Spicy Food in Muslim Asia

As the rain pours outside, I pack my bag. Frustrated, I contemplate to myself why I spent yet another night tossing and turning despite the fact that I was exhausted by the time I lied down to get some rest. Nights like these are becoming much too common for my liking. Was it because I was sleeping on a padded mat on the floor of my friend’s Singapore apartment? Not really as the air conditioning was on and the mat was pretty comfortable. Was it because I drank a lot the night before? No to that too. Who knows, but it will take some caffeine to get me going today. Enthusiasm will help also and I am excited to travel from Singapore to Malacca today before moving onto Kuala Lumpur tomorrow.

Jami and I are in a hurry and it is a mad rush in Singapore as we attempt to make it to the Golden Mile Complex to catch our bus. We arrive 5 minutes late at 10:35 AM and are fortunate that we are still able to board the bus. We got lucky as it doesn’t look like the bus was going to wait one more minute before taking off. The ride to Malacca is pleasant as there are huge green trees flanking the Malaysian highways. Along the way, we make a stop at a café and I order a Malay curry noodle dish. They say Malay curries are the best and I am not disappointed as my curry noodles with tofu, chili and egg is outstanding. The food in Singapore has been wonderful and from the looks of it and from what Jami has told me, Malaysia will surely not disappoint me in this regard.

We arrive in Malacca and it is apparent immediately to me that Malacca is not Singapore. The two hour bus ride has brought me into a completely different environment. The majority of the women I see are dressed in traditional Islamic dress although the faces of most of the women are fully visible and most of the restaurants and shops that I pass by seem to be operated by women. Malaysia is a Muslim country but it is a modern Muslim country that prides itself on the peaceful cohabitation of its Sunni Islamic majority and its significant Chinese and Indian non Muslim populations. While Malacca doesn’t feel poor, the standard of living is significantly different than that of clean, modern and wealthy Singapore. This much is obvious immediately. Malacca Town is the capital city of the Malaysian state of Malacca. The site where the city of Malacca stands today was the capital of the Malaccan Sultanate and was the center of the Malay world in the 15th and the 16th centuries after the Malays moved over from Sumatra, an island in Western Indonesia. While the Dutch, British and Portuguese all took turns passing through and attempting to colonize Malacca, Malacca’s creation of a language, count system and royal lineage has had an undeniable long term affect on the country. However, since the founding of Singapore in 1819, Malacca has been in slow decline as Singapore and Kuala Lumpur have grown. Today, it is a popular tourist spot in Malaysia and has been listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2008.

After settling into our hotel, we walk to the nearby city center to explore Malacca by foot. Jami has a friend in Malacca named Juyang that meets us and welcomes us to her town with warm smiles and laughter. As we walk around, Jami and Juyang converse mostly in Mandarin Chinese while I jump in and out of the conversation occasionally by way of translation with Jami. We are all thirsty so our first stop is for a drink and a snack at a nearby cafe. I immediately make an ass of myself when my bad habit of leaning back on my chair to the point where the legs of the chair are off the ground fails me. To start with, I am the only apparent Westerner here and definite the only one with white skin. This makes my folly all the more noticeable when the leg of my plastic chair gives out and I crash to the ground nearly knocking over a floor fan in the process. Jami and Juyang, in addition to a few other patrons, get a good laugh at my expense while I just want to regroup and get my butt back on the chair. After getting back seated properly, the beer I ordered couldn’t come fast enough. Although the beer can’t wash away my embarrassment, it is refreshing given the heat and humidity. In addition to some drinks, Jami also orders a dish of mee goreng. Mee goreng is a staple dish in Malaysian cuisine that is made with thin yellow noodles that are fried with garlic, onions, chilies, tomatoes and either pork, prawns, beef or chicken. Our dish is prepared with pork and the flavors mesh together perfectly to create something special. I can see how dishes like this can become addictive as I am not even that hungry but end up making sure every last noodle is accounted for. After finishing the mee goreng, Juyang suggests that we order a sweet drink called cendal. It is a stretch to call cendal a drink as it is more like a dessert consisting of thin, green worm like pandan flavored noodles that are topped with palm sugar, coconut milk, red beans and shaved ice. Pandan has a unique taste that is somewhat nutty. It is to Asian cooking what vanilla is to Western cooking. While the dish doesn’t look all that appetizing, it tastes pretty good although it is very sweet. Feeling full, as this snack has turned into a meal, Juyang explains that she needs to leave us to run some errands but will meet us for dinner later this evening.

Jami and I continue exploring the city, walking in and out of many Asian artifact stores selling Malacca’s famous beaded sandals, artwork and jewelry. The shopkeepers and vendors are busy setting up their stalls for the popular night markets that take place on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. These night markets are especially popular with the hordes of Singaporean tourists that love to take weekend getaways to Malacca to shop and eat. We eventually end up at Cheng Hoon Teng Temple. This Taoist temple is the oldest functioning temple in Malaysia. Impressive and extremely colorful, the main hall is dedicated to the Goddess of mercy and is flanked by several smaller prayer quarters. I enjoy sitting down, crossing my legs and immersing myself in the environment. It is hard not to sit down and meditate when you are in such a tranquil environment. It is quiet with many worshippers sitting with their eyes closed, some making a slight humming sound and the scent of burning joss sticks is in the air around us. After a relaxing 15 minutes, I emerge from the temple to find Jami waiting for me. We continue to stroll through the town and it continues to grow on me with its attractive river and smiling people. My initial impression of Malacca is that it reminds me of charming Hoi An in Vietnam as it is small enough that you can get lost while wandering through its charming streets without straying too far from the city center. Eventually we make our way back to our hotel to take a cool, refreshing shower before dinner. Given the dishes I’ve tried already, I am very excited to sink my teeth into more Malaysian cuisine this evening.

Juyang arrives at our hotel to pick us up with her friend Xuan and her husband Edmund. Edmund is a Portuguese Malay while Juyang is Chinese. This is a mixed marriage on all accounts as Edmund is Catholic while Juyang is Buddhist. He has European roots while hers are purely Asian. They seem to be a loving and charming couple. As Edmund drives away from our hotel, Jami whispers to me that Juyang invited her husband to dinner partially because he speaks English well. Apparently, he uses English frequently in his profession as a livestock trader and she thought that he could keep me entertained. I smile when Jami tells me this; Juyang’s thoughtfulness is touching.

Fifteen minutes later, Edmund pulls off the side of the road and drives in the direction of what looks to be an oversized shack with 20-30 plastic tables sitting on a parcel of land under the open air. Upon seeing the restaurant, I start to get excited. As we get out of Edmund’s car, he mentions that this restaurant is known for its fresh seafood. Given Malacca’s close proximity to the Straits of Malacca, it is supposed to be cheap and inexpensive to get high quality fish and seafood here.

As we walk up to the restaurant and look for an open table, it is hard for me to contain my excitement. I just have this feeling, this buzz that this is going to be one of those unforgettable dining experiences you remember forever. Given the fact that we are 15 minutes outside of downtown Malacca, I am pretty sure that there are no tourists in this restaurant besides me and Jami. There is certainly no one that looks like me and none of the other patrons are dressed like anyone in our group in our casual, short and T-shirt and casual dress gear. In fact, everyone at the restaurant except for our party appears to be Muslim based on how they are dressed. As I survey the restaurant and notice the rising smoke that appears to be coming from behind the restaurant, I walk in the direction of the smoke and observe that the food is being cooked in pans on top of a number of grills behind the restaurant. The building in the middle, the restaurant, has washrooms, storage space and preparation kitchen space, but there are no inside tables. There are 20 to 30 open air tables surrounding the building. Needless to say, the restaurant is apparently closed when the showers come as there is no protection from the weather. Near what I would describe as the front of the restaurant, at least that is where we entered the restaurant from, there are large display tanks that are loaded with fresh fish and seafood. I ask Edmund how you are supposed to order and he explains that you approach the person working behind the display tanks, select what you want and tell the person working how you want each selection to be prepared. Everything is cooked to order. All of the women agree that Edmund should choose the dishes that we will share at our table. While I don’t object, I am way too curious to not tag along with Edmund and see how this whole process works.

Edmund and I walk up to the tanks and survey what is available. After a moment or two, Edmund points at a live fish in one of the tanks and says that we would like this fish prepared spicy with chilies. He then selects some crabs and tells the person working that we want these prepared with a sweet and sour sauce. As I observe this process, my eyes grow bigger and I stare in awe at the still alive crabs and fish that will be on our table in 15 or 20 minutes. We move onto the display case next to the tanks which is filled with ice and has an assortment of squid, prawns and octopus laid out atop the ice. Edmund points to the prawns and offers instructions, explaining that we want the prawns fried with mild chilies and butter. The last item he selects is a large squid with the instructions that it should be prepared with hot chilies. As Edmund says this, I wonder to myself “Aren’t all chilies hot?” We walk back to our table and sit down. I waste no time embarrassing myself for the second time today when the waiter asks for my drink order and I ask for a beer. The waiter’s response is a blank stare which turns into a smile and friendly laugh. He doesn’t even need to explain that they don’t serve alcohol as I immediately recognize my mistake. Despite all the signs around me, I haven’t pieced things together and don’t realize that this is a pretty strict Muslim establishment. Just as strict followers of Islam don’t eat pork, they also don’t drink alcohol. In lieu of a cold beer, I order a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Our drinks arrive shortly and we sit and chat while we wait for our meal to arrive. After a few minutes, my attention begins to wane and I begin to look around at my surroundings. We are sitting outside on the side of the road amongst 50 to 60 people enjoying a Saturday evening dinner with family and friends. Everyone except for our party of 5 is dressed in traditional Muslim clothing. There isn’t a tourist in site. I think to myself, “This is the essence of travelling. This is what makes the long trips and jet lag all worth it.”

The Muslim history of Malaysia is an interesting one. As defined by the constitution of Malaysia, all Malays must be Muslim, regardless of their ethnic heritage; otherwise, legally, they are not Malay. There are associated privileges with being a Malay Muslim with entitlements including affirmative action policies in university admissions and discounts on the purchases of vehicles and real estate. Islam in Malaysia is thus closely associated with the Malay people although not all Malays are Muslim as there are substantial numbers of Indian Muslims and some Chinese Malaysians have also converted to Islam. Interestingly, these non Malay Muslims do not receive the same privileges that the Malays receive due to their status unless they have a Malay parent in addition to some other requirements.

