Just when we thought we knew how to eat for optimal athletic performance, the science shifts on us. For women, anyway. Or maybe it doesn’t—read my musings from the murky world of sports nutrition, today in The Faster Times. And tell me: what do you eat before and after you exercise? Does protein lift you up or put you down?

I got a yen for wild betel in Vieng Xay, in a laid-back local market that sold an assortment of lunch pickings—sticky rice, sour bamboo, tangy dollops of jaeow, spicy little meatballs and grilled buffalo (above, middle, left of the balls) that had been mixed with onions and spices, wrapped in betel leaves and grilled over flames. Something happens when wild betel is cooked. It pops with fragrance, in an earthy, minty, almost flowery bouquet. It’s stunningly delicious, and I know of no other leaf that compares. (Plus, it fights atherosclerosis—at least in rabbits.)

In Vietnamese, that leaf is known as la lot. And by the time we were deep inside Vietnam a week later, we’d eaten our way through myriad mixtures of meat cooked in wild betel (usually grilled but sometimes fried). In Sapa, our Hmong friend stuffed a batch of betel leaves with ground pork and spring onion, nothing more, and plopped them into a splattering wok of hot oil. They fried to a beautiful brownish crisp—and tasted heavenly.

We’re back home in New Mexico now, but we’re blessed with a great Asian market. I found betel (it’s sold on the stem; if packaged neatly on a tray with stems removed, it’s probably the chewing betel —not what you want for this dish). Using Andrea Nguyen’s recipe as a guide, and recalling the flavors we’d had in Vieng Xay, this is the recipe that emerged:

Ingredients:
1 lb ground beef
1 package wild betel (about 25 leaves)
1 stalk lemongrass
several cloves green garlic
salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon fish sauce
1 tablespoon curry powder (I used Penzeys Maharajah)

Method:
1. Soak several bamboo skewers in water.

2. Mince one stalk lemongrass (tender insides only) and a few cloves of fresh green garlic (or ordinary garlic, small fragrant cloves preferred for a sweeter, less biting flavor)

3. Mix ground beef (I used lean grass-fed, which tended toward the dry side; I might add a bit of minced pork next time) with lemongrass, garlic, salt and black pepper to taste, a few squirts of fish sauce and 1 tablespoon Penzeys Maharajah curry powder. (My brother and sister-in-law had given us a whole box of Penzeys curries just before we left the country. We’d hardly had a chance to use them; this was a perfect excuse). Let sit at least one hour.

4. Clean the leaves and flatten, placing shiny side down on the counter and stem pointing toward you. Fill each leaf with a small, long strip of meat mixture. Roll the leaf lengthwise around the meat and skewer. The skewer will hold the leaves in place. It’s OK to leave a little extra space around the ends of the meat, but don’t overfill the leaves.

5. Drizzle the skewers with oil and grill over medium heat with vents open until leaves are slightly charred (but don’t burn). Serve with your favorite spicy sauce. I made a Lao-style jaeow with smoked morita chiles pounded with garlic, galangal and fish sauce.

It was an easy, extraordinarily delicious success—thanks to those ambrosial leaves. Some recipes call for grape leaves as substitutes, but I’m with Andrea on this: grape leaves offer none of the fragrance. HOWEVER, I’ve been thinking of using grape leaves (since we have ginormous quantities growing in the backyard) in a different sort of way—stuffed with ground lamb, perhaps, and Mediterranean spices? Dolmas with just the meat and spice, minus the rice? Drizzled with lemon and olive oil, served with hummus and olives? Just a thought….

WARNING: Some readers might find the following photos offensive. This is the third in a three-part series on the lives and deaths of Asian pigs. Read about a Cambodian pig slaughter in The Faster Times. In much of Asia, butchery is a mundane duty, and the average villager knows precisely the origins of his dinner. This pig was killed for a celebration, a special event. The slaughter took just a few moments, swift and as careful as could be, given the setting and circumstances. Not a single part would go to waste.

As I noted in The Faster Times, I wrote this piece because I eat pig and I want to know, exactly, the steps that lead from field to plate. I realize many readers might find this offensive (even an ad for a Memorial Day sale on grass-fed ground beef at my local co-op drew criticism from vegetarians). But the bottom line remains: much of the world eats meat. Yet not everyone has the chance to see just how an animal becomes food.

A few weeks ago, Jerry and I had the remarkable opportunity to witness an animist ceremony honoring the forest gods in a northern Lao village. Read the story in The Faster Times, and take a photographic scroll through that afternoon here. The villagers sacrificed a pig, offered bits of it to the spirits and divvied up the rest among dozens of families. This is the second in a three-part series on the lives and deaths of Asian pigs.

A pig wanders freely through Sophoon, Laos.

What do Lao villagers think about free-range vs. industrial farming? Find out in The Faster Times. This is the first in a three-part series on the lives and deaths of Asian pigs.

I wanted to add a P.S. here. While the article focuses on pigs, some of the villagers I interviewed had pointed opinions about free-range chickens as well. A young woman named Taeng, who raises a variety of farm animals, said she couldn’t really imagine cramming her chickens into a coop without letting them run freely. Ït’s not good for the animal,” she said.

Neither she nor her mother, Noi, had ever tasted industrial chicken, but they were certain village chicken tastes better. Her birds have thick, sturdy legs, she said. Industrial chickens, she imagined, must have very soft, flimsy legs from sitting in a coop all day. She didn’t think that would taste very good. “Farmed chickens, their legs are not too strong,” she said. “Chickens fed by nature are best.” By that, she meant chickens free to peck the earth for the food of their choosing.

En route to Boualapha recently, we stopped for a light roadside lunch of sour pickled fish (som paa) and sour pickled pork (som muu), both of which had been grilled in banana leaves. Each little packet opened to the most potent pate-like wedges (white fish, pink pork) with a firm consistency and an incredibly sour kick in the tongue. Just a little bit of som mixed with a ball of sticky rice, alternated with an accompanying jaeow: delicious! The jaeow maengda came in little plastic cups from Thailand–so the label actually had the Thai name, nam prik maengda, though this same variety is made and eaten on this side of the river, too. It was a particularly dry and crumbly style, slightly sweet, with the consistency of pork flossy. Its ingredient of note was a water cockroach that lives in the countryside.

The shop owner told us she makes som every day with nothing more than fermented fish (or fermented pork), garlic (and lots of it), cooked sticky rice, salt and MSG.

Breakfast, Day 5

Last month, we spent nine days in the field with Jim Harris’s team in rural Phongsali province. We camped at the local dispensary and showered with cold river water, which was piped uphill to the village. The team hired two young women to cook, clean and launder. Our meals were served communally, outside, on an old red table. There weren’t enough benches and chairs, so we stood around baskets of sticky rice and the plat du jour. Each person paid 30,000 kip ($3.50) for three daily meals.

In those nine days, I kept a diary of what we ate. With a few small exceptions (late meals, off trekking), I managed to record almost every meal. I present that diary here because I find it a fascinating telltale of village life, its limitations, its repetitions and routines. Villagers bestowed the team with little gifts of homegrown garlic and backyard tamarind. But after the novelty faded (Sophoon is unaccustomed to foreign guests), I don’t think our cooks quite knew what to do with us. I would have loved more of the roots and vegetables that villagers collect in the forest, as well as the greens they grow in their garden. I offered to pay extra for fresh lettuce, spinach, herbs and other greens–but the residents of Sophoon almost never sell their vegetables, so the concept somewhat confused them. When something new appeared on the table, it likely had come strapped to the back of a dusty moto, driven by itinerant peddlers who make the daily trek from Dien Bien Phu, not far across the border. These sorts of travels make me a more appreciative person. The surprise of a fresh mango or mustard leaves tickled my palate with delight.

