Tag Archives: travel

The Secret Sauce

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I’ve lived a fine life. When I was 16, as many young American Hebrews do, I took a trip to Israel to explore the motherland and deepen my connection to the religion. For me it worked in the other direction. I saw so many secular Israelis, seemingly fulfilling the Zionist mission, yet absent of piety and reverence. They just were. People connected to their history but not wrapped up in god or dogma. I never looked back.

Then came college. Somehow, I cannot recall how I wound up doing my final year abroad in Italy. Seriously, I don’t know what led me to this decision. I knew nothing abut the place, had no connection (other than my mother’s half-Italian heritage, which merely meant good spaghetti and meatballs in our house). But there I was, deep in the experience of learning Italian history, culture, language, art, archaeology… I never looked back.

After I graduated college my first and only job was in the travel industry. I stumbled upon it while looking for anything I could do after moving to Boulder, Colorado on a whim. I was planning to study nautical archaeology at CU, as there was a professor who focused on Roman ports in Israel, the perfect marriage of my passions. To pay the bills, I took a position with a tour company specializing in adventures in Southeast Asia. I was a Mac guy that could work magic on their Filemaker database. Soon I was spending months a year in Asia building their sales division and becoming a noted expert on travel in Asia. I never looked back.

I’m fortunate to say that travel is my greatest passion that I’ve continually fulfilled. It’s my familiar. I slip it on easily. Throughout the ups and downs of life, I always seek to create new experiences by discovering new lands. In fact, I really live for the next trip. No matter what I’m doing, I want to know that I have two or three weeks in the not so distant future that will recharge my batteries. It the only way I know how to accept and manage the doldrums of normal life (ok, it’s not so bad, really…but you get the point).

Now, on the road in Argentina, discovering a new place, yet again, with a life very different than my last trip to Spain in 2010 and Greece in 2009, I’ve noticed a trend. First, it doesn’t matter where life has taken us, when we travel we reconnect with ourselves. Without the pressures of our daily grind, the expectations we set for ourselves, the routine…it’s easier to get to the root and be present. Moreover, when we experience another culture a traveler will relinquish his predisposition, ignorance and fears and become more receptive to what the universe offers. We let go a little easier, we experience a little deeper.

On this trip I’ve already found a deep connection to Argentina. I know it, even after just a few days. The formula adds up – they have the secret sauce. It’s not hard for my readers to see that my favorite places in the world are Thailand and Italy. I speak both languages passably and have returned time and again, something I haven’t done in many of the other lands I’ve visited. When I look at the commonalities between the places, and now add Argentina to the mix, there is a pattern: I like places that have a broad geographical diversity, Thailand’s north and south couldn’t be more different. Italy’s have practically seceded from each other. Argentina has Patagonia and wine country and Buenos Aires and more. There’s a casual elegance about everything here. Its not Europe, but it’s got the same charm. Then there are the people, friendly and welcoming all across the board. In each of these places you really feel like you can get a sense of their true experience. They welcome you to participate.

But most importantly, and I wouldn’t be the Zealot if it weren’t so, each country reigns supreme on their continent for food. Sure, you can argue that Vietnamese is better than Thai or French is superior to Italian or the Brazilians or Chileans outdo the Argentines. But this is my blog and I’m the one ranting. So, I’ll say it. Thai, Italian and Argentine food sensibilities speak to me and I consider them the best. I dream of Thai noodles and curries. I lust after handmade pasta and regional Italian cuisine. And so far, I’m quite impressed with Argentine seafood, empanadas and of course the beef. I’m looking forward to two more weeks of exploration.

I love that there are common threads in these places. I am glad to be uncovering this secret sauce of my own. I’m positively certain we all have our own secret sauces. It helps me to understand me a little better. It gives me joy to have places that I can return and feel at home, so far away, yet so familiar. I’m loving being present. And, I’ll never look back…

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On My Way Home: Fresh Fish!

