Truffles and a Crazy Week Ahead

A tub of honey ganache has been threatening me along with the vast quantities of other ingredients and leftovers from the Thanksgiving weekend. I overcompensated for the number of guests expected for the meal by at least two-fold. Now I'm slowly working my way through the odd bits stacked in uncoordinated tupperware, taking up fridge space. I hate to waste! Even the least bit of food :)

This week also happens to be the last formal week of classes for the semester and admissions week madness at work. I think a few truffles will help remedy the chaos.



Cocoa powder with cinnamon and cardamom
Maccha powder
Ground praline walnuts

Charsiu Bao

Straight from childhood - but better because they're steamy hot and lighter on the meat filling. I used a combination of chicken and chinese bbq pork (charsiu) due to what was on hand. Good for freezing and re-steaming ~ 10 min. I forgot to put a little paper square under each bun so they stuck right to the bamboo rack. oh well.

Foodie food cart panel: Sf hearts the cart

THIS is what a food vending operation should look like.


(Guatemalan taco vendor - braised vs. grilled meats keep the meat moist and flavorful over longer periods of time)

Apparently we (the US, CA, SF, etc.) have rules against exposed food preparation. All forms of outdoor vending must be enclosed from potential contaminants (ie: bird poop, dirt, sneezes (H1N1 be gone) and thus the well-known taco truck was fabricated to meet all of these undesired desires. The problem is you see, you can't actually SEE your food until a faceless hand thrusts the taco (or bacon-wrapped hot dog) through a tiny window at you. Will the safety codes be reexamined now that the market has been recently flooded with a new wave of open-air food carts? I surely hope so...

Practice makes perfect...

...both in photography and cake-making.

This weekend's adventures started out with a simple cake-making agenda for a friend's upcoming birthday and spiraled into a multi-part, multi-layered affair. What have I discovered as a consequence?

1. Layered cakes are intensely effortful, but I imagine this has more to do with my lack of practice (first go around) at making genoise bases and bavarian creams.
2. The bavarian mousse will set up! (eventually). It might be easier next time to refrigerate the mousse for an hour and pipe it into the mold rather than pouring in the cream while it's still soft.
3. The result will look amazing to you, no matter how amateur it compares to others' work - and it will taste all the better for your hours of labor.



I started with accidental burnt caramel, leftover from a batch of faux-samoa girlscout cookies, and burnt graham cracker sable pie crust. Burnt, burnt... a theme in the works. The graham sable crust is actually quite wonderful and unique from the typical graham crusts. I took a packet of grahams, added a hardboiled egg yolk, a few tablespoons of powdered sugar and 3-4 tablespoons of softened butter. Mixed them together to form a crumbly dough which I pressed into a pie tin with the back of a spoon. 375F oven 30 min later yielded an unworkable base for a sweet potato pie, but the great beginnings of my first layered bavarian cake.

With these flavors in mind I decided to opt for flavors resembling a s'more (with the addition of caramel) and I built my cake up from there:
- 2 genoise sponge cakes: 1 chocolate, 1 vanilla
- 2 bavarian creams: burnt caramel, and Hershey's milk chocolate (Shudder. I know it's a crime to have those in the kitchen but my roomie had a bunch left over from an event).
- 1 layer graham sable crumble

I've never bought more than a pint of heavy cream at a time but bavarian creams require certain obscenities. An entire quart accompanied me home from the market.

Genoise is the basic French sponge cake. I say basic as though I know something about them, I don't. I ended up under-baking my cakes (400F 10 min) and then over-baking them a tad dry after reinserting them into the oven, after letting the cakes cool. Just proves to show that this (particular) cake was quite resilient - I'm sure if I had dappled with more delicate flavors they would not have been so forgiving.

For the bavarian creams I started with a creme anglaise base (milk + tempered yolks) without additional sugar, since I would be adding caramel or milk chocolate into the creams. One creme anglaise can be finicky enough to handle but no, I had to attempt them both at once. To be fair I was more concerned with the gelatin in the bavarians setting too quickly if I made them one at a time. However there was no need for that concern, the creams stay liquid for awhile. To the heated cream bases I whisked in caramel or chopped milk chocolate and then softened gelatin. Cooled to room temp before folding in my newly purchased carton of whipped, heavy cream. Using a square mold, I layered chocolate genoise, a layer of chocolate cream, vanilla genoise, a layer of caramel cream, graham sable crumble, another chocolate genoise, another layer of chocolate cream, and a final layer of vanilla genoise. Stuck in the freezer to firm up overnight for easier slicing.



So the layers aren't all beautifully thin and of equal heights. I don't mind too much, at least this time around :)

Rosemary Pinenut Shortbread

I like being surprised.

A little while ago, I visited the newly installed Blue Bottle Coffee storefront in the Ferry Plaza Marketplace, SF for a cup of drip coffee before attending the Rising Tides Competition displayed in the same building. The coffee was somewhat too strong for my taste, necessary perhaps for the patient but tired-looking bankers and business people queuing for a cup on Wednesday morning. Instead of the much-talked-about coffee, good but not surprising, I was impressed by the $1 pinenut rosemary shortbread displayed in the glass bakery counter under my coffee-stained paper cup. What a first bite, "savory more than sweet," with a pleasing crunch of fleur de sel.

I tend to like my baked treats lightly sweet, to join an afternoon cup of tea or coffee. However I'm intrigued by unexpected combinations and having tasted the savory-salty version of shortbread I've been meaning to give it a go in the kitchen ever since. I've also been working my way slowly through the epic Tartine Bakery cookbook for oh 3+ years or so now and I decided to work from their shortbread recipe.



Pinenuts are a bit unusual in the pantry and I'm not always immediately inspired by them beyond the usual basil pesto... they do crop up occasionally though. A few days back I had a flavorful and unexpected sardine ragu filled with chunks of fresh sardine, sweet dried currants, and pinenuts in a heirloom tomato-based sauce. Very very good. But where was I?

For the shortbread I mixed some fresh, minced rosemary from the herb patch into the softened butter as I would do to make an herbed butter. I also toasted a handful of pinenuts in a mini cast-iron skillet with a drop of olive oil and folded them into the dough as the last step. Dry roasting would also work well I imagine. The nuts have a lot of natural oils so they take on a golden hue quickly, less than 5 minutes shaking the pan constantly. Other than these two additions, I cut back on the sugar slightly and sprinkled coarse sea salt on the top of the dough before baking. I cut the original recipe in thirds (experimental) so the baking was done in two mini aluminum loaf pans (5-3/4 x 3). Pressing the buttery dough into the pans is a bit awkward, the dough tended to stick to my hands rather than the pan. Damp hands help a bit. Remember to cut the cookies into squares or rectangles while they are still warm otherwise they will crumble. Delicious but somewhat less elegant.



