Violence in Byrd Park produces ripples of turmoil

My email box has been flooded with Byrd Park neighborhood organizing emails this morning and I would like to chime in with some praise for the energy that my neighbors are putting into their response to the two shootings this month in the two blocks around my home. It’s a stressful topic in my household, and I’m glad to see something moving that my wife and I can plug into (see 9/8 meeting announcement below). We’ve lived here just under three years (our first house) and don’t wanna relocate so we can start a family in relative security. I keep reminding myself that violence and crime have been steadily declining in Byrd Park for over a decade, and we need to keep up the positive momentum. Our neighborhood is a great place to live (although there is some boneheaded real estate development going on) and we should talk to our neighbors to confirm this fact and make the community we want to live in.

For starters, I think that strengthened personal relationships with the people who live in our surrounding blocks is a necessary part of a personal safety and security plan. Block parties and neighborhood meetings help, but mostly it is day-to-day openness and congeniality that maintain effective communication networks and generate a collective sense of hopefulness. I’m sure this goes without saying, but inclusivity must be paramount in community building. Not everyone has email, speaks the same language, or behaves the same way in Byrd Park. And yet, even if we don’t relate to or fully understand everyone we live near, we gotta make new connections and look out for each other. So, I expect that this work will take us to new places - out of our comfort zones.

Second, any action to make a neighborhood safer should be measured against one important criterion: Will this prevent crime? In other words, will the people planning the next shooting or robbery say to themselves, “I’m not going to do this thing because those people... had a meeting.”??? Well, it depends who is at that meeting. But, with many proposals, the answer will be “No.” There is safety in numbers, and criminals tend to show their true cowardice by focusing on those who appear isolated. So, meetings can be effective for creating a more cohesive community and make us feel like we’re doing something proactive. At best, meetings generate work. Hopefully, that work will prevent further violence in our midst. But, let’s be real. Outside of Windsor Farms, dealing with the violent and depraved conditions of acute poverty is a daily task for all of us throughout Richmond, to one degree or another. So, let’s be sure that we don’t settle for symbolic action or insular committees. The roots of Richmond’s violent streak are deep-seeded to say the least, and band-aids and barriers won’t fix it.

Third, understanding patterns in violent criminal behavior not only helps solve crimes, but counteracts fear of the unknown in the public. We must not put our heads in the sand (or let the police/press do that for us). When people fire 12 bullets into a house on Idlewood, crash into houses/cars on Maplewood, and then run off down the street in broad daylight, they surely get seen by someone. Was Joseph Wynn sitting on his porch on that chaotic day? Was the gangster credo of “silence is golden” (or “stop snitchin”) brought to bear on Wynn, and by extension intimidation of our whole neighborhood? Or is the violence attracted by the various houses/apartments/intersections that openly traffic in drugs a stones throw from the 3rd district police department on Meadow Ave? Where is the investigative reporting right now? Information is power, and right now all that is circulating is fear and anxiety. If we are going to get organized, we must first get informed (the numerous speculations and holes in my own understanding of the recent Byrd Park shootings are a case in point).

Anyhow, I hope that my message here is clear. By definition, communities do not run; they pull together. We have access to police and public officials, but we also have each other and our own creativity. I hope that we choose the right tools for the different jobs that arise in the effort to make Byrd Park a safer place.

(comments are greatly appreciated as I'm really not intentionally doing anything here other than thinking out loud)

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forwarded email:
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URGENT!!!!! Neighborhood Meeting
It is official that we will meet with officers from the 3rd precinct on Saturday September 8th at 9am. The meeting will be held at the Roundhouse in Byrd Park.
Please take these next two weeks to let all your neighbors know. We need to
realize that it is not a few that make a difference but the entire group as
a whole.

We are fighting for our Neighborhood.

Viva Falafel y Buena Suerte, Mexico

Last week I strolled into Aladdin Express (aka Aladdin’s at Broad and Laurel) and brought back a falafel for lunch. I’ve been going to Aladdin’s for years (10, to be exact) and I usually don’t stray too far from their savory and saucy falafel pita sandwich. For a while there, I was compulsive about falafel, ordering it everywhere I saw it on the menu and always comparing it to Aladdin’s consistently delicious hand-held meal.



Too often at other eateries, I have ordered falafel and rather than receiving fried balls of mashed chick peas and spices, what I got was a crumbly mess of rehydrated and fried prepackaged mix (yuck!). Other places go astray by tinkering with the tahini dressing, or getting too fancy with the veggies, imprecise pita manipulation, over or under-fried falafel balls, etc. Feel free to chime in and report your crimes against falafel (or to mention other good falafel venues, like the Mediterranean Bakery on Quioccasin).

What you receive for $3.99 at Aladdin’s is a 7” pita with a hole cut into the top. Dropped inside* you find a good balance of fried falafel balls, raw onions, tomatoes, and iceberg lettuce, all topped with a thick lemon tahini sauce that slowly drips down through the ingredients to the bottom of the pita. Yes, it’s bursting at the seams and unavoidably messy. But the combination of flavors and sloppiness just seems appropriate. I usually add a drop of Texas Pete hot sauce on each bite, just to make doubly sure that all of my senses are triggered during lunch break. For a little extra, they will throw hummus, baba ghanouj, or tabouli into the already stuffed pita.

Anyhow, I'd like to take a moment to reminisce about an old friend (the sandwich and Aladdin's owner). Behind the counter, Al (god, I hope that’s his name) greeted me after a couple years of missing each other. In recent years, I have been finding vegetarian lunch-break food in places other than Aladdin’s extensive Middle Eastern menu. And Al has been doing well enough with his restaurant (thanks to hooka-toking VCU kids) to consistently delegate cooking and cashier duties. I told him that he’s looking younger and well rested.

Al’s eyes light up. “You know what my secret is?” he says? “Um, you’ve finally gone vegetarian?” “No. Whole wheat pita with fennel seeds. I don’t sell it here, because it would raise the price of my sandwiches. Would you like to try it? You like spicy, right?” “Always. Lay it on me.”

In a couple minutes, Al presents me with a toasted corner of pita bread. There are fennel seeds imbedded in the dough, along with some specs that may have been black sesame seeds. Really yummy stuff, with a warm taste of licorice that really filled my mouth with flavor. I tell him that I like the bread. Once I'm back at the office, I’m not surprised to find that he’s made my falafel sandwich with his special pita/fountain-of-youth. It was delicious, although, by the end, I didn't want to see another fennel seed for a week. Next time, I'll ask him where I can buy the stuff myself.

* At the bottom of Aladdin’s falafel, you will find the very piece of pita bread that was cut from the top to create the opening. Apparantly, they just drop it inside after they cut it of the top. Every time for the past 10 years, it’s right there at the bottom of the sandwich waiting for me. Little touches often make food that much more comforting


Buena Suerte, Mexico

I’ve been probing all of my friends who’ve visited Viva Mexico in Carytown and I haven’t heard a critical word from anyone (or any real excitement either). Maybe I’m just a food snob (do ya think?), but I was not impressed when I went there during their first week open. I know, you can’t judge a restaurant by it’s food for the first six months, but how hard is it to crank out a standard Mexican menu? If there really is a period of adjustment for all restaurants, Viva Mexico clearly needs one.

At Viva Mexico, I enjoyed speaking Spanish with the staff, but I did not eat a single bite that made me smile with pleasure. Okay, maybe the cheese dip, but I’m a sucker for chip’n’dip. The thing that has stuck with me most is that the beans were completely devoid of flavor and fat. This coming from a vegetarian who guiltily looks forward to the essence of lard in his Mexican food (don’t ask, don’t tell, ya know?). My wife didn’t want to speak ill of the place, but did mention that the meat in her taco was totally plain.

I didn’t want to blog about the experience. Karen and I are both excited to be able to walk to a Mexican restaurant. However, after eating there, I came to the conclusion that they were skimping and cutting corners to make ends meet in the high rent blocks of Carytown. It might pay off for them in the short run, but I wondered how long Carytown shoppers would fill their booths without el sabor de los chiles to look forward to.

We haven’t been back since, and I’m hoping that the cooking techniques at Viva Mexico change over time. Anyhow, Dana Craig’s review of Viva Mexico in today’s RTD hits the nail on the head. Rather than talk a bunch of trash, I’ll just endorse today’s review.

