Discover | Global Table Adventure

About the food of Japan

Have you ever noticed how big Japan is? The upper half of Japan has as many cold snowy days as the lower half has hot tropical days. From top to bottom, she’s long, lean and filled to the brim with glorious food. That being said, I’m focusing in. Getting in the zone. Talking about just a couple of Japanese dishes that make me sit back in awe. Because, there’s no denying it. Japan has some of the prettiest food around. And for good reason: Japanese food is art. Just take sushi [Recipe], for example. The Japanese have long enjoyed this traditional – yet meticulous – preparation of rolled vinegar rice [Recipe], vegetables and raw fish. While it’s roots trace back indefinitely, the form of sushi we know and love today was developed in the 1800’s by Hanaya Yohei as a convenience food. Even still, each sushi roll is artfully arranged – a mosaic of ingredients. One bite and you’ll get just enough of everything – a balanced experience all around. Then there’s Bento [Recipe], or the artful arrangement …

Monday Meal Review: Jamaica

THE SCENE: My lips started off with a low-grade tingle and then flared up into a fire engine burn. Careful not to touch the jerk seasoning again, I put the lid back on the blender. “So that’s what three habeneros taste like.” I said to the faded photo of my Great Aunt, Lulla Rina. She smiled back at me, as she had for decades. She was holding my brother Damien – a chubby baby boy – in her soft, grandmotherly arms. He’d be 33 if he were alive today. And he’d probably love habeneros. I silently promised him I’d be brave. I’d eat my share. I’ve lived longer without Damien than with him, yet he remains one of the most important, influential people in my world. Life’s funny that way. We remember the shooting stars so vividly, even when the sky is full of trillions of other stars. Looking back at the mixture, I considered suiting up with gloves, goggles, and a clothespin to pinch my nose shut. I settled on just the gloves. As …

About the food of Jamaica

Seems like everyone I know has been to Jamaica – usually, for a wedding, their honeymoon, or spring break. Or a scary combination of all three. (I shudder to think). While many visitors stick to strolling the soft sands and wading in the clear waters, some seek out other adventures, like ecological river tours, climbing sheer waterfalls, and exploring local museums. While all this sounds fantastic, my stove top Adventure is clear. You see, back when I made the Caribbean Green Seasoning for Guyana, I totally wimped out on the amount of habeneros required. I used 1/4 of a whole habenero, when the recipe called for 6 habeneros. Six. That means I used 1/24th of the recommended heat. Laughable. Thankfully, my friendly readers from Jamaica told me I could redeem myself this week. So, with that in mind, I did some research. Turns out Jamaicans sure do love spicy food. The people are mostly of African descent, but also European, Chinese, and Indian. They eat everything from curries, to puddings, and from stir fried, to deep fried. Still, no …

Monday Meal Review: Italy

THE SCENE Many things about Italian cooking involve family. Sharing. Loud conversations while laughing over nothing. But this is not always the case. For example, I waited an entire week to tell Keith …. a.k.a. Mr Picky … a.k.a. the man with the most hypochondria ever… about the eggs. The raw eggs. In the tiramisu. It was mama’s lil’ family secret all week long. Hear me out – my logic was sound. First of all, I’d made the thing three times. Each time, it became exponentially more fabulous. My friends at the Girl Scouts practically swooned over the second version – I think the word used was “Luscious” – with a capital L. The third version made our friends Alan and Michelle weep. Well, maybe not weep. But eyes did roll. And thirds were administered to already full bellies. Right before bedtime. The night before a 6 am fishing trip. Considering the tirimisu contained enough espresso and rum to jump start an entire marching band, this was a miracle of miracles. Anyway – back to Keith and the …

About the Food of Italy

Mom proudly calls the Italian side of our family peasants. The old-fashioned word makes me laugh, but she insists that’s exactly what they were. They weren’t nobility. They weren’t merchants. They were peasants. Farmers, if you will. More specifically, they worked the mushroom fields in Cicagna, Italy – a bumpkin-sized town near Genoa. From what I understand, our family left behind a mountainside villa and acres of mushrooms for a passport to Ellis Island. In their absence, my great-grandparents allowed a family to stay at the villa for free, as long as they worked the fields and shipped mushrooms to them, in United States, every so often. After thirty years without a visit and some political mumbo jumbo, the villa automatically transferred to the renters. Lost. And so, too – decades before I was born – my dream of living in an Italian mountainside villa was lost. Still, mom made sure I was thoroughly steeped in our Italian heritage – going so far as to give me my grandmother, Dorothea’s, maiden name – Foppiano. And what a pretty name …

Monday Meal Review: Israel

THE SCENE Ava wanted nothing to do with the hummus. She shook her head. She closed her eyes. She even yelled “No!!!!” – in case I didn’t get the message. I took a deep breath and calmly said “Ok.” Little did she know, I had a plan. The very next day I whipped out the food processor. “Want to help mama?” I asked, smiling big. “Okay!” she cheered, with big eyes, anticipating a fantastic treat. “Please drop the chickpeas into the food processor,” I said nonchalantly. “Yes” she said, sneaking one before she did so. “Should we add some parsley?” I asked. “Uhuh,” she nodded, her little hand grabbing a fistful and dropping it in. “More?” she asked “Ok! And what about oil?” “Okay!” And on it went. She loved it. In a final flourish, I let her push the button. “BzzzRRRRRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah” she exclaimed, laughing as the mixture pureed in a smooth dip. I tasted it, adjusted the seasonings, and let her blitz it again. Proudly, I offered her a spoonful. Ava shook her head no. Then, …

