Food: June 2008 Archives

Travel writer and guidebook author Andrew Evans has just returned from a trip to Israel, where his eating experiences were downright heavenly.

 “Don’t eat too much bread” seems odd counsel coming from the guy who baked it, but Israeli chef Moshe Basson doesn’t want me filling up on carbs, no matter how great it tastes. As a leader in the slow food movement, he values patience and tradition–the menu at his Jerusalem restaurant, Eucalyptus, is fully inspired by the Bible. Strange herbs mentioned in the Book of Psalms turn up in his appetizers and the kitchen prefers clay pots to Tupperware. The chef’s attempts at classic Old Testament meals are sinfully delicious, like his lentil soup with boiled yellow lentils and hyssop, or the braised lamb with pomegranate.

As the world becomes increasingly health conscious, both Jew and Gentile have renewed their focus on a Mediterranean diet and the natural products of the Holy Land, namely figs, barley, wheat, grapes, dates, olives, cheese, and fish. What’s more, because Israel suffers from a severe water shortage, sustainable agriculture has been a way of life ever since Noah’s ark. My drive across the Judaean desert took me past the kiwi-fruit kibbutz and date plantations that keep Europe in fresh fruit. “Clean and green” is the new culinary mantra there, and it seems like every rooftop gutter directs runoff to a nearby fruit tree.

Travelers in the land of milk and honey should check out Mizpe Hayamim, a self-proclaimed “health farm” surrounded by clean air and mountain views of the Sea of Galilee. The organic kitchen supplies two in-house restaurants (one vegetarian) with the same local ingredients mentioned in the Gospels. The daily catch of tilapia is still known as “St. Peter’s Fish” and served with lemon butter sauce and baked vegetables. The farm animals are all free-range and hormone-free, and whatever food gets left on your plate goes back to their trough. Also, the goats, sheep, cows (and buffalo) are milked to create well over a dozen types of cheeses, all of which appear on the breakfast buffet. But my favorite touch was the 24-hour “tea bar” loaded with fresh herbs, all picked that day (apparently, a cup of sage tea cures jet lag).

Last weekend was the 16th annual Barbecue Battle in Washington, D.C., and just standing at the gates gave me a flashback to a few years ago, when I arrived to visit a friend in the Czech Republic.

She greeted me at the airport with the following question: “Are you still vegetarian?” Her face turned to worry as I answered, suspiciously, in the affirmative. Her host family had planned a Sunday outing in which we would all travel to the Czech countryside and enjoy a traditional zabijacka (slaughter), courtesy of the family’s sacrificial sow. I immediately had an image of myself as Fern Arable, begging the Czech people to let this “terrific” pig live. They wouldn’t understand English but they’d probably get my point.

In recent years, vegetarian and vegan travel has gotten easier, thanks to a growing awareness of the environmental benefits of veganism and an increasing general friendliness toward the meat-free lifestyle. While I personally think there are limitless virtues to not eating meat, I’ll admit it’s tough to feel like you’re getting an authentic travel experience in, say, Brazil, when you’re living on bananas and rice. I once ate an entire bloom of little bananas while floating on a boat down the Amazon. Not good.

So I thought I’d share a small sampling of restaurants that allow travelers to indulge in the authentic tastes and textures of a culture’s signature (sometimes meat-laden) dish while staying vegetarian or vegan. I’ve found that it’s often the spices, grains, and fresh produce that lend local dishes their character and charm, and that it's easy to experience culinary customs without sacrificing your values—or any innocent Wilburs, for that matter.

It’s not every day you have to struggle to keep a story about doughnuts PG-13. But Voodoo Doughnut in Portland, Oregon–-fresh off opening a second store in the city called Voodoo Doughnut Too!–-thrives on providing people with new experiences. Why should writing about their new store be any different?

When I visited my friend in Portland last month, she took me to the much-famed original shop on SW 3rd avenue. I’d never heard of it before, so when we passed through the unassuming storefront and stood before the more-than-slightly suggestive menu, I was surprised to realize it isn’t just a doughnut shop. It’s a very, very dirty doughnut shop. One that you would (or should) be embarrassed to take your mother to.

Aside from doughnuts of various vulgar shapes and names, the shop offers perks that the usual chains just don’t have on the menu. Like Swahili lessons or legal weddings, and other events that didn’t make the cut here due to aforementioned efforts at prudence. The doughnuts are delicious and the atmosphere is electric, infused with a pride in creativity and craftsmanship lost on most franchised shops. Classic ingredients include toppings like Cap'n Crunch cereal, crushed Butterfingers, and strawberry Nesquik powder. One chocolate-flavored doughnut features a pink marshmallow coating with a "surprise" filling (!). I won’t disclose what I ordered because it might tarnish my virtuous image, but I can say that it was superb.