Our meal begins with a basket of nasi lemak. Nasi Lemak is a base accompaniment to many of the entrees served in Malaysian cuisine. In Kuala Lumpur, it is called the national dish, a national heritage of Malaysia. Traditionally, nasi lemak comes wrapped in banana leaves and consists of rice with cucumber slices, small dried anchovies, roasted peanuts, hardboiled egg, and hot spicy sauce or sambal packed into a compact cake. There are 15-20 nasi lemak packages in the basket on our table and each rice cake is wrapped in newspaper. In addition, the server has brought a bamboo container of otak-otak. This dish is another common accompaniment to the main courses consisting of fish paste mixed with coconut milk, chili paste and garlic or shallots. It is then wrapped in a banana leaf and steamed. We can’t wait for the entrees so we taste both of these dishes before the entrees arrive. I’ve had nasi lemak numerous times in Singapore but this is the best rendition I’ve had. The steam makes the nasi lemak sticky so I need to pull chunks of rice off and pop them into my mouth. The combination of sweet coconut and spicy chili paste combat the strong fishy flavor in the otak-otak. While the combination is strange, it has a wonderfully complex flavor. Within minutes, long platters of food begin arriving on our table. First the chili squid arrives, followed by the prawns and the crabs. The last dish to arrive is the whole fish Edmund selected 20 minutes ago when it was still swimming in the tank. Now, it is snuggly tucked into a banana leaf on a platter in front of us. As I look at the feast before my eyes, I begin to form a plan of attack. There are no plates on the table and there are no napkins. The only thing other than the platters and bowls of food are some small bowls of sauces and forks and spoons. I am in unfamiliar territory and need to watch the actions of the others to see how they proceed. It appears that the newspaper that the nasi lemak is wrapped in is supposed to serve as our plate. Following the actions of the others, I unwrap a nasi lemak package and begin to put different piles on my “plate”. A few prawns, a crab, a scoop of fish and some squid. I eat the same way the women eat which is the same way I ate in Singapore. The fork goes in the left hand and the spoon goes in the right. The fork is used to push food onto the spoon which goes directly into my mouth. Bite after bite, my mouth explodes in ecstasy as the intense combination of flavors – chilies, fish paste, sweet and sour, hotter chilies, lime and some kind of onion sauce to be used with the fish – challenge my taste buds like never before. After a few spoonfuls of intense eating, I look around and notice that Edmund is the only person at our table not using utensils. He is eating with his hands. I then look around at some of the other tables and notice that most people seem to be eating with their hands. Edmund explains that it is common for Malay Muslims to eat with their hands. I waste no time in adjusting as I push my silverware to the side and begin to eat like the locals. Edmund notices my adjustment and smiles, indicating approval. The women laugh as they notice the sweat accumulating on my forehead and brow as I feverishly eat chunks of spicy prawns and squid. I look up and smile, order another orange juice and then go back to my meal. The flavors are addictive. I pull off bits of nasi lemak and mash small pieces of fish and squid together with the rice before putting them into my mouth. I pick up a crab and use my teeth to crack the shell before pulling out the sweet flavored meat that is influenced by the tasty sweet and sour sauce. With no signs of a napkin, I lick my fingers to clean them although even my fingers are tingling slightly from the hot chilies. Feeling like I need to wash my hands, I remember that I noticed a line of people earlier that appeared to be waiting in line to wash their hands in a sink next to the washrooms. As I head towards the sink, I think to myself, “This scene must be comical”. Here I am, the only Caucasian in the restaurant dressed in shorts and a T shirt in line behind a bunch of darker skinned Malaysians dressed in traditional Islamic dress, including men with Muslim prayer hats and women with headscarves.

As I wait to wash my hands, I contemplate this experience. Eating with my hands on the side of the road with the most basic tools – tanks, grills, pans – used by the chefs to produce tasty, complex seafood dishes that surpass what you would pay 5 times as much for at a restaurant in the Western world. The key ingredient is the quality of the fresh fish and seafood and the fresh vegetables, chilies and array of spices used to create such intricate flavors. Experiences like these are priceless.

After dinner, Edmund drives us back to central Malacca to Jonker Street to check out the night markets. This is a shoppers’ paradise and hordes of locals and tourists are out tonight. From stalls selling art to jewelry, crafts, clothing and of course food, you can pretty much find anything you need here. We are all stuffed from dinner but the food looks so tasty that I am tempted once or twice, but wisely decide to continue on and listen to my full stomach instead of my curious mind and taste buds. The atmosphere is festive with some music, a lot of people and energy that reverberates throughout this market which only occurs on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. After walking around for 30 minutes, we sit outside at a café and enjoy a drink with our hospitable hosts which are really nice people. I insist on buying a round of drinks after Edmund and Juyang so generously insisted on paying for the entire meal. As we enjoy a beer, Edmund and I have a nice conversation about the strong Portuguese culture in Malacca. We also talk about how Malaysia could serve as a good example to the rest of the world of how different ethnic groups can live together peacefully. Our drink caps a wonderful evening highlighted by great company and an intense, memorable and unforgettable dining experience.

Clam Pizza

On the corner of Wooster Street and Brown Street in New Haven, Connecticut, there is a small Italian enclave that feels like it is out of the old world. This is the kind of area where retired Italian Americans sit out in front of Italian cafes and pastry shops and talk about the world and what’s happening at Yale over coffee. On this intersection a block off of I 95 North, there are 6-8 different establishments and they are all Italian. There are small restaurants, pastry shops selling everything from Italian cookies and pastries to gelato and Italian ice, a deli making sandwiches with a variety of meats and cheeses and a couple of pizzerias. In particular, there is one pizzeria named Frank Pepe’s and it is because of Frank Pepe’s that I am in New Haven on this beautiful Friday morning in late May.

Sure, Frank Pepe’s is a so called “institution”. It is full of locals and tourists passing through New Haven that have included a stop for a pizza on their agenda after visiting Yale University, which is less than a mile from the corner of Wooster and Brown. However, it is not one of those tourist traps that you visit and feel let down after the experience. In fact, my fear of overhyping a place only to have it fail to meet my high expectations is exactly why I am weary of places like this. Frank Pepe’s is far from that. In fact, it is where I had the best pizza of my life.

