he helped his father rebuild their dream on American soil. As he spoke, I was absolutely spellbound.

        Over the course of several hours, I had a renewed sense of respect for my cousin and my friend, and found myself chomping at the bit to get home and write his story with all the passion I could muster. As I wrote, I found myself moved while reliving his every word and prayed I did his tale justice. In the end, it was one of the most fulfilling pieces I ever put my name on and I was proud I could do that for him.

        Rob is an inspiration to me on so many levels. And his restaurant is pretty darn good as well; maybe the best around.
Applausi, il mio amico.
Foodidude Exclusive™ with Rob Russo, Girasole

#1 - Creating the "2014 Mahwah Mayor's Cookbook"

        There have been few prouder moments in my career than the moment Bill Laforet, Mayor of Mahwah, New Jersey, called me and asked me if I would take on the assignment of compiling, editing, photographing, designing and writing the cookbook he had planned to have published on behalf of Vincent Accurso, a young boy who has been diagnosed with Pulmonary Hypertension; a rare and debilitating disease that affects the blood vessels of the lungs. After hearing the child's plight, I couldn't have jumped into the fray quick enough.

        Over the next two months, I managed to sort through over two hundred recipes kindly submitted by Mahwah residents, categorize them, photograph and write vignettes for each chapter, design the layout, negotiate a printer, choose the stock, and get the finished product into the hands of consumers. Considering all proceeds go to the "Baking for a Cure" Foundation on behalf of young Vincent. it was truly a labor of love... and one I was proud to be a part of.


        Happy New Year and all the best in 2015!
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Go to "14 Most Memorable Moments of 2014" Part I
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Foodidude's Year In Review: 14 Most Memorable Moments of 2014, Part I

12/29/2014

0 Comments

 
by Len Boccassini
        Each year presents it's own series of memorable events and 2014 proved to be no different. For me, 2014 was a year of immense change, both personally and professionally, and although many tend to resist change, I embrace all challenges towards a brighter tomorrow. And in doing so, outside of the immense sorrow of losing our beloved Shih Tzu, Louie - who was both loyal friend and constant companion - I found 2014 to be a year that has been extremely rewarding on so many levels.

        In essence, it was a year of achievement and a year of growth; and of greater consequence, a year filled with much rediscovery. I can say with complete certainty that it was within the previous span of 365 days where I came away with the knowledge that necessity emanates from the heart as opposed to the mind, for the heart is the place where the soul seeks its nourishment. Along this route of rediscovery, I've enjoyed the acquaintance of many new friends, and to my greater fulfillment, have rekindled bonds with old pals and cherished family members. As I've traveled this path, I've learned to separate what is important and what is not, while absorbing the lesson that I can only control what is within my sphere of influence and nothing more. And I am most satisfied by the fact that through it all - through the ebbs and flows each day offered - I've managed to keep an eye on the big prize; outer harmony and inner happiness. It is a balancing act few ever achieve.

        Each year at this time, I try to recall the events of the previous twelve months that have impacted me and seek to take away my most joyous moments. Historically, at this time of year I tend to get somewhat introspective or even nostalgic as I ponder the course life has chosen me to follow. In terms of Foodidude.com, the previous year is one I look back on with fondness for there was much joy and many successes to celebrate and in the end, that's all any of us can ask for.

        In closing, I thought I would list fourteen of the most memorable Foodidude moments that occurred during the 2014 year. And although happenstance has led me to far more than I could ever hope to mention here, these fourteen never fail to bring a smile to my face when I recall their occurrence.

        So to my family and friends, associates and acquaintances, readers and contributors; have a healthy and prosperous New Year. And remember, "Life is an adventure. Eat it."

#14 - Stumbling Into "Broadway Bites" by UrbanSpace

    New York City has a way of surprising me when I least expect it; particularly from a culinary experience standpoint. Once again, that is exactly what occurred this past July while walking along Broadway.
        In retrospect, I forget what exactly brought us to the Big Apple on that particularly balmy, summer day; more than likely, it was yet another outing spent doing research for my upcoming book. Either way, as we approached Greeley Square, we noticed throngs of people walking down the center of Broadway amidst a number of tents which read: "Broadway Bites by UrbanSpace". Now I
Top 14 of 2014 • Foodidude.com
Photograph by Len Boccassini ©2014
am well familiar with UrbanSpace, the brainchild of Eric Reynolds, whose beginnings can be traced back to London over forty-four years ago and whose mission it is to nurture small business by creating vibrant new places for community and commerce  to gather. What I didn't realize is that they operated right here in Greeley Square.

        This particular version of UrbanSpace's pop-up market was located in Greeley Square Park at the intersection of 33rd Street and Broadway. To my delight, on hand were a huge assortment of chefs, small culinary businesses and artisan producers. Many of these vendors worked in uniquely configured outdoor kitchens to create an array of unique offerings that were not only diverse, but prepared with an eye toward quality.

       Vendors like;
Roberta’s, Red Hook Lobster Pound, Mayhem & Stout, Mexicue, Brooklyn Taco, Gelato Ti Amo, La Newyorkina, Onigiri by Tampopo and 
Breads Bakery made this an unexpected find a refreshing oasis to stumble upon.
Foodidude's Review of "Broadway Bites"

#13 - JerseyFest and the Food Truck Mash-Up

Top 14 of 2014 • Foodidude.comKaren of "Karen's Kucina" with Smokey the Pig.
        On May 31st, JerseyFest and the Food Truck Mash-Up rolled into the Meadowlands in East Rutherford, NJ and took scores of hungry foodies by storm. Of course I was on hand to cover the event, and although it had its fair share of growing pains, on the whole it was a great day and a grand time was had by all.

        With close to thirty vendors, it was easy to find something for every taste - Barbeque, Pulled Pork, Sausage, Cheese Steaks, Bacon, Pickles, Meatballs, Empanadas, Ice Cream - whatever one could want could be found on wheels. But for me, the great eats was just the backdrop for some lasting friendships I would carry into future days - namely Chef Larry Rosenberg and Kane Jeong of Bacon Bites - delicious chocolate covered bacon. But bacon is only half the story here...

        Rosenberg's side-show antics have earned him the moniker, "P.T. Bacon" and his wackiness is simply contagious. With piggy hats, piggy sunglasses, plush pink pigs, stickers, decals and of course, Kane dressed as "Smokey the Pig", he lures passers-by into his tent to taste his delectable goodies. Once inside, he entertains their sensibilities with his zany sense of humor and their tastebuds with his yummy delights.

        Over the previous seven months, we have forged quite a great friendship; one for which I am thankful. I also love how my friend describes himself as "a nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn who has an unorthodox infatuation with bacon. For me, "oink" is the new "oy vey." Oink oink, Larry.


Foodidude's "JerseyFest/Food Truck Mash-Up" Review
A Foodidude Exclusive™ with Chef Larry Rosenberg

#12 - A Visit to The Meatball Shop in New York City's
East Village

Top 14 of 2014 • Foodidude.com
        It was a blisteringly cold day in New York City with a pummeling wind that stung and instantly turned any exposed skin a bright, burning red. March, at best, is unpredictable here in the northeast, but thankfully, the week-long trend of icy weather had allowed us the opportunity to dress accordingly for our jaunt through New York City's East Village.

        However, "jaunt" is perhaps describing our excursion a tad too nonchalantly. In fact, we were there on business to conduct an interview and photo shoot with a neighborhood restaurateur. As is usually our business practice, we arrived with plenty of time to spare. Less typical, was the fact we had no plan B for arriving a solid two hours early.

        We decided upon a casual stroll through the East Village to discuss the finer points of the interview we were about to conduct. However, the weather had no intention of cooperating. For our part, we acted as real troopers; braving the elements and doing our best to convince ourselves we were catching the village's sights on a far milder day than it actually was. Between the jokes and laughs that emanated from trembling lips, the inclement morning was steadily having its way with us and our casual stroll quickly turned into a near sprint trying to dodge chilling gusts of wind. With scarves pulled tightly about our necks and gloved hands stuffed deep in our pockets, we knew we had to get an alternate plan together quick. Coffee!

       We looped around Greenwich Avenue intent on finding a local coffeehouse to hunker down in and kill another hour or so. We passed a coffee shop or two, but in truth, they were either exceptionally crowded or uninspiring, at best. It was nearing noon and our bellies were on "Foodidude Time" as we found ourselves before an inviting storefront that led to an establishment that seemed to be doing a brisk business. We momentarily glanced at each other looking for any sign of acknowledgement. I believe my eyebrow twitched and without uttering a word, we dashed for the door.

        Inside, we found what has become one of our favorite lunch spots in the city filled with great food, great music and great people. The warmth was evident and I'm sure the environment is exactly what owners Daniel Holzman and Michael Chernow had in mind when they decided to join forces and create The Meatball Shop.

        After some wonderful grub and a couple of brews, we were filled with glowing vibes that overflowed right into our scheduled interview. Overall, it was one of those magical days that exceeded expectations and all I have to do is close my eyes and to remember it in explicit detail.


Foodidude's "The Meatball Shop" Restaurant Review

#11 - An Afternoon at "Virgola"with Joe Marazzo

       Imagine sitting in a darkened alley in Rome with vague whispers of light slipping through rows of love-locks dangling from the twisted rails of ancient wrought iron gates while sipping Prosecco and picking through delicately arranged platters of oysters and charcuterie. In such a scenario, it is nearly impossible to keep the mind from blossoming with visions of romance. But one doesn't have to travel to Italy to encounter such an atmosphere, for exactly this type of romantic environment can be had right here in the heart of New York City's East Village at Virgola.
Top 14 of 2014 • Foodidude.com
Photograph by Len Boccassini ©2014
    And that atmosphere is exactly what Virgola's owner, Joseph Marazzo, had in mind when he decided to convert a six-foot wide 19th-Century alleyway into an "Oyster & Italian Wine Bar" that in his own words resemble, "...those dark side streets in Rome that you'd pass through while riding your motorino at night. A dark, intimate place, definitely more Rome than Venice." .

           And on this point, Marazzo has succeeded dramatically, for Virgola exudes intimacy.

       The afternoon spent interviewing Joseph Marazzo was not only intellectually fulfilling, but a complete satiation of the senses. In addition to the romantic mood that emanated from walls of his establishment that spans a mere six feet in width, our palates were dazzled with an array of wines that included:
Prosecco Gujot, Vermentino Donnikalia and Montepulciano Tre Saggi. These wines were hand chosen as the perfect compliment to the delicious platters of food put before us in various courses: Island Creek Oysters, Montauk Pearl
Oysters, fresh ceviche, tuna tartar, shrimp cocktail,
Salumi (Felino and Bresaola), Formaggi (cheeses), and a delicious Funghi Tartufati - a wild mushroom salad. It was a spectacular and exquisite array that ranged from the scintillating to the sublime.
Foodidude's "Virgola" Restaurant Review
A Foodidude Exclusive™ with Virgola's Joe Marazzo

#10 - Learning the cooking craft under Chef Michael Flynn

    Sometimes the stars just align perfectly to offer an opportunity to take the next logical step in one's career. And even more rarely, from that situation develops yet another dynamic far more personal than you would ever imagine manifesting from the first. Confused? Let me explain...

    Earlier this year, I wrote a review on a local gourmet market - Mary Ann's Gourmet Market - that didn't seem to be a market at all. In fact, its gourmet breakfasts and dinners appeared to be far more polished and composed with culinary precision than could ever be expected from a mere gourmet deli. I found the whole experience to be a study in deception, for in fact, it appeared to be an establishment of far higher culinary expertise dressed in a lunch market's clothing. And I soon found out why.

    The experience of writing that review led to yet another opportunity; the chance to learn to cook on a regular basis under the tutelage of Chef Michael Flynn for the better part of the past year. Chef Flynn was trained at the Culinary Institute of America, and along with his better half, Maria Flynn, is the proprietor of Mary Ann's Gourmet Market in Mahwah, NJ.

    From that seedling has developed a friendship with Mike and an admiration I would never have expected to come my way. It has been a pure joy to cook beside him on a steady basis and learn from someone who can seemingly extract flavor from simple ingredients with utter and complete ease. He has viewed me as a peer from day one and that is something I appreciate. The knowledge he has imparted upon me in regard to the art of flavor, has not only honed my talents as a cook, but has given me unique insights into the restaurant business I would otherwise never have had, and for that I am grateful.

Top 14 of 2014 • Foodidude.com
Foodidude Santa with his dear friend and mentor, Chef Michael Flynn
        2014 has brought me a good many gifts, not the least of which is Chef Michael Flynn's friendship.
Foodidude's "Mary Ann's" Restaurant Review

#9 - The Hudson Valley Garlic Festival

Top 14 of 2014 • Foodidude.com
©2014
    I love garlic. No, you don't understand; "I love garlic." In fact, it is in my opinion one of the most glorious bulbs of flavor I could ever encounter in my kitchen or have in my culinary arsenal. And I'm sure this fact has little to do with my Italian heritage and everything to do with the fact that I just love the flavor of garlic!