I'm ready for my cup of tea.

Jelly Tots and Other Novel Sweets: For My Irish Girls

Just three months ago a troop of six Irish ladies arrived on our doorstep, encouraged by our handmade "Summer subletters - Rooms for Rent" sign in the window. I recall our first conversation with the lot of them to be lively, overwhelming, draining, and slightly confusing all due to their excited energy of being abroad coupled with their unfamiliar accents. We all laugh about it now when I recently confessed to them that I swore that half of our first conversation was actually conducted in Gaelic.

Within this short span I've been educated in a few things Irish: sweet little sayings I've unconsciously adopted, the proper ways of Irish tea (milk but never sugar), reaffirming how HFCS (high fructose corn syrup) manages to hide in all things edible (on that note the girls inform me that our beloved American milk is unnaturally sweet for their palate - I can't wait to try the milk in Ireland), and finally in the form of numerous care packages from home, a jackpot of Irish snacks and sweets.

From Tayto crisps AKA chips to creamy Cadbury chocolate Moments, which are rather less sweet and smoother than the American Brand (how can this be so?!) there are a host of similar yet distinctive treats to choose from. Best of the bunch for me has been Jelly Tots, (jellies for toddlers or toddler jellies?). The sugary gummy dots come in a variety of fruit flavors like green apple and black currant. I've requested a king-sized pack of these in MY care package from the girls when they return home. In return I'll be sending over some Thin Mints and Samoas when Girl Scout season rolls around.

(Green) Coriander?

Yes, green coriander, and I'm not talking about cilantro, the first stage of the Coriandrum sativum plant. Cilantro is quite common and pops up in a variety of cuisines, in the fresh bunch of herbs accompanying Vietnamese dishes, chopped into a stellar guacamole, as garnish for a salad and so on. Coriander, which is less commonly known, is the later stage of the same plant, after the leafy cilantro turns yellow and the plant develops seeds.

Since D. planted coriander in the garden I was able to follow the entire life cycle of the plant, which meant for me...the discovery of green coriander. You can't find fresh coriander seeds in the market, due to the short lifespan of the fresh seeds so it was a novel experience for me. Even on the plant, the seeds quickly dry into a nutty, brown striped seed that is typically ground into powder.

After checking online to make sure that the green seeds are not poisonous (doubtful, but D. wanted to be sure), I popped one between my molars and it erupted in a bright, tangy spray of flavor. It was a shocking discovery, combining the freshness of cilantro and the mellow toasty warmth of dry coriander. I'm absolutely hooked. We played around with different uses for this new secret ingredient, my favorite was lightly grinding it in a mortar and pestle with oil-packed anchovies and mixing it with olive oil as a savory dip for bread. The saltiness of the fish was balanced by the sharpness of the seeds' green flavor. We also pickled a cucumber with whole garlic and some blanched green beans from the garden in a spice combination of dill flowers, green coriander seeds, salt, sugar, and vinegar. It makes a great side to a sandwich. (Or for snacking on before making the sandwich when I'm starving).

I started writing this post a week ago and was distracted from finishing. In that time, the green coriander has pretty much disappeared. D. has tied up a large bunch of the seeds to dry under the back porch and the seeds are drying out nicely.

Hankering for English Muffins

I have a strong recollection of family vacations from childhood where we would occasionally check in to a local motel for a few days. My sister and I would head straight for the double queen beds to do our room inspection ritual of bouncing on and between beds before settling down to a quieter activity. Given our typically demure track records our parents would humor us a few bounces at the expense of our neighboring guests, even if we arrived in the late evening. For me, part of the excitement of staying away from home was the complimentary continental breakfasts awaiting us in the lobby in the morning. Somehow the combination of being on vacation and the buffet display of breakfast items made english muffins, in particular, a rare treat. I would always enjoy them split and toasted with a thin layer of butter and blackberry jam. These muffins trump bagels and toast any day.

A few days ago I developed a hankering for english muffins again (I had rediscovered the joy of english muffin mornings during my previous semester abroad) and was set on using my (neglected) sourdough starter to satisfy my craving. After browsing through a handful of recipes and english muffin commentary [sourdough / not sourdough / sourdough] I summarized my findings into a few main steps:

- basic ingredients: sponge (bread flour, sourdough starter, milk or water), additional bread flour, a leavener (baking soda), flavor (salt and a sweetener - sugar or honey)
- a long rise to develop flavor and texture
- rolling and cutting the muffins
- griddle cooking
* I ended up mainly sticking with the Sourdough recipe from The Fresh Loaf



Homemade english muffins are considerably easier to make than other yeasted breads but equally enjoyable to consume. Some recipes result in a sticky but stiff dough that is floured and cut into rounds with a round cookie-cutter, while others are soft and wet enough to require ring molds on the griddle. I followed the cookie-cutter version which yielded a slightly dense muffin filled with good nooks & crannies when fork-split. Adding the sourdough achieved a subtle, nearly sweet flavor that wasn't reminiscent of a hardy sourdough whatsoever, but hey it was delicious.



I savored my first english muffin hot off the griddle, spread with butter and a light sprinkle of sugar. As my friends abroad pointed out to me this is apparently not a common combination, but I grew up on it and find nothing else quite so satisfying. Next time I'll aim for a fluffier texture and a stronger sourdough flavor.

Chilled Zuke Soup

It's hard to fully appreciate the prolific nature of zucchini until you actually grow a plant or two for yourself. Starting from the beginning of summer and still continuing strong, our two plants produce nearly a squash a day. The life cycle of the vegetable is incredible to witness - wake up to gigantic blossoms in the early morning and come home to small budding squash that same afternoon. The question reemerges time and time again, what to do with nature's bounty?

The summer days are finally beginning to heat up, much to the tomatoes' delight. Recently, after sweating out an afternoon of weeding and planting in the garden, my mind was focused on a cool, light zucchini soup that had caught my eye in a Food and Wine article. The recipe by Alain Coumont uses fresh vegetables and herbs to create a simple and visually stunning, chilled soup. I was delighted to find that all the ingredients except for an onion could be gathered straight from the garden including one gigantic zucchini D. had allowed to grow to a monstrous size.

I picked arugula flowers, mesclun, cherry tomatoes, and shaved some remaining zuke to recreate Coumont's elegant garnish. It was a refreshing meal for a summer evening, followed next time perhaps by a slice of zucchini bread.