Buena suerte, Viva Mexico (that means good luck, by the way)

Byrd Park Bloggers United by Pride

I live in Byrd Park, and I love it. My neighbors are fabulous. The parks are splended and sprawling. Bars are a 10 mintue walk away. Crime is on the decline. I could go on, but I want to touch on a specific aspect of Byrd Park that makes me proud. As a community, we are diverse, inclusive, and friendly to one another. Although Byrd Park is gentrifying and ridiculous development that is hostile to working class people is sprouting up in our midst, and many of us probably have a ways to go at developing real bonds across across racial lines, I am particularly thankful that so many LGBTs call Byrd Park their "gayborhood."

Another Byrd Park blogger, Kelly Stern, has taken this picture of Fountain Lake and is promoting it as a as a symbol of gay pride and solidarity to be posted by sympathetic bloggers. So, Kelly, my neighbor whome I've scarcely shared a word with, I'm happy to respond to your challenge. This blog is home to a vision of social justice, as well as delicious food, and thrifty spending. So, in honor of the fabulous people who help to make my neighborhood what it is, please enjoy this rainbow over Fountain Lake.

Solidarity forever.

ps: I'm having a yard sale this Saturday (20 boxes of books and some clothes). Click the link and see my Craigslist description, list of book genres, etc. I'm doing minimal advertising and just hope to have a relaxing day chatting up some of my neighbors during the sale.

Washer Repairs? No "Sears Suckers" here

After two and a half years living in my Byrd Park house, my front-loader Kenmore washer kicks the bucket. Last weekend, I was pulling a fully soaked load of clothes out and draping them over everything that I could find in my back yard. With the tub full of black soapy water, I paid a call to the Sears Repair hotline listed on the machine. The bottom line: $59 to come out and diagnose the problem and then X number of dollars to fix it. Immediately, I recall my last encounter using the Sears Repair guys to fix my parents' dryer. They quickly concluded that it was only a fuse that needed replacing. For $90 (+$59), the dude walked to the truck, grabbed a fuse, and stuck it in the slot, and closed the panel (five minutes total). "I can't believe I am doing this," I thought to myself as I made the appointment.

Four days later, my wet clothes are putrifying in piles at corners of my basement and a disgusting odor is coming out of the washing machine's tub of black water. So, needless to say, I was eager today when I came home early from work to meet the repair guy. After I spied the blue Sears repair van pass my house and park at the end of the block, I sat on the porch for 10 minutes waiting for him to get out and walk up the sidewalk to my stoop.

Once inside, he asked me what's wrong with the machine. "Won't drain. Won't spin," says I. "It won't spin, because it won't drain," he clarifies. And at first I start to take offense to this snide comment. But then it starts to sink in. Okay, this fact is part of his diagnosis procedure. After pushing buttons and turning dials, he blurts out, "Bad pump." Then he opens the machine and looks at the pump and tests wires with a little readout machine. Suddenly, he says that my pump is fine, but that I need a new timer. He walks out saying that he'll see if he's got one in the truck, leaving his toolbox behind.

Considering that this was moving along at a pretty good clip, I started to get excited about washing some clothes tonight. So, I paced around the house, got my checkbook ready, and made plans for dinner. But, time went by and before I knew it 30 minutes had passed and he's still sitting in his van at the end of my block. So, I called him up. And I got one of those, "Yeah, whatdya want?" kinda responses. It turns out that he can't find a timer for this model anywhere in Richmond.

Eventually, he comes back in and says he can fix my washer next week for $300 and follows up with, "Do you wanna do it?" I couldn't help but hear these words as either rhetorical or malicious, and my blood started boiling. "I'd be pretty stupid to take that deal." The old price tag is still on the washer and it says $349. I paid him his $59 and he leaves.

Immediately, my wife and I start trying to figure out where we'll get a new washer, how much we want to spend, how to move the old one out and the new one ion, installation, etc. The Sears repair guy did, however, give us a coupon for $65 off a purchase of a new Sears washer (over a $399 minimum) if we bring our receipt from this job in the next two weeks. Hmmm...

Consumer reports shows that the front loading washers are much more highly rated than the top loaders. However, they cost twice as much, starting at $700 and topping out near $1800. The top loaders are much cheaper, but maligned in all of the reviews. Lowes and Best Buy both sell an entry level Fridgedaire for $499, but the capacity is pretty small. So, off I go to the scratch'n'dent appliance store on Westwood Ave, hoping that I can get a bargain on something.

On my way to the car, I get another idea and in a couple minutes, I've pulled up to the Cary Street Appliance store at the Allen Ave intersection. I've always seen the place as kind of an eye sore on Cary. But, it can't hurt to look, I figure. At least I'll feel out what's available at the low end of the spectrum. Inside, a middle aged black man named Lynn sizes me up and points me to his shiniest previously owned washers. They're Whirlpools and they look like cheap-Os to me, since I was replacing a new-fangled front-loader. $225 he tells me and just a little extra for delivery, installation, and hauling away the old one. Hmmm... I tell him that I'm just getting started in my research and then I high tail it out the door. But I keep thinking about Lynn. I'd been in his place a few times, but never really trusted their merchandise. He gets it used and sells it for relatively cheap. Maybe he'll cut corners in other places. Warranty? Customer service? On the other hand, his shop has been there for years. They must be doing something right. With one discount store and three big-boxes on my agenda for the night, it occurs to me that maybe I shouldn't look any further.

Before I get two blocks away, I've got my wife on the phone and I'm pitching to her the idea of a working washer in our basement tonight for less than half the minimum price we were thinking of paying. She's game. So, I haul ass back to Lynn and we both look at the washer and then at the clock. It's almost 6pm on Friday. I make my proposal. "Lynn. $250 and we go install this in baby my basement right now and you can have my old Kenmore." He's game, but he wants me to know that he doesn't have any use for front loaders. The old-timer disdains the new design saying that they're hard to repair.

A minute later, Lynn is suggesting tomorrow (when I'll be outta town). It's his delivery/installation guy's birthday and he wants to go home sooner than later. I point out that I'm only 5 or 6 blocks away and we all smile. "Shoot, I didn't know this was a neighborhood gig," he says. "Let's do it." Something about me (tattoos?) must be screaming "Southside."

Within minutes, Cory, the very young appliance deliverer is cruising by my house in his pick-up, seeing me on the porch and smiling as he circles around to the alley. Once he's in my yard, I wish him happy birthday and offer him a cold beer. Alas, Cory does not drink. His only wish is to go home, shower, and then go to Kabutos with his lady. The two of us push heavy washing machines around for 10 minutes and talk about food. He urges me to try Kabutos and I counter by suggesting that he order something with wasabi. Since he doesn't drink, I figure he should get a rush by some other means.

One day and four loads of laundry later, my wife is telling me that I did a good job handling the washer situation. Since then, I've been beaming about my knack for bargains. Anyhow, if the moral of this story isn't clear, let me clarify: Sears repair guys run a real racket. Look to the small local businesses for used stuff that'll get the job done.

Muy Sabrosa: Authentic Mexican and the Taco Truck

Yesterday, I ate Mexican food twice, once for lunch and once for dinner. These two favorite places of mine are very different and very special.

Readers of this blog will already know that I love the flavors of Latino cuisines and that I actually believe that any food served inside of a tortilla is better than any food without a tortilla. So, I'm either an authority on the subject of Mexican food, or merely a fanatic. But seriously, since my wife and I went to Mexico for our honeymoon (luna de miel, en espanol), we have raised our standards for Southwestern inspired cooking. Now, we are seldom satisfied with the combination plate, or the 7lb burrito wrapped in foil.

My new outlook first took me to Taqueria del Sol (<---- painfully inadequate website) in the Merchants Walk shopping center on W. Broad, just past the Glenside/64 (the same strip-mall where the beloved Marshalls, oasis of bargain hunters resides). I went there weeks ago on a weekend morning while running an errand and thought I'd see if they served huevos rancheros, one of my favorite dishes.

When I stepped inside this fairly typical looking Mexican restaurant storefront, I was greeted by a packed house of Latino faces turning to look at the lone gringo. A little intimidating, I must admit. Although, I'm not really a shy guy. Hardly distracted by my entrance, the crowd of customers was jovial and relaxed in the way that brunch crowds tend to be. There was only one tiny table available, and I took it.

