Discover | Global Table Adventure

About the food of Papua New Guinea

Few sentences succeed at stopping me in my tracks, however last night’s research on Papua New Guinea made me blush and chuckle. I can’t help but share the line that made me react so strongly, as it sums up the culture more succinctly than three pages worth of blabber I could offer: A young bare-breasted woman recently bought as a bride for five pigs may be wearing a digital wristwatch. (1000 Places to See Before You Die) Knock that image around your brain a while. As far as mental images go, the digital wristwatch really is the cherry on top – a snapshot of a bygone era in American style, circa 1980, which is now firmly lodged in the “outdated” category this side of the Pacific. I love every bit of it. As for the pigs – yes, they are so valuable that many tribes use them as currency. The book goes on to describe several regions of Papua New Guinea celebrated for even more dramatic isolation. So untouched by modern influence, these communities remain submerged …

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 …

About the food of Panama

The skinny squiggle in Central America is Panama. Her spine crackles with mountains, while her shores undulate with soft, green hills. This is the tropics and, even in the winter, skirts and flowers flow freely, rum punch spills willy nilly, and banana leaf tamales make an all-star appearance with the likes of arroz con pollo (spiced rice with chicken and olives) [Recipe]. But it’s the butterflies that catch my attention. With more than 1500 species in this tiny country, Panama has the “winged workforce” to fly our dreams into the hills for safe keeping. These butterflies are as plain as can be when resting, but their wings unfold into an electric rainbow of glory in flight. Some say Panama’s namesake is in reference to this “abundance of butterflies.” Friends of ours are potentially moving to Panama, so of course they had lots to say about this week at the Global Table. They assert that ceviche, or fish chemically “cooked” in lime juice is a grand way to spend an afternoon by the seashore. For those who want …

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 …

About the food of Palau

Let’s sink into the sea. Let’s swim with the jelly fish. Snorkel with me to Palau. From deep below her waters (where divers will find barrier reefs and wrecks from World War II), to the top of her lush forests, this island nation is a dream. From overhead she looks less like an island, and more like mossy bumps of land popping up from the ocean. A closer look reveals bridges snaking across these bumps and puffs of island, as well as stones carved out by the sea that, ironically, look like bridges themselves. Trees also overhang the turquoise waters – shading places with names like “Jellyfish lake.” The food is typical of the Pacific islands- you’ll find taro, pandan, and pumpkin. But there’s also an incredible love for Japanese food (especially sushi and sashimi). American food is everywhere. Barbecue sauce [Recipe] makes it’s way on everything from grilled chicken to mussels [Recipe]. To get a better picture, read these words from Emma Krasov of Art and Entertain Me, who traveled there: Palau absorbed culinary influences of Japan, …

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 …

About the food of Pakistan

Pakistan is said to be the birthplace of the tandoori oven, where white-hot walls glow and crackle with spit-fire. These incendiary cylinders char-roast kebabs and breads alike. Although it is only the exceptional hostess that has a tandoori oven in her private home, if I had one, I would use it to cook our cumin seed naan (the one we made back in Afghanistan. P.S. This bread which would also work for a Pakistani meal. P.P.S. Oh, how far our recipes have come haha). Even though I swoon for naan day and night, there’s debate from the Pakistani highlands to the plateaus, as to whether a traditional meal goes best with bread or rice – there are local devotees to each. For those who choose flatbreads (typically naan or roti), the meal is easily enjoyed with the fingers. For those who choose rice, a lovely assortment of biriyani are available. Basmati rice can be seasoned simply with saffron (as we did with Rosewater & Saffron Rice for Bahrain or the Azerbajani Saffron Rice with crusty potatoes) or perhaps …

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 …

About the food of Oman

Pull up a chair, grab a steaming cup of Kahwa and a few dates. We’re going to Oman, a boomerang shaped country on the edge of the Arabian pennisula. Kahwa is omani coffee, made with enough sugar for the biggest smile in your heart, a dusting of dreamy cardamom and brittle, sunset-colored strands of saffron. Sip by sip, let the heat soak into your pores as you dream your day away. If coffee isn’t your preference, perhaps a cold glass of rosewater lemonade [Recipe], or a salty buttermilk drink called laban, or even a creamy yogurt sipper will help you while away the time among the desert dunes. Whatever you choose, just be sure to heed the traffic signs. When it comes time to dine, Oman has an astonishing array of rice dishes (anything from steamed rice to pilafs or even mekboos, a.k.a. machboos). We cooked machboos [recipe] last fall and it was so good it actually inspired me to boil my Thanksgiving turkey. While the house smelled like a far away spice shop mixed with down home …

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 …

About the food of Norway

Oh Norway, land of the midnight sun. This is the place to go when the world’s drudgery stifles you… when the world just… sticks to your skin. In Norway, the sky feels a million miles away. The air is crisper, cleaner. Sparkling. I spent a weekend in Stavanger, Norway in 1998, where I pitched our way to first place in our softball championship. I remember just breathing, breathing, breathing as deeply as possible. That air – I will always remember it. The fjords seemed to know what I was experiencing; these bohemouth rock walls scraped up into the sky as if they wanted to stretch into the beauty themselves – to become a part of the crystalline air. And it worked. This was a high school trip so there was also the standard curious experience. Like the odd coincidence that we arrived in late spring when the whole town (or so it seemed) was tipsy. Stumbling, bumbling, tipsy. If I remember correctly, we were told this was a standard part of graduation festivities. I do believe I …

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 …