The Thriving Garden in Summertime

Organic, Pear-sized Figs

There are many legendary spots around town I've yet to visit as a Berkeley student (and am constantly teased about this by a particular friend). The Rose Garden and Botanical Gardens are still on my list, but I finally managed to hike my way up to the "big C."

Over the weekend I was able to check off another destination from my list when L. brought D. and I to the Student Organic Garden. From outside the fence overgrown with vegetation it's hard to make out the garden. However once inside, we faced a rambling overgrowth of heavy sunflowers drooping with half-eaten seeds, squash beds, blackberry brambles, several strawberry patches, colorful sprays of rainbow chard, and a sharp, ubiquitous scent of mint. It was obvious that the whole place needed a bit of upkeep, but it was still managing to produce edibles despite this. Smack in the center of the garden was a stately fig tree, which we naturally migrated towards for shade. I was taken aback when I saw figs budding from the branches like dark green water balloons. They ranged from the size of golf balls to small Barlett pears; I've never seen anything like it. About half the figs were spitting with nectar from their seams and were indescribably sweet, fresh, and perfectly soft. We harvested well over $50 worth of fruit (total head count 84 figs), not including the dozen or so we ate on site.



What to do with such a lovely, unexpected find? I am normally too protective of certain favorite fruits to cook with them - persimmons, figs, peaches, papayas - their flavor, texture, and image are ideally captured as fresh fruit. They're also expensive to experiment with. However having foraged more figs that we could manage to eat fresh, D. suggested I make jam from the overly ripe ones (about a quarter of the harvest). Nothing's easier than mashing figs together with some sugar and a splash of water, a quick boil before simmering for two to three hours until it reaches a thick consistency. I like mine more saucy than jammy so I omitted pectin called for in some recipes. I also added a quarter of a vanilla bean in towards the end for good measure. Some recipes call for cinnamon and / or a touch of lemon juice if desired, but I wanted to maintain the purest fig flavor possible.



The next morning I enjoyed a breakfast of plain yogurt topped with crumbles of soft chèvre and a few teaspoons of the fig sauce. I experienced the figs on a whole new level with this combination. The tangy chèvre was enhanced by the condensed sweetness of the figs and its small chunks contrasted with the creaminess of the yogurt. I made a second serving after finishing one small bowl and decided to have this dish for dessert later on in the week.

Other plans for the remaining figs:
- Crusty bread smeared with goat cheese and topped with fresh figs
- Goat cheese tart baked with halved figs
- Fromage blanc bavarian cake with fig sauce - recipe from the Tartine Cookbook

Splitting Plums: Packets for a 4th of July Celebration

This past weekend, S. & K. loaded me with Santa Rosa plums from garden-sitting for a friend. A car ride across the bay later, the dark purple beauties were splitting at their juicy seams and needed my immediate attention. That was on Friday the 3rd.


Carrot (from the garden) cupcakes

For our 4th of July bbq, while D. happily attended to his smoker, literally babying his dry-rubbed pork ribs, I brainstormed ideas for a picnic-friendly dessert. I had several criteria in mind for my plums. First, I wanted tidy, single-serving pastries, which would be easy to eat while guests mingled in the garden. Carrot cupcakes with maple cream cheese frosting were already on the menu (adapted from Smitten Kitchen's post here). My second guideline was to retain the orbicular integrity of the plums and somehow simulate biting into the ripe, whole fruit. That's when the idea for pastry-wrapped whole plum parcels tip-toed into my head.

I began with a basic short-pie dough. Flour, butter, shortening, salt, powdered sugar, and ice water. The plastic-wrapped mass was left to chill in the fridge while I put together the carrot cupcakes and frosting. Next, I trimmed the rolled-out dough into squares that would encompass an entire plum. Mine varied from small to mid-sized and my dough adapted accordingly. More and more I liked the idea of having this be a very impromptu, rustic dessert. I sprinkled each dough square with a pinch of sugar and shake of cinnamon, plopped a plum (pit intact) in its center, and topped them off with another half-pinch of sugar. Then I bunched the edges of the dough square together to form a money-bag-type parcel and sealed them off with a pinch at the neck. After twenty minutes or so at 350-400F (cranked up towards the end to bring out its color) the pastries were stained at their bases from the juices from a few burst plums. A dusting of powdered sugar and out into the sunshine to be enjoyed.


(Dough packets / Plum parcels post-baking)

* The pastries improve after cooling off since the tartness of the plums are exaggerated when hot.
** Also warn guests of the pits or insert "country" or "rustic" into the pastry names ;)

All That Fuss: Tartine Bakery

What is the obsession with Tartine Bakery? A few nights ago D. brought back a few desserts and between bites, I reflected upon my many visits to one of my favorite bakeries. Settled amongst a scattering of artisan eateries, which draw hipsters to the San Francisco Mission District it has captivated a cult following of foodies and food critics. Never mind a guaranteed line and the indifferent service, the crowd keeps coming back and growing. Ultimately it has several points which rub the wrong way, but it'll win you over in the end.

STRIKES
It's unapologetic attitude permeates the establishment:
* The store front lacks a proper sign to locate the bakery. (Nevertheless it has a distinctive presence and if you're lucky enough not to be confronted by a queue looping around the block, look for its dark green awning and trimming.
* ALL the employees adopt a surly, brush-offish demeanor, which never actually reaches rudeness but also lacks a desired coziness from your 'favorite' neighborhood bakery. (That being said many customers are willing to venture much farther than simply from their neighborhood to frequent Tartine).
* The cafe au laits and croissants dare you to return for more - portion sizes don't cater to dainty nibblers i.e. the hefty price is about right for what you get. Still, I'd prefer my coffee in European demitasses - the perfect amount to stay hot through to the end.
* Bread comes out only after 5pm Wednesday to Sunday. Who's ever heard of a bakery without morning loaves? As mentioned, it maintains a "That's right b!tches, roll to my tune" stance.

Even so I confess to being an unsolicited, ardent evangelist for the bakery and have recommended it to all Mission-bound foodies I've come across.

UNDERNEATH THE BRISTLES
The atmosphere is superlative:
* Live local music played on Wednesday evenings, maybe around 7.
* Fresh white (always white) flowers grace the narrow coffee table by the doorway and another display inside the bathroom. Usually huge lilies or roses depending on the season.
* Beautiful wood furniture with a casual, rustic feel: communal tables, benches, chairs, counter tops...
* The eye-catching crowd is perfect for people watching.
* Stellar cookbook

WHEN IT COMES TO TASTE
It's really a hit or miss depending on personal preference. But I'll give my opinion anyway...

