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Adventures in Eataly

“Uno piccolo coppetta per favor"

sunny

“Wow! I didn’t expect to see you,” I gushed as it brushed past me and went to the other table.
“What are you doing here?” I asked coyly.
“I didn’t know you were from up this way. I mean, I figured you came from somewhere nearby but this is…an unexpected surprise…
…You look good.
…You look really good”, I say, unable to tear my eyes away.

A huge dollop of Genovese basil pesto oozes down from the piece of toasted bruschetta. The fluro green oil is pooling at the bottom and the toasted, oily, garlicy bread is lapping it up.

“You are looking really good. I don’t mean to ramble but I mean it’s just so nice to see you. I have always adored you and now you are here, and its been such an unexpected, serendipitous surprise”.

My God that looks delicious. There were other accompaniments to the dish but I was focussed on that glorious green pesto dollop.

I sit there smiling, overwhelmed with happiness to see my old friend, one of my great loves right in front of me. While this is playing out in my head I realise I am still staring at the people at the table nearby (well their lunch). I don’t mean to, but this is a game changer. I had no idea this handsome little character was going to be on offer.

Delicious fresh basil pesto, one of my reasons for living and as it turns out, which I cannot believe I didn’t research fully up until this point, a regional speciality of Liguria.

It’s no secret that I love food and in particular Italian food. Italian food and the mediterranean diet of fresh, delicious ingredients really is a major drawcard for returning to one of my favourite countries in the world. It has beautiful sights, stunning landscapes, interesting history, friendly people, good weather and delicious food. The best thing about Italy is food is a shared passion, it is expected that you dine out and eat several courses and to talk about your meals. It enriches your travel experience ten fold. In my early 20s it was about the cheap lunch of bread and cheese, then as I got older I visited the occasional restaurant as a treat and sought out regional specialities especially cheap and easy street food. Now I have a steady income, this trip to Italy was going to be even more delicious. This trip was going to have a dusting of truffle salt and a “hell I’ll have an entree as well” attitude because ‘treat yo self’.

I was ready to do Italy. I packed my active wear, which remained the only clean item I returned with, and I packed my snacktive wear, which I put on daily to ensure I was comfortable to take on several courses. Good snacktive wear provides flexibility because sometimes it is imperative to push meals close together so as to not miss a good opportunity so elastic waists or free fall skirts. Obviously you also have to be mindful of keeping the colours dark to avoid a splash of the old pomodoro sauce or an equally disastrous chocolate gelato drip. There’s no time for washing clothes on holidays.

Moments after touching down into Roma, I hit the streets and soon found myself ordering a panino, a Roman street food staple and finding a curb side location looking at the Roman Forum to eat it. I sat at street level because I may have an income now but I am still a gypsy hobo at heart. My sandwich had roasted eggplant and buffalo mozzarella swimming in a tomato sauce. I looked at the hot and sweaty faces of the tourists walking by with their white runners and maps, I gazed on at the relics of ancient Rome and really just took a load off and enjoyed my sandwich. Now this is a travel experience, being ushered around the colosseum in 40 degree heat is worth doing but snacking while taking in the sights and sounds of the city is a much more preferable task.

When I say I love Italian food, really it cannot be categorised so broadly. It is highly regionalised, sure you can go anywhere and get a pizza and pasta but there is a whole world to explore when you get specific about flavours, styles and specialities. Pizza though a Napoli special is found everywhere, they vary in quality but are rarely disappointing. They can be made to about 75cm in diameter and sold by the giant slice or are just your regular family-sized 8 slicer for one. Sharing pizza is only required when you want to order more than one thing (which by the way is always). Getting one pizza as a meal to share is a waste of an eating opportunity and your clean snacktive wear. Small eaters need not apply - holiday elsewhere. Pizza is kept simple with a few combinations of tomato, mozzarella and insert other ingredient (mushroom, meat, eggplant, fresh tomato, a giant dollop of pesto - all are deliciously simple). The dough needs to be light and crunchy, thin enough that it bubbles a little and can be folded and eaten in one go should you be in a hurry to catch a train or get to dessert. I am also partial to a calzone, pizzas less-cute cousin, it’s really just a pizza folded in half to become a giant fun pocket that bursts with steam and shrinks down to size oozing its delicious cheesy innards all over your plate.

