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!

It's Alive!

I finally ate 산낙지 (Sannakji), or live octopus, this weekend! I would love to write a detailed report on my encounter with the slimy, slippery sea creature, but I don't have time. I leave for Thailand in less than 36 hours and need to pack. Plus, I think the video says it all.

Fish Guts and Egg Sacs

Yes, you read that correctly. Fish guts. And egg sacs. Together. In a bowl.

It's called Altang, and it's apparently a pretty popular soup in Korea; although I hadn't heard of it until last weekend.

My friend Jason had invited me to spend the weekend at his house in a village two hours outside of Seoul. "I'm warning you, there's absolutely nothing to do there," he said. "But you have to see what I've been complaining about for the past year."

"With the amount you've complained about it, it better be bad," I replied.

It was.

Mold, no insulation, walls so thin you could hear the Chinese teacher's Skype conversations (the school divided the house into two "apartments") and a shower reminiscent of the one I used on a train in China.

Did I mention the house is on campus? Oh, and that it's an hour away from a coffee shop?

"Well, at least there's a good restaurant down the street," Jason said. "You can try this soup they're famous for: fish guts soup. My co-teachers ordered it for me my first week here."

Jason, if you're reading this, your school is testing you. The accommodation, the village, the soup. Get out now!

Ok, I know I'm being a bit dramatic. The soup wasn't that bad. It's just not something I'd want on my third day in Korea. Well, it's not really something I'd want ever again.

It wasn't the flavor. Give me a spicy fish stew any day. Throw in some bean sprouts, radishes, green onions and straw mushrooms, and I'll lick the bowl. But add some pollock fish innards...

It looked like little brains and testicles floating in a broth of blood. And it tasted just as strange. The fish egg sacs (the things that looked like testicles) were like mealy hot dogs with a thick casing. The intestines (the things that looked like brains) actually reminded me of ramen noodles--pretty tasteless. Both had a strange smell that I still cannot put my finger on.

Jason looked at me, smiling. "I know, it's strange," he said. "But it's something that grows on you. And since this is the nicest restaurant in town, I've had a lot of time to get used to the taste."

All I have to say is, good luck to you, Jason. And congratulations for surviving a year in that village.

Korea's Hangover Cure: Haejangguk

I've had plenty of hangovers while living in Seoul. Hell, I've had plenty of hangovers everywhere I've lived. But there's something about drinking soju that really takes the next day's headache and nausea to another level.

Thankfully the same people who created this evil alcohol also created a remedy for its wrath: haejangguk (해장국).

Often called "hangover soup," haejangguk refers to all kinds of guk (soup) eaten as a hangover cure in Korean cuisine. The most popular variety seems to be a thick stew consisting of meaty pork spine, spinach, cabbage, onions and congealed ox blood in a spicy beef broth.

Sound like something you want to eat after a long night of drinking?

Me neither. And a few weekends ago, while curled up at the edge of the bed, my friend's suggestion to do so had me dry heaving into a trash can.

"Congealed ox blood?" I said. "Whatever happened to saltines and Gatorade?"

"Get over it and get dressed," my friend said to me. "You're a food blogger now. Plus, saltines are for college kids."

Fifteen minutes later I found myself in front of the haejangguk restaurant, staring at the huge bubbling pots of soup in the window. And about an hour after that, I found myself able to walk upright, without the giant sunglasses and painful expression on my face.

Was it the miracle soup? The all-powerful kimchi? Or was it just the fresh air?

I don't know. And I don't care. I just know that the haejangguk was much better than a box of flavorless white crackers.

Kongbul

It amazes me that I've been here for a year and a half and am still discovering new dishes.

Last night, my friend Yong-Kyu took me to dinner in the Konkuk University area. "I want to take you to a restaurant I like, but I am nervous," he said. "It might be too spicy. And if you don't like it, my feeling is bad."

I rolled my eyes. "Young-Kyu, it's me you're talking about. I like everything."

And, of course, I was right.

We went to a place called Kongbul (콩불), a popular Korean chain serving only a few variations of the same dish--Kongbul. Its name comes from the Korean word for sprouts: kongnamul (콩나물) and the Korean word for beef: bulgogi (불고기). Add an entire squid, thick udon-like noodles, sesame leaves and a red spicy sauce, and you've got the restaurant's namesake.

We were about 3/4 of the way done with the meal when a restaurant employee came to our table with a deep bowl of rice, sesame leaves, sesame seeds and dried seaweed. He dumped it over what remained of our kongnamul and mixed the ingredients over a high flame until it became what's known as bokkeumbap (볶음밥).

I took a bite and smiled at the server. "Mashisseyo," I said. Delicious.

He looked surprised. "Where is she from?" he asked Yong-Kyu in Korean.

"She's American," he said back, smiling.

The server laughed. "Nan dangsin-i saeng-gaghaneun hanguk-eo," he said to me.

I think you are Korean.


Restaurant Information:
Name: Kongbul (콩불)
Location: Scattered throughout Korea. Check out the website to find specific locations. It's in Korean, so if you can't read Hangul, have a Korean friend help. Or, you could always roam the streets of Seoul shouting, "Kongbul eodi-ay-yo?" (Where is Konbul?) Someone's bound to point you in the right direction.
http://www.kongbul.com/