insomniac
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Posts posted by insomniac
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I may be a liittle biased Peter but I have had some amazing food and wine on Cathay Pacific ( and the cabin crew are a delight)
On the HKG-LHR leg a few weeks ago with a stellar chinese broth with wolfberries, an individually steamed plate of grouper with ginger and spring onions, tofu steamed rice (and then cheese... OK I can't resist) I was sipping Krug and a brilliant grand cru Louis Max mersault followed by a Lynch Bages premier cru....unfortunately it was 2am and even I could only force down a glass or two
ps. endearing Japanese movie about a coal mining town whose women gave the place a new lease of life as a Hawaiian hula resort when the mine closed....a classic
pps. are you there yet, are you there yet, are you there y.....
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......have just finished reading Fuchsia Dunlop's latest and blindingly well written book, which chronicles her path from burgeoning Chinese language student to expert in Chinese cuisine.
Her story is simply amazing, especially so for those of us who know what rural China is like now, let alone 15 yrears ago. The culinary journey she has undertaken is so breathtaking that I just had to post a note...the book covers the spectrum of her work, including the story of how her 2 cookbooks evolved and were eventually published.
She has got to rank up there with the greats of literary food writers......I can't recommend this book highly enough.
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I LOVE those old school places in HK - Tai Ping Koon, Perfume River, Nam Wah (RIP), Boston... I never got to Indonesia - but I always found the storefront intriguing.
oh, I had forgotten about Perfume River! don't forget Chung Chuk Lau(Pine and Bamboo)(also RIP) on Leighton Road in Causeway Bay....we loved that place
ps. Ah Leung, wasn't there an Indonesia Restaurant also in Causeway Bay? the sign looks similar??
pps. ooh, nearly forgot....Spring Deer has got to qualify, Canucklehead
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Giles Coren is a pillock and I have held this belief ever since 'I read a restaurant review of his a couple of years ago in which he declared he was never going to review the food anymore, just the ethical and environmental standards of the restaurant. Which doesn’t make you much use as a restaurant reviewer???
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I can't get my head around the fuel prices argument....fuel is cheap cheap cheap in the US and Oz and that's where a shedload of wheat is grown.....we are paying £1.05/litre over here.............and are thinking about growing wheat on our farm.....
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aaah, coco de mer....slightly more erotic than a coconut drink in Sham Shui Po......
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I pretty much use PC's method but I have been known to dry the duck with my hairdryer when I was in a hurry.....worked OK
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Yum cha just means to drink tea, which is what you do when you sek (faan)(eat) dim sum...
have heard Chatswood is a good place to eat Chinese...a bit far for me to go
edited for spelling
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aaaah, kare pan, warm from the Sogo oven, slightly crunchy and a teeny bit oily on the outside, fluffy and soft on the inside with that gorgeous mild curry filling......miss it...crave it.....no idea how to duplicate it??...any ideas?
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Peter and Scud, please feel free to eat what you may....beware of piggging out and don't forget your names.....
can't wait....
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What does 'lo fan' actually mean?
I believe that lo fan simply means foreigner whereas 'gwai' is a demon rather than a ghost and used to be perjorative....today no-one I know takes offence at gwai lo or gwai po....like many words in English it has long lost its sting....
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Shin" means new,
and
Is your seasoning more like Kansai (Western Japan) style than Kanto (Eastern Japan)?I just had a *doh* moment......as a bumbling Cantonese speaker I have just realised that 'shin' = 'sun' (new) and 'sai' = 'sai' (west) and 'to'= 'tung'.(east)....
only took me about 21 years to notice, til now just thought certain characters were the same....hmmm, not exactly Sherlock Holmes...
enjoying your daily life very much
ps. how safe is it to cycle? I wouldn't fancy it in HK..
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After you've sampled the delights of the Cafe Romna, nip over the road to The Old Spot, a rare oasis of excellent grub in this part of Somerset's culinary desert....
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If you browse around eGullet, Ling has posted some awesome pictures of homemade scallion pancakes. I think she may have posted her recipe, too, but I'm not sure.
You are spot on Rona, Ling did post the recipe...it is Henry's mother's...I copied it down so carefully I can't find it!