    That is why when I first heard about the Hudson Valley Garlic Festival I nearly jumped out of my shorts with excitement.

        The Festival that took place on September 27th and 28th in Saugerties, NY promised anything and everything garlic and on they absolutely delivered on that promise. Be it garlic chocolate, garlic ice cream, garlic soup or garlic candy, any imaginable delight of a garlicky nature could be had. For someone like me, it was a heavenly experience!
Hudson Valley Garlic Festival
Scenes from the 2014 Hudson Valley Garlic Festival
Roasted Garlic & Porcini Mushroom Soup Recipe

#8 - An Afternoon with The Meatball King of New Jersey

        Every so often you stumble upon a character of such magnitude that it leaves an indelible imprint upon the manner in which you look at life yourself. Such is the case with Johnny "Meatballs" DeCarlo, also known as, The Meatball King of New Jersey.

        Johnny is in the business of meatballs, but he is also an entertainer; both on television and in the streets where he serves his delicious meatballs from what he calls the "Ball Bus". He promotes himself and his schtick with the ease of P.T. Barnum and he laughs easily and often; particularly at the character he's created in Johnny Meatballs. But in Johnny's point of view, there is something far more important than the laughs and the entertaining and the food... namely, his family.

Top 14 of 2014 • Foodidude.com
Foodidude with Johnny Meatballs and Chrissy Meatballs. © 2014
        The "Meatball King" is a veteran of such reality TV shows such as SPIKE TV's "Frankenfood" and VH1's "My Big Friggin' Wedding", but I never realized the extent of the man's devotion to his family as I did the afternoon I was invited to his home to conduct a formal interview. It was immediately obvious that Johnny was as dedicated to his family's happiness as he was to making the perfect meatball. This was absolutely a case of walking in with one impression in mind and leaving with quite another.

        Johnny Meatballs is a character who makes me laugh, keeps me entertained and feeds me delicious Italian goodies; Johnny DeCarlo is a friend I value immensely. And the day I spent as his home was one I shall always remember with fondness. Thanks, Johnny.

A Foodidude Exclusive™ with The Meatball King of NJ
Go to 14 Most Memorable Moments of 2014 Part II
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Eating My Way Through "Jubilee Day" - Mechanicsburg, PA

6/20/2013

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by Len Boccassini 

    As the 85th year of Jubilee Day dawned clear and bright upon Mechanicsburg, PA, what once began as small gathering of townspeople has grown into the largest and longest running one day street fair on the east coast. Held annually on the third Thursday of June, the event now boasts more than 325 vendors who offer their wares, products and food to nearly 70,000 attendees.

    As a first-timer to Jubilee Day, I was anxious to see what all the fuss was about. I had to find out for myself just exactly what drew 70,000 people to such an event.

    On this beautiful 80-degree Spring day in South Central Pennsylvania, I was about to learn first hand, it was probably more or less, the food.
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    As I passed beneath the Jubilee Day banner draped across Main Street, I walked past many neatly manicured, historic homes and took in the beauty of the day.

    Working my way into the heart of the festival, my first stop was a mobile concession called, Uncle Moe's Soul Food Concessions LLC. I had to stop; I was powerless not to. The delicious smells emanating from that modern day chuck wagon stopped me dead in my tracks.
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Me and my new friend, Eldridge Mose A.K.A Uncle Moe
    I introduced myself to the proprietor, Eldridge Moses, otherwise known as "Uncle Moe".

    I found him to be engaging and warm, and within a few minutes of chatting, I learned he was born and raised in Bogalusa, LA, but has laid roots in Adams County as a resident of Gettysburg, PA for close to twenty-five years.
    Still, it was evident by his menu - pulled pork, jambalaya, roasted pig, fresh Cajun fried catfish, BBQ baked beans, sweet potato fries, collard greens, jerk chicken - that although he has made Adams County his home, he's never strayed far from his southern roots in the kitchen.

    Of course, with all these wonderful southern smells circulating through my head, it was hard to keep myself focused on the conversation. So instead of babbling incessantly, I decided to give something a try.
    I opted for the fried Cajun Catfish Nuggets.

    Yeah, I know they're fried and I try to stay away from too many fried foods. However, I needed to try these. You see southern-style Cajun catfish is my kryptonite; I weaken in its presence. And this time I'm glad I did.

    The freshness of the catfish was instantly apparent.
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Fried Cajun Catfish Nuggets.
    Each bite was moist, sweet and succulent with just enough zing in the cornmeal coating for the lover (naturally I had to douse it with habanero sauce) and the not-so-lover of spiciness alike. It definitely set the bar high for those to follow.

    I further learned that Uncle Moe not only runs his establishment as a mobile concession at such events, but also offers a fully-staffed service for in-house catered parties featuring special menus derived from his Louisiana cooking traditions.

For more information, visit: www.unclemoessoulfood.com or call 717-420-7549.

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    The next wafts of aromatic goodness that drew me like a moth to a flame, was a stand run by someone called, Master Danny. One look at Danny and you knew why they call him Master.

    Wiry and muscular with a scalp-lock wrapped in colorful clothe, he's the proprietor of Warrior Gym, Mixed Martial Arts.
    Master Danny also makes one hell of a grilled Teriyaki Chicken… one of the best I ever tasted. And the secret is all in the sauce.
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    His grill master stands above his slabs of skewered chicken and continuously bastes them with a tantalizingly aromatic sauce from a large, steel pot. When he's not basting, he's stirring.

    I peeked in the pot and espied the sauce was different in color from typical teriyaki; almost orange. But no matter how hard I pried for hints, he wasn't giving away any secrets.
    However, he was definitely Foodidude-friendly and gave me free samplings of his delicious chicken. So far, I was two for two. Batting a thousand in the yummy game.

    The next foodie stand that caught my attention was Gary's Pig Roast. The attention grabber was the amount of people stacked in line at this concession. I just had to see what they were buying and took my place in the queue.
    As I neared the counter, I saw folks leaving with huge plates of what looked like freshly made potato chips, but was something called "Ribbon Fries".

    I really wanted to order up a batch, but to be truthful, I just couldn't shake the thought of James Gandolfini from my mind and was deluged with visions of my heart exploding in my chest.
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Gary's Pig Roast's "Ribbon Fries"
    I opted to be a good boy (somewhat) and do what was best for my body. I guess the inner battle I was fighting was evident by my body language and a nice elderly couple offered me a taste of theirs.
    I took one, thanked them and crunched on it. It wasn't bad, but it indeed was typical fair food and something I didn't need to indulge in, particularly with so many other goodies nearby.

    Truth be told, it was a battle I didn't mind surrendering to. I'm sure the rest of Gary's menu isn't mere fair food, as I'm told he does actually full pig roasts.
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Out of Fayetteville, PA, Gary's Pig Roast can be reached at: 717-968-2046.
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    I think it's hysterical just how many characters you meet and see when walking along a street fair of this magnitude. And by this, I don't just mean the crowd.

    Vendors get in on the act with very little prodding. From dancing pizza makers to juggling cooks, everybody wants a minute or two in the limelight.
    One of the nicer folks I met was Nicole, owner of Psycho Cupcakes in Mechanicsburg, PA.

    But don't be deceived by the name - I assure you Nicole is completely sane and skillfully creates an entire line of specialty cakes, cupcakes, and cookies made from the freshest ingredients that are never frozen, while taking pride in creating recipes made from scratch.
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The folks behind "Psycho Cupcakes".
    Just a few of her unique and scrumptious cake flavors are: Chocolate, Dark Chocolate, Vanilla Bean, Carrot, Red Velvet, S'mores, Apple Cinnamon, White Chocolate Raspberry, Almond, Cotton Candy, Creamsicle, Oreo, Red Wine and Maple Bacon. That's right. Maple Bacon.


    A standout item is her Italian butter cream. What makes it different? It's flavor which carries the essence of light buttery vanilla which is not overly sweet and its smooth soft texture.

Stop in and see her.
For more information, please visit: www.psychocupcakes.com or call 717-766-7295
    Moving on, I stopped and chatted at stands with delicious offerings - Italian sausage, battered veggies, gi-normous smoked turkey legs, fist-sized apple fritters, fresh lemonade, pretzel twists, crab dip, Maryland crab cake sandwiches, pizza in every variety, fried Oreos - and of course, that old fair favorite, Funnel Cakes.
    Now if there's one thing I've learned about folks in the Keystone State, it's that they take their funnel cakes very seriously. And not just any funnel cake will do either. Here, beside good ol' Regular Funnel Cake, it comes in a multitude of variety such as; Chocolate Eclair, Bavarian Cream, Chocolate Drizzle and more. And people can't get enough of it.

    Another thing that caught my eye was something called: the London Broil Sandwich. And this wasn't a mere name.

    Huge… and I mean HUGE hunks of London Broil covered a heated grilled and cooked slowly, then sliced onto sandwiches. It was a thing of beauty!
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    Another vendor of note was someone called, Chef Hogate 85.

    Chef Hogate offered skewers of thick Chicken Thai Teriyaki, along with a variety of kabobs. The smoke-filled air was thick with the delicious grilling scents and the end result was simply delightful. Moist and flavorful, it was truly wonderful.
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Chef Hogate 85.
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Fist-sized Apple Fritters...
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...and gi-normous Turkey Legs.
    As I had completed the dozen or so blocks of the fair and was on my return trip, I noticed a rather large mobile concession. It was quite large and looked sharp in its crisp black and red paint scheme. The name stood out along the length of the restaurant on wheels - Keystone Smokehouse & BBQ Co.
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Keystone Smokehouse's "Hawg Wings".
    Along side the large vehicle was a chalkboard which read, "Try our Hawg Wings".

    Now with that tease, I just had to ask.

    I was told they were a three ounce portion of ham hock, bone-in, deep fried.
Now I may have been successful in resisting the ribbon fries, but this time; not-so-good. I had to try one. And… WOW! This was the star of the show, hands down.

    It was incredible and talk about saving the best for last! The meat just fell from the bone and was not greasy at all. As easy to eat as a chicken drumstick, it was moist and tasty with or without BBQ sauce. A sure winner.
     I spoke with the owner and found that Keystone Smokehouse & BBQ has been hosting events and catering parties for more than twenty years, everywhere between Harrisburg and South Carolina. Their menu specialties are southern style smoked BBQ, pulled pork, smoked beef, ribs, turkey, chicken or seafood. But they just don't talk the talk.

    Their mobile kitchen has a state-of-the-art wood-burning smoker and they offer a complete barbecue catering experience with table linens, stainless steel chaffing dishes and a professional staff, as well as an exhaustive menu.

For more information, please visit: www.keystonebbq.com or call 717-576-8799
    And with that Hawg Wing, I concluded a magnificent day spent enjoying an 85-year old tradition.

    My first experience at Jubilee Day was great. I met some wonderful people, chowed down on some fun foods and finally experienced what all the buzz was about.

    It had nothing to do with the arts nor the crafts.
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    It had nothing to do with the wares or the products. And surely not the games nor the amusement rides.

    As I suspected all along, I think they come for the food.
See slideshow below for more pictures of Jubilee Day 2013
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Odd Eats! Chinatown, New York City - Part II

5/30/2013

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Text and Photography by Len Boccassini
...continued from Part I

    One of the most fascinating aspects I enjoy in regards to Chinatown, are the grocery stores. And the reason I find such joy in rummaging through them is because they really give you a glimpse into the traditional foodstuffs and expose the cultural tastes of a particular ethnic group.

    I also find that foodies generally tend to veer away from the grocery aisles and congregate more towards the places where they can actually see, smell and get an immediate taste of the food on hand. Purchasing a sealed can of preserved duck liver, sight unseen of what lies within, is only for the most adventurous sort.
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Almond & Fish snacks.
     Of course, there's a few hearty souls about, who like myself, will pick up a jar of Almond & Fish snacks or a bag of freeze-dried crabs to munch on later without so much as a second thought. That translates to me viewing the grocery aisles as my own personal playground to satiate my edible curiosity... of course, along with a few thousand locals.
Just who eats this stuff?
    If there's one aspect of myself I find quite reassuring, it's the fact that unless all foodstuffs in all forms disappear from the face of the earth in one grand swoop, I will never starve.

    That fact slaps me in the kisser like the cold hand of reality each time I walk into an ethnic grocery store and pick up something like a container of Almond & Fish snacks (shown at right) and audibly hear myself utter, "Um, these look good."
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Almond & Fish snacks. Your kids will love 'em!
    It's at that point that I usually glance at someone standing in close proximity who overheard me and is visibly trying to restrain their gag reflex, and I think, "There's gotta be something wrong with me."

    But truthfully, I don't think there is. I'm just not squeamish about any aspect of being at the top of the food chain.
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Those yummy Dried Anchovy snack-paks.
    But even so, that doesn't mean that even I don't consider some things odder than odd on the odd scale.

