Convenience Markets: A World Beyond Sushi (Recipe included) (JAPAN - post 1 of 1)

Think Japan, but don't think sushi. Beyond raw fish and vinegar-rice-rolled vegetables thrives an entire realm of Japanese food. Of course bento boxes, miso soup, and sushi immediately come to mind when a friend suggests Japanese food for lunch, an assumption created by sushi restaurants popping up in coastal states, run by groups of mainly Chinese and Korean immigrants. Aside from being painfully pricy, (one exception was a box of tuna sashimi cubes fresh from the Tsukiji International Fish Market in Tokyo - you'd think the closer you got to the real source the more expensive it'd be), sushi and sashimi is unrepresentative of the daily foods Japanese locals eat. I was very fortunate to travel with a friend who grew up in Okinawa, an island east of the mainland, and she introduced us to all her favorite staples bought from local convenience stores to stand-and-eat counter noodle emporiums.

THE MARVELOUS CONVENIENCE OF CONVENIENCE STORES
One of the remarkable discoveries I came across in Japan was the plethora of simple but delicious meal options available at corner convenience marts. In Japan these stores truly live up to the definition of their name. Prepared and packaged foods are microwaved-to-order by a store employee and range from udon and soba hot noodle soups and donburi (steamed rice bowls), to yakisoba (stirfried noodles) and crackly, fried tempura veggies. Surprisingly, the food is of decent quality and all within $5. My favorite find, however, were triangular molded rice balls called onigiri, filled with various meats, pickles, or fish eggs. A layer of nori (dried toasted seaweed) is wrapped in a lining of plastic, separate from the rice, to maintain the nori's crisp freshness until consumption (same concept as the popular single-serving yogurts that were packed with packets of sprinkles or granola in a thin plastic container topping the yogurt). I found them to be ingenious and notably the salmon-filled onigiri made up a majority of my grab-and-go lunches in Japan. Costing just over a dollar, they were the cheapest way to fill up on healthy, flavorful food.



HI-TECH
It seems that the deeper we venture into the developed world, the less available street food becomes. This trend was certainly true in Japan, a poster child society for advanced technology. Their appliances are perplexingly fancy with more dials and settings than any gadgets we rely on to facilitate our own lives in America. My friend's response illustrated this fact to me when I asked about the bathroom conditions at a pitstop McDonald's, "Oh they're fine. The floors are dirty because it's McDonald's, but they still have the heated toilet seats, flushing music, and everything." For Japan, being in the forefront of development, street food is more of an orderly managed novelty than an actual food source. I passed by no more than two impeccably clean, assembly line operations featuring takoyaki (griddle-baked egg-battered octopus balls) along the sidewalk. Perhaps one explanation for the scarcity of street vending can be explained by a fascinating insight provided to me by a Tokyo-raised acquaintance I met in Hong Kong. According to her patchy knowledge, street vending in Japan is tightly controlled by underground gangs; vendors typically emerge only for festivals or holidays to sell snacks such as takoyaki or grilled mochi skewers (glutinous rice flour balls usually filled with sweetened bean pastes). She warned me against absorbing her comments too seriously. Nevertheless it was interesting and the first I've heard about such an organization around street vending. The pockets of street vending only appeared in quiet residential areas and never in downtown commercial centers. After spending a day in the crafted quaintness of Kyoto, I indulged in a thought, inspired by the inactivity of the takoyaki vendors, that perhaps their presence mainly served to complete the charming atmosphere more than anything else.

JUKEBOX FASTFOOD DINING
Cutting-edge machinery doesn't stop at heated toilet seats or even hot coffee vending machines, which are plentiful at every other corner block (and a few in between). Perhaps as convenient as convenient store food are jukebox-like, unmanned fastfood booths; only rather than playing an old-fashioned jingle in response to your money they spit out tickets printed with your food order. The receipt is taken to a small open kitchen at the rear of the shop and minutes later you're presented with a scalding bowl of udon soup (thick wheat noodles) swimming in salty dashi broth or a generous dish of rice and curry or a fried pork cutlet. During mealtimes, solitary businessmen in suit and tie stand around narrow counters, loudly slurping up their bowl of noodles. This food is commonplace and down-to-earth, resembling hearty Chinese cuisine minus the unnecessary grease, and plus extra doses of sodium. Despite the opportunity for conversation, being crowded around a narrow counter, customers rarely interact with their neighbors, preferring earbuds and a newspaper instead.



While I thoroughly enjoyed my taste of sashimi during our stay in Japan, I more appreciated the lesson in daily Japanese cuisine that is severely underrepresented and perhaps even unknown of in our society.

