Site Change

It came to my attention, nearly a year after I made the switch to Wordpress (sorry, Blogger!), that I never mentioned it on this site. My apologies. You have my permission to hate me. But hopefully you don't hate my blog.

I've since moved to Shanghai, China, and will be here for at least two years. I'll be traveling, soaking up the culture, and of course, eating. Feel free to follow what I'm doing: http://adventurousappetite.com/.

I hope you enjoy the "new" site as much as I do.

Israeli Comfort Food

Rainy weather makes me want to curl up in bed, watch cheesy romantic comedies, and eat a big bowl of something laden with butter—somewhat good for my overworked brain and underworked heart, but not so great for the hips.

Americans are infamous for this. Our idea of comfort food, depending on what state you’re from, consists of macaroni and cheese, lasagna with ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan cheese between every layer of doughy noodle, meats simmered for hours in red wine and butter, and casseroles with so much cream it makes your heart stop just looking at the recipe.

This type of soul-soothing cuisine has made the likes of Ina Garten and Paula Dean household names.

And we wonder why half the country is obese.

Lucky for me, I live in Colombia, where finding all the ingredients for my favorite comfort foods is challenging. However, I recently discovered that Bogotá is experiencing its two-month-long rainy season, and needed something to transport me somewhere warm, dry, and, alas, comforting.

In December, I met an Israeli man named Shahar. We were staying at the same hostel in Patagonia and became instant friends. After a few days together in El Chaltén, we met up again in Buenos Aires. I told him if he was heading to Colombia, I had a couch with his name on it.

A month later, Shahar had taken up residence in my living room. And as payment for my generosity, he paid me in food.

Here’s his recipe for his take on comfort food, Shakshuka (שקשוקה). It’s become my go-to dish for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And fortunately for me, it doesn’t contain an ounce of butter. 

Shahar’s Shakshuka:

(Serves 3-4 People)

Ingredients:

1 TBSP oil

1 onion

4 tomatoes

1 red pepper

5-6 eggs

2 TBSP tomato paste

½ tsp sugar

Salt and pepper to taste

Lots of cumin

Method:

1.     Cut onions, tomatoes and pepper into cubes

2.     Put the pan on medium heat, add oil and put in the onions

3.     Cook onions until caramelized (4-5 min), add salt

4.     Add red pepper and tomatoes

5.     Mix and wait for vegetables to soften

6.     Add tomato paste, sugar, cumin, salt and pepper, then break the eggs on top of the mixture. The eggs should be evenly distributed over the vegetables without the yolk breaking.

7.     Cover the pan and keep it covered until the egg yolks are hard. Check with a fork

8.     Serve with your favorite bread and enjoy!

Suesca Rocks

 I've started writing for The City Paper in Bogotá. Here's my latest story:

My friends below looked like miniature action figures as I tightened my grip on a sharp, protruding rock.

“That's it, you're almost there!” shouted my climbing instructor, Hugo Rocha.

Almost there? Is he kidding?

“I think I'm fine to come down now!” I yelled. But Hugo ignored me. “Focus on your feet and push with your legs. You have this, Jennifer!”

Grunting a string of obscenities, I looked for the next groove to place my right foot. Then my left. My fingers trembled as I reached toward the sky. 

I thought I'd be better at this. I had scaled the man-made rock-climbing wall at the gym in record time. I had hiked Cerro Fitz Roy over Christmas vacation. I was even halfway through the aptly named Insanity workout DVDs. 

But nothing prepared me for the emotion and eventual exhilaration I felt climbing straight up 125 meters, relying on a rope for survival.

Hugo Rocha thrives on that feeling. He does it every day.

“To be in nature,” he says, “with a wall in front of you…to get to the top without falling…it's nice in the end.”

He's right, although you couldn't have convinced me of that half way up the rock. But after finally reaching the top, I understood the reward as I scanned the green landscape and listened to the cheers from below.

I found Hugo's name while reading in the Lonely Planet about Suesca, a sleepy town about an hour from Bogotá. The short blurb said Hugo was reliable to conduct inexpensive half-day and full-day rock climbing excursions. 

It ought to be easy to round up some fellow adventurers, I figured. Wrong. Fellow workers ignored my email, so I posted a Facebook status. Only one person responded, and I had only met her once. She said she would bring two friends. They had all grown up near Bogotá but had never been to the village, never been rock-climbing.

Hugo, in contrast, spent his youth in Bogotá and scaled trees and roofs routinely before moving to Suesca 12 years ago. He had been an industrial design major in college, but left the city life to explore the 400 different climbing routes. He even met his girlfriend while climbing. 

“If a climber is traveling in Colombia, they're going to pass through Suesca,” he said.

