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.

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.

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.

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

Bangkok, Thailand: The Mecca for Street Food (& Recipe) (THAILAND - part 1 of 1)

The evening before arriving in Thailand, we were challenged by a professor who had spent a year in Chiangmai in northern Thailand to capture a picture of a Thai child withOUT food in his or her mouth. Already my gastronomic expectations were set high.

Thailand is a place of two coexisting cultures: modernness paired with tradition. Bangkok houses some of the largest mall monstrosities I have ever encountered, surrounded by a moat of neatly organized street vendors selling everything from cheap clothing and accessories to every variety of snack food one might desire. Tuk tuks are as common a transportation means as the highly developed, impressive public transportation system that puts American metros to shame. Street food is no exception to the juxtapositions: rich and poor, locals and tourists, and even vendors bored with their own foods eat from the streets in Bangkok. I stood in line behind a student cradling a 35 baht ($1) noodle soup meal in one hand and a 100 baht Starbucks in the other.



Food is everywhere, or always within a mere five steps away; one can literally trip over food navigating this city. I fell comfortably into the national pastime of perpetual grazing while traveling in Bangkok. Vendors are stationed throughout the day and continuously offer the same foods, immune to scheduled breakfasts, lunches, or dinners. Repetition is not an issue however, as there are about a hundred options to choose from.

NOT SUPER INTUITIVE, BUT IT WORKS...
Despite being in the backpacker's central of Bangkok, vendors know very little English or other foreign languages, faltering with even the basics. This was hardly a deterrence, remedied by wooden placards painted with prices and single word menu descriptions such as "chicken, shrimp, tofu", hanging in front of an obvious pad thai (noodle) vendor. Four or five variety of noodles are mounded into a miniature mountain range along the top rim of a slightly concave, large disk cooking surface. Ordering involves a lot of gesturing and nodding. However faced with a breach of understanding, adopting sous chef and sprinkling in your own spice condiments while the vendor tosses the noodles together with egg and bean sprouts accomplishes the task fairly well.

Organization in the street vending industry is surprisingly advanced however. The arrangement of vendors is efficiently structured into neatly aligned rows parked side-by-side. In the evenings, entire streets will be blockaded and regulated by police for Bangkok's famous night markets to emerge. Vendors will usually stake out a specific spot (determined my rank, seniority, lottery, habit? who knows) to begin their evening and slowly travel half the length of the road over the course of the night. The entire affair is highly mobile. Midway through preparing my order of noodles, the vendor picked up his cart and began rolling away. I was momentarily stunned and then doubly so when I was nearly knocked over by the produce truck he was avoiding.



STREET PERFORMING & TRANSPARENCY
While I may have been impressed by the three-foot-stream method of preparing chai tea in India, Thai tea takes on a whole different meaning. One vendor entertained a crowd of customers with twirls and dancing as he juggled large mugs of the rich, adobe orange tea lightened with sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk. Not to be outdone by the Indians, our man incorporated the waterfall method of mixing the tea with the sweetener and milk, flaunting his skill by preparing two orders of tea at once instead of one. This culture of food performance is common amongst vendors and while some embrace their artistic nature with greater exuberance, all are equally eager to please.

Cooking on-the-spot is another major distinction between Indian and Thai street foods. Carts are specifically designed according to the type of food offered and are usually equipped with a gas stove on one end and a flat prep work space filling the remaining area. Certain items are prepared in advance, steamed rice, noodles for stirfrying, and broths for soup, but the majority of cooking is done on site, including frying fishballs (a major obsession), steaming yams or meatballs, and grilling corn, mini bananas, skewered meats, and eggs (in-the-shell) over coals. By its nature, performance cooking demands transparency from the vendor and consequently sanitation is well enforced. Cooking utensils, ingredients, and methods are open for scrutiny without the shelter of kitchen walls to hide behind. What you see is what you get; no surprises, save the occasional chili that slips into a bite unnoticed. In additional, all stalls were supplied with their own tubs water (one fresh, one soapy) to rinse dishes or utensils in between uses.