RECIPE
Okonomiyaki (Japanese meat and vegetable pancake)

An interactive meal shared in Tokyo was at a "grill your own" restaurant; similar to a Korean BBQ or Taiwanese Hotpot Restaurant. "Yaki" refers to any food grilled / stirfried / griddled and "okonomi" loosely translates into "choose your own." Thus, Okonomiyaki is a griddled pancake in which the ingredients are personalized to each person's preferences (similar in nature to personal pizzas). The pancakes are thick and packed with flavor, slathered with okonomiyaki sauce (tasting like sweet bbq sauce) and drizzled with Japanese mayonnaise and dried tuna fish shavings.



Ingredients:
(serves 1 or 2)
- small handful cabbage, thinly chopped
- 1/4 carrots, julienned
- 1/4 yellow or white onion, thinly sliced
- 1 tsp red pickled ginger strips (optional - found in Asian markets)
- 4-5 thumb-sized chunks of meat (octopus / squid / dark meat chicken / or strips of beef depending on your preference)
- 1 egg
- flour and water to create 2/3 C thick batter (pancake consistency)
- salt
- oil
- (Japanese) mayonnaise (comes in tall pear-shaped plastic bottle with a red cap - regular mayo works just as well if you're not picky for authenticity)
- Okonomiyaki sauce (found in the ethnic aisle or a Japanese supermarket - or substitute vinegary bbq sauce)
- katsuobushi flakes (shaved dried tuna - found in a Japanese supermarket)
- dried parsley (optional)

1) All the vegetables should be chopped to roughly the same size (carrots should be thinner)
2) Make your batter of flour and water (start with 1/8 C water and 1/4 C flour, adding a little of each until you reach a thick pancake batter consistency); measure out 2/3C - 1C of batter
3) Whisk the egg into the batter and add vegetables, ginger strips, and a dash of salt
4) Heat a nonstick saute pan, add 2 tsp oil; add your meat to the skillet and allow meat to brown evenly on all sides (about 4-5 min total)
5) Pour batter with vegetables over the meat and form into a circular disk with a spatula (batter should be thick enough to form a 3/4" thick patty)
6) Allow pancake to brown over medium heat; flip and brown on the other side (about 10 minutes total? <-- experiment with the time; limited resources aboard a vessel)
7) When the pancake is done, remove from heat and slather with okonomiyaki sauce, drizzle with mayonnaise.
8) Top with katsuobushi flakes ; and dried parsley to taste

Fine Dining?: The Most Delicious Illicit Market (VIETNAM - post 1 of 1)

Written March 31

The author's sister inadvertently forgot to post this - apologies!

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I've arrived at a point in my travels, now in my tenth country, where I've come to the realization, "Holy monkeys, I am tired." My ability to organize and articulate my thoughts has regressed to the level of monosyllabic descriptions, and the flow of conversation around the dining table consistently returns to the safest topic of what my friends and I have eaten or plan on eating in port that day. Accompanying my fatigue was a strong desire to leave the company of our massive touring group (over 700 strong) and the sculpted metropolis of Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) for a quieter setting. Destination: Dalat and Nha Trang. But first, a quick plug for Vietnamese food.

I will be the first to admit that my views are entirely biased, but I believe Vietnam to be the motherland of the freshest, most appetizing and innovative cuisine in the world. Street vending is a more casual affair here compared with the disciplined structure of Thailand. Vendor-ladies shouldering two woven baskets hung from either ends of a wooden pole can be seen ambling amongst the perplexing traffic of motorbike scooters (xe may), autos, and fearless pedestrians. Miniature open air "restaurants" pop up in every conceivable location, decked out with colorful, toddler-sized stools and low, plastic tables. Airy French baguette sandwich carts display sliced, spiced meatloaf, creamy pate, julienned pickles, egg, and shredded dry pork from cramped window fronts. Everything is advertised in the Romanize Vietnamese script. Despite my illiteracy, I was smugly amazed by my knowledge of nearly every food term I came across. Language would not be a barrier to my feasting; I ate like a Queen.



DALAT
Dalat is a mountainous city six to seven hour away from Saigon by bus. Due to its higher elevation it escapes the overwhelming heat permeating the majority of the country and was even a bit chilly in the evenings. Street vending, which has tapered down severely in the commercial hub of Saigon, maintains a strong presence in the center of Dalat. By nightfall, hundreds of vendors amble out to the main market "Cho Da Lat" with baskets of steamed rice noodles covered in scallion oil, chewy steamed tiny rice flour cups sprinkled with dried shrimp, pot after pot of steaming soups and noodles in countless varieties, and steamed, baked, and grilled mollusks in half a dozen specie varieties. Traveling out of a backpack for a couple of months now gave me some perspective on the daily existence of vendors, with their livelihoods packed into a cart or two woven baskets.