For the novice looking for a weekend adventure, making it to the top is the obvious goal. But for me, the experience offered so much more - a bonding friendship. After three climbs, we headed to a nearby tienda and celebrated over beers. Filled with a sense of accomplishment, we drank, danced and cartwheeled in the sun while Hugo packed up the equipment.

Our bodies sore, our hands scratched, we made the quick trip back to Bogotá, satisfied that from a sky-high vantage point, we had broadened our horizon.

Some Suesca facts: Rock climbing costs $60,000 pesos per person for a half day or $120,000 for a full day. Buses to Suesca depart from the TransMilenio Portal Norte on the Autopista. A one-way ticket costs 7,000 pesos. To join Hugo Rocho on the ropes, contact him: deaventuraporcolombia@yahoo.com

A New Year, A New Outlook

I arrived to Buenos Aires late at night December 30^th.  The air was thick and my backpack weighed heavy on my shoulders as I waited for a cab.

On the way to my apartment, illuminated European-like buildings and monuments decorated my view. Teenagers dressed in skinny jeans paraded through the streets. An old couple shared a pizza at an outdoor café. At a stoplight, I nervously smiled as my eyes met those of a handsome man in the taxi next to me. He was singing “Isn’t She Lovely.”

It was all so magical—like something out of a movie. And everything I was hoping for after spending the last couple of weeks in Patagonia.

Sure, Patagonia had been nice. I had pedaled through national parks in the Lake District, traveled two days on Argentina’s famous Ruta 40, and even hiked a glacier. But something had been missing.

I knew there was a chance I’d get homesick over the holidays, but I reassured myself that I’d make friends. I apologized to my family for missing yet another Christmas at home. They understood my need for adventure.

At Cerro Fitz Roy on Christmas

I ended up spending Christmas in the small town of El Chaltén with a couple from Australia. They had just gotten engaged and were doing a little stint around the world before tying the knot. We spent the day hiking to the Fitz Roy Mountain, then joined a British couple, a German girl, a French guy and a Dutch woman for dinner at a local parilla.

Over Patagonian lamb and liters of wine, we told stories of our travels and offered advice for future excursions. Everyone spoke in different accents, but we all shared the same love for adventure.

Normally, this would’ve been just the sort of holiday experience I would've hoped for. But even after countless glasses of wine and lots of laughter, I crawled into my bunk bed that night and dreamt of my friends and family in Florida.

***

A couple dancing tango in San Telmo

I’ve wanted to visit Buenos Aires ever since my parents went in 2004. They had come back from their trip with beautiful pictures of crumbling buildings, cobblestone streets and couples dancing tango. They had described the beef and wine in such detail that my mouth still waters nearly 10 years later just thinking about it.

I had a similar experience (although for about twice as much as they spent, due to inflation). I was charmed by the sidewalk cafes, the grandiose cemeteries, San Telmo’s Sunday antique market. The live music playing on street corners begged me to spend afternoons dancing and drinking beer instead of sightseeing. Even catcalls from men, usually vulgar and offensive, seemed endearing.

But it wasn’t just being in the city that turned me from a lonely woman in Patagonia to a thriving romantic in Buenos Aires. The day after I arrived was New Years Eve, and I had been invited to spend it with an Argentinean family.

I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t actually know any member of the family, and had met the organizer of the event, Laura, over email. But since we shared a mutual friend, Laura said I was already a friend. She said she would pick me up at my apartment at 10 pm and we would have dinner at her uncle’s house.

When we met in person, Laura threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. She introduced me to her brother Sergio, who was driving, then started firing questions. “How was Patagonia? Did you love it? Did you see the Perito Moreno Glacier? Do you speak any Spanish?” She was like a little Energizer bunny—so energetic and full of life. I loved her immediately.

When we got to Laura’s uncle’s house, I was greeted with kisses from about 20 family members. They all introduced themselves and told me how beautiful I was in Spanish. They were happy I could join them for such an important holiday.

With Laura, Sergio and a few other family members on New Years

The night was spent eating, dancing, drinking and singing karaoke. I watched Laura’s grandparents dance tango, and her brother Sergio belt out tunes by Swedish pop band ABBA. When the clock struck twelve, we rushed outside to watch fireworks. Everyone hugged, kissed, and toasted to a great new year.

At 5am, when it was finally time to say goodbye, I did my best to convey, in Spanish, how lucky I felt to be a part of the family celebration. Each of them took turns embracing me before Laura said, on behalf of everyone, “Don’t thank us. You’re family now.”

I got home that morning and emailed my parents. I told them about my night and about the new friendships I made. I also told them that, at 30, I finally got it: I can travel the world and see amazing things, but it doesn’t mean anything if I’m not sharing it with people I love. 

Day of the Candles

Fake Christmas trees, life-sized reindeer, and ornate nativity scenes have stocked the aisles at Homecenter since October. The parks in Bogota have been decorated with giant snowflakes and disco balls for more than a month. There’s even a fake bunny slope in the mall where children can zip line to the bottom.