    Take for instance, those darling little dried anchovies (shown at left) which can be bought by the family snack-pak, containing eight perfectly portioned packages.

    Where are these eaten? And just who eats these as a snack?
For some reason I have a hard time envisioning groups of Chinese school children pulling these out of their backpacks at recess and munching on them through toothy grins.
    I'm hard pressed to imagine the words, "I'll trade you this perfectly-portioned dried anchovy snack-pak for your peanut butter and jelly sandwich," and even harder pressed to imagine the answer returning as, "Okay!"

    Am I that far out of touch? Am I that misguided? Other than myself (and admittedly, I'm a human garbage disposal), just who eats this stuff?
One if by can, two if by jar.
    I am a seafood lover. In any way, shape or form, fish is by far my favorite protein. Keep the steak, keep the burgers, keep the poultry - I'll take fish every time.

    And on some level, I can't help but feel Asians are of similar mindset.

    But even so, in wandering through the aisles of an Asian grocery store, I realize they truly take fish to the "nth" degree. They package it, deliver it and consume it in ways you could never imagine, and some ways that just seem downright odd.

    If there's a way to stuff a fish into a can, jar, container, bag, bottle or receptacle of any kind, they'll figure it out. Any when they can't, they simply dry it out. It's like fish-on-the-go!
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Crisp Fish?
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A rather large dried fish, packaged and ready to be sold.
    In all sincerity, I'm perhaps being slightly dramatic as I do not find their methods of packaging seafood products all that odd.

    I grew up in an authentic Italian household, and similar fare graced our tables on a regular basis, particularly over the holiday season.
Dried, smoked, canned, jarred or preserved fish was no stranger to my home.

    We would eat what is called Bacala, which is nothing more than dried and salted cod fish. Stiff as a board, it would have to be soaked overnight (and sometimes longer) to get rid of the salt content it absorbs to preserve it, as well as to soften it up in order to make it edible.

    And there was hardly an antipasto that sat upon the holiday table that didn't contain smoked oysters, smoked mussels and anchovies wrapped around capers, all having been delivered from sea to table via a can or a jar.
    And then there was my mother's monthly journeys to Corrado's in north Jersey, for Italian specialty foods and delicacies. She'd come home with these finger-long anchovies in a jar of olive oil and crushed red pepper. To you, it may sound horrifying. To me - well, I'm salivating just writing this.
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    My point is, odd as this all may seem, it is no more out-f-the-ordinary than my own upbringing may appear to another ethnic group.

    Veering from the canned good section, I meandered to a portion of the store that displayed neat rows of dried fish of all varieties in Plexiglas shelves. Beneath the shelves, were more rows of dried fish displayed in clear plastic bins.

    If you stood back and gazed upon the scene as a whole, it held the appearance of one big, colorful edible mosaic.
But come closer, and the beautiful hues of the dried seafood products burst forth.

    I remember as a child, breaking off a piece of Bacala and sticking it in my mouth as my mother's shopping cart slid past. For me, its salty goodness was a treat along the lines of a sea-going pumpkin seed.

    On this day, forty-something years later, I'm somewhat ashamed to say I fought back those very same urges. However, this time thought better of it and refrained.

    Of particular impressiveness were the dried shellfish. There were numerous varieties of mussels, oysters, conch along with various types of snails.

    My mind started racing with all the possibilities for the wonderful fish stocks I could prepare using this array of ingredients. But that would be on a subsequent trip; another tale for another time.

    My senses were completely alive in this environment and I was particularly taken by the marvelously colorful hues emanating from a bin of New Zealand Dried Mussels (shown at left).
    There was so much to take in at this market. So much I inspected and enjoyed.

    I'm going to save you the boredom of details and focus on a few of the highlights:

  • a row of smoked, drying chickens hanging in the refrigerator section
  • hanging slabs of cured bacon, almost black in color
  • duck liver sausage
  • braised chicken feet
  • quail eggs
  • boiled salted duck eggs as well as a "preserved" variety that were black and one of the few items that scared me

    This market was far more than a mere curiosity to me. It gave me a glimpse into the world of the Chinatown from the perspective of a local. It also gave me another source for ethnic specialty food.

    But by now, the pangs of hunger were returning ever so slightly and if browsing food aisles was to be the order of business, I wanted it to be food aisles where they encouraged you to taste. And I knew just the place...
Roll this around in your mouth.
    Located at 37 Mott Street lies one of my favorite places to visit in Chinatown. It's called Aji Chiban and actually encourages you to taste samples of every one of its products before you buy. And there's a lot.
    Aji Chiban deals in dried and cured specialty items that encompass everything from miniature dried crabs and pork jerky to salted kumquat and dried ginger to preserved rose petals and preserved olives. And anything and everything in between is there as well.

    And the greatest thing about this place, is they actually have sample bowls of everything they stock and encourage you to taste before purchasing.
Always crowded, the store often resembles one large tasting party.
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    The first time I discovered this store, I glanced inside the window and espied a couple of hundred tiny eyes gazing back at me; eyes of hundreds of tiny crabs. At that point, I knew this was my kinda place and raced inside.
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Miniature "Dried Crabs".
    Going right to the crab bin, I was delighted to find tasting samples were available.

    Labeled as "Dried Crab", they were perhaps no bigger than a quarter. I was mesmerized by their tiny size and couldn't help but smile. I looked them over and noticed a seasoning which felt slightly sticky. With no reservations, I popped one into my mouth and bit down with a crunch. And then another.

    It was slightly fishy, but not at all unpleasant. The predominant flavor was definitely of the sweet/salty variety.
    In my zeal for having felt I discovered a new taste sensation, I grabbed a plastic bag (which they have available above each bin) and filled it with about a 1/4 pound of these guys (and that's a lot!).

As a side-note before I move on, something happened between that first bite and my next bite the next day.

    You see, I got home and put the bag of crabs in the refrigerator. When next I opened the bag, I was hit with a magnificently strong, putrid fish odor. Perhaps it was a reaction of the coldness or perhaps it was just the smell of that many of these little buggers together in one place. But they stunk.
    However, never one to be put off by smell, I popped one in my mouth. Ugh! I tried another. Blech! At this point I thought that perhaps these weren't the taste sensation I initially imagined them to be nor did I like them as much as I thought I did.

    On this visit, I breezed passed those little fellas and decided to focus on all the other goodies. I began with the proteins.

    I tried a number of items in this regard like Dried Sweet Codfish and one form of cod of particular note; a round waffle-like patty perhaps 1/8" thick.
It tasted almost like a "fish matzo".
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The "Dried Crab" bin with sample dish atop.
    The storefront side of the shop contained bins filled with all types of dried and jerked meat. Sweet Dried Beef, Salty Dried Beef, Terriyaki Dried Beef, and more. I particularly enjoyed Hot and Spicy Dried Beef, coated with granules of crushed chili pepper. Its lip-tingling taste was right up my alley, and it was indeed hot and spicy; so much in fact, I am sure I couldn't consume it in large quantities.

    For me, the highlight among the dried meats was the Pork Jerky. I never before experienced it and it takes on a different form than more common jerked meats like beef, venison, elk, or even turkey, in both look and texture. There seemed to be a more cured or smoked element to it, that when coupled with its sweet flavor, was extraordinary.
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Dried Fish Satay.
    Moving from left to right, there were bins which held an array of dried fishes.

    The dried offerings came in the form of squid, cod, whitefish, teriyaki fish, ginger fish, fish strands, crabs (which I previously touched upon) and a number of others, including my personal favorite - Dried Fish Satay.
   
Now, because I say it was my favorite, doesn't deem it scrumptious. It was just the best among the bunch - for me.
Like the other fish offerings, it had a prominent fish odor and a flavor that could only be enjoyed in small quantities.
    However, where the Dried Fish Satay's taste differed from the others I tried, was its fishy flavor was not masked with salt or sugar or heat, but rather, complimented with a peanuty quality that enhanced rather than covered.

    Again, it's not something I would snack on in front of the TV watching Seinfeld reruns, but it was a unique flavor sensation I enjoyed trying.
    Once past the dried fish, there were a group of bins which held the tastiest items in the shop - beans and nuts.

    Seasoned legumes and nuts abounded in a variety of offerings - spicy chick peas, dried peas, sweet and sour nuts; but by a wide margin, the most delectable item in the store were the Wasabi Cashews.

    These monster-sized cashews were coated in a wasabi coating that was perhaps, the greatest wasabi coating I've ever had. I say this because we're all familiar with wasabi tears; you know, "bite down and cry."
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Wasabi Cashews.
    Here, there was rarely a single nut that upon biting into, made you feel as if your head was about to blow apart.

    Rather, every morsel exuded a smooth wasabi flavor in each bite. Also, atop each nut's coating was a dusting of some sort of powdered salt which gave it a "bet you can eat just one" quality. I couldn't.

    These are a must have for any visitor.
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Preserved Rose Petals.
    Moving from the nuts, I began tasting a variety of dried items which I normally enjoy the flavor of - ginger, kumquat, mango - but these offerings I found mainly unpalatable.
    And it wasn't due to the fact that any one taste particularly bad, but rather, their flavors were so much more concentrated in dry form that they were impossible to enjoy, and ultimately, swallow.
    For instance, items like the ginger, which I normally love, tasted like ginger X 1000 and created a very unpleasant, antiseptic mouth feel.
However, there was one gem I discovered in the bunch; Preserved Rose Petals.
    I didn't know exactly what I expected when I tasted the Preserved Rose Petal, but it was nothing like I could have imagined.

    It had a beautiful, bold color and its flavor was far more subtle than I anticipated; fragrantly sweet.
The texture it exuded when bitten into, I can only describe as a crisp Gummy Bear, and its delightful, floral-like scent escalated in your mouth in a most pleasing manner when you chewed it.

    Again, it's not something I could consume regularly or in large quantities, but it was quite the pleasant surprise.
    The last row of items featured some of the oddest offerings with some with the most potently concentrated flavor I experienced all day - Preserved Olives.

    There were a variety of these olives; green. black, yellow, white, large, small, and in truth, although I am an olive lover, none seemed very appealing to me. In fact, they brought to mind dried testicles.
But like the trooper I am, I tried each variety, and some twice for verification.
I relate here, none were better than any other.
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Preserved Olives of the green and black variety.
    The flavors were immensely strong and just unpalatable, and I can't imagine their use in any context. This truly was an Odd Eat.

    Leaving Aji Chiban, it was time to wander next door to N.Y. Chung Chou City at 39 Mott Street to check out their large stock of teas as well as their array of dried fish, roots and herbs. But that will be covered in the next installment of - Odd Eats! Chinatown, New York City.
To be continued...
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Odd Eats! Chinatown, New York City - Part I

5/29/2013

3 Comments

 
Text and Photography by Len Boccassini

I love the exploration of food. There are few things I don't enjoy eating and even fewer things I won't at least try. And this isn't because I'm seeking the "shock value" of it all or because I'm on some "Bizarre Foods" crusade. I truly enjoy the exploration of food.

I was never one to crinkle my nose in distaste at some edible delicacy that seemed out of the ordinary in regards to my cultural upbringing. Rather, my approach has always been, "if it's munchable for them, why can't it be munchable for me?"

And for me, an Odd Eat doesn't mean it has to be of the grub-on-a-stick or tuna eyeball variety. It can be. But it also can be as neutral and innocent as fried Coca Cola or a Crispy Creme Burger. My only criteria is that it has to be somewhat unusual to my everyday fare That's what I consider to be an "Odd Eat".
Today, my "Odd Eats" quest takes me to Chinatown in New York City.

Most major US cities have their version of Chinatown, but by far, New York City's Chinatown is the largest of them all. In fact, its two square miles holds the largest concentration of Chinese in the country, and perhaps, the hemisphere.

Although Chinese emigration to the United States began as a mainly transient population of migrant workers who were lured to California in the 1840's by the promise of gold,
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it took another four decades for the Chinese to trickle eastward into New York City. By the mid-1880's there were less than 1000 Chinese gaining a toehold within the Five Points slums on the southeast side of New York City.

Steadily, the population grew and they tended to live in groups that often held over over a dozen people to an apartment. As a result of racial discrimination, they congregated and eventually, segregated themselves into  their own neighborhood, and on a larger scale, their own society. It was a society which not only offered them protection in numbers, but a place where they could practice the traditions of their ethnicity freely and unencumbered.

And unlike other ethnic groups, they didn't readily assimilate into the native population or succumb to outside influence readily. Instead, they built an internal political and social structure where all they needed to survive (and thrive) could be attained within the few square blocks of the neighborhood.
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What this did in essence was preserve a lifestyle that we of other enthnicities have lost over the course of time. And this is most often reflected in their foods.

Today, although Chinatown has changed dramatically, and much of the neighborhood has now become home to Dominicans, Puerto Ricans, Burmese, Vietnamese and Filipinos, much of the Old World can still be found in the markets, fruit stands and specialty shops.

