On The Multifarious Food Trail

Photos: yellowknife

lifeinthefoodlane — Sun, 13 Dec 2015 09:47:00 GMT

aurora borealis country

New Year's Eve Aurora Borealis Over Blachford Lake

lifeinthefoodlane — Sun, 13 Dec 2015 09:42:00 GMT

You know it’s arctic cold when your cheeks sting with needlepoint pricks, and snot glues your nostrils together with each breath.

In the lounge of the float base we are greeted by John, who brings in boxes full of parkas, mittens, boots, pants, warmers and hats in all sizes into the waiting area. “I want you all to take a parka. And snow pants. Mittens too. You’ll need it. And wear it all on the plane. It’s cold.”

Heavily clad in winter gear, I breathe like Darth Vader as I trudge over the ice to join the others. I greet the first one I meet. “Mom, it’s me!” I hadn’t recognized my own son, hiding deep in that huge parka.

The plane is a ski-fitted De Havilland Twin Otter. Standing on the wing, the copilot brooms the ice off. Barrels and supplies are loaded on the plane, along with the suitcases of the seven guests going to Blachford Lake.

The ice beneath my feet looks ominous black. “We’re lucky,” I hear someone say. “It’s only -20 today.” Mentally I feel my eyebrows shoot up at this remark, but physically they stay frozen where they are. We climb on board the plane, buckle up, and listen to the instructions coming from the copilot, visible behind the stacked luggage and propane cylinders in the front of the plane. I rip the earplugs from their plastic when the engines roar up. The plane starts to slide, turns, revs its engines, and takes off.

I feel a sense of adventure carve a smile on my face.

It’s hard to see where the empty white wilderness ends and the grey sky begins. Will we see the Aurora tonight, is a question on everyone’s mind. Aurora dances best in total darkness against a cloudless sky but today the sky is overcast.

We land on frozen Blachford Lake 25 minutes later.

The ladder is lowered and we clamber down onto the ice. Mists of breaths plume around everyone. The scenery greeting us is unreal for an Arctic-novice. Everywhere we look, the world is white. Even the huge lake we landed on is covered in thick layers of powdery dry snow. You can walk over to nearby islands where slow-growing trees are smaller than their age suggests. A boreal tree, we learn, stops growing in winter.

Blachford Lake Lodge is a timber construction with five bedrooms upstairs, and an open-plan communal area downstairs. Two strategically placed wood-burning stoves keep the entire lodge pleasantly warm. There are cosy corners with comfy couches both downstairs and up, and long tables to share meals. Next to the tall Christmas tree, the mounted head of a muskox brings the Arctic world inside. His colleague is upstairs, draped over the railing.

Run by volunteers from all over the world, there is a laid-back conviviality that makes you feel at home. Volunteers sign up for 2-3 months working at the lodge in exchange for board and bed. They take care of maintenance and daily runnings, but also interact with guests giving photography tips, yoga classes, or even take you cross country skiing or skating.

Blachford Lake Lodge started with the purchase of a fur-trappers cabin. Another one nearby was found abandoned, without a trace of its last occupant. Fur-trappers and gold prospectors used to come out here. The prospectors left many core samples, labeled and stored in an open-air archive, right there in the snow between the fresh tracks of a fox that we saw earlier that morning, hurrying across the ice.

The lodge is eco-friendly. The main building is oriented so it keeps cool in summer, and warm in winter. All waste is composted. Solar panels provide most of the energy. Water is pumped directly from the lake. Mike the owner explains that he seeks a balance between a wilderness lodge and adding “luxury amenities” for comfort. Hot showers, for one, but also a sauna down by the lake, and a hot tub right outside.

We’re here for New Years Eve. Tim the chef has been cooking all day, preparing lobster tails, shrimp, strip steak, salads, apple crumble, cream puffs, and pastries. Tim is a resourceful chef, using every bit of leftover to create something new. Leftover lobster and shrimp make a comeback as seafood chowder. Bread is cubed, baked with custard, and served as pudding. In the summer, he tells me, the lodge grows its own produce in two large greenhouses.

The clouds finally clear just before midnight. We go down to the lake for fireworks and champagne on ice – literally. In no time, the bubbly is slushy in my glass. Spectacular as the fireworks are, all eyes scan the sky for Aurora. And then, as if on cue to ring in the new year, she appears. Minutes after midnight Mother Nature herself lights the sky with the best fireworks ever.

Like a genie released, greenish streaks take over the star-speckled night sky. She is everywhere. Above, in front, behind. We don’t know where to look, and I nearly topple over craning my neck backwards to look up. It lasts for hours, at times but a faint streak, and then full-blast dancing again.

