Wednesday, November 8, 2017

The silence was deafening


We might have set a record for the longest amount of time between posts, but we're back. An update is in order. Jessica finished her master's degree at Berkeley and is now working in Washington, D.C. I left Abu Dhabi and am now living and working in Yangon, Myanmar, a beautiful but still-developing country in Southeast Asia bordered by Thailand, China, India, Laos and Bangladesh.
There is more pork in majority-Buddhist Myanmar than there was in the United Arab Emirates, but, alas, roughly the same lack of barbecue joints.
What they call barbecue does not involve slow cooking, dry rubs, sauces or hush puppies. The following video shows a typical BBQ joint in Myanmar, which involves a selection of meat, a charcoal-fired grill, and veggies. My friends in the video are discussing whether the meat brought to the table is beef or pork, and whether they got the order right.
I'll continue my search for American-style barbecue in Myanmar, but I don't hold out much hope. Maybe Jessica will have a better post about her barbecue discoveries in the nation's capital.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Bluffton BBQ

It’s been a summer of change for me, as I said goodbye to New York to embark on my next big adventure – grad school in California! I left my job in June and for the past month have been traversing the Southeast, visiting family and friends and taking some time off before hitting the books in August.

My  vacation so far has taken me to the sun-scorched corn fields near my aunt’s house in Mayfield, KY (luckily, we were able to rehydrate in her backyard hot tub); to the beaches of Hilton Head Island with my sister Donna; to my mom and dad’s bluegrass jam sessions; to walk the Lake Murray Dam in Columbia, SC, with my sister Carmen; and to Raleigh, NC, for a day of art museums and comedy clubs with my friend Aliana, as well as quality time with my sister Lori who, according to one restaurant hostess, must be my “maternal” twin.

Of course, my trip home wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t seize the opportunity to chow down on some real Southern BBQ. I should note that I’m slightly concerned about my future ability to satisfy these cravings in the Bay Area, which I’m sure has more pork than Mark’s neck of the woods, but it appears to be largely vegetarian terrain. Many of the apartment listings I’ve seen say things like, "No Meat, Dead Animals, Fish, or any eggs allowed in the fridge.”

With this in mind, I went with my parents to a little family-owned restaurant near their house called Bluffton BBQ, located at 11 State of Mind Way (very zen!). My mom’s initial reaction was that the place looked “kind of… redneck,” but I knew I was going to like it when I saw the tub of free PBR in front of the cash register. The restaurant is brand new and was giving away beer for donations until it gets its alcohol license.


The meaty menu included pulled pork, ribs and chicken; a smattering of sides; and moon pies for $1. There was also a sampler platter called the “fat bastard,” but I didn’t hear anyone ask for one of those.  

You’ll only find tomato-based (not mustard-based) BBQ here, as indicated by a handwritten sign that says “mustard is heresy.”  This, however, is contrary to popular opinion in many parts of this pork-loving state. According to Lake E. High, Jr., of the South Carolina Barbeque Association, German settlers brought mustard sauces to South Carolina in the 1700s and, as people began applying them to BBQ, mustard sauces came to be considered the traditional South Carolina style. (Here's an interesting article about this.)

I ordered a pulled pork sandwich with sweet potato casserole and mac and cheese on the side. The sandwich was scrumptious, especially when dipped in the restaurant’s signature “Ted sauce.” I found the mac and cheese a bit bland, but the sweet potatoes were smooth and rich. Also tried some of Dad’s perfectly spiced rack of ribs. 



Pig paraphernalia adorned almost every inch of the restaurant that wasn’t already occupied with a political poster. A Yelp review I read says the owner is a big Tea Party-er, so no surprise there. In case we forgot, this was a gentle reminder that we were indeed in the South, where you can walk into a restaurant and find both butts to eat and butts to talk politics.


In the end, we all gave it a big thumbs up but agreed we’d probably prefer to take it to-go. The outing was a delicious way to wrap up my last week at home... hopefully I’ll be back again soon for more.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Ham sammy and a BLT - sorta

It's been nine months since I moved to Abu Dhabi, and my quest for quality barbecue has so far been unsuccessful. I got a glimmer of hope yesterday when I met a friend for lunch at Cafe Arabia. A cursory glance at their menu showed a ham sandwich and a BLT. My heart quickened, and my cholesterol rose in anticipation. But a closer read revealed the ham was made of turkey, and the "B" in "BLT" stood for beef. Sorry for the sideways photo - had to make it big so it was readable. My search continues with a heavy heart and surprisingly clear arteries..

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Churrascos and chimarrão

My latest barbecue spree took me far beyond the five boroughs – to Brazil! Arguably the meat mecca of the Western hemisphere. No question, the Brazilians I encountered have perfected the art of the churrasco (a Brazilian barbecue), which is unsurprising since these events happen there almost every weekend.

I was in the southern town of Canoinhas not too far from the exotic beaches of Florianopolis or gaucho territory of Rio Grande do Sul. I stayed for two weeks visiting my sister Michelle and her beautiful family, and my sister Lori also made the trek from North Carolina.

Per local custom, they threw a huge churrasco party at the neighborhood tennis club to celebrate our visit, where we were offered an array of delicious food, live music and a never-ending supply of caipirinhas.

About 60 of Michelle and her husband Curtis’s friends showed up. We were first served a sampling of chicken, sausage and turkey heart. It was the first time I’d tried turkey heart, and I wasn’t a big fan. It’s hugely popular there, but even after getting past the strange thought of eating a heart, the meat was rubbery and the taste not very flavorful in my opinion. But the sausage was to die for – succulent and slightly spicy.

Then came the main course, a full buffet spread of beef, chicken, sweet rice, potato salad, veggies, fruit salad and pickled onions. Waitors circulated, rodízio-style, serving fresh cuts of meat to those who appeared to be running low. The grand finale was a cake topped with tropical fruit and some kind of creamcheesy frosting.

For entertainment, my niece Trinity played her violin and then a band played traditional Brazilian country music. The band members were from a family of 11 who rotated playing guitar and singing.

All the things I’d heard about Brazilians being hospitable and big-hearted was true. I got to know many of Michelle and Curtis’s friends, and it was a diverse group. Some have lived in Canoinhas their whole lives without leaving, and they also have American friends who work with Curtis and travel all over. About half the people I met spoke English, and with the others I could usually get by speaking “portuñol” – a mix of Spanish and Portuguese.

There, people never eat with their hands (even with sandwiches, they’ll use a knife and fork or pick it up with a napkin) and rarely drink directly out of a bottle. Beer especially is always served with an ice cold mug and for them, the more foam the better.

Other highlights from the trip included trying capoeira (a form of martial art that incorporates dance and music) and being sore for days after; a spa excursion with the girls; a night of drinks and dancing at the local club; visiting the museum and Easter bunny house in Tres Barras; a drive through the country to check out the nearby Steinhaeger (gin) factory; and lots of sunbathing and poolside reading.

There’s a lot more I could say about the local cuisine – about the amazing selection of tropical fruits and juices, or the way hot dog vendors prepare their franks with peas, corn, mayo and potato chips – but I’ll close by talking about a special kind of green tea that I fell in love with there, called chimarrão. Canoinhas is well known for its chimarrão, which is a social drink that people often share when they get together. It’s made by putting loose erva mate (tea) in a cup, adding hot water, and drinking it out of a filtered straw. It’s slightly bitter, but people will sometimes add different flavored spices or teas, like chamomile, to the erva mate. I saw people drinking it everywhere, even at the spa and pool.

Here I am with Trinity in front of a statue of a chimarrão cup in the center of town.

Friday, March 30, 2012

Palm Sunday in Abu Dhabi

St. Joseph’s Church in Abu Dhabi was packed on the Friday before Palm Sunday, with parishioners forced to stand along the sides of the church and along the center aisle. Chairs were placed outside the church in order to accommodate the overflow.
Yes, it was a popular holiday, and yes, this is the only Catholic church in all of Abu Dhabi, but daily and Sunday Masses here are always well attended. Masses are celebrated here in English, Tagalog (the main dialect of the Philippines), Arabic, Malalayam (one of the many languages of India), Urdu (the lingua franca of Pakistan), Konkani (another language spoken in India), Tamil (another of the 22 Indian languages), Sinhalese (Sri Lanka’s main lingo), and French.
The English-language Masses are attended mostly by Filipinos and Indians, many of whom live in labor camps and company housing in Mussafah, about an hour away from Abu Dhabi. At the end of the video I’ve attached you'll see a few of the dozens of buses that regularly pull up to St Joseph’s. Most of the people who go to church here don’t have cars and live far away. They pile into buses and travel a significant distance to get to the city’s only Catholic church. I am immensely impressed with their faith.
I often think of the times I went to Saturday or Sunday Mass in Midtown Manhattan. If Our Lady of Peace church on 62nd Street was half-full, that would be a big crowd. 
In the video below, you can see where the modest, low-lying St Joseph's Church is located in between a beautiful, towering mosque with multiple minarets and an equally majestic Coptic Orthodox church, all in the same block.
 

Friday, September 30, 2011

The tea boys of Abu Dhabi


I’ve discovered I’m a bit of a hypocrite.
Some of you may say you’ve known this about me for some time, but I hope you’d just be kidding.
The realization of my hypocrisy occurred when I discovered a curious tradition here at the newspaper in Abu Dhabi where I work. Some say the tradition is quaint. Others say it’s disturbing.
You see, the newspaper has a couple dozen men of varying ages who bring tea and coffee to our desks. They are actual employees of the company, but I’m told they're paid a pittance. They make most of their money from tips.
They are very similar to the chaiwallas of India, the men who bring chai tea and other beverages to office workers in Mumbai, Delhi and other big commercial cities in South Asia. They became well-known after the movie Slumdog Millionaire. It’s a very convenient service they provide, but some say it smacks of the caste system of the colonial past. In Abu Dhabi, they’re not called chaiwallas, but tea boys. All of them are from India, Bangladesh or Pakistan. They wear light blue waiter's smocks. Some of them look like me.
I’m quite torn about the tea boys. On one hand I have a problem with the very subservient existence for these Asian and Arab men to serve tea to the mostly-white journalists in our newsroom. On the other hand, I admit I do use their services. I ask them a few times a day for a cup of tea, a newspaper or some coffee made from a French press. Others have them fetch cigarettes, lunch, laundry, dry cleaning, mail or packages. The going rate for a cuppa joe from a tea boy is about four dirhams, or a little over one American greenback.
One of the senior editors at the paper and a fellow American says he doesn’t like them because his tea boy can’t make a decent cup of coffee. He says he’d rather use the manpower to maintain a proper newspaper archive, which currently doesn’t exist. It’s significant to note here that my American colleague used to be the managing editor of a major metropolitan newspaper in the US. You can tell he’s good at spotting deficiencies and re-allocating resources.
Almost all of the British journalists (which constitutes the majority of the newsroom) use the tea boy service. I started doing so simply because it saved me time. I guess the rest of the newsroom does it for the same reason. Am I really that much of a lemming?
The tea boys can be very territorial about who they get to serve. They figure out pretty quickly whos tips the best, then they stake their claim. The point is that your tea boy chooses you, and til death or dismissal do you part.
The photo above is of a guy named Sridan, from Mumbai. He’s in his fifties, small and slight, with an indecipherable accent, a slight limp and a big smile. I got assigned to the business desk, and I also got Sridan, who now knows I like green tea, a bottle of water and a newspaper to start my day.
My sister’s husband says there’s nothing wrong with keeping people employed, even if it’s in a subservient, slightly racist way. I pointed out that the problem with this system is that there’s very little chance that Sridan, or any of his children, will ever be considered for any job except that of a tea boy or its equivalent. How would you like to be well into your fifties and still be called a boy?
I have no idea whether Sridan or any of his colleagues are happy, but that may not be the point. I’d like to know that if a young person with brains and ambition, no matter his or her race, upbringing or social rank, has a shot at beating the odds and going to college and working at a good job. Sridan and his ilk, along with their children, probably don’t have that chance. And Sridan will keep serving me tea.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

In Da Kitchen

SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY, 9th Avenue near 45th Street, Hell’s Kitchen. There’s a second location on Second Avenue
August 29, 2011


Editor's note: My friend, ex-roommate and bar-b-cutie Jessica and I visited this restaurant in late July, about four days before I left New York. We’re just getting around to posting this, so apologies if this seems a bit out of order. We haven’t written about barbecue in a while, so this is actually good timing. As always, let us know what you think. Unlike me, Jess still lives in New York, and would love to get suggestions and feedback. We'll still occasionally write about non-barbecue stuff in this space, because we simply can't eat this succulent stuff all the time.