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Internet has been spotty at our last jaunt on the island of Milos. We’ve been driving through the construction zone that is burying the new high-speed line as we come and go to our villa in Pollonia. Food has been straightforward Greek here, nothing to write home about, yet consistently good. This is the first time we’ve really been able to indulge in fresh fish though, which is an interesting conundrum.

 

Fish Close Up

Fish Close Up

I’ve never been to an island culture before that made eating fish so prohibitive. The average fish is 40-100 euros per kilo, which quickly adds up. We’ve heard claims that the Mediterranean is over-fished. Some say that only the best line-caught fish are sold fresh in restaurants and the rest is frozen. Whatever the case, eating fish is more of a luxury than a staple to the Greek diet, which came as a surprise.

More importantly, for the first time in a number of years, I’m not looking forward to coming home right now. Since introducing a young child in the mix, traveling has presented new challenges. I’ve uniformly been ready to return to the comforts of home on our jaunts to Mexico, Spain and Ecuador. But now that Judah is four, he’s starting to participate in the experience of the traveling more and it’s a lot of fun. I can’t wait to show him more of this wonderful world!

 

Judah in Greece

Judah in Greece

Lastly, I am excited and nervous about how I am going to maintain the reinforced, and new, principles I am taking from Michael Pollan. After finishing Omnivore’s Dilemma I immediately devoured In Defense of Food (click to buy) and don’t think I can look at the supermarket in the same way. I was a Whole Foods devotee and my eyes are now wide open to the fact that the industrial food complex is not limited to the traditional food system. I cannot stress how important it is to read these books. Do yourself the favor…

I am hopeful that I can keep up with my posts at home. Running a more-than-full-time career requires a lot of time. But I love the energy generated by my food posts. Help me spread the word and give me suggestions for posts and I’ll be motivated to keep it up. I’ll see you back in the states in a few days. And I’ll be reviewing Flour & Water as soon I return.

The Santorini Paradox

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This rant is a departure from food for a moment. If you haven’t noticed, what my blog is really about is my lifestyle. Food happens to be my greatest passion. Travel is a close second with reading and music not far behind. These things really all come together when I am living in balance. I consider myself a hedonist, which is best defined as “a school of philosophy which argues that pleasure has an ultimate importance and is the most important pursuit of humanity”. This is my ‘religion’.

 

Oia Blue Villa, Santorini, Greece

Oia Blue Villa, Santorini, Greece

 

Santorini has me in a frenzy. I want to love it. I want to cherish it as the most stellar geological freak, window-into-history, nature-kicks-everyone’s-ass, mind-fuck on the planet. It is all of that, and more. The deeper I dig into the history the more I am intrigued and the more I want to learn. The longer I stare out into the caldera, which is my current view as I write this from my balcony at the Oia Blue Villa (pictured above), the longer I want to drift in amazement at how insignificant we are compared to the power of this earth.

But then there’s the fucking tourists. I know, let’s just get it out of the way….I am a hypocrite and an elitist. What gives me the right to claim superiority over any other traveler? Who am I to judge someone else and feel that my experience is more valid or just than theirs? I have no right to judge others when I myself am a tourist. Herein lies the paradox. I get that. I own it. But I still feel it and I don’t apologize for it.

For the uninitiated, Santorini was a honking volcano in the middle of the Mediterranean until around 1600BC. It was also a major outpost for the Minoan civilization, which pre-dated the Greeks and vied for power against the Myceneans. Until the thing blew up. I mean the whole island popped it’s lid and left nothing but the edges of the mountain (the rim) and a vast sinkhole (the caldera) that spans 18 km at it’s widest point. This was the 2nd largest volcanic eruption in the history of humankind. The first was 73,000 years ago and left only 10,000 people on the planet. Look at the aerial shot and you’ll get the picture.

Aerial View of Santorini

Aerial View of Santorini

I’ve been to a lot of cool places on earth. I’ve seen many geological wonders. But this place takes the cake. Where else can you witness the raw force of nature at such a scale up close so accessibly? And the Greeks don’t mess around. They’ve built villages all along the inside of the rim. Stunning white villa/caves sit precariously on the edge of the abyss with winding stairways, cafés, terraces and infinity pools that scoff at the 700ft tsunami that rose from here 3600 years ago and destroyed Crete. It’s tasteful, yet alarming.