Speaking of innards, a Florentine speciality is Lamperetto, a tripe sandwich. I gave that a miss but all good restaurants will serve the regional specialities. If it’s not in season you won’t find it on a good menu, a good italian menu is handwritten and changes all the time. It bugs me to see people sitting at terrible tourist traps in the main piazza, paying top dollar for mediocre food. I guess perhaps its just me not wanting to waste a meal on something not mouth wateringly delicious. Do a little research its always worth it then you can make an educated decision to avoid eating gizzards despite it looking delicious served in a fresh bread roll with tomato sauce like a meatball sub.

My last Italian snackcursion was to Sicily, where desserts and seafood reign supreme. In the North you are in ravioli and risotto country, colder climates require more sustainable food. Minestones and bean soups are all wonderfully delicious and hearty Tuscan specialties. The North is also fungi territory where mushrooms and truffles reign supreme. Adding a little truffle salt to your meal is mind blowing. Obviously i’m more financially stable at the moment but i’m not a millionaire, I can’t be owning €15 salt so I use the free stuff when it is on offer then salt heavily to get the most out of it. Thirsty work, but worth it.

As you move through Italy you can see the pasta preference change from strands of varying thicknesses to odd little twists, blobs and whoziwhatsits. All pasta, all delicious but changing constantly. The street food, or rather, the snack food of choice also changes in each region. While I survived on arancini in Sicily and panino in Rome in Liguria the street snack of choice is a focaccia, something I never realised was anymore than a bastardised Australian thing. I knew they baked the bread but it comes with an array of delicious baked on toppings that you can buy by the slice or the gram like a pizza. Another familiar face popped up on the menus in the North west, my old friend bruschetta. A range of toasted breads with all sorts of fresh toppings, tomato, basil, mozzarella and often a few slivers of anchovies.

In Tuscany you couldn’t go far without snacksidentally consuming meats and cheeses. Italy makes what seems like a million different processed, smoked and cured meat products. Giant legs and salami type things of various colours, shapes and fat content. You can actually just buy slices of lard if that’s your favourite part. Then there are your cheeses to accompany it, usually hard cheeses like pecorino or parmigiano, any quiet, unassuming cheese that is not going to take the focus away from the meat. There’s no room for a showy, decadent soft cheese here. Admire the platter on arrival then dig in, grab a bit of crusty bread or a dried cracker and just pile that bad boy up with a meat, cheese, meat combination of your choosing then just throw it in. Throw it in and chew, chew, chew, don't focus on the strings of fat that are getting stuck in your teeth or the giant speckle of white fat you just ate. Florence loves meat and I love seeing legs of animals hanging from the ceiling, I find it fascinatingly gross yet rather whimsical. The Florentines also favour a focaccia as their daily ‘on the move’ snack. Theirs is made with no salt because a million moons ago because they didn’t want to pay a salt tax to Pisa so it’s deliciously oily instead. Soft but crunchy around the edges. Specialist sandwich shops will slice you some cured meats and make you a delicious sandwich with a variety of sandwich cremes; spreads made from truffle, eggplant, olive or artichoke. Like a delicious tapenade to soak up what part of the bread the oil hasn’t.

There are a million delicious dining options to discuss but the most important piece of advice however with restaurant dining is to ensure you are travelling and dining with a fellow snacker. A person who also thinks a post-siesta, pre dinner salami and cheese platter is a top idea. A good food companion will go on this food adventure with you and won’t order a salad or suggest you just get a pizza to share. You want the type of person who always says yes to an entree and always agrees that if you both order two mutually agreed upon dishes and split them then you get to eat more delicious things and never feel like you are missing out.