The next morning, before the sun rises at 11 am, the snow reflects in shades of orange, and the trees stand stark. It is surprising how “white” can reveal so many different colors. Blueish dark at night, orange-hued in the morning, or quartz rose when the sun sets.

Felix the dog musher straps seven dogs in front of a wooden sled. The dogs go mad, howling “runrunrunrun“. They bark and pull, ready to drag the sled off its anchor and go. “The first run will be fast,” the musher warns. And it is. The moment the anchor comes free, the dogs fly. We speed through the sunlit scenery, quiet and serene. All I hear is the sound of the sled sliding, and the patpatpat of dog feet running, damp mist hanging around their lean muscular bodies. By the time we’re back, Felix’ uncovered facial hair looks like crispy white noodles.

As if she knows we’re leaving the next day, Aurora puts on an even bigger display on our second night, again just past midnight. This time, she starts with a dance of twirling green streaks. Within minutes, the streaks grow into an expanse of greenish shapes and flashes with brushes of red. We bang on every door with a “wake me for Aurora” sign on it.” Dressed in nighties and slippers, we all seem to forget that it’s -40 out.

Jazz Fest New Orleans

lifeinthefoodlane — Wed, 30 Apr 2014 06:08:00 GMT

Jazz Fest New Orleans And Its Heritage of Food

At the 45th edition of Jazz Fest, the air resonates with brass bands, gospel songs, jazz tunes and blues riffs. It comes alive with the catching sound of Cajun accordions, the washboard-beat of Zydeco, and the steady drum of the Mardi Gras Indians. Santana salutes Duke Ellington, and his performance at the very first Jazz Fest. "Man that's a way to start something". The year was 1970. Eight years later, in 1978, four young New Orleans jazz musicians performed here for the first time as Astral Project, and have been playing at the Fest since. The deep-rooted musical heritage of the Crescent City is but one aspect of the annual New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. As much as it is a world-class music festival, it's the heritage of food that grabs a fervent gourmand even more. The combination of it all makes for festival heaven.

Remember the shrimp-scene from Forrest Gump? Overwrite "shrimp" with "crawfish" and that's me going around the New Orleans 2014 Jazz Fest. Crawfish Beignets. Crawfish Monica. Crawfish Remoulade. Even if they played the polka all day long every day, I'd still love the Fest. Crawfish Po'Boy. Crawfish Bisque. Crawfish Bread. Of course there is shrimp too.

In fact, at Jazz Fest you can sample all of Louisiana's "four seasons": crawfish, shrimp, oyster and crab. Soft-shell crab, to be precise. Not a fan of seafood? Go for the Alligator Pie, Muffaleta, Spinach Artichoke Casserole, Cajun Duck Po'Boy, BBQ Pork Ribs, a traditional Red Beans & Rice, or move away from Louisiana food and go for Vietnamese springrolls, Brazilian Acaraje, or Jamila's Lamb Tajine and Merguez. Quench your thirst with Rosemint Herbal Iced Tea or Strawberry Lemonade. Satisfy your sweet tooth with any number of pies, bread pudding, pecan praline, sno' balls or mango freeze. Too bad you can't borrow someone else's taste buds and belly space to eat more, and more of more.

John Hiatt's soulful gritty voice sounds from the Fais-Do-Do stage. Swaying to my favorite Cry Love, I ladle juicy chunks of pheasant and quail from the eye-popping good cup of gumbo in my hand. Jazz Fest made perfect. Eric Clapton is about to start on the Acura stage, but the Houston-bound flight is calling. As we walk away from the Fairground festival fields, we hear Clapton's guitar howl its opening tunes.

From a melted-cheese hot-crusted uber-delicious toasted crawfish bread for breakfast, must-eat Crawfish Monica, meaty and moreish white beans with BBQ pork ribs to crisp sugar-dusted original Cafe du Monde beignets, we tried a lot. Here's a random rundown of a few favorites:

soft shell crab

Po-Boys Galore
Not all the breads I tasted this year at Jazz Fest were crisp in crust and fluffy at heart, but the stuffing invariably was oh so goo-hood! Plump flash-fried oysters, raw with a delicate crust. Succulent slow roasted cochon de lait. Cracking good fried alligator meat. Crispy curled-up crawfish tails coated in light, spiced breading. And the best one yet: crunchy fried whole soft shell crab.

