Romania has the majestic castles, medieval towns, great hiking and wildlife, and cheap skiing of much of the ‘undiscovered’ former Eastern Bloc…. Horse-drawn carts jostle for space against fast cars whose drivers are talking money on mobile phones; farm workers watch The Apprentice on satellite in their medieval farmhouses. No longer the weird kid of Europe it was under Ceausescu’s despotic tutelage, Romania is now making new friends and passed the entrance exams for NATO and the European Union with flying colours.”

- Lonely Planet

Buenos Aires - It was time to celebrate the “weird kid of Europe’s” birthday - or at least “Liberation Day”. Romania, or rather the independent states of Moldavia and Wallachia, secured their independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1856, unified in 1859, shortly thereafter changed their joint name to Romania, and were recognized internationally as an independent country in 1878, 130 years ago this past weekend. While Transylvania became a part of Romania until WWI, the two are often linked, though, I didn’t once think of Dracula during the planning of this meal. It just never occurred to me. I was too busy trying to figure out… well… how to make Romanian food interesting… to be quite honest.

I am sometimes drawn to odd sounding dishes, and limbǎ cu mǎsline, or beef tongue with black olives, was certainly one of those. And while I toyed with the idea of it being the main course, I first relegated it to our third course, as the hot appetizer, and later, to first position, as the cold. Why? After all, it’s a traditionally hot dish, no? Of course it is, we all know that. I just had this idea, all of the sudden, and it gave me a chance to use one of those lingering ideas from the cocina de vanguardia class I took last year.

But tongue? Ewww… I hear the squeals from hither, thither and yon. But come on, over the last year we’ve served intestines and glands of one sort or another and not one peep. Really, not one. Put tongue on the menu and you’d think I’d suggested an evening of ritual cannibalism. Still, no one cancelled their reserevation because tongue was on the menu… I think. I mean, a few people did cancel and gave other reasons… hmm… No matter, their loss, really. Let’s just put it this way, one local acquaintance who came Friday, assuring me (and throwing down the gauntlet) that he liked neither Romanian food nor tongue based on past experiences, called me Saturday morning to ask if he could come back a second night and bring a friend! He ate his whole portion of tongue. Both nights.

Though the original recipe called for beef tongue, I thought lamb’s tongue might be nicer for an appetizer. But none was to be found. My butcher who normally comes through for odd requests assured me he could get some, but called to say all he could get was veal tongue. We went with that. It’s surprisingly easy to cook. Though the recipe called for tongue simply boiled for several hours in plain salted water, then covered with a sauce made from olives and various other things, I decided that the various other things would go into the pot while it cooked. So - water, white wine, wine vinegar, garlic, tomato pulp, bay leaf, ginger, salt and black peppercorns all went into the pot with four lovely (not so…) veal tongues, which I brought to boil, turned down to low heat, covered, and left for four hours. Then I removed the tongues, let them cool a bit, peeled off the skin (very easy after cooking, don’t try it beforehand), chilled them, sliced them… and served them with black olive gelee - not coated like an aspic as some perhaps feared. No, interleaved with slices of the gelee. I took a cup of pitted black olives, tossed them in the blender with just under two cups of water, a tablespoon of horseradish, a half teaspoon of ground bay leaf and salt. I pureed that for a minute, then strained it through a fine mesh into a small saucepan, adjusted the seasoning (do it while it’s cold, because it’s going to be cold when you serve it) added four teaspoons of gelatin powder, brought to the point of a boil, stirring regularly, then poured it into a flat casserole dish, giving me a layer about ¼” deep, and stuck it in the refrigerator to gel. When done, I cut little rounds, interleaved them with the tongue slices, and decorated the plate with… a little rendered duck fat and some ground bay leaf.

There’s nothing quite like good chicken broth. Nothing. A simple broth here made with chicken wings (or thighs work well too), browned with roughly cut up carrots, celery, onion, garlic, one hot pepper, some peppercorns, a couple of bay leaves and a handful of parsley stems. When nicely browned, add water to the top of the pot, bring it to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and let cook for about 2-3 hours until it’s richly flavored. Strain into another pot, add in diced carrots, celery, onions, and potato, and cook until the vegetables are just done. Meanwhile, making the dumplings - 1 cup flour, 1 egg, 1 egg yolk, 5½ teaspoons milk, ¾ teaspoon salt, dash of nutmeg, 2 tablespoons of chopped parsley leaves. Mix all of that together to form a smooth paste. Bring a pot of salted water to a rapid boil and using little spoons (demitasse spoons work great), scoop in small spoonfuls right into the water (two spoons makes it easy, one to scoop, one to scrape it into the water). The blobs will sink, but then as they cook will slowly puff up and suddenly leap to the surface. When all the dumplings are floating on the surface, let them continue to cook for another two minutes, then strain, and add them to the soup.