Finally, undoubtedly one of the best parts about any European summer holiday is gelato. There’s hundred of flavours, all gloriously piled up in a rainbow of colours. Gelato as I learned is made with more milk than cream which is why is melts faster than you can eat it and it is why proper artesian gelato has a runny, almost sticky consistency that they have to plop onto the cone. This also allows one to claim it healthier than ice-cream and therefore just plain healthy. The best place for gelato is Italy, the home of gelato is generally attributed to Florence but some don’t agree with that. While I would never discriminate, I tend to lean towards a sorbetto, the fruit flavoured gelato usually made with the finest seasonal fruits. As a connoisseur I can share some of the tips of the trade. A good gelateria will keep its product under the counter in little silver canisters like the treasure it is. Hidden away from prying eyes. They will also have rotating flavours and sell out because they will be making what is in season and making it every day. Good gelato will also not be vibrant in colour if they are making it properly because a banana isn’t yellow. While all gelato is delicious, refreshing and cool on what is always a scorching hot day in any Italian city, if you are going to do it, do it properly. You won’t regret seeking out store made, artisan gelato. You may pay a little more for your ‘piccolo coppetta’ but it will always be worth it. Earlier this year I rode my bicycle to work and I said for every time I rode I could have two gelato in Italy. I lied to others and to myself because I had 17 gelato in 17 days and rode my bicycle once. It was imperative that I have a gelato every day because once you start there’s no point being a quitter (that’s for team sports when you realise sitting at home is more fun that sitting on the bench). I tried my best not to repeat a flavour so it could be considered a science, historical and cultural experiment as well a weight-gaining exercise. Limoncello, green apple, pomegranate, apricot and melon were some of my favourites while some of the more unusually delicious flavours I consumed were basil and lemon, chocolate pear, ricotta and Chianti red wine. It is important to remember that if you get a small cone or cup, it’s perfectly legitimate to eat one every day. Haters gonna hate.

Throw in a food tour where I sampled too many different flavours of cantucci (biscotti) then purchased an extra kilo, ate countless pieces of assorted meats and drank wine then did a pizza and gelato making class i’ve ensured everyday in Italy had a delicious melting buffalo mozzarella moment served with a sprig of fresh basil.

With a heavy heart, a croissant with Nutella in one hand and an espresso in the other, I prepared to leave Italy. At immigration I received my certificate for sustaining Italian agriculture and one for my dedication to the consumption of carbohydrates. I lamented how having Nutella croissants is frowned upon as a breakfast item at home as I dipped that puppy into my coffee. Then thought how that also is probably frowned upon.

I guess the detox starts Monday?
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Posted by The Tipsy Gipsy 03:31 Archived in Italy Tagged food travel italy pizza pasta gelato pesto the_tipsy_gipsy Comments (0)

Pa-DANG it!

Trying to Avoid Ingesting Parasites

sunny

“Here try this”, a lady suggests as she hands me what looks like a rice cake/large cracker while at a food market in Jakarta.
I bite into it slowly, nearly breaking my teeth which amuses the group of onlookers greatly. They watch on as I chew the hard biscuit slowly and cautiously, as they deliberate on the correct translation.

“…calamari," they chirp.

My throat closes up and the saliva dries as I swallow a chunk of dried out, mushed up calamari, pounded into cake form. I smile awkwardly and give them a nod, like “tis’ as good a calamari cake i’ve ever had”. I then hold it awkwardly between my thumb and finger, extended out from my body like an offensive smelling rag. I let it dangle in my hand while I look at some meatball-esque objects, like i’m far too intrigued and far too busy right now to take another bite. I’m going to save that puppy until later.

I have arrived in Indonesia with the hope, nay the expectation, of sampling some of the culinary delights of the Dutch East Indies with the acceptance that, unlike say, an Italian snackcursion, this one could have dire consequences.