Once seated, I noticed that at least half of the customers were leaning over large white bowls of I dunno what. What could this be? I've never been served anything in a big bowl in a Mexican restaurant (except maybe a margarita for two). Well, I ordered my huevos and enjoyed my chips and salsa while occasionally craning my neck to peek at la comida del otras personas. I also noticed some drink fountains that circulate various fruity beverages, and one of them was stark white. Horchata! This fabulously sweet drink is made with boiled and strained rice, cinnamon, cloves, and vanilla. So soothing and satisfying. You have to try it and/or make it at home.

Ya know, at this point, I want to fast forward, because last night's visit was far more important than my first visit to the Taqueria del Sol. To make it quick, the huevos rancheros were awesome and the red sauce was so delicious that I wanted to lap it up like a dog. When I paid my bill, I casually walked by a few tables and peered down into the big white bowls and saw an orange/red broth with pieces of chicken (with the bones) sticking out. The server said, "caldo de pollo" is very popular at this time of day. This, I recalled, was nowhere on the menu and neither was the horchata (pronounced without the "H"). Hmmm, the real stuff is under the counter and you gotta ask for it. Nice.

Since that visit, I've been telling everyone to check this place out. But weeks and months passed before I was able to visit again, this time with Karen. Since before the place recently opened, we had both been curious about the place, because we noticed ceviche on the menu posted in the window. Although it's a classic fish dish, few Mexican restaurants serve it because it's fairly delicate (being raw fish marinated in lime juice). Surely, this was a sign that Taqueria del Sol was un poco diferente.

So, I had to order the ceviche and they had to check and make sure that they had it ready. Being a little nervous about ordering the only non-shrip seafood dish on the menu (and it being essentially raw), I asked if it was "good" in both english and spanish with my best, "please don't poison me" expression (although the real verdict would come later that night). Anyhow, the platter came out and I wolfed it down with gusto, feeling like a heel for my prejudices. The plate was brimming with a mound of finely chopped flounder meat, mixed with loads of cilantro, finely diced onions, slabs of avocado and of course copious amounts of lime juice. Tortillas were included to scoop it all up and I loved every minute of it, only to be awoken from my foodie dream-come-true by my wife interrupting my feast with, "Well, are you going to talk to me, or what?!"

Oh, yeah. This was sort of a date. Silly me. While having a transcendent experience with my entree, I'd totally neglected my wife. Speaking of Karen, she ordered the enchiladas poblanos which were served with dark rich mole poblano all over the plate. To describe this sauce would take several more paragraphs, but just imagine loads of broth, oil, and chilis blended and simmered for hours with unsweetened cocoa, ground pumpkin seeds and maybe ten different thickening agents. As they say, the sauce is the dish. But, it's an acquired taste, and probably best experienced in its native regions of Mexico. But, the stuff at Taqueria del Sol isn't bad at all. So, give it a try.

Karen and I washed this grub down with two tall glasses of iced horchata, which was actually a mistake. While delicious, the drink is just sweet enough and thick enough to prematurely fill you up. So, my tip is to split it, and if a second is in order... Oh, one last thing. On each of the tables were specials listed in those plastic encased table tents. Seven different kinds of meat are offered to make up a plate of three tacos. They also had gorditas and sopes. This style of menu was reminiscent of the offerings in Mexico and I'll bet that the target audience is local latinos. I dunno. Just a hunch. But being mostly a vegetarian, I don't think I'm going to find out any time soon. Why don't you go and let me know? I'll bet that stuff is the real star at Taqueria del Sol.

REVOLUCION DEL TACO!

Earlier in the day, I left my VCU office on Franklin Street just long enough to visit Nate's Taco Truck, located where Grove and Stuart converge in front of the Performing Arts building and the VCU library. Nate is out there most weekdays during lunch and he's developed a loyal following since starting up in the VCU area over the past year or so. I think he first caught my eye with his flyers that morphed his bespectacled face into Any Warhol's enigmatic Che Guevara silhouette. A little bit hippy, Nate is not to be confused with those consistent purveyors of big piles of tasteless rice wraps on Main Street (aka Mobile Munchies).

What Nate offers is, however, a mysterious concoction of spices and herbs and beans and cheeses and meats (tvp or potato melange for the vegetarians), all in taco-sized soft tortillas. Whatever his secret is, the stuff he serves is delicious and prepared with a Cheshire cat's smile. My favorite is the potato taco. So good. At five potato tacos and counting, I still haven't found a potato in a single bite, but I'm not complaining cuz it tastes so good. What is that stuff anyhow? Try it and leave a comment here and end my speculation. And tell me what I'm missing out on by passing up the beef/chicken tacos.

One novelty item on the menu is a Frito Pie. If you already know what this is, pardon my naivete, but this popular convenience food was news to me. Nate opens a mini bag of Fritos and tosses everything that he would otherwise put into a taco right into the bag and hands it to you with a fork. And you know what? It's not bad at all. I guess it's all about the fixins, and that seems to be Nate's speciality.

As for me, I'm headed outta town for a week. But I should clarify something. The semi-raw fish at Taqueria del Sol caused me no problems whatsoever. The rest of the night was digestively uneventful, just the way I like it. According to a comment on this blog about my honeymoon eating adventures, that's the insurance policy of the lime juice. Not only does it cook the food with its acidity, but it also protects you from indigestion. My hat goes off to the contributions of Latin America to my taste buds, among other areas of the public sphere.

And on that note, I'd like to wish my sister in-law, Karina, a big congratulations for weathering the INS appeals process and finally getting a visa so she and my brother can relocate their family from Veracruz, Mexico back to the states.

Buena suerte.

Introducing: Grilled Ramen

Tis the season to grill, but it is always the season to eat cheap noodles. So, I have devised a frugal recipe for your grilling pleasure. Introducing: Grilled Ramen.


If you love the taste of a good char on just about anything, then this is a fun and frugal dish that you should add to your repertoire. Now the staple food of college student cooks, the apathetic, and the budget conscious obtains it's bbq boy scout patch. First, a note about our main ingredient: I am loyal to Nissin brand Oriental Flavor ramen (tasty, vegetarian, and always on sale), but feel free to use whichever brand/flavor you prefer.

There are two schools of thought on preparing ramen. The first is to follow the instructions on the packet and add 2 ½ cups of water, creating a noodle soup with a diluted flavor and slightly mushy noodles. The other is to add much less water, creating an intense flavor that evenly coats the resilient al dente ramen (my old favorite method).

There is a time and a place for both methods. However, my newly developed technique focuses on flavor and feel by taking the broth almost completely out of the equation, thus preserving the integrity of the ramen. The result is a rollercoaster of unique texture and smokey savoriness that mirrors the curlicue character of the beloved noodle cake.

IT'S SUPER EASY. HERE'S HOW YOU DO IT!

Marinate ramen cake in sauce (see below for sauce suggestions), flipping to be sure of absorption throughout the noodle cake (about 20 mins, just enough time to get your fire going).
Ramen cake is ready to be grilled when it has become tender, but still cohesive.

Place on medium flame grill (charcoal is best).

Lift corner every minute or so to look for char marks (about 3 minutes). A little smoke should inform you that it's about ready to flip.


Flip when it’s getting crunchy and black/golden brown spots cover one side. Be sure to detach the whole thing with your spatula before moving it, or else the cake may pull apart, creating a much less appetizing mess (and frustration).


Serve plain or with chives, scallions, grilled tofu or veggies, etc. If there is any remaining marinade drizzle it over top of the noodles

Your grilled ramen cake will have chewy spots and moist spots, but every bite will be flavorful and fun to eat. Tear it apart with chop sticks. Invite friends to dig in with you. It's fun, romantic, contemplative... Whatever mood strikes you, I am sure that a few minutes before the hot fire will sooth your savage beast and satiate your appetite with fire-cured noodle goodness.

For a soupier version, serve "au jus" by pouring the desired amount of boiling hot water over the grilled noodles and letting it sit for a few minutes (but be careful not to dilute the flavor too much). If you have any ideas for grilled ramen, I'd love to hear them. Post your experiments here as a comment. The sun is shining and it's time to have fun by the fire.

SAVOR THE FLAVOR: a sauce for any occasion

For "Grilled Ramen Sauce" you basically just need a concoction that is somewhat syrupy, so it glazes the noodles, watery enough to be absorbed by the noodles, slightly sweet, so it caramelizes, and packed with tangy flavors that will compliment the charred spots.