I’ve talked before about how to make stuffed grape leaves, these follow the same process, just with a different filling. I sauteed diced oyster mushrooms and sunflower seeds in olive oil with salt, white pepper, and a good amount of both sweet and hot paprika. I mixed that with uncooked rice and lots of chopped dill, then stuffed the grape leaves and cooked them in a mushroom and garlic broth. We served them still hot with sour cream mixed with ground dill seed. You can’t say no to these!

Who doesn’t love a good weiner schnitzel? Or milanesa as they’re called here, or for that matter, a chicken fried steak? The unusual thing about a mosaic şniţel, or mosaic schnitzel, is that it’s done in layers - generally of one or two out of three white meats - pork, chicken, veal - sandwiched around a mushroom and/or vegetable filling. I considered going all out and doing a thin layer of all three, but decided on just chicken breast and pork loin, pounded thin, sandwiched around a pine mushroom duxelles. Then the “sandwich” is dipped in flour that’s seasoned with salt and smoked paprika, then into beaten eggs, and then into breadcrumbs mixed with grated lemon peel and chopped oregano. They’re laid on a lightly oiled sheet pan, a little more oil drizzle or spritzed atop, and baked in a hot oven for 20 minutes. We served them up with a potato and turnip puree and some sauteed zucchini. Nice and juicy, and so much more flavorful than a plain old milanesa…

Shortly after World War I, the most famous cafe in Bucharest, Cafe Capşa, received a visit from French general Joseph Joffre, and “invented” a cake in honor of his visit. It’s a chocolate - coffee - buttermilk layer cake, with dark chocolate ganache between the layers, and covered with a chocolate buttercream. It’s pretty much a deadly pièce de résistance or perhaps more accurately de no résistance, since unless you’re one of those odd people who won’t eat chocolate, this one is probably up there in the ultimate cocoa based cakes. I turned it into one of our cheesecakes, with a cocoa crust, a chocolate - coffee - buttermilk cheesecake layer, and a topping of dark chocolate ganache. Need one say more?

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 Traditional Swedish cooking cannnot be compared with the sophistication of, say, French or Italian cuisine. Swedish food is usually simple and satisfying, and nowadays also healthy. In the last few decades immigrants from all over the world have enriched our food culture with a host of exciting dishes. Foreign fast food, for example, has become an inseparable part of Swedish youth culture.”

- Destination Stockholm

Buenos Aires - I spent a few years a ways back working in the corporate world, for some reason thinking that I would change my career path from that of food and wine. A foolish goal I now know, not to put too corny a twist on it, but satisfaction in your chosen work is far more… satisfying than just being out for the big bucks… at least in the long run. As I bounced around those various tall concrete and glass structures, I had more than one opportunity to eat in an “employee dining room”, which is subtly, though not very, different from a cafeteria. Getting off the elevator on the fifth floor of the Swedish Embassy I immediately recognized the space for what it was - the employee dining room. Oh sure, Club Sueco, Tacuari 147, 4342-0888, is open to the public, though unlike some of the embassy or cultural clubs there’s no pretension to nationalism with passport checks to make sure you belong there, it’s simply open. And they’ve even done a decent job decorating the stark white walls and metal framed windows - some cute snowflake lampshades meant to evoke some sort of Scandinavian nostalgia, and actually a pretty good selection of art on the opposing end walls. And let’s face it, the Swedish Embassy likely does not have a huge number of employees, certainly not enough to support a lunchroom that takes up an entire floor of the building.

The menu is, in both intent and physicality, divided in three. Upon being seated we were informed by our waitress of the “daily plate” - a choice of beef stew and potatoes or roast chicken and rice. Neither sounded all that exciting, and looking around the room, a few folk, clearly there to eat rapidly and return to their desks on other floors or neighboring buildings, were scarfing down these all too ordinary dishes. We opted for the menu, which offers up classic Swedish appetizers and entrees. Looking through the former, a sampler plate of herring, a sampler plate of salmon, and several others, at the bottom was an unpriced item “selection of sandwiches” - us thinking perhaps some sort of smorgasbord offering, we asked - which resulted in the delivery of a different menu, listing off a dozen different sandwiches - but no sampler sort of platter for the table - just a sandwich menu (and all pretty much the exact same items on the regular menu, just stuck between slices of bread).

The two of us who had arrived decided to share a sampler plate of herring while we awaited our third. Interesting would be about the best thing I could say about it. Herring five ways. Creamed, pickled, in a salad, with a couple of sauces - nothing stood out about it, and truthfully, the platter of creamed and pickled herring at MediTeráneo tasted far fresher, livelier, and for the same price gave us more than twice the quantity of fish. Our third arrived and decided on a plate of the paté, which turned out to be a couple of nice wedges of a rustic, country style paté that was certainly the better choice of appetizers. I should mention the bread - it’s brought out on little plates, with a selection of different breads - raisin-walnut, some sort of corn-rye, and a very cruncy hardtack kind of biscuit - one piece for each person at a time - all well and good if you’re serving fresh, warm bread, but annoying for both customer and waitstaff if it’s just simply room temp bread being stuck on a plate and shuttled to the table every time someone takes a bite. It’s also not served automatically with the dill sour cream that the obvious regulars were receiving, we had to ask… twice.

Main courses fared far better. I couldn’t not order a plate of Swedish meatballs, or kottbuller, and these were excellent - tight, firm little balls with nice herbed flavors, well made mashed potatoes, and a red currant jam on the side. Yum! One of my companions ordered the biff lindstrom, essentially a hamburger made with ground beef, sweet and sour beets, and capers. Quite interesting I must say, and something I’ve not tried before (I have this vague recollection that I might have tasted them in mini form off a smorgasbord), but would again. It was served up with delicious roasted potatoes and a little gravy. And our third decided on the gnocchi… not exactly a traditional Swedish dish, though quite different from anything I’ve seen… anywhere… the gnocchi dough, made with squash rather than potato, was a thin coating around a ball of a blue cheese filling, and they were huge - the size of golf balls. A little intense on the blue cheese for my tastes, the squash dough sort of disappearing in the flavor mix. But my friend seemed to like them quite a bit and ate them all up.

So all told, a nice experience in the lunchroom. And the prices weren’t bad - for three of us with a sampler plate and another appetizer, three entrees, three bottles of water, four coffees (another friend joined us for coffee at the end of the meal), and one limonada (an interesting but not overly recommendable house drink of lemonade, orange blossom water, and finely minced mint leaves), the bill ran to 140 pesos, just about $45.

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 I think that I shall never see a billboard lovely as a tree. Indeed, unless the billboards fall, I’ll never see a tree at all.”

- Ogden Nash

Buenos Aires - The city of Buenos Aires has declared war on billboards, with the intent to remove some 60% of them, roughly 40,000, from the various barrios, calling it “visual pollution”. While I agree in principle that billboards on an in general basis are nothing more than an eyesore, I have to admit I would miss (should this ever actually come to pass) the amusement that some of them engender.

Caras y Caretas (Faces and Masks) is a local weekly that often has eye-catching adverts, like this one for its issue devoted to the global (and in particular local) food supply crisis, with a quote (oddly attributed to “Angel Parra-Quilapayún” - Ángel Parra is a Chilean folklorist who is part of the Nueva Canción movement, and Quilapayún is a sextet within the same movement, and while they’ve appeared together, they are separate) that roughly translates as “What fault does the tomato have, sitting quietly on the vine, if some son of a whore comes along and shoves it in a can”.

Indeed.

In other news, recently the Lucchetti pasta company introduced its Tirabuzones con Salsa de Queso - the local version of mac’ and cheese. Now, having grown up with a fair amount of the blue box version thrown in here and there as quick and easy side dishes to dinner, and for many years using the same as a late night snack when getting home from bar-hopping or working late, I have an admitted fondness for the… crap. We all know it’s not real mac’ and cheese, and given the time, I’d much rather put together the real thing. But, it’s a convenience, and it’s strangely addictive. So I thought I’d give the Lucchetti a try, as the Kraft stuff isn’t available here. Let’s just say I took a bullet for the team. Really, you don’t have to try this stuff out. The pasty, insipid greyish sauce that coats the corkscrew pasta (a claimed three portions per box, you’ve got to be kidding, it didn’t fill one soup bowl, but then, thankfully…) like Elmer’s glue is about as tasty. Even salt and pepper didn’t help.

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  In a country of more than 1 billion people, with 16 official languages and myriad ethnic influences, there is no singular “Indian” cuisine. Instead, hundreds of culinary styles co-exist, each shaped by a unique confluence of geography, history, climate and religion. Each of India’s 28 states and seven union territories has its own specialties. Many American diners are familiar with dishes like chicken tikka masala, lamb saag and tandoori shrimp–specialties that have become the lingua franca of Indian cooking in America. Those northern Indian foods dominate menus in the United States, leaving many customers uninformed about the rich regional variation in Indian cooking.”