The cruise ships pull up to the harbor and a stream of tour buses pick up the pods and drop them off in the various villages, Oia being the most scenic and sunsettyful. The pathways in Oia are very narrow, which means it gets tight. The presence of the crowds is palpable, and this isn’t even close to high-season now. In July and August the place swells by multiples with throngs of people, 10 cruise ships at a time and nearly overflows into the volcano. And it’s not the type of tourist that ‘gets-it’. It’s the cruise-ship, packaged tourist, all-you-can-eat-buffet, day-excursion, barely-get-your-hands-dirty-with-the-local-culture stuff that I abhor. Mix that with Germans and Italians having their party holidays and add in a nice stream of backpacker-ouzo-thump-thump-full-moon-ravers. And again, I know, I am an unapologetic hypocrite and an elitist. Tough.

 

Cruise Ships in Santorini Caldera

Cruise Ships in Santorini Caldera

 

Scholarly types are pointing at Santorini as the most logical location for the legend of Atlantis. Plato provides the most lucid account of this mythical city, now under the sea. It would make sense that a Greek story actually occurred in Greece, considering their somewhat limited world-view at the time. Standing here I understand how it is possible. Much of his writing about Atlantis matches the place well.

But moreover, the metaphors in Plato’s tale of Atlantis strike me.”When the human nature got the upper hand” (Plato, Critias 121b), they became sinful and invaded by crimes. As a consequence, they were bound to loose their paradise. Maybe all this tourism is building up to something and we’re supposed to be lured here so that badass mother-earth can bitch-slap as many people as possible, during a full-moon party while all the cruise ships are having Mexico theme night.

So, again, the Paradox. I’m still looking out on the caldera. I just had an hour conversation with our villa’s concierge who is a South African transplant and manages a crop of luxury properties on Santorini. But she totally gets it and agrees. Yet, she moved here. She’s so drawn to the primitive power of her Atlantis, that the shlock are just a manageable nuisance that clog her paradise for a few months a year. AND, they enable her by providing buckets of cash for her thriving business.

For me, I am storing away the images and emotions so I can recall them when the world feels small. I doubt I will return here. I’ve got my slice of Atlantis and my ship sails tomorrow (no, its not a cruise ship, wiseass).

The Water of Love

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Today I was surprised. We were all surprised. It was one of those days where you stumble across something lovely and want to savor it, respect it, pay homage to it. I suppose writing this blog is the best I can do to honor our meal at To Nero Tis Agapis (The Water of Love) restaurant on the island of Spetses, Greece.

We planned to rent bikes and ride until it started to rain and then find somewhere for lunch. The rain held back and we made it a quarter of the way around the island and faced the decision: press on and take a chance of no more restaurants and possible rain, or turn back and eat. We decided to pack a lunch for a long ride tomorrow, since the weather forecast was more forgiving and find somewhere to eat lunch now.

I had a place stuck in my head that we had passed 10 or 15 minutes earlier. It was perched over the sea and had a white-linen elegance top to bottom, without feeling pretentious. It was totally empty.

I often judge a restaurant by the number of people inside. If it’s good, the locals will be eating there. But this was 2pm on a Tuesday in a shoulder season on an upscale tourist island. No matter, it was about to start raining and the place looked fine.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I am really amazed by Greek hospitality. We have still yet to enjoy a meal without receiving something on the house. It must be a national ploy to justify higher costs by making visitors think they are getting something for free. Still, I love it! The people really take time to make you feel welcome, play with our son Judah and create an experience. Good for you, Greece.

Here we were welcomed, seated and treated to a warm basket of bread and an amous bouche of raw sardine in olive oil with parsley. The young waitress, originally from Athens, with perfect English, immediately offered suggestions. Have you tried this traditional dish or that type of fish? She had Julie and I hooked, as we love to get suggestions and let someone else do the ordering. This was our chance to let go and try some new things. We were in her hands.

 

Tarosalata, Fish Roe Dip, Spetses, Grecce

Taramosalata, Fish Roe Dip, Spetses, Grecce

 

She started us off with something so wonderful it was shocking how fast it went down. As you can see by the photo there was an ample sized plate of “Taramosalata”, a dip of fish roe, common to the region, but new to me. It was lightly fishy, but mostly creamy and fluffy and savory – oh my. We scooped and scooped with warm bread until I was dredging the plate for stragglers. Really, I was not expecting this and it started off this meal off very right.

 

Baked Cheese with Tomatoes

Baked Cheese with Tomatoes

 

Next she brought us some baked cheese with tomatoes and herbs. Clean and simple, filled with flavor and a sweet crust on the cheese. This was followed by our first foray into octopus in Greece. We both have mixed feelings about this sea-critter, as it universally seems chewy, but is tasty enough and seemingly a darling to foodies. Here, they balanced the chewiness by drying and then grilling it until slightly crispy. The dish was elevated with some grilled local mushrooms, similar to chanterelles, and tiny pearl onions, all drizzled with a fine balsamic reduction.

Fresh Cod, Before

Fresh Cod, Before

 

Fresh Cod, After

Fresh Cod, After

 

For our main course we were offered a choice of fresh fish, just off the boat. Interestingly, on the Greek Islands, most of the fish is frozen, which must be indicated on the menu, by law. Fresh fish is very seasonal and a mixed bag. Luckily, The Water of Love is devoted to seasonality and they keep up with local fishermen. Today we were offered cod and red mullet. We opted for the cod. It was prepared flash fried, whole. Upon piercing the skin, the flaky snow white flesh burst through. I drizzled mine with lemon, olive oil and pepper. Simple & simply perfect – perhaps the best piece of cod I’ve ever had.

 

Baklava

Baklava

 

For dessert we were served bakhlavah, fillo pastry with chopped nuts and honey and halvas, a semolina cake. Both were subtly sweet though I prefer the flakiness and nuttiness of bakhlavah. Of course they were on-the-house!

 

Halvas

Halvas

 

We spent a while chatting with our waitress, reveling in the fact that the seasonal crowds were still weeks away and we were their only guests. The rain subsided and we hopped back on our bikes filled with a bit of smugness in knowing that we just had an experience. Maybe it was a special occasion for the chef to step up, or maybe every meal at The Water of Love is this good. Regardless, unless you take the trip to Spetses and venture out of the main port to seek out this tiny enclave, you’ll just have to trust me.

Respect To the Greek Salad

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It’s a common occurrence to find a food made in its homeland significantly more appealing than the neutered counterpart we are served stateside. Pizza comes to mind. All Thai food falls into this realm. Who among us has had a proper fish taco outside of Baja? Well, to my surprise, the Greek Salad is also one of these dishes and I’m amazed that there is actually something more to this dish.

On any menu the LAST, I mean LAST salad I would ever order was the Greek salad. Frankly, I never knew who did. Why was it there? Who was it for? In the US the standard recipe seems to be iceberg lettuce paired with sliced olives, tomato wedges, chopped cucumbers, crumbled feta, onions and sport peppers crowned with a vinaigrette. What’s interesting is that it is not terribly different from the proper version, but subtle differences mean a lot here.

In Greece, the “Greek” salad uses tomatoes as the base. In fact, I’d like to say that the Greek Salad is a tomato salad, first and foremost. Everything else is there to compliment the tomato. They also cut their wedges in half, to make them bite sized without comprising the burst. There is no, or very little, lettuce in a Greek salad. It is very American to require roughage in our salads. Take it away and you have a much more focused offering. Feta comes in a block, topped with some finé herbs, which makes more sense, as you can add as you need. A nice hunk goes well with a tomato bite, rather than a smattering of crumbles randomly accumulated. The olive is one of those things that doesn’t translate well at home. Here they are buttery and light and add a compliment as opposed to a bitter contrast. We’ve mostly seen a variety with wrinkled black skins that are amazing. Include them whole, with the pit.

An important element in the mix is the red onion. Clearly they are using a small, fresh variety here because I am gobbling them up raw and with abandon. At home I often avoid the massive, thick sliced, musky rings pawned in salads. When I shop for onions I always seek farmer’s market treats – small, shiny skin, picked within a few days. You can’t beat the flavor. For this salad, a nice sliver size works best. 

I’ve yet to see a sport pepper here, but have universally seen green bell peppers. Now I’m no big fan of the green pepper. I prefer yellow and red for their sweetness and rarely find a use for green. But here it works perfectly. A crispy bite texturally and in flavor, it just makes sense. The dressing tends to be a very light olive oil and lemon or vinegar. Not much needed.

I’m clearly interpreting what I see and giving props to the Greeks for surprising me with simple, clean and sometimes elegant food. In fact, today, we had the best meal so far and one that could hold its own with many in my travels. But that’s the next post. For now, go try to make a proper greek salad and give it some respect.

First Meal in Athens, Greece [Complete with Jet Lag!]

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Judah at the dinner table, Athens, Greece

Judah's Babysitter in Athens, Greece

We arrived in Greece this morning on the day of Julie’s 40th birthday. To give her some respite from the 15 hours of travel with our four year old, I got her a spa afternoon and took the rugrat for the day. We walked the neighborhood called Monastiraki, in the shadow of the Acropolis.

 

Judah snacked on fried potatoes and grilled bread with olive oil “melted butter” to get him to eat it. I’m always amazed at how fresh and flavorful fries are everywhere else but at home. Our potatoes are just a symptom of the industrial farming complex (can you tell I am finally reading Omnivoure’s Dilemma?). These are small and dense, with a natural burst of flavor that we try to replicate by soaking our fast food fries in sugar water.

A few local beers got me in stride. The streets were bustling with young Greeks. My first impression was ‘that this ain’t Italy’! The people are quite stout and hearty – I won’t be headturning much here. But I was so pleased to see how unbelievably friendly they are, particularly to children. Our waiters became instant nannies and Judah played with abandon. This is going to be fun.

After Julie returned from her spa, it was clear that jet lag was beating us all down. We decided to dine early, which in Greece means 8:30! We headed out to a recommended spot, Mamacas….

When done right, I love the whitewashed Greek minimalism. Mamacas felt warm and inviting and it had a hum, despite the early hour. A few splashes of color and smells of roasted meats added to the sensual invitation.

The thing about traveling with a four year old is that we only have so much to entertain him. Meals are tough. His tastes lean towards standard American child fare, no matter how much we offer, cajole or entice. The kid loves his pizza, mac-n-cheese and hot dogs. So, when confronted with a long meal of adult food, Judah is indulged with his iPod. I know, we’re awful parents! But thanks to Yo Gabba Gabba and Super Why, our kid is happy, we’re sane and he is actually learning to read.

We started with a “fava bean puree” that actually arrived yellow in color. First bite confirmed that it was chick peas instead. Scooped with a warm grilled flatbread and topped with fresh, sweet red onions, lemon and perfect olive oil, it was fresh and clean. A great start.

Next was a spicy grilled feta cheese, so distant from the salty mess we put on “Greek” salads, I was confounded. Apparantly there a many more varieties of Feta than I’ve known and I’m excited to dive in. This preparation was simple and rustic, and even Julie, who shies away from the unhealthy, gobbled it up.

But the dish that floored both of us and signaled that this was going to be a good trip was the spit fired lamb. Low on presentation but off the charts on flavor it tasted like it was butchered today and immediately put on the spit, roasted all day and just reached it’s readiness for our carniverous appetites. The meat was earthy and tender with a minimum of seasoning and a burst of sweetness from the fat and skin. I commented that I wish I were one of those people who enjoyed gnawing to the bone, as this was worth savoring. Maybe I’ll become one as I did a pretty good job on the shank.

True to the Greek spirit the friendly waiters brought us free drinks and dessert while fawning over Judah. He’;s going to be an asset here, although I am writing this in the middle of the night because he cannot sleep. Ever try to teach a kid how to fall back to sleep when he isn’t tired? Where’s the damn iPod?