In the next few months, we will see more US highways and scenic backroads than many Americans do in a lifetime. So it will be, as we attempt to lug all of our belongings to one spot in New Mexico, where we intend to purchase a house. And I don’t want to get into a conversation right now about the ecological irresponsibility involved in criss-crossing North America by car. Believe me, all that Catholic guilt of my upbringing weighs heavily enough on my mind. Some things simply must be done. So here we go.
The first leg of our great migration — an unfortunate and unexpected deviation from the original plan — began this week as we set out from the Milwaukee area to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula for a funeral. The UP, as it is known, is home to the Yoopers, a friendly bunch up here, with a distinctive localized take on the English language.
This region is also known for its fishing, and so we stopped at a little market in Lena, Wisconsin, along the way and picked up a massive hunk of Great Lakes smoked whitefish for a whopping $3.30. That fish was exquisite with a side of Wisconsin cheese. Yum. Yum. Yum. If ever you find yourself in Lena, do stop at Wagner’s Super Market and visit the perky man behind the meat and fish counter (he sells smoked chub and homemade sausage, too).
I don’t usually do this. I mean, I haven’t done this in a long time–spending my Saturday in a bar, drinking from lunch til dinner and into the night. But hey, I finished a manuscript, my brother and his girlfriend stopped by, and 20 minutes later we were at Mo’s for St. Patrick’s Day. We were there for a long, long time. And then, we were at the House of Guinness. Now, anyone who has EVER spent St. Patrick’s Day in Butte, Montana, will tell you there is no St. Patrick’s Day beyond Butte. But for Wisconsin, Mo’s and the House did a darned good job.
There was no lack of people-watching opportunities…
Ass hat advertising
Leprechaun bling-bling
Wee ones with bags
There was no lack of drinking opportunities…
Many beers
One dark beer
One green beer
And plenty of curious eating opportunities…
We decided this was the equivalent of a corned-beef chimichanga
And when all was said and drunk, the Coates House had plenty of traditional fare awaiting in the kitchen…
Our guides, Sylvester and Tony, with hunting dog on a Kelabit trail
Remember the pig chase? If you’ve been a reader here for a while, you may recall the story of a wild-boar hunt in the Kelabit Highlands of Sarawak. This wasn’t the entire story. What I didn’t tell you at the time was the reason that prompted our presence in these forests: ancient burial sites. Dozens of megaliths, burial jars and other archaeological treasures are scattered throughout the Kelabit jungles. These sites have never been studied by archaeologists (yet), and the Kelabit people are struggling to save a heritage they know little about. Many of these highland forests are slated for logging. Locals worry they may lose the keys to their past.
You can read more in the current issue of Archaeology (or the online abstract).
One of Tony’s hunting dogs with burial jar in the jungle
The manuscript is out of my hands and in the sweet care of FedEx. I don’t even have a photo to give you. I dropped it off at 10:30, the Friday before St. Paddy’s Day, and we went straight for a few beers. What better time for a good Guinness?
Beautiful beets. I have a thing for fruits of the earth that have the ability to produce such incredible colors. Same with red dragonfruit — there’s simply no messing with nature that intense!
Ever since we hopped off the plane from Asia and stepped into a Midwest blizzard, I’ve been cold. My feet are cold, my hands are cold, and my stomach craves warmth (which is different from heat). So I kept thinking of borscht, and when my mom’s birthday rolled around last weekend, I knew that’s what I would make. Everyone around here likes beets. But curiously, I’d never made borscht before. So I did a little research. I remembered the flavors that went into a delightful dish Jerry had concocted several years ago, and I came up with an amalgam of a recipe that definitely requires a bib. Now, I understand my mother talked to at least one person who wrinkled her nose at the mere thought of borscht. But she hasn’t tried this borscht. This borscht deserves a chance. Here’s what it takes:
1 1/2 pounds beef marrow bones
2 small sliced yellow onions
2 sliced carrots
3 quarts water
2 stalks celery, sliced
1 bunch of fresh dill
1 bunch of fresh parsley
2 teaspoons black peppercorns
5 bay leaves
4 smashed garlic cloves (you can add more, but I was cooking for my father, too!)
1 teaspoon caraway
8 small to medium beets
4 interesting potatoes, diced
3 sliced tomatoes
3 small yellow onions, sliced thinly
3 large shallots, sliced thinly
glug of cider vinegar
glob of butter
juice of 1 lemon
salt to taste
4 cups chopped cabbage
4 teaspoons tomato paste
Sour cream, bacon, parsley and dill to serve
Place celery, half the dill, half the parsley, bay leaves and peppercorns in cloth cooking bag. Tie and toss into stock pot with bones, water and salt. Bring to boil, skim foam as necessary and simmer for at least an hour with remaining stock ingredients (large onion, carrots, garlic).