As I round the corner and toss the calamari cake into the bin I reevaluate my tactics. Without a doubt a good snackcursion, a food focussed holiday, requires a little curiosity and adventure but also a peppering of pure logic, it’s a delicate balance. It is the acknowledgement that the brain needs to be party to all culinary decisions. To eat or not to eat? Will this make me violently ill? Is it worth it?

Over the course of my travels I have only had food poisoning twice. It is the ultimate act of treachery. The first culprit was a Bosnian cevapi, a local ‘kebab’ type dish with meat and sour cream, in retrospect it sounds a little iffy, but it was delicious. Cut to, me in an Islamic graveyard (1000s of white stick markers swirling around me) stumbling to find a way out to avoid spewing on the grave of a Bosnian war hero.
The second time was in Morocco. My guess is I ingested something horrendous over the course of 3 days in the desert with no toilets, showers and partaking in the local custom of communal eating from one plate. Just a guess. I have vivid recollections of resting my face on the cool bathroom tiles of an Agadir hotel, looking closely at the grime and pubic hairs I was sharing the floor with.

As a result I am a little cautious, wary of what may bring me undone. So naturally I arrived in Jakarta prepared to wash my hands, take tablets, drink water, use hydration salts and be an all round responsible traveller and sanitise, sanitise, sanitise.

Upon arrival, within minutes, I went in search of food. As expected of any Asian city I traipsed down broken footpaths, stepped over giant holes, jumped over mystery piles of goo and danced around the sidewalk edges, entering oncoming traffic to go around street sellers in order to find food. This urban hike was in search of a meal, which was to be undertaken at the first decent looking restaurant — clean, open, lit, other customers, electricity, walls etc.
Eureka, a building. We went in blind to every other aspect and sat down ready to start this exciting, but ever so careful, food adventure.

It turned out to be a Padang Restaurant, the very popular cuisine of the Sumatran city. As we sat at a dirty old plastic table, 12 dishes were immediately placed on the table in front of us, distributed from a pile like frisbees. The spread consisted of an assortment of rice, beef rendang or old shoe leather unsure at this point, chicken pieces in sauce, eggs floating in sauce, prawns and baby eggs floating in sauce, just plain ole bowls of sauce.

* meeep! meeep! meeep! *

The alarm bells start a dull ring in my ears. I would have preferred to have ordered al a carte and maybe avoided anything too rich on the first night. Also there was not one dish that I would have ordered. I really don’t care for things floating in sauce.
Oh boy!
We didn’t want to be rude as we look around and every table is digging in to their bowls of food. A quick glance around tells me that these people clearly are pleased with this offering so maybe we too should embrace it. They seem to love sauce bowls.
I inspect the meal and the surrounds with trepidation. I watch another group of diners sit down and the waiter pile up dishes and dump them on their table…then I realised all the dishes are preprepared and piled up in the corner of the restaurant.

*brrrrrring! brrrrrrring!*

the alarm bells are tolling just a little louder than before.

Cold food. Pre-cooked. Sitting out in the non air-conditioned room.

Oh boy!

We were too far in, we had taken that leap, there was no going back as we sip from our dirty cup of hot tea and tentatively poke the food with a spoon.
Why are these chickens so skinny? What the hells are those balls? Are they bird eggs? Questions float around my mind as I look at the spread in front of me, wondering what I could eat. The people around us are delighted with their plate of skinny chicken bones and suckle at the sinew.

We tentatively dive in, nibble, poke, lick, prod. I tried to swallow the deep feeling of regret and drown out the alarm bells with the cleanest pieces of beef rendang. I cut at the hard piece of meat with my spoon, as they don't believe in the need for knives in these parts. Every swallow felt like another step along the plank. The food was cold and indistinguishable. We poked at things and cut off bits to experiment and analyse.
hmm whats that? A few bones floating in sauce. A boiled egg - why not. Is this chrysanthemum tea? or is it just the taste of hot, reused plastic?

