Discover | Global Table Adventure

About the food of Germany

I first went to Germany for a basketball tournament. I’d just made Captain of the J.V. team, thanks in great part to the small size of our school rather than any particular skill. That weekend we played with “heart” as our coach liked to say, losing by a mere 12 points – a definite improvement since the beginning of the season when we had lost several games by well over 30 points. That kind of loss is a creaming and, unfortunately, not the kind that ends up in cake. After Friday’s game my host family took me on a walking tour of downtown Düsseldorf. The air was crisp and dark – twinkling with the occasional string of lights. Our feet echoed along the cobblestones. Just when my eyes began to droop, the street opened up into a big plaza with a lively outdoor holiday market. A chorus huddled together in a gazebo, their songs crystallizing on the frosty air as they overlooked dozens of booths filled with food, beer [Recipe], wine, and handmade crafts. This was a …

Monday Meal Review: Georgia

THE SCENE “This is gonna be good,” I told myself, sliding the porcelain casserole into the refrigerator. Two pounds of chicken legs swimming in a bath of lemon juice, peanut oil, and Georgian five spice – they’d have the entire night to chill out and absorb Georgian goodness before hitting the grill. I tucked Ava into bed as quickly as I could, telling Keith to cue a movie, preferably a chick flick. I put on my favorite fuzzy pajamas and crawled under the covers. The opening credits hadn’t even rolled by before the phone rang. “Don’t pick up!” I said, as he brought the phone to his ear. It was work. I rolled my eyes and whispered “tell them you’re busy.” He didn’t say anything, but listened carefully for a few long minutes. I stared at computer screen, at the frozen faces and words, waiting to be unpaused. Moments later, he left to work on the city’s 911 phone system. You can’t say you’re busy when 911 calls. Lives are at stake. I understood but, as I …

The ancient notion of globalization: through the eyes of Laura Kelley, the Silk Road Gourmet

Today I’d like to introduce you to author Laura Kelley. For the last year I’ve happily enjoyed her blog The Silk Road Gourmet, where she pens the most fascinating articles. Curious about the history and traditions associated with Valentine’s Day? She’ll tell you. Want to check out a cauldron of 2,400 year-old soup? Sure thing. Finally, what if a scientist went out to eat and realizes the food on their plate is a new species? She shares the story. This Harvard alumnus knows her stuff. When it came to this week’s culinary adventure into Georgia (not the place where Paula Deen lives), Laura was instrumental – her book, The Silk Road Gourmet: Volume One: Western and Southern Asia, was the jumping off point for 3 of our recipes. The instructions are clear, the writing is vivid, and the final dishes came out impeccably. Long story short, Laura is a powerhouse of knowledge when it comes to all things “Silk Road.” What does that mean? You’ll just have to read her answer to my first question. What does the …

About the food of Georgia

Georgia is literally my life raft at the moment. If I didn’t have this post to write I’d surely be passed out on my bed, waiting for the fever to subside. I hope you’ll understand if this post is extra short. And, quite possibly, delirious. Let’s start off with a quote. That’s always nice. According to Laura Kelley, Georgian cuisine is most closely related to Armenian cuisine – not only because of their shared border, but because Armenia (or its own rulers) ruled at least part of Georgia for 1000 years. The Silk Road Gourmet: Volume One: Western and Southern Asia Laura was kind enough to recommend several recipes from her book. From what I read (and tasted), Georgian food is full of strong flavors like cilantro, pomegranate, walnuts (tons of recipes included walnuts!), lemons, and unusual spice blends like Garo [Recipe] and Georgian Five Spice [Recipe]. She even has a recipe for beets with sour cherries. I’d love to try that one of these days, when my brain doesn’t feel like it’s about to implode. Meat …

Monday Meal Review: The Gambia

THE SCENE I scrunched up my face, trying to remember. We were standing at the farmer’s market on opening day, people milling about us like ants, everyone grabbing at the last of the produce before the farmers packed their bags. Alexandra tucked 2 giant bunches of shiny green onions behind her stroller – only $3.00 at closing time. I’d paid $2.00 for 1 bunch an hour earlier. “Oh, yes – I can’t believe I forgot!” I said to Alexandra, “The dessert is going to be hot mangoes in custard.” I shook my head, glanced up at the sun, and shifted my feet. My face was already sunburned. How could it be 93 degrees at 11 am in April? Where was spring? Did it totally skip over Oklahoma? And why on earth was I making a hot dessert in these conditions? Alexandra laughed. “You’re making the most awful face.” “I’m trying to remember why I decided on a recipe that involves turning on my stove. The air conditioner will never keep up.” Later, when our girls …

Eat a baguette like a west African

I know it’s springtime and I’m supposed to be nibbling lettuce, trying on my bathing suit five times a day, and sipping nothing but water. Life doesn’t always work out like that. Last night, for example, I was in huddled in the closet with Miss Ava. That’s right – my noisy almost-two-year-old and I were waiting out two rounds of tornado sirens. It was chaos. Fearing for my life makes me crave comfort food. If you are surviving on lettuce and water, please forgive me for this post. You might wait a day to try on your bathing suit. I thought I’d heard it all when it came to baguette sandwiches. I was wrong. Here are two West African sandwiches that I would gladly eat while hiding from a tornado: The Omelet This one is pretty straight forward, but about as decadent as it gets: a deep-fried omelet laid across a baguette. It’s sold at the tanganas, or street food shacks, that you can find along dusty dirt roads in the Gambia. For those of you …

