Many people ask of my travels, what is the strangest food you have ever eaten? Food is a very important part of travel but you do not need to go far away. As a youngster, riding my bike without training wheels by Uncle Earl’s house, I stopped to watch him lowering a large pig with a hoist from a tree into the boiling water of a fifty-five-gallon drum. I then equated ham to pigs. I got the vegetable garden thing but this was a whole new awakening. My dad’s tastes reflected our rural farm community. Pickled pig’s feet were one of the strangest. His hunting skill put much game on our dinner table, like pheasant, woodcock, squirrel, and rabbit. He had a chopping block behind the shed from where many chickens fluttered away without its head. Dad’s buddy Charley had a couple hound dogs. His sport was chasing down raccoon and 'possum. I never asked if they were eaten. Catching frogs were a good sport for us kids. Once we made a mess in Auntie Ruthie’s kitchen trying to cook the day’s catch. A more serious hunt as a teenager was bull-froggin’ with a friend that was raised in Tennessee. We maneuvered his flat-bottom boat in the marshy area near his house. At night with a flashlight, the spotted bullfrog was resting at the edge of the water. With a 22 gauge rifle, one-shot, where the water met his chest, would put him away. We gave our ten monsters to his sister, Reba, back at his house. She sautéed four pairs for our late-night snack.
Does anyone remember Harry Belafonte’s Chain Gang Songs? For whatever reason, the Internet could not find Sittin’ an’ a Sippin’ either. I recall them sitting around the cell after a long day of work. “Hey, Rastus da yo’ ole lady now how to cook a ‘possum?” “Sure, ya put it in a li’l dandelion wine ‘n soak it up a li’l. Then soak it in some white lightin’ for a while.” “Yeah, but she’s gonna ruin the ‘possum.” “Yeah, but that sure is some good gravy.”
I was a big raw oyster fan so I decided that I could do them at home and bought a dozen at the local seafood market. Shucking oysters takes a little skill. In an effort to open the shell, this living being from inside was holding the door shut. That was all I needed to lose my taste for oysters.
A delicacy in Brazil was copin, the fatty hump of a Brahma bull. On a Sunday afternoon, it was placed on a spit over an open flame, basted with brine, and guests carved a bite from the outer layer throughout the day. Grinding up beef parts into bologna was not acceptable in Brazil so Feijoada is a National dish served on Wednesday and Saturday to get rid of by-products in a black bean stew. Beef tongue tended to float to the top so it was best not to look. A Churrascaria is the most enjoyable cuisine of Brazil. Waiters bring skewers of grilled meats to your table and slice portions to your delight. Caipirinha is the drink of choice for any meal in Brazil.
My best advice for Africa is to stay in a nice hotel. From Cairo to Cape Town and Ghana to Tanzania, I was never comfortable with the local food. Behind the scene in Ghana, I saw a street vendor preparing skewers of goat meat over an open barrel and the flies were so thick it was difficult to see the meat. I attempted to sample grilled fish in Accra but the spices were so intense I had a blister on my lip.
I chuckled when a Cook Islander called papaya, pig fodder. It was so abundant
they fed it to the pigs and were surprised to see visitors liking it. The real food of the Maori is called Umu, prepared in an in-ground earthen oven. Our host Steve prepared the fire for the evening feast at 10 in the morning. The local iron wood tree was used for the fire in a pit. River rocks were heated for the oven. Banana trunk was shredded for steaming the food as a protective layer above the rocks. Pumpkin, sweet potatoes, and taro leaves were the vegetables. Pork, parrotfish, and chicken went in the oven but Steve’s reef walk the night before provided lobster, octopus, mussels, and a strange crawfish for the boiling pot. We wove plates from coconut palm leaves and sterilized banana leaves for native foil. Of course, anything requiring that much preparation and surviving for a century or two had to be good.
Three weeks in Vietnam made me quite adept with chopsticks but bewildered about what was consumed. When I saw the mothers at the nursery feed their babies embryonic duck eggs, I drew some concern. Most of our meals came from what became known as the Tan Hiep Pot for the town we stayed on the Mekong Delta. It was a pot purée of vegetables and some ‘meat’ of the day sizzling over the hibachi grill on the table. A greater delight was Elephant Ear Fish prostrating in the center of the table being plucked by all with chopsticks till its skeletal remained. I recall a hundred US dollars got a million Dong which we spent on our last day in Saigon for cocktails on the balcony of the Meridian Hotel. There, twenty years before, the last of our journalists sipped cocktails awaiting the last helicopter exodus along with “Miss Saigon”.
I will pass on comments on the food of India but I did survive there for three weeks.
China was a fascinating place to eat and I will try to expand at another time.