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I cannot find the meaning in French of the word "lou". I'm trying to find it in the context of a discussion going on over in the cheese forum.
They're looking for a cheese called 'Lou paralou' which I can't find anywhere although I can find several cheeses the are 'Lou ..... something or other'
I've tried new & old French, Occitan & Basque dictionaries with no luck.
Does anybody know what this word means?
My French boyfriend tells me it means "Le" in southern patois.
Thanks. Makes sense.
Don't know why it didn't turn up in the dictionary. I'll have to try some others.
I struck it in Provence...think it is Occitan, quite like Catalan....at the time I wondered if my brain was fried as I suddenly couldn't understand what the people around me were saying
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Andre’s Carnes de Res
All you have to do is mention this name to a Columbian, particularly from Bogota, and you’ll see their eyes light up.
Heck, my eyes light up now. Bright red, but they light up.
This was the wrap up. We’d finished with work, our support staff were closing down operations, and so we were freed up to go ahead to Chia, for Andre’s.
When we’d arrived, we’d been told that it wouldn’t work out for us, but, luckily, we’d persisted, and one of our crew had made the executive decision to launch the expedition out of town. I’d been worried that the others had had their hearts set on Mexican, but no one seemed to mind in the least that we were going here, instead.
The only issue of debate had been on when to leave. One faction held for waiting until 8 p.m., when traffic would’ve died off a bit, while another held for “getting going as soon as possible”. After all, this was cutting into drinking and eating time.
I’ll let you hazard a guess as to our choice.
How bad could the traffic be in a city of 8 million?
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
As we sat at one particular jam, I used the opportunity to observe one little hole-in-the-wall. It was a sandwich shop - Sanducheef.
Behind the display case there was a pile en dishabille of brown crusted loaves. A man in white was busy back there packing one with a selection of items I could not discern. In a moment, another man road up astride his motorbike. He dismounted and turned his large frame away from us, displaying the license on his back.
Motorcycle riders here are required to wear a vest with their license on display. This restriction is an effort to cut down on the number of bike-enacted executions. If you have a passenger, the passenger wears the vest (although I did not notice anyone riding pillion while we were there). Perhaps something to try in Thailand, where the second-man-shooter is most in fashion?
The large man gestured to the man in white, the man in white handed the smaller man a sandwich, and then he set to work on the larger man’s apparent order.
I liked it as a study. The bright interior of the kitchen against the sepia tones of the outside light.
The large man received his baguette, but didn’t eat it immediately. He talked to the smaller man about something, gesticulating with his sandwich. Finally, as a punctuation, he bit in savagely upon the bread, his huge mouth taking away a third of the loaf.
I considered, for a moment, cracking the door, making a break for Sanducheef, and ordering what they were having.
Then I thought about the reaction of our bodyguard and of our poor handlers who were responsible for us.
And then the traffic started to move again.
I’m just getting too old.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
From that intersection, things moved well. Soon we arrived at the toll booth, which, for a small sum, allowed us to travel in a smaller, more select crowd, on an even better road than we had been upon before.
We drove for perhaps half an hour, past upscale housing communities and malls, and more restaurants, clubs, and then past an antique bridge (the new road did not envelop it) which Lina told us was the sight of one of the ancient battles of the Spanish against the indigenous peoples.
Now Lina was telling us of the upcoming march. There was to be a mass demonstration on February 4th of the people of Columbia against the FARC and their violence and the violence of the country. People, as everywhere, were tired of it all, and wanted to get on with their lives.
I can sympathise with that. A pity we wouldn’t be here on the 4th. This was our final night.
As we drove into Chia, I saw restaurants everywhere. It was dark, and the interior lights highlighted the wooden décor and open kitchens. Parilla – grills – for cooking meat were abundant. Solid tables, with what one would hope to be solid food.
And then we arrived at Fantasyland.
Alighting from the van, we were ushered into Andre’s, turnstiles slapping our backsides as we filed in, wending our way through what was then a vacant hall.
Or, rather, a series of rooms. Andre’s appeared to be an organic growth, a series of shacks added on to shacks, one leading into others. As we twisted through I was struck by the similarity to a digestive tract, and all this entrailed (sorry!).