But, according to my Colombian friends, the past couple months have only been preparation for the real Christmas season, which didn’t officially start until this past Friday, on Día de las velitas.

Translating to “Day of the Candles,” Día de las velitas is one of the most observed holidays in Colombia. It’s the eve of the Immaculate Conception, which is the day Catholics believe the Virgin Mary was conceived and kept free of original sin. To honor Mary, people place candles and paper lanterns on their balconies, windowsills, and in parks and squares.

Here are some pictures from what was going on in Parque Virrey and Parque 93:

Like most Colombian holidays, it was a family celebration, full of warmth and happiness. And despite not being Catholic, the day of candles brought a smile to my face, and made it feel like Christmas.

Everybody's Working for the Weekend

I have a variation of the same conversation every day with my doorman. We exchange hellos, then we say how we’re feeling. Given I usually see him at 6:25 am and then again when I return from work, my response is usually “Estoy muy cansada.” I am tired.

Depending on the day of the week, he replies with (in Spanish), “Yes, very tired, of course. It’s Monday.” Or, “Yes, very tired, but it’s almost Friday.”

Today, he responded, “It’s okay because it’s Juernes!”

Juernes is a combination of the words Thursday (Jueves) and Friday (Viernes). At first I thought it was a Colombian saying similar to our “TGIF,” but after living here for two months, I’ve realized it’s just another excuse to party.

It starts on Wednesday. Every hump day, my upstairs neighbor has her girlfriends over. At 8pm the salsa music begins. At 8:30, I hear the clacking of heels on my ceiling. And from about 9pm to one in the morning, I hear them “woooooing” out on the terrace.

Thursday, before class starts, I hear my students talking about all the parties that are happening over the weekend. The boys talk about who they want to make out with and how drunk they’re going to get, and the girls talk about how they’re going to get their hair done and what they’re going to wear. Teaching is difficult.

Then there’s Friday. Reggaeton music pounds through outdoor speakers at lunch time and kids from all grades swarm the cafeteria, shoveling food into their mouths as quickly as possible so they can go dance with friends. The music continues to blast until school lets out at 3:10. If you have class after lunch, you’re screwed.

When I get home at 3:45, my doorman already has the door open, and is salsa dancing with an imaginary woman. A smile takes over his face as he shouts, “Señorita Jennifer! Es Viernes! Que rumba?” He tells me he hopes I’m going out dancing and drinking lots of beer. He also tells me I’ll have a hangover on Saturday and Sunday.

This Friday (tomorrow) will be extra crazy—student council is throwing an “end of the summer picnic party,” complete with hotdogs and hamburgers for lunch. Students won’t have to wear uniforms, and there’s even a mango stand outside the cafeteria (think snow cones but with shredded mango instead of ice).

At the beginning of the school year, I would have fought the kids and tried to teach them something. But tomorrow I plan on showing funny YouTube videos.

I also plan on dancing with my doorman at 3:45, and living my weekend like the Colombians do.

Then Monday will come, and the dialogue with my portero will start all over again. 

Let's Talk About the Weather

The weather in Bogotá is as unpredictable as my 14-year-old students. One minute everything’s great, and the next, it seems the world is coming to an end.

Unfortunately, in both situations, things are usually a bit gloomy. So it’s critical to always be prepared: lots of layers, an umbrella, and most importantly, a positive attitude. 

When I woke up this morning, rays of sunshine peaked through the window. My usual nighttime uniform of flannel pajamas and thermal socks felt unnecessary. (Side note: apartments here don’t come with heat or air conditioning. The average temperature of 55 degrees doesn’t require either.)

Knowing I only had an hour or two to enjoy the balmy weather, I quickly changed into running clothes and headed for a park about a 20-minute walk from my apartment.

I tilted my head towards the sun and soaked up the vitamin D. I smiled at the man on my block selling avocados. I greeted the women on the streets frying eggs and arepas (corn griddle cakes usually filled with cheese). The flowers being sold at stands throughout the city somehow masked the odor of car exhaust. I stopped and breathed in their sweet scent.

Parque El Virrey 

When I got to Parque El Virrey, I stopped into Juan Valdez, Colombia’s answer to Starbucks. The next hour was spent watching parents treat their kids to balloons, dogs playing fetch, and women, with full hair and makeup, rollerblading. I sipped my cappuccino and took in my surroundings.

When asked how I like Bogotá, sometimes it’s hard to answer. The language barrier has been difficult. The city is polluted and crowded with buses and taxis. The gap between rich and poor in painfully apparent. But on a day like today, when the sun in shining and I have nothing to do but drink coffee, it’s nice.

As I walked back to my apartment, the sky darkened. The wind picked up and it started drizzling. My teeth chattered and I reached in my purse for a rain jacket.