A Taste of Alligator
"If gator is said to taste like chicken, it must be a chicken who likes seafood," was my son's comment. I've only tried minced alligator meat in boudin before, a spicy Louisiana "sausage". Hesitant about the "whole pieces of gator meat", I was glad he ordered it, and had me venture a taste. I'm all the richer for it. The fried alligator meat was sensational: firm with a taste spectrum that spanned from juicy chicken to fleshy shrimp. Alligator meat also made a tender-stewed appearance in a traditional Louisiana sauce piquante. It is a tomato-based sauce that simmers for hours and embraces the depth of spice and "holy trinity" (a mirepoix of celery, onion, and bell pepper) of Cajun cooking. The alligator meat was chopped, stewed in this sauce piquante and served with mushrooms over white rice. Loved it!

The Sack, The Beignet & The Pattie
Talk about a festival staple: for decades, fest-goers have carried a plate of Patton's trio to the far reaches of the fairgrounds: Crawfish Beignets, Crawfish Sack & Oyster Pattie. It's been twelve years since the last time I waited patiently in line to finally parade away with mine, only to find my then-toddler single-mindedly going for my crawfish beignets. Couldn't tell him off either, trying to be the kind of mother who encouraged the child's culinary explorations. Today, at my insistent request, he totters off to queue on my behalf. Crawfish beignets are addictive fried doughy bites, drizzled with a creole remoulade. The Oyster Pattie has sea-soft oysters swimming in a creamy ragout and spilling over the rims of a puff pastry vol-au-vent. The Crawfish Sack is a crisp-fried pastry pouch holding the tasty tiny tails.

Louisiana Food Traditions
French for "suckling pig", Cochon de Lait in Louisiana is so much more than falling off the bone roast pork with the best ever crackling. Roasting a cochon de lait is a social event in Louisiana: as the split pig slowly cooks in front of an open wood fire, families pass the time eating and dancing to Cajun music - a lively and infectious music that even the most determined non-dancer will find hard to resist. Cochon de Lait even has its own annual festival, celebrating its 40th edition this year. But then, in Louisiana, everything edible seems to have a dedicated festival, including the mirleton(pronounced, like often in New Orleans, not like you'd think: it's "mellaton"). Needless to say, our delicious Cochon de Lait was pulled from its po'boy in no eatin' time!

Pheasant Quail & Andouille Gumbo
Warm dark brown, silky soft and convincingly divine, the Pheasant Quail & Andouille Gumbo is sensational. The flavors run deep and sumptuous, the meats are juicy and tender. That deep dark color with its lush shine comes from the famous Lousiana dark oil-based roux, where flour cooks in smoking hot oil before a "holy trinity of Cajun cooking" adds a traditional layer of flavor. I still cannot believe I shared my only cup of that gumbo...

Veggies At The Fest
Sweet potato pone (easier to order without a risk of embarrassing spoonerisms than corn pone) is almost like a cake, full of sweet spice. It comes from the same vendor who also sells a creamy, lush artichoke and spinach casserole, and the combination makes for very happy palates. The stuffed artichoke is chockfull with a crumbly stuffing of parmesan, herbs, and garlic. Wrapped in foil, the artichoke is baked until soft. Plonked in our fold-out chairs near the Jazz & Heritage Stage, we also shared a plate of fried green tomatoes: crisp crust, gorgeous acidic firm green flesh, they didn't need the remoulade that came with it. I haven't tried the Mirleton Casserole. Maybe you did and will tell me about it?

Next week's lineup: http://lineup.nojazzfest.com/

pheasant quail and andouille laden gourmet gumbo

where y'at John Hiatt?

Cruising the Musandam Fjords

lifeinthefoodlane — Tue, 8 Apr 2014 23:11:00 GMT

Pristine. The word echoes in my head the entire weekend. Wherever I look, I see pristine beauty. The rugged, rocky coastline. The sea and its shimmering shades of blue and green. Hidden bays and inlets, coves and overhanging rocks. Remote villages beneath sheer cliffs, the intense blue sky.

The drive from Dubai to Khasab takes about three hours, more depending on border formalities. Once you've passed the Omani border, the road becomes increasingly scenic as it serpents past soaring high cliffs of barren rock set against the bluest of seas. We pass through a traditional village. It is early Friday morning, and everything is quiet. A buffalo is taking all the time in the world to cross the road. I see a donkey by a tree, a goat on top of the garbage bin. A couple of kids are playing in the street, a group of men sit together just outside a tiny kebab place.

The road continues and we pass a cliff so steep that it dizzies me as I look up through the sun roof. On a beach in the curve of the road, fishermen are pulling in their nets by long ropes, bare feet dug deep in the sand, backs bent as they give it all of their strength. When we pass the village of Mukhi, the phone rings. It's the dhow company, hoping we are near as the midday hour approaches. Soon after, we arrive in the harbor of Khasab.

We climb aboard a bright blue dhow, in excited anticipation. We sