Posts | Global Table Adventure

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

Menu: Gabon

Ava’s getting her molars in, which means she is in an extra special mood. These teeth must be massive. Ginormous. For weeks now they’ve been on the move – she’ll go a few days in pain, then a few days off. Patience is at a premium, but I’ve learned to fill entire afternoons with long walks in the stroller. Instantly Ava chills out and spends the walk pointing out the birds, squirrels, and flowers. It’s really rather sweet. With all this teething, I wasn’t sure what food Ava was going to enjoy for Gabon, but I figured eggs were a sure bet. The rest was up in the air. The colonial influence on Gabon means we haven’t totally left France behind. What sounds good to you? French Omelet with Cheese [Recipe] Omelets are all over Gabon. This is a classic French omelet, as was taught to me at the Culinary Institute of America. Hickory Smoked Flank Steak Sandwiches (Coupé coupé) [Recipe] Hickory smoked flank steak, thinly shaved and loaded onto a toasted baguette. Our version …

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.

On dealing with nudity, hazelnut praline, and life in France – David Lebovitz

David Lebovitz lives a food-lover’s dream in Paris. His site is full of personal stories, incredible recipes, impromptu foodie tours, and insight into the blogging world. His gorgeous photography will make you hungry for brown bread ice cream, salted butter caramels, and strawberries turned into frozen yogurt. And that’s just the beginning. With David you can pick your poison. Want candied bacon ice cream? You’re in luck – he’s posted a recipe for it. Too tame? How about a scoop of absinthe ice cream? With recipes like that, you can imagine that he has a great sense of humor – which, I promise you, he does. As the accomplished author of The Sweet Life in Paris, Ready for Dessert, The Great Book of Chocolate, and more (check out his online store to see all his titles) – I thought you would enjoy hearing his thoughts on food, travel, and cooking. 1. What advice to you have for someone just learning to cook “foreign” food? Get advice from the locals. When I moved to France, I had no …

Menu: France

The look on Ava’s face says it all – a child is never too young to help… to play in the kitchen… to experience the magic of food. Dear readers, thank you for reading. You came, you voted, and now… without further ado, I present your French menu, sampler style. Thank you for making my belly happy and taking me on a journey back to Paris. Yesterday I laughed and cried. Looking forward to the rest of the week. Teardrop Onion Soup (French Onion Soup) [Recipe] This classic Parisian soup is made with little more than wine, water, and onions. We took our cue from Paris’ own Cordon Bleu and left out the beef stock. Instead, a little flour and butter gets mixed in for richness and texture. Fresh thyme adds depth, while a crusty crouton covered with a thin coating of gruyère makes everyone happy. Ratatouille [Recipe] Provençal vegetable stew made with eggplant, zucchini, sweet bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, and a healthy dose of olive oil. Enjoy it hot or cold. Artisan French Bread …

About the food of France

I moved to Paris when I was 13, just weeks after my brother died. He was a year and a half older than me. His death was sudden and I was a mess. Paris was not so much a new chapter, as an entirely new book in my life. I wasn’t yet ready for hope, but the distraction of a foreign country proved perfect. When I stepped off the plane I was tired. The air was thick and heavy and the cold stone of the surrounding buildings was grey, grey, grey. My French-speaking aunt greeted me with what else, but a cow’s tongue fresh from the meat market. She sliced it thinly and offered me a piece. “You must be hungry,” she said with a smile. I was taught to be polite and, so, politely, I declined. I blamed jet lag and fatigue but embarrassment took over. I went to bed and slept for 15 hours. Not even two weeks later, at a glamorous wedding, I faced my second food Adventure – the rarest piece of …

Monday Meal Review: Finland

THE SCENE Rather abruptly, Ava threw up. She was in her room, but we could hear her all the way in the kitchen. Keith called out in a panic: “Sash, could you … come here?” I excused myself from our guests, bracing for what I knew would be a gruesome sight. Little did I know… Blueberries. Were. Everywhere. Ava, strangely enough, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. She played with her baby doll while Keith and I scrubbed. Five minutes later I went back to the kitchen and assured Ruby and her husband, Nivantha, that things were totally fine. Of course the weren’t, but I what else was I supposed to say? That’s what hostesses who grab random strangers off the street do! Understandably, Ruby and her husband weren’t quite buying it and, out of politeness (and I’m sure a little self-preservation), they left. Finland was most definitely not to blame. Ava had systematically refused the mustard dill sauce and her cup of blueberry milk. She wouldn’t even look at the rutabaga. The only thing she had …

Oh Mämmi, do I have to?

Finns greet Easter with a goopy, black as tar dish called mämmi. If that’s not enough to entice you, let me see if I can adequately describe the flavor. It’s been described as a cross between Guinness and shoe paste. Even with such a distinct look and taste, mämmi is a tradition held seriously enough to warrant protection from the European Union. Making mämmi is no joke – first you mix rye flour with bitter orange peel, a hint of sweetener, and a few other ingredients. Boiling water gets mixed in and you slowly bake it in a warm oven. Slowly… as in for three hours. Then it has to be whipped until cool. Then it has to sit for a few days. I think there’s some repetition of steps in there somewhere. Finally, and most commonly, it gets served with a splash of cream and a bit of sugar. Phew. If grandma goes to the trouble to make you a batch of mämmi, you had better eat it with a smile – goup and …