Hartwood, Tulum: New York in the Jungle

If are up on your social media, you likely know by now that Hartwood is one of THOSE places: the trendy bordering on snooty kind that make you stand in line to get a reservation (see the restaurant website for instructions). Whether this is worth it or not is highly subjective. How do you personally walk the line between the annoyance of waiting and the pleasure of eating? Are you able to reconcile the indignity of supplication with the romance of firelight?

My rule of thumb is that I am willing to invest an hour of my time for superlative food. Right now, this level of investment will get you a table at Hartwood at a reasonable time -- we were offered a table at 6:30 or 9, or at 7:00 at the bar. Scoring a table at the coveted times between 7-8:30 will require a higher investment. As of April 2015, that is. I predict that this state of affairs will not hold much longer as Hartwood's popularity grows. So it is unlikely I will be returning, unless perhaps in the off-season.

Alright, so how was the food? (and if you are irritated it has taken me so long to get to this point, consider this a mirror of the experience itself). First -- the romance of the jungle setting as the light fades and the candles are lit makes this a special experience. Even a religious experience, as a priest-like figure passes by swinging a brass censer, its incense-like contents spewing smoke intended to repel mosquitoes. And now, finally, to the sacrament, uh, I mean, food. Much has been made of the fresh fruit cocktails, and they were okay. But I was more impressed with the almost exclusively Mexican wine list, and very happy with the rose I chose. Who knew Mexico had such good wine? Tuna ceviche and jicama salad appetizers were indescribably good. It is this sort of eating that warrants the pain of getting through the door. The otherworldly mood set by the priest-like figure was sustained by these divine dishes. Alas, we were brought back to the mundane with the overly-sweetened ribs which were our main course. Agave marinade sounded like a good idea but turned out to be cloying. Corn and coconut ice cream for desert did nothing to restore the ecstasy.

Still, overall it was worth the wait. The one complaint I have has nothing to do with the logistics, the disappointing entree, or even the somewhat pretentious waitstaff. Rather it was with the hurried pacing of the courses. I have complained about this in other reviews as well: fine dining establishments should allow their guests the pleasure of a langorous meal. Having paid the price of admission, being rushed is the real indignity.

Tasting Notes: Venice

The local population of Venice is shrinking. "We are now down to 59,500, it's slowing slightly as we get down to the 'zoccolo duro', the hard core", said Matteo Secchi, head of the protest group Venessia.com. With millions of tourists flooding Venice each year to visit its immense art and architectural heritage, locals are fleeing for lack of affordable rents and services. To the casual visitor, it can be hard to get a sense of the living city.

This is where foodies have an advantage. Connecting with seasonal produce is one way of being in touch with local rhythms of farming and eating. In Venice, this connection is possible for two reasons. First, the agriculture of the Veneto is still characterized by market gardening. This labor intensive method allows for growing many more varieties of plants than industrial farming does. Particularities rather than consistency can be encouraged: cultivars that have a short season, or are more delicate, or are specific to a locality. (Here in the U.S., "heirloom gardening" is an attempt to revive this approach.) The second reason is that this bounty is readily available to Venetians at the Rialto market, right in the heart of town. This time last year, Venessia.com and other groups had an important victory: they succeeded in reversing plans to relocate the 700 year old market to the mainland.

If you are lucky enough to go to Venice in late March-early April, you will catch the short season of the "castraure", the first shoots of the artichoke. Before the full-grown artichokes begin to sprout, a tiny bud appears at the top of the plant. This is what is snipped off to become castraure -- so miniature that there is nothing to trim; so tender they can be eaten raw. In this delicate offering is held a concentrated bite (two at the most) of artichoke essence.

For such tiny morsels, castraure can be quite versatile. My first taste of it was at the esteemed restaurant, Osteria Da Fiore. Of the exquisite food we had there, the most exquisite was gnocchi stuffed with crab, served with braised castraure. Perhaps the gnocchi was intended to be the star, but from my first taste of the young artichokes, these were undoubtedly the main attraction, an unbelievable spring intensity leaping from their small tendrils. The crab and its juices were merely there to enhance the sweetness they yielded.

You don't have to go the most expensive restaurants in town to find castraure. I happened upon them again at one of those restaurants lining the Grand Canal near the Rialto bridge. The proprietor of the Terrazza Sommariva flagged us down as we were passing by, trying to lure us with offers of pizza. But when I inquired about castraure, sure enough, there they were on the menu as a special, this time paired with shrimp. The shrimp, by the way, were amongst the tenderest I have ever tasted. But the castraure blew me away. This time, they were shredded raw and lightly seasoned with olive oil, lemon, garlic, salt, and most importantly chives. This preparation brought out a completely different flavor than the one I had had the night before -- the slight stringency of the raw shoots given depth by the chives, then made to sparkle by the lemon.

Venice's food is sometimes criticized as being boring and limited. I disagree. Follow the market offerings and you will find chefs that are inspired and creative, and a cuisine that is very much alive.

Varieties of Artichoke at the Rialto Market (local and regional)

Venice, Italy

Photo credits: Chris Svoboda
And: thanks to Marcella Hazan, still my most reliable guide to Italian food.

Road Food

When I am on a road trip, I somehow feel compelled to eat "regional food". Honestly -- is there really such a thing anymore? And if it were any good, why is it still only regional? Nevertheless, driving through Virginia on my way to North Carolina, I managed to ingest fried onion rings, deep fried pickles, and a pimiento cheeseburger. Pimiento cheese, for the uninitiated, is cheddar cheese mixed with mayonnaise and pimiento peppers. A big debate rages about whether to use Duke's mayonnaise or Miracle Whip.

All of this left me feeling quite green, and sort of jipped. Nevertheless, on the return journey, I felt compelled to make one last attempt. I had read about deep fried banana cheesecake at a place called the Glass House Grill. I was attracted to the idea of fried bananas nestled with the cheese filling, but if I had read more carefully, I would have realized that it was the pastry itself that was deep fried. Sure enough, when this dish showed up, it turned out to be something like a giant churro (deep fried, sugar dusted dough) stuffed with bananas and sweet cheese and topped with caramel sauce. And I loved it!  It was worth every calorie and every gram of cholesterol.

Sneaking peeks at what other diners where eating, everything looked fresh and tempting. This place really has a unique spin on road food, but road food it is: it's right off the highway (I-85) in a town called South Hill, VA.  Enough to make me look for reasons to head south again.

Tasting Notes: Kyrgyzstan

This post is dedicated to those wondering if there is anything to eat in Kyrgyzstan besides horse meat and mare's milk. Travel guides love to revel in these exotica, and perhaps there is an audience for it. But for the rest us, a reassuring note: Kyrgyzstan is no Mongolia, a country so ill-suited to agriculture that all of its fresh produce is imported from China. No, Kyrgyzstan produces its own fruit and vegetables. In this post I give you a late summer delight: berries.

Tiny but intense strawberries, wrapped in paper cones and sold by street vendors. And blackberries, made into delicious tarts and home brewed blackberry wine, sold in recycled bottles that happened to be on hand.

Apologies for this blurry photo, but I had to include something to document these delicious tarts:

Perhaps made more delicious because eaten while ambling on the paths of the Ala Archa national park:

And in case you are wondering why there are snow capped moutains in late summer, those are year-round glaciers. Though they are receding...

Tasting Notes: Tajikistan

By the rushing waters of the Varzob River, near Dushanbe,

We ate lamb shashlik...

and grilled fish...

But the dishes to die for were the salad -- local tomatoes and cucumbers so flavorful that all the seasoning they required was a sprinkle of salt --

-- and chaka, a local yogurt so sour, it is referred to as a "sour milk preparation" in culinary guides. Yum!

On the other hand, what wouldn't taste good in this setting?

Tasting Notes: Sweden

My favorite foodie moment in Sweden was not a dish but this thoughtful (and energy efficient) gesture:

Mezze to Die For (Bodrum Peninsula, Turkey)

In my head, I am speaking in hushed tones. Part reverence for this jewel of  a spot on the Bodrum Peninsula, and part "I don't know if I really want to tell about this." The town of Gumusluk is in a protected historical site, allowing it to escape the development in progress all around it. It is naturally protected as well, a sheltered cove that is perpetually serene.

There, at the far right end, slightly set apart from the other restaurants, we found the Gumus Cafe on the water's edge. The view from our table looked like this.

But it's not just the setting. It's the food. We had been eating mezze almost every night for the past 10 days -- at first by choice, and then at the insistence of Turkish friends. It's not really possible to skip this array of spreads and smoked dishes when dining out in Turkey. After the mezze come the salads and appetizers. Only then are you permitted to order the main course. By the time we got to Gumusluk, I was eager to skip over this procession and get right to the fish. After all, this was a fishing village, and fish is what the restaurants were known for.

It was not to be. As I was relaxing at our table at the water's edge, others in our party were off to view the mezze on offer. They came back having ordered...an exuberant array of mezze and appetizers. Right then, I knew we would never get to the fish course. As it turned out, I was not sorry. Not one bit. The Gumus Cafe has a seriously refreshing approach to these first courses, and even in my mezzed-out condition, I dove right in to that rapturous state that is the quest of all foodies. To top it off, the restaurant also carries an excellent Turkish white wine, Yucel Vineyards' Mayya '10, made from the Narince grape. Thanks to Tali for passing on this knowledge. 

Here is a pic of the label, plus two of my favorite dishes: grilled octopus salad and kelp salad

For my Istanbul post, click here
For my Cappadocia post, click here

Istanbul Delights, with notes

Artichoke hearts big as a big man's palm; strawberries for breakfast; apricots steeped overnight, swollen and stuffed with clotted cream, their split side pressed into stuffed pistachios; swordfish shish, moist fish pressed up against grilled lemons on a spit; onion shish: onions stuffed with grilled beef and marinated in pomegranite juice, then baked (my favorite); liver and onions in a trendy alley in the Galata neighborhood, a crevice of glamor tucked between stone walls. This is our secret, said Elif. 

   

Notes:

1. Artichokes and strawberries are in season in May; they show up everywhere so you become aware of this very quickly. Peeled artichoke hearts are sold in markets, stored in lemon juice to prevent discoloring, ready for cooking. In the second photo in the middle, you can see the artichokes, with shelled fava beans (left) and shelled garbanzo beans (right) in bags on top of the jars.

2. Apricots and clotted cream; artichokes and fava beans: these were among dishes we prepared in a cooking class taught by Selin Rozanes, who opens her home in the Nasantasi neighborhood. Afterward, Selin led a tour of the spice market, where many of the ingredients were purchased. See the full range of classes and foodie tours on offer at http://www.turkishflavours.com/. Delicious Istanbul blog also has a useful guide to shopping in the Istanbul Spice Market.

3. Swordfish shish at the Seven Hills restaurant in the Sultan Ahmed neighborhood was one of the best meals I had in Istanbul. Their mezze platter also has the best smoked eggplant I had in the entire two weeks in Turkey (similar to babaghanoush, but called patlijaan in Turkey).  The restaurant is touristy and expensive, but the excellent food and the views of the Blue Mosque and the Sea of Marmara are worth it.

4. Onion shish at the Kiva restaurant that serves Anatolian food, right by Galata Tower. A special dish. We had to order a second plate.

5. The secret alley. I will keep the secret.

For my post on Cappadocia, click here
For my post on the Bodrum Peninsula, click here


Photo credits: Chris Svoboda

Tasting Notes Brazil: Caipirinha Catalog

A belated posting from my March trip to Brazil. A notable addition to my caipirinha catalog: served with a lime juice popsicle in Bier Fass restaurant on the shores of Lake Paranoa in Brasilia. A thrilling moment -- my need to share it overrides the grainy cell phone picture. Thanks to Taryn for sharing these with me!

Tasting Notes: Mongolia(2)

"I'm going to order a bottle of vodka and meat dumplings for the table; after that you are on your own," said Dorj, our host in Ulaan Baator. Dorj had not been happy when we told him we wanted to try Mongolian food. "It's nothing but greasy meat and flour," he grumbled. So this was his way of washing his hands off the matter: beyond the vodka and dumplings, he was not prepared to vouch for anything.

I perused the menu. Several varieties of "energy soup" jumped out at me: soups made from various organs of sheep and goat, rich with red blood cells alleged to impart said energy. I thought of my foodie failure with the sea cucumbers a few nights before, and resolved to have more guts this time. I opted for a soup featuring intestine, kidneys and liver. "Less Energy Soup," it was called. This was in contrast to the more robust "Energy Soup," which had all of the above plus lung and brain. I guess there were limits as to how far I could tap my inner Mongolian. For the main course, we chose mutton ribs and spine -- a dish serving 2-4 people. 


Buuz -- steamed dumplings

 By now the dumplings and vodka had arrived. Dorj had ordered two types: steamed dumplings, called buuz, and fried ones, called khuushuur. The steamed ones, he explained, were eaten in winter, typically around new year celebrations. These could be frozen by the hundreds, and easily reheated to serve to guests. The fried ones -- bearing a strong resemblance to large empanadas -- were better eaten fresh, and were more popular in summer when they are sold at street stands. The heat of the just-fried kuushuur on the finger tips is good for circulation of the blood, he explained.

Khuushuur -- fried dumplings

Such good choices! I loved them both, especially the khuushuur, which were indeed piping hot, just the right amount of greasy, and filled with wonderfully spiced meat. Buuz were good too, the steamed meat bathing in its own gravy inside a small dumpling sealed with a top knot. I was a bit taken aback by the vodka -- a whole bottle of Chinggis Khaan Black Label had arrived for the four of us. "Don't worry," said Dorj.

I was so much enjoying this portion of the meal that I sort of wished we had left it at that. I was in heaven with what we had going. The  soup, when it arrived, was okay; certainly nothing I couldn't stomach.  It was sort of watery though, bits of organ floating in a thin broth. I helped myself to more dumplings. Dorj poured another round of vodka.

Then came the main course. It quickly became evident why this was a dish for 2-4 people. This was no serving of individual ribs with a side of spine: the ribs of the sheep were still attached to their respective vertabrae. Basically, the entire upper half of the carcass had been plonked on a big platter. As advertised, it came covered in broad noodles and a generous amount of steamed vegetables.

So we dug in, even Dorj. "Not as greasy as I thought," he proclaimed. He looked quite sheepish at the small salad he had ordered for himself.  I enjoyed the ribs too -- anyone who has eaten with me knows how I love to eat meat off the bone. But despite Dorj's pronouncement, it was a little heavy, so I was glad when he poured another round of vodka to help it down.

For those who are thinking that this menu must have been designed for tourists, I should note that this was low tourist season and we were probably the only foreigners in the place. But perhaps the Mongolians think of it as a sort of Disneyland rather than anything to do with themselves. At least three of the tables were there to celebrate children's birthday parties. To mark the occasion, the lights would be dimmed, a recorded version of "Happy Birthday" in English would be played, and a troupe of waitresses dressed in full Mongolian costume would accompany the song with tambourines and other percussion instruments. Remembering these scenes still makes me smile.

By night's end, all the dumplings were gone, a mess of bones was left on the platter, and the vodka bottle was drained.  Dorj had been right: the dumplings were the best thing, and there had been no need to worry about the full bottle of Chinggis being too much. Always listen to your host.

For travelers: if it's dumplings you're after, there is no need to go to a "Mongolian restaurant". The streets of Ulaan Baatar are strewn with Khaan Buuz -- small shops serving steamed dumplings -- and in summer no doubt it will be hard to avoid street peddlers selling khuushuur. Also, do avoid the Chinese restaurant in the Chinggis Khaan Hotel. It's obscenely overpriced. For vegetarians, try the broccoli soup at the shabby-chic Italian restaurant called Veranda: thick and green, this was Dorj's choice when left to his own devices.

Tasting Notes: Mongolia

Yes, I'm on the road again. That means more little snippets rather than full blown posts -- like this one from a Chinese restaurant in Mongolia. One whole page of the menu was devoted to the "sea cucumber". I had no idea what the sea cucumber was, and estimated that the non-English speaking staff would not be able to help me out. So, I passed. Yeah, sue me for being a foodie failure, if you wish. Does being feeble of mind on my first day here count as a defense?

As it turned out, wikipedia has made me both regretful and thankful that I missed this opportunity. On the one hand it tells us: "There are a number of dishes made with sea cucumber as this ingredient is expected to have a strong cultural emphasis on health."  But in the next sentence: "In most dishes, the sea cucumber has a slippery texture.".

And here is their picture to prove it:

Anybody out there with knowledge of the sea cucumber? Worth braving?

For the full wikipedia entry, click here

Leaving India

In  my mind I had left India. The last day of driving around Mumbai, past squalid shacks that stretched on for miles (much more extensive than anything I have seen in South Africa), capped off with the vision of the 27-story Ambani tower, had given me enough to digest. At one billion dollars, the "mansion in the sky" is reportedly the most expensive private residence in the world. At night, it is illuminated to accentuate its jutting verandas and shaded recesses, their differently shaped and sized living spaces designed so that no two floors replicate one another.

Photo credit: Forbes.com

By the time I got to the airport, I was ready to leave this land of opposites. After passing through security, I marched directly to the Mugg and Bean and ordered a good old cheese and tomato sandwich on multigrain bread. Enough with the Indian food! As I munched, I was transported to a different place, a place which, if not necessarily happier, had more familiar contradictions and firmer ground from which to navigate them. I breathed a little easier reading the new John Irving novel, "Last Night in Twisted River," where the action was unfolding in New Hampshire and the cook at the logging camp was cooking Italian. "The Lost Flamingos of Bombay", purchased earlier in the day, would have to wait.

On board the 1:45am Delta flight to Amsterdam, the meal service was a brief one. I peeked under the aluminum cover of the tray. Staring back at me were: a baby dosa (about the size of a spring roll, snugly fitting vertically into the tray), a miniature mound of upma, and between them, a small dish of sambar, for dipping the dosa. "We're still here!" the South Indian breakfast trio seemed to say.

I blinked at them, not quite sure how to react. The upma seemed a bit darker than the one I had eaten in Pune. Was it in fact upma? In spite of everything, I began to reengage. "Excuse me," I queried the Indian woman sitting next to me, "what is this?" "It's masala upma", she replied.  "It's made from wheat. You can also have a plain upma, but this one is seasoned with garam masala. And this sambar, it's for dipping the dosa. A classic South Indian breakfast."

As I explained in my last post, I had become acquainted with two of these three. Learning to enjoy dosa and upma for breakfast had brought me some steps closer to understanding how life is lived in India. So far, the sambar has seemed too much to take in. But gradually, I am growing to embrace the whole Indian enchilada, with all its contradictions.

Dosa with sambar



Tasting Notes: India

Much as I love Indian food -- especially Indian food in India -- I have usually opted for the Western style breakfasts when travelling there. The exception has been in southern India -- in states like Karnateka and Tamil Nadu -- where hotels offer freshly made dosa. In those states, if you look towards the back of the breakfast room, you will invariably find a dosa station, with a chef preparing the wafer thin, crispy foot-long pancakes on a griddle and wrapping them around spicy potatoes and onions. But now I was further north in Pune, in the state of Maharashtra.

Who knows why, then, that the Indian breakfast at the Deccan Royaale Hotel suddenly seemed appealing. I found myself drawn to "upma", cream of wheat thickened to a stiffness, and seasoned with mustard seeds, green chilis, ginger, onions and kari leaves. Suddenly it seemed perfectly natural to be eating these flavors for breakfast -- and I loved how a new vista had opened. I am looking forward to exploring my way through more early morning choices!

Turns out upma is a south Indian dish too, though popular now throughout India. I am keen to try it in the south though. If the Deccan's dosa was anything to go by, the upma was probably nothing like how it tastes closer to its home. For one thing, the dosas were not freshly made, and for another, their regal size had been cut down to bite-sized mushy pieces. ("Cut dosa", they were labelled.) But once you have had a freshly made dosa, nothing else will do. My colleague Bharath, himself from the south, felt sure that the kitchen could come up with a fresh dosa, and he was right. But while he was eventually served something that looked closer to the real thing, the taste missed the mark. To the south then, next time. I will try to wangle an invitation from him to Chennai!

Update: On June 15, 2011, Floyd Cardoz won the Top Chef Masters contest with a dish of mushroom upma. Click to here to see the announcement in the Times of India. 

Tasting Notes: Thailand

Opening ceremonies at the 14th International Anti-Corruption Conference in Bangkok were an extravaganza to behold. Orchestras playing music from the four regions of Thailand sat cross-legged in the courtyard of the Queen Sirikit convention center. Regional dance and craft-making were similarly on display, with special presentations involving drums, dragons, and fireworks punctuating the evening. To say that the food on offer was abundant would not come close to conveying the spread, laid out buffet style in the entire restaurant area indoors, and snaking around the festivities outdoors...

In the midst of all this hub-hub, I came across a new (to me) taste: soothing and refreshing lemongrass juice.

It must have been sweetened because its tangy taste was tempered, yielding a sweet muskiness that also evoked jasmine. It turns out that lemongrass juice is easy to make. The method involves bruising and then boiling the stalks to extract the juice, much as you would do to make a tea. (Unlike, say, the different method than is used for making wheatgrass juice, where the grass itself is passed through a specialized juicing device.) This makes sense, as cooking with lemongrass also involves extracting the essence from the stalk: the green grassy parts of the plant are actually tough and bitter, and not very suitable for cooking or drinking. Those, like me, who have learned about cooking with lemongrass through trial and disasterous error, will know what I mean. :)

In any case, I found this recipe for lemongrass juice. If the lemongrass in my kitchen planter is still alive by the time I get home, I will be trying it out. 

Tasting Notes: Uganda

I'm travelling for work and the pace is hectic. No time to craft any detailed posts, so here are some tasting notes of new foods of note:

In Uganda I discovered matoke, a staple made from steamed and mashed green bananas (the type of banana is also called matoke), served in its leaf with peanut sauce. Yum! I ate it with almost every meal.

And to drink: a deadly spirit: waraj, made by distilling fermented banana.

Here is a picture of the matoke banana being sold at market in Kampala (top), and being steamed in its leaves (below):

Photo credit: Moongateclimber

Photo credit: Cynthia Gherie



Bloggable by a thread

GERO, Rua Aníbal de Mendonçam 157, Ipanema, Rio de Janeiro, TEL: 55-21/2239-8158

Normally, Gero would not be the kind of experience I would blog about. I said from the outset that I would not use this space to bemoan disappointing dining experiences, and this was a betrayal of huge proportions.

There we were in Ipanema, Rio’s trendiest neighborhood. Dining guides and accepted wisdom sent us to Gero, the first of the Fasano group, with promises of innovative Italian cuisine and fresh pasta prepared on the spot. Chris’ first comment should have alerted me. “This is a place that both Monica and Harriet could really get into”. Now, Monica is a Hollywood agent, with academy award winning clientele, and Harriet has a stunning home in the hills of Santa Barbara. A red flag should have gone up to tell me that this was going to be the kind of place where the glamorous outdid the gastronomic. I missed it.

As we settled into our respective caiprinhas and white wine, an array of breads and spreads was laid out before us. Saving my carbs for the pasta, I shunned all of this. It had been so long since I travelled in Europe that I had forgotten to beware of the customary “couvert” charge for the little starters that appear unordered – most definitely not on the house. The custom was replicated here, in this case boosting the bill by a whopping $25. Mercifully, we only found out about that later.

I had arrived with a decisive yearning for fish – and Italians do fish so well – but the price points on the menu dictated pasta. Grouper with basil sauce sounded good, but not so good as to warrant $40. Anyway, the pasta was what all the fuss was about. Since the gnocchi with calamari and scallops seemed to satisfy the pescatory requirement, I decided to go with that. Chris also compromised on the exorbitant lamb chops with truffles, ($60) and settled instead on pasta with foie gras. (My look of “oh how gross” was returned with the tart “Only you and Jillian Michaels could malign this combination”).

To start, we decided to split the green salad (splitting charge: $5). Though mostly green leaf lettuce, it was fresh and included a leaf of endive and a single spear of asparagus. All would have been well, had we not been offered what turned out to be an extra shot of olive oil. The salad had already been dressed, and this unnecessary flourish sent it over the top.

My misery reached full throttle when the gnocchi arrived. Tiny little morsels, they were immersed in a pool of butter. Rather than succulent scallops and perfectly grilled calamari sitting recognizably alongside them on the plate, the mollusks had been shaved to a nearly invisible (and correspondingly tasteless) skein.

I turned to Chris: “Can you believe how the gnocchi are swimming in butter?”

“Ever seen them doing the backstroke?” she cracked right back. It was the perfect joke at the perfect moment. But it dissolved the ire that I needed to send the dish back. Relief at finding humor in this horror of a restaurant mugging kept me from acting, and I suffered through the meal, picking at the dish and not quite being able to get through it. Chris polished off her two patties of foie gras, washed down by muscat to cut the richness. She looked quite green by the end of it, but that was to be expected, I sniffed.

It was Chris that found that elevating moment. In the bathroom of all places. There she found…a never-before-in-a-restaurant accoutrement…a dental floss dispenser. She came back to the table beaming. So there you have it. Not a food moment; not even mine, but bloggable, just by a thread.

Photo credit: Jan Chipchase

Notes on dining in Rio: Rio is not really known for its restaurants, and in fact, my favorite food moments in the city have been on the beach, where you can buy grilled shrimp with a splash of lime right from your beach chair. Still, we did have some pleasant dining experiences while we were there. Although none was to die for, here are a few I would happily go back to:

Carretao is a neighborhood churrascaria in Ipanema. At $29 for all you can eat grilled meat and elaborate salad bar, it was a good antidote to Gero, and more fun too. Drinks and dessert are extra. http://www.carretaochurrascaria.com/

Garcia & Rodrigues in Leblon is another down to earth place, and has a wine store and bakery on the premises as well as the restaurant. http://www.garciaerodrigues.com.br/

Rio Scenarium is a nightclub in the hip Lapa neighborhood, recently reclaimed from drug traffickers. You will mostly be going for the live music, samba dancing, and three floors worth of Brazilian collectibles, but it has surprisingly good food. People from 20 -75 years of age are on the dance floor. Make a reservation, come early, or be prepared to wait in a very long line. http://www.rioscenarium.com.br/

Opium’s patio on the Rua Farme de Amoedo in Ipanema is the perfect place to have a drink at the end of the day and watch people coming back from the beach. Beautifully presented but overpriced Japanese food.

Passion in the Air

In July, Chris and I went to Brazil together for the first time. My job entails a lot of international travel, and Brazil is a country I go to quite often. But this was the first time Chris was joining me, and I was looking forward to the vacation time in Rio that we had carved out.

There was a problem, though. In the best of all possible worlds, I have a direct flight from Dulles to Sao Paulo, an overnight flight lasting 10 hours. This allows me to have dinner, wash down my Ambien with the last sip of my red wine (I know you are not supposed to mix alcohol and sleeping pills, but it really takes a lot to put me down), go the bathroom, and then get a solid six hours sleep before the harsh lights blink on again and breakfast is served.

This time, because we were flying into Rio rather than Sao Paulo, we had to catch a connecting flight in Miami. Therein lay the problem. The flying time from Miami to Rio was only 8 hours. This meant that, by the time dinner was done, only 4 hours of sleeping time remained. Which meant, in turn, that we would arrive grumpy and disoriented in Rio, and our first day there would be shot. I worry a lot about these sorts of things.

So I developed a plan. Our departure time from Miami was 11:15 pm. Since we would be hungry for dinner way before then, it would make more sense to eat at the airport, and then skip the airplane meal – which would be awful anyway – and instead grab those crucial extra hours of sleep.

At first, all seemed to go well. Our terminal in MIA sported a real restaurant in addition to the food court options, and we had ample time to enjoy a solid meal. A couple of hours later, we went through the usual hassle of boarding the plane – the shuffling line to enter the aircraft, the congestion in the aisles as people search for a place to stow their overhead luggage, the bright nervousness with which people take their seats…Finally we were settled in our two-seat row, me in the window seat and Chris on the aisle. In my plan, we would have a drink and then, having already eaten dinner, we would don our face masks, insert our earplugs, and sink into oblivion until morning.

That is when the trouble began. Chris was earnestly studying the menu that the flight attendant had handed out. I think I’ll have the pasta, she announced.

But…didn’t we already have dinner? Yes, she said, but I am hungry again. I took a deep breath as my heart contracted. Roll with it, I commanded myself. For the next 55 minutes, I gave Chris bright smiles as my insides tensed into a mass of coiled springs. Bright smiles because I did not want to quash her unjaded delight at eating in the air. Bright smiles because I love the way she is so in the moment. But I kept looking anxiously her way, wondering how long this was going to take. As a byproduct of these glances, I noticed that the food actually did not look that bad. So how’s the pasta? Mmm…good! The tubes of ziti looked firm liked they were cooked al dente. The flecks of tomato sauce delicately enhanced rather than smothered the ziti…pasta with sauce, not the other way round. Looking at it I could almost taste the perfect ratio of white wine to olive oil, of garlic to salt. Want a bite, she asked? Oh no. I have already had dinner. I am satisfied.

From there, Chris moved on to the dessert. It looked yellowish and unknowable in its plastic container. Watching every move now, I followed her fork as it plunged into the nameless mass, scooped up a mouthful and made its way orad. Oh-my-god, she said. You must taste this. I was starting to get exasperated. This was airplane food, after all! No thank you. I really am quite satisfied. But it’s your favorite: passion fruit cheesecake! No thank you. There will be plenty of that, and much better, once we get to Brazil. Oooh, this is so amazing. The essence…….her voice trailed off at a loss for words beyond “the essence”. She repeated it, shaking her head in disbelief. I clenched the armrests.

After what seemed like a very long time, dinner was finally over and the carts were trundled down the aisles to collect the empty trays. Now I could get on with my routine. I swallowed my pill, and made my way to the bathroom. Waiting my turn, I found myself wedged between the bathroom wall and a parked food cart, still laden with the dinner dishes. There on the top shelf sat an uneaten serving of dessert. I stared at it, and it stared back. It’s your favorite….Chris’ words reverberated ….the essence….passion fruit, your favorite…Resolve gave way with a thud. I stuck my finger in, and sent it towards my mouth. Oh-my-god. It really was the essence….the essence of passion fruit, given flight in the most aerated cheesecake I have ever tasted. Almost a mousse, it nevertheless retained its cakey identity, then exploded in full fruitiness in your mouth. How was this possible?

In Rio, we searched to duplicate this delight, but without success. There were passionfruit cheesecakes everywhere you looked, but none like that one. Not in the Ipanema hippy market,

Ipanema Hippy Market



not in the neighborhood churrascaria, not even, once Chris had flown home and I had gone on to Sao Paulo, in the Pousada Dona Zilah where I had first discovered it. Tam Airlines takes the cake award, for the best passion in the air.

 Update: Later I was to find out that Tam's international menus are devised by the highly acclaimed Brazilian chef, Helena Rizzo. Rizzo is responsible for the São Paulo restaurant and city hot spot, Mani, at the top of chef Paulo Barroso de Barros' Top 10 list of restaurants in the city.