Discover | Global Table Adventure

“Doogh” you like fizzy yogurt? (w/ poll)

Have you ever taken a big swig of a drink expecting to taste one thing, but getting another? I have. Here’s what happened: I was little. I woke up in the middle of the night, crazy thirsty, and wandered blind into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Because we bottled our own spring water from Cape Cod, there was a lot of it – all stored on the side of the fridge in jugs. I felt my hand over the top of one and hoisted it up. I took several giant gulps before I realized it was most certainly not water. Nope. It was apple cider vinegar. My throat burned. I sweat. I shook. Then, I sweat some more. I’ll always blame that moment as to why I have an immunity to vinegar. The more the better. Even though the story turned out well for me, I don’t want you to burn, sweat, or shake. Nope. I want you to know what you are in for with doogh. #1 It looks like a …

About the Food of Iran

Pop Quiz: Would an Iranian ever use minute rice? Welcome to one of the most mountainous countries in the world, chock full of winding mountain paths, arid plateaus, and scrubby, windswept trees. Welcome to Iran. If you learn one thing during this week’s Global Table Adventure, learn this: Iranians make the most beautiful, perfect rice. And I mean perfect. Jaw-dropping. Breath taking. Not one gummy grain in the lot. It should be no surprise then, that, from mountain top to mountain top, all across Iran, rice reigns supreme. And no, not minute rice. Never, ever would a true Iranian serve minute rice. Here’s the depth of their devotion to rice: Iranians celebrate a well prepared platter of light, spindly basmati rice as the main course. Made into an elegant presentation with potato crusts, onions, sour cherries, or barberries and often sprinkled with ghee and saffron – this is an entire universe apart from minute rice [recipe]. As for the protein – the chicken? Well, I’ve personally heard Iranians simply call it a garnish. Everything I …

Monday Meal Review: Indonesia

THE SCENE I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling. “Seriously?” I muttered. With an irritated flick, I tossed the latest item on top of the quickly growing mound of clothing. Just like all the others, this – my favorite baby blue dress – was smattered with dark, oily grease stains. The sad truth had made itself apparent: I cannot be trusted apronless around salad dressing, cooking oil, or butter. Before I knew it, what started off as an innocent attempt to get dressed, quickly disintegrated into rummaging to find even one single top that was spatter-free. Then, I got so fed up with the situation that I took it to the next level of neurosis, and began on an all-out closet cleaning. As in: all out. Only things I loved made it back in. The rest ended up in one of two monstrous piles. Pile A was dedicated to these dirty looking grease-wrecks (destined for spot scrubbing with bar soap), and Pile B was dedicated to clothes I was ready to donate. I was …

About the food of Indonesia

Not hundreds. Not thousands. Not even 17,000. Nope. Experts state that “more than 17,000 islands make up Indonesia.” Either they lost count or they simply wanted an even number. Regardless, Indonesia is the largest archipelago in the world with over 300 languages spoken. And, guess what? 11,000 of those islands are uninhabited. I wonder, if I’m really nice, if they’ll let me have one? Hmm. Maybe not. Of course, I’ll be happy to settle for a few Indonesian meals. The food is rich, highly spiced, and incredibly flavorful. We’ve already dabbled in Indonesian food on this Adventure, as their influence stretches far into neighboring countries. We made bakso noodle soup [recipe], an amazing concoction that is also enjoyed in East Timor. The soup is a masterful balance of clean, fresh flavors, punctuated by a spicy pop from the beloved sambal (hot sauce). Almost a year ago we made Sayur Lodeh with rempah [recipe], a fragrant shrimp coconut curry served with lontong (rice steamed in banana leaves) [recipe]. The rempah is made with lemongrass, cashews, ginger, garlic, and turmeric. …

Monday Meal Review: India

THE SCENE On my brother Keith’s last day in Tulsa, in the very last half hour, he said something that will stick with me for a long time. I was sipping my tea, watching him play with Ava, thinking how happy I was. Conversation turned to our next visit and how work always tries to ruin plans. The way they make you guilty for taking even a little time off. How, inevitably, they squeeze as much out of you as they possibly can. Rather abruptly he said: “I won’t cancel, no matter what.” I nodded, and took another sip of tea, appreciating his sincerity. “Three weeks before Damien died I was supposed to visit you two,” he continued, looking off towards the fountain, watching the water tumble into the cool pool. “Work begged me to reschedule my flight – to stay for a big project. Damien was crushed. And I didn’t get to see him before…” He trailed off and grew silent. After a long pause, he quietly added “I’ll never do that again.” I …

The Amazing Sophie Herbert

“Me, me, me” is most certainly not Sophie Herbert’s mantra. Sophie’s passion for social activism on a global scale shines like a bright light. Everything she does is for the benefit of others – from yoga, to singing; from films, to writing. She’s been to India 8 times, spending a total of about 14 months there as a volunteer and yoga instructor. She’s also taught yoga in Kazakhstan for 3 months. Sophie writes for Whole Living Magazine, is an ambassador for Yoga Gives Back, a charity dedicated to assisting India’s destitute women and children, and the co-director of celebrity chef Vikas Khanna’s next documentary. You can find more information on her web site and follow her blog on Whole Living. For anyone interested in making the world a better place, Sophie is someone not simply to know, but to study. Her positive energy is absolutely contagious. And now let’s hear her amazing story, in her own words. 1. You do the most incredible work as a social activist, yoga instructor, musician and advocate for children in India. How …