It was Memorial Day weekend and my wife and I were driving from Ridgefield, New Jersey right outside of New York to Newport, Rhode Island with her family over the long weekend. Given all of the charming towns to visit on the East Coast, I thought that we could break up the three and a half hour drive to Newport and check out a town in between. To give full disclosure, I vaguely knew where New Haven was and Frank Pepe’s had been on my radar for over 2 years ever since I read about their famous white clam pizza in the excellent food chronicle written by Jeffrey Steingarten, The Man Who Ate Everything. As we planned our trip months ago, I pulled up Newport, Rhode Island on Google Maps and charted out the route from New Jersey. As I followed the line from Ridgefield to Newport, my eyes zeroed in on New Haven which appeared to be almost halfway between Ridgefield and Newport. It seemed that we would have to pass by it if we didn’t pass through it. After doing a bit of research on New Haven, I came to find out that in addition to Frank Pepe’s, New Haven is also home to a famous University that 5 U.S. Presidents and numerous big name actors have graduated from. New Haven is the home to Yale University. After telling my wife that we could visit Yale and Frank Pepe’s on the way to Newport, a stop here was an easy sell to her Mom and Brother.

Departing at nearly 10 AM from New Jersey, we drove for nearly 90 minutes before pulling off of I-95 and making our way into central New Haven. Using our handy Tom-Tom GPS, we made a couple of turns and pulled right in front of Frank Pepe’s. This was almost too easy and there wasn’t even a line to fight through to get inside which I fully expected. We did have one problem though that was somewhat significant. None of us were hungry. We had a 9 AM Korean breakfast of seaweed soup, vegetables and dumplings and at 11:30 AM, we just weren’t ready for lunch yet. Since we did have another reason for visiting New Haven, we decided to walk around celebrated Yale University for an hour or 2 before getting a pie for lunch. As we began our walk through New Haven Green and approached the entrance to Yale, I still had Frank Pepe’s on my mind as I crossed my fingers hoping that we wouldn’t encounter a line extending down the street that would force us to abandon our plans.

New Haven is a pleasant enough town with some nice parks and the area around Yale has many historic buildings that I am sure have been included or imitated in several films and TV shows. This area simply has too much history for that not to be the case. You can feel the collegiate atmosphere walking through these hallowed grounds. While it doesn’t appear that school is in session, there are numerous students working to greet graduates that are in town for alumni reunion weekend. We stopped at the Visitor Center to get a map and I took a walk around to learn a bit more about Yale. While I knew that this was a famous Ivy League University, I didn’t know that 5 U.S. Presidents attended Yale. In addition to George H. and W. Bush, Bill Clinton, William Howard Taft and Gerald Ford all attended Yale at some point during their educational odyssey. Although the University should probably apologize for the fact that Dick Cheney is also a graduate, this aberration is more than made up by the number of successful actors, writers, architects and artists that are graduates of this prestigious University. In addition to the writer Tom Wolfe, Meryl Streep, Edward Norton, Sigourney Weaver, Jodie Foster, Paul Newman and Angela Bassett are amongst some of the most successful Yale graduates to go onto epic careers on the big screen. The list of notable Yale graduates is too long to list but is extremely impressive.

As we meandered about the quads and among Yale’s buildings, I felt a sense of nostalgia from my university days. There is something you can feel in the air as the classic architecture, blooming spring trees and green quads are inspiring. You could spend an afternoon here just lying on the grass with a book soaking it all in. As we made our way back in the direction of Wooster Street with our stomachs beginning to growl, we stopped by Atticus bookstore and café. I enjoyed perusing the shelves and felt compelled to buy a book from my ever growing ‘must read’ list. I hope it brings me back to this place when I read through it.

Continuing on up Chapel Street, we hung a right on Olive Street before taking a left on Wooster. As we approached our destination, I saw exactly what I feared – a line. As we walked closer, I was relieved to see that the line wasn’t terribly long. The waitress told us it was a 20 minute wait which we definitely had time for. As we stood in the hot sun under a sign featuring a caricature of Frank Pepe dressed in an apron and chef hat with a pizza in hand where they have been serving pizzas since 1945 (it actually opened in 1925 but moved here in 1945), I grew anxious. The line moved quickly though and in no time we were walking inside and being seated. I felt like I was walking through a pizza museum as I looked behind the pickup counter at the massive white brick oven that is so large that the cooks need 20 foot pizza spatula’s to place the pizzas in and pull them out of the oven. To the left of the oven, there are 3 people working in unison putting the pies together. One is rolling out dough onto large rectangular aluminum pans that are then handed to the others who layer the dough with the ingredients. Some pizzas just get a layer of tomato sauce, slices of fresh mozzarella and basil leaves. Others get olive oil, clams and garlic while others get loaded with cheese, peppers, sausage and bacon. There is an outdated bar in the front room that is adjacent to the white linoleum pickup counter with a few beers on tap and a sign hanging above the bar that boasts ‘Tomato Pies Made to Order’. This isn’t just any sign though as it must be 50 years old. It is the kind of sign that you need to press plastic letters into plastic ridges in order to spell out the ingredients that are available.

The place is unquestionably old school with many booths, a few tables and old pictures adorning all the walls in the front room and the back room which contains most of the seating. The pictures on the walls are of Frank Pepe, his family and presumably employees from long ago pictured in aprons preparing, cooking or serving pizza pies to their customers. The décor is all green and white with a green ceiling that looks to be original. The place isn’t run down at all as it has been kept up to date but likely with the same colors and style since 1945. This doesn’t look like the kind of place that wants or needs to change much.