A lazy method: use 1/3 cup of hot water to dilute 1/3 cup of your favorite asian sauce/marinade like terriaki, szechuan, etc.

An easy method: whisk together the following ingredients

Flavor packet from ramen
2 tblsp soy sauce
Squirt of sriracha (or favorite hot sauce) to taste
Couple dashes of rice vinegar (or lemon or lime juice)
A few drops of toasted sesame oil
½ tsp sugar
¼ cup of hot water
A sprinkling of sesame seeds (optional)

Master sauce: whisk the following ingredients together

2 tsp fresh ginger, minced and ground or passed through a garlic press
1 clove garlic, diced and mashed to a pulp
2 tblsp soy sauce
1 tblsp rice vinegar
squirt of sriracha/sambal (or your fave hot sauce)
a couple cranks of black pepper
2 tblsp olive oil
1/4 cup hot water
1/2 tsp sugar/honey/maple syrup

Well, now it's your turn. I am continually experimenting in the kitchen (and on the porch), so you'll see some more suggestions from me about this in due time (plus, I've got more pictures). But, I'd like to know about the versions of grilled ramen that you come up with. So, dig in and write back.

Booby Flay vs. RVA

Back in March, Iron Chef Bobby Flay showed up at UofR to stage one of his Throwdown episodes for the Food Network. Ironically, as Flay was picking on Buzz or Ned (or both), my wife and I were simultaneously having our first ever experience eating at Mesa Grill, Bobby Flay’s signature Manhattan restaurant. Seriously, this was a coincidental turning of the tables, but it’s only fair in a culinary “throwdown.” Come to our town to pick a fight and we’ll go to your town to… well, give you a lot of money and then talk about you (the Bobby vs Buzz episode runs tonight at 10pm, by the way).

This is Bobby Flay facing off against Rick Bayless, a less egotistical chef who has also made his career appropriating Latino cuisine.

As longtime fans of Bobby Flay’s take on southwestern fare, Karen and I had been hoping to taste the food we were seeing on Boy Meets Grill, Iron Chef America, and the cookbooks we own by the famously oh-so-smug TV chef. In fact, this was our first ever trip to a celebrity chef’s restaurant, and I was feeling a little nervous and guilty about the indulgence. In order to make the expense feasible, we decided on Sunday brunch, when the menu was within our price range.

First off, I want to point out that Bobby Flay has become something of a cartoon. He is undeniably arrogant in his on-screen persona. This is what makes his new show, “Throwdown” such a contrived turn. The lead-in shows him in a black t-shirt shadow-boxing the camera as the show builds up to Bobby challenging some poor unsuspecting chef. Bobby Flay as bully seems fitting. However, in most cases, the show focuses on Flay’s misadventures, kitchen foibles, and basically… he eats humble pie week in and week out. It’s a pretty ridiculous charade. First of all, Bobby is clearly not a fighter. He may be full of NYC 'tude, but he's a filthy rich dough boy at this point in his life. Notice that his tight t-shirts reveal pointy protrusions of flab where a tough guy's pecks should be. And secondly, there is no doubt that a cook with so many successful restaurants, TV shows, and cookbooks, could grill a steak better than a marine (episode #?), simmer a superlatively savory pot of chili (episode #?), and in tonight’s episode, execute a perfect batch of the the staple bbq food, spare ribs. But alas, tonight we will undoubtedly see Booby Flay floundering around the flames while he pays tribute to another local cook. How fortunate for our local heroes.

After enduring the first season of this tragically funny show, Karen and I felt compelled to check out Bobby Flay’s food in-person, on his own turf, at Mesa Grill in Manhattan. Surely, Flay would have the last laugh at his own restaurant. So, this brings us to our romp around the island of Manhattan, hiking through Soho, Little Italy, Chinatown, and wherever bargains were to be found. It was Sunday, and we were almost late for brunch thanks to the daylight savings “spring forward” that took place while we slept.

Sweaty and tired of walking, looking like two back-packers coming off of the Appalachian Trail for a brief respite, Karen and I walked through the door of one of the most chic restaurants we’d ever dined in. Immediately, two rail thin Mesa Grill hosts looked down their noses at us, sure that we were in the wrong place, and surprised that we were “on the list.” While we waited, we peeled of a few layers and checked our bags. The colors in here were pure Sante Fe, sherbet pastels contrasted with dark earth tones. The bar was a thing of beauty, with the coolest looking hanging lights and wall sconces.

Eventually, we were taken upstairs to a level of seating that gave us a view through the railing of the entire restaurant’s busy dining room floor. The crowd was stylish, stuffy, and effervescent with chatter. This space couldn’t hold another table full of people. Clearly, Bobby Flay is still in vogue.

While we looked over the tempting menu, we ordered a carrot/mango juice to split between the two of us. It was delicious. For our starter, we went with the rough cut tuna nachos with mango hot sauce and avocado crema. This appetizer was amazing. The tuna chunks were big and raw and glazed in spiciness, and all around the dish were the best tasting homemade tortilla chips I’d ever eaten. Each white or blue corn triangle exploded with the flavor of fresh corn. I can only imagine the kitchen contortions required to pack that much punch into a thin piece of fried dough. All along the bottom of the dish were pools of orange and green sauces that stood in for salsa and cheese or sour cream. Those were fine too, but I was already won over.

Along side the nachos, came a basket of biscuits – all shapes and sizes. They were warm and tantalizing. Before long I was beginning to fear fullness, but it was tough to stop smothering those interesting breads with their accompanying savory red jelly.

For our brunch entrees, we were utterly torn. Everything sounded amazing: blue corn waffles with blackberry bourbon syrup, sweet potato hash with green chili hollandaise, and the list goes on. Karen wound up ordering two sides with her ranch style eggs tostada just to make sure that she had the chance to taste as many Flay creations as possible. Her eggs were massive. They were whipped to a degree that they stood four inches tall sitting atop a crispy flour tortilla and smothered with white cheddar cheese. Drizzled artfully was Flay’s requisite squeeze bottling of ancho chile tomato sauce, which tasted great, but was mostly included for color since there wasn’t much of it (Karen likes loads of sauce with each bite of any kind of food, by the way). That left the eggs, cheese and tortilla to carry to the flavor/texture responsibility. Interestingly, the eggs were popping with a garlicky and saltiness that rivaled their airy fluffiness. Alas, the whole thing got cold quickly with the cheese stiffening and the big tortilla chip was mostly a tasty decoration, rather than a vehicle for shoveling eggs. Overall, points for style and technique, but not something we would order again.

My choice was a little more adventurous: Cornmeal crusted chile relleno filled with goat cheese and acorn squash, over a bed of fig-cascabel chile sauce. This thing was really pretty, like a beautifully proportioned statue to the immortal chile relleno in the sky. It was round and stout and gave off warm orange colors from it’s crust. When I sank my fork into it, the delicate poblano chile gave way and spilled forth a river of rich goat cheese. The crust and chile contained savory heat and the cheese was typically pungent. Both of these flavors were offset by the sweet and spicy fig sauce (cascabel?). But that was pretty much it. There was nothing else happening on my plate and I was quickly reminded that I’m not really crazy about goat cheese (my fault, I know). So, again, I can’t recommend this unless you want it on your mantel as a homage to southwestern frou-frou food.
Along side our dishes were two sides. Aren’t you curious how Bobby Flay’s hash browns taste? Well, the “Southwestern home fries” were soggy and cold. Their spicy rub wasn’t eventful enough to inspire us to eat more than a couple bites of them. Next to that was a plate of mango glazed bacon. Karen loves bacon once in a while and this sounded awesome. On a little rectangular plate were four strips of darkly colored meat and a puddle of light orange liquid on top of them. Does this sound right to you? Bacon is supposed to be crispy. These were limp, flaccid, and wet. They were peppery and the sauce was sweet, but altogether, barely edible.

Below, you will find the “grades” that I felt compelled to scribble on a little pad in the heat of the moment at Mesa Grill. In retrospect, I think I marked the food up a notch because I was grateful for the experience to be sitting in a celebrity chef’s dining room. To this day, I keep thinking that I would have been happier if I had just ordered the Blue Corn Chiliquiles that looked so good on half of the plates that I observed below. However, there is a possibility that Mesa Grill has simply plateaued, that Bobby has morphed into Booby for the camera, leaving behind his days as a successful restaurateur.