This should end with a tribute to French Cuisine. Don’t ask the British about French food. Their distaste will bring up facts of an impoverished people making the most out of garbage such as snails, clams, tripe, etc. Other than ordering “Le Menu” to avoid quizzing the waiter, I have had some great culinary experiences in France. My first with a German friend was to venture across the border to Obersteinbach. A mere single star meant a reservation secured a table for the entire evening. Three hours of indulgence was spread over seven courses.
In 2003 at Reims, my daughter and I experienced a four-star Chateau de la Muire. The menu was so ‘haut’ that we understood little of the content and the staff was not eager to help. We loved it! Could there have been pickled pig’s feet in the mix?
Does anyone remember Harry Belafonte’s Chain Gang Songs? For whatever reason, the Internet could not find Sittin’ an’ a Sippin’ either. I recall them sitting around the cell after a long day of work. “Hey, Rastus da yo’ ole lady now how to cook a ‘possum?” “Sure, ya put it in a li’l dandelion wine ‘n soak it up a li’l. Then soak it in some white lightin’ for a while.” “Yeah, but she’s gonna ruin the ‘possum.” “Yeah, but that sure is some good gravy.”
I was a big raw oyster fan so I decided that I could do them at home and bought a dozen at the local seafood market. Shucking oysters takes a little skill. In an effort to open the shell, this living being from inside was holding the door shut. That was all I needed to lose my taste for oysters.
A delicacy in Brazil was copin, the fatty hump of a Brahma bull. On a Sunday afternoon, it was placed on a spit over an open flame, basted with brine, and guests carved a bite from the outer layer throughout the day. Grinding up beef parts into bologna was not acceptable in Brazil so Feijoada is a National dish served on Wednesday and Saturday to get rid of by-products in a black bean stew. Beef tongue tended to float to the top so it was best not to look. A Churrascaria is the most enjoyable cuisine of Brazil. Waiters bring skewers of grilled meats to your table and slice portions to your delight. Caipirinha is the drink of choice for any meal in Brazil.
My best advice for Africa is to stay in a nice hotel. From Cairo to Cape Town and Ghana to Tanzania, I was never comfortable with the local food. Behind the scene in Ghana, I saw a street vendor preparing skewers of goat meat over an open barrel and the flies were so thick it was difficult to see the meat. I attempted to sample grilled fish in Accra but the spices were so intense I had a blister on my lip.
I chuckled when a Cook Islander called papaya, pig fodder. It was so abundant
they fed it to the pigs and were surprised to see visitors liking it. The real food of the Maori is called Umu, prepared in an in-ground earthen oven. Our host Steve prepared the fire for the evening feast at 10 in the morning. The local iron wood tree was used for the fire in a pit. River rocks were heated for the oven. Banana trunk was shredded for steaming the food as a protective layer above the rocks. Pumpkin, sweet potatoes, and taro leaves were the vegetables. Pork, parrotfish, and chicken went in the oven but Steve’s reef walk the night before provided lobster, octopus, mussels, and a strange crawfish for the boiling pot. We wove plates from coconut palm leaves and sterilized banana leaves for native foil. Of course, anything requiring that much preparation and surviving for a century or two had to be good.
Three weeks in Vietnam made me quite adept with chopsticks but bewildered about what was consumed. When I saw the mothers at the nursery feed their babies embryonic duck eggs, I drew some concern. Most of our meals came from what became known as the Tan Hiep Pot for the town we stayed on the Mekong Delta. It was a pot purée of vegetables and some ‘meat’ of the day sizzling over the hibachi grill on the table. A greater delight was Elephant Ear Fish prostrating in the center of the table being plucked by all with chopsticks till its skeletal remained. I recall a hundred US dollars got a million Dong which we spent on our last day in Saigon for cocktails on the balcony of the Meridian Hotel. There, twenty years before, the last of our journalists sipped cocktails awaiting the last helicopter exodus along with “Miss Saigon”.I will pass on comments on the food of India but I did survive there for three weeks.
China was a fascinating place to eat and I will try to expand at another time.
This should end with a tribute to French Cuisine. Don’t ask the British about French food. Their distaste will bring up facts of an impoverished people making the most out of garbage such as snails, clams, tripe, etc. Other than ordering “Le Menu” to avoid quizzing the waiter, I have had some great culinary experiences in France. My first with a German friend was to venture across the border to Obersteinbach. A mere single star meant a reservation secured a table for the entire evening. Three hours of indulgence was spread over seven courses.In 2003 at Reims, my daughter and I experienced a four-star Chateau de la Muire. The menu was so ‘haut’ that we understood little of the content and the staff was not eager to help. We loved it! Could there have been pickled pig’s feet in the mix?
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