Every pizza I see on the tables around us looks fantastic. After sitting down, we don’t waste any time ordering. I have obviously already thought this through and have little trouble swaying the table towards my suggestion to stick with the basics. We order a medium White Clam pizza, a medium Margherita pizza, water and some soft drinks. We sit and wait anxiously until our drinks come before taking turns using the washroom and further surveying the joint. It has only been 15 minute but I see our waitress come around the corner and I am pretty sure she is headed for our table with 2 pans in her hands. She places both of them on our table covering pretty much the entire surface of the table. Any thought of cutting the pizza up with a fork like I typically do is out the window as there is barely enough room to put a plate in front of each of us. The medium pizzas are large and I wonder how we will finish them. I start with a piece of white clam pizza which is pure bliss. The taste of large chunks of clams with nothing else but fresh garlic and olive oil is heavenly. The crust is firm, thin, a light brown color on the outside and can’t be much more than 1/8th of an inch thick. Not weighed down by cheese and sauce, there is a crunch in every bite and the ends of the crusts are especially crispy. After polishing off one piece, I go for a slice of the margherita which only has 3 simple ingredients. A thin layer of tomato sauce, slices of high quality mozzarella and basil leaves. Surprisingly, the crust holds up well to the tomato sauce and cheese as it is almost as crispy as the clam pizza. The flavors are perfect. There isn’t a lot of talking as we take apart both pies piece by piece. I am the ring leader although I try and make sure everyone is getting their fair share. There is hardly a hint of grease in the crust which is extraordinary.

Finished, we look at the carnage in front of us as there is nothing left except 2 large aluminum pans covered with four plates that are empty except for a few end crusts. This is a lunch well done and that is an understatement. Thanks Frank Pepe! I’ll be back. I don’t know when but I can promise you that I will be back.

República Argentina

It is the 8th largest country by land area in the world and the largest among Spanish speaking nations. It is the 2nd largest country in South America that is famous for its Patagonian ice capped mountains and forests as well as Eva Peron. People across the world pay homage to it when they dance the Tango and others boast of its grass fed feed and increasingly well known wine. Welcome to Argentina!

Nature

I sit perched atop a mountain. I am looking at the mountains surrounding me on every side and at the city of Mendoza below me. I am enjoying the dry heat, fresh air and the silence. I watch one person jump from the mountain and glide like a bird back and forth from left to right under a parachute. This is as close to flying as most people ever come. I wait my turn anxiously, yet appreciate the surrounding beauty and the peace of my present environment as I sit atop the mountain alone. Flying is an intense and exhilarating experience. What I felt most as I soared from side to side was a well needed loss of control. It was obvious, as we glided down from a peak of nearly 2000 feet, that nature was in control. The wind toyed with us and we swayed from one side to another, while my pilot maneuvered the paraglide leading us to an uneventful, gentle and safe landing.

No Andes experience is complete without at least one trekking adventure. Tiptoeing around the Andes from afar is one thing but putting your boots down and climbing through them is another. The mountains here are larger than any mountain range in the world other than the Himalayas in South Asia. The variation in the climate is startling in bone dry Mendoza. It was nearly 100 dry degrees yesterday, but today as we step off the bus and walk towards our base point to begin our trek, it is a breezy 65 degrees Fahrenheit from this vantage point high above the town below. A mere 90 minutes distance and 2500 feet in altitude from the center of Mendoza brings staggering temperature drops. As we push our legs up and through the mountains trails, the beauty is spectacular. We walk among cows that are brought to this area in the spring and summer to graze on the grasses that sprout up in pockets amongst the rocks in this arid mountain landscape. Ivy and I particularly enjoy filling our empty water bottles up time and time again from the streams that trickle down from the mountains and nourish the town of Mendoza below. The scenery amongst the 900 meters we climb (up to 3400 feet) is pure nature complete with mountain streams, ravines and rock formations. As we reach our summit and feel the mist from the clouds that have dampened the hair on our heads, we feel a sense of accomplishment.

Bariloche lives up to its label as the “Argentine Switzerland”. It seems to have endless blue lakes with snow capped mountains in the background amid numerous trees and bright yellow bushes that offer a nice contrast to the blue and green surroundings. It is quiet and refreshing to sleep in this peaceful area. Renting a car in Bariloche proved to be a savior. Without this car, we wouldn’t have experienced half of what we did during a full day’s worth of jumping in and out of the car at numerous stopping points to admire the beauty surrounding us on all angles. At one stop, we took a chair lift up to the Campanario Hill view point. As Ivy and I breathed in the fresh mountain air and stared at the lakes below us in awe, we could find no words to express to each other. The lakes, trees and mountains that stretched out from our eyes spoke to us in a way that only nature can. Arriving at the view point, we see a wider range of these same wonderful views from all angles. We snap pictures and sit quietly, attempting to pay gratitude to the beauty of this area in a way that words can’t.

The Maza River basin that connects Argentina and Chile is white water river rafting country. The base camp where our rafting trip begins could be a Patagonian brochure, complete with green pastures and cows and sheep grazing amongst the trees with mountains looming on all sides. As we make our way down into the river and feel the icy waters of the Maza River chill our bodies through our wet suits, we look around ourselves, admiring the trees and mountains; however, we must keep our eyes on the task at hand – making it through the rapids without flipping our raft. Being in the front of the raft, I experience the full force of the water as it constantly crashes into me, chilling my body to the bone. As we take the rapids head on, I can see up close the gigantic holes in the river that our raft crashes in and out of. It is obvious that despite all our paddling and the shifting of our bodies from side to side to maneuver the raft, we are all just along for the ride as the river toys with our raft despite our attempts to control it.