Cleanliness extends beyond the immediate vicinity of each vending operation into the roads and entire public community. Despite the heavy reliance on disposable styrofoam bowls and plastic bags, commercial streets are surprisingly clean. Workers seem to spend a disproportionate amount of time sweeping the streets, a battle against trash well waged. The Thai also participate in glass bottle recycling, although disposable containers are more commonly used. Astonishingly it is virtually impossible to find a public garbage bin along the road; vendors cope by tying a plastic bag to the side of their carts instead.

ASIAN COMFORT FOOD, WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE
Grilled whole baby catfish, sticky rice packages, pork braised stews, crispy quail eggs by the dozen, hot and spicy soups, and crisp, cold fruits; Thai street food is appealing, foremost, for its simplicity and comforting response, and only secondarily for its outstanding, pungent flavors and creative preparation. While I found the taste and textures of Thai food intriguing, I was more captivated by the local culture around street food and the social benefits it yields. As I noted before, everyone is a consumer to Thai street food, motivated by four main characteristics. It has the advantage of incomparably low prices, often less than a third of neighboring restaurant fares. The best (venti-sized) Thai iced tea I stumbled, tucked along the edge of yet another grand mall complex, cost me less than $0.5 USD. Most meals are priced below a few dollars. The food is also conveniently available at frequent stops along a brief stroll. This interactive structure fosters a social community both amongst vendors and between patrons. Additionally, the outdoor setting of the venue encourages a level of physical commitment, minimal as it may be, and creates a festive, carnival-type atmosphere. Cheap, quick Asian comfort food at its best. (That is until we reach Vietnam)



A RECIPE
Savory baked egg custard

One of the clever little nibbles I feasted on was a savory egg custard baked in the shell. It was only after peeling and eating the egg (and finding no yolk) did I realize how this snack was made.

(for 1 egg - multiply recipe according to # of eggs)
- 1 raw egg
- 2 good shakes white pepper powder
- 1/8 tsp (good dash) soy sauce &/or fish sauce (optional)
- pinch salt
- pinch+ sugar
*preheat oven 350F
* carefully chip a penny-sized hole in the top end of the egg and pour out the contents (breaking the yolk if necessary); reserve shell intact
* scramble the egg with the seasonings to taste (my recommendations above are arbitrarily based on my knowledge of the flavors)
* pour egg mixture through a funnel back into the reserved egg shell
* set on a rack at an angle OR in set upright in a mini muffin tin (in which case it might be most profitable to make 12 or 24 eggs as an original party appetizer).
* bake (or roast over a grill) until custard is set. This might take between 10-30 min depending on the number of eggs. (The texture will be only slightly softer than the egg white of a hardboiled egg and should be uniformly firm.)

** Experiment with different spices or replacing them with coconut milk and sugar or sweetened condensed milk for a creative dessert.

Making "Spicy Tea": Reunion, Masala Chai, & Recipe (INDIA - part 1 of 2)

Rama, our rickshaw driver, approached the tea vendor cheerfully, pulling out a packet of Masala spice powder he had bought seconds ago from the grocery mart across the street. We had been on the lookout for Masala chai since morning and throughout the early afternoon. "If we cannot find spicy chai, we will MAKE it!" was Rama's undeterred response. Nothing is impossible for this slight, elderly man, contrastingly impish in spirit, yet utterly venerated by all rickshaw drivers in the city. After a few pleasantries with the "chai wallah" in the local Tamil language, a separate pot of chai was spiked with the fragrant, coarse-grey powder, specially prepared for our group of four. A few minutes later we were concentrating on sipping the scorching spicy liquid, each of us brimming with peaceful contentment.



Masala chai is an Indian beverage of strong black tea, hot milk, a mixture of spices, and of course a healthy dose of sweetness. The term "masala" refers to any combination of spices, usually used in curries, teas, or dessert, and "chai" is the generic term for tea. Masala chai was birthed out of traditional Indian Ayurvedic medicine as an herbal remedy for wellness. Ayurvedic medicine discusses health as the flow of fluids throughout the body and the characteristic heat from the "warm" spices found in masala chai (ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, peppercorns etc.) are utilized to strengthen the body's internal flow. Today, masala chai continues to be popular in the North but is less common in Southern regions.