- Erica Duecy, Western Indian Cuisine, Nation’s Restaurant News

Buenos Aires - There were so many possibilities for this past weekend’s dinner themes - Italian for Ferragosto, Chinese for the Olympics, Korean Liberation Day, VJ Day, Mother’s Day in Costa Rica, Indian Independence Day… it had been quite some time since we’d last offered up a “sub-continent” dinner, and I happen to like Indian food quite a bit, and besides, it was my friend Belli’s birthday, he’s Indian, and the owner of a local Indian restaurant. That was the one. But which Indian cuisine? We’d gone north before, with our Kashmiri dinner last October, and similar cuisine from neighboring Pakistan the previous March. I thought about splitting things up and offering one course from each of the five major regions of the country, but in the end, decided to focus on just one - but which? Leaving off the north, I randomly… more or less… picked the west, and from there decided on one dish each from five of the more interesting sounding cuisines of the area.

Sometimes it’s the simplest things that are the best - in fact, often - and this dish was one of the evening’s favorites. Fresh green beans were just coming into the markets, and there’s a fairly famous green bean coconut salad from Gujarati cuisine - the premier vegetarian cooking of India. A couple of things were going to have to be compromised - fresh coconuts are not in season here and no asafoetida spice - but then, since when did I ever cook anything in a traditional manner? The original recipe called for powdered roasted peanuts and sugar, I happened upon a Thai sweet peanut drink mix in Chinatown that contained just those two ingredients - how convenient is that? I cooked a kilo and a half of the green beans in boiling salted water until just starting to soften - I wanted them to stay a little crisp. Drained and set aside still warm. Meanwhile, I sauteed two tablespoons of black mustard seeds in about ¾ cup of neutral oil until they were sputtering and popping, then added a finely chopped red onion, continued cooking until just transluscent, and then added ½ cup grated coconut and ¼ cup of the peanut powder and sugar mix, which immediately soaked up all the liquid, and I continued cooking, stirring steadily, until the coconut had just toasted to a medium golden color. I tossed that mixture with the green beans, and added three thinly sliced green jalapeño peppers. Every little while until the dish was cooled I mixed it up a bit. When cool, I added salt to taste and served it at room temperature.

Next up, a dalitoy from the canon of Saraswati cooking. I was originally going to use yellow lentils, but couldn’t find anything but brown or red. I considered using yellow split peas, but then suddenly spotted packages of small yellow pulses labeled “green bean insides”. I assume these are the removed and dried seeds of green beans like those above, so I immediately had a bit of a sequential flow going, you know? Into the blender with several green and red chilies, some ginger, several cloves of garlic, a teaspoon of turmeric powder, enough oil to fry it all in, and just enough water to smooth the whole thing to a smooth paste - figuring it will evaporate right away, which it does. Into the soup pot with this paste, which within a minute or so begins to fry up beautifully, and turns a deep golden yellow color. I added a kilo of the bean seeds, topped the pot up with water, and cooked until they were done, stirring occasionally. Salt to taste, sprinkle with a good amount of chopped cilantro, and there you have a yummy green bean innards soup!

This is the dish from which I probably departed the furthest from the original. I’d settled on a Pomfret, or Butterfish, Curry from Goa, a place that is justifiably famous for its seafood dishes. I found several recipes for the curry, known as papletchi amti, and all of them sounded quite similar - so I set out to make the curry paste that was called for. And it was awful. Bitter. Disgusting. I honestly have no idea what wasn’t working, I tried it twice with the proportions of the various ingredients called for - maybe it’s simply the difference in the spices available here, maybe it’s one of those cases where someone posted a poor recipe somewhere on the internet and others picked it up and didn’t bother to check it out. All I know is there was no way I was putting that mixture onto anything that we were serving. Into the trash it went. Twice. Instead, I looked over the various ingredients and started combining in proportions that tasted good to me, deciding to leave out the coconut milk since I was already using coconut in three other dishes. I made a paste of garlic, ginger, hot yellow chilies, coriander and cumin seed, and salt. I sauteed thinly sliced yellow onions in that mixture until they were lightly browned. Meanwhile, I simmered some tamarind paste in water until soft, and then strained that mixture into the onions and set that aside. I sauteed some red and green pepper strips, mostly just for color, but also figuring the flavors worked together. Into foil pouches I put a couple of tablespoons of the onion mixture when cooled, laid a fillet of pomfret atop, a few strips of the peppers, and a sprinkle of salt. Then I sealed the packets, and for dinner, put them in the oven to bake the fish in its own juices atop the onion tamarind curry. And then, simply served them atop rice that had some more of the onion mixture atop. Some finely julienned basil completed the dish. Since a couple of the guests informed me after dinner one night that they used to live in Goa and had never eaten a fish curry that good, I’m glad I threw out the bitter stuff…