Hits:
- Vanilla Custard Eclair - classic runny custard trumps cream-filled choux. My only complaint, the bittersweet ganache topping is obtrusively thick to the delicate custard.
- Bread Pudding with Seasonal Fruit - only if you're a bread pudding person and love custardy things. Rich, warm comfort with caramel sauteed berries, apples, pears etc.
- Walnut Sourdough Bread - of all their breads this is the clear winner. Huge walnut chunks embedded in finger-scorching fluffy innards. This fresh from the oven is alone enough to merit a visit.
- (Bowl) of Hot Cocoa - Scharffen Berger cocoa. A perfected recipe. It hits the perfect balance of bitter cacao to milky sweetness.
- Flaky tart shells - The puff pastry kinds such as their Coconut Cream Tart.

Misses:
- Passion fruit Lime Bavarian - dense and somewhat dry. Indistinct flavor combination
- Double Chocolate Tea Cake - dry again. Benefits from fresh, softly whipped cream
- Pressed Sandwiches - Overpriced and nothing special. Flavor combinations don't always meld so well.
- Sweet pastry shell - Smooth, not puffy. The one used for their Lemon Cream Tart is hard to cut through.

CONCLUSIONS
I've been to Tartine many times and will go there again. Skeptics are fully entitled, but give it a go when you're in the area. Newcomers, bring a friend (or many) and share a few items and one drink amongst the group. Loyalists, well there's no need to say much more.

Tartine Bakery & Cafe
600 Guerrero Street San Francisco, CA
415.487.2600

Burger Leftover = Mini Empanadas (Recipe)

The other day I was invited to a bbq get together with friends I hadn't spoken to since middle school. I was startled by this framing of the years that had passed. Time to rekindle old friendships! A few of us were going to supplement the meat part of the bbq with a potluck of snacks and I wanted to bring something more creative than my usual contribution of the latest baked good recipe from my stockpile of "to trys." A quick peek into the fridge uncovered some ground beef leftover from hamburgers D. and I had made a few days prior.

Aside: the burgers were incredible by the way. I hardly ever crave burgers, amend that, never crave. Yet even I was interested in the burger topped w. melted Saint Agurs blue cheese, thick grilled onion rings, sauteed mushrooms, and mesclun from the garden.



But back to scavenging through the fridge for odds and ends I could fashion into a picnic snack. Some wrapped pâte brisée (pie dough) was hiding out in my cheese compartment (is that actually meant for cheese? I've always wondered) along with a small portion of minced waterchestnuts. My first inclination was to form curried beef dumplings that you can buy in Chinatown bakeries or occasionally at a dimsum pallor. Waterchestnut = Chinese dish in my mind. I've always reverted back to my Asian roots when pressed for an idea, however this time I wanted to work with different flavors.

EMPANADAS DEFINED
South America's response to dumplings, or empanadas, can be found baked or fried and stuffed with a variety of fillings from cheese and vegetables, ground meats, and even fruits and jams for a sweet bite. Variations are specific by region and the dough can range from a simple savory wheat flour pastry dough to a coarser cornmeal or plantain dough. The savory ones are often served with a dipping sauce of pureed cilantro, vinegar, lemon, salt, pepper, and scallions called aji.

Perfect, a simple alteration of spices from Asian to South American and I was good to go. The empanadas or empanaditas as I like to call them were wonderful. The parcels puffed up beautifully in the oven and the beef was nicely flavored by the spices and herbs. D. loved them too, his only remark was that he could have done with more of the filling since the dough rose away from the meat during the cooking process. Por supuesto!

I baked the dumplings the night before and they heated up nicely on the bbq grill. They also recrisp nicely in a 350F oven or toaster oven for a few minutes.



THE RECIPE
South American Mini Beef Empanadas
(for ~ 20+ dumplings)
Dough:
- 2 C flour
- 1/2 stick cold butter in small cubes
- 2-3 tsp shortening
- ice water
- pinch salt
1) Add flour & salt to a bowl. Sprinkle the butter cubes over the flour and quickly work the butter into the flour to form a cornmeal-like consistency. (Alternatively pulse a few times in a food processor).
2) Add shortening and work into the dough in the same manner; the fat should be thoroughly dispersed throughout the flour with as minimal handling as possible.
3) Sprinkle the mixture with a tablespoon of ice water at a time and use a fork to scrape dough together to form a loose mass (3-4 Tb or more).
4) Lightly knead the dough just so it comes together in a ball, adding a little more water if necessary.
5) Wrap in plastic wrap and chill in the fridge for at least 30 min.

Filling:
- 1/2 lb ground beef (I used 23% fat, leftover from burgers)
- 1/4C waterchestnut, finely chopped
- 1 scallion, finely chopped
- 1/4 C cilantro, finely chopped
- 1/2 tsp cumin powder
- 1/4 tsp garlic powder (or fresh minced)
- 1/4 tsp coriander powder (or less)
- few shakes each cayenne, paprika, and white pepper
- a few pinches salt
- beaten egg, for brushing
1) Place beef in a large bowl and add the other ingredients.
2) Massage together with your hands or a fork until everything is thoroughly combined
3) Cover and place in the fridge to allow the flavors to marinate.
4) When you dough is chilled, unwrap on a floured smooth surface and roll into a thin sheet about 1/8" thick
5) Using a 2.5" round cookie cutter or round cup, cut out circles from the dough. Transfer to a floured baking sheet. Gather the dough scraps into a ball and re-roll for extra dough circles.
6) chill the dough circles 10 min
7) Preheat oven 350F
8) Take a dough circle and roll a bit larger (the dough will have shrunk a bit while resting in the fridge). Fill with a teaspoon or more of filling. Fold over to form a semi-circle, pressing the edges together tightly and crimp with a fork.
9) Transfer to a lined baking sheet and repeat with the remaining pastry and filling
10) Brush the pastry tops with a beaten egg. Bake for 10 min and check, flip the pastries and bake another 10 min or so.

*Play with different fillings to suit your palate. Tuna and hardboiled quail eggs, salted fish, ground turkey etc.

Fruit Tree Lane

Early summer reveals all sorts of growing wonders. On a one mile jog down one of the quiet avenues in my neighborhood, it has become clear that the landscaper in charge of this stretch of road had a fondness for fruit trees in public spaces. A scattering of loquat, apples, pears, and a variety of small plums can be found in a bee-line path bordering the road. Aside from providing shade and a return-to-nature feel, these trees offer ripening orbs of sweet and tart fruits available for the taking. The satisfaction of plucking fresh plums, deep purple, bright yellow, or light green, trumps buying any produce in a market, never mind their slight mushy imperfection or irregular shapes.