My pace quickened, but several blocks later I found myself at a traffic light, next to a woman selling fragrant tiger lilies. She held out a bouquet for me to smell and smiled. She was missing most of her teeth.

I bought the flowers and continued walking. The woman yelled after me in a strained, hoarse voice, and told me to have a wonderful day. I stopped and waved to her, telling her to do the same.

Her hair was already soaked and so were her clothes. But she was still wearing that beautiful, toothless smile. 

Lines and Laughter in Bogotá

I gasped for air and kept peddling, my head down so the spinning instructor wouldn’t see me laughing.

“Is it just me, or is he doing a sexy dance on top of the bike?” my friend Kari said on the bicycle next to me.

In the dark room, a spotlight highlighted the instructor’s deep-set eyes as he stared out into his audience. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck. He turned up the electronic salsa music and increased the resistance on his bike. His hips were thrusting back and forth as he shouted, “uno, dos, tres!”

Kari and I laughed about it the whole walk home.

This is just one example of the sexual nature of Colombian men—or the sexual undertone that envelops the city of Bogotá, my new home.

At restaurants, couples sit next to each other instead of across—kissing one another’s necks and lips in between bites of food. Young lovers can be found making out on stairwells outside department stores and on street corners. Everyone can dance salsa.

Just three days after landing in my new city I met a Colombian guy named Santiago. A casual meeting in the park turned into a hike to Monserrate, hot coco at a restaurant overlooking Bogotá, then a bottle of wine and tapas at an outdoor café. When he dropped me off at the hotel he asked to kiss me. “I don’t know if it’s your perfume, but I’m intoxicated by you,” he said as his lips touched mine. I almost spit in his mouth.

Santi and I have been out several times since then, and every time he says something that makes me bite the sides of my cheeks to keep from laughing.

“They’re not lines,” he tells me. “I’m just telling you what I’m thinking, and I’m thinking about you.”

I admit, it’s nice to hear. And I suspect in a few months the sight of my spinning instructor gyrating on top of his bike will be commonplace. But until then, I’m going to enjoy the unbridled laughter that Bogotá brings me. And I think I’ll take Santi up on salsa lessons.

A Weekend in Miami

Check out the latest article I wrote for VisitFlorida.com about my weekend in Miami: http://www.visitflorida.com/articles/girlfriend-getaway-miami-and-south-beach-on-a-budget. And stay tuned; more adventures to come in the near future. I'm headed to Washington, D.C. next month to attend a job recruitment fair for international schools. Cross your fingers I get somewhere good. I want to write about eating ceviche in Ecuador or tajine in Morocco. Or even bugs in Africa. My feet are itchy and my belly is hungry.

Getting Fresh

It’s winter. I get it. I should be posting pumpkin soup recipes and ideas for upcoming cookie exchanges. Well, guess what? I’m not. Deal with it.

Lately I’ve had an overwhelming desire to travel. And I’m not talking about a week in the Caribbean or even two weeks in Europe. That’s not gonna cut it. I long for my backpacking days and fantasize about future expeditions: Hiking Machu Picchu, spending a month in an ashram in India, riding a camel through the Sahara. The list goes on.

But nothing is ever like your first time—landing in an unfamiliar city, toting an oversized backpack, ears open to foreign languages, eyes open to foreign sights. The smell from street stalls filling your nose.

This was Bangkok for me in May 2011. Sweat dripping from my every pore, shirt suctioned to my body, horns honking, people running into me from every angle. I loved every minute of it. And that love and excitement continued for the next three months.

That’s why this recipe is so dear to my heart; and probably why I’ve been craving it even during the holiday season.

Vietnamese spring rolls are found, in some variation, all throughout Southeast Asia. Served cold, these handheld wraps are refreshing, fresh and healthy.

Don’t wait for summer. Make them now. Close your eyes and imagine your own backpacking adventure. If you’re anything like me, it’ll satisfy your itchy feet. If only for a night.

Vietnamese Spring Rolls
(Makes 8)

Ingredients:

2 ounces rice vermicelli
8 rice wrappers
24 medium cooked shrimp (peeled and deveined)
3 Tbsp chopped fresh basil
3 Tbsp chopped fresh mint
3 Tbsp chopped fresh cilantro
2 romaine lettuce leaves, chopped
2 Tbsp hoisin sauce
1 Tbsp fish sauce (or soy sauce)
1 Tbsp soy sauce
1/2 lime
2 Tbsp peanut butter
1 Tbsp finely chopped peanuts
1 Tbsp peanut oil

Method:

1. Place shrimp in a bowl and mix with the hoisin sauce and fish sauce (or soy sauce). Bring a medium saucepan of water to a boil and boil rice vermicelli 3-5 minutes, or until al dente and drain. Leave to cool.
2. Put peanut oil into skillet and turn burner on medium high heat. Cook shrimp for about 3-5 minutes until pink. Transfer to plate immediately after so they do not overcook. Let cool.
3. Fill the skillet with warm water. Dip one wrapper into the water for 1-2 seconds to soften. Lay the wrapper flat and place 4 shrimp in a row across the center. Place a handful of vermicelli on top, with a handful of the basil, mint, cilantro and lettuce, leaving about 2 inches on each side. Fold the sides over and tightly roll the wrapper. This will take time to perfect! Be patient ☺
4. In a small bowl, mix the lime juice, peanut butter, soy sauce and peanuts. Play around with the combination until you like the texture and taste. Feel free to try hoisin sauce as well.
5. Serve the spring rolls with the dipping sauce and enjoy!

A Spooky Sleepover

I'd been wanting to visit Cassadaga, a psychic community, since college. I finally did. Here's the story that ran on VisitFlorida.com. Enjoy!

http://www.visitflorida.com/articles/girlfriends-getaway-spiritual-and-spooky-cassadaga-hotel

A New Kind of Adventure

As you can see, I haven't been writing. I could blame it on school, writer's block, a case of carpal tunnel. I could tell you my dog stepped on my keyboard and somehow erased two month's worth of postings. But the truth is, I just haven't felt like it.

I heard from others who've lived abroad that coming home would be tough; and I thought I had mentally prepared myself for it. But I hadn't. I went from living in one of the world's largest, greatest cities, full of exotic foods, language restrictions and daily obstacles to living in New Port Richey. With my parents. Without a car. Or a job.

I've definitely been in a funk--longing for future adventures while missing the past. I thought about going back to Korea, or taking a job in China. But then I realized, I came back for a reason. Five more months until I get my teaching certificate, and then I'm off to another country--full of all new exotic foods, language restrictions and daily obstacles. But until then, I'm going to tackle New Port Richey and make the most of it.

Here's a link to my first article with Florida tourism's initiative, VisitFlorida.com: http://www.visitflorida.com/articles/girlfriend-getaway-reunion-on-rainbow-springs

It's the first of a series of articles on my weekend getaways around Florida. Sure, it's not walking the Great Wall of China or tasting sushi in Japan, but it's still fun. And it's probably making someone on the other side of the world long for the day they can do exactly what I've been taking for granted.

To My Readers

It's been brought to my attention that not all of my readers are cooks. Some have even told me they're not that into...food.

Seriously? Not that into food? What's wrong with you!?

My first instinct was to tell these readers to get lost; to call them names and then launch into a diatribe about the joys of food and the importance it plays in understanding different cultures. But then I realized this is not the behavior that will gain me loyal fans. And fans are, after all, the very people who will launch me into a wildly successful career on the Travel Channel. Plus, I admit, moving back to Hudson, Florida after living in Seoul for so long is a bit...uninspiring. So I've been doing a lot of cooking. It's something to pass the time, and cooking exotic dishes reminds me of my travels. So I guess part of me understands. And in response, I will post a series of articles detailing my recent three-month backpacking trip through Southeast Asia.

Just don't expect me to omit details on all the delicious food I experienced while there. This is, after all, a food blog.

The first installment will be posted this weekend. I would do it now, but I have too much cooking to do.

Laotian Larb

Everyone's eaten at Thai restaurants. There are Vietnamese places popping up all over. My old DC neighborhood even had a Malaysian eatery on the corner.

But what the heck is Laotian food?

I wondered the same thing before I visited Laos, the small country bordered by Thailand and Cambodia. And obviously this was the first question I asked once i got there.

Basically, it's a cuisine influenced by Northern Thailand, Cambodia and the French, with a heavy emphasis on fresh herbs, spices and vegetables. And everything, and I mean everything, is served with a basket of sticky white rice.

The most popular dish in Laos has to be Larb (also spelled Larp or Laap). It's a spicy salad of minced meat or fish, greens, herbs and spices and is absolutely delicious. Locals tend to eat the salad by rolling little balls of sticky rice and using it as their utensil. So this is, of course, how you should eat it too.

Below is the recipe I got from the Tamnak Lao Restaurant Cooking School in Luang Prabang. I made it for my parents today and it was a huge hit. Plus, it's easy, healthy and something new!

Chicken Larb
(Note you can make this recipe with fish, tofu or pork)

This recipe serves one person or three if shared with other dishes.