LEGITIMACY
On the first evening touring the market in Dalat, I became curiously distracted when several vendors suddenly sprinted without warning to drag tables and cooking pots from the central plaza into alleyways and out of sight. It was almost as if someone had stopped the music for musical chairs and everyone was scrambling to find an empty seat; only in this case racing to remove the seats rather than occupy them. Moments later, a white police truck rolled belatedly into the plaza, as though it had been granting the vendors time to conceal their illicit businesses and casually block from view the lone remaining stove, still glowing with charcoal. My question of the legitimacy of the evening food market was immediately addressed.

The street vendors that flood the streets with vats of bubbling beef broth for hot "pho" noodles, or yellow oceans bobbing with enormous pork, crab, and shrimp meatballs of "bun rieu" likely all operate illegally. It is impossible to enforce a minimum standard for the cleanliness of food eaten inches above gut-scattered asphalt. However, the popularity of Vietnamese street food amongst locals, and increasingly international travelers as well, has brought street techniques into small, formal kitchens as an alternative venue.

VENDING TYPES
Street food can be divided into three types based on the mobility of the operations. Highly mobile vendors compete on novelty, convenience, and economies of scale, contrasting with stationary, (regional) specialty outlets. The former sector is dominated by middle-aged women working independently out of crude baskets balanced across their shoulders. They are recognizable from their conical bamboo leaf hats and are seen soliciting tourists and locals one-by-one for their penny-snack foods: coconut wafer pancakes (freshly griddled infront of you), crispy rice cracker wheels dotted with sesame and dried shrimp, and small sweet egg-cakes. On the slightly more futuristic (though no less chaotic) end of the spectrum, vendors have formalized into permanent, sit-down "restaurants", typically featuring one famous dish, which the restaurant is also usually named for. "Banh Xeo 46A," tucked off a cramped side street in Saigon, was one of such local hotspots. The same plastic stools and tables, quartet of chili and salty condiments, and toilet paper tissue dispensers resembled street-eats to the T (though on a larger scale), but more importantly the food was of the same delicious, authentic quality. I even forgave myself for being exploited by the taxi driver who delivered me to the hidden joint after my first mouthful of the crispy, hot, herb-wrapped roll of shrimp, fatty pork, and beansprout-stuffed coconut crepe.



The majority of street food vendors function in between these two vending types. They carry with them all the essentials needed to set up shop for the day (chairs, chopsticks, condiments, stove etc.) until they find a promising location where they'll stay to complete their shift or are else evicted by local authorities. It is from these countless vendors that most people eat their meals; breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack, and the scene of some of the most exquisite dining in the world.



Note: Although I never had any problems myself, it is inadvisable to eat the ice from street vendors or in small local eateries. Judge the sketchiness of the foods for yourselves.

Follow the Students: Midnight Snacks at the University (CHINA - part 1 of 1)

The mood of the small gathering of vendors quietly filling orders of freshly made, comfort foods reminds me of a potluck meeting of a secret society, subdued, and relaxed, but with an undercurrent of excited energy. In the background, crepe batter sizzles against the hot griddle, interrupting the few, broken conversations. An egg is cracked and the yolk broken over the quickly drying batter. A small sprinkle of chopped scallions and cilantro, followed by briny, preserved shredded turnip, create a colorful landscape on the thin, spongy surface. A quick flip and the bottom of the disc is brushed with hoisin sauce (Chinese bbq-sauce of preserved soybeans), garnished with chili powder, and and a spoonful of crushed peanuts. The burning package, folded into a square and stuffed into a scrap of paper, warms our chilled fingers. It is the first time since Spain where a jacket and scarf (even gloves for a some) are required and few of us are prepared. Welcome to Shanghai.