(Hunter)-GATHERER
Urban foraging has gained popularity amongst chefs and community members. This article from the New York times describes how the phenomenon has taken off.

Foraging is fairly straightforward. A set of rules describing what is public versus private domain set the guidelines for what falls within the playing field. Mostly even when the foragers are "caught" snitching from privately owned trees whose fruit happens to hang over publicly shared space, most owners are more than happy to contribute their bounty once the foragers' mission is announced.

Other websites have emerged to facilitate the exchange of home-grown fruit. Neighborhood Fruit is a community organizing website that allows people to register their fruit trees on their site and enable other members to find donated fruit in their area by variety and quantity.

PASTORALIST
A few weeks ago, I pulled the first of 98 carrots from its patch in the garden. It was a premature harvesting but delightful in every way nonetheless. This was soon followed by a tightly woven, gorgeous monster of a cabbage, zucchinis whose delicate flowers have slowly ballooned into deep green squash, a few precious strawberries protected from slugs...the garden was transforming with the arrival of warmer weather.



Many others before me have described the elation of planting their own vegetable garden and harvesting from it. I'm not merely talking about small windowsill herb planters (I've kept several), this is my first real garden complete with aligned planting rows and tomato bushes with upside down hoop-skirt supports. My mom's green thumb and knack for keeping most plants healthy and beautiful never took much interest in growing edible things. However only the sower of the carrot seed can best understand the satisfaction of dislodging a mangled, stunted root from the dirt behind his or her dwelling. (The carrots had developed into a mystery patch of artistic sculptures, a casualty of transplanting rather than sowing directly into the ground; you never know what life form you're going to pull up next). What first began as an interest in the produce I bought to cook my meals, developed into a curiosity about the background of these ingredients, urged me into the back kitchens of a restaurant committed to supporting local farmers (including a woman who had raised a pig in her Bay Area backyard), and has most lately left me digging my fingers into the dirt to nurture my own plants.


(Crossing her legs)

The journey is cyclical and unending, always spurred by curiosity. Curiosity in a new ingredient, where it is grown, how it is grown and how it can be prepared. One thing I've come to realize is that the snails and caterpillars who nibble on my mesclun have got it right, this stuff is damn tasty.

If You Dare: Hand-rolled Lobster Ravioli

You know you have confirmed an obsession when you spend several hours hand-rolling ravioli dough simply because you just haven't had the time to get a pasta roller and because homemade pasta tastes that much better than wonton wrappers. Is it a curse or a blessing? Neither I've decided, it's just a way of life.

I've been harboring this recipe for lobster ravioli in my mental catalogue of dishes to try for over a year now when it first piqued my interest viewed here. It never seemed to make sense to go through the trouble of securing a lobster, boiling it, grinding it, seasoning it, and sacrificing it to make raviolis until a fortuitous lobster sale at Ranch 99 offered the suckers for $7.99 a pound. Not bad for two (outstanding) meals (the first was lobster pad thai urgently prompted by Steve Almond's Death By Lobster Pad Thai. Anyhow, back to the raviolis, the texture of the claws and upper half of the body had been somewhat degraded by freezer storage while the tail was enjoyed fresh first. Perfect for churning into raviolis. (Add another step to the process, thawing).

I followed this recipe a little too precisely for my personal taste (reinforce note to self: go with your instincts, everyone's flavor preferences are different). The filling was a standard lobster and cream mousse to which chopped lobster meat, basil, and cilantro is added. No need for salt since there's plenty of ocean residue already. For the pasta dough I used a basic ratio of one egg + one yolk : one cup of 00 Caputo flour (extremely fine grind - it makes all the difference). Two cups of flour, two eggs, and two yolks for a total of eight decently large raviolis. Roll roll roll, fold, repeat until your arm workout compares to an afternoon spent at the rock wall. Two sauces - elaborate no? - both made with the lobster broth as a base. One, keeping with the Asian theme, is infused with lemongrass and coconut milk, while the other is more French with tarragon, carrots, tomato, and cream.



Improvements to consider:
1) only use the lobster mousse for the filling with maybe a touch of chopped basil (the additional meat does not add favorably to the texture)
2) separately reduce the lobster broth to a sauce
3) use cream for the base rather than the lobster broth) and infuse it with the flavorings. Also, stick to one sauce (I recommend the lemongrass coconut, keeping to just one continent)
3) boil the sauce down to a condensed, drizzle-consistency (these flavors are intense, a very little goes quite far)
4) oh, and invest in a pasta roller, even if it's just a hand crank one

All in all, it made for some tasty artwork and an accomplishment to bathe in for awhile. But I'm serious about the pasta roller, your ravioli sheets will be much finer and silkier.

Grilling with a Thai Stove

Summertime is the season for grilling. Sunny skies beckon for picnics, tikki torches, and backyard barbecues. However few of us are prepared to house the bulk and front the expense of an outdoor grill. That is unless... Enter the Thai clay stove, prevalent actually all throughout Southeast Asia as the primary, cheap form of cooking. The stoves are squat pottery vases similar to sturdy earthenware flowerpots with maybe 2-3 gallons of capacity. A horizontally dividing honeycomb layer allows the ashes from the coals housed in the top region to filter through to the base layer. Three ridges protrude from the lip of the vase to form an even tripod for setting a cauldron of stew or a cast iron skillet. The compact size and weight of the stove is portable and convient.



These stoves are so common along the streets of Vietnam where I last encountered them that they quickly melted into the background scenery. They had nearly filtered away from memory until I happened to glimpse one in a Food and Wine article featuring a Thai grill restaurant in Portland, Oregon. That article provoked an obsession to find this portable stove and respond to the summer calling to grill. Grilling is a superb technique that creates flavors and juxtaposing textures that cannot be adequately mimicked by a stovetop-oven combination. The Thai stove offers a perfectly petite version of a grill minus the mess and with only half the cost in materials (charcoal or wood, the clay pot, and some chicken wire to create a mesh cooking surface). Time to commence the search.

ON A MISSION
Finding a Southeast Asian styled clay stove in the states provided a bit of an adventure. Not having recalled ever seeing the stove in Ranch 99, the main Asian supermarket in the area, I first approached Oakland Chinatown, where all things are sold, disregarding the Southeast Asian origin of my prize. An afternoon was spent traipsing through the various markets and cramped, chaotic shops until a bit of maneuvering and creative descriptions placed me in a dingy side aisle of a produce-miscellaneous "general" store in the heart of Chinatown. Two pots sat side-by-side on the bottom shelf. One was much too large, more indicative of a miniature pizza oven than a portable cooking vessel. The other one peered up to me behind years of dust and disregard, the perfect little charcoal stove. It has been utilized in earnest ever since its return trip from Oakland.