And that's exactly where our Odd Eats journey begins...
Fruit, fruit and what's that?
One of my favorite things about Chinatown is its vibrant fruit stand scene. Besides locals who purchase their daily produce at these sidewalk marketplaces, these stands are also surrounded by visitors seeking to get a taste of fruits and veggies somewhat uncommon to them, and when viewed in that aspect, gives one a sense of just how many foodies exist out there.
One of the more plentiful fruits you'll find displayed by the throngs of curbside venders is called the Rambutan.

It is by far one of the more unusual looking varieties of fruit you'll find here, as well as one of the more colorful.

The rambutan is native to Indonesia and Malaysia, and can be found growing in Thailand, Burma, Sri Lanka, India, Vietnam and the Philippines. It is closely related to several other types of tropical fruits such as the lychee and longan, both of which we'll touch upon later.
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Rambutan.
The most distinctive feature of this red, golf ball-sized fruit are the yellowish-green follicles that protrude from fruit's skin and give it an almost "hairy" appearance. In fact, the very translation of it's name means "hair". However, rest assured that its odd, and perhaps even distasteful, appearance belies the wonderfully delicious flesh held within.

Soft to the touch, the outer skin is easily removed and reveals an egg-shaped, luminescent flesh that appears to glow. It is extremely juicy and has a taste that is sweetly sour, and perhaps even vaguely tart; almost grape-like both in flavor and texture, but a tad gummier.

Within the flesh is an almond sized pit that an overzealous eater (such as myself) would have to take care not to swallow.
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There's no other way for me to describe my feelings towards the Rambutan other than "delightful". As odd in appearance as this fruit may be, it is truly a treat, and one I would love to partake in again.
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Lychee.
Another fruit that can be found at almost every sidewalk stand and is closely related to the rambutan is called, the Lychee.

Native to China, Taiwan and Southeast Asia, the lychee is smaller than the rambutan (about the size of a large grape), but has a similar flesh once the pinkish-red, roughly textured outer skin is peeled away.

The translucent white flesh revealed within has a floral scent and a fragrantly sweet flavor; far sweeter than the rambutan. Not only is it delicious, but it's one of the stickiest fruits I've ever eaten. Bring napkins... and lots of water.
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Longan.
Very similar to the preceding two fruit varieties is the Longan. Although it bears striking similarities in terms of easily-peeled skin and a translucent flesh, there are some distinct differences which make this my favorite of the rambutan-lychee-longan family.

For one, it is not quite as juicy and messy as the lychee and thankfully, not as sticky.
Whereas the rambutan and the lychee both have a sweetly-sour flavor profile, the longan definitely encompasses a drier, more pure sweetness. This difference is exemplified by the fact that longan are often canned with syrup whereas the other two are not. 
The smallest of the three, the longan has a pit concealed inside the flesh like the others.
These fruit and vegetable stands are colorful to say the least and can border on sensory overload to the easily overwhelmed.

Puzzled looks abound and a host of questions like, "What is that?", "What does it taste like?" and "Is it good?" are answered in varying degrees of broken-English, if answered at all. In fact, most stands offer per piece fruit price for a taste. At fifty cents per lychee or rambutan, I'm sure their profit margin is raised considerably.

Me? I'm their best-case customer; I read the sign, buy the fruit and munch away for better or worse, no questions asked.
Moving along, there was another fruit that seemed to pop up on nearly every stand and intrigued me to no end ~ the Jackfruit.

Sold by these curbside vendors, you can take your jackfruit home in a number of ways including; whole, sectioned, or by the container (pieces).

Believed to have originated in the south- western rain forests of India, today, the Jackfruit grows throughout Southern and Southeast Asia.

Ripened jackfruit is naturally sweet with a subtle flavoring that is not overwhelming on any level. In fact, I was amazed at how closely it resembled a cross between a banana and pineapple in flavor profile.
It's texture is soft and fibrous, and when eaten, is said to quickly replenish one's energy and bring on a heightened sense of euphoria (though I'm sure this has everything to do with its high sugar content and nothing mystical).

When ripe, it is a delicious eaten raw, but can also be used to make a variety of dishes including custards and cakes.

The fruit contains a seed that looks remarkably similar to a clove of garlic. I didn't chew on it, but learned they are edible and have a milky, sweet taste. These seeds are often boiled, baked or roasted, and when cooked by the latter method, they're said to taste comparable to chestnuts.

The unripened jackfruit also has it's culinary uses.
The flesh of an unripe jackfruit is said to have a meat-like flavor and texture, and because of that quality, is most often used as the basis of a spicy curry.
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Whole Jackfruit.
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Sectioned Jackfruit.
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Jackfruit seeds.
Next up on the list of odd fruits is the famous, or infamous, Durian.

The durian's lackluster - okay, abysmal - reputation is brought on by a single element - its putrid scent. But not everyone views it as putrid.

The odoriferous quality of the durian, if nothing else, evokes strong emotions from both ends of the spectrum. The flesh emits a distinctive and penetrating odor that is strong and is even detectable from beyond its thick, thorny husk. To some folks, this odor is described as pleasantly fragrant. Others find the aroma revolting and deplorable. As I said, there is no middle ground with the durian.
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The very sweet, delicious Durian. Yeah right.
I'll be perfectly blunt here; I had all intentions on trying the durian, and was even looking forward to the opportunity. But I did not.

Here's the reason: at $4.99 a pound, the smallest one I could find was about 2 pounds and even that one was not quite ripe. I don't mind taking one for the team, but there was no way I was going to shove an unripened fruit with this awful a reputation down my gullet simply to do so. Nor did I have room in my backpack for one larger. This is at the top of my to-do list next trip in.
But that didn't mean I didn't give it the once over.

I picked it up and marveled at it's roughly-textured husk with protruding thorns which actually hurt your hands when lifting one of any significant weight. I held it to my nose and pushed it away. I grabbed another and did the same. And yet another. What I smelled would hardly lead me to believe so many could actually consider this the "king of fruits" as is often said!

The odor of the flesh was absolutely detectable through the thick outer layer and the only thing that varied from durian to durian to durian was how one smelled like rotten onions, another like sweaty socks and another like raw sewage. I just can believe the fruit within could be pleasurable on any level. So I asked around.

Much to my surprise, more than a few folks said they liked it immensely and raved of its custardy, almond-like flavor. Some even described it as "sweet". I left more confused than I came and decided the only way I could reach a conclusion was to try it myself... next time.
Hey ma, what's for dinner?
Having satisfied my sweet tooth with a barrage of funky fruit, it was time to venture towards things of a more protein-oriented nature. Yep, meat, fish, poultry and whatever fell between those descriptions.

Window shopping amidst long rows of roasted ducks, chickens, pig snouts, ears and whole octopus is not something I find off-putting in any sense. Quite the opposite. In such situations, my inner carnivore can't help but rise to the surface and I am one of the bold few that actually salivates when faced with a crispy pig face (no pun intended).
There was one particular storefront far more intriguing than all the others.
There were neat rows of whole ducks, ducklings, chickens, octopus, fish, pigeons, a whole pig, bellies, ears, snouts, wings, organs and more than a few things I couldn't make it.
Some may have run in horror.

Me? I was in roast critter paradise.
Entering, I found it to be half store and half restaurant which seemed to do a brisk take-out business.
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The inner chamber of "the storefront".
Approaching the counter, I scanned the goodies. It was obvious the Chinese gentleman behind the counter was getting visible irritated by my continuous "what's this" and "what's that" line of questioning. Actually, I couldn't tell if he was yelling at me or was just talking in the fast, loud tones (no disrespect intended) commonly bandied about in most Chinese take-out restaurants.
In truth, I didn't care. If I didn't know what I was ordering, how could I write about it? So I asked.
If the questions weren't bad enough, he really seemed to get pissed off when he realized I was snapping pictures between questions, and he quickly admonished me with a loud, abrupt, "No picture!"

Normally, my take-no-crap-from-anybody attitude would've led me to snap a picture of him followed by an answer of "too late!" But I hesitated for two reasons:
One, I was hungry and didn't want to chance getting tossed. And secondly, he was wielding a meat cleaver.
I wisely put my camera away until I put some distance between us and began to order.
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Roasted section of pork with crispy skin.
The first thing that jumped out at me were these beautiful sections of pork cut from the pig's underside and hanging in the storefront window.

They seemed to be roasted perfectly with a crisp layer of skin reminiscent of Spanish chicarone (fried pork skin).

Each slab looked to be a little over a pound, and after once more being admonished by the pleasant man with the meat cleaver screaming at me that there were no smaller amounts available, I ordered the full pound-and-a-half slab.
He hacked the pork up into bit-size pieces with the cleaver (probably pretending it was me), placed it in a tin container and silently glared at me. I looked away from his glare and ordered. Pork intestines; specifically, what was termed, Crispy Intestines.

I thought he was going to become completely unhinged when he picked up a nest of intestines that looked like limp sausages (I think they were boiled) and I corrected him, "No, the other ones."

He slammed them down and began to scoop the crispy variety I wanted into a container.
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Not-so-crispy, crispy intestines.
In retrospect, his annoyance was quite obvious, and I should have recognized it, but I must've been looking at life through pork-colored glasses and missed the cues. And then I made a miscalculation that really got on his bad side when I announced, "I just want a taste. Not too much."
Big, big mistake.

"Half pound only! Half pound only!" he roared, waving the cleaver as if he was going to have an aneurysm. 

Remarkably, I stayed quite cool considering I don't deal well with people yelling at me.

"Okay, okay, a half pound!" I answered. But I was starting to get ticked off myself and was making it clear I was tiring of the game.
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Fried Smelts.
As he chopped the intestines, I guess he began to detect my own alpha male surfacing, and his body language shifted ever so slightly from defiant anger to ambivalence. He stood there looking out the front window rolling his eyes and waited for the next order.

I asked him about a certain type of fried fish that I knew damn well were smelts, but he referred to them smugly as, "yellow fish."
I noticed they were sold by the pound and ordered a pound to keep the peace.

I took the order from Mr. Personality, grabbed a couple of cans of Sapporo beer from the cooler and paid for the items.
I set the tin containers down on a narrow counter which fronted two young Asian men cooking up a storm and singing in unison. They seemed happily employed in their work which was a refreshing change from the rotten attitude of Mr. Clever.
I had a feeling this counter was strictly for food ordered at this counter, but I didn't care. I was a paying customer and I about had enough with attitudes.

I reached across the counter and grabbed chopsticks. I pulled out my camera, ttore open the containers, cracked a beer and dug in.
The roasted pork was phenomenal and not just because I was hungry.

The outer layer of skin was crispy and crunchy and amazing. Beneath the skin was a layer of fat; not blubbery fat, but fat which seemed just shy of the point of rendering. I tasted a bit and it was flavorful to be sure, but after a mere taste I elected to peel most of it away from the skin for obvious dietary concerns.

And beneath that layer of fat was the most juicy and delectable pork you could imagine. The color of fresh ham, the juices simply burst forth from the meat and exploded in your mouth.

Now if there was one thing I was glad didn't burst forth and explode in my mouth, it was the crispy intestines. Not crispy by any stretch of the imagination, they weren't quite as unsettling as I presumed them to be. In fact, they weren't half bad, especially if one used the dipping sauce it came with.

I won't lie, the texture is the hardest part to get beyond. This is by no means an entry-level odd eat, many pieces being more chewy than others and some downright inedible. I will say however, I was pleasantly surprised by the "lack of" barnyard if you get my drift.

Next up was the fried smelts. Normally, I'd down a bushel of these little gems. Heck, they were a staple on my family's holiday dinner table. But these were not my Aunt Anna's smelts.

They were room temperature, overcooked, stiff, fishy smelling and mostly tasteless. I ate a few, but in truth, really had to wash it down with a Sapporo. It wasn't bad; just not good. That's okay. I had to save room anyway. This was only lunch and it was going to be a long day ahead with lots of munching to be done.
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To be continued...
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Tropical Gastronomy Part III: Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas

4/23/2013

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by Len Boccassini
Anyone who has read any of my past exploits on St. Thomas (and you can do so by clicking here), will know my feelings about traveling to this destination being something of a double-edged sword for me. On one hand, I am absolutely in love with the island itself. It's history, and in particular, its place in maritime history is something I find irresistible. And if that weren't enough, it has some of the most majestic beaches imaginable, such as the perfectly serene Megan's Bay, ranked as one of the world's top-ten beaches. And being a US Territory as part of the US Virgin Islands, it is also feels comfortably familiar.
So what's the problem here?
Well, the double-edged sword for me is Charlotte Amalie. I'm not going to tread this ground again because I've already done so elsewhere. However, for the sake of bringing you up to speed and to be as concise as possible, simply put:

I love the historical aspects of Charlotte Amalie. I dig its food; it's blend of cultures. I am captivated by the very ground its built upon, knowing so many notable figures have tread upon that very same patch of soil.
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Magen's Bay. Ranked one of the world's top-10 beaches.
However, the glut of over-the-top tourist-driven, junk-peddling, duty free, jewelry-hawking merchants of the downtown area just makes me nuts and to be frank, is one giant pain in the rumpus-maximus and a major eyesore.