We felt as though we were being unappreciative so we chipped away at the food mustering the courage, or enough curiosity to try something else. As I dished myself up some more plain white rice with a little sauce from around the meat, I watched the waiting staff clear the table next to us. As they cleared the mess into one giant bowl of ebola I realised that the untouched, or rather, still aesthetically acceptable plates were returned to the serving bench in a pile with the rest. The plates with one piece of chicken left were placed onto another plate to create a new one ready to be served again.

Oh boy!

*aoooooga! aoooooga!* Evacuate! Evacuate!

A few new servings of scraps were placed over the side where our dishes were served from. Yep, they reuse food.
And.
We’re
Done.
We called it quits, the alarm bells were drowning out the sounds of the streets of Jakarta.
This was not a great start. This was against everything I had planned to do. Within an hour of landing i’d broken all the golden rules of the snackcursion.

It was a hot day, with a bit of luck I might sweat out the toxins… I thought as I pushed the rest of the food into the middle and stood up.

We went to pay and the whole meal of junk cost us $20 — quite a lot by Indonesian standards. As it turns out you pay by what you eat/touch which for us was practically everything as we were trying to be polite and look as though we gave it all a nudge and it was wonderful. We had left no item unprodded. There was no way were going to eat the prawns having seen the rivers, but there was also no way we weren't going to poke the balls floating in the same sauce and cut them open to see what was inside (pigeon eggs is my guess)... boom, $3.80.

I think they made their months profit it one evening.

I wandered back to the hotel with a heavy feeling of regret in the pit of my stomach or did I already have typhoid?
I returned to my room, took a probiotic and sat and waited for the apocalypse, the inevitable wave of bubonic cholera dysentery that I was sure would come and ruin my trip/kill me at any moment.

… either way Padang food. Check.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger right?

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>>>Adventures in Indonesia 2014

Posted by The Tipsy Gipsy 03:58 Archived in Indonesia Tagged food indonesia travel asia the_tipsy_gipsy snackcursion Comments (0)

A Coffee and Cannoli Overlooking Stromboli

I-talia, it's the besta food in the worlda

sunny 33 °C

“Mangi mangi”, the Old Italian Nonna living in my head says as I attack a family-sized pizza at 1:30am. Yes, a whole one and yes I had already had dinner, but the imaginary Nonna also tells me,
“Mangi bambino, you are just skin and bone”.

“Si Nonna, si”

It’s true I am just skin in bone only with a hefty carbohydrate layer protecting me from the elements. The Italian love of the 3 P’s is certainly not lost on me, and a philosophy I can get behind. A daily dose of pasta, pizza and pane (bread) will get you through life happy, maybe a little lumpy around the edges, but certainly happy.

As you may have noticed previously I do like a good old fashioned eating holiday. I take them under a guise of a normal, cultural and historical expedition, but I intend for them to be a non-stop snaxcursion.

Italy is responsible for some of my favourite food groups, fresh produce, tasty flavour, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, bread and delicious desserts, including my personal raison d'être, gelato. So it was fitting that for my second 2012 jaunt/food holiday it would be back to everyone’s favourite boot and in particular, it’s football, Sicily.

Yeah, sure I was excited for relaxing on the beaches in some well-missed sunshine. I was going for the Sicilian culture and the beauty of Italy, but I was staying for the cannoli, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a big, fat, pistachio-encrusted liar.

A lot of great Italian food comes from Sicily, they gave us the tasty street snacks like arancini – stuffed, deep fried risotto balls, desserts like cannoli and cassata as well as seafood dishes of countless concoctions. While planning my holiday I compiled a list of foods I needed to eat and the restaurants and cafes who were the best purveyors of said foods, I managed to pen this song which sums up my mindset.

Pizza and pasta and Sicilian caponata,
Arancini, gelato – limone or fragola
Blanco or rosso what vino you bring
These are a few of the edible things.
Coffee and cannoli overlooking Stromboli…etc.