If the path through was intestinal, then you can appreciate that the walls were awash in flora. Every inch, every corner, every nook, and every cranny was decorated in some way, much of it with recycled material.
There were at least three dance areas that we came across as we explored, and a number of bars. (Saying “a number” means I forgot to count).
A couple of us explored, while the rest settled into our table by the main dance floor.
I main an attempt to read the menu, but my eyes are definitely failing me in these darkly lit places I’m finding myself in nowadays. Even with a candle, it was hard to make out what it said on the paper inside the roller box.
But, why do I worry? Our hosts were busy ordering a selection of items. I just took things as they came, and hoped to make sense of them.
I blinked, and the first dish to hit our table was almost gone. A fried cheese, taken with sour cream, served on a plantain leaf.
As I’d said, we were early, so the dance floor was pretty vacant. But they had a wandering band making counter-noise to the sound system, and a collection of entertainers done up for Carnival. One of these was done up as a priest, and, while my Spanish was proving up to the task of reading a menu (even if my eyes weren’t) I couldn’t make out the tirade that he lit into us with.
Did we look that degenerate? Maybe I shouldn’t ask……
Next up was, I believe, a yuca bread. It had been flattened and then cooked. We pulled it apart from the mass, and then took it with the sides of chicharron, ricotta, beans, and salsa.
And there were the little potatoes again!
These started going down like bar nuts. A little oil in the cooking, and a sprinkle of salt. My team mate beside me grabbed one dish and wouldn’t let go.
And then came the sausages. The chorizo, to me, tasted the same as what we’d had earlier, but the morcilla was a bit juicier, and more satisfying in the mouth. And the arepas, while still dry, were fresh and tasty with the fat in the sausage.
And, as the extra treat, the sausages came with trip. Remember, Korean kopchang is one of my favourite things, so this was a bonus. They were good and chewy, yielding up that soft unpleasantness from within.
As you’d expect, this was hardly the place to teetotal.
We’d started off with Club Columbia, but it occurred to me that –
1. I was in the Continent of Cocktails
2. I didn’t have to drive home!
So, I checked with Lina on the house cocktails. Without hesitation, her answer was “mojito”.
The mojito came in a gourd about the size of my head, packed with mint and other herbs, limed up, and graced with a strawberry on the side. I took a sip, and then another.
This was going to be a good night.
Some evil soul had also order a few bottles of Aguardiente Antioqueno – the Columbian equivalent of soju, taken by the bottle, the more often the better. With a hint of anis, it’s fairly mild as it hits you, running around 30%.
Then the wandering band came back, tied a red napkin on one of the lads, and put sparklers in his hands. I’m not certain why, but it gave me more light to read by.
Next up was a beautiful thing. Lomo al Trapo.
This was a cut of meat from the shoulder (we were working by body language across the table). It had been covered in salt, then wrapped in cloth, and then tossed in the fire. Like the salt domed fish, the juice was all trapped inside, and the meat came out a zombie-like grey on the outside, and just perfect inside.
The dance floor, and the restaurant, was packed by now. Feeling better about the hunger thing, and waiting on a second mojito, I went for a prowl to check out the kitchen.
With seating for 1500 (and they’re sold out most of the weekends) the cooking areas were as you expected. Big.
And it does my heart good to see a shovel for the ovens.
Things were also very clean and efficient, and as I watched the chefs working around the fires like imps in Dante’s Inferno, I was cheered by their grace.
I watched with glee as the potatoes – the little ones – went into the oil for their bath.
How many mojitos had I had?
Back at the table, I found another Columbian favourite – empenadas. Heck, this is a favourite anywhere the Spanish have been, from Madrid to Bogota to Manila.
And my next mojito had shown up.
At this point, things got a little blurry.
But, as long as I’ve got my notebook, some potatoes, and an empanada, what can go wrong?
I took another plate of the lomo.
As I’d said, the dance floor was packed. Half our table was up there, and the other half were hooting and rolling their arms in the air.