Although the summer season was just upon us, and the feverish air plastered sweat to our neck and faces, the Indians seemed to enjoy adding more heat to their bodies in the form of boiling beverages (chai and filter coffee drunk throughout the day) and piping curries fresh off the stove. Periodically, Rama would stop at another chai vendor to request our special order and revive the radiating heat of spice in our chests; each time refusing our rupees. At the end of a packed seven hours, we had been treated to three glasses of chai. In parting, Rama promised to bring back the masala powder for more chai the next afternoon.

RAMA
Two years ago, my sister met Rama on her similar voyage around the world. I recall receiving her excited email about meeting a remarkable man in India who continues to be one of the most interesting people she crossed paths with during her global journey. Before reaching India, I received another email from my sister urging me to contact Rama. Without too much agenda, I warily poked around a cluster of rickshaw drivers (rickshaws are mini, open taxi-buggies run by pushy operators notoriously for indirect routes and constantly changing fares) and asked if anyone knew of Rama. A wrinkled gentleman in a pale pink collared shirt stepped forward and announced "I'm Rama" as if having expected me to appear the entire time. I smiled in wonder at our reunion as I leafed through his sun-stained stack of letters from grateful travelers abroad, including two photos of my sister and a red christmas card in her handwriting.



In the dog-eat-dog world of tourist transportation, Rama's generous and relaxed attitude was a heartwarming anomaly to encounter. He even managed to make chaotic Indian traffic appear tame as we rolled through the sooty streets of Chennai at a leisurely pace. Within minutes of our meeting, Rama adopted my friends and I as his daughters, asking first for our permission before lighting his cigarette and protecting us from greedy salesmen at government-commissioned souvenir emporiums. Before sending us off at the end of the day, he left me with a spare cell phone, complete with a new sim card, to contact him tomorrow.

TEA VENDORS "Chai wallahs"
Franchises and multinationals aside, chai stalls are as common to India as Starbucks are to Manhattan. My first cup of tea in Chennai, however, actually came from a water (tea heater) strapped to the back of a bicycle. Noticing the hesitation in my step, the vendor ushered me forward and proffered a cup, barely a mouthful in a flimsy plastic container. The tea was hot and sweet and surprisingly potent for it's minimal quantity.

The tea found in more permanent stalls throughout the city is prepared in a ceremonious manner. Each cup is "performed" individually, starting with a few good spoonfuls of sugar. Milk, simmering gently in a large metal stockpot is scooped next into the glass cup, two-thirds full. The boiling liquid never manages to bubble over despite the constant exposure to heat. Finally, a linen filter bag packed with black tea leaves is gently bounced in a conical filter mid-air above the cup of milk, allowing the residual liquid of highly condensed tea to runoff and immediately stain the pure milk into a rusty tan. The contents of the cup are dumped into a handled, tin cup and swiftly pulled to a distance above the vendor's head in a thin fountain down to the awaiting glass below. The liquid is drawn back and forth several times until the boiling chai is sufficiently mixed and barely cooled. I managed to drink a lot of chai in India even before meeting Rama. Each time, I was offered a cup of either cheap plastic, hardly meriting the status of polymer, or a stunted paper dixie cup. To my amusement, in the last two days spent in Rama's company I was spared the disposable demitasses and instead offered oversized shot glasses received by locals.

Enjoy chai in any weather and at any time.


RECIPE
Here is my favorite recipe for Masala Chai taught to me by a friend a few years back.

Spicy (Masala) Chai
(serves 1 - multiply the recipe by the number of cups of tea desired)
- 1 mugful of cold water
- 1/2 inch fresh ginger, chopped
- 2-3 pods of green cardamom (available in spice section of most markets
- 1/2 stick cinnamon
- 1 inch piece of lemongrass, chopped (optional)
- 1 black teabag (such as Lipton) or 2-3 tsp loose leaf black tea (Ceylon)
- milk and sugar to taste
*Place all spice ingredients in a plastic ziplock bag; crush with a frying pan or hammer to break apart cardamom pods and release juices from ginger
*Dump into water and set over the stove. Add tea(bag) and bring to a boil, uncovered
*Once boiled, pour in milk and sugar to taste. Return to stove and bring to a second boil (do not let the milk foam over)
*Cover and set aside 10-12 minutes for flavors to strengthen before drinking (or enjoy immediately)

5 cups of Mint Tea (& Recipe): The Moroccan Tradition (MOROCCO - part 1 of 2)

As much as the Spaniards captured our hearts with their café, we now turn our caffeinated souls over to the herbal tea blend ubiquitous throughout Morocco.
Mint tea or "The a la Menthe"is found in every household and storefront. It is as much a beverage to delight in as a social gesture of friendship and hospitality. Tourists exhibiting exemplary bartering skills may be invited to share a cup of the vendor's tea, awaiting at his footstool. During my three day tour of Casablanca and Marrakech, I partook in no less than 5 (individual sized) teapots (pots not cups) of Moroccan mint tea, both by choice and invitation. The soothing blend of green tea and fresh potent mint leaves is invigorating as the hot liquid steams over your face. Beware of my foolhardy attempt to drink the elixir straight off the stove and sip the tea at your leisure.

Before untangling our swell-ravaged bodies from the boat, erm pardon, SHIP (it did very much seem like a boat in that final half an hour before docking), we were instructed with excessive ceremony and precaution in the social conduct and typical interaction of the country; particularly as it pertained to gender inequalities. I observed this divide manifested most clearly in large cafes throughout the urban centers. Men filled sidewalk seating, lounging in wicker chairs, all facing outwards towards the street for maximum people (women?) watching potential. Even the indoor seating was filed in a similar fashion as if the patrons were attending the cinema. Similar to the bars of America and unique from the cafe atmosphere we have created, Moroccan cafes are devoted to middle-aged men, a social niche or business negotiating hotspot. Nevertheless by mid-afternoon, after braving intermittent downpour and patchy skies, our group of four girls were ready to join the ranks. Although women are not forbidden to enter a cafe, even alone, she may sacrifice the comfort of her experience by being surrounded by observant men. We chose a modernly outfitted cafe packed with both men of all ages and several young ladies as well. [Note to self: most women sit indoors. Do not be discouraged to poke your head in and check the gender ratio before deciding on your location.] The tea is simply prepared with green tea leaves, fresh sprigs of mint, and an impressive quantity of sugar, no less than five lumps per pot. Each order is served in individual silver plated teapots, ranging from simple Asian buffet-type mini tins to ones ornate enough to capture Abu's thieving monkey-eyes. A dainty tall glass teacup, essentially an oversized shot glass, accompanies the teapot along with a silver spoon and an additional large packet of sugar, arranged atop an individual silver tea tray. (Depending on whether I find this to be a trend, I may revisit the exceptionally large packets of sugar offered outside the US). I was pleasantly surprised by my first taste of the honey-colored liquid. It is very sweet, but behind the initial sugary mouthful is an subtle aromatic sharpness from the mint layered over the basic comfort of green tea. If you are not a believer in mint, try the recipe below before proclaiming your final judgment.

THE RECIPE
Thé a la menthe
(serves 1)
- 2 fresh mint sprigs (Moroccan mint if possible)
- 2-3 tsp loose leaf green tea
- 5 sugar chunks / cubes or honey
- boiling water

* pour boiling water over tea leaves and steep or continue boiling for 5 min
* add mint sprigs in teapot; steep another few minutes
* add sugar and stir well (to taste)

I have been informed on various occasions, though I did not witness this practice firsthand, that it is customary to pour the tea into the cups from an impressive height of several feet or more. This both serves to better mix the tea and sweetener as well as entertain the tea recipient with a small performance.