This area could be so historically relevant and a tourist-dollar generater (along the lines of South Street Seaport in New York City) if they only used some imagination. But they don't. So I go and immerse myself in the elements I enjoy, ignoring those I do not.

But getting back to my point, all-in-all, I really like St. Thomas immensely. But that's more than I can say for another notable fellow...
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A view of Charlotte Amalie from the heights above town.
You see, back in 1493 while on his second voyage to the New World, Christopher Columbus discovered the island of St. Thomas and was apparently, less than impressed.
So underwhelmed was the famed explorer, he decided to forego an extended visit, and instead, sailed on to Puerto Rico.

The wandering Mr. C never fully appreciated the many wonderful safe harbors afforded by the island, and due to his oversight, were left unguarded by the Spanish.
But others were not so contemptuous in their regard for the island and eventually recognized the sizable faux pas made by the explorer. Soon its sheltered bays were called on by ships of other nations, captained by men who were sworn enemies of the Spanish and preyed upon their ships; men of questionable character whom the Spanish would come to consider pirates. As rag tag settlements sprung to life, St. Thomas' existence would be little more than a home to these pirates until a European power decided to finally pursue a more permanent settlement.

That finally came about in 1671 when the Danish West India Company received a charter from King Christian V to occupy and take possession of St. Thomas for the creation of plantations. The charter stipulated that the Danish government would supply the company with as many male convicts as necessary to work the plantations and as many women, who were under arrest, as needed.

Now I don't boast the talents of Edgar Cayce, nor even approach those of the Amazing Karnak, but do you really have to be a psychic to see what's wrong with this picture? Exactly.

It didn't take long for officials to realize convicts did not necessarily make the best laborers, particularly on an island filled with cutthroats, mutineers, thieves, and pirates. And instead of confronting the problem at hand, which was ridding the island of its rogue element, they instead relied on African slaves for labor.

Towards the latter part of the 18th-century, many realized that the future of St. Thomas lay in the development of the area surrounding its natural harbor. And in 1781, four artisans took it upon themselves to plant the seedlings of a more developed, permanent settlement when they built homes next to the new Fort Christian. They were also granted licenses to operate inns. And with those four homes and four inns, the fledgling town was dubbed Taphuus.
Ironically, Taphuus, means "pub" or "pub house". That should tell you all you need to know.
Period descriptions say it was a "lively place", full of excitement. Closer to the truth, it was a den of pirates, freebooters, and scoundrels, and a safe haven for anyone askew of the law; a place where almost any pleasure was available.
The town was frequented by many buccaneers of note, and there are more than a few stories interweaving both Blackbeard and Bluebeard with St. Thomas, and in truth, both actually had strongholds built in Taphuus.
However, the town did grow steadily after its establishment despite the debauchery. Warehouses sprung up along the waterfront on long, narrow lots which allowed for the most efficient use of the valuable waterfront. Homes were built on the hills and valleys between. And it wasn't long after that the name changed from Taphuus to Charlotte Amalie.

In the late 1800s through early 1900s, a series of several major natural disasters including hurricanes, fires and a tsunami devastated Charlotte Amalie and left it in need of rebuilding. However, years passed before the old warehouses that once stored goods for trade would be rebuilt to house the boutiques, stores and restaurants that line the streets today. 

And it was those very same streets I intended to hit as soon as my feet alit upon the hot cobblestone; crossing the same stretch of ground where Blackbeard once spent his pieces of eight with reckless abandon.
My intent was to do some sightseeing up in the hills, visit a great little store that deals in nothing but authentic piratical artifacts salvaged from sand and sea about the island, and finally, hit my favorite restaurant on the island; Gladys' Cafe.

Gladys' serves up some of my favorite Caribbean fare, always prepared authentically, and as an added bonus, she makes one heck of a potent hot sauce that keeps me salivating for days to come.
Her menu is diverse and offers lots of great options for the beginning "foodie" on up. It's a stop I never fail to make ever since I first discovered it about five or six years ago.

On this particular day, I was enjoying the harbor immensely; casually strolling its perimeter and absorbing deep breaths of salty breeze beneath sharp stabs of sunlight dancing between palm fronds.
I am a dreamer by nature and a lover of history, and when you couple those two qualities, it means I can zone out and head for other realms at any given moment.
And over the course of my walk, measuring the historic relevance of each inch of ground my feet traversed, I'm sure there were literally a half-dozen moments when my eyes glazed over and I became a "swashbuckler hitting the harbor with my pockets full of booty, ready to spend my loot in the nearest den of inequity."
And for a couple of moments there I was definitely "a swarthy, bold and immoral seafaring rapscallion, ready to pounce upon those rascally landlubbers with piratical disregard, holding in contempt their law-abiding, meek-minded townspeople ways"... and then I'd wake up.
Such is life when you hit middle age and find the only thing that separates the "you" in current form and the "you" at thirteen, is the amount of body hair you've accrued and a few aches and pains.

On the heels of my jaunt into the hills and a visit to the nautical artifact shop I previously mentioned, I resumed my original plan to pop into Gladys' for lunch.

The area Gladys' is located within is a labyrinth of brick and cobblestone walkways, in some spots so narrow, you could stretch your arms and nearly touch both sides. This is the area I described above where those 18th-century waterfront warehouses were located when the town was expanding.
This labyrinth is one of my favorite places to visit in the city. Yes, there are shops located in each historic edifice, but they are tastefully done without compromising the integrity of the buildings' authenticity; unlike their "on the street" brethren.

As usual in St. Thomas, the sun was quite hot during midday and bottled water was just not cutting it as a thirst quencher. I spotted an establishment called, Greengo's Caribbean Cantina that was set in another of the ancient warehouses.
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Greengo's Caribbean Cantina
In truth, I wasn't considering stopping. I had a mindful of Gladys' and I figured I could get a beverage or two there.
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Inside Greengo's Caribbean Cantina
But naturally curious, I stuck my head inside the historic building to glance about the interior.
Inside, I was struck by the fact that this place didn't even look like a converted warehouse - it moreso looked like one of the original taverns that helped give Taphuus the reputation it so rightly earned.

I looked about in wonder and almost imagined I saw Blackbeard's flaming beard raise a mug in my direction, shouting, "Aye!" And I could have sworn I saw Bluebeard toss a gold doubloon on the bar and demand, "Get that lad a grog!"
And when pirates talk I listen. So I flagged down a waitress and ordered a Carib.
I sat a few moments sipping my brew, just soaking in the atmosphere. I was really lost in the setting. However, it was such a beautiful day and there was such a magnificent breeze blowing in off the harbor, I took my brew and sat at the last outdoor table.

The day was just perfect. I was admiring the stonework of the building when the waitress came out and handed me a menu. I noticed it was a menu with typical South-of-the-Border style food - tacos, quesadillas, taquitos - in other words, nothing I couldn't have gotten stateside.

As the last few droplets of my Carib trickled down, I flipped the menu over and looked over an array of drinks; concoctions of all kinds. One that really caught my eye was called a "Caribarita"; meaning - A Carib Margarita.

Well, okay, Bluebeard was back - "Bring that lad a Caribarita"!
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My Caribarita arrived and I could only smirk. I guess it's a drink intended for two because it came with two straws, Well, this buccaneer wasn't sharing, so I hiked up my britches, raised a toast to Blackbeard, Bluebeard, Captain Morgan, Admiral Benbow and anyone else I could think of and down the hatch! (Really, I sipped it, but that makes for one lame pirate tale.)

About that time, I was smelling some really good odors emanating from the kitchen. And I was good until I saw a plate come out to someone at the next table which smelled great, and casually asked the waitress what it was. She answered good-naturedly, "a pork burrito. Would you like one?"

"Well... okay," was my feeble response.

Now I did the best I could to convince myself that I was going to compare this brand of South-of-the-Border bar food to the brand of South-of-the-Border bar food back home and that it was all being done in the name of Foodidude. But that's a lie. Pure and simple, I was hungry. I tried to rationalize my order knowing Gladys' waited but a few blocks away but it was futile. I was hungry and it was an impulse buy.
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My burrito arrived and I was quite impressed. It had to be pushing 2 pounds and came with a terrific sauce.
I bit into it and the pulled pork was moist and tender, and the sauce added a wonderful element to it. In truth, it was a step above average bar fare and was actually quite good.

However, now that my Caribarita was nearing completion, I decided to stop eating about 1/3 of the way through as I really couldn't imagine leaving Charlotte Amalie without a visit to and a taste of Gladys'.
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Okay, now before you all get the wrong impression, I'm not a total pig. In fact, I decide to detour and climb the hill to the historic St. Thomas Synagogue; an amazing place of worship built in 1833 with wooden benches set upon a sand floor that I visited years ago.
And this was not a casual stroll by any means. It is a long, arduous hike up a nearly vertical street. In fact, when you arrive, a gift shop actually sells tee shirts that read, "I survived the climb to the Synagogue." It is definitely not for the faint of heart.

And before you ask, no I am not Jewish. I took the trip because its the only way I could enjoy a guilt-free trip to Gladys'.
Truthfully, anything on the menu is terrific and if you use her homemade hot sauce, it raises the taste exponentially, at least in my world of spicy disregard.

To be frank, the last thing (besides rice pudding) I'd ever order off of any menu is chicken. I'm just not a fan of the bird at all these days. I'll eat it, but somewhat reluctantly.
But quite out of character, when the waitress took my order, Curried Chicken just rolled off my tongue. Rather than change my initial order, I decided to roll with it. That's how I roll... uh, do things.
So two hours after my Caribarita and Burrito, I'm again walking the alleys which lead to Gladys'.

I arrive, take a seat, drink some cool water and look over the menu. For me, the greatest things on this menu is Curried Goat and Kallaloo, but I get those each visit. I've also had the Stewed Oxtails once before and they are absolutely terrific. But I wanted something different this time.
I also couldn't resist an order of Conch Fritters. Yes, yes, I know... but this order WAS in the name of Foodidude! (At least give me the latitude to continue believing that!)

For those who are not familiar with the term, conch are actually large sea snails that live in those beautiful shells you put to your ear to hear the ocean. However, they're not so beautiful out of their shell but are so delectable delicious!

It strikes me as ironic how they are so wildly popular in the Caribbean, yet were just as wildly popular on my Italian holiday dinner table when growing up. It is indeed, a small world.
I also enjoyed the Curried Chicken immensely, and of particular note were the delectable plantains served with the meal. The kitchen outdid themselves once again.
To continue, once the conch are pulled from their shells, they are cleaned, minced and cooked till tender.
To make a fritter, they are then blended with corn meal and seasonings and fried golden brown. I like to view them as the Hush Puppy of the Caribbean.

Served with a terrific dipping sauce, as expected they were done perfectly, and with a dab of hot sauce, I was on cloud nine.
As always, Gladys' made the trip worth it. The food is always well-prepared, authentic and delicious, and the atmosphere is wonderful.

In leaving, there were two things I was certain of; one - Gladys' is still my favorite restaurant on the island, and two - I was one tired little pirate.

If you'd like to read my complete review on Gladys' Cafe, you can do so right here.
To be continued...
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Tropical Gastronomy Part II: Antigua

4/21/2013

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by Len Boccassini
At first glance to the casual observer or those vacationing, the Caribbean may seem astonishingly similar from island to island. Sure, the allure of the tropics is undeniably strong, but once the para-sailing and snorkeling is done, the rum punch bowl dries, and the snow shovels at home are packed away anticipating the onset of Spring blossoms, the details become hazy and underlying sentiment can easily gravitate towards the less vivid, "seen one volcanic island, seen them all."

Not so with me. I enjoy each island for its individual offerings and can easily recognize and appreciate how they differ; and they do differ, folks.
Whether it's the arid, cactus-strewn landscape of Aruba which is quite reminiscent of the American west or the lush tropical rainforests of the Dominican Republic which seem to bow in unison amidst the sea breezes which caress its gently rolling hills.

Or the volcanic cliffs and cascading waterfalls of Dominica which boasts but one single, black-sanded beach on the entire island or the boulders of immense proportion which jut skyward from the gelatin-blue waters along the sandy shoreline of Virgin Gorda.
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The backdrop to the little villages which dot the landscape of Antigua is of pristine, Jurassic Park-like beauty.
Or perhaps, the wild goats on precipices far above the seemingly endless fields of gently swaying tall grasses of St. Kitts, which instantly recalls visions of the African Savanna, and those neat rows of brightly-painted houses along the streets of Curacao, which are so overtly Dutch, that you think wooden shoes would be a prerequisite to visit.

Sorry for the ramble, but my point here is, "All islands are not alike."