Plates of meat, this time grilled, and our second shift, who’d had to follow us later, arrived to wolf it down, and then they hit the dance floor.
Now I know how the Columbian women stay so thin. They burn it off.
A burner of corn showed up, the cobs resting over a hot piece of charcoal.
This I was not as thrilled by, the kernels being thicker and starchier, and not as sweet, as what I’m used to in “the other Columbia” (BC, that is).
At some point I’d tossed the straws from my mojito, and was drinking it from the gourd, hoisted in one hand.
Strangely, the bowls seemed to empty quickly. I checked for leaks, but found none.
Maybe it evaporates?
Our waitress, Stephanie, was by, delivering more limes, so I asked for something different.
What she brought back was a like a frozen marguerita, but made with pulped mango.
I ate the cherry, tossed the straws, hoisted the gourd, and enjoyed the people watching.
The entertainers were still out there and hard at it, joining in the dancing, and taunting those of us who didn’t get up to shake it.
I noticed one girl up there wearing fur trimmed stilletos, others in various costumes of interest, and everyone moving with a grace that was guaranteed to keep me intimidated enough to stay glued to my seat.
Taunt away.
And on the side of the dance floor, Sebastian, a mestizo, slowly swept things clean, oblivious to the world.
Finally, I stirred from my bench.
I could feel the movement.
I had to use the washroom.
These were as colourfully decorated as the rest of the place.
The effect of the décor is almost like a Thai temple, with every open bit of space decorated with colour, with something shiny. On close inspection that something shiny may just be a bit of broken crockery, but heck, it does look good when you get the entire effect.
Back at the table, someone had ordered a pizza.
For me, this wasn’t quite right. It tasted for all the world like hot cardboard. Not a flavour I usually look for. But one of our Columbian company advised that it needed to be eaten with salsa, and that did make it more palatable.
And another round of aguardiente helped it all go down.
Oh, yeah. If you buy anything in the gift shop (I’m a sucker for bar shirts), they put a hospital bracelet on you, and pass your purchase over to you at the door when you leave. I think there are assumptions made about your mental capacity to remember things at the end of the night.
Also, when you go to leave your bags or coats, they bring over a lock bag to the table, and everything goes into the canvas sack to be locked up in a bundle. You may not keep the crease in your linen, but it’ll get back to you when the lights go out.
The conga line was moving at this point, and things appeared to be going swimmingly.
I sniped at the remaining beef, and found some more of the morcilla to nibble at. At 12:30 the first vehicle left to get back to Bogota, but it just seemed like a good idea to stay on a little more.
At 3:00, it seemed the steam was finally running out.
Andre’s has been around for almost a quarter of a century now. In that time they’ve learned to take care of their clientelle. Outside they have bunks, for people that really need to sleep it off, and, if that’s not enough, you can get a driver to take you and your vehicle back to Bogota.
They also keep a bit pot of soup on the go, to help sober up the real drunkards.
And darned tasty it was, too.
available any time after March 10th....will locate to Bogota...in the name of research PLEASE....(sorry Yoonhi)
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just had 2 weeks at my brother's beach house (right in the beach) at Culburra Beach south of Sydney and have confirmed my post last year that the best fish and chips I've ever had is from the DJ's shack opposite the fishing boats at Greenwell Point (Jervis Bay)...I hang out for the fish, all fresh, depends on the catch, includes schnapper, flathead, barramundi, leather jacket, black fish, perch (not sure what that is),plus gorgeous small, saline, slippery local rock oysters and my secret vice, chico rolls (yeah but I ive in the UK)...thinking of re-emigrating on the basis of the fresh fish quality, sooo rare in England
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"Gourmet" and "gourmand" have their place, I feel--even though words borrowed from the French into English do tend to carry some lingering connotations of snootiness.
good point.... after being slapped on the wrist for taking the p!ss out of the use of beverage rather than drink in a previous post (I had in mind the philological schism which occurred after William the Conqueror imposed French (beverage) upon Anglo Saxon England (trinken) and was extrapolating the usage in convict stocked Australia, I am in favour of foodie....a common Oz diminution is the adding of 'ie' to a noun, the ongoing thread on Aussie Choccie being a prime example of one of our irritating habits
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Abra, must agree wholeheartedly with Margaret Pilgrim's two recommendations. I would like to add the small hotel Ti al Lannec....beautiful situation on the sea (well, a walk down a slope) delightful rooms and excellent food...our son was not feeling the best and the kitchen served him a simple consomme and fish not on the menu, couldn't have been more accommodating and friendly and they have a HUGE French-type jolie laid dog called Petit Loup, never seen a bigger (very gentle) dog in my life and we are all very tall!
love Bretagne
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There is a nice little place in Rose Bay that has what you are looking for, I'll find out the name and come back to you.
