Japanese Food for Thought

Whether it is diving into a spa of naked ladies, or eating the strange concoction of ingredients on the plate in front of you,  I say go for it, no matter what. Maybe you're deathly allergic to shellfish or peanuts, and only then would I suggest making an exception.

The point is that you might not have an opportunity to try that food again, and tomorrow you'll be able to say you did that, and describe to others exactly what it tasted like.

I tend to try everything edible when I'm traveling. And then I return home and research what I just ate. Sometimes I wonder if I should be eating and researching in reverse order...

 

 The Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations reported in 2007 that Japan is home to less than 2 percent of the world's population, and accounts for more than 8 percent of the world's seafood consumption. My best guess is that this 8 percent has increased, considering this report indicating that global fish consumption is at a record high. 

 

 Gyutan, or grilled beef tongue, is a specialty of Sendai, a Northern Japanese city. Would you eat it? What about raw horse meat, fish sperm or whale burgers?

In 2010, Japan consumed 5,813 thousand kiloliters (or 1,535,632,134 gallons) of beer. That number maintained its seventh place on the Kirin Institute of Food and Lifestyle's list of global beer consumption by country. Above Japan on this list, in order, are China (#1), the United States, Brazil, Russia, Germany and Mexico. That number might have something to do with the fact that beer is available for purchase in vending machines on just about every street corner in Tokyo.

Grabbag

In no way do I intend to trivialize my experience in China (or anyone else's for that matter), but I will say that the list of places I saw while in Beijing came out of a travel guide. I saw the Great Wall, of course, and the Summer Palace, the Ming Tombs, and the site of the 2008 Olympics. I traveled with my fellow tea scammed for the week that I was there, which didn't help to separate me from all of the other tourists meandering the same route of historic places.

As redeeming as it was to share tales of Chinese landmarks when home and have friends and family actually know what I was talking about, travel is more worthwhile when I don't come home with a host of stories that could have come out of Frommer's. (No offense Frommer's)

It's easy to get lost in the crowd in a new city, but if you're paying attention you might pick up on a couple of things like these to distinguish your trip...

Foridden City take one...

And take two...

 

Despite the inevitable crowds at The Summer Palace, there's peace to be found on-site at Kunming Lake. You wont regret renting a paddle boat and taking in the sights from afar.   

The PekingUni International Youth Hostel is an extension of campus dorms that will land you in a bunk next to a variety of students and travelers from all over the world. I happened to meet a professor from Shanghai and a lost adventurer whose next stop was Cambodia. I recommend bringing an extra blanket to this dig - the two sleeping options are under the thin blanket provided, or with arms and legs exposed using the blanket as a sort of cushion for the mattress, or I should say board, below.

Down the street from the hostel is Lush Bar, which sits atop a bookstore and some other clothing shops. It's an American-style pub and open mic venue owned by an Australian and one of China's former pop stars. Be careful with the giant electric blue Adios Mothafuckas- after one of those I was singing an old Dave Matthews favorite (off-key and 3 beats behind) to the room of strangers.

We saw an acrobatics show that was a humble Cirque de Soleil with performers so bendy I felt compelled to do more yoga upon returning home.

Immediately after being tea scammed, we stumbled upon what I like to call "the skewer festival"- an outdoor food market with snacks on sticks for strong stomachs, and adventurous eaters. I ate snake and banana cakes. My friends grubbed on chicken stir fry wraps ans silkworm. Also available at this market: starfish, shrimp, scorpion, squid, cat and dog. 

The Tea Scam

It was hard not to follow Janie. She wanted to practice her English with us. She complemented our beautiful skin. And she offered to lead us out of the cold and away from the swarms of other tourists.

After a long night at the ice bar in Hong Kong and an early morning flight, we were exhausted when we arrived in Beijing. Despite our fatigue, we'd adopted the traveler's "I'll sleep when I get home" mentality, so we headed out to visit Tiananmens Square.

The sun lay close to the horizon for more than half the day, reminding us that we were across the world from home. When it finally did go down, we found ourselves buying expired "2008 Olympics" beanies to stay warm.

When Janie approached us I wondered how she found us, or why she chose us, in the sea of other visitors at the world's largest city square. When I look back at the photos and consider our head wear, I realize how easy it was for her to spot us, even from across the site's 440,000 square meters.

When Janie spoke our language and offered to lead us to a restaurant with some of China's most authentic cuisine, we gladly accepted her invitation. We followed her white leather-shoed footsteps out of the square and into a series of dark streets, all lined with tall brick walls. She adjusted her sparkling headband often, chatting away about her love for the American Pie movies and the Backstreet Boys. We adjusted our beanies further down over our ears as the cold night set in, and continued to follow this stranger who promised a Chinese experience different than the tourist trap at the Square.