I was excited about my breakfasts, lunches and dinners, and on a 10-day adventure I couldn’t afford to waste a single meal on something not amazing and not part of my culinary adventure. About here my mother would say, “stop thinking about your stomach” but in my defence the cuisine is as much tied to the nation’s culture and traditions as the sights. So not only is it legitimate to have a food holiday, if you don’t partake then you are missing out on a perfect, prosciutto and mozzarella stuffed slice of authentic Italian life.

I don’t want to give you the impression I attacked Italy like Pac-Man, consuming all that was in my way. It’s not entirely inaccurate but I do have some class, and some rules, tips and tricks to share with you about embarking on an Italian food holiday, or if you prefer, a cultural and historical visit with a subtle, high-level food focus.

First and foremost, the first stop by one and all upon arrival, the gelataria. Well, first city stop, it’s not unusual for me to have a coffee purchased and consumed in airport arrivals. Find an artisanal gelataria, where someone is following old family recipes and churning gelato with a mixture of sugar, cream and liquid happiness. Gelato is not only allowed, but required to be eaten at least once a day, if it is particularly hot you can have it more than once.
A breakfast gelato is perfectly acceptable but one must stick to breakfast flavours like your fruit varieties, coffee is also acceptable.
For other flavours you must wait until noon...okay, 10:30am.
In Sicily you are allowed to have a scoop of gelato inside a brioche bun. It’s a Sicilian speciality so technically it’s a cultural exercise to indulge in such a grossly obese breakfast item.

Gelato Tip: Think about your flavours, those who mix cream-based flavours with fruit flavours are the goon drinkers of the gelato connoisseur world. For example, ordering a zesty, refreshing lemon with a creamy Nutella gelato is the action of a monster/serial killer.
Also when practicing your excellent Italian while ordering, note that incorrect pronunciation of Pesca (peach) and Pesce (fish) produce very different results.
Sick of gelato? Sacrilege. Try a granita, a Sicilian drink made with crushed ice but in the fancier parts more a creamy, runny ice cream.
Also feel free to buy a brioche and dip that bad boy in there as well. Totally acceptable.

Coffee. Your daily cappuccino and croissant is a breakfast that merely lines your stomach for further gastronomic delights. You are only supposed to order a cappuccino at breakfast from then on just throw back an espresso to really feel your heart beat.

Coffee tip: A latte as we say in Australia, well, “la-day”, is a glass of hot milk in Italy.
My friend was tired and feeling ill when she went in to the bar to order her coffee. As the girl brought out my café latte and her latte, I laughed hysterically for 10 minutes, I was making such a scene even the guy at the other table started laughing. Lesson reinforced.

Other Sicilian specialities include fish, mussels, swordfish and other under the sea critters, molluscs and crustaceans. So much fresh seafood is for sale at the Catania Fish Market. I had to foolishly worn sandals and had to deal with the trauma of wet, fish gutsy feet. The giant swordfish is a sight of pure misery, when I think about how they were probably just swimming about, no doubt playing pirates with their noses as one would if one had a sword for a nose, then boom, dead on an old plastic bag of ice in a filthy bucket.
The highlight was old men peeling prawns amongst piles of rubbish in the gutter under a bridge, an old guy with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he serves an old lady, picks up a fish and throws it on the scales, the ash dropping on the display of marine life, some of which was still wiggling no doubt wondering why they were on ice and couldn’t quite swim away. Oh the panic.
I did try some swordfish, the taste was meaty, salty but otherwise unfishy. I was also going to be adventurous and try another local speciality, a stuffed sardine and I very nearly did, my fork touched 4 crumbs of the stuffing and I wretched.
I also tried a seafood risotto which tastes like the beach, being dunked by a wave specifically.

