Journey with me

Tag: food

  • Try the Peking Duck…

    The purposeful irony of this particular Italian restaurant had my thoughts churning about culture, traditions and of course food.

    Not to offend any Italians in this post, I simply found myself wondering when duck became a menu option, especially in the most Italian themed restaurant I happened upon to date. We Americans know Italian food as pasta, tomatoes, and meats. While we greatly enjoy this cuisine, the traditional origin of duck comes from the Ming dynasty. Our idea of noodles began in the Middle East, & the tomato we know, and love started its trend in South America. Apparently once this fruit spread through Europe it was simply a decoration in one’s kitchen. Naturally the Italian culture gets an accommodation for creating such an idea as Gelato. Which for my oldest was one of the first desserts she tasted at a young age.

    Cultures have lived next to one another for centuries each holding their own “claim to fame” in traditional recipes. This idea actually makes me a bit jealous. To have been raised and taught from a young age a family recipe that one would argue over.

    Recently as I searched for dessert recipes, I was taught that Baklava has been claimed by a few countries. The oh so yummy dessert with syrup I knew as a Greek recipe, is also a recipe of Türkiye. While other Mediterranean and Middle Eastern countries like to hold their version of this dessert, the Turkish baklava uses pistachios, and served at celebrations, while the Greek culture uses walnuts.

    The idea of many cultures intertwined for years, recipes trickling down for generations, and thankfully to other parts of the world such as ours, gives me a reminder that it is not just America that shares cultural neighbors. The idea of food truly bringing people together to enjoy creations with found recipes from our grandparents’ cookbooks, or even by a newly acclaimed chef is something we should all be grateful for.

    History has more to do with what we read in books; it is ingrained in each one of our pasts to share with the future.

    Just “food for thought”

  • The Pub

    The best way to describe this local hang out, is an Irish themed pub. However, some green decor, cute signs and one (maybe actually came from Ireland) dish on the menu… was the only “Irish culture” it offered. The food was good, though; I had an “American” style chicken sandwich and a rich chocolate mousse cake to finish.

    I bring up this adorable restaurant because it was there, I listened to the local conversations. I really listened. Some farmers in for a few beers at the end of a long week, friends gathering for a laugh, and the good ol’ boys with a story or two to tell.

    I happened to sit next to one particular man with the life story one only reads about. I will call him “C”. I listened as he told me his hard knock story that he owns with pride. Currently a tenant on a six acre farm, he started his life working for his dad, then moved to fixing engines for a $1.80 an hour. It was then he fell in love with volks wagons. Yes, he is that man-, that in his youth hopped in his VW bus he fixed up himself with a few friends and drove cross country to Haight-Ashbury. Now admittedly I have heard mention of this famous place, but I did have to do some research when I returned to the comforts of my hotel room.

    Haight-Ashbury is famous for its counterculture movement. Now when I think of Hippies of the past, I will think of this place. Apparently in the 1960’s it was the place to feel the vibe. I now also know the summer of “love” was in 1967. “C” was one of the many to experience that summer. Thank goodness he did not get into too much detail! I also listened of his travels to Germany, London, and a few other places… I honestly did not catch the entire list in his fast-paced conversing.

    On the other side of me sat the cutest group of ladies. One with her short white hair with light pink highlights. Hearing them ask the bartender over and over again if it were going to rain, then to watch them look at their smartphones for a weather report, left me sitting there thinking that will be me one day. At least I hope so, this group of women were talking of their upcoming trip to Austria. Why there I will never know, but what a life.

    As I barely finished my oh so rich, why did I eat so much dessert the pub became louder with local conversation, good friends and laughter. I ask Who could not walk out of such a charming non-Irish, Irish pub?

    In the end our meeting, with a shake of hands “C” asked if I like Swiss chard. “Yes!” I then proceed to tell him of my Great Uncle and his garden. How he always left fresh produce gifts on our door. I was then the lucky receiver of fresh produce and a bonus of fresh basil from his garden. I felt no issue of accepting such a blessing of a gift. In just one day, even in this historic part of town, I watched many neighbors selling and trading their fresh grown blessings with one another.

    Houses have signage leading people to their homes to experience and purchase the product they are lucky enough to grow. Walking through these small streets I have even seen an artist or two water coloring on canvas in their gardens.

    Yes, these towns still exist. I am one of the lucky few that had a chance to visit. Maybe in just a few years I can call myself a resident of such an artisan homegrown town.