Mark

I’ll get to the restaurant in a minute. First, I’d like to share my favorite story (there are many) on how the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood of New York City got its moniker. In the late 1800s, a veteran cop named Dutch Fred was observing the latest gang fight on West 39th Street near 10th Avenue with his rookie partner. As punches were thrown and heads became bloody, the astonished rookie cop allegedly said: “This place is hell itself.” His battle-weary partner countered: “Hell’s a mild climate. This is Hell’s Kitchen.”


I’m allowing myself to become nostalgic because I leave my beloved New York in a matter of days. And Hell’s Kitchen is where I’ve lived for years. Like a lot of recent transplants to New York, I’ve hung my hat in several apartments in various neighborhoods. But Hell’s Kitchen was the best fit for me. The neighborhood is a bit seedy but can occasionally be kind, and appears slightly run-down but is still ruggedly handsome, when viewed in just the right light. But I (finally) digress.
Despite its violent, riotous history, the kitchens of Hell’s Kitchen are now
producing some of the best affordable food in the city. From the Thai food of Aceluck to the Greek seafood of Uncle Nick’s, Ninth Avenue and its cross streets have become a slightly grittier extension of Restaurant Row in nearby Times Square. Among the more recent entries is Southern Hospitality on Ninth Avenue, a barbecue joint created by, among others, actor, rapper and all-around superstar Justin Timberlake.
This restaurant on Ninth Avenue is one of two Southern Hospitality ‘cue joints in Manhattan. The other is on Second Avenue on the Upper East Side. The Hell’s Kitchen version was a bit loud, both in volume and décor. The dining room is dominated by a giant photograph of Memphis-born Elvis Presley wearing boxing gloves, an apparent reference to lyrics from Presley’s hit song “Hi-Heel Sneakers,” which advise some to “wear some boxing gloves in case some fool might want to start a fight.”
Timberlake, also a native of Memphis, has obviously influenced the menu. Judging from the number of items that are deep fried, Elvis himself may have had a hand in conceiving the cuisine. I had the King’s Combo, consisting of a plate full of Memphis-style, dry-rubbed spare ribs, sliced brisket and fried chicken. I chose mac & cheese and sweet potato fries as my sides.


The spare ribs were very, very good. A tad salty, but not annoyingly so. For those who recoil at the taste of sodium, remember there are pills for high blood pressure nowadays. Besides, it seems silly to complain about increased hypertension when you’re gnawing through a half-rack of ribs. I don’t eat like this every day, and meals like this may be even scarcer once I move to the Persian Gulf. I hope not, because these were some tasty ribs. And that’s coming from someone who doesn’t normally like dry rub ribs.
There was less enthusiasm for the remaining selections on the plate. The brisket was a bit gray and tasteless, requiring healthy doses from one of three barbecue sauces provided at each table. As for the fried chicken, I don’t have an opinion because I was so full from the ribs that I had the rest of the meal wrapped up in order to be taken home – the ribs were that good, and that plentiful. I’ll be yearning for this place when I tire of the hummus and falafel of my future home.

Jessica

My selection at Southern Hospitality was less regal than Mark’s King’s Combo platter but no less tasty. The sliced smoked brisket sandwich was flavorful, topped with onions and jalapenos to give it a nice kick. It came with a creamy cheese sauce and beef stock on the side, plus fries and slaw. Needless to say, I didn’t require a to-go box.

Southern Hospitality’s website touts its Memphis Style BBQ technique, a style of barbeque that I previously wasn’t very familiar with. This was a welcome introduction. The flashy Elvis-laden decor gave the place a festive vibe and, with a window seat in the corner, we had a good view of the happenings on 9th Avenue. Per Mark’s post, this section of town no longer lives up to its daunting name but there are still plenty of interesting characters. For those who like dive bars, there are a number of them in the area that are worth checking out before or after a Southern Hospitality feast. Rudy’s, for one, is also on 9th Ave near 44th Street: it has cheap beer, free hot dogs and a welcoming pig statue perched out front. As the picture below illustrates, you can’t miss it.


This was a bittersweet excursion, as it was the last before Mark’s departure for the Middle East. Hopefully, this savory send-off will keep the barbeque cravings at bay until his next visit home.