So seafood is lost on me, but while Sicily has all the usual delicious suspects like pizza and pasta, what I needed to get my fat, little pork sausage fingers on was the desserts. I wasn’t to be leaving the island without eating a cannoli, a pastry tube filled with sweetened ricotta. It was decadent and creamy with a slight crunch from the shell and the pistachio encrusted ends.
You’d have someone whacked for one. And I imagine the Mafia do all the time.

My food excursion/cultural visit to Italy was complete with a cooking course in Rome, where we whipped up a gnocchi with a fresh tomato sauce, tiramisu, stuffed peppers and stuffed pumpkin flowers.

Arrrrrghhhlll *drools on keyboard*

I am no professional but with a class of mostly Americans I would consider myself a Michelin Star-level chef (or Michelin man-sized chef) in comparison, primarily because I didn’t ask things like “gnocchi, what’s a gnocchi I’ve never heard of it” or when shown how to crack a walnut say “oh my gawwd that’s awwwwesome”. Yes it is… it really is. It must be wondrous to be so easily impressed.
I learnt some facts about eggs, garlic and tomato but more that I wish I were Italian and that I want to have a Nonna to take me to the markets with her to buy fresh fruit and vegetables, perhaps a whole swordfish, then help her whip up delicious meals while she told me to eat more tiramisu because I’m nothing but skin and bones. I want that.

So in conclusion not only do I love Italy and Italian food but I am officially in the market for an adoptive Italian family. My Italian is limited but with some lessons, a bit of sun and some darker hair dye I could pass as a local. In exchange I’ll do what I do for my own family, eat their food, live in their house, dance in the TV ad breaks and sing in the car over the radio. Forward any interest to my email address.

Ah Italy, you are a country so great, so amazing, so delicious you fill both my soul and my stomach with glee. Alas though, you make the post travel misery even more prevalent as I look at the Tesco sandwich selection, wondering who would buy a plain cheese sandwich, and long for an arancini stuffed with mozzarella and prosciutto.

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Posted by The Tipsy Gipsy 08:01 Archived in Italy Tagged food travel italy sicily pizza pasta italian_cuisine the_tipsy_gipsy Comments (1)

Food GLORIOUS Food

American Food Safari

In my informed and educated opinion the term “foodie” is being grossly misused in today’s urban hipster society. This ‘foodie’ is one who enjoys dining on small, weird little objects on a plate and no change from $100. However, I would say I’m more of a foodie. I love to eat. I know you probably cannot tell by my slight figure but I really like food. Really, I just physically enjoy the act of consumption whether it’s expensive steak or two day old pizza.

The United States isn’t perhaps well known for its cuisine but it is known for its fat people and these people get fat because of the super-size me menu America has on offer. In fact a recent study showed that travellers gain an average of 8lb in two weeks on holiday in the USA. So I had a good 16 odd pound goal to work towards.

New York is one place which is considered a foodies paradise, but foodie used in the hipster nonsensical way. It is full of fancy restaurants and cupcakerys where people line up around the corner because Carrie from Sex And The City pretended to eat one on camera once (then spat it out). Thankfully, New York is such a melting pot of cultures that for every super rich Upper East Side noshery there’s a poxy Halal King Kebab street stand. So it caters for one and all.

Last time I was in New York I ate myself stupid and this time was to be no exception, only this time I wasn’t weighed down with a busy tourist calendar, I was hitting the big apple with the simple aim of wandering aimlessly, pretending I live there and eating.

Because I am a urban hipster I was staying in Brooklyn. Once a shithole now New York's 'it' area. The cool kids hang out drinking organic fair trade anything and eating micro greens. I had a sandwich with turkey, brie and sliced apple. So Indie it hurts. Later I sat outside reading a cinematography magazine (reading about 30 Rock and skipping over anything that mentioned lens or film stock) and drinking my coffee on Bedford Ave where the guy next to me was wearing a bow tie and bowler hat smoking on pipe like he’s Sherlock sodding Holmes. Hipster nonsense.