Agreed, you can find a stretch of beach worthy of a postcard on most any island, but that's not what makes me tick. I'm all about absorbing every detail a destination has to offer; scenery, food, culture, mood, lifestyle and perhaps, then some beach time.
Following a debriefing of my memory banks and processing the mental data of my many jaunts throughout the Caribbean, there is one island which continually registers at the top of my travel card in terms sheer beauty, sight-seeing, history, interesting food, culture, people, and gorgeous beaches; in fact, 367 beaches in all ~ Antigua.
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As the tag reads, "Land of Sun and Sea".
Set in the Leeward Islands, it is actually the main island of the country of Antigua and Barbuda.

The island was originally referred to as "Wadadli" by its native inhabitants (Arawak, then later, Carib Indians), but that changed in1493 when upon his second voyage, Christopher Columbus arrived and dubbed the larger of the two islands, Santa Maria de la Antigua.

In spite of Columbus's arrival, strong Carib defenses prevented attempts by Europeans to colonize the island
for the next 140 or so years.
Finally, England succeeded in colonizing the islands in 1632, when Sir Christopher Codrington and a small group of settlers set forth to establish the first permanent European settlement on the island and develop a profitable sugar colony. And at that Codrington succeeded, but as English profits grew, the fortunes of the native population changed dramatically for the worse. Cast into servitude for the sake of profitability; disease, malnutrition and the psychological stress of slavery literally obliterated the Carib population. It is a sad story, but one continually repeated throughout the entire Caribbean region.

Beginning in the 18th century, Antigua was used as the headquarters of the British Royal Navy Caribbean fleet, and throughout its history of colonization, the island was considered Britain's "Gateway to the Caribbean". That continued until the islands were granted independence from the United Kingdom in 1981 and became the modern state of Antigua and Barbuda.
So needless to say, I was elated to get back to an island so high on my adventuring depth chart.

The island itself is gorgeously panoramic and colorful villages dot the landscape amidst pristine backdrops drenched in Jurassic Park-like beauty.

The locals take pride in their history and fare from towns such as the deeply religious All Saints, or Free Town, which became the first free black settlement on the island following the abolition of slavery.
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The peninsula above is owned by guitarist, Eric Clapton. His home is located at right towards the tip, and his recording studio can be seen towards the center.
"Friends, Romans, Countrymen..." Uh, Shut Up and Look At the View

The most recent Foodidude Adventure had set upon traversing Antigua and began in the island's capital, St. Johns.
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With a population of over 31,000, St. Johns has been the administrative center of Antigua and Barbuda since colonization in 1632.
Located in the northwest corner of the island, its deep harbor is able to accommodate large cruise ships, and thus, ensures its position as commercial center and chief port of Antigua.

Boasting the island's largest population usually means boasting the largest array of influences and interesting digestibles. But that will come later. The first task at hand was crossing the island.
The journey into the island's interior led through points which gave a good representation of everyday life on Antigua; places such as All Saints, the isle's second largest town with a population of 3,412; Betty's Hope, the first large-scale sugar plantation built in 1674 by Sir Christopher Codrington, where the only remaining structures are two stone sugar mills and the remains of the still house; and Freetown, where the first black slaves to be freed settled. Neatly dressed children went off to school, road workers toiled in the heat of the morning and a lone mail delivery person walked her route on a desolate stretch of road. It was indeed, an interesting backstage view.
The trek across the island was inspiring and insightful, and finally culminated in the opportunity to take in the breathtaking views from Shirley Heights.

At 490 feet above sea level, Shirley Heights is part of a 19th-century British military complex that is currently protected as a national park.
The views here are majestic - from one point, you can overlook the home and studio of guitarist, Eric Clapton, and from another, enjoy a view of English Harbour in its entirety.
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A view of English Harbour from Shirley Heights.
On this particular day, the sun was exorbitantly hot, but the crisp sea breezes were splendidly cool, perhaps, even "exhilarating" at such heights.
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The Guardhouse, 1791.
Upon the crest, there is rambling array of gun emplacements, a cemetery and military buildings in various states of ruin, including the skeletal remains of an officer's barracks. But I found the jewel of these sites and buildings to be, the Guard House, dated 1791.

The view offered to the rear of the Guard House, also referred to as "the lookout", is that of English Harbour shown above. I overheard someone say that on Sunday afternoons the spectacular view is accompanied by a barbecue, rum punch, and the tropical strains of steel band and reggae music.
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The wonderfully restored interior of the Guard House offers drinks, light beverages, and snacks.
But views aside, the true gem for me was entering the historic interior of the Guard House.

The stone walls of the interior coupled with the open windows and doors provided a cool respite from a blistering sun.
A gray-haired fellow stood behind a period bar, and behind him, three wooden shelves held neat rows of various rums and liquors. Inside this wonderfully restored edifice, one could sit and enjoy a drink of the alcoholic or non-alcoholic variety, or simply grab a snack. But the day was still young, so a couple of bottled waters tossed in the backpack and it was time to get a move on.
That Infamous Jekyll and Jackass Juice

From Shirley Heights, it was nearly a 500 ft. descent into the heart of English Harbour, and in particular, Nelson's Dockyard.
English Harbour became renowned among the English fleet for its protected shelter during violent storms, and is a natural harbor which established itself as a base of operations for the area during the 18th-century.

In the 1740's, enslaved laborers set to work on construction of a naval dockyard.
And although it functioned in the role of refitting British warships on a daily basis, construction went on continuously for the next 100 years and concluded with the Naval Officer’s and Clerk’s House being built in 1855.
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The dockyard drew its official name from Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson commanded the British fleet for much of this time.

Today, English Harbour and the neighboring village of Falmouth are internationally famous as a yachting and sailing destination, particularly during Antigua Sailing Week, where the annual world-class regatta brings many sailing vessels and sailors to the island; while Nelson's Dockyard is a authentically restored dockyard museum which boasts restaurants, bars and a hotel in the original Copper and Lumber Store.
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Patrons sit beneath the shade of the Copper and Lumber Store Restaurant & Bar, watching the world go by on island time.
From the second I set foot in the dockyard, I knew this was my kind of place. The smell, the taste on the breeze, the stoic stature of the many stone outbuildings drew me like a moth to a flame. I didn't know what I was about to see, but knew I wanted to see it.

The centerpiece of the entire dockyard is the Copper and Lumber Store Hotel. Built in 1789 to store lumber and copper sheets that were used for ship repair, the structure has been fully restored and converted into a small hotel with 14 suites or studios.
Surrounded by gardens and palms, it just may be one of the finest examples of Georgian Period structures in the entire Caribbean.
Those who know me well will tell you I am an explorer at heart. I'm not one to look; I want to taste, see, hear, feel and absorb everything I can, and when I get that "little boy" look in my eye, you blink and I'm gone.

I became fixated on this building; circled the grounds until I became cognizant of the fact that I was the only one in the vicinity. Alone.

I was at the rear of the hotel overlooking the water and at the edge of a deck attached to the rear of the hotel. There were a few tables here, and it would be easy to imagine this being the spot hotel guests retreated to for a quiet cocktail to watch the sunset. It was truly a magical setting, but eerily quiet as well.

I climbed a few small stairs onto the deck and noticed an open door leading into the rear of the hotel. I stuck my head in and gave the place a cursory glance. Seeing no one about and obviously in full-exploration mode, I jumped in the doorway and smiled. At that point I really didn't care whether this place was off limits or not - that "little boy" look had settled in my eyes and I was too far gone to worry about dos and don'ts.
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The thing that caught my eye were the walls which were three feet thick and constructed with ships' ballast bricks. Yellow bricks I am told, brought over from England. The furnishings were authentically period and I noticed many antiques throughout the premises.
Walking through the dining room I espied a rather large black man sitting in his chair with his back towards me. Something about his stature and body language, along with a suspected hotel priciness, told me he was some sort of security, and that made it decision time. So I did what any blissfully ignorant explorer who channel surfs past each episode of Locked Up Abroad would do - I made a hard right and continued deeper into the building.

Quietly edging past him, I emerged into a sunlit courtyard, and even had the onions to snap a few pics en route while he snoozed peacefully in a chair three sizes to small for his stature.

I found this picturesque courtyard was actually in the center of the hotel and was overlooked by the many of the hotel's rooms and suites. It was truly a magnificent and magical place, and I'm sure a stay here would provide memories to last a lifetime.

Getting a hankering for some rum, and really not wanting to press my luck any longer, I darted through an archway and popped out into a waitresses station. I swatted back a curtain, stepped out a side door and made my way towards the front of the restaurant like any normal tourist would do.
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The back room of the hotel opened into a glorious, sunlit courtyard.
The restaurant's interior was bustling with hot, sweaty tourists looking for a bit of shade, a cold drink, and perhaps, a swig of the locally made English Harbour Rum.

Me? I opted for the latter in Rum Punch form.
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Now, please let me digress but a moment - rum punch in the Caribbean is not your mama's rum punch. Here, they serve it wherever you go and I've learned it is a tropical catch-all phrase for something that looks harmless, tastes even less harmless, but kicks you in the teeth with the velocity of a mule hoof.
I don't believe they have any more potent rum than we do, however, I do believe their fruit has much better masking qualities than ours and their prowess with units of measurement is all but worthless.
That can be the only answer behind the potency of this seemingly innocuous drink. It's that or they simply adore watching we wacky tourists make complete and utter jackasses of ourselves.
Digressions aside, I patiently took my turn in line at the bar for my ration of liquid "Jekyll and Jackass".

Looking about, I saw the restaurant was decorated authentically as well. The booths were period; wooden high-backed benches, and the walls, the same ballast brick used throughout the rest of the structure. I also took note of how it was remarkably cooler inside the building than outside, and contemplated the colonials indeed knew how to make the best of what they had. With my rations in hand, I stepped out into the Antigua sun.
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It was hot and my explorations raised quite a thirst in me. To quench that thirst, and to illustrate my level of maturity (or lack thereof), I chugged two of these rum punches down in rapid succession, wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist, let forth a polite, barely audible belch (I heard this was a form of politeness it other countries) and headed to the next group of outbuildings feeling all warm and fuzzy.
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The Dockyard Bakery.
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Wandering aimlessly, the rum punch had barely made it past my gullet, when I felt the first waves of light-headedness strike; and that was quickly evolving into wobble.
I chuckled aloud and murmured in my best Rainman impression, "I like being buzzed in Antigua." Dork.

Yep, Jekyll & Jackass Juice strikes again.

And being Italian, I contemplated the only two options available to our kind when buzzed beneath the tropical sun; nap or eat. And although I must confess option number one wasn't entirely out of the question, I opted for the latter.

Luckily, I was mere steps away from the Dockyard Bakery. This was the original bakery which baked bread for those who toiled here back in the day, but today it has been restored to it's original glory with wide hearth brick ovens and all.
Inside, I found a number of treats, of obvious British origin. I opted for a Banger (sausage) Roll and a Meatball.

I retreated to a lone picnic table I found at the rear of a building and sucked down my feast.
The sausage roll was quite tasty - the sausage itself was very much like an American hot dog, except about the width of an index finger. It was surrounded in a delicious, flaky bread which really hit the spot. The meatball on the other hand, was somewhat odd. It seemed to be breaded and baked, which in turn made it slightly dry. I actually would've gone in for another banger or two, but I anticipated a full "Foodidude taste bud onslaught" upon returning to St. Johns.
Though the time spent seeing the historic countryside of Antigua was extremely rewarding and enjoyable, my mind was already fast-forwarding towards hitting the streets of St. Johns and seeing what type of local goodies I could drum up and devour.

The effects of the rum punch had worn off and in addition to finding some grub to write home about, I was ready to indulge in the local lager, Wadadli, and taste a shot of English Harbour Rum to see what all the fuss was about for myself.
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Pig Outs and Business Deals

The streets of St. Johns were alive with activity. Tourists mingled with locals and created waves which ebbed and flowed through the crosswalks of the city's main thoroughfares. Souvenir shops with higher end wares lined the piers of the waterfront. The designer bathing suits, pottery vases and hand-blown glass dolphins denigrated to three-for-ten-dollar tee shirts the further you walked from the water.
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As well, the trendy waterfront restaurants faded to their less elaborate kin, and finally, the all-American fast food joint the further inland you traveled.

Yes, friends, not unlike your very own hometown, fast food establishments like Burger King and KFC are at your beckoned call here in St. Johns.
I pondered how it had become woefully apparent to me that although one can always find shelter from a storm at sea on most of these islands, there indeed was no safe haven from the long tentacles of the "Home of the Whopper".
But having been to numerous cities of this ilk, I was also happily aware that there is an invisible, yet actual, line of demarcation in such places; an unseen yet perceptible boundary that most tourists refuse to cross for fear of seeing life as it truly exists in such realms; a cul-de-sac of uncertainty, where instead of pressing onward, they retreat towards the safe confines of the tee shirt-hawking, chain restaurant crowd that lies squarely within their comfort zone.
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Cities like St. Johns offer a plethora of fresh tropical fruit stands run by locals trying to scratch out a living.
But that's not me at all. I am completely in my element in such environs. In fact, I flourish along the razor's edge.