Ingredients:
• 1 large chicken breast with skin removed, minced into small pieces
• 1 small chicken bouillon cube
• 1 medium lime, juiced
• 2 TBSP hot water
• 2 kaffir lime leaves, sliced thinly
• 1 spring onion, sliced thinly
• 2 shallots, sliced thinly (are we seeing a pattern?)
• 2 garlic cloves (you know the drill)
• 1 bunch of cilantro, cut finely
• 2 stalks of lemongrass thinly sliced, white part only
• 6 mint leaves, thinly sliced
• ¼ tsp salt
• 1 TBSP rice powder (I found this at the local Asian market)
• 1 tsp chili powder or fresh chilies to taste if you like it hot (1-2 small Thai chilies)
• ¼ tsp fish sauce
• 1 TBSP fried garlic*
• 1 TBSP fried shallots*

Preparation:
1. Put the chicken stock, chicken, half of the lime juice and water into a wok or pan.
2. Place over medium heat, stirring until the chicken is cooked through.
3. Remove from the heat and place in a bowl.
4. Add the kaffir limes, spring onion, shallot, garlic, cilantro, lemongrass and mint. Mix well.
5. Add salt, rice powder, chili powder, fish sauce, fried garlic and fried shallot. Mix thoroughly.
6. Pour the remainder of the lime juice over the salad, give it a quick toss and serve it on a bed of lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes.

*You can either buy deep fried onion and garlic at an Asian market, or make your own by slicing shallots and garlic very finely and deep-frying them in a pan until they turn golden brown. Use vegetable or canola oil and keep an eye on them! They burn quickly.


How to Make Sticky Rice:
Admittedly, I was too lazy to make the sticky rice, so we rolled the salad in lettuce leaves. And while it was great, I definitely missed being able to dip that small piece of rice in the Larb's sauce. So, you can do one of two things: either call in a to-go order from a local Thai restaurant, or invest in a steamer and make it yourself. These are the instructions I got from my Thai cooking school: Soak sticky rice in fresh cold water for a minimum of four hours. Afterwards wash the sticky rice with water at least two times. Put the sticky rice in a steamer and steam for about 30 minutes until the rice is very soft. When done, always keep the rice in a closed container to prevent it from drying out and becoming hard. If the rice cools down you can always steam it again.

A Poem for my Beloved Durian

Durian, durian, the magical fruit
People say you smell like a toot.
Spiky, pointy, hanging from trees,
The sight of you brings me to my knees.
People crack you open with a knife,
The first taste nearly changed my life.
A custard-like inside is a surprising treat,
Every day I want to eat.
I’ll never understand why your smell and taste offends,
I’ll forever be here to defend.
Durian, durian, I miss you so,
Back to Malaysia I must go.

A Recipe-filled Reunion

The moment I returned to America I started receiving invites to parties and reunion requests. I responded by sending a mass email: “Let me sleep for five days, then the planning can commence.”

Exactly six days later, I had two of my best girlfriends over for dinner. And even though I wanted nothing to do with rice, noodles, or any other kind of Asian fare, I thought it’d be nice to cook some recipes I learned in Thailand.

In Chiang Mai (Northern Thailand), I spent an entire day at Thai Farm Cooking School. It’s located about 17 kilometers from Chiang Mai City, surrounded by mountains and an organic farm.

The day started at a local market where we learned about exotic produce and staple ingredients in Thai cooking.

Then we took a tour of the garden, smelling and tasting fresh herbs.

And the next few hours were spent cooking curries, soups, stir-fried dishes, salads and desserts.



Everyone left the school with full bellies, bags of leftover food and recipe booklets.

I don’t know how, but I managed to hang on to my tiny recipe book during the next two months of travel. And when I fished it out from the bottom of my backpack, I knew I had to recreate those delicious meals for my friends and family.

For my first (of many to come) Asian dinner party, I made Thai vegetable soup and chicken with basil. Both were huge hits, and the dinner was the perfect way to celebrate with old friends.

****************************************************


Thai Vegetables Soup
(Tom Phak Ruam) {Serves 1-2}

Ingredients
• ½ c sliced tofu (I left this out)
• 1 c coconut milk
• 1 c water
• ¼ c sliced galangal (Similar to ginger root but milder. You should be able to find it at an Asian market. If not, try 1/8 c sliced ginger then add to taste)
• 1 stalk lemongrass, sliced into 3 cm long pieces
• ¼ c sliced tomatoes
• ½ c sliced mushrooms
• 1-5 fresh chilies, minced (Remember a little goes a long way. You can always add more chilies but you can’t take them away!)
• 2-3 kaffir lime leaves
• 1 stem chopped spring onion
• 5 coriander leaves (cilantro)
• ½ c chopped long beans (If you can’t find these at an Asian market, substitute with broccoli or cauliflower. Green beans get too mushy.)
• ½ c chopped pumpkin (I couldn’t find pumpkin so I used butternut squash and it was excellent.)
• ½ c chopped carrot
• 2 tsp lime juice
• 1 tsp fish sauce or soy sauce (I prefer fish sauce.)
• ½ tsp sugar
• pinch of salt

Preparation

Put water and coconut milk in a pot, heat until boiling. Add galangal, lemongrass, onion, pumpkin, long beans and carrot, cook until fragrant. Add tofu, tomatoes and mushrooms, continue boiling on medium heat until cooked. Season with fish or soy sauce, sugar and salt. Finally add lime juice, coriander and kaffir lime leaves, spring onions and chilies. Serve with rice.