One of the things that I always “knew” in my early years of culinary experience was that Indians don’t eat beef. But that’s not accurate. Hindus don’t eat beef, at least not traditionally. And Hindus, while the majority, are only 80% of the population of the country. So at least a few of the cows in the land don’t get away with their sacred status, and one place in particular seems to be Kerala, on the southwest coast. Numerous sources cited the Kerala Beef Dry Fry as the ultimate comfort food of the region for those far from home, and after whipping this dish up, or at least my own version, I can understand. I first dry roasted some coriander seeds, black peppercorns, dry red chilies, fennel seeds, cardamom seeds, cloves, and cinnamon stick until smoky and aromatic. I ground those in the food mill to a fine powder, and then coated 1″ cubes of beef in the mixture and left it to sit for about an hour. The I sauteed some julienned ginger, sliced garlic, and chopped preserved coconut (it had a touch of sugar, but not much, and I figured it would balance off against the hot spices) in oil, added the cubes and cooked until lightly browned on the outside, topped it up with water, a splash of cider vinegar, and… a spoonful or two of mayonnaise for richness (suggested by more than one online source, though not at all traditional), brought it to a simmer, covered it, and cooked the meat for about 30 minutes until tender. Then I strained that, setting aside the liquid. For dinner, I tossed the onions and a few fresh bay leaves (no curry leaves available, and several people had suggested that this worked with the dish - onions and bay do work well together) with just a spoonful or two of clarified butter in a big dutch oven, cooking them until they were just softened. I added the beef, which having been simmered already, doesn’t have any additional fat to render - this being the “dry fry” idea - virtually no oil or fat. I cooked this over medium heat, covered, stirring regularly, for about 15 minutes. While that was cooking I reduced the remaining cooking liquid from the beef to a gravy-like consistency. I had made a cauliflower-millet mash (no special recipe, easy to find online), which I heated up with a little butter and milk to give it some richness. We served the beef alongside the mash, topped the mash with the gravy, and a wedge of lemon on the side to give the dish a little brightness (you could, of course, just squeeze the lemon over the dish before serving, but it looks pretty on the plate). Some chopped chives for garnish, and done. I really like this dish, even if my version isn’t fully traditional, and totally understand the comfort food angle!

Many Indian desserts leave me asking “why?” It’s not that they’re not good, they’re just so different from my background that sometimes, especially texturally, they just don’t resonate. I’d decided on a coconut cardamom pudding, which I scooped into pre-baked phyllo tart shells and then topped with sliced bananas and pineapple, a drizzle of honey and a sprinkle of powdered sugar. I like the flavors, but the texture for me falls somewhere around that of a slightly softened gummi bear. Several people really liked it, others clearly weren’t as thrilled - I don’t think I’d make it again, though I might work on something that incorporated those flavors…

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 The 550 farmers who contribute the cow’s milk for Beemster cheese belong to a century-old Dutch cooperative in the province of North Holland. But the land they farm, a 200-square-mile area called the Beemster Polder, has been dairy country for four centuries. Prior to that, the land was underwater.”

- Janet Fletcher, The Cheese Course, SFGate

Buenos Aires - I’ve never been big on “tasting notes” - those pithy (well, truly, more often pedantic) descriptions of, generally, a wine or liquor that purport to tell you what the liquid tastes like. I find too often that the writer is given to bizarre flights of fancy and associations with past memories that as often as not come from unshared experiences. That’s not really the problem - we’re all used to someone desribing a past event and being able to figure out a common reference point from which to appreciate their description. The problem is, that it’s about wine, or something similar, and that scares people. It really does. When it comes to flavors, people simply don’t trust their own palates - and more so when it’s about a luxury item. I’m not saying they don’t have a reaction, a visceral yum or yuck (the yin-yang of the tasting world), but too often, people have a need to “get it right”. And there is no right, despite the claims of one or another expert.

Look, if I tell you that a wine tastes like snizzleberries with hints of three day old mandlebrot and just a touch of well-steamed steffle seeds, you ought to be looking at me like I’m crazy and haven’t the foggiest idea what I’m talking about. The issue is, most people won’t - they’ll start sniffing away at the wine and trying to pick up those lovely fruit, fractal and spice aromas, and some of them will actually declare them into existence. Worse, is the person who simply doesn’t find anything more than “it smells fruity”, who now feels a complete failure, idiot, dolt, incompetent, and lacking in all abilities olfactory and gustatory.

And that’s all a shame, because despite the intent of a tasting note (on the part of most writers, with the exceptions of a few who really do set out to paint themselves as superior beings) is really just to give a frame of reference, a picture if you will, of a flavor. In fact, my favorite technique for teaching people about wine is to have one after another person taste a wine, with eyes closed, and describe not the flavors, but the picture that comes into their mind. I don’t tell them all until afterwards that they’ve all tasted the same wine - and it’s amazing how different the described scenes are, yet how they often have a truly common thread - try it with a group of friends… really.