Mesa Grill Brunch
----------------------
Carrot Mango juice: A
Tuna nachos: A
Biscuits: A
Ranch style eggs: B+
Home fries: C-
Mango-glazed bacon: C
Chile relleno: B+
-------------------
Overall: B+

Tonight, we’ll get to watch a local boy hand Bobby his hind-quarters on a plate before some clearly biased judges and we’ll all cheer for our city besting one of the best. But, for me, the verdict is already in. Bobby Flay is a talented chef whose dishes make my mouth water at the suggestion of roasted poblano and smokes tomatillos. I don’t need to see him serve up a pretentious version of spare ribs at UofR to reassure me of this. I just need to know how to whip my eggs to that height and how to make chips with such zest. Booby Flay, get back in the kitchen.

ps: While on this trip to NYC, Karen and I also stopped at the Doughnut Plant, a shop that got throwd-down-with in a previous episode. The purveyor of those doughnuts was the now somewhat infamous Mark Israel. When Flay showed up and made his challenge, Israel lost his cool and nearly refused to compete (instead he opted to put his boxed doughnuts up against Flays, rather than cooking on the spot). Israel won the competition with his legendary Tres Leches Cake doughnut. As big fans of Tres Leches Cake (another brilliant Latino innovation), Karen and I had to try this doughnut. In a word, heavenly. Imagine the three sweet milks of the tres leches sealed into a cake by the hot grease of a deep fryer. To borrow from Emeril: Oh, yeah babe. Also killer were the myer lemon and the chocolate blackout.

While chatting up the Doughnut Plant cashier, I mentioned that we were glad that his shop beat Bobby Flay. And just as I spoke the words, Mark Israel walks right behind me and hearing my words, he reacted with a physical gesture that clearly conveyed disgust. Why the near tantrum? Well, cooks are just plain temperamental. Of course, I'd deal with the guy for a whole week to have some more of those doughnuts. By the way, the shop only sells decaf coffee. How weird is that?

Minimum Rage

Q: When is a protest march quiet and subdued?
A: When it's a symbolic funeral procession through downtown Richmond, mourning the death of the minimum wage increase for the state of Virginia.

Yesterday, I took a couple community service hours from work to lend a hand with this event. We walked two-by-two down Broad Street to the State Capitol grounds where a service was held. Since the General Assembly was back in session, we figured that they should hear from their constituents about the all but forgotten working poor in our state. As a Board member for the Virginia Organizing Project, I was asked to speak to the press a couple times. My father-in-law said that he caught a clip of me on the WTVR 6 o'clock news making a convincing argument (although I only remember
being tongue-tied on camera).

A better spokesperson has turned out to be Ray McAllister of the Richmond
Times-Dispatch. Take a peek at his stellar write up.

Let's hope that this minimum rage event turns into maximum results at next year's General Assembly session (or on election day).

ps: We'll get back to all things food in due time. Just had to give voice to my other passion.

Funeral for the Death of VA's Minimum Wage Increase: DOWNTOWN RVA, Wed, April 4th

Does the General Assembly make you feel ashamed? Do you ever feel like those legislators are personally out to get you, promoting ignorance and bigotry just to perpetuate the most oppressive aspects of our state's legacy? This time, don't let them get away with it. On Wednesday, April 4th, help the Virginia Organizing Project remind the GA that they cannot keep people down without being publicly shamed for thier campaign against progressive values.

Reasons and signifiance... Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. protested for civil rights and against war. But it wasn't until he waged a "poor people's campaign" that he was killed on April 4th, 1968 while supporting underpaid black janitors in the South. Sound familiar? At this symbolic public protest in downtown Richmond, we will mourn the fact that our government continues to kill the dream of economic justice.

Funeral Announcement for the Death of the Minimum Wage Increase in Virginia

Funeral services for the proposed Minimum Wage Increase in Virginia will be held Wednesday, April 4, 2007 in Richmond. Mourners will gather at the corner of Broad Street and 5th at 10:30 a.m. and join in a funeral procession beginning at 11:00 a.m. going to the Bell Tower in Capital Square with services at approximately 11:30 a.m. Pallbearers will be the working families and residents of the state who fought diligently for the bill's passage in this year's General Assembly.

The Minimum Wage Increase, which is a decade overdue, was killed on Tuesday, February 20, 2007, in the State Capitol by the Virginia House of Delegates on a 53-43 procedural vote. This came despite the efforts of thousands of hard-working Virginians to raise the minimum wage for the first time in a decade and despite the fact that 29 other states have already increased their minimum wage.

Please Join us for either the procession or the services to mourn the loss of the Minimum Wage Increase in Virginia.

Forward this to a friend

Help Virginia move toward fairness, justice, and equal opportunity for all.

Honeymoon in Mexico, pt. 2: LA COMIDA

For your viewing pleasure are twenty or so pictures of food and fresh ingredients that we encountered in Mexico. See pt. 1 for cultural and historical escapades. Some stories accompany, but if you'd like a soundtrack to this experience, I recommend Joe Strummer's "Bhindi Bhagee" from his Global-a-go-go album. It's not Mexican music, but it's an upbeat jam I've had on repeat lately and it will make this little tour go down even smoother.
During our trip to Mexico, Karen and I were determined to try anything and everything that Mexico's cuisine had to offer. Our adventure began in El Mercado Merced in downtown Mexico City. This place is the size of several Wal-Marts strung together, spanning more than a few city blocks. At Merced, you can buy virtually anything you want, and the space is divided up so that there are acres of spices in one spot, large expanses of nopales cactus paddles, and chickens hanging upside down as far as the eye can see. The sweets above were really intriguing. We decided on a few of the hockey-puck shaped macaroons (that's them in the middle with the lime leaf attached and also some with an orange sweet potato color). I carried them around in my bag for 10 days and had a nibble whenever I got peckish.

These powders and pastes are sold in bulk to save cooking time for busy Mexicans. The super-complex mole sauces typically contain 40 or more ingredients (usually including chocolate, chilis, and pumkin seeds) and require hours of grinding, pureeing, and simmering. We followed the average person's lead and bought the mole poblano paste (from the city of Puebla) and brought it home. Just add hot stock and oil until it has the right consistency. Mmmmmm, spicy, chocolatey, complexly savory. As they say, "if the sauce is not good, the dish is not good."

This was such a spread of candy, that I couldn't resist. We didn't eat a lot of dulces (sweets), but they sure have some strange flavors (spicy mango, guanabana). On one road trip, I came out of the convenient store with something called Bubu Lubu. It was a candy-bar that's kept in the refridgerated section. Imagine a layer of marshmallow topped with a layer of artificially flavored cherry gummy-jelly and the whole thing covered in milk chocolate. I didn't like it, but I washed it down with a can of Coke to give myself a familiar queasy feeling (as opposed to the strange and unpredictable stomach rumblings that terrorized our trip).

Eating in Mexico is comparable to eating in Italy (so I'm told). Just like the Olive Garden's pasta isn't real Italian, don't even think you've eaten Mexican food until you've been there. That combination plate that we get served in our local restaurants is laughable and pitiful compared to the fresh and flavorful dishes that make up the staple diet of Mexicans. And also, like Italians, Mexicans use a lot of garlic. This stand must have sold 30 different types. This section of the market really reeked of powerful smelling root vegetables.

Believe it or not, we didn't eat many beans in Mexico. And when we did, they were usually refried black beans served next to the main course. Nonetheless, there are many many kinds of frijoles to be had. Maybe one day, I'll have one of these bean cubbies in my pantry (when I get a house big enough for a pantry).

One thing that impressed me were the snacks in Mexico. It really seemed like people just eat all day. Portions are small and prices are cheap and everyone is eating on the go. Potato chips may seem like a trivial part of any culture, but Karen and I were impressed by how superior the potato chips were in Mexico to the Frito-Lays stuff we've got to choose from. The big brandname there is Sabritas (little tasties, if my translation is correct). Their chips are common in every way except for the flamboyantly loud flavors: lime, salsa caliente, tomatoes and garlic. Mmmmmm... Oddly, we will miss those bags of potato chips sorely. I can only imagine that this guy's fresh chips are even better.

Another snack that is popular in Mexico (only the southern part, I'm told) is huaraches. They're sort of the equivalent of a New York slice: cheap, fast, cheezy, tasty.