About the food of The Gambia

This week we’re cooking The Gambia. Not Gambia. The Gambia. I like that. It has presence. Has power. Did you know Facebook was originally The Facebook? It’s true. I saw it in the movie “Social Network.” Edited to add: It’s THE Social Network. I sort of love that I made this error while writing about THE Gambia. So, back to The Gambia. Despite her grandiose name, this country is teeny tiny – the smallest country in Africa – 30 miles wide at it’s widest. She looks rather like a wiggly worm inching into the continents western coastline, divided by the Gambia river and dividing Senegal. Thanks to the river’s fresh waters, Gambia has bountiful produce and abundant fishing. Staples are fairly typical of Western Africa – peanuts, peppers, tomatoes, green onions (called mandinka) and more exotic fare like fermented locust beans (do you remember these funky, blue-cheese tasting tidbits, from when we cooked Babenda? [Recipe] Ah, memories.) Well, much like Burkina Faso, people from The Gambia also enjoy bitter greens cooked with strong flavors, especially peanut …

Monday Meal Review: Gabon

THE SCENE Like cold mercury in a hot thermometer, I quickly moved out of my comfort zone. Failure flushed my cheeks. I felt sun burnt from standing over hot flames. I was stifled. Mad. In order to save any semblance of a sane human being, I sat for a good twenty minutes by myself. I could have made 13.3 omelets in that time. Rather, I should have been able to. But I was out of eggs. I was out of eggs because I broke them all. The counters were littered with mistakes. Eggs that browned too fast, omelets that slid off the plate, ones that I pulled too soon, with icky, runny centers. There were even eggs I accidentally cracked over the trash bowl. Misery. The thought of going to the grocery store to get another pack of eggs made me want to kick a tire. I’d already been to the store 4 times in the last two days – not counting Keith’s last minute run to get hickory wood chips. Not to mention, there’s …

Crazy for the Pangolin

Ever think to your hungry self “I could really go for a giant, roly-poly, tree-climbing, toothless anteater with scales, right about now?” Me neither. But in Gabon it happens. Meet the pangolin. In the old days, before extinction was a very real threat, pangolin was considered top notch bush meat – great for beefing up stews and slathering with spicy sauces. The only catch is, once this delightful animal rolls up into a ball, even lions cannot break through the scales to get a nibble. Nice. The scales are supposedly strong enough for armor. Just ask King George III – if you have a time machine handy (anyone friends with the Doctor?). Happy Fun Fact Friday! Photos: Joxerra Aihartza, Piekfrosch, Pangolin Waking Up, Acid Cow

About the food of Gabon

Ever have a dusty, bumpy bad kind of day? A day where you want to toss your cares into someone else’s hands? In a remote corner of Gabon, “Full service” takes on a whole new meaning: first they fill up your tank, then they wash your windshield, and finally, while you wait, women hand scrub your delicates. That’ll improve any bumpy bad day! Just be sure you have time to wait for the clothes to line-dry. In the midst of this simple life reigns a cuisine that is as much French as it is African, particularly in the city. As a former French colony it is no surprise that the omelet is everywhere [Recipe]. Eggs are plentiful, healthy, and affordable. Served with French fries or bitter greens makes for a filling meal. Staples like batons de manioc [Recipe] and fu fu also abound. What might be more surprising are the number of boulangeries, or bakeries selling baguettes and other French goodies (Want your stomach to growl? Look at the Gabonese swan pastries on “Hello, we …

Monday Meal Review: France

THE SCENE I didn’t tell Ava on purpose. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face. When I opened the front door she squealed and jerked her body to the side. She pitter-pattered her feet up and down in a “wobble-wiggle-squat” move, her bulky diaper-butt leading the way. This was her happy dance, like I’d never seen it before. She got so excited she actually fell over. She popped right back up, her tiny body shaking in a hysterical giggle-fit, and toddled out onto our front stoop in her stocking feet. Her arms were open and raised up in the frosty air. “Anya, Anya!” she shouted. There, getting out of the car, was her old friend Sanya (they’ve known each other since they were just a few months old), coming for our French Global Table Adventure. Ava spent the next ten minutes running around the house, shouting in high-pitched, giddy baby-babble, grabbing toys and presenting them to Sanya. She even grabbed the cat, grunting as she tried to lift it across the slippery …

To like or to love, that is the question.

Do you want to tell someone you love them in French? “Je t’aime.” Do you want to tell someone you like them in French? “Je t’aime.” It gets confusing when you’re a geeked out adolescent, trying not to sound too eager when talking about the cute guy in your class. It matters less when talking about food. Or family. In fact, the French language has an important message for all of us. We shouldn’t just love our loved ones. We should like them, too. Makes sense to me.