It’s Christmas Eve and we find ourselves horseback riding through the Andes in 70 degree weather. Our launching point is an estancia (e.g. ranch) 20 minutes outside of central Bariloche. On this ranch nestled in the forest, the owner raises horses and organizes horseback riding trips. After our guide, Martin, explains to us how to control our horses, we begin our trek up and through the mountains. There is beauty on every side as we blaze a trail through endless trees above and below us. The wind blows the colored grasses that our horses stop frequently to munch on. With the smell of refreshing evergreen in the air, we climb higher and higher into the mountains that surround us. Along the way, we make stops and fill up our water bottles from the streams that run down the mountain. My horse, Molly, is a bit aggressive and Martin reminds me that I, not the horse, am in charge. I need to cajole Molly to the left and then to the right and pull the reins with force to stop her on occasion when she begins to move too fast for my liking. Arriving at our peak of 1400 meters, the views below are as complete as we’ve seen with vast blue lakes and mountains in the distance, trees on all sides and valleys below us. I feel fortunate and feel a degree of privilege as I sit atop Molly and majestically trot through the mystical beauty that surrounds me.


Food and Wine

If I chose to use one word to sum up my dining experiences in Argentina, I would use the world asado. An asado is every day Argentine food and is served in every part of the country. When I say every day Argentine food, let me clarify. I mean meat and lots of it! An asado includes almost every interior part of the cow - from liver, kidney and intestine, to the usual tenderloin and strip steak and it is all cooked over a large charcoal or wood fired grill. Temperature is never asked and whatever cut you bite into is always flavorful with juices marinating in each bite. There are other meats and sausages included in an asado as well as the option of including a salad bar. It is a no-frills dining experience with just fresh, hand cut, meat on a plate or wooden platter, along with grilled vegetables. The meat is served with chimichuri which is a sauce, or salsa, which typically comes in a red or green form. The red seems to be a combination of fresh garlic and onion with chili powder and crushed red pepper blended with oil. The green has a variety of fresh herbs along with garlic, onion and oil to give it its verde (green) salsa look. It is designed to be atop meats but is served with nearly everything from bread to empanadas.
My first asado at El Patio de Jesus Maria in Chacras just outside Mendoza is a memorable dining experience. Sitting on a ½ acre grassy lawn surrounded on all sides by tall towering trees and flowering bushes makes for a romantic, serene environment. We started with a salad of mixed vegetables which was a good counterbalance for the onslaught of meat that was to come. One delicate slice after another, the cuts came. Chorizo sausage, blood sausage, ribs, sweetbreads, flank steak, skirt steak and kid goat. It is all wonderful, full of incredible flavor and served in a beautiful setting.

During an 8 hour wine tour through the Mendoza countryside, we see and taste the fruits of our surroundings. We visit spectacular lush green vineyards that are dotted with poplar and olive trees for miles on end with the Andes Mountains acting as the backdrop. At the 1st vineyard we visit, Domaine St. Diego, I learn more about wine than I ever thought I would know. At this small vineyard which doesn’t export, we are able to spend an informative hour touring their vineyards which helps me to better appreciate the scientific aspect of wine making. Make no mistake, wine making is a craft and a process that needs to be mastered. I found the grafting process particularly interesting. During this process, new vines are grafted into older vines in order to sustain, and bolster the older vines with new life. The arid climate around Mendoza makes snow accumulation on the Andes Mountain peaks a well researched and analyzed topic given the importance of the water the mountains produce to the wine growers in this area. With only 10 inches of rain per year in this region, water is a precious and highly regulated resource. We have a long and wonderful day of tasting at 4 vineyards that includes a 5 course lunch highlighted by a tasty steak at Ruca Malen which overlooks the surrounding vineyards. After all that wine and meat, we decide to outdo ourselves later that evening by having dinner at one of Mendoza’s finer restaurants, Francis Malman 1884. We drink more wine and eat hunks of baby goat and wonderful lamb chops that are cooked parilla style over coals on an open air grill located in the restaurants courtyard. This was a day for carnivores!

They eat late in South America. It is no joke and while I thought I would adjust, it is more difficult to do so than I expected, especially as a tourist. Restaurants are just opening their doors and finishing setup at 8 PM. 8:30 PM is really the earliest you want to arrive unless you want to eat alone and with many meals extending for 2-3 hours, it is not uncommon to be finishing a meal at well past 11 or 12. I am not used to this and while I can see how it works for locals whose jobs may start later as part of the local culture, it can be difficult for a traveler who may have activities scheduled for 8 AM the next day.

Our accommodations are bed and breakfasts where fresh fruit and home cooked pastries are served every morning. From fresh made scones and strudels to fresh squeezed orange juice along with homemade breads served with assorted house made marmalades, we begin each day full of energy.

After white water rafting, we have some of the best meat we have on our entire trip. We have an asado cooked in the open air over a wood fire in the middle of the forest. The meal is prepared by a local family that is employed to prepare and serve meals to white water rafting groups. The cooking method seems to fit perfectly with our beautiful surroundings that include patches of grass, cows and sheep grazing, the sound of the river and the surrounding mountains. The meat and chorizo sausage are full of smoky flavor that comes from the wood. We are in the middle of a Patagonian forest feasting on the fruits of the land. This is the way meat is meant to be cooked and devoured!

The empanada is one of the great snack foods in the world. They have some variation of them in every culture whether they call them ravioli’s in Italy, dumplings in Asian cultures or pierogis in Eastern Europe. Fill a pocket of some sort of dough with a bunch of goodies and bake it, fry it, boil it or steam it and then dip it in some sort of sauce. In Argentina, that wrapper is a pastry that is either baked or fried and served with chimichurri sauce. We ate them everywhere, sometimes as a snack and nearly always as an appetizer prior to many dinners and some lunches.