After walking around that market for a couple hours, sorta intimidated (we were the only gringos), and nervous about what would be alright for us to eat, we finally gave in and got a bite at one of the market's many little sit-down eateries. For about a buck, Karen and I split an enormous huarache. It was a freshly made tortilla that was pressed into an oblong shape, fried, and topped with cheese and salsa (although meat was an option). Our server offered us red or green salsa, but unable to decide, I asked for both, and as you can see in the picture, they obliged. Karen liked the green and I liked the red (symbolic of our respective affinities). Although this was only our second day, that one little snack (enough for both of us) remained one of our favorite foods for the rest of the trip.

On our first night in Mexico, we walked a couple blocks through La Zona Rosa (the gay district), to a fancy restaurant called La Fonda El Refugio. In a dimly lit dining room, they served expertly crafted traditional Mexican food, fit for royalty. Although we wound up ordering fish in garlic sauce, and three types of enchiladas with mole, and beautiful little quesadillas (that were more like empanadas), our favorite part was the opening round of chips and salsa. We didn't want to use the camera's flash and ruin everyone else's dinner, so please understand why the colors don't quite pop here. But the dishes before you contain guacamole in the foreground (lots of lime juice), salsa verde (tomatillos, garlic, and green chilis), and salsa caliente (with roasted guajillo chilis). This last one only comes out upon special request. Silly me, I told them that I wanted spicy salsa before even trying the green stuff they set down for us. And so, out comes this enormous molcajete filled with smokey salsa. The meal went on brilliantly, but we sorta over did it with the appetizers and had to take some leftovers back to our hotel.

In Veracruz (five hours east of Mexico City), we stayed with my step-brother David. He lives with his wife, Karina, and over 30 of her family members live in the surrounding two or three blocks. Thanks to my emailing ahead about our interests, Karina's mom decided to teach us to make tortillas from scratch and by hand - an art that is slowly going out of style in Mexico. See above as abuelita makes quick work of a pile of masa dough. She has 17 grandchildren and was happy to take care of us as if we were her own. I kept inquiring where the machina (or tortilla press) was hiding, but she laughed my comments off, saying that we don't really need to use the cheating devices (like the one I've got at home!).

Within minutes, flat discs of masa dough began appearing. Abuelita first formed little balls of dough, which she patted back and forth between her palms until each one was flat and less than a half-inch think. Then, she placed the silver-dollar shaped dough in the center of a circular piece of plastic wrap (or wax paper, or part of a zip-lock bag, etc). The last part is still like a blur to me. With one hand, she turned the plastic circle, and with the other hand she struck her palm of her hand against the dough at an angle that would help turn the disc. A few times around each disc and it became very thin, perfectly round, and about 6" across. Mine did not look like this. Soon, the neighbor brought over her tortilla press so that I could join in without making a mess.

Not long after the tortillas had taken shape, plates of hot food were ready to eat. On the left are gorditas. These tortillas got submerged in boiling oil and they puffed up and became hollow like a pita. A combination of refried black beans, salsa, and cheese went on top. Really tasty! On the right are chalupas. These tortillas were seared on each side on a hot cast-iron tortilla griddle that didn't require any oil. They were topped with more cheese, lettuce, and a sort of salsa fresco or pico de gallo. Two really satisfying snacks that complimented each other well. This was more than enough by our standards, but the food didn't stop rolling out. Earlier that morning, sbuelita woke up ahead of everyone else and prepared a black bean soup with masa dumplings (not pictured, sorry).

After a couple days imposing on the profound hospitality of my extended Mexican family, Karen and I decided to spend a day walking around downtown Veracruz. One attraction that the guidebooks recommended was Gran Café de la Parroquia on Avenue Insurgentes, a historic coffee shop where artists and political types have gathered for decades to rub elbows, soak up atmosphere, and the unique house coffee drink called "lechero." This beverage of strong coffee and steaming hot milk is alleged to be the original latte. As tasty as it is to drink, what follows after ordering is even more entertaining. The above fancy espresso machines also serve as the logo for the cafe on their bags of coffee, signage, shirts, etc.

Here's how it works to order a lechero:

First, the waiter brings out your cup of freshly brewed coffee syrup. Then he taps the side of your glass with a spoon and looks across the room to make sure that the milk guy has heard the call. Then, the milk guy (above) shows up with his kettle and starts pouring from a low height, slowly working his way up to an absurd distance from the cup before you. As the scalding milk fills your cup, not a drop is spilled and a very thick foam forms on top.

I dunno. What do you think? Was Karen impressed?

Another common Mexican dish that I wanted to learn to make are tamales (corn meal and savory veggies/meat/beans, wrapped in banana leaves or corn husks, and steamed). However, on our last night in Veracruz we came back to the homestead and found a big production unfolding all around us. The whole neighborhood was alive with anticipation for an evening of celebration in honor of the Virgin de Guadalupe. Because the next day was the anniversary of the Virgin Mary's alleged visit to Mexico, basically everyone in the country was partying, praying, singing, and sharing food. Our hosts spent the day making over 100 tamales, and these above were ready to eat when we arrived at sunset. Our first and only authentic Mexican tamales were filled with chicken and herbs and wrapped in fresh banana leaves. We spent the evening walking back and forth between the house and the church, giving out food, tasting a spicy beer called michelada, sipping Cuban rum, listening to neighborhood folksongs, and the night just kinda fades into a blur if you can imagine.

If the last night in Veracruz was a high point (and it was), then the following morning was a low point. We both woke up with serious digestive turmoil. It was all we could do to climb into the car for a ride to the bus-station. Luckily, our next stop was the beautiful city of Puebla (three hours west of Veracruz). Since Karen was in worse shape than I, my first task was a trip to the pharmacy for something called Treda (but we subsequently referred to them as magic pills) to address our digestive problems. After that, I ordered room service from the legendary kitchen of the Meson Sacristia. We each had bowls of soup and cups of tea to help us recover. Somehow, I managed to work on some spicy chalupas. After all, we were in the city that is called the gastronomic capital of Mexico and our hotel has been deemed the city's best restaurant by the New York Times. Those green things on the right, are limes, by the way. Lime slices come with all Mexican food. Seriously, people squeeze limes on everything. If you can explain this to me, please leave a comment.

In the morning, we resolved to get back to chowing down. Our first breakfast was awesome. Karen had some kind of eggs and ham scramble, while I had fried eggs topped with the house quick mole (see recipe below). I loved it. The sauce was sour, spicy, and smoky. That two-tone coffee drink was really nice too. But the best part for me followed the meal... see below.

This was my ticket to a functioning digestive system while in Mexico. Every day, I ordered a plate of fresh fruit. Not only was it all sweeter than anything I could get in December back home, but the fiber really helped mediate the conflict that Mexico's spicy chilis and unfamiliar bacteria were causing throughout my body. Karen's insides felt worse than mine, and so she wound up being a fairly cautious eater for the rest of the trip.

Although we had several great meals at the Meson Sacristia, our best food experience at the hotel was a half-day cooking class with the head chef, Alonso Hernandez. Here he's making guacamole, which may not sound very exciting, but it was to go with a savory meat dish called Tinga Pueblan Stew that made half the class's eyes roll up into their heads. And the real treat of course, the Mole Sacristia was a revelation in sauce-making. Here's the recipe:

Mole Sacristia
A great use for extra green tomatoes from your garden. Really easy to make. Ask for the meco variety of chipotles at your local latino market. If you can't find them, try whatever dried chilis have a seriously smoky aroma.

6-7 medium green tomatoes
3 Meco chipotle chilis
1-2 large white or yellow onions (quartered)
3-4 cloves of garlic
1 cup water
1/2 cup oil
salt

-roast tomatoes onion and garlic (in the broiler or on the grill until there are plenty of black spots on each
-meanwhile, fry the chilis in a pan coated liberally with oil until they turn golden brown and discard the oil
-put all ingredients in a blender and puree
-heat a 1/4 cup of oil on medium high and then pour the pureed sauce in to scald the ingredients (just a few minutes)
-salt to taste

The sauce will be black. Put it on everything.

On one of our many walking trips around Puebla, we went to a market where locals go for their produce, chilis, mole paste, illegally copied dvds, and the biggest best sandwich in the whole town. In Pubela, the big sandwich is called a cemita. Many storefronts advertise their cemitas, but this spot leads the pack with their generous piling of ingredients, overwhelming popularity, and impressive assembly-line production.

