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Posts Tagged ‘shrimp’

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I ate goat for lunch today.

Those from tropical cultures find this about as unusual as your basic American would find eating a burger from Five Guys. This particular goat came from a homey Filipino restaurant. Mixed with some of my roasted vegetables it was fatty, rich, meaty, and lip-smacking. The first goat I ever ate was a few years ago in a tiny Mexican restaurant.* It was just as delicious and I never forgot it.

Exotic food can be daunting, granted. The late food writer Laurie Colwin said she would never eat fish eyeballs, and I’m right with her. I’ll add to that the Filipino delicacy balut, a duck embryo eaten directly from the shell.** This is not a criticism of this traditional food, mind you; I just know what I can manage and what I can’t.

But I do want to push my luck as much as I can, not just because there is a world of magnificent food out there (and there is), and not just because sharing brings us all closer together (and like smiles, or music, food can do that), but because it’s important to pull the rug out from underneath ourselves sometimes.

(It’s also fascinating not just to see what people eat, but how they eat. I recently read about a native of Guam who happily munches right through baked chicken—bones and all. My Filipino friend Teresa loves picking at fish bones, slurping every tasty morsel from them, while her brother picks out the choicest pieces of cartilage to chew on. I’m a nibbler myself. Isn’t it reassuring to think that despite Louis Vuitton handbags and Tru-Green manicured lawns and eyebrow threading treatments that humans still, miraculously, maintain vestiges of our primitive selves? Could anyone plausibly argue that food doesn’t taste better when we get good and sticky-fingered with it? Sticky-faced?)

How much poorer I would be had I not found that little Mexican grocery store almost-restaurant, where the ladies sliced fresh limes behind the counter and grinned at this porcelain-white girl and her Japanese buddy licking our fingers over goat and tripa in homemade soft tacos. Or pulled over on the scrubby road just outside Gainesville, Florida to try spicy crocodile jerky. Or tasted Teresa’s mom’s wonderful monggo (traditional Filipino mung bean soup, complete with little shrimp heads). I love it; I love it all.

*’Restaurant’ might be pushing it, actually; it was in the back of a narrow little Mexican grocery store, and you had to go through the store to get there. The joint wasn’t much bigger than a box of Froot Loops, and I don’t even think it has a name. But they sure knew what they were doing.

**Man, if the goat didn’t drive my mom to the edge, that sure did.

 

 

 

 

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Bittersweet and snow.

This time of year we’re saddled with a lot of cold, at least in New Jersey. And by February we’re hurling colorful expletives at the clouds, the snow, the evil godawful groundhog, the weather channel right down to the mail clerk, and Lowe’s for being out of ice scrapers during the first week of February.*

But the dauntless Pollyanna in me is here this week** to grin a freckled, wide-eyed, mildly irritating ‘Bash on, regardless,’ and caption us through her winter so far. Make with the packed pbj and let’s warm up.

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I shot the ingredients of the Limoncello I concocted for my Christmas presents. Neat how I got the lemon peel to curl just so, isn’t it? It only took seven tries!

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Done deal. Full of lemon peel that’s been steeped in sugar and a bunch of vodka. Served icy cold.

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My friend Doug made this awesome awesome shrimp stew that we ate over polenta.

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This chicken pot pie got me through theatre tech week, when I drove an hour door to door and braved Route 287 twice every day for a week. Once I got stuck behind a lady doing 40mph in a 65 zone. /Segue/ Mmm. Chicken pot pie with little tiny pearl onions. Mmmmmm.

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Champagne flutes in our show. Really convincing plastic, which is good, because they played in a 65-seat house. Filled nightly with chilled ‘Champagne’ (sparkling white grape juice) served out of an ice bucket.

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This is kheer, a lovely Indian dessert. It’s served chilled and tastes a lot like rice pudding, but it’s not as thick.

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Deep-dish brown sugar pumpkin pie made with a layer of fruit jam at the base.

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Hello world.
Two Mile Creek Specialty Foods and Johnnie Walker are the benefactors of that jam. Thanks for the 2 berry cherry!

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Cornbread with oodles of butter.

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Icy drop on a wild rose branch.

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The Champagne bottle I painted for the show. The script calls for Perrier Jouet, and in 1969, the year in which the scene takes place, the company put out a beautiful, iconic floral label. Painting on glass is a trick. You end up feeling like you’re hydroplaning.

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The author, with Devil Dog cupcakes (devil’s food cake topped with meringue) that I made for the cast party last night, plus my trusty weapon of destruction. Pollyanna needed to blow off a lil steam. And the meringue toasted up nicely 🙂

*Really, Lowe’s? Really?

**She was off on a choir retreat or something last week. Either way, she was very not here.

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Crayfish and shrimp stew.

Last weekend I drove down to Ellicott City, MD to my college roommate’s house, jumped in the van with her, her three girls and the dog, and continued down to Colonial Williamsburg.

I’m not a serious history buff—I don’t know the Hawley-Smoot tariff from a hole in the ground (it might have been, for all I know)—but I’m one of those people who loves historical places, thinking places, and beautiful places. Factor in good food and we’re golden.

I love that you can wander around most of Colonial Williamsburg and don’t have to pay to do it. I love that the original plank floors in the King’s Arms Tavern are still there, worn and smooth and grey, and that George Washington’s boots crossed them more than once. I love that the place has been so authentically restored that if Thomas Jefferson were beamed back from the dead and dropped onto Duke of Gloucester Street, barring us with our fanny packs and our iphones, he wouldn’t see a thing different than he ever knew.

When I travel I make a point to eat something that the region is known for. Lunch at the Shields Tavern offered some tasty southern/colonial choices. Lordy, how I do love Carolina pulled pork, and I was tempted to get it, but pushed the envelope and ordered crayfish and shrimp stew. Described as an 18th century recipe, it includes tomatoes, vegetables, sherry and seafood. But the addition of that sherry plus a splash of cream really made it a bisque, and it truly lived up to that name: velvety, rich and savory. It was full of calories and full of flavor, and I didn’t care about the first part.

Tender Sally Lunn bread, watermelon-rind relish, those addicting ginger cookies that are sold on the street under awnings—these are the flavors of long ago, carefully recreated to give visitors a genuine taste of the cooking of the area’s English-Scottish settlers. Tasting it is a trip anyway, but if you’re used to Hot Pockets and Yoplait for lunch, it’s even trippier. My favorite dish is Game Pie—rabbit, duck and venison under a crust. Just the description makes my mom squinch her mouth up like Wile E. Coyote when he’s standing immobile just over a cliff and holding a sign that reads ‘Help’, but I adore it. And Colonial Williamsburg’s root beer—sharp on the tongue and intensely flavored—is a standout drink. Not for wusses, and I wish I’d bought a case of it to bring home.

After lunch we did what Colonial Williamsburg is best for: wandering. Photo opportunities are endless for normal people who like to take shots of trees or architecture or an errant fife and drum procession as well as for less-than-normal people who like to take pictures of rusty things and bricks. Three guesses which category I belong in.

Rusty padlock.

Path and boxwoods.

Sleepy ewe.

Bricks in stages of curing.

18th century fence.

Portrait.

Moss and lichen.

Magnolia blossom.

Peeling shutter.

Lightfoot.

Portrait.

Swiss chard.

Hitching post and elm.

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