I’m a lover of simple, spicy farm food; homegrown and homemade. But it didn’t take long for my tongue to tire. By Day 3, I was sick of fish (and egg, which neither Jerry nor I eat). Of course, repetition is a matter of life in Sophoon. Villagers eat what’s in season, what falls off the tree, what pops through the soil in the forest, or what comes through on the occasional truck to Vietnam.

On the other hand, Sophoon is an organic locavore heaven. When a cook walked into the kitchen hut with a chicken, we ate it for dinner that night. And Michael Pollan would approve: nothing on this menu contained more than five ingredients. With a couple of canned exceptions, absolutely everything originated in the hills between Sophoon and Dien Bien Phu.

Dinner ’round the red table

So goes our week of village sustenance (with comments in parentheses):

DAY 1
Dinner
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow (or jeow—spicy paste made with toasted chiles. More on this to come.)
-Minced fish with chile
-Plain boiled cabbage
-Green & yellow beans with tomato, onion, chile, garlic

DAY 2
Breakfast
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Fried egg with green onion, garlic, tomato, chile
-Boiled cabbage with garlic and chile

Lunch
-Sticky rice
-Red Jaeow
-Boiled cabbage
-Fried small fish

Dinner
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Fragrant fish soup with lemongrass (which team leader Vilaisack plucked from a field after a bomb demolition)
-Fish laap

Team leader Vilaisack with lemongrass cut from a field near a bomb demolition

DAY 3
Breakfast
-Sticky rice
-Very garlicky red jaeow
-Boiled cabbage and tomato with garlic
-Small fried fish

Lunch
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow, super garlicky and juicy
-Omelet with tomato, chile, onion
-Spicy slightly bitter fish (from Dien Bien Phu) stuffed with lemongrass in a soup of tomato, garlic and local sour fruit

Dinner
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Omelet
-Fish/tomato/lemongrass soup
(This is getting old and the team is griping. Only fish and egg, egg and fish. We lobby for more vegetables.)

DAY 4
Breakfast
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Omelet
(This is really old. And skimpy. We try to get the cooks to buy vegetables from the locals. It costs 3,000 kip, 35 cents, for a kilogram of any vegetables. We offer to pay extra if necessary.)

Lunch
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Pork with boiled garlic, tomato, chile
-Mustard greens soup with chile and black pepper
(Variety! A distinct improvement.)

Dinner
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Steamed cassava leaves (which the team collected after a demolition)
-Dried salty crispy beef
-Pork with tomato, yellow beans, chile, garlic

DAY 5
Breakfast
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Dried toasted buffalo skin strips (hard as rock)
-Yesterday’s leftover pork cooked with garlic, chile, spinach
-Minced pork fat cooked in tomato garlic broth for a Lao khao soy-style sauce
-Bowl of fresh raw lettuce leaves
(A pig was purchased before yesterday’s lunch, and we’re still eating it).

Lunch
-Sticky rice
-Fresh green roasted chile jaeow, super hot
-Pork fat with shredded tomato and cabbage
-Mustard green soup with hunks of pork fat

Dinner
(Jim succeeds in organizing “Mexico night.”)
-Raw cabbage leaves to use as tortillas
-Canned black refried beans cooked with fresh garlic
-“Salsa” of cooked tomatoes, onions, chile
(Jim uses the cabbage to wrap the ingredients like a taco. It works. The guys each try one and declare it sep, meaning delicious. Then they eat their sticky rice, pork fat with greens and green chile jaeow and deer meat of mysterious origins.)

Jim explains “Mexico Night” tacos to the team…

…which everyone enjoys before reverting to the usual sticky rice.