Chicken with Basil
(Phad Kaprao Gai) {Serves 1-2}

Ingredients

• 100 grams sliced chicken (1 thin chicken cutlet. Chicken can be replaced by tofu, pork, beef or squid)
• 2 tbsp oil (soybean or canola)
• 5 cloves minced garlic
• 1/3 c sliced long beans
• 2-3 hot chilies
• 1 c Thai basil (holy basil) leaves
• 1 tbsp fish sauce
• 1 tbsp oyster sauce
• ½ tsp sugar
• ¼ c sliced onions
• 3 tbsp water

Preparation

Pour the oil in the wok (If you don’t have a wok, use a large pan.) on low heat. When the oil is hot, add garlic, onion and chillies. Stir until fragrant. Add chicken and turn the heat up. Stir until well done. Next add long beans, fish sauce, sugar and oyster sauce. Add a little water. Stir together well. When everything is done, add basil leaves and stir once again. Serve with rice

My Last Supper

I knew my last meal in Korea had to be good; but what? Barbecue? One of the many soups I'd savored over my year-and-a-half stay? A rice dish? Seafood? I couldn't decide. But lucky for me, I didn't have to.

As a going away present, my friend Yong Kyu made reservations at a Korean royal cuisine restaurant so I could check off one of the last items from my Korean food bucket list: sinseollo. Sinseollo is a special type of hot pot once reserved only for royalty. It's basically a mild broth with beef, egg, radish, mushrooms, walnuts, ginkgo nuts and a few other vegetables served in a fancy silver pot.

I hadn't had time to research royal cuisine, with my grueling 3-month trip around Southeast Asia and all, so I had no idea what to expect. I figured the hot pot would be placed in the center of the table and that would be it.

Boy was I wrong.

Our server greeted us with salad, cold buckwheat noodles with vegetables, spring rolls and sweet potato salad. Then came beautifully presented sashimi. Then juk (rice porridge). Then boiled pork with spicy radish, nokdumuk (mung bean jelly noodles) and a delicious ground beef dish. Then the waitress brought out a nine-sectioned platter consisting of colorful vegetables and meats. She used chopsticks to put a little of each into thin wheat pancakes, rolled them up and placed them on our plates.

I looked at Yong Kyu. "This has to be it, right?"

"Of course not," he replied. "We haven't had the sinseollo yet."

As if cued, our waitress placed a huge bronze pot of soup accompanied with jeonyueo (meat and vegetables dipped in flour and egg then pan-fried) on our table. Yong Kyu spooned heaps of sinseollo into my bowl.

"Yong Kyu, this is so delicious, but I can't eat another bite," I said, holding my stomach.

"This meal is finished, I think," he said. "Now just dessert."

But it wasn't. There was still doenjang jjigae (fermented soy bean soup) and banchan (side dishes) to be had. I sat in slight agony as I watched Yong Kyu sip his soup and dip his chopsticks into the small bowls of kimchi, beans and vegetables. "Please, have some," he said.

"I'm just saving room for dessert," I replied, hoping that was the last course.

I was relieved when our server came to clear our plates. And I was even more relieved when dessert turned out to be two pieces of tteok (rice cake) and pineapple.

It was a lot of food. But good food. Actually, it was some of the best food I'd had during my stay in Korea.

"Yong Kyu, thank you so much for taking me here," I said. "This was the perfect present. A meal to end all meals."

He blushed and rushed ahead to open the door. I waddled out of the royal cuisine restaurant feeling like a princess. A fat princess, but a princess non-the-less.

TheThings we do for Food

Writing this from an Internet cafe in Saigon, Vietnam, my hands are still shaking, my neck tense from fear.

Anyone who knows me is well aware of my obsession with Anthony Bourdain. I've memorized every episode of No Reservations, feverishly flipped through each of his books, and am anxiously waiting for the day he discovers my blog and insists for me to be his younger, equally-as-charming co-host.

The day before I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City, I thought back to the episode where Anthony wades through a sea of speeding motorbikes in order to taste the area's sought after specialty, bánh xèo. Bánh xèo (literally meaning "sizzling cake") is a Vietnamese savory crepe made of rice flour, water, turmeric powder and coconut milk, stuffed with thin pieces of pork, small prawns and bean sprouts. The crepes are pan fried and served with lettuce, mint and basil leaves for wrapping, and a sweet and sour diluted fish sauce for dipping.

