All posts filed under: Monday Meal Review

Monday Meal Review: Papua New Guinea

I hover over the dining table, scooping the tapioca and banana mush onto banana leaves to make saksak. The deep green leaves are soft and supple – completely relaxed from a pass over the licking blue flames on my range. I work slowly, eventually rolling each leaf into a rectangle shape, taking care not to spill any filling. I tuck each bundle securely in the steamer and, when I’m done, I click on the burner. A few moments later, vapors slip out between the pot lid and the pot. Little wisps of banana scented air. The house smells beautiful. Real life: later that night no one would eat these little rectangles of chewy, slippery banana tapioca dumplings. No. One. I had retreated to work on my speech for the Tulsa Global Alliance’s Global Vision Dinner (350 attendees – eek!) and left them to eat this Global Table alone. When I check the fridge the next morning, the little green packets are still there. Forlorn. With shifty eyes, Keith claims he didn’t see them. Later, I …

Monday Meal Review: Panama

A canal cuts straight through Panama, dividing the skinny country and two great continents. Ships no longer have to pass around the southern-most tip of South America to circumnavigate the globe as they once did. They just slip right on through her middle. Each time a ship passes, 200 million liters of water slosh and gush through the opening. Incredible, the effect of a “little divider” like the Panama canal. Keith’s new job means he’s traveling a lot. One week of every month he just … vanishes, while Ava and I muddle through our “normal.” I spend the time he’s gone a little divided, like the canal, trying not to let all my energy rush out with his ship… trying ever so hard not to miss him (I’m a Cancer, need I say more?). It’s always hard to be the one left behind – the one not on adventure. The one living the normal, everyday, here I am, still hanging out life. Yet, after spending a week so divided, there is nothing better than coming back together. For …

Monday Meal Review: Palau

Keith left me last week. He didn’t leave-leave me, but he went away for an extended business trip that meant he’d be at a motel in Vermont for his birthday. If that isn’t wretched enough, in an unfortunate twist of fate, I came down with an incredible self-induced illness caused by accidentally inhaling an aleve pill into my lungs. Ka-plunk. (That’s the sound it made as it plopped into the soft tissue normally dedicated to taking oxygen to my bloodstream). To give you an idea of how inhaling an aleve pill affected my body: I lost 6 pounds in 2 days and within four days developed aspiration pneumonia. This is the kind of miserable illness that makes you wonder if you’re going to make it to see another day, let alone make it long enough for your sweetheart to come home a week later. I don’t know about you, but when my snuggle buddy is nowhere in sight and my three year old still needs lots of active play, despite me being nauseous, sweaty, and full of …

Monday Meal Review: Pakistan

Keith once told me that he hated cilantro. He despised how green and soapy it felt in his mouth and how the little green bits snaked through his teeth, sticking with him throughout the day like a tag-along little brother. This was in the days before our Global Table Adventure, a time when he also hated tomatoes, had no idea what eggplant was, and had never had fresh spinach. A time when one salad per year was a major accomplishment. So, naturally, when I pop the platter of garlic rice on our rough, wooden dining table, I neglect to mention it is tossed with cilantro. After all, cilantro and parsley look remarkably alike. I heave the extra wide spoon into the rice and scoop him a large serving. Leaning in, I say “this is garlic rice,” purring over the syllables as though they themselves are made of ghee. He leans in, sniffs his plate, and digs in. A few stray bits of cilantro flutter dangerously on the edge of his spoon. He chews a moment …

Monday Meal Review: Oman

Curls of frankincense billow towards me. I breathe in slowly through my nose. The house submits to the sweet, deep darkness and I feel the urge to sleep. My body is ready to sink down anywhere – the couch, the bed, the kitchen floor – but, as Robert Frost would say “I have miles to go before I sleep.” I drag the tip of my spoon along the soft white scoop and put the cold ice cream to my lips. I slip into a dream lit by exotic pine, orange, sandlewood and cream. There’s ginger in there, too. This is Frankincense Ice Cream. I look around the empty kitchen. I feel the empty house. There is silence. I shut my eyes and I am in Oman, sitting under a tree feeling nothing but absolutely… pure. When I open my eyes, the house is still empty. “It doesn’t taste like it’s going to kill me,” I whisper to a photo of Ava on the wall. Her 11-day old head is cradled in two hands: mine and Keith’s. My fingers …

Monday Meal Review: Norway

I walk out of the kitchen and the steam immediately slides off my face like a mask. The worst is behind me; one pound of large pink shrimp plucked from the bubbling boil now recline in a cool bowl of ice water. I’m on my way to the dining room with an armful of unlikely friends. First, the mayonnaise. This thick, white creamy spread is never on our table unless guests are present. I grimace, thinking of Ava and Mr. Picky. Oh, how they’ll balk when they see it. Then the capers, a personal favorite. I get lost in their grassy brine, each bite like a prize, bursting in my mouth like a carnival. Despite Keith’s aversion, Ava and I will be happy, this much I know. I also carry a lemon, heavy with juice and canary yellow despite the season. A few fresh sprigs of dill are the finishing touch, their delicate stems like a feather in a hat or a weeping willow, grazing the table with grace. Something I rarely think to use …