Last month, Voodoo owners and founders Kenneth "Cat Daddy" Pogson and Tres Shannon responded to Portland's growing demand and opened their second location at 1501 NE Davis. Voodoo Doughnut, Too! currently serves doughnuts 21 hours a day (closed between 3 and 6 a.m.), with plans to stay open 24 hours once a take-out window is installed. Cat Daddy recently shared with me his plans to host a wiffleball league and bike-in movies at the new locale, as well as flea markets and car shows in the fenced, 20,000-square foot parking lot.

It's nearing lunchtime here in the Traveler office, so I'm satisfying my craving for the edible by researching (as we diligent fact-checkers do) food museums. Surprisingly, there are more than I thought there'd be. Take, for example, the International Banana Club and Museum (16367 Main Street, Hesperia, California; +1 760 244 5488). Claiming to be the world's first and largest museum dedicated entirely to the banana (there are others in Washington State and Martinique), this collection of yellow-fruit paraphernalia is home to some 17,000 banana items. The museum has several sections, including the "hard" section, "food, drink, and notions" section, the "soft" section, and the "clothing" section. Don't worry -- the museum is completely kid-friendly ("nothing lude, crude, or lascivious to do with bananas is accepted or displayed in this B.M." it claims). While there, say hello to Ken, the "Top Banana" and Glenn, the "Banana Man."

If fruit isn't your thing (or men in banana costumes...), but Monty Python is, check out the Spam Museum (Austin, Minnesota; 800 LUV SPAM). This 16,500-square-foot museum is dedicated entirely to canned-meat enthusiasts. Why does SPAM (which turns 71 years old this year) deserve its own museum (which, by the way, is free)? According to the website: "SPAM is the cradle of civilization. It is the ultimate culinary perfection. Within these walls, all of life's questions will be deliciously answered." 'Nuff said.

I'm starting to get really hungry, so I'll leave you with this list of food museums in the U.S. after the jump (word of warning: do not peruse on an empty stomach).

When I think of Maine, I first think of lobster. And cold. So when a ticket to Maine appeared in my inbox, courtesy of my mother, I wondered what could possibly be behind it. Turns out, Maine has a lot more to offer during the warmer months (particularly in the realm of lobster). Over the last weekend, I spent four wonderfully active days exploring Mount Desert Island and its tiny town of Bar Harbor.

The island's main draw is Acadia National Park, a land of rocky coastline and rounded mountains covered in pine forest. Most impressive was the park’s multi-generational appeal. There were smooth, level trails around ponds and meadows for people like my mother, who has an old ankle injury and has to take it easy. My teenage sister enjoyed biking on the 57 miles of old carriage roads built by J.D. Rockefeller Jr. for the glamorous families that vacationed at Bar Harbor during the Gilded Age. My friend Tyler and I took on the more challenging nature trails that carried us up and down mountains, through pine and birch forest, over scrubland, and across rocky, open balds. Several trails proved day-long endeavors, one with a vertical scramble down a 500-foot-high rock face (I was unprepared for this one but enjoyed it nonetheless).

Back to the lobster: While it is delicious and highly recommended, don’t let its celebrity status overshadow yet another (cheaper!) Maine delicacy: blueberries. Although the berry season was not yet upon us (they are usually harvested in August), canned or dried berries from last summer graced everything from ice cream to jam, the latter served alongside a regional puff-pastry specialty known as a “popover.” I ate the the little blue jewels of sweet, tart goodness every day, usually in pie form: Hiking. Pie. Biking. Pie. Shopping. Pie.

I know, I know, I've been blogging a lot about diners lately, but on my recent visit to New York City, I had to take in a veritable New York institution before it closes at the end of this month. Florent is a 24-hour eatery located in the heart of the Meatpacking District, and its been credited with transforming the hardscrabble corner west of Union Square from a haven of prostitutes and meat hooks into the swanky, "let's-drink-cosmos-like-Carrie-Bradshaw" locale it is today. (Indeed, the final scene of the new film pans out to look over a gaggle of women teetering in their Manolos down the cobblestones of Gansevoort Street). 

The diner itself has been around for decades. It first catered to meatpackers, then it changed hands in 1985 and came under the ownership of Florent Morellet, a Parisian who infused the menu with French bistro fare. Florent became a home for all the "creatures of the night;" it was the "dowager queen" of the neighborhood, says Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours,  in an essay for the New York Times in 2001. He writes:

It was, and remains, a haven for artists, performers, club habitues and assorted creatures of the night. The clientele, in its early days, was restricted to those who knew it existed, which was not knowledge easily obtained, since Florent barely advertised and was on a street likely to produce only blank looks from cabdrivers. You could go there for breakfast at 4 a.m., after you'd been, say, to the ''Night of a Thousand Stevies'' (an annual event attended by hundreds of men and women, all dressed as Stevie Nicks) at Jackie 60, a nightclub two blocks north of Gansevoort. If you went at that hour, as the first trucks were arriving with their cargoes of cold flesh, you might have found yourself seated at the counter with David Byrne on your right and, on your left, a man in a full beard, a merry widow and fishnet stockings.

Florent has mellowed a bit with age (who among us hasn't?), has taken to closing for a couple of hours in the deep dead of the night, but has lost none of its soul. The staff is still charming and raucous, the food still cheap and good. I make a particular point of going there whenever I return from a trip to a kinder, gentler place (be it Paris or Pittsburgh) and need to be reminded of the particular, voluble mix of eccentricity, intellect and sleaze that makes New York worth the trouble.

Continuing my coverage of the Alsace Wine Route, we now travel south near the village of Rouffach, population 4,500. Located south of Colmar, where many wine road tourists end their journeys, it's a good example of a more authentic Alsatian village, as it's been spared the dozens of postcard carts and souvenir shops. Highlights include its impressive 12th-century Notre Dame cathedral and the Chateau d'Isenbourg, which is now a premier hotel. Rouffach is one of the highest, sunniest, and driest areas in Alsace, protected by two Vosges mountains peaks. The consequentially unique soil makes for special wine grapes. And that brings me to one of the area's true gem: Clos St. Landelin.

Clos St. Landelin is owned by the Muré family, whose wine-growing heritage dates back to 1648. Today, there's a welcoming bright yellow and white building set in the middle of hilly rows of vines where you can sample to your heart's content. Crémant d'Alsace, Gewurztramier, Riesling, Pinot Blanc, Pinot Noir. During your tasting experience, you get to try two different wines from each grape variety: one produced by the Murés from grapes all around the Rouffach region, and one produced by the Murés with only the grapes from Clos St. Landelin's vines. Nearly every time, the homespun stuff won out.

Crowds are sparse (if not nonexistent), the family-run business greets you with layman's wine terms and plenty of refills, and the staff is pleased to give you a private tour of the cellar itself. One of the best things about Clos St. Landelin? Its wines are organic.

A rare moment of quiet at Gary's Handy Lunch in Newport, Rhode Island.

I'm just back from a 24-hour trip to Rhode Island this weekend - yes, wedding season has begun - and while I didn't manage to make it in time for a slice of pizza at Al Forno's in Providence (not for lack of trying), I did come across another gem of a restaurant in the center of posh Newport. The seaside town is known mostly for the remarkable mansions along Ocean Drive, where the oil, steel and railroad barons of the Gilded Age plied their wealth into monumental summer "cottages." Even though I've visited several times, I always marvel at The Breakers, which was commissioned by Cornelius Vanderbilt and epitomizes the prosperity of the era. It has 70 rooms and was built in the style of a Italian Renaissance palazzo, and at the time, the cost of building the home was a staggering $7 million, which equates to about $150 million in today's dollars. And for all its opulence, it only served its owners 6 to 12 weeks a year.

I'm no robber baron, so while I can ogle at the mansions and the beautiful shops along Thames Street, the town's main drag, I'd just shelled out for a series of wedding expenses and was looking for a bit of tamer fare. So I was happy to stumble upon Gary's Handy Lunch, a bustling budget brunch spot whose kitchen is on full display. Red vinyl stools wrap around the center counter, from which you can watch the chefs juggling toast, slinging pancakes, and flipping burgers with the choreography of a well-oiled assembly line. The food is basic – breakfast and lunch only – and the fanciest item on the menu is the Freedom Burger, a double patty with cheese, bacon and all the fixings. Order an omelet and hash browns (both fantastic) and you'll receive a side of local gossip, free of charge. From my spot in a booth, I heard one loyal patron pronounce loudly to whomever would listen that this was his favorite restaurant on the East Coast, this, before he launched into a treatise on the state of local politics in the town. Our waitress shrugged. "Stay here long enough and you won't need to read the local paper," she said, before sashaying back behind the counter to rejoin the cacophony.

Gary's Handy Lunch 462 Thames Street, Newport RI +1 401 847 9480.

Photo: Kristen Lou via Flickr

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Perhaps you've noticed that we’ve been talking a lot about food here recently. Here at IT, we recognize that authentic and sustainable travel wouldn’t be complete without sampling authentic national and regional dishes. While visiting Germany, I did just that. I noshed on currywurst (did I mention I’m a vegetarian? Yes, I’m that hardcore), sauerkraut, pints of local beer, apple strudel, and Black Forest cake—IN the Black Forest. But now I present you with a different, slightly skewed, type of authenticity in Bonn, Germany. In the former West German capital, just a stone’s throw away from the city’s 11th-century cathedral and market square, lies lovely Bonn’s best bargain: Uni Grill.