I am the furthest thing from your average tourist. I am street smart, alert, and chameleon-like, blending seamlessly into any atmosphere. I'm blessed with the ability to walk into a bar-full of locals and walk out with a bar-full of friends. I smile easy, but also have a knack for making it visually apparent that I am nobody's fool and can physically handle any threat. I exude confidence.

And that mindset has carried me through some rather questionable geographical decisions.
So with all systems go, I stepped across that boundary and pressed forward into the real St. Johns. There were few tourists here, and in fact, I was the only Caucasian for blocks in any direction. I was definitely amidst the local population going about their daily life.

But even so, I moved about like I belonged. I held my head high and made eye contact with everyone. And when that eye contact was returned, I nodded and offered, "Wah gwan", which is a greeting in a local dialect that translates to "What's going on?" - my way of stating I'm an alpha male, yet not unapproachable.

The one thing I love about these tropical inner cities are the fresh fruit stands. They are run by locals just trying to scratch out a living by any means at hand. And the best thing about buying from these local venders, besides helping the local economy, is nine out of ten times you can be assured the fruit you're eating was picked earlier that day.

After passing a few of these little corner markets, I stopped beside the stand of a rather large Antiguan woman who did not smile easily. In these parts, I find that understandable as life is not always easy for these folks. I picked up a ripe grapefruit and said, "I'll take this," handing her a dollar and waving off the change. She finally broke down and issued me a grin and said, "Thank you, sir."

I sat on the curb beside her stand and peeled away the grapefruit's skin, biting deeply into the fleshy fruit. Juice, which tasted far more sweet than bitter, ran down my chin as I devoured every morsel to the hum of passing motorists. My new best friend leaned over and asked, "annuda one, sir?"

"Maybe in a bit," I answered, washing my hands and face with a bottled water from my backpack, and rose to my feet.
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The Sugar Cane entrepreneur with whom I struck a deal.
Continuing my travels, I came upon a machete-wielding Rasta operating a street-corner sugar cane stand.

I was quite taken by the process as he hacked three foot canes and pushed them into a machine that appeared to squeeze them and strip them. He then cut them into 6" or 7" pieces and bagged them for sale.

He did this while never looking up from his work, nor acknowledging my presence in any manner.
After a few more moments, I approached him and asked, "Can I get a picture?"

He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me as if I were interrupting a love-making session between he and his favorite gal, and spoke without batting an eyelid, "Dat'll be two dollars."

Now something about that comment didn't sit well with me.

I figured I could answer with the typical tourist, "okay," and fork over two bucks for no damned good reason. Or I could issue the alternate tourist response, "I'm sorry, I don't have any cash on me."

But in truth, I was in no mood for acquiescing and momentarily considered the response, "go piss up a rope."

Conversely, I didn't want to tick off a guy with a machete, and deep down, I still wanted a photo of his operation. I thought for a moment and pulled off my sunglasses.

I looked him dead in the eye and replied, "No, my friend, I won't do that. However, I've got a business deal for you - for one picture of you working, I'll buy a bag of your cane."

His body language relaxed, he smiled and said, "Good deal, mon."

Everybody won, everybody got what they wanted, and everybody escaped with their self-respect and alpha male status (as well as body parts) in tact.

In truth, I don't do sugar, especially raw sugar, but I just had to give a taste in the name of Foodidude. So I tasted the end of the cane and one word - unbelievable. I knew a second taste would do little good for me and actually gave the bag to some local kids who were highly appreciative.
The next stand I stumbled upon was run by an animated, friendly Antiguan gent who sold Coconut Water. He made it fresh right there in front of you - proof being the skid of coconuts he had beside his workspace.
Again, the greatest joy of these stands are the freshness of the product as well as the characters you happen upon.

This fellow yapped nonstop; not in a bad sort of way, but more with an indistinguishable musical cadence. I gulped the sweetly refreshing beverage, thanked him and moved along.
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Coconut Water vender.
Having covered a lot of ground in the city and meeting another cast of characters to write about, I decided I really wanted something to eat - something different and something local.
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I emerged from a quiet side street onto a main drag aflutter with activity. I noticed there were a number of eateries along this strip, but I wanted to be sure whatever I decided upon, it would be a new experience.

In passing a colorful little establishment, I noticed some locals hanging out on the streetside deck which held a couple of tables, as well as a counter around the entire perimeter of the deck where one could take his/her meal mere feet from passers-by, enjoying the bustle of the city.

The smells emanating from the eatery were tantalizing, and I stopped momentarily to take it all in with a deep breath.
I looked up above the doorway and saw an interesting sign constructed of corrugated steel and driftwood that displayed the name of the restaurant, "Slice".

For the briefest of moments I thought to myself, "Hmm, another tourist trap pizza joint capitalizing on the tropical theme," and began to continue on my way.

But then, by chance I noticed a cooler with Wadadli Lager, the locally brewed beer, beside the doorway. Figuring it would be as good a place as any to swig back a cold one, I climbed the steps.
Before entering, I overheard a number of voices within chatting with the workers (and who I later surmised to be the owner) on a personal level. I thought, "this isn't really geared towards tourists at all. Everyone here knows one another. This is a local joint."
I stepped inside and my eyes lit up. This was indeed no tourist joint. It wasn't a chain. And it wasn't glitzy.
It was local.
The inner decor looked like it was built utilizing a dismantled fishing boat. The ceiling was constructed of bamboo. An aged picket fence actually separated the small room from the cash register and kitchen. There were several rum and vodka bottles lining the shelves and pictures of Bob Marley hung everywhere. I was mesmerized.
Once the locals cleared out, I took a moment to check things out. To my left, along with more Bob Marley pictures, there were also a number of photos of other folks I took as celebrities, but none recognizable to me. There also hung a small sign, "Be happy". I was indeed.

On the counter was a glass warming unit which held perhaps, a half dozen rectangular pizzas. But this wasn't your everyday pizza; it was easily discernible that these utilized ingredients which were part of the everyday diet of these islanders.
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In fact, the only one that even looked vaguely familiar was one topped with pepperoni, and since that was the only pie that remained whole, I took it as a sign that it was absolutely not a local favorite. Now before I go any further, here's a short primer on the Antiguan diet.

The original native population were an agricultural-based people and cultivated crops such as corn, a sweet potato with a whiter, firmer flesh than its bright orange American counterpart, and of course, the Antiguan "Black" Pineapple, as well as guava and chiles. And many of those original crops have become staples in today's Antiguan recipes.

For instance, the national dish of Antigua is Fungie (foon-jee) and pepper pot. Fungie is a cooked paste made of cornmeal and water, and is similar to Italian Polenta. Another popular Antiguan dish is called, Ducuna (DOO-koo-NAH), and is a sweet, steamed dumpling made from the grated sweet potatoes described above, flour and spices.  And in addition to local staples such as plantains, pineapple, saltfish, and tamarind stew, I found that Antiguans are just wild about eggplant as a breakfast food. That's right, eggplant.
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In short, many of these Antiguan staples were implemented in their version of pizza.

I pointed to the one I wanted, grabbed a Wadadli Lager, and took a seat outside to wait.

A few minutes later, my pizza arrived and it smelled incredible. Let me describe what I chose:

The pizza's crust was whole grain and crisp on the edges, but soft inside; reminiscent of a pita or moreso, Indian naan.
In place of the tomato sauce was a chile sauce, sweeter than expected, but with a subtle tanginess. The topping, well... here goes: okra, eggplant, chiles of several varieties and plantains. Odd, but scrumptious. I was told this was one of the more popular pies amongst the local crowd.
I was starting get full from all the street treats and the day was waning. There was but one thing left on my checklist - English Harbour Rum.

Heading back to the more touristy section, I saw a place called "Hemingway's". The name alone made it worthy of a shot.
I walked in and ordered. The shot went down smooth and warm. I ordered a second just to be sure.  I have to believe those Brits were onto something distributing rum rations to their seaman for 300 years. It was indeed all they say it is.
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Hemingway's
I knew the rum buzz was but mere minutes away. I'm Italian and I was forced to contemplate the only two options available to our kind when buzzed beneath the tropical sun; nap or eat. This time I chose the former.
To be continued...
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Tropical Gastronomy Part I: Old San Juan, Puerto Rico

4/15/2013

2 Comments

 
by Len Boccassini
Over the years I’ve come to view the Caribbean as my own personal playground for gastronomic merriment; a non-stop smorgasbord of tropical delights ranging from the sublime to absurd and everything in between. I tend to live by the tenet; "no establishment or dish is off limits", and the variety that abounds in this tropical region only enhances my quest to live up to those words.
There’s been nary a plate put before me beneath the Caribbean sun to which I haven’t indulged in with the fervor of an inmate’s last meal – octopus, squid, whelk, shark, goat, eel, alligator, conch, iguana, turtle, fowl, crustaceans of all sorts – and whether they’re baked, fried, sautéed, boiled, blanched, raw or still crawling, matters little to me. As long as I can wash it back with a cold Corona, Carib, Red Stripe, or Medalla, I’m all in. I am entirely in my element here.
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Now I know what you’re thinking ~ "Yeah, yeah, another wannabe swimming in the shadow of Andrew Zimmern, lost in his or her own version of Bizarre Foods."
Trust me on this one, folks, I come from a long line of Italians who are not of the particularly squeamish variety, and with no disrespect intended, I was popping back periwinkles & eel nuggets and horrifying prospective long-term relationships at holiday dinners while Mr. Zimmern was still in culinary school learning to make a roux. While most Roman Catholics practiced the Feast of Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve, I enjoyed the Feast of Seven Screaming Girlfriends.

In truth, I’m a huge fan of Andrew Zimmern, I love what he does, but I'm not after his schtick. I have my own niche right here. Still, if there’s one thing in we have in common besides our manly girth, it’s the zeal for which we approach for the odd and unusual food experience. Hence, my gastric love of the Caribbean where there always lurks the opportunity for that odd indulgence.


On to the Land of the Valient Lord

One of my favorite islands in the Caribbean is Puerto Rico. Perhaps that’s because being raised in northern New Jersey where there’s a high Latino population, it’s culturally familiar to me while still remaining tropically exotic. Still, however familiar, once you scratch beneath the surface of that acquaintance, you'll expose a culturally complex people deeply steeped in their historic traditions. And that's what I enjoy most.

Natives of Puerto Rico refer to their island as Boriqua or Boriquen which derives from the Taino word, "Boriken", meaning, “Land of the Valient Lord”.
Tainos, the indigenous aboriginal population, were the island's original occupants. When Spanish colonization came about in the late 15th-century, there also came an introduction of beef, pork, chicken and rice to compliment the diet of the island's original occupants which at that point, consisted mainly of corn, tropical fruit and seafood.
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El Morro, the 16th Century fortress and cornerstone of the walled city, Old San Juan.
Sadly, as is usually the case when two drastically different cultures collide, those Tainos who were not forced into slavery by the Spaniards, were eventually wiped out by infectious diseases brought over from Europe.

Today, the food of Puerto Rico draws heavily upon its native Caribbean past, as well as Spanish and African influences. It's called, “comida criolla”, and although it is similar to Latin American cooking, it is mostly based on seafood, native seasonings and tropical fruits.
Root plants such as cassava or yucca, and potatoes are found in nearly every dish in one form or another, but by far the most popular starchy vegetable is green plantain, which looks like a big, green banana. However, even amidst the incredible variety of popular fare found on the island, it is hard to miss the fact that the staple dish of modern-day Puerto Rico is rice and beans or “arroz con habichuelas”. It's everywhere.

My most recent trip to Puerto Rico took me to Old San Juan, and I must relate how much I enjoy the "walled city". In fact, San Juan itself, just may be my favorite Caribbean city. It is lively, cultural, historic, colorful and always full of surprises. It also has a quite the vibrant mobile food scene that I intended to take full advantage of and zeroed in as the starting point of my latest gastronomic journey.

Off to the... Park
I began my journey in Old San Juan by strolling along the Bahia de San Juan waterfront. Calle Marina borders the city's southern side and is a bustling street filled with wide-eyed tourists disembarking from cruise ships, as well as locals en route to or from one of the many governmental buildings within the city.
This stretch along the water, as with any city's downtown center of commerce, is frenetically charged and moves at a brisk pace.

There are piers, casinos and hotels along this strip, as well as banks, restaurants and souvenir shops.
There are an array of street merchants hawking their wares - everything from handmade jewelry, sunglasses and imitation Coach bags. At any given time there could be a reproduction age of sail ship such as the Bounty or the Amistad in port to enjoy.
There are venders painting the faces of laughing children with colorful designs. There is even another with a dozen large and brightly-colored, untethered Macaws and Parrots, who for the paltry (or poultry) sum of $10.00, will perch upon your every appendage while posing for a photo.