We emerged out of the walled alley ways onto a busy street with red lanterns hanging across skyscrapers above. Janie led us to a small restaurant brimming with eaters and imbibers. "It's too busy here," she complained. "Let's go get a beer first."

So we followed her again through the maze of brick walls, disappearing again into the dark network of alleyways. This time when we came out, we were on a darker, quiet street. I wished there were lanterns -it was so dark, and bitter cold, and I was starting to wonder why we'd walked so far for a brew. Wasn't there alcohol on the busy street we'd been on before?

Janie knocked on a dark green door. A grandmother-like woman silently opened it up and motioned for us to come inside. She counted the eight of us, and corralled four of my friends into one small room, and four of us into another. Before I could ask where the beer was and what the hell we were doing, another woman came in and delivered teacups and a variety of herbs to our table. She didn't speak either, but she began filling our cups with samples of tea - ginseng, jasmine, fruit tea, wheat tea, green tea, black tea.

Janie translated. "This is a traditional Chinese tea ceremony. These small cups are meant to be drank in three sips. Place your pointer finger and thumb around the rim of the cup and your middle finger underneath. Go ahead, try it."

We drank the small cups of tea in three sips each. Janie instructed the guys in our group to stack up their other two fingers underneath their middle fingers while drinking, and the girls to point theirs out. This was a sign of male professionalism and female beauty, she said. I wondered if my other four friends were also stacking their fingers in the other tiny room.

Janie taught us "Gan Bei," or cheers, and encouraged us to keep trying the different varieties of tea. I had no idea where in China I was, how I would get back to my hostel, or where the food and beer I'd been promised was, but the tea was delicious so I kept sipping.

Ten varieties of tea later, and yet another woman came in to deliver receipts. They were written in Chinese, obviously, so Janie continued translating. "500 Yuan... each." 

My friends and I stared at each other in shock. We hadn't been given a menu, and we had never expected to rack up a bill of $75 American dollars each. We looked to Janie hoping to find similar shock in her face, but all we saw were her sparkling headband and cheerful smile flashing back at us.

So we paid. We came out of the little room to find our four other friends similarly awestruck by the price of the tea ceremony, and the distinct suspicion that we'd all been scammed.

Janie stayed behind at the tea house, where she had clearly come from in the first place, and bid us farewell before we walked back out into the cold, dark alleyway. We walked away in silence, with absolutely no idea where we were going. We pulled our beanies back down over our ears.

Grabbag

Randomness and highlights from a week in Vietnam, in no particular order, with no particular meaning.

The view from the bar that I brought my laundry to.

Bag of laundry in one hand, Tiger beer in the other. Travel will definitely push the limit on what you're willing to carry around with you. We've even got a backpack in this one.

 Kem Bach Dang ice cream topped with pineapple, figs, and my first strawberry since leaving the United States. Amy's face says it all.

Peace and quiet.

Drink menu...

... I ordered the avocado shake instead (didn't order the American flag). I'm still wondering what a "Sex on the Pool" is. 

My final journal entry before boarding the ship: 

Vietnam was the most all-encompassing port yet. Educational, culural, visual, fun!, entertaining, tasty, emotional... the most meaningful.

Catching a Buzz

My good friend and seasoned traveler Leah Olson discovered weasel coffee during the several months that she lived and backpacked in Vietnam. She regurgitates what she found in an article about the country for Ethos Magazine, which I was proud to provide the photos for.

I often write in coffee shops - I settle into a freshly brewed cup of java and flow to the caffeine buzz that follows, attempting to sync head and hands completely as I convert rambling thoughts into text-heavy journal pages. Here's a direct excerpt from one of the best coffee producers in the world.

I'm in tune with the rhythm of the world today. I'm marching to the beat of whatever grand drum is pounding out there and somehow finding contentment in the midst of the insane chaos that is Ho Chi Minh. Maybe it's timing, maybe I'm becoming a skilled traveler, or maybe I lucked out. I'm sipping caramel coffee at Trung Nguyen. Body and mind are at peace while buzzing motos speed past, flashing lights in the coffee shop window. We're in writing moods, occasionally stopping to share excerpts, jotting and sipping. We are right in line with today's cadence. While in Vietnam I'm finding the universe. 

"Lip-Sweat Warrior Water"

It’s water. Deliciously frothy, light and crisp lip-sweat warrior water.

I wrote this statement stuck to a plastic chair in the mucky humidity of a fishbowl food court in an outside shopping mall, pillows of steam clamming my face from every direction. The pillows are drifting from lines of food stands of all sorts. One for curry, one for dim sum, one for sushi, one for fresh fruit, one for pad thai… the list goes on.