So, all that said, I’m about to give you some tasting notes. Of a cheese and wine. Some guests of Casa SaltShaker recently came in from the Netherlands, and one had asked me if there was anything he could bring me. Without hesitation, I answered, “an aged gouda”. This is not the little wax wrapped gouda cheese of the supermarket that we’re all used to, this is one of the king’s of the aged cheese world, and certainly up there in my top five favorite cheeses on the planet. To date. I’ve had the wedge of cheese here for a week or so, just waiting for an evening when a couple of friends who might appreciate it would join me (and couldn’t get anyone to, more’s the shame), for the wedge and some wine. Not that I finished off either on my own (Henry was off to La Plata for a couple of days and wouldn’t have been interested anyway) - so there’s still some time to come over and try… the cheese.

Our guests brought a four year old aged “gouda-style” cheese called a Beemster, and one in particular from the town of Alkmaar, where they live. A little shy of a kilogram piece, it came in at 74 pesos - or $11 and change a pound.

Thoughts on the cheese as I tasted it: fine crunchy crystals, rich, creamy, mouth filling - almost like peanut butter, with a viscous oiliness, flavors of brown butter, roasted almonds, aged rum, salt, incredible length.

I selected a bottle of Château Bellegrave 1996 Pomerol ($33 wholesale ten years ago) to open with it - on opening: beet red, with brick orange rim. Aromas of wild strawberry, leather, fresh mushrooms, on the palate great acidity, mature, soft tannins, roasted wild strawberries, old leather, hints of earth. After one hour - smoother, less acidity, more leather, picks up note of tangerine peel. At two hours - hints of smoke, szechuan peppers creep in.

The combination? Absolute heaven. Those are my tasting notes and I’m sticking to ‘em.

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 Life isn’t enough. One life isn’t enough for me. There aren’t enough days. Too many things to do, too many ideas. Every sunset upsets me because another day has gone by.”

- Nicola Lorusso, Mediterraneo (1991)

Buenos Aires - I mentioned recently that I’m accompanying a friend on her quest to research the various kosher restaurants here in Buenos Aires. I also mentioned the utter “meh-ness” of most of them (both here and elsewhere) that I’ve experienced. So though I’m gamely forging ahead on this quest with her, I have to admit to approaching the task with a certain level of trepidation - I’d be delighted to find a place that doesn’t fall into the “same old same old” category. This wasn’t it. We’d noted a cheery looking corner white space advertising itself as a “kosher bistro”, MediTerráneo, San Luis 2902 (corner of Ecuador), in Once, 4961-5137, and decided that at the very least, it had promise. It just hadn’t made the promise to us….

A few warning bells rang in my head when we entered the place on Thursday evening, and it was bleakly empty (and stayed that way until almost the moment when we departed, when a couple came in, he with a hearing aid turned up so loud that it was emitting an audible squeal throughout the room, she yelling at him to turn it down - he didn’t, at least much). The decor, for an ostensibly Mediterranean bistro, was odd - a stand of bamboo sticks dominating the center of the room, empty metal wine racks scattered about, even hanging from the ceiling, piles of various religious literature taking up space on counters and windowsills, peeling paint, and, as noted, devoid of life signs. Including staff. We hovered a moment in the entryway, and heard a bit of noise from down a side hallway - peering in, sure enough, there were a couple of men standing in the kitchen chatting - it took a moment to get their attention, but one joined us in the dining room, expansively waving his arm at the room to indicate our choice of seating (and a whispered “Do you want bread? If so, I have to go tell the kitchen.). He followed us to the table with menus, handed them to us and got out his order pad and pen, then stood there waiting for us to choose our selections. Each choice was met with a “that’s good, but…” followed by an upsell attempt - generally not in the same category (an 8 peso plate of babaganoush was met with a recommendation for a 25 peso sampler plate; a 26 peso plate of goulash and spaetzel with a recommendation for a 48 peso salmon). The other gentleman from the kitchen, perhaps the cook, it was hard to be sure, joined him at tableside, offering nothing other than little bits of encouragement - “yes, yes, that’s good” - to each choice, ours or the waiter’s.

We settled on our plate of “eggplant caviar” (come on, it’s babaganoush) and a plate of side by side pickled and “creamed” herring - the second turning out to be the best thing we had during the evening. The fish was fresh, nice sized pieces, and the seasoning was delicious - they even got the pseudo-cream down pretty well (this is a “meat kosher” restaurant, so no dairy anywhere). The babaganoush could have used a significant amount of seasoning - from salt to a touch of smoke to, well, anything. Still, it was clearly fresh, and helped mask some of the flavor of the burned bread rolls. Really, burned - one side of nearly every roll was charred. Perhaps he should have “told the kitchen” to get it out of the oven.