DAY 6
Breakfast
-Sticky rice
-Green jaeow
-Mild bok choy soup with chile and garlic
-Dark dried beef (we’re told beef, but it looks distinctly like the previous night’s deer) fried with bok choy, garlic, onion, a bit of tomato and pork fat

Lunch
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Dried beef pieces
-Beef, bok choy and garlic soup
-Fresh sweet mango

Dinner
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Fish soup (only fish and gingery broth, no vegetables)
-Watermelon (which I bought off a truck that stopped in the village and dumped its stash)

DAY 7
Breakfast
-Sticky rice
-Green jaeow with added tamarind
-Cilantro and green chile soup
-Steamed cassava leaves
-Canned sardines and tomato
-Omelet

Lunch
-Sticky rice
-Green jaeow
-Papaya salad with peanuts
-Mustard greens soup
-Green beans fried with chicken, chile, garlic

Dinner
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Green beans with chicken

DAY 8
Breakfast
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Boiled mustard greens soup, just a little chile and salt
-Plain boiled green beans
-Fried meaty bacon with little fat

Dinner
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Tamarind chicken soup
-Chopped “grenade” chicken with green beans
(In addition, I cook canned tuna, tomato, onion, garlic and chile.)

DAY 9
Breakfast
-Sticky rice
-Red juicy jaeow
-Fresh lettuce leaves
-Canned sardines in tomato sauce
-Sweet potato ginger soup
(This is good. Mild, young, fragrant ginger slightly sweetened from the potatoes. I think of making it at home: start with chicken stock, some small fresh garlic and garlic greens and/or chives, ginger, potato chunks, dried red chile, salt. If not using regular potatoes, add a pinch of palm sugar.)

Lunch
-Sticky rice
-Red jaeow
-Melon soup with green onion and grenade chicken
-Papaya salad
-Fried forest ferns with chile, garlic, fish (Borneo-style but these ferns have a leafier consistency… now why couldn’t we have had these sooner?

… is monkey-licious. But you have to wait for it.

Waiting in line (that’s what an hour of your life looks like) for Gorilla BBQ loveliness.

NOTE: Somehow barbecue seems frivolous and least important, in light of what’s happening in Haiti. The images erase even a vigorous appetite; they remind me of the tsunami five years ago. My heart goes to Haiti and its people. And yet. Life goes on. Jerry was kind enough to write about his recent excursion to one of the Bay Area’s most famous BBQ joints, an adventure I had to miss. Enjoy….

One day last week while the Rambler stayed behind to “work,” I joined my folks for a jaunt up the California coastline to sample a local phenomenon: Gorilla BBQ, in Pacifica.

Run from a converted railroad boxcar with a smokestack out the back (“If it’s smokin’ we’re open!”), the menu is a blessedly simple mix-n-match of: BBQ pork ribs, chicken, beef brisket, pulled pork, hot links and a Philly cheese steak sandwich. With regulation BBQ sides. In a nod to local non-carniverous freaks, they also offer a portabella mushroom. I think it may be a trick: I saw no one order it.

The Right Honorable Mr. Rich Bacci, co-founder, in situ, taking orders. Full menu behind.

It took us a solid hour of waiting in line in the parking lot to get inside to place an order. All orders are carry-out: there are no tables. They open at noon and close when they run out of meat, which may occasionally last until 8 p.m., so go early. And if you have the chance, you will go early again and again and again.

A man who loves his work.

There is a simian theme here…

Simian theme continued.

The meat itself is fantastic. Utterly fantastic. Over-the-top fantastic. Obviously soaked for days in sugary-spicy goodness and then roasted for hours upon hours, the pork is dreamy-succulent, and (surprisingly) not too terribly greasy. Personal preference would call for a little less sugar and more chili and vinegar in the sauce, but common North American palates would likely disagree.

Pulled pork de-lite, with beans, sauce, corn, cornbread and coleslaw.

And, unlike the offerings at so many BBQ joints, the sides were properly cooked and flavorful, not globby starch lumps.

But Gorilla BBQ is really about the ribs. Which are whole ribs, nearly a foot long, including the tips and other pieces often trimmed off and sold as separate bits by cruel butchers.