The camera had zoomed in on the frying pan, capturing the crackling of the oil. It panned over to Tony and his Vietnamese companions shoving fist-fulls of lettuce and fried crepe into their mouths. The speakers amplified the loud crunching sounds from every bite. The whole scene was what I personally define as food porn. I was sweating, drool was dripping from the sides of my mouth. It all felt a little wrong. I needed that bánh xèo, and I knew if I ever made it to Vietnam, it would be the first on my list of must-eat foods.

It took about 20 minutes to get to the restaurant, but it felt like two hours. My nails dug into my friend Ben's shoulders, my thighs clinched the back of his. I forgot how to breathe. Thousands of motorbikes whizzed by us in every direction. I could feel the wind as they brushed by, inches from hitting my legs. Tour buses honked their horns and blew through red lights. Pedestrians ran into oncoming traffic. People were driving on the sidewalks. I closed my eyes and prayed, thinking about how good the bánh xèo was going to taste.

When we got to the restaurant, I slid off the motorbike like my body was made of Jell-O. I fought back tears and vomit as I wrapped my arms around Ben. We made it.

I observed the scene: Middle-aged men and women sharing spring rolls and beers, people breaking into their crepes with chopsticks, another tourist photographing his every bite. I eyed the same table Anthony had graced and plopped down into the low-sitting plastic chair.

The sounds of buzzing motorbikes and sizzling oil filled the air, and the smell of coconut and prawns filled my nose. Moments later, a massive plate-sized crepe laid before me, bean sprouts bursting from its sides. I cut a crunchy end piece with my chopsticks and wrapped it in the greens, just as I had seen Tony do. I dipped it in the fish sauce, just like Tony had done. I bit down on the perfect piece and listened to it crunch.

It was one of those moments that felt like it should be monumental, but instead it reminded me of the magic of television. After a few minutes, the giant crepe had gone a bit soggy. It was a tad greasy, and I didn't taste the coconut.

Don't get me wrong, it was good, but not the stuff food porn is made of. And certainly not worth the near-death experience on the motorbike.

Hello from Cambodia!

I can't believe it's been seven weeks since I set forth on this amazing journey. I've seen sights that have shocked me, things that have humbled me, and have done things that I will remember for the rest of my life. Southeast Asia is incredible.

I know what you're thinking...ok, ok, Southeast Asia is great. Jennifer's seen temples, ridden elephants, motorbiked through rice fields. But what about the food?

Know that I will update with pictures and recipes upon my return, but here's a snipet of what I've been putting in my belly:

Papaya salad, curries upon curries, noodle soups so hot my nose was dripping. Crepes from street vendors, baguettes with eggplant and tomato dips, sticky rice in bamboo baskets. Fruit shakes and salads with everything from mangoes to durian. Khmer barbeque, amok (a Cambodian fish curry),laap (a traditional Laos salad), spring rolls with fresh mint and basil leaves, coffee served with condensed milk that had me buzzing for hours.

Words can't describe how fresh, how delectable the local food is here. I can't believe I haven't gained weight, or gotten sick from all the street food I've woofed down.

Last night I went to dinner with the Cambodian motorbike guide I hired to drive me around Battambang. In my dress, I sat on the side of the bike, and squealed in delight when we arrived at the restaurant.

There was an entire cow roasting over a fire. People were crammed around tables, sitting on red plastic chairs. Everyone was staring. "You're probably the first white person that's come to this restaurant," my guide Sahm said with a smile. I knew I was in for something good.

Sahm ordered for us and immediately began preparing my dipping sauce: lemongrass, chilis, fish paste and water, sugar and a pinch of salt. We dipped raw carrots, cucumbers, onions, eggplant, leaves, herbs and meat into it. I sucked it straight from my chopsticks.

Over dinner and Angkor beer, Sahm told me about his grandfather and the way he suffered during the Khmer Rouge regime. His eyes were cut out with hot spoons and he
was forced to work like a cow on the rice fields. When he became too sick to work the way they needed him to, he was executed.

I lost my appetite and felt a great sadness for his family and the Cambodian people. "Yes, it is very sad and maybe three million people were killed by the Khmer Rouge," he said. "My country is still sad but we are strong, happy people."

He lifted his beer and taught me how to say "cheers" in Khmer.

I continue to be amazed in each country I visit. Southeast Asia is not only rich with good food, but also with strong and kind people.

And, I'm Off!

It;s 5:10 am on March 1, and I'm about to leave Korea and start my backpacking adventure. I bought a one-way ticket to Bangkok without much of a plan... Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, perhaps? Maybe I'll make it to Singapore to visit the hawker centers? Jungle trekking in Malaysia? Relaxing on the beaches in Bali? I really don't know what's in store for me.

But I do know I'll be eating. A lot. Stay tuned.

P.S. I tried Sannakji (live octopus) and Boshintang (dog soup) over the weekend! Had trouble posting my videos, but I will make sure to put them up when I return. Post soon!