About the food of Israel

Listen up, hipsters. While you can find snow in the mountains of Israel, you’re a lot more likely to find a splash of sunshine and a heavy dose of beautiful Mediterranean summer. In short, Israel has the perfect climate for a smile – especially while floating effortlessly along the dead sea, even if your right foot looks like it is about to fall off. No judgement here, but you might want to get that thing checked out, Mr. Anonymous Newspaper-reading Man. As good as the weather is, things get a little more sour when it comes to the food. Literally. Cover up your paper cuts, friends, because this beautiful country is renowned for her citrus production. Lemons, limes, oranges, and grapefruits all zing their way into the most wonderful juices [recipe], salads [recipe], and treats on the Israeli table. For something a little more tame, try hitting up an Israeli street stand. The most popular street food includes falafel, hummus, and pita. Imagine pulling up your chair to chow down on a pita stuffed with falafel, hummus [recipe], cucumber, tomatoes, and french …

Monday Meal Review: Ireland

THE SCENE There she was, sitting on the rickety bus bench, fiddling with her cellphone. As I drove by I looked at her. She was old – ancient, really. Her head, lost under the brim of her giant camo hat, barely came up over the bench she was sitting on. Not quite four feet tall, her tiny frame was lost in a sea of plastic bags – filled with enough food to last her the week. I’ve watched her for the last few years, the way a busy person observes the changing foliage – in regretful passing. I’ve seen the effort it takes her to do her shopping – 6 bags of groceries, 2 cases of soda… crossing four lanes of traffic at rush hour (never at the cross walk; it’s too much of a detour), steadily carrying one bag at a time. She’d carefully place each bag down on the bench, then shuffle back to the other side of the street to get another. As usual, I was headed somewhere when I saw her – to …

About the food of Ireland

Collnaharragill Upper, Kerry. Photo by Ian Macnab Ah, Ireland. You caught me off guard. You see, this week I knew to expect the trinity… Potatoes. Guinness. Meat. But, as an Italian-Hungarian-American, the last thing I expected to discover was that my childhood diet often beared a striking resemblance to that of an Irishman. We ate potatoes mashed with carrots and turnips. We ate homemade soda bread [recipe], slathered with soft butter. We even ate roast lamb with mint jelly. Strange. Strange. Strange. I must be part Irish. There is no other possible conclusion. Then again, I have a feeling lots of Americans eat Irish food, especially on the East Coast. Right, Mom….? Truth is, I’d be happy if Ireland was my homeland. She is so pretty. So green and fair. Clearly her nickname, the Emerald Isle, was well earned. Yes. Her beauty is fresh; whenever I think of her I want to frolic and laugh and dance over the vibrant hills. What can I say – she brings out the child in me. A word about potatoes Know for her love of …

Monday Meal Review: Iraq

THE SCENE Mom smeared the cream cheese onto the shiny black date and offered it to me. I looked up at her, the way only a stubborn seven year-old can, and shook my head slowly. “Try it, you’ll like it,” she urged, popping one in her mouth herself. It looks like a roach, I thought. I watched her chew. “When is dinner?” “Not for a few more hours,” she replied. I wouldn’t budge. There was no way I was going to eat the cream cheese date. My stomach growled. I chewed my nails. I drank some water. Ten long minutes later, I caved. It was sweet. Too sweet. Leathery on the outside, creamy in the center. Roachy, roachy, roachy. I shuddered, barely swallowing what I had in my mouth before putting the rest back down on the plate. “No thank you.” I whispered and never ate another date again. Not, that is, until this week, during our Iraqi Global Table. The glorious, long-standing history of Pistachio Date balls were too fantastic to pass up. When I …

About the food of Iraq

So, here’s the humbling truth: there’s lots of things I thought I knew about Iraq, thanks to the constant stream of current events infiltrating my subconscious. But, when it came right down to it, I actually knew nothing about Iraq. Nothing. So I began digging. After just a few minutes, I found this lil’ tidbit out: from the northern mountains to the windswept deserts, Iraq is known as the cradle of civilization. What? Hold the presses. While you might have known this rather fundamental piece of history, it was news to me. (Perhaps I should have taken a greater array of history classes in college – 89% of my courseload was centered on Medieval French Arthurian legend, specifically during the time of Crétiens de Troyes – but now is a good a time as any to keep learning.) Anyway – formerly known as Mesopotamia, the land between the rivers (Tigris & Euprhates), Iraq was built upon the fertile crescent plains, where rich soil facilitated healthy crops and plentiful pasture for cattle. From this bedrock Uruk and Ur built …

Monday Meal Review: Iran

THE SCENE Beep. Beep. Beep. I was waiting to pay at Whole Foods, watching my food come down the belt with one eye and shooing Ava away from the chap stick display with the other. Other than that, I might as well have been asleep. I’ve been working hard. Lately, that’s all there’s been time for. Working to be a good mom. Working to be a good wife. Working to not melt in the 100F temperatures Tulsa has been sustaining for a month now. And, of course, working on work. My brain was tired, and the steady beep of the scanner only lulled me deeper into a trance. So, when the happy voice said “What’s the pomegranate syrup for?” it took me a few seconds to realize they were talking to me. I looked up, unglazed my eyes, and smiled. “What?” I said, looking vaguely at the bottle in the girl’s hand and then up at her name tag. Farisa, it read. “The pomegranate syrup?” Farisa was bagging my groceries. She was friendly, polite, and interested in …