About the food of India

Need a smile? Want to stretch it from ear to ear? Spin the globe and point your finger. Dream of going wherever your finger lands – then go. Just promise me this – when you get there, try the Indian food. Chances are good that they’ll have some. From England to Guyana, Fiji to the United States – Indian food has made it’s way around the globe. And not just Tikka Masala, the famed “butter chicken” dish from North India, but an entire arsenal of delicious treats. Here’s the deal. If the food of India was categorized on one menu, you’d have at least four sections. Each of those sections would be further subdivided with even more regional specialties (via 28 states and 7 territories). And the menu would be about ten thousand pages. Bottom line? India is huge. She’s a prism of cultural and religious diversity. She’s a haven of deliciousness. My advice? When in doubt, order it all. While there’s no way to cover it all, here’s a cheat sheet: 1. North India The food of …

Monday Meal Review: Iceland

THE SCENE Careful, Sasha. Let’s get this right. I quietly dropped the blueberries into the measuring cup, then into the pot. The first time I made the ice cream, I’d accidentally doubled the amount of blueberries required, thinking a “clamshell” container of blueberries equaled two cups. Turns out a clamshell actually holds closer to four cups. The result? Icy, icy ice cream all over the counters. Not pleasant. This time I’d get it right. The scent of cardamom wafted up from the bubbling pot, mixing with the sweet blueberries. Intoxicating. If fairies wore perfume, this would be their signature scent. A few hours later the syrupy goodness was chilled and ready to go. I looked at the clock. So was Ava. Naptime. “Hold on sweetie. I just need to get the ice cream churning.” Her eyes got big. “Ice cream?” “Yes, honey. You can have some after your nap.” I smiled, trying to sound convincing. I poured the milk and heavy cream into the machine but, before I could add the chilled blueberries, a sharp …

About the food of Iceland

Do you remember in gradeschool when your teacher told you that Iceland is actually greener than Greenland? That blew my wee, 11 year-old mind. It still does. The simple factoid pops up at the strangest times, like when I’m in line at the grocery store or weeding the garden. Or brushing Ava’s hair. It’s amazing the lifelong influence our teachers have on us. Iceland is greener than Greenland. Apparently the island was named Iceland to deter people from overpopulating the small country. They hoped instead that icy Greenland would lure people over instead – you know, because they named it Greenland. Tricky, tricky. I’m happy to report that’s not the only trick Iceland has up her sleeve. In the kitchen they turn trick after trick, resourcefully turning unusable food into delectable nibbles. Have a bunch of stale rye bread? Don’t throw it out – make sweet rye bread soup [recipe]. Need a handful of raisins, but only have rhubarb? No problem. Icelanders make it happen [recipe]. They even make cod roe waffles, which I read …

Monday Meal Review: Hungary

THE SCENE: “No, no, no. That’s not how you make it! You need much more paprika.” I looked down at the heaping tablespoon in front of me. Like, what? Two tablespoons? I asked, raising my eyebrows. “At least.” Mom waved her hand like she was shooing a fly. “As much as you can stand.” She looked down at Ava’s head and wrapped another strand of hair around the soft cotton curlers. In a few short hours they’d have matching curls. I tasted the broth. My eyes began to water. “It’s spicy.” “That’s what the sour cream is for.” “Should I add it now? That’s what these recipes say to do.” “No no no. Where did you get these recipes? Add it at the end. At the end.” She sighed dramatically. Ava looked up at her and sighed a little copycat sigh. Laughing, mom patted Ava’s head. The curlers were secure. An hour later I whisked in the sour cream. “I can’t believe you’re not even going to eat this.” She got up and peeked in the …

About the food of Hungary

I’m Italian-Hungarian on my mother’s side. Which is like saying I’m wet-dry. Hot-cold. Tall-short. In our family, the Italian side is loud, boisterous and in each other’s business. On the Hungarian side no one talks about anything. Discussions rarely surface and, if they do, they begin and end with “just forget about it.” I rather like the combination. It makes for interesting family gatherings. When I quizzed my mother about our Hungarian heritage, she said “I don’t know. It wasn’t like the Italian side, where we got together every Sunday to have a big fight.” The only story I ever heard my Hungarian Grandpa tell was how he would ring the chickens’ necks for dinner. It consisted of two sentences: “I wrung their necks. Your grandmother cooked ’em.” I had to really probe to get this tiny tidbit. My mom only found out what her grandpa, Lajos, did for a living a few years ago. The story? He was in construction. She asked for details. “Like building houses?” “Yeah, something like that.” End of story. The Foppiano …

Monday Meal Review: Haiti & Honduras

Keith’s parents would be here in just a few hours. I went to the window. Blue and clear. A good time as any to get cooking. I tore open the gelatin and whisked it together with warm water until dissolved. Next, I cracked open the thick white coconut milk, and swirled it with the rest of the ingredients, stopping to dab a little vanilla extract on my wrists. Time for the stove top. I clicked on the burner and let things heat up. After a moment, the smell of summer billowed up. I poured the steaming liquid into the mold and stirred in the tropical fruit. The next day we’d have elegant, grown-up jello from Haiti. Blancmange. The whole thing took less than ten minutes. I smiled at the novel simplicity. Ava would love it. I pushed the dessert into the refrigerator gently, trying not to splash the blancmange around too much. I should have made something like this a long time ago, I thought to myself. I hardly ever make food that wobbles. In fact, …