I don’t want Wagyu beef on my American food safari, it’s not the American way. I want TV food, all that salty, sugary, cheesy, oily food that is possibly not made with any food items just chemical agents and colourings. America has it in spades, and I shovel it into my pie hole. (Punny)
On my eating holiday there are many things that stick out as amazing, gross and challenging here are some of my culinary treasures.

I watch a lot of TV and movies so another food objective is to sample the width and breadth of the candy aisle. There’s your standard candy fare but then there are a whole bunch of things with peanut butter centres. It a whole candy sub-category. Peanut butter m&ms, peanut butter Snickers, peanut butter cups. They love a bit of the p-butter. On the candy front it’s nice to stop by and pick up some Twizzlers and a Swedish Fish from a Duane Reade, the coolest name for a drug store ever. That's just a street snack, sometimes Twizzlers are a breakfast food but technically they shouldn't be. Duane is also a staple stop for my 2011 goal of trying as many iced-tea flavours as possible.

Of course New York has all your American fare, hot dogs (hawt dawgs) burgers, fries, pizza. I will give credit where credit is due, they make an excellent burger in the States. a little trivia that took me a long time to figure out, and a few “what the hell, where’s my sandwich” exclaims, if it’s a chicken or turkey it’s called a sandwich. ie. McChicken sandwich.

At one point as I zeroed in on the burger section of the menu I asked if it was okay to have a burger for a 3rd night in a row. It kind of wasn’t though I was fully aware any other choice would be a bad one. The highlight of my burger travels was in New Orleans. A beef burger with peanut butter and bacon. Oh the deliciousness of the gooey peanut butter and the crunchy bacon ghllllllll – drool sound.

The burger came ‘dressed’ which is a term that still cracks me up. Especially when referring to sea critters.

“Would you like the crab dressed?”

“Yes please, in a mini tuxedo and a top hat if you can”

New York is built on migration, early settlers were Irish and Italian then came the Russians and Jews then a dash of practically everything else imaginable. The delis became a big thing, cured meats, pastrami, corned beef, brisket, tongue, sausage, bologna etc. The two most famous, the Carnegie Deli right in the heart of the busy part of mid-town and Katz in the lower east side. Katz is also made more famous by When Harry Met Sally and the “I’ll have what she’s having” scene.

They were nuts with people and while I’m not a great lover of meat especially in such massive portions as they come here I took a seat and ordered a pastrami sandwich. They do that weird thing where they seat solo eaters together. So I stared at the man opposite me and felt like I should chat but sensed he would have put headphones on if he had of thought to bring them. Pickles come with most things over here, so I gnawed on my pickles while I waited. I never used to touch them but I’ve grown to really appreciate a good pickle having visited Poland, Germany, Czech Republic prior. Some taste great some taste like what they are, salty cucumbers.

A pastrami pile arrived. As the New York marathon was being run a block north I pulled up my sleeves and began my late lunch. After breaking out into meat sweats momentarily I was soon licking the last bit of delicious mustard off the plate. I got through it, it was a challenge and I just approached it like a sporting event. Focus. Determination. Stopping and pretending I needed to do up my shoes laces to sneak in a wee breather.

New York has the largest Jewish Diasporas outside Israel and it is important to keep kosher and sample all the delights Jewish culture has brought to the city. As well as the aforementioned delis there is bagels and knish, a delicious potato ball thing and I had one with spinach from a Jewish bakery sitting on Houston St since 1910. Just quietly I then walked 50m to Katz and ate a corned beef of rye.

Oh the food. Oh the calories. A combination of all the above meant I needed a bowl of vegetables and fruit upon return to the UK as much as I need breakfast that wasn’t stale rye bread when I returned from Eastern Europe. Detox. And I made a mental note to eat more pickles once normal life resumes.

Fat wrapped in bacon and deep fried then wrapped in sugar? I’ll take one, does it come with pickles.

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Posted by The Tipsy Gipsy 07:34 Archived in USA Tagged food new_york burgers deli hipster carnegie foodie katz Comments (0)

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