Monday Meal Review: Nigeria

I press the glass to my lips. Millions of tiny bubbles burst at once; fireworks in my mouth. Zesty fireworks. If the name is any indication, this Chapman is a serious drink. A drink for gentlemen and poker, with a splash of intrigue. A drink suitable for 007 himself. But one sip in and I know – this is a silly, sing-in-the-shower, dance-with-your-towel-on-your-head kind of drink. This is a sit-in-the-shade-and-sing-to-the-birds kind of drink. What’s in a name, anyway? The drink comes from Nigeria, and so – in a fit of boredom one sweltering afternoon – I look into Nigerian naming traditions. As the air-conditioner whines, I lose myself in a group called the Yoruba who live, in part, in Nigeria. According to Yoruba culture, the naming of the child is a decision of the utmost importance. They believe that the child’s name shapes the life of the child because the name is like a spirit, constantly on a quest to seek out fulfillment. This is how, for example, a Yoruba child can come to be named “kokumo,”or “this …

Monday Meal Review: Niger

THE SCENE We’ve now eaten a meal from 129 countries in the world. Surreal. Wonderful. Delicious. This means we are officially 2/3 done with the Adventure. In November there’ll only be a year left. After cooking the world for this long, certain things come to be expected. Happy bellies, for example. Enriched minds. Stretching ourselves. Growing. All along the way, whether I’m frazzled or relaxed, hungry or full, I hear the same question again and again from curious readers. “What country has been your favorite, so far?” Oh boy. Talk about a tough question to answer. Every time I hear those words I always feel vaguely uneasy, like someone has asked me who my favorite child is. How could I ever, ever choose one over all the others (theoretically, of course)? Let me stumble through an answer. While I don’t have a favorite per se, I do love making food from countries I know nothing about. Which brings us to this week’s Global Table – Niger. Much of Niger’s traditional food is heat-your-house-up sauces and stews …

Monday Meal Review: Nicaragua

When I say “toxic,” what comes to mind? Is it a food? Is it a person in your life? Is it a lifestyle led by you or someone you know? This week we ate yucca – a tuber known to have toxic bits of cyanide if processed improperly. In the early days of this adventure, I made the mistake of grating up the tough fibers on the inside of the yucca, where these toxins are concentrated. Several hours later this novice error caused me to crash down onto the floor unconscious, only to awake with ringing ears, vertigo, and my insides turned out. Toxicity. It’s not pretty. The reality is, we all have to deal with toxins, whether they come by way of food, people, or lifestyles. Over the last few weeks I’ve had run-ins with all three varieties of toxins, the latest of which is the yucca in our Nicaraguan Global Table (thankfully I knew better this time around and prepared the tuber properly). Toxins do one thing perfectly: they drag us down and suck our …

Monday Meal Review: New Zealand

THE SCENE Anthony Bourdain tumbles down a steep sandy embankment on the New Zealand shore, drug down by the weight of his four wheeler. His body twists and flops like a rag doll, swapping places with the four-wheeler in a death-defying dance. He finally manages to leap out of the way, narrowly escaping a bone crushing end by mere seconds. As the scene replays in slow motion, I white knuckle the couch and hold my breath. One really bad word escapes my lips – consider it a foul-mouthed prayer for his safety – followed immediately by “thank goodness that’s not me.” Seriously. What a lucky, lucky man. I’ve toppled a motorcycle twice now – once during a track day and once on the street. I have zero interest in a GSXR 750 landing on me, let alone a four wheeler. But then I think about my reaction. That fleeting, knee-jerk thought: “Thank goodness that’s not me.” The show was filmed years earlier and half a world away, yet my desire for self-preservation kicks so hard, I find myself a little …

Monday Meal Review: Netherlands

THE SCENE The cakes blow in the breeze. Three girls squirm under the clothesline, each watching their slice sway in front of their nose on a long piece of twine. Every once in a while an overeager child reaches out her hand and grabs for a slice, her eyes fixed on her parents guiltily. Whenever she is caught, giggles gaggle through the air. When the time for the koekhappen comes, we place our hands behind our backs and count off. One. Two. Three. Each child cranes her neck and tries to bite the cake. No one succeeds on the first try – the slices bob and weave like bumper cars. Eventually even the youngest gets a bite; the children’s cheeks glow and eyes sparkle with the success of it all. For me, the best part of this evening is sharing the fellowship of threading the cake on the line together, the anticipation and watching the joy build in everyone’s eyes, and laughing as we struggle to eat a simple piece of cake. So many times …

Monday Meal Review: Nauru

After a few minutes of rummaging through the kitchen, I find a plastic bottle in the refrigerator door, half full of water. The bottle is from Ava’s trip to the zoo a couple of weeks ago and is covered with tigers, zebras, and lions. Apparently, it’s the only bottle in the house. I remove the lid and slowly begin to fill it with iced coffee. For an odd, fleeting moment, I find myself wishing I had more plastic bottles laying around to use. I shake my head at the silliness. “What are you doing, mama?” Ava asks, standing on tiptoe to peer over the counter. Her head is now a good few inches above the counter, growing taller every day. “This is a grownup drink enjoyed in Nauru, made with coffee and milk,” I say, and offer her a tall glass of milk so she doesn’t feel left out. They drink their iced coffee out of old water bottles” I say. “It helps them make less trash.” Ava’s eyes gets big. “It’s good to use …