A PLAYGROUND OF POSSIBILITIES
With just a sprinkling of charcoal and a breezy fifteen to twenty minute wait to let the temperature rise up, this new toy has brought the realm of cooking over an open flame finally within my reach. Experimenting is the key: starting with a solid grilled ribeye accompanied by thick slices of country batard drizzled with olive oil and herbs, moving onto yams buried in the top bunk along with the embers, and most recently blackening small mackerel which drew forth curling flames with its oiliness. The flavor is unbeatable and the simple set up is wholly gratifying. There is also something sensual and rudimentary about this primitive form of cooking, huddled around the flaming pot like a campfire.



* It may be difficult to find a clay stove in Chinatown (or anywhere else) without the aid of fluent Cantonese. I suggest bringing a photo of a stove along with you on your search. (Even so some storeowners may be completely perplexed by your request). $10-18 per stove, may be negotiable but don't pay more than $20.

Save Monterey Market!

Monterey Market, which I mention in my latest post Indian Beans, is being threatened by a family dispute (See SF Gate article). Please join in this community petition from chefs, customers, farmers by June 3rd to save Monterey Market. Thank you all!

Indian Beans: Returning to the Kitchen (& Recipe)

The wonderful thing about coming home after being away for a stretch is that you realize the former thread of your "home" life has persisted in very much the same manner as ever before. Things around you are the same, your knife, the shadows in the kitchen, the hum of the water heater; same and yet different. (Different as in the nonstick saute pan that was mistreated as a cutting board!!) One thing remains wholly unchanged, I have been back in the kitchen daily since returning.

One of my first market trips upon returning home was to an unexplored gem recommended to me by a friend who had recently discovered its bounty. Monterey Market sits on a corner of Hopkins and Monterey in North Berkeley. The small market reminisces of what Berkeley Bowl on the south side of town might have been a few decades back; quaint, pleasantly quiet, a gentler pace of life. Both markets stock an impressive display of fresh fruits and veggies in varieties unheard of, as well as a fair selection of dry goods. Their philosophy of creating a community oriented exchange between local farmers and consumers felt unpretentious and really followed through for me at Monterey Market. The prices are also hard to beat - $1.79 per pound for Ranier and Bing Cherries!



BEANS BEANS!
Towards the end of the excursion I happened across some beautifully toasty looking dried beans in a sack labeled "Indian Beans." A pound or so of these rattled home with me as my companion and I plotted the best uses for them. Unsurprisingly (yet also unappetizing to hear) most of the beans you buy from the store, the pre-bagged mundane pinto, black, and kidney varieties, are ten years old or more on average. It seems though they've truly squatted out their existence without expiration on the shelf. It became clear to me with my deeply tanned beauties in hand that a host of other exquisite and intriguing choices eagerly await discovery.

From our one pound purchase we have so far produced:
- a version of rice and daal (lentils) with Indian spices, saffron rice, and fried scallions
- slow-cooked bbq beans with smoked pork shoulder, onions, and a sweet vinegar base
- 15 bean plants (an impatient peek under the soil revealed that 6 have sprouted)
A little goes a long way. About a third of the beans await a future use.



FOR THE GREEN THUMBS OUT THERE
Growing a few bean plants really could not be an easier, more rewarding feat (Discounting your future struggle with the deer who also love your bean plants). Simply bury the dry beans under an inch or so of moist soil in a pot and wait a few weeks for the seeds to sprout through the dirt. After your saplings have grown to 4-6 inches, transplant them to the ground along a fence or some stakes to allow the vines to crawl up. (Mid-late spring to early summer)



THE RECIPE
Spiced Rice & Indian Beans
(2 servings with leftovers)
Rice:
- 1C Basmati or Jasmine long grained rice, rinsed
- 1 1/4C water or broth
- 1 tsp olive oil
- few saffron threads
- bay leaf
- salt
- 1/4 tsp turmeric
- few shakes of cayenne
- few shakes of smoked paprika
*spice amounts are very flexible according to your preferences, experiment - add, subtract, omit, create

Fried Scallions:
- 1 scallion chopped into ringlets
- flour for dusting
- canola oil, for frying (reserve the oil)
- salt

Beans:
- 1/3 lb dried beans, pre-soaked overnight or at least a few hours
- olive oil
- 1/4 onion, med-fine chop
- garlic powder
- scallion oil (from fried scallions above)
- salt

1) Add all rice ingredients to a rice cooker, stir and cook according to machine directions; fluff with a fork afterwards
- OR add all ingredients to a pot and cover, bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer for 15-25 min until rice is tender
- salt to taste
2) Using a sieve, coat scallion rings with flour
- heat up oil about 1/8" deep in a small pan (test with a piece of scallion, if it begins to sizzle and bubble the oil is hot enough
- fry scallions in the oil until golden
- strain out scallions and drain on paper towels, lightly salt immediately
- reserve scallion oil for the beans
3) Drain the beans
- heat up olive oil in a saute pan
- add onions, saute until translucent but still slightly crunchy ~ 5 min
- season with garlic powder, salt, and a small amount of scallion oil (~1/2 tsp)
- mix in the beans and then spread into a single flat layer over the pan
- without stirring, allow the beans and onions to caramelize and develop crusty brown edges ~ 5-7min
- stir gently and redistribute in a single layer to allow the other sides to caramelize
4) Remove from heat
- gently mix in the rice
- top with fried scallions

* I paired this dish with Indian-spiced roasted game hen - rub a whole bird with a ground spice mix of cardamom, garam masala, coriander, sea salt, cumin seed, cayenne, a touch of cinnamon. Cover with plain yogurt (~ 1.5 C) and marinate for 30 min to an hour. Roast in a 450F preheated oven for 45-50 min, turning halfway.

Bay Area Street Carts

There has been a recent appearance of food vendors in Northern California, particularly in the Mission district of San Francisco and in Oakland in the East Bay. An article from SF Gate "Growing crop of vendors hitting the streets".

Some take home points:
- "fun-employed"
- lower costs, hard economy
- require permits - some operate clandestinely
- variety of choices - Vietnamese pho, French creme brulee, escargot to-go, Thai curry
- strict regulations might cause the end of the temporary surge of vendors
- desire to connect with street global street food (How beautiful is this!)