A cemita consists of avocado slices, pulled/shredded cheese called panela (similar to mozzarella), chipotles marinated in adobo sauce, and some kind of sliced ham or beef milenesa. It takes a whole bunch of workers to crank out enough cemitas to satisfy the demand. And, at less than $2 each for a sandwich built for two or three, why wouldn't they be popular?

This is the monster cemita that we ordered. We opted for sliced ham because we didn't really understand what the other options were. I'd say it measured about 6-7 inches high and 5 inches across. Pardon the product placement, but I like a little familiarity with my new experiences.

After watching the natives' technique, Karen squeezes one end of the cemita into her mouth and is instantly pleased with the sensations: crunchy bread, chewy cheese, creamy avocados, spicy peppers, salty slices of meat. Between the two of us, we couldn't finish it.

Our walking tour of Puebla continued for miles. And we have non-food related pictures to prove it. The same goes for our last few days in Mexico City, in Coyaocan at Frida Kahlo's house, and walking among the coffee bushes and waterfalls of Xico. And then there's Andrew, my adorable nephew. However, those stories and images will have to wait for the next posting. To make matters worse, I am now taking an online graduate course as I've been accepted into VCU's Masters of Public Administration program. So, I will only be staring at that this machine when I absolutely have to. Thanks for tuning in.

Honeymoon in Mexico, pt. 1

On December 7th, when Karen and I flew into Mexico city, we didn't quite know what to expect. We were told that the next 11 days were bound to be filled with communication problems, pick-pockets and/or violent thievery, backwards locals, stabbing intestinal pain, disoriented navigating, and filth galore. Riding from the airport to our hotel in a "secure taxi" we prepared to meet the country of Mexico, in it's capital, Mexico City, the second largest city in the world (18 million, just behind Sao Paolo, Brazil). What we found was awe-inspiring and shame-inducing. I found it hard to believe how much ignorance there is out there about the country of Mexico.
(a section of the Diego Rivera mural in the National Palace)

Well, first I'd like to thank my fellow American citizens for all the sensationalized cautionary tales and fear-mongering. Several people warned me about the prevalent violent crime and a general sense of danger that pervades Mexico City, and that it is not safe for gringos, because people will identify us with the money the they don't have and then we will be victimized, and so on and so forth. Well, Karen and I encountered nothing of the sort. We went everywhere by foot, bus, and subway and never once felt threatened, although often clearly out of place. The city is an enormous metropolis that is cosmopolitan and busy. The people sometimes looked at us with curious interest when we stepped off the established tourist path, but they were understanding about our limited Spanish and responded to us with a warm and helpful demeanor, especially when we showed some effort, and conveyed our respect and appreciation for Mexican culture. All in all, the Mexicans we talked to were extremetly decent and kind people who are weary of American hostility and prejudice. However, when we said a kind word, show some deference, and we were back on good footing (if we weren't already).

(Karen shopping at the artisan market)

At first, we took extra precautions by using money-belts and clutching our bags tightly, but over time, we started to feel a little silly and overly cautious, if not just plain rude, and so we developed a more general commonsense about our belongings and our surroundings and made a conscious decision to relax and enjoy ourselves. The biggest problem that we had with getting taken advantage of was in our minds (thanks to all the nervous nellies out there fanning the flames of anti-multiculturalism). And of course, this was particularly the case when it came to paying for things. Greed and prejudice tend to go hand in hand. Anyhow, since the exchange rate was roughly 10 to 1, pesos to dollars, all we had to do was move the decimal over once to figure out what something cost in dollars. However, it didn't keep us from getting confused and suspicious when a trinket or a whole meal cost fifty bucks. Duh! It's only $5. Smile and say gracias, Jason.
(We bought one of these hanging hammock chairs for our porch - nine bucks! wow! )

Back home, I recall hearing other concerned Americans saying that Mexico is dirty and disorganized. Well, Mexico City is enormous, so of course we didn't see all of it, but what we did see was gorgeous on a grand scale, absolutely majestic, and spotlessly clean. At every turn, someone was sweeping or mopping and there were tasteful little trashcans seemingly every few feet. The dirtiest element that we encountered is one that we didn't see with our own eyes. We never felt like we were actually seeing smog in Mexico City, but considering the prodigious production of crusty buggers collecting in our noses, we knew there must be a few more particles in the air here than we were used to. Further research showed us that the mountains and volcanoes that surround the city trap the pollution that is emitted from the city's 8 million cars and 50,000 factories. The combination of pollution and altitude meant that we were always slightly short of breath in Mexico City as well. So, that was a minor drawback, but it helped us get drunk quicker.
(the brightest, shiniest wooden bowls ever)

In terms of organization, I'm sure that there are all kinds of cultural phenomena in Mexico that don't make sense to outsiders. Maybe corruption in Congress, stolen elections, and unrestrained development for some reason doesn't sound familiar to those of us in the U.S. On the other hand, disorganization can sometimes be a good thing. Karen and I both felt like there was always something going on around us. The country is filled with life and liveliness that you just don't see in the US too much. There was seriously never a dull moment. Although Mexico suffers from an enormous wealth gap and poverty is widespread, we were taken aback with the level of industriousness of the people. Everyone in Mexico seems to be selling something, eager to negotiate, and proud of their wares. Much of the excitement came from street merchants hyping their reggaeton compilation CDs, alpaca panchos, and diez tacos por diez pesos (my personal favorite). Contrary to the stereotype of "lazy Mexicans" it seemed to us that the people go to great lengths to fill every gap in time and space with their colorful culture and attempts to better their situation. Mexico's open and free society results in solutions as well as problems, which also sounds familiar to me.
(pinatas grow on trees in Mexico)

This posting is mostly intended to get the ball rolling on reporting back on my honeymoon in Mexico. The next week and a half went down like this: three days in mega-metropolis Mexico City, three days in the overgrown beach-town of Veracruz, three days in idyllic and Spanish-styled Puebla, and another three days chasing the spirits of radical Mexican artists back in Mexico City. In my next post, I'd like to start a highlight real, with particular attention to the food. For a sneak preview, check out Fancy Toast to see the recent Mexico trip foodie report that inspired me to get to work telling these stories. I tried to post a little teaser there about my eventual blog entry about our honeymoon in Mexico. Eventually, in this space, you will be treated to a run-down of menus, flavor combinations, amazing bargains, a tour of Frida Khalo's house, a food class, pictures of delicious dishes, and tales of treats that we brought home and are eager to share.
(mole powder and spices)

Thanks for waiting for me to get around to this and stay tuned.
(dried chili peppers everywhere)

Yo Quiero Mole Poblano y Justicia

I love Taco Bell. The Crunchwrap Supreme, in my opinion, with it's gooey/crunchy burrito/tostada fusion, is one of the best fast-food creations of all time (beans instead of meat, for me). However, when Karen and I make a run for the boarder this week, it won’t be in pursuit of the perfect combination of Big Bell Value Menu items. No, we’re destined for a Mexican honeymoon getaway – a brief sojourn to the temple of the sun - and guacamole guns or reconstituted refried bean powder won’t likely find their way into the authentic meals that Rick Bayless has gotten our mouths watering for.



This post is not intended to be a brag nor am I naïve of my many privileges in life. Rather, I want to share some of my upcoming adventures, because I can’t stand to see really fortunate experiences go only fleetingly appreciated and ultimately forgotten. Just as I’ve sampled a white winter truffle vicariously through Veronica’s blog, you too will be able to visit Mexico’s culinary corners and all points picante through the stories that Karen and I will share here upon our return. In the meantime, let me give you a preview of our destinations.

Mexico City

Anyone who knows me would guess that I was going to Mexico City to support that country’s “legitimate president,” Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador by camping out in the zocalo (city center square). Actually, it’s just cheaper to fly into and out of than anywhere else in Mexico (aside from the resort towns, which we are avoiding altogether). Our stay begins with a couple days in the gay district, called Zona Rosa. Hopefully, we’ll make a trip to see the home of Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera in Coyoacan as well. If the political protests turn into an impromptu street-party, que sera sera.

Veracruz

My step-brother, David, lives on the outskirts of Veracruz, near the beach, with his wife Karina, and two sons Dylan and Andrew. They met in California’s bay area (where I was born!), but cannot relocate to the states because the US government has banned Karina from US residency and seems determined to tear apart their family and many others. Of course, they are fighting against this injustice. But in the meantime, Karen and I are taking our blossoming family to theirs in Veracruz to solidify the connection and enjoy some Mexican hospitality. I’ve been saving up all of my questions about tortilla and tamale making for our three day stay when I can see how it’s actually done in an actual Mexican kitchen. Of course, the beach will be a nice diversion and pescado veracruzana is bound to be my kinda entree.

Puebla

Our original plan was to head to Oaxaca. But, what with all the political upheaval, there did not seem to be a way to have a honeymoon experience that was both safe and ethical. So, in Karen’s research, she found an alternative in Puebla.




Some people call Puebla the culinary capitol of Mexico, but most identify it with mole poblano, that rich and savory sauce that few Mexican restaurants bother to attempt for gringo audiences. We were partly lured to Puebla thanks to a NY Times report that also includes this short but stunning movie. This part of our stay will likely be the sweetest part of the honeymoon as we’re staying at a beautiful and romantic hotel, Meson Sacristia. These pitures that look like watercolor paintings come from the hotel. It’s also mentioned in the linked movie as having some of the best mole in Puebla. In truth, Karen and I aren’t completely sure that we even like mole, but what we’ve had tasted intriguing and complex enough to convince us that we need to go to the source and see what all the fuss is about. This charming hotel also features a cooking school and we’ll be getting a lesson over breakfast during our stay.

Es todo

So, that’s the teaser just as we're leaving. I think I’ve provided enough extra reading to hold you over until we get back. My last bit is just a confessional narrative. From an early age, I have maintained that chips and salsa was my favorite food. Then, I discovered 7-Layer dip. Eventually, I came to believe that any food served inside of a tortilla was better than any food sans tortillas. Today, I am branching out in my appreciation for Mexican and Southwest foods, trying to make my own tortillas, tone down the overbearing spice mixtures, and emphasize the goodness found in simply presenting fresh ingredients (maybe with a touch of lime). During this trip, I expect to open up my palate and my mind to entire worlds of cuisine and cultures that I had previously been ignorant about. And foremost, “thinking outside the bun,” I aim to enjoy the love of my wife Karen in a neighboring country that is increasingly undeniably relevant to everyday life here in the US.

Buena suerte.


Honeymoon:
the early (usually calm and harmonious) period of a relationship; business or political

An early holiday respite at Can Can's happy hour

At this point in the calendar year, I think we're all pining for those soon to come days off of work. Personally, Karen and I talk about x-mas break as it were heaven's gates. Luckily, to the rescue comes high-brow happy hour at Can-Can to occupy us until we can savor the savior of free-time. Stiff drinks and a raw bar at an affordable price - mmm, delightful.



I've never been one for drinking during the daylight, but hey, it's dark out at 5pm this time of year. And I've hardly ever been lured into a watering hole for happy hour that didn't feature a complimentary taco-bar. So, why Can-Can? Well, the problem with bars and bar food at happy hour is that it's cheap and nasty. Some would say that these attributes explain the charm as well and maybe the clientel. But how many stomach-aches from cheap rail liquor (meaning that they keep it just under the rail of the bar for easy access - often Aristocrat brand) does one have to suffer before learning to seek out more discriminating drinking venues?

At Can-Can, the happy hour is from 5-6pm and features $3.50 hi-balls. Karen's regular drink is a gin and tonic (G&T) that she usually orders by name, "Tanqueray and Tonic" to avoid getting some painful cheap liquor that tastes bad and makes you feel bad. At Can-Can they make this popular happy hour drink with their rail brand of gin which happens to be Bombay Dry - Karen's favorite, the one she keeps ample amount of in the kitchen. When the bartender spoke those words, I could see it on Karen's face, "Um, hell yeah."

So, when you're at work and dreading the rest of the week, or counting the days until vacation or retirement, here's something you can do right when you get off work to lighten your load. No, don't get drunk. But yes, do enjoy a tasty bev at Can-can during the sale hour, because you can bet that it'll be a quality worth paying for at a price that makes you feel drunk before you drink (maybe that's just me). The venue is pretty, as are the variously gendered servers. In short, it's relaxing, therapeutic, and somewhat economical. Just remember not to drink and drive. I prefer to bike, myself.

To keep from getting too tipsy too early in the day, you might consider a bite of food, some sustenance to soak up that alcohol. Well, happy hour at Can-Can also features 1/2 price raw oysters, shrimp cocktails, and burgers. Karen and I enjoyed a 1/2 dozen oysters and a 1/2 dozen shrimp for $12.00. Personally, I think this price was semi-extravagant, but the presentation was awesome and the quality of the seafood was top notch. Considering that it was on sale, I savored it all the more (bargains taste better in my book - you'll learn this about me in due time).

Maybe the burger will prove to be a better deal for you, if you're an omnivore. Considering my dietary restrictions, I enjoyed the oyster adventure quite a bit, slurping them down and nauseating Karen who can hardly look at the slimy innards of the oyster shell.

At really nice places, like Can-Can, oysters are served with minuet in addition to cocktail sauce. Since this was my first time with the vinegary diced red onions, I heaped them on my first crustacean. Yuck! You should have seen the wincing and puckering I performed in public at the bar. Maybe it's an acquired taste, but you can count me out. I'd rather go with the ketchup and horseradish concoction every time.

But hey, it was an affordable experience. And my pronouncement that oysters are an alleged aphrodisiac didn't make Karen wince or pucker. Wish me luck with that.

Food Not Blogs

Down with reading and writing. Up with eating and fighting. Help me, gosh, I’m having an existential struggle about the ultimate irrelevance of food blogs, aka web-based foodie subculture/support-groups. And now I’ve broken the first rule of food club: you don’t talk about food club.



Okay, enough nonsense and onto some philosophical jibber jabber. Last night I went to a presentation about the way blogs, wikis, and open source software have changed the very fabric of our lives. Because our knowledge base is now ever-changing and subject to collaborative authorship, we’re becoming (for better or worse) dependent on collective intelligence. Truth is increasingly subjective and consumerism is being replaced by a producer/consumer role that encourages feedback and exchange of ideas and knowledge (prosumer?).

For many, the web has revolutionized life, making our world infinitely participatory. I’m excited about all of this, but I’m also skeptical and acutely aware of the limitations of this new “marketplace of ideas.” I mean, should I really count myself among the cadre of web-based insurgents taking the power back from Big Brother, authoritarian academia, and the main stream media? Is my food blog really so significant as all that? Sure, you can get whole host of opinions on a local restaurant, rather than just relying on a semi-professional critic or Zagat survey. But can you really trust a blogger with an axe to grind cuz he got an overcooked halibut? Are cookbooks obsolete as we now see benefit from online recipes that are democratically embellished and tweaked indefinitely via comment sections of sites like Epicurious and Vegweb? And can you really trust the collective intelligence, or hive mind? Is that what the buzz is about?

My biggest concern is that the knowledge revolution isn’t really a revolution unless it can address the basic needs of people: food, shelter (and I think there’s another one, like clothes or something). Anyhow, this may sound silly, but I just want to express my frustration that the instant gratification of the internet is ultimately superficial. No one gets actual nourishment from food blogs. We just get tantalized and teased and maybe titillated. No matter how long I stare at the white winter truffle on Veronica’s Test Kitchen, I’m not actually any closer to knowing what the expensive fungus tastes like. And I may never find out, cuz I can’t rationalize the expense.

For many, the internet is just that: a representation, not reality; superfluous entertainment, an artificial distraction that only serves to delay actual unmitigated experiences. My food blog might put a pretty picture of food on your screen, but it doesn’t put food on your table. So, I’m wondering what it is that we’re all actually doing on here. Just playing? Is virtual reality every bit as legitimate as tactile reality? If I checked my email at home and never got up from that chair, I'd miss work, lose my job, get thirsty, mess myself, and die of thirst. And for what? Just because the blogosphere has accelerated the learning curve of almost any subject imaginable, does that mean that those who ignore us are somehow lesser than? Shoot, I don’t read blogs. I mean, I didn’t until I started writing one.

Okay, I’ll stop this confessional exercise in self-deprecation. It’s pointless. I just wanted to share a bit of what’s on my mind and to let you know that I'm only partly sold on this technology thing. When we return, I’m aiming to share a little list that might inspire you to spend a few dollars, but ultimately will save you time and money in the future. Bank on it, a reality- based worthwhile blog entry. No more idle fluff - for now.