Our last dinner in Buenos Aires is also one of our best and highlights the quality of the wonderful meat that most signifies Argentine cuisine. Whether it was in our guide books or spoken from the mouths of locals we met during the weeks during which we traveled throughout the country, we were instructed to go to Cabrera in the Palermo neighborhood for meat. It was a Sunday, our last full day in Buenos Aires when we hopped into a cab at 2:00 PM and made our way to Cabrera for a main meal lunch. As our taxi driver approached the restaurant, we saw a group of people standing out front who were apparently waiting for a table. It was a pleasant day and we waited out front anxiously for 30 minutes before they called our names. Before I sat down, I had the feeling that this was going to be one of those meals that met and exceeded every expectation one might have. The interior of the restaurant was crowded as was the outdoor patio and everyone’s table was filled with meat displayed on boards, salads and small tapas like bowls that numbered in the teens. We started with chorizo sausage along with a salad to begin our meal. The vegetables in the salad were fresh and the chorizo sausage was the best I had on the entire trip. We tried to order the full portion of sausage, but the waiters’ expression told us we might be overstepping the boundaries that our stomachs wanted to aspire to, so we opted for the half order. When the waiter arrived with half a role of sausage curled up on a platter, we said, “Thanks for the advice.” We cut into one piece after another of the smoky flavorful chorizo that had a hint of paprika in every bite. We used the various sauces provided to dip the sausage into and savored every bite. For our main entrée, we ordered a half barbecued chicken that had nice flavor but the real prize was the bife de chorizo. Bife de chorizo is one of the cuts of meat that is similarly cut the same way elsewhere around the world as in Argentina. It is the same cut as what you may know as top loin, sirloin steak, strip steak and a N.Y. strip. Many consider it be the steak of steaks that is meant for the grill. It is rich, meaty, juicy, and you need a steak knife to cut through it. For these reasons, bife de chorizo acts as a great litmus test for those who care to sample and compare Argentinean beef to the beef they consume in their own locale. I have had bife de chorizo a couple times on the trip and while I have enjoyed it, it hasn’t been amazing for something so talked about. That all changed today! Each bite was so full of juicy wonderful flavor that I can actually say I was lost in the moment, or the meal. My wife and I actually had to barter over the last bite although I won’t say what the loser’s penance was. As I sat back and looked at our table after this feast fit for a king, it was quite a spectacle. A bowl of salad, a hunk of half finished chicken on a platter and at least 20 different small tapas style side dishes holding anything from white beans in a spicy red sauce to sweet potatoes, eggplant, hearts of palm and too many other things to remember.

The City

No visit to Argentina is complete without a stop in Buenos Aires. This is the heartbeat of Argentina and is one of the grandest cities in the entire world. Arriving on Christmas Day, we quickly settle into the neighborhood that will serve as our home for the next week. Upon first glance, Recoleta is full of greenery with many parks, monuments, sidewalk cafés and European Style buildings. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in one of Europe’s grand cities like Paris or Vienna. To say that Buenos Aires is a significant city is an understatement. When I say significant, I am talking 10 lanes of traffic in one direction dissected by two boulevards big in some areas. This city is much more than just big though. The numerous monuments and grand French, Italian and Spanish style buildings are surrounded by large plazas and extravagant parks that are full of monuments with plenty of green space to relax with a book or picnic with your family.

Buenos Aires is also a city of great food which we experienced fully. Guerrin is a well renowned pizzeria that we read about in our Rough Guide and which was recommended to us by a Buenos Aires local that sat next to us on a flight we took from Mendoza to Bariloche. He was actually quite proud of his suggestion and told us that we would remember him if we went to Guerrin. I still remember him. On our 2nd day in Buenos Aires, I told my wife that I wanted to stroll up Avenida Corrientes on the way back from exploring the city center. Little did she know I had an agenda until we walked into Guerrin. This is what you would call a Buenos Aires institution with stand up counters where locals munch on chunks of mozzarella and a slice of pizza while washing it down with a chopp (draft beer) of Quilmes (the bud of Argentina). The interior is beautifully decorated and family friendly with many smiling families enjoying a Saturday afternoon pizza. My wife and I split a small (chico) pizza that is topped with garlic, tomato and onion. There is a minimal amount of sauce which allows the truly spectacular flavor of the vegetables and high quality mozzarella to stand out. I looked forward to every single bite of one of the best pizzas I have ever had.

Buenos Aires is a great city to run through with its many parks and wide avenues. As we run through the Recoleta neighborhood on a sunny, 75 degree morning, we take advantage of this perfect opportunity to appreciate the monuments and parks that border two of Buenos Aires massive roads that run through this neighborhood, Avenida Del Libertador and Avenida President Figueroa Alcorta. As much as we enjoy jogging, we also enjoy the walking. Thirty minutes in one direction and 45 in another. We move from one neighborhood to another on our feet experiencing the city by means of our legs. For anyone coming to Buenos Aires that doesn’t enjoy walking, they would miss out on many of Buenos Aires charms. Walking down wide tree lined sidewalks through beguiling and charming neighborhoods like Palermo and peering into the NY Soho style shops and great cafes, bars and restaurants in areas like this is so much a part of the experience of enjoying this city. Much of this would be missed if you were passing by in a cab or a bus.