Meanwhile, pre-heat oven (yeah! I like having access to an oven again!) to 375 degrees. Wash, dry and peel beets. Wrap in foil and bake 1 hour 15 minutes. Remove, cool, dice. Sprinkle with part of the lemon juice.
Remove meat bones from stock. Add tomatoes, potatoes, cabbage, tomato paste, butter, and continue to simmer on low. Meanwhile, fry as much bacon as you like. Cool and crumble for topping. Drain off most of the oil, then fry onions, shallots and caraway in the same pan with cider vinegar. When nicely browned, add to the soup. Add remaining lemon juice to taste, and continue to cook the soup until hearty. Just before removing from heat, add fresh parsley and dill.
Serve with sour cream, bacon crumbles and more fresh parsley and dill. And don’t forget the bib if you’re messy like me!
Despite the peculiarities of American eats, I am grateful and thankful for many things here in the homeland — things we couldn’t find in Thailand, or wouldn’t buy for the ridiculous price; things I simply appreciate wherever I am. My list is long, but a few items immediately come to mind:
* Friends and family with dinner tables. Not that we have no friends in Asia, but I always love a good dinner party (big or small). Like last night. We surprised our dear friends in Oconomowoc, barging in on their dinner preparations. They made a fantastic laap with sticky rice and homemade chili sauce. We finally met their newborn (who arrived after our last visit in October) and caught up with their tortilla-loving, herb-eating 2-year-old. The four of us adults lingered over the table (coffee table on the living-room floor), talking well into the night.
* Wine for drinking. Say no more.
* Wine for cooking. Options beyond rice wine.
* Microbrews. After all, we’re here in the land of New Glarus. Really, I’m not an alkie. But here’s my favorite out-of-context quote so far this trip: “All I know is my brother George drank the most and he lived the longest.”
* Cheese. So much cheese. The local Sendik’s has a walk-in refrigerated cheese room.
* Mustard. Brown mustard, yellow mustard, mustard with champagne.
* Pickled herring. Love it.
* Pears. Love them, too.
* Walnuts. With fruit and yogurt in the morning.
* Ham. Thick and smoky.
* NPR. And the local affiliate. For all those oh-so-American drives to and from the grocery store.
We’re back in the USA. Last night Jerry grabbed a supermarket vine-ripened tomato for our dinner salad. There on the squeaky-clean skin was a sticker advertising not a particular brand of tomato, but Peter Pan the movie on DVD.
We spent last week in the distant forests of Preah Vihear province. Go to Angkor and head northeast three hours. Follow the bumpy dirt roads through empty lands, past ancient temples rarely visited, past CMAC camps and fields delineated for landmine clearing. Turn down a sand road to Tmatboey, a village of 1,800 people and a couple hundred huts on stilts. There in the nearby Kulen Promtep Wildlife Sanctuary, you will find two of the world’s rarest birds, the giant ibis and the white-shouldered ibis. These magnificent birds feed and nest around watering holes known as trapaengs, which were built in the Angkor era.
That’s why we visit, to see the birds, to work on a story about the Tmatboey ecotourism project established with the help of the Wildlife Conservation Society. Accommodation is rough — a communal room of slat beds and mosquito nets, bath by bucket, car-battery power for one light and a fan at night. But the village is the picture of quintessential Khmer life. And the kitchen: full of good vibes and good food.
A few of the Tmatboey village women have joined the project’s “Cook Team,” waking each morning by 3 to feed birders at 4 before their pre-dawn treks to the field. The women have learned to cook Western dishes such as spaghetti and omelet, but they quickly discover my taste for local food. In the early morning darkness, I forgo bread and jam, and ask for rice with fish instead. “Fish? You like fish?” They are delighted. The nearest river is many miles away, but the women arrange for a fish to be bought for my benefit. Every meal afterward, I am presented with a personal plate of fish, fried with garlic or mixed in a lemongrass, shallot and peanut curry. My love of chili intrigues the women further, and along with each fish they serve me a side bowl of hot red peppers.
I make several new friends on this trip, through my interest in their work. We form a bond. And when I leave for Siem Reap, for a return to bright lights and paved roads and telephones, several of the Tmatboey women tell me they will miss me like a loved one; they will love me like a sister.
You see, when people ask me why I travel or what makes me go where I go, it is days like these (rather than days like these). Just a few days in a hot wooden house in a faraway forest. Just a few days in a dark kitchen with stoves of fire and women who tend them — and so quickly the bond that forms. They speak no English; I practice my sketchy Khmer. But all we really need to get started is the language of food.
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for March, 2007.
Welcome to my ramblings on food, drink, travel, politics, history and all the other avenues that converge in life. I’m a journalist, author and media trainer; and for five years I was Gourmet's Asia correspondent until the magazine's recent closure. I’m a bit obsessive in the kitchen. Much like my mother, I start thinking about dinner well before breakfast….
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