I think the place you are referring to is Photios on the left hand side of New South Head Road if you are pointing towards Watto Bay....they have been there for yonks (I used to babysit for the family in the late 60's!)....killer chocs etc
what about the chocolatiere who supplies Qantas first class in Paddington? (off Oxford St) name escapes me, sorry
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If it's OK to slip across the border into another language:
A venerable tradition in the part of Québec where I was born is the late-summer "épluchette de blé d’Inde" (probably translatable as "corn husking"), which is a party centering on mountains of boiled corn on the cob.
Oh, and one other: A parody cookbook I'm writing will feature a recipe for "An Old-Time Savannah River Locust Boil." Yum!!
faites attention, Barry, locust boil is an old established
Thai meal (Isaan) and tastes, well, yum....
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well. MM, I cooked a treeload of quinces again this year and while not quite membrillo (almost but in syrup)we eat them with roast pork/duck/pheasant/goose etc as a perfect counterfoil for the gamey flavour of the meat, also chop them in salads with walnuts and blue cheese or goats cheese ( in fact with any cheese) and also a delight with foie gras in its many variations...I love quinces...alas, we finished them tonight...but the syrup remains...
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Verjuice, what an exotic flower you are ... which train of thought leads me to ask you, did you chose where to live in the States, as it seems to me that where you live now is, in a way, like the Gulf of old, hmmm I mean the desert-like environment, relaltively low population density and extremes of temperature. I'm speaking from the point of view of having had family in the Gulf for many years some 30 yrs ago....our local friends with a stunning, simple beach place like you and we spent time in the desert with them regularly...Dubai was small and we crossed the creek in a funny little taxi boat.....just curious as it's hard to come from a place that suddenly 'modernises' and westernises.
ps hope not too personal a query
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Oh, I love the Ningbo Resident's Association. Good food and quite inexpensive. Even my cousin-in-law who's half Shanghainese (other half is Taiwanese) approves of it. It used to be that anybody could eat there but now they've been more strict about admitting only members - which I'm not. Is it difficult to join?
I don't think its hard at all. The entry fee is only HK$ 20. When my mother told people it cost her 20 bucks to join, everyone thought she was using slang - and that it actually cost 20 thousand to join. Uh - no, 20 dollars - that's about US$ 7.
Ask a waiter how to join next time you are taken there.
love it too, am a member, easy, was introduced by a Shanghainese friend...also a very convenient location when I was working round the corner and a refreshing change from expensive Lan Kwai Fong area
...and when I couldn't sleep last night I was thinking about snake soup before I read yr post canucklehead...will be in HK in a week or so and a big bowl of tummy warming snake soup is going to be be my first stop...
What food-related books are you reading? (2004 - 2015)
in Food Media & Arts
Posted
I have posted about this book already but to give it more exposure I have just finished reading Fuchsia Dunlop's new Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper. A stunning read, it encompasses her journey from student of the Chinese language to food addict.
She chronicles her 15 years of living and travelling in China, her growing passion and obsession with Chinese food, history, preparation and recipes. The lengths she has gone to to accurately detail the food is amazing. she manages to inveigle her way into places westerners have never been permitted, including a long stint at a Sichuan chef's course, the Chinese equivalent of the CIA. She becomes fluent in the Sichuan and Hunan dialects as well as Mandarin. At the end of each chapter she posts a relevant recipe.
The book is intensely personal and full of incredible anecdotes about the history of China and how it is inextricably bound up with eating. I absolutely take my hat of to her total dedication to the subject (and the people) she loves.