But this doesn't mean this area is without its charm. Stately horse-drawn carriages carry tourists to quieter destinations. Locals take their lunch in shady waterside parks while tempering the midday heat with cool ocean breezes; pigeons circle with tense patience awaiting the opportunity to seize upon a crumb.

This is my eight or ninth visit to the island and although it would be easy to get caught up in all the excitement, I know exactly where I'm headed. I love to sight-see, but there will be time for that later. Right now, Foodidude is all business. I briskly pass the piers, casinos, hotels, banks, shops, venders, street merchants, horse-drawn carriages with barely a second glance. I'm a man on a mission.

Meals On Wheels
A few minutes later I arrived at my first stop; a shady little park along the bay in close proximity to "La Casita" which is an eighty year-old building that currently houses the Tourism Information Center. The park's pace is far more subdued than the route I just traveled; almost to the point of quaintness.

The park's epicenter is dotted with friendly venders proudly displaying their bright and shiny hand-made wares; offering passer-bys wide-toothed smiles with an air of sincerity. But that's not why I am here. I haven't come for baubles ~ I've come for the plethora of mobile food venders mere yards away.
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These colorful "Piragua" carts can be found everywhere.
After several greetings of "Buenos dias,", I ambled towards Calle Commercio which borders the park to the north and it is literally a street food paradise. Lined up end-to-end along the length of the street, colorful food carts and trucks offer every type of authentic Puerto Rican delights you can imagine. Keyword being, "authentic".

In truth, there are a few carts here and there which offer standard American street fare like hot dogs and hamburgers, but that's not what this scene is about. This is all about authentic Puerto Rican comfort foods being dished out to the local populace on the go, as well as those tourists seeking something other than what they can get at home or simply outside their comfort zone.

On this, as well as previous visits to San Juan, I found the Piraguas pushcarts to be, by far, the most numerous. They are colorfully painted and they are found everywhere throughout the city.
So what is a Piragua you ask? Think upside down snow cone.
Much the same as it's American counterpart, the Piragua is a frozen treat of shaved iced covered with flavored syrup. The most obvious differences is that the snow cone we know and love is round, whereas piraguas are actually pyramid-shaped with a pointy top. It's very name is derived from a combination of the Spanish words, Pirámide (pyramid) and Agua (water).

The piragua is served in many flavors, some you'd expect and some... well, not quite. Some of the more common flavors are grape (uva), raspberry (frambuesa), lemon (limon), cherry (cereza), strawberry (fresa) and pineapple (pina). And then there are those that although less common, you shrug and think, "well that could actually work," such as crema (cream) and coconut (coco). And then comes the flavors that as a mainland American, you just cannot fathom even being considered a refreshing dessert; flavors like Tamarindo (taramind) or Anjonjoli (sesame seed).
Well, of course I had to uphold the lofty expectations I set for myself, so it's probably quite obvious to you by now which category I opted for. I decided to veer off the beaten path and chose Anis (anise). I figured I like annisette, sambuca and licorice, so how bad could it be?

Well, it was cold. And it was also, uh, it was... um, did I mention it was cold?

Actually, it wasn't bad. It's definitely an acquired taste in terms of sweet treats, but not bad. It would not be my first choice for dessert, nor even my one hundredth choice, but it had to be somewhat more refreshing than sesame seed I assure you. But that was enough playtime. Now it was time to get down to serious business.
There are so many mobile kitchens here with so many choices, colors and odd names, I would have to believe it would border on sensory overload to the those here for the first time. I could absolutely understand how the casual traveler could be intimidated by such a plethora of foreign choices and fast chatter. And that would be a shame because here's where you get a real taste of the island.

So here's a couple of tips to ensure you never shy away and miss out on any of these authentic goodies:
First, always gravitate towards the truck with the most customers, locals preferably. Why? Because that's a barometer of who offers the best food.
Secondly, don't be scared to ask what something is. And that's the great thing about Puerto Rico - almost everybody speaks English!

I followed my own advice and approached a frog-green truck called "Native Snacks" and stepped in a long line.
Since most everything in the window was deep-fried, I decided on buying a number of items and having a small taste of each.

I was well familiar with most of the offerings and walked right up to the window to order. Since I actually paid attention to Herb Cohen back in high school Spanish, I ordered in my best "Boriquen" tongue.
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Deep-fried Boriquen treats in the window of Native Snacks.
I ordered a Relleno De Papa with is essentially a deep fried stuffed mashed potato a little smaller than a baseball. They are usually stuffed with pork or beef and I tend to refer to it as a Puerto Rican version of Shepherd's Pie you can carry in your pocket.

Next up on the deep-fried fest was an Accapuria, which next to Pasteles, are my all-time favorite Puerto Rican food. They look like a corn dog without the stick, but are actually mashed plantains (and often, yucca), which are colored with achiote, and wrapped around spicy ground beef and of course, once again ~ deep-fried.
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Beef Empanada and Accapuria.
I then ordered a Sorullito, which is basically a Puerto Rican corn fritter, as well as a Beef Empanada.

With a bottle of water, the entire artery-clogging feast cost me about ten bucks and I retreated to the shade of the park amidst the watchful eyes of a couple of dozen hungry pigeons.
I sat on a wrought-iron bench and tore open the brown paper bags holding my tasty treats. One look inside and I was glad I decided to strictly adhere to my "five miles before coffee" routine each morning. But if there's something that smells better than this Puerto Rican fried feast, I've yet to find it.
I took but a bite of each... well, except for the accapuria - I tore through that like a drunken sailor on shore leave. I must say I know exactly why the locals enjoy Native Snacks. It'll never be mistaken for a Jenny Craig delivery van, but it's Puerto Rican street food at its tastiest.

I threw a couple of morsels to the local pigeon population, wiped my hands clean, and drew a long, cool gulp of water. I tossed the bottle into my backpack, adjusted my hat and decided to climb the scenic city streets towards  the 16th-century fortress, El Morro. En route, I hoped to scope out a possible lunch destination and a spot to enjoy a libation or two.

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The great American fast food "pizza" doesn't quite make the cut here.
Onward and Upward.
I am absolutely fascinated by the architecture of Old San Juan. It is mostly narrow cobblestone streets set upon steep hills with even narrower sidewalks.
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The buildings are of Spanish design with wrought-iron verandas reminiscent of New Orleans; while the cool pastels and bougainvillea elicit visions of Bermuda.
There is always something to see when you enter the heights of the city. Parks filled with mimes and street actors. Street musicians with accordions. Children cooling off in fountains. Beautiful cathedrals.

And the cats. The cats are everywhere. It seems as if one sits in each and every doorway.
I was wandering and climbing ever upward somewhere along Calle Cristo when I decided instead of El Morro, I was going to veer off towards San Cristobal, the other 16th-century fortress located at the opposite end of the city.
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I never met a Mojito I didn't like.
I made a hard right and continued down a few side streets taking in the beauty of this part of the city.

At one point I spotted a guy about my age strumming a guitar. I approached, sat on the curb, and watched him play. I threw a buck in his tip jar and we began to talk; trading aging musician war stories in broken Spanglish.

I found his name was Alex and he played me something with a calypso feel. He handed me the beat up acoustic and in return, I played him Blackbird off the Beatles' White Album.
When finished, he smiled a grin of approval and we shook hands. We parted ways, each in the direction of our own realities. Still, it was a memorable interlude which just exemplifies my belief that music is indeed, the international language.

I got perhaps two blocks when I noticed a picturesque cafe in perhaps, a century-old building with a couple of tables set out front. I gave it a casual glance and actually walked by it... that is, until I noticed the Mojito sign. Three steps backward and in I went.

I saddled up to the wooden bar which oozed history and ordered myself a mojito. The white rum, lime and pulverized mint leaf was just the elixir for a mid-afternoon break. I took it to a table on the street and while sipping it beneath the umbrella's shade, I became lost in wistful exuberance. I gazed at the aging, splintered sidewalks and wondered how many times Ponce De Leon passed the very spot I now rested in. I'm like that - I get lost in the moment quite easily, particularly when alcohol is involved.
Time to go, I drew the last few droplets of rum and chewed a bit of the mint. I stood quickly and immediately felt the drink go to my head in the afternoon heat. I actually think I heard myself giggle, and pressed onward.

As I approached San Cristobal, my eye caught a movement to my right. I pulled off my shades and caught a glimpse of a rather large iguana.

I neared it, and it moved away. And I got closer and it moved still farther. And suddenly, I broke into a run chasing a scurrying iguana through the parking lot.
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An iguana escapes the grasp of Foodidude at San Cristobal.
Now don't ask me why I was chasing an iguana, because I don't know. More than likely it was that mojito making my decisions for me. I'm sure I looked like a crazy American with a scorpion in my shorts, but I didn't care. Round and round we went until quite unexpectedly, it dashed out from under a car and up the nearly vertical wall of San Cristobal. I still don't have a clue what I would've done if I caught it. Most likely I would have gotten bit and ended up in the ER. Dopey, rum-buzzed Americans.

Dinner Time!
When I left San Cristobal it was nearly 5 PM and my stomach was growling. If there one thing San Juan has no shortage of, it's restaurants.
Many of them are just as colorful as the houses and almost all have women outside the door coaxing you in with the promise of the best Puerto Rican food on the island.

In these instances, I rely on my gut instinct. Bright and shiny doesn't always make it the best. I learned that last year with the little gem I found in the rear of a bazaar in the form of Tropical Taste Restaurant.

I avoid the restaurants aimed at the tourist trade at all costs and I never hesitate to ask how a certain dish is prepared. I look for menus written in Spanish first, with English translations to follow as opposed to the reverse.

When traveling, I search out the most authentic atmosphere and food preparation possible, and my "foodar" for just the right place is usually spot on.

On this evening, I was keeping my eyes open, perusing menus outside of each doorway; not sure what I was looking for, but figured I'd know it when it struck me. 

I came upon a street cafe with four tables outside. There really wasn't much of a dinner crowd yet as things don't really get popping in San Juan until the sun goes down.
It wasn't a particularly pretty cafe, but something about it struck me as a place inviting enough to grab a cold one. I asked the young waitress for a Corona and as she disappeared inside, I took a seat at the end table on the sidewalk. She returned in couple of minutes and poured the beer into a mug.

She leaned towards me and offered, "if you'd like to see a menu or want another beer, just let me know, okay?"

I thanked her and returned to my beer.
I sat there as relaxed as can be, watching the world go by in tanned waves that ebbed and flowed. I glanced at the cafe's name - Genesis Restaurant - not a particularly Hispanic name, but "good enough for a cold one," I thought.

That Corona when down quick and I asked the young lady for another while noticing a menu which hung between the doors. I got up to read it. She poured me a fresh cerveza and once again took her place at the doorway. She must've noticed the portion of the menu I was fixated on as she glanced my way and asked, "Are you a fan of Mofongo?"

"Yep. One of my favorites," I answered.

"Then you should really try the one stuffed with crab."

Without so much as batting a eyelid, I responded, "Oh, you mean the Mofongo relleno de jueyes?"
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"Wow," she answered somewhat surprised, "Sounds like you really know your Puerto Rican food."

I laughed to myself at how un-Hispanic this young girl sounded and thought about how out of her element she seemed to be.


"Well, I do have a bit of an interest in food," I replied. "You're not a local, are you?"

"No, I'm not," she answered. "I'm actually from Chicago. My boyfriend works at a hospital in San Juan and I'm doing this while I put myself through school."
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Mofongo relleno de jueyes served at Genesis Restaurant.
I thought about the irony of it for a second and just had to ask,  "Do you eat a lot of the local food?"

"Well, not a lot of it," she smirked.

"Okay," I prompted, "Do you eat the mofongo stuffed with crab?"

"Oh yeah!" she responded with a glimmer of excitement, "It's one of my favorites."

I laughed and said, "Well, alright then. Let me have an order of the Mofongo relleno de jueyes... uh, mofongo with crab, I mean."

I figured if that dish was good enough for a young girl from Chicago who was most likely a picky eater and definitely not into Puerto Rican food, it was good enough for me to give it a shot.

Now for those who do not know, Mofongo is fried plantains mashed in a mortar and pestle and blended with broth, garlic, olive oil and sometimes even bacon, then formed into a mound in the shape of an upside down soup bowl.
In the case of Mofongo Relleno de Jueyes, an impression is usually made in the center of the mound and filled with crab, which also covers the top.

I absolutely love mofongo, and my hunch was once again spot on, as the Mofongo Relleno de Jueyes offered up by the Genesis Restaurant, was absolutely superb. The sky was beginning to darken, I gave my jaws (as well as my intestinal tract) quite the workout, and another Foodidude day was coming to an end.
So all in all, my first day in the Caribbean was a huge success.
My foodie expectations were exceeded on all counts, and once again, I met a cast of characters I'll add to my mental scrapbook.
And to celebrate my caloric binge, I decided to end the night with a brisk walk uphill to El Morro.

To be continued...
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