On to our main courses - the spaetzel with goulash caught all four of our eyes - that went on the list, despite the salmon recommendation. It was a hefty plateful too - plenty of spaetzel, less goulash - you can see in the picture, seven little cubes of meat, and they were tough and gristly. The “dumplings” themselves devoid of flavor, seasoning, and the entire dish missing… goulash… yeah, the meat was there, but how about a little sauce? Coating cubes of meat in paprika, cooking them until dried out and setting them atop spaetzel does not a goulash make.

The menu listed a whole slew of entrecôte steaks - okay, half a dozen of them - each basically the same but with a different garnish and sauce. We opted for the Mediterraneo itself - I generally go by the often proven wrong theory that if you’re willing to put your name on the dish, it ostensibly represents your best efforts. A dismal little steak with as much fat and gristle as meat, unseasoned once again, served with some roasted tomatoes, a blackened disk of eggplant, a couple of olives and a “fan” of potato slices that were the best thing about the dish, and only because they had enough oil on them to give them some flavor.

It didn’t take much effort to decide against dessert. I’d say “not recommended” except, for kosher restaurants here, this one is right on par with the rest of them, and at least makes an effort to offer dishes that aren’t just the usual suspects. Maybe we should have sprung for the pricey piece of salmon… somehow I doubt it.

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 To say simply that the Wright Brothers invented the airplane doesn’t begin to describe their many accomplishments. Nor is it especially accurate. The first fixed-wing aircraft — a kite mounted on a stick — was conceived and flown almost a century before Orville and Wilbur made their first flights. The Wrights were first to design and build a flying craft that could be controlled while in the air. Every successful aircraft ever built since, beginning with the 1902 Wright glider, has had controls to roll the wings right or left, pitch the nose up or down, and yaw the nose from side to side. These three controls — roll, pitch, and yaw — let a pilot navigate an airplane in all three dimensions, making it possible to fly from place to place. The entire aerospace business, the largest industry in the world, depends on this simple but brilliant idea. So do spacecraft, submarines, even robots.”

- The Wright Story

Buenos Aires - The world has become a smaller place, as we hop on planes to whisk from place to place, or so it is said. Yet it’s hard to remember sometimes that controlled flight has only been with us a mere hundred years, and most of that not open to passengers. Yet with rising costs, increased hassles, more and more people whom I know are choosing to simply not travel, and instead opt for the internet for social and educational contact with other parts of the world, documentary television, even the news. As a friend of mine who recently retired put it, he simply refuses to do all the unpleasant things associated with going to and being at the airport, let alone on the flight, and now just chooses not to travel, despite having worked his entire career looking forward to a period of retirement when he would be able to. I understand completely - I had full intention when moving here to get in a good amount of traveling about and continuing to explore the world, but the ridiculous costs of a flight these days, and the notable decline in quality of service, doesn’t motivate me to spend much time doing so. The Wright Brothers, on this last weekend’s 100th anniversary of their (well, Wilbur’s) first public demonstration of flight, at Le Mans, France, would so not be pleased.

My first thought was to do some sort of take on a fancied up airline meal, but there’s just so much one can do with what amounts to a tv dinner. I went from there into researching the idea of some luxury airline menus - some of the major first class cabin sorts of soirees - particularly the menus from flights of the Concorde. And we almost went that way here at Casa S, and then it occurred to me that we could go with a menu focusing on those who inspired flight in the first place, birds - I know, it’s a bit ironic that those who inspired find themselves expired… on the plate. Circle of life and all that.

The buzz was generated by the ceviche de pato, or duck ceviche - and just to set your mind’s at ease, no, I didn’t serve raw duck that was simply marinated in citrus juice, the dish does get cooked. It’s actually a reasonably traditional dish from Peru, along with ceviche of chicken, though perhaps less common simply because of availability and cost. My take on it - I trimmed and then sliced duck breast into slices about 1/2″ thick and marinated them for two hours in a blend of lemon and orange juices, salt, garlic, and ají mirasol, the dried yellow Peruvian peppers (reconstituted first). Then in a saute pan I cooked a good amount of red onions with rocoto peppers, ginger, cumin, salt, and white pepper, until just soft, then added the duck along with its marinade, brought it to a simmer, covered it, and let it cook for 30 minutes. Then cooled and chilled it in its sauce. Now, between the two nights I made a change, mostly in presentation - the first night, I simply served each portion on the plate, leaning against each other and sprinkled liberally with cilantro. The second night, I added a couple thin disks of boiled yuca, topped each with a piece of duck, and then made a little salad of thinly sliced red onion, rocotos, and cilantro to sprinkle about. Much prettier, no?