Moonshine Vietnamese Yogurt: Overcoming Shipfood (Recipe included)

I am once again back in the comfort of my kitchen and eagerly reacquainting myself with my dear pots, pans, peeler, pairing knife... sigh of relief and satisfaction. A few of you have been curious to know about my food experiences, not in port, but actually on the ship. In short, I will fondly remember mealtimes onboard for provoking community interaction and fascinating dialogue; eating together as family has never struck so deeply with me. What will not be missed are the chemical-infused vegetables and the all-too-prolific potatoes which plagued all three meals daily.

Day one, upon stepping into the dining hall I immediately knew I was in for a challenge: No access to the galleys, request for work-study as a kitchen prep assistant denied, knives were strictly forbidden aboard the vessel, and an increasingly threatening sign plastered over the hand sanitizer read "Do not remove food items from the dining hall (fruit, cereal, yogurt, silverware, etc.)" - right. How as I to master my sanity for the next 106 days? The buffet line offered increasing terror: sad iceberg lettuce that made me want to weep, unripe tomato wedges occasionally disguised as slices, peanut butter and jelly that slowly morphed into neon shades over the course of the voyage (I kid you not), and an impressively offensive 1LB of potatoes prepared per PASSENGER per DAY (where was the good and simple rice?! Eyes wide in horror).

AN IDEA IS FORMED
While strolling through the dairy aisle at a supermercado in Spain, our first port of call, I was beckoned by fresh yogurt sold in traditional glass jars. As I admired the environmentally friendly, recyclable, awesome packaging, slowly the idea formed that I too could participate in reusing the jars for making my own yogurt. In that lightbulb moment I impulsively committed myself to a subsequent 100 days of small-batch yogurt making in the secrecy of my cabin - mini fridge included). I walked out of the store smiling with yogurt, jars, and a family-sized "La Lechera" sweetened condensed milk in hand.

The yogurt we were offered during breakfast was rather appalling. Containing a dozen or so unnecessary ingredients including unpronounceable preservatives and cornstarch as a thickening agent, it left an indelible imprint on my taste buds for its slimy, plasticky mouthfeel. I exaggerate, but barely. Fortunately by Cape Town the yogurt stock was replenished with quite tasty South African fruit flavors and even Yoplait was a welcome sight on the last leg of our voyage.

Meanwhile however I fell in love with the rebellious mission of creating my own food onboard. My task was facilitated by the self-serve coffee and tea bar provided throughout the day. Milk and sugar condiments were placed conveniently next to the hot water dispenser, one stealthy trip up two decks and across the hall to my cabin. The final count included: yogurt culture, sweetened condensed milk, "fresh" vacuum sealed box milk (provided), and hot water (provided). The elaborate process resulted in a traditional Vietnamese-styled yogurt which is tart, sweet, creamy and deliciously unlike your average supermarket brand. (The process is only laborious due to the confines of the ship - do not be dissuaded to try the recipe, which is incredibly simple and well worth the effort).

ALL IN GOOD FUN
Yogurt making became a bi or tri-weekly chore, meditative in the way folding clothes are for some of you weirdos out there (I admit to being one of them), and dish washing is for others (I am NOT one of you). Every couple of days I would pull out my previous, mostly-eaten batch of yogurt to start a new jar. My original Spanish yogurt was now long gone, but the offspring bacterium robustly continued the legacy. (I'm curious to know what generation I finally reached by the time we docked back in Florida).

Eventually my cabin steward, who was well aware of my on-going illicit project, wanted in on the recipe as well. In hindsight, it was a moderately absurd undertaking: procuring ingredients, mixing, incubating, refrigerating, eating, repeat, repeat, repeat... What did I gain from the inconvenience of hiking up to the 6th deck dining hall for hot water and half a jar of milk, dodging the Chief Officer of Hospitality, to make my witch's brew? Brimming spoonfuls of satisfaction from every mouthful of homemade yogurt that entered my mouth.

THE RECIPE
I've been most successful with this recipe in small batches (ie: one-serving creations), due to limited materials on the ship. However there should be no reason why the recipe wouldn't work equally well in multiply single-service 6 oz containers or even a larger 27 oz bulk batch.

Vietnamese Yogurt
(for 1 serving - 3/4C yogurt)
- hot water (near boiling)
- 1/2 C+ milk (whole works best, or 2%)
- 2 tsp+ sweetened condensed milk (according to taste)
- 1-2 tsp plain yogurt with live culture (I use Trader Joe's organic plain)
NON-EDIBLE Materials:
- small jar (larger Gerber's baby food jar works)
- wide mug (large enough for small jar to sit comfortably inside)
- plastic bag (from produce section of your local market)
- 2 kitchen towels

1) Spoon sweetened condensed milk into the jar
- add a tiny amount of hot water and stir to dissolve
- add milk, stir
2) In a separate bowl stir yogurt culture well until smooth with a small amount of hot water
- add to jar of milk
- fill remaining space in jar with more milk or some hot water
3) Place jar into the mug and create a water bath by filling the mug halfway with hot water
- cover the top of the jar with a napkin or plastic wrap
- place entire set-up (jar + mug) inside a plastic bag and twist the end closed
- wrap the bag+jar+mug in a kitchen towel and insulate it with the second towel
4) Set aside undisturbed in a warm place for at least 6 hours
- at this time you can check on the yogurt to see if it has set (become firm enough for your liking). If not, replenish the hot water bath and rebundle for another 1-2 hours.
- chill in the fridge a least 2 hours before eating (preferably overnight)

* If you have difficulty getting your yogurt to set properly, use the larger amount of yogurt culture
* Typically your second and subsequent batches will work better than the first batch
* You can prepare the yogurt at night and allow it to incubate overnight; place into the fridge in the morning when you wake up - try not to sleep in.

Picture updates to older posts

With the luxury of unrestricted internet access once again, I bring you...

• Lamb and prune tagine (Morocco)
• Kuisemund Township bbq / Stewed Caterpillars (Namibia)
• Masala chai with rickshaw driver, Rama / In the rickshaw with Rama (India)
• Behind a curry vending cart / #1 curry (India)
• Thailand street foods (Thailand)
  
• University street foods / View from Hong Kong Island / "You tiao" Chinese friend donuts (China)
• "Banh mi" sandwich cart / Da Lat agricultural fields / Beach hawker / Toddler-chair street dining (Vietnam)
• Tuna, Tsukiji fish market / Salmon onigiri / Noodle soup standing counter shop / Okonomiyaki pancake (Japan)
• Lake Atitlan / Street tacos (Guatemala)
  

The Finale: Guatemalan Street Foods (GUATEMALA - post 1 of 1)

As we entered Guatemala, the final country on our itinerary, I struggled to remain energetic in my project to engage with street food vendors around the world. Nevertheless, the fatigue of constant travel wicked away upon reaching Antigua, a quiet cobblestoned town south of Guatemala City, and the magnificent Lake Atitlan. The excitement of participating in a country's food culture resurged in me once again.