“Falling off the bone,” “mouth-watering,” “succulent,” “heart-clogging,” “I need a bib” and all the other usual rib-descriptors apply, but in this case they are all fully justified. You also get a whole lot of pig for your yuan, a fairly uncommon occurrence in the Golden State.

BBQ Ribs: Ribs, the Whole Ribs, and Nothing But the Ribs, so Help Me God. If this doesn’t fill you up, there’s a hole in you somewhere.

A Californian “surfing,” or simply wishing she had some good BBQ instead of a pointy foam board on her head.

Big, meaty and real, one more time.

The one single drawback to Gorilla BBQ – no beer. They should sell mini-kegs of Anchor Steam to go. Then I would be 110% gruntled.

-Jerry

Best wishes for a grand new decade! May the new year bring good health, happiness and a life steeped in richness. May you enjoy plenty of fulfilling dinners such as the one pictured above. Lately, we’ve had Hmong food on the brain (and on the tongue), and of course our research involves a plenitude of tasting. What you see above: fragrant beef laap, green papaya and cabbage salad, and a whole roasted chicken swimming in goodness, moistened with coconut and spiced with chiles, peanuts, lime, fish sauce and cilantro—all of this surrounded by friends and family eating and chatting, and warming the house with good cheer. It’s a spread that reflects the evolving Hmong kitchen in America. We’ll show and tell you much more about this cuisine in due time. Meanwhile, celebrate well. Happy New Year!

Sunday morning mess

…especially when the holidays coincide with someone’s birthday. And especially when that birthday happens to be a biggie. What better excuse for a surprise? It took weeks of elaborate planning and cunning artistry (I’m a bit disturbed to discover how well I can lie). The stories involved sick cats, holiday recipes and neighbors who needed a ride to the airport—only to pick up their parked car and enjoy the afternoon in town. The birthday man was surprised, indeed. He literally fell in the doorway to the greeting of friends hiding in every corner.

We all ate heartily on Saturday night. That part involved his sister’s ingenious idea to cover the kitchen table in dishes he’s loved through the ages: mac-n-cheese as a toddler, pork chops as a teen, enchiladas in his 20s and Indian curry thereafter. Add to that spinach-feta pasta, Burmese golden rice, overflowing cheese plates, piles of olives and grapes, mountains of hummus (yes, with garlic!), chips and crackers, homemade fudge and Indian barfi for dessert. Don’t even get me started on libations…. Every guest had a hand or two in the celebratory kitchen.

But I must tell you in detail about the curry: Velvet Butter Chicken (Makhani Murgh). The recipe comes from a $2 gem I found a few months ago in a used bookstore: Julie Sahni’s Classic Indian Cooking. My kitchen hasn’t been the same since. “This chicken preparation is a classic example of the true flair and skill of Indian cooks,” Sahni writes. Well put.

Here’s what you do: you make tandoori chicken in your oven. Not just one, but two. You chop the little birds and rub the meat with tenderizer and lemon. Then you marinate the chicken for many hours in a mixture of garlic, ginger, roasted cumin, ground cardamom, red pepper, paprika and yogurt. When ready, you brush the birds with ghee and bake them in a hot oven, at least 500 degrees.

Much later, you cut the chicken into many pieces. You blend together tomatoes, green chiles and ginger. Then you essentially make ghee, using a whole stick of butter, which is used to brown the chicken pieces. Add cumin and paprika to the remaining butter, then pour in the tomato puree and thicken. THEN you add the chicken, salt and 1 1/2 cups of heavy cream (this is NOT a light recipe). Add MORE butter and plenty of garam masala (she’s got a good recipe, heavy on the cardamom, plus cinnamon, cloves, peppercorns, cumin and coriander). When it’s all cooked, top with cilantro and you’ll taste it: you’ve created a little pot of heaven. It is simply a divine party dish, for any occasion. But the heavy cream, generous butter and roasted spices make it perfect, I think, for this festive winter season.

Happy holidays. May every kitchen be so richly blessed. And may every kitchen shelf contain a copy of Julie Sahni’s classic book.