While spending the weekend in the youthful town, where my sister is studying at the University of Bonn (whose alumni include Karl Marx, she boasts), she introduced me to this tiny Turkish joint. Uni regularly attracts long lines of students, tourists and lunch breakers during its "happy hour," which is actually far longer than an hour, going from noon to 3 p.m., and again for dinner hours. Eclectic crowds wait outside (no more than 10 people can fit into Uni at a time), eager to snag a falafel sandwich for—get this—a EURO. One single euro. Alas, something to spare my wallet from the currency conversion sting I was feeling. At first glimpse, I was turned off by the enormous dumpster that you had to walk around in order to enter Uni. My sister assured me that it isn’t always there, although I have my doubts. I began worrying about her health when she explained that she eats at Uni at least a couple times a week. But I kept an open mind. Really, I did.

When I found out today was National Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie day, I was surprised for many reasons, but the biggest was that I had just finished the last slice of a strawberry-rhubarb pie. It was the first taste of rhubarb I’d had in years, but the pie — not this specific one, but strawberry-rhubarb pies in general — played a big role in the family vacations I was subjected to as a child.

It should be disclosed here that my family has a habit of spicing up its relatively boring existence with the installment of trivial quests. Anything that is weird and rare — candy cigarettes, ceramic pie birds, white balsamic vinegar — is scooped up and declared a “find,” with the understanding that if found again it should be horded until our family has gathered the world’s biggest supply. If the find becomes too popular or familiar, we lose interest and move onto a new pursuit. 

One of my dad’s favorite quests has always been strawberry-rhubarb pie. Not exactly rare anymore, it still elicits a nostalgic pang of delight when discovered. We took family trips to London and small English towns, and weekend jaunts to Amish markets in Pennsylvania. Many of these drives to bizarre places were under the pretence of visiting family or spending time together, but I’m pretty sure it was all in search of sliced rhubarb spending time with some gooey strawberries in a rich and flaky crust.

Napa’s clinking-glass culture is an incubator for more than world-class vino. Proof: Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen in downtown St. Helena, which globe-trots via diners’ taste buds each Wednesday for their year-and-running Supper Club.

Aptly named, Cindy's Backstreet Kitchen is a white-linens eatery cached behind Main Street with a scene that feels more neighborly than swanky. Head chef Cindy Pawlcyn—known better for another of her endeavors, Napa favorite Mustards Grill—infuses her farm-to-table Supper Club menus with tastes inspired by street food, festival food, and cultural delicacies, showcasing locally sourced ingredients (some from her own organic garden). Each Wednesday, her menu pulls into a different port of call.

At a recent Israeli dinner, guests noshed on hummus-inspired soup, Isreali shnitzel, and tabouli sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. And those lucky enough to attend the Spanish country dinner were treated with a dessert of decadent ropes of crispy churros dunked in chocolate, the official 3 a.m. snack of Madrid. Cindy highlights stateside cuisine some weeks, from Southwest corn and chilies to San Fran cioppino.

On deck this summer are dinners to celebrate the tastes of South Africa, Morocco, the Caribbean, the New England Shore, the bistros of Paris, Festival of the Tomatoes (we don’t know what that means either, but we hope it includes some fresh gazpacho!), and more.

For just $40 a seat (including all courses and wine pairings), we’re hard-pressed to think of a better way to taste world cultures and defy the devaluing dollar at the same time. After all, even the most dedicated oenophile needs to refuel with food, occasionally.

The five-hour feast starts at 5 p.m. each Wednesday. 1327 Railroad Ave., St. Helena; +1 707 963 1200.

Photo: Laurie Smith

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On any given sunny day in Seattle, you'll find a lot of Seattlites venturing to Bainbridge Island, just a 35-minute ferry ride from the city's Pier 52. I headed there for lunch on the only 80-degree day in April, and found more than one place to stop for a tasty treat.

When you first exit the ferry and walk to downtown Winslow's main street (called, appropriately, Winslow Way), turn left, which takes you to the heart of the town. On the right side of the street you'll pass Mon Elisa's (450 Winslow Way E; +1 206-780-3233) a small (it's got a table or two) pasta shop that makes delicious sauces and other Italian treats. To avoid claustrophobia, sit at one of their outside tables, or take your dish to go.

After another two blocks down you'll come to the Blackbird Bakery (210 Winslow Way E; +1 206-780-1322), an always-busy eatery that serves up delectable items like double chocolate cheesecake and oatmeal craisin pecan cookies. Inside can get noisy (folks are either satisfying their sweet tooth here or at Mora Iced Creamery around the corner), so grab a bench outside for a perfect place to people-watch.