From there, and not to give short shrift to the rest of the dinner, but I wanted to focus on the one dish here… we moved on to a pheasant soup, inspired by a traditional Mexican dish - I cooked a mix of chopped celery, onions, carrots, garlic, jalapeños, and corn in a little light oil for a few minutes, then I added in shredded pheasant meat (I roasted the pheasant in the oven first), and water, and cooked the soup until the vegetables were done. I seasoned it simply with salt and pepper, and then for presentation, dolloped in a couple tablespoons of a puree of the celery leaves, some cilantro, and lime juice.

On to a Laotian inspired turkey stir-fry, a dish I’ve made before, the only change being that instead of finely dicing the vegetables I sliced them into thin disks. And then, the main course, a pretty traditional Kai Pad Med Mamuang Himaphan, just the way your mother makes it, you know? Actually a very simple dish, and delicious - Thai style cashew chicken - chicken breasts marinated for a couple of hours in a mix of equal parts fish sauce, oyster sauce, honey, chili-bean paste, and rice wine, along with a good amount of black pepper. Then cooked in its marinade. While it was marinating I’d roasted some cashews in the oven until lightly golden, about midway through the chicken cooking I added them to the pot. And then we served the chicken pieces atop some little nests of thin noodles and garnished with a good amount of green onions.

Finally, I wasn’t going for a bird in the dessert, at least not exactly, but a nice egg-based postre seemed appropriate - an eggnog cheesecake, sprinkled liberally with nutmeg, no? My basic cheesecake recipe with some extra egg yolks for richness, and a good splash of whiskey in the mix…

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 My new pig out food is Indian food. I eat Indian food like three times a week. It’s so good.”

- Jennifer Love Hewitt, actress/singer

Buenos Aires - A few weeks back I’d been wandering around Las Cañitas looking at one thing or another, and I noticed a new restaurant done up with some sort of Taj Mahal-ish facade. I stopped for a glance and discovered it’s a new Indian vegetarian restaurant. On to the list it went for checking out soon, and this week I got back there for what turned out to be a completely delightful lunch. With our western Indian dinner coming up this weekend (and filled up, we may even open an extra day), it seemed a good moment for inspiration. Opened just four months ago, Namaskar, at Benjamin Matienzo 1616, 4772-0276, is turning out delicious north Indian vegetarian fare with a flare. Beyond just the comfortable, casual dining room, attended by the owner of the restaurant, I was won over completely when as I placed my order the first thing he asked was did I want the food spiced for local palates, medium, or Indian hot. I chose the latter, of course.

Now, I’ve had hotter, but they did themselves proud, and I even broke a sweat on the main course. I was thinking about ordering one or a selection of their breads - they offer up a trio of different types on the menu, but the owner suggested that since I was solo it might be a bit much, and he’d just add an extra paratha to the basket that’s served after you order. Excellent paratha I might add, and served up with a trio of dipping sauces - not the NYC standards of tamarind, tomato onion, and mint - but a spiced potato puree, carrot, and a sweet-spicy tomato dip. Then I dug into a trio of wonderfully light and flavorful vegetable pakoras - each basically a floret of broccoli surrounded by a paste of other vegetables and then deep fried. While admittedly deep frying anything makes it taste great, I wasn’t complaining.

I could smell the chilies and onion on this one as he set the steaming bowl down in front of me. Aloo gobi is a favorite dish - I love cauliflower, I love potatoes, I love spice - what’s not to like here? I dipped in and was instantly happy - a blend of spices, both hot and savory - really well balanced. Perhaps a minor complaint that I found the vegetables a little overcooked - texturally the dish was pretty close to mush, but that aside, I’m already trying out recipes here at home - sometimes it takes a reminder to pull out the offbeat cookbooks at home.

I decided to take his recommendation for his favorite dessert, laddu, which are sort of caramelized toasted chickpea balls - and his “exquisite” was pretty much dead-on. One thing I think is a shame - three of the four desserts on the menu are served as a trio of balls - just with different ingredients - why not offer up a “sampler” of one of each. They do have a dessert sampler platter, but it’s all four desserts and only comes in a portion for two people. Regardless, I was completely happy with what I had, and a complimentary cup of chai on the side hit the spot.

Namaskar isn’t cheap - this three course lunch, including a bottle of water and large glass of mildly sweet lassi, a favorite yogurt drink (and a perfect foil for spicy dishes), came out to 76 pesos. On the other hand, they serve up easily the best Indian vegetable dishes I’ve had since coming to Buenos Aires.

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