It is a bright Sunday morning and we begin our day by trekking towards Buenos Aires most famous square, Plaza de Mayo, to snap pictures of the Pink Palace where Eva Peron used to address her fans during her reign years ago. Afterwards, we move up and down pedestrian Calle Florida with its endless shops and down Avenida de Mayo, Buenos Aires grandest avenue. Like the Champs Elysees in Paris, Avenida de Mayo is lined with beautiful, large, looming trees in addition to cafes and hotels, many of which are architectural gems. The center of the avenue is one large park for relaxing and meandering at the pace that suits you. Our jaunt down Avenida de Mayo is a slow one that takes well over an hour, eventually ending in the Monserrat and San Telmo neighborhoods that are an extension of the city center. Monserrat and San Telmo are working class neighborhoods known for their impressive old buildings. Today is Sunday though and this area, particularly San Telmo, is quite the place to be. The San Telmo craft market runs up Defensa avenue for nearly ¾ of a mile with both sides of the street lined with vendors selling antiques, belts, wallets, jewelry, clothing, serving trays and anything else you can name. This is one of the top tourist destinations for both Buenos Aires locals and tourists. There is value to be found here as I purchased a decorative leather belt for $9 and my wife bought a pair of earrings for $10. Mixed in between all these tables and blankets full of goods are food vendors. Some are on foot offering empanadas or calzone like filled breads while others have carts where they squeeze oranges and offer glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice. On a day like today with so many locals and tourists dedicating a significant portion of their day to the market and San Telmo, it would be hard to pass by all these tasty treats without sampling something. Ivy and I have a love affair with street food which made it agonizing for us to respond “No Thanks” to 7 or 8 vendors before we stopped to have a refreshing glass of orange juice. We had remained patient in the hopes that there was something special waiting for us ahead until we heard some singing and saw smoke rising from a tiny square on the right about 40 yards ahead of us. We immediately headed in the direction of the smells and sounds coming from this area. As we got closer, we saw 4 huge barrel drum grills where meat sizzled over slowly burning charcoals offering a myriad of wonderful aromas. These large grills have rows of chorizo sausages and huge slabs of pork and beef slowly cooking side by side. We didn’t have to make a decision as our stomachs and senses did that for us. We ordered a bondiola which is a sliced pork sandwich seasoned only with salt and lemon and then located a table to sit at. Ivy sat down and waited while I stood and anxiously watched the cook prepare the meat. He paid close attention to the task at hand, flipping the slabs of pork and beef every minute or two. After a few minutes of watching this, he pulled a slab of pork off the grill and sliced a few generous chunks off the end. He then placed each slice back on the grill and carefully dusted one side with salt and a squeeze of lemon. After about 45 seconds, he flipped the slices and seasoned the other side. After a few salivating minutes for me, he looked in my direction and emerged with a French roll dripping with a bit of grease. I smiled and made a slicing motion and he cut the sandwich in half. Excitedly, I grabbed the sandwich and made my way to the condiment table where I doused the sandwich with herb laden chimichurri sauce and onion and pepper relish. I literally ran over to Ivy and handed her half of the sandwich. The first bite offered flavors that will be instilled in my memory for years, if not decades. Juice from the pork dripped down my cheek as I engrossed myself in the wonderful grilled taste of the pork along with the taste of onion and garlic and the bread which served as a sponge to ensure that nothing escaped. Bite after bite, Ivy and I alternated between looking at each other and at the barrels of charcoal where meat sizzled, knowing that this was a memorable street food experience we were sharing. The word bondiola will always be something that Ivy and I will have between us. Satiated, we moved on to experience more of San Telmo’s charm. This is one of the most charming areas in Buenos Aires with its colonial style shuttered buildings and Plaza Dorrego which is especially charming on non market days with a few vendors selling high quality jewelry, art and leather products around a sprawling square of inviting tables. Some of the stores that house the craft shops in this area look like they should be in a painting as they are tucked away behind the plaza in and among charming exposed inter courtyards. San Telmo is less glamorous than Retiro or Recoleta but feels a bit more representative of the populous of this huge city. They day is winding down on this Sunday and we decide to stop for a beer and relax after a fun filled day. As we sit and relax, I am surprised to see a colorful parade of street performers that begin to make a lot of noise and slowly move in our direction. The performers are dressed in different red, green, blue and yellow colored outfits and most have drums hanging from their necks or held under one arm that they play fastidiously and in unison. Amongst the drummers are dancers who twirl around and dance with passion. As we sit and watch and enjoy the environment around us, we are in full appreciation of the energy and vibrant life that reverberates through San Telmo on a Sunday.

After a long day and nearly 10 miles of walking through San Telmo and Boca and nearly all the way back to Recoleta, our legs are tired. We are thinking of giving into our weary legs and jumping into a cab. After deliberating, we decide to push forward. It is a good idea we do as we are rewarded. As we continue on and look above and all around us, all we see are pieces of paper floating through the air, eventually landing on the ground and the people below. It looks like it is raining paper. It is December 30th, the last work day for many Argentines and we are approaching the downtown center near Calle Florida. To celebrate the end of the working year, it is a Buenos Aires tradition for people to rip the pages off of their 2009 calendars, tear them up and throw them out of their windows, watching them fall to the ground below. However, the people throwing paper out of the window aren’t limited to business workers and the paper isn’t limited to calendars. Everyone seemed to be participating, ripping up any papers they can find and throwing them out their windows contributing to what seems to be an endless paper shower. As we make our way down Buenos Aires huge pedestrian and shopping thoroughfare, Calle Florida, the carnage is evident as many of the street vendors who sell goods by lying them out on blankets have bits of paper intermixed with their merchandise. In fact, there is paper everywhere leaving the sanitation workers with a lot of work ahead of them. With this being the last day of work for so many, there is a sense of a big night ahead. Given that it is close to 5 PM, there are plenty of people filling the bars in the downtown area after work to begin the New Year celebration early. We join the festivities by relaxing at a bar, sitting outside and enjoying a couple of drinks before pushing ourselves to walk another 2 miles home. Ten miles of walking has left us weary making a relaxing night in our apartment sound very appealing.