Street vending in Guatemala cumulates many themes of the economies I've encountered in my travels. Perhaps Guatemala reveals aspects of all the street vending cultures I've previously visited simply because it is the last stop in our semester long journey, and I've become attune to the globally reoccurring characteristics across vending activities. Particularly amongst the Asian countries, common threads are outstanding. From an informal economy exemplified in India (responding to the needs of an impoverished market), the small home-converted-eateries functioning as social spaces in Vietnam, to the surprising sparcity of street vendors similarly encountered in China, Guatemala displays facets of it all.

Makeshift sidewalk shops and individual hawkers crowd the small pueblo streets of Guatemala, at times making up a greater percentage of the population than actual customers. Most of these businesses feature souvenir trinkets and tradition textiles for sale, rather than the cheap foods that have become a familiar part of my surrounds. What motivates the prevalence of food in some countries over trifle gifts and knickknacks in others? Is it the type of government, the strength of the economy, an individual need? Or perhaps the reasoning lies in the genetic disposition of a population. Unsurprisingly the simplest enterprises with low costs and low skill dominate the scene, spurred on by the fluid nature of entering and exiting the market. In Guatemala, fruit vendors carry out this position, selling bags of freshly cut papaya, pineapple, mangoes, and melons strung in colorful packages along the front of the wooden carts, and leading the way in the relatively underdeveloped street food scene.

"SUPER" TACO BELL
Panajachel is the largest and liveliest of several indigenous pueblos surrounding Lake Atitlan, a two-hour, winding, mountainous drive from Antigua. Even within the tourist hotspot of the picturesque town, food vending is a quiet and minor affair. At corner junctions of the narrow, "main" roads, a tiny community of two or three carts with gaudy red and yellow neon signs, your choice of either "Super Taco Bell" or "Fried Chicken and Fries," serve up (tacos or thighs) in the late evening hours. Having eaten at a disappointing bar-cafe our first night in Panajachel, I resolved not to leave the town without having sampled the carnitas tacos (sole menu item) at one of these street carts. It was a good decision - even after accounting for the ungainly trek over irregular stonework and sudden lightning storm + accompanying downpour. Three miniature masa corn tortillas were quickly fried in a moat of rusty-amber oil surrounding a protruding dome griddle. The tortillas are freshly made throughout the day by women selling bulk stacks to restaurant or individuals from their homes. Shredded braised pork and caramelized onions, reheated over the island griddle, mounded into one of these palm-sized shells before being topped with cabbage-cilantro slaw and salsa. As with any universal street food offering, these tacos sold for the budget price of about $0.6.



SERIOUSLY?! THE INFLUENCES OF CORRUPTION
Reflecting the economic strains of a developing nation, Guatemala street vendors are frequented mainly by locals, or the occasional adventurous traveler, in the same manner noted in India and Vietnam. The market is run mostly by young men in their late twenties or earlier thirties. Shy and polite, they disguise the economic burden of their families behind smiles or impassive stares. While the food was fresh, delicious, and inexpensive, other similar options (both in price and variety) are also served in small, home-converted-restaurants, which challenges the possibility of reaching profitable scales. Permits and formal regulatory devices seemed laughable wishfulness after encountering the corruption of local government authorities (we were offered protection against "ladrones," thieves on the road, in return for "una propina," tip money to cover the cost of disel from uniformed police at a gas station).

High crime, particularly in Guatemala City, is driven by poverty and disillusionment. Blatant corruption in every level of society perpetuates the disincentive for evolution and progression (we were also required to pay a small "entrance" fee for our taxi to enter the ocean port gates). I pause to consider, what drives a community to reach for an ephemeral, weak solution? Yet in spite of the presence of poverty within the community, the grim reality is subtly concealed behind cheerfully painted stores, a mishmash of corrugated metal (another universal indicator of need).

REFLECTION & REACTION
Over the past 100 days, I've traveled with the intention to understand the role of street foods in various countries and identify the cross-cultural threads of this unique offering of food. Food has long served a need greater than nutrition: community venues, gestures of hospitality and friendship, or tasteful indicators of cultural conduct. With regards to the foodstuffs themselves, they are a bargain way to eat fresh when one knows where to look. While developing economies may rely on street food as a primitive dining choice, these societies have also sustained communities and networks, sprung from gathering around a cart and becoming well acquainted with a favorite vendor and neighbors. In Western societies, we've become conditioned to recognizing standardization of national and international franchises as an indicator of consistency, if not quality. When presented with the option of freshly fried chicken (the real fowl in all of its once-feathery-existence), sizzlingly in recycled hot oil on grimy side streets, most of us will opt for Kentucky Fried Chicken's characterizing red and white sign, bathing us with promises of security and familiarity. We bury our heads and faces in the relief of "knowing" the source of our food. But what does this standard quality compared to? Are we to judge the character of the best fried chicken to be from a formulated recipe without even considering a "less worthy," freelance alternative? Or what of the host of other unfamiliar foods we pass off as too foreign, unsophisticated, or unappealing, always to return to the safety of fast food chains.

Small-scale operations enable consumers to be proactive about their meals. In my daring embrace of street food, always in protest of medical authorities' greater opinion, I was never once left seeking a toilet in despair; which brings me to a comment about traveling and food. In the U.S. food borne diseases are the greatest source of food related illnesses, however concern about our food on our home turf easily escapes our consciousness. We find ourselves on foreign soil and immediately paranoia sets in: we lose money and cameras, or are confined to the hotel toilet, convinced it was the unsanitary conditions of the country's food system. As with choosing the quality of your apples at the market, or between three different steakhouses to get the perfect steak, food options in different countries come in different forms and degrees of excellence. Food sold on the streets should not be faulted for being sold on the streets, but instead averted for being prepared in advanced and left to the mercy of flies and the sun. A beautiful feature of street food is its preparation on the street, naked to the scrutiny of the customer. In some ways it may be much safer than national chains we've come to adore and rely on.

Go out, take many first bites of old favorites assembled differently, familiar ingredients with unexpected flavors, or better yet experiment with something entirely unidentifiable.

THANK YOU!
Thank you to those of you who have followed my blog across the continents. I will be updating previous posts with photos in the upcoming weeks and also plan on concluding my tales from abroad with a post about battling the daily ship food buffet. I will continue with First Bite and will likely focus on crafting recipes from my experiences as well as inspiration from the local bounty. Cheers.