BRIEF BACKTRACK
Prior to arriving in Shanghai our first stop in China was Hong Kong. For some geography reference, the region is divided by a straight of water into Hong Kong Island and Kowloon Penninsula (attached to the mainland). The island portion is the financial hub of the state. The streets reminisce of any large, urban center, San Francisco or New York with towering, imposing buildings and sleek, modern designs. Kowloon captures more of the local Hong Kong culture. Despite the masses of foreigners and locals flooding the shadowed streets below, the city was absent of the street carts I've become accustomed to seeing in Asia. The dearth of street vending activity in the downtown district took me by surprise. Open storefront counters selling mostly skewered fish balls, octopus tentacles, and other assorted grilled or fried meats and vegetables came the closet to cheap-eats, roadside vending. Locals bunched around each of these stalls in tight bubbles with a similar air to other street food customers around the world. I was lucky enough to follow a friend living in Hong Kong for the year to a legitimate hole-in-the-wall "cart" for an authentic, crispy honeycomb egg waffle called “ge zi bing” 格仔餠 "grid cake", named for the pocketed iron griddle it is cooked in. My friend in Hong Kong mourns the disappearance of these traditional hawkers as local authorities have been cracking down on sanitary regulations and forcing vendors into actual stores. This restriction has eliminated some vendors from the business and is perhaps lowering the incentive for the remaining to dish out first-rate waffles. When considering the actual snack itself, there isn't much to tamper with that would degrade the quality of a true ge zi bing. Motivation and incentive rather than skill or quality ingredients appear to be the culprits against excellence for the dessert snack.



MAINLAND
Crossing back over to Shanghai, we met up with a friend of a friend who has been living and studying in the city for nearly three years. Upon hearing of my interest in learning the local food culture, he enthusiastically promised to take us to his University later in the evening to partake in a gathering of street vendors.

In the late evening hours, vendors cluster around the main gates of the most Universities to take advantage of hungry student appetites. Between 10:30 PM to 1:00 in the morning, they set up their rickety and rusty carts to offer a Chinese version of "late night / take-out" to passersby. The food is as equally greasy, hot, and comforting as buffalo wings, hamburgers, and fries, but truly much more ingeniously executed. I may be biased, but at 3-4 RMB (~ $0.5) a pop, you can't beat the price. The vendor turnout was relatively small in comparison to food markets from previous countries we've visited. Nevertheless, it was probably the largest organized group of vendors I saw in Shanghai. A handful of owners, perhaps six at most, congregate at each gate of the University. They appear to coordinate food types with one another as there were no duplicate offerings at each location, though some vendors offered replica foods at different gates. We ate our way around the vendors starting with an incredible spiced and braised pork, finely chopped before being stuffed into a toasted white "mantou" bun. The meat was topped with minced scallions and cilantro and given a douse of juices from the braise. Following, we watched a woman spread a wide circle batter of crepe on a large griddle and savored the 大餠 "da bing" (introduced above) with both hands as if eating a Bic Mac. Finally, we filled up on a small bowl of tiny wontons in a steaming soy-based broth. Only our stuffed bellies prevented us from trying the elaborate fried rice at the end of the line.

"INVISIBLE" VENDORS
A large portion of prepared foods sold in Shanghai are informal and most likely illegal, although this seems to be accepted with a partially blind eye. Narrow roads in older, village-styled houses, dark grey and attached in townhouse formation, meld into major city skyscrapers amidst the dusty rubble of full-blown construction. Most Shanghai citizens live in these village locations and some offer breakfast or snacks out of their basic dwellings. From uniformed students to businesspeople in suits and leather shoes, people flock to and from these unlicensed enterprises. The execution of food vending from the doorway of these houses was much the same as informal street vending in India or Vietnam; separate operations per vendor, unorganized and primitive, but logistically less stressful in terms of mobility. Surprisingly, the convenience of a backyard larder did not prevent vendors from cooking portably in front of their homes rather than inside. Tables and charcoal stoves were set up along the sidewalk to steam wooden barrels of fluffy white buns and fry 油條 "you tiao" unsweetened donuts for dunking in sweetened soymilk. Local police did not attempt to invade vending activity, though they didn't appear to partake either.



GIVE ME BACK MY SPATULA PLEASE
A final, scattered group of independently operating individuals form a third category of Chinese street vendors. While our university friend informed us that all street vending can be assumed to break the law in China, certain individuals appear to be easier targets for wrist-slapping. Periodically along the quieter streets of the city, not far from main commercial centers, I came across men with wooden ox-carts or on bicycles serving up grilled, skewered meats or candy-coated dates or crab apples. This category of vending seems to fall victim to whistle-blower officials (literally, men who have the authority to call out an illicit activity such as jaywalking or hawking - but no official power to arrest). In the event of crossing paths with an actual police officer, the vendors may have their spatulas or other utensils confiscated as punishment, being that fines are worthless to impose on these penniless individuals. A word to the wise from our experienced friend, don't buy from this third group of street vendors; the absence of quality food matches their sanitation conditions.