And then, in the middle of it all, is a food stand dedicated to Tiger beer. Just Tiger. In 22 ounce bottles. Only 22 ounce bottles.

It’s on tap in seven countries, and available in 60, but I could only find it in those big bottles. They would immediately accumulate a layer of watery condensation, much like the beer inside.

Typically I’m more of a dark brew devotee, but there was something about the Tiger that I couldn’t put down. Apparently there’s something in the water, too, because Tiger has been internationally recognized by brewmaster’s associations since Heineken crafted the first batch in 1930. It won the 2004 World Beer Cup and the 2005 Wine & Spirit International Beer Challenge. And it won me over the week I visited Malaysia. 

Family-Style Feasting

Deep-fried prawns and a round of Tiger Beer. It seems as if our menu orders arrive before we can even sit down on the plastic chairs in the restaurant. The cheery man, presumably the owner, serving us moves hastily to deliver the Heineken-crafted Singapore beers and a plate of sizzling hot seafood onto the plastic sheet covering the lawn table at which we’re seated. There are three of these tables; one of them serves as a cash register where the owner sits behind a box of bills, pretending to read his newspaper, but actually peering over its edge to see that any empty plates are quickly cleared and any dwindling beers are replaced. He never asks us if we need another 32 ounces; he just keeps them coming.

Much like the beers, the heaping plates of food that we order seem to come out of nowhere. We’re dining in a long, skinny concrete room with high ceilings and what looks like open garage doors on either side. There are no windows, the closest bathroom is probably two blocks away and there isn’t a back room or a food prep area. We don’t even smell food from where we’re sitting.

We don’t hesitate, though, to order a large meal from the mystery kitchen, and we certainly don’t mind all the beer on this burning hot day. After a few days in Malaysia, we’ve realized that tiny concrete hole-in-the-wall lawn chair parties are a Pangkor Island local treat not to be missed.

The owner doesn’t hesitate in bringing out our feast: shrimp cabbage salad with orange slices, thick black rice in lemongrass curry, bamboo shoots and chicken, green bean noodle soup, and spicy scallops swimming in coconut water. The once-oversized table is now laden with carefully arranged fresh ingredients that we transfer to our plates family-style with a drizzle of chili paste that we wash down with Tiger swigs. Food coma is inevitable.

A violent burst of island rainstorm begins outside the warehouse-esk tunnel. We can see steam rising from the hot streets. Another round of Tiger please. And some coconut ice cream with durian fruit to top it all off.

Sunday Brunch

I’m six beers deep rummaging through a 3-foot by 3-foot blue plastic bucket of chicken seeking to devour my next piece of meat. It’s a challenge to get past the many hands grabbing into the bucket; I’ve got to act fast to feast on the rapidly disappearing pile of poultry.

There are one hundred plus hungry mouths surrounding me and they’re all smeared with barbeque sauce, and dripping with beer. We don’t have napkins, or silverware, or even chairs. Our standing, at this point stumbling, bodies pack the entire township block for Mazoli’s barbeque. Booming beats and freestyle rap rhythms sound in the background. Smoke from sizzling meat fills remaining light in the sky just before sunset.

An hour prior to the raging feast, I was cheering bottles with students from the University of Cape Town. I even made drunken, pathetic attempts to spout out rhymes to rap music with some locals clad in shoulder boom boxes.

An hour before that I walked across the street to use the facilities. I had to meander through the masses crowding the street, shoulder bumping dancers and stepping on rappers’ toes.

An hour before that we ordered our protein bucket. My comrades laughed at me when I asked for a menu. The waitress took our order and asked where we might be sitting. “We’ll be around,” says my buddy Ned.

Ned has been in South Africa for half a year now. He’s study abroad at UCT and showing us around while our vessel is docked at the Waterfront. Ned casually suggested that morning that we go to a Sunday barbeque. It sounded low-key.

Ned brought us to the convenience store down the road upon arrival at the township. He pointed out that most of the people filling up the block were coming straight from church. He grabs a six-pack off the shelf, and I suggest we split it at lunch. Through chuckles he responds, “Get your own—you have some time to kill. I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. We’re going to a brai, for Christ’s sake!”

Countries as Appetizers

Of all the reasons to travel, trying new foods is high on my list. Much thanks to foodie parents, I’ve adopted the “try everything once” attitude that served my plate and palate well around the globe. On the last day in Namibia, I went back to to Kücki’s Pub for round two of the most delectable, garlic infused and dripping with cheese, melt-in-your-mouth oysters that were so good you had to close your eyes while you slurped them out of the shell.

They were a definite step up from the fried cheese dripping with maple syrup that I ate in Brazil, though even that was unexpectedly delicious.

Namibian adventures concluded with that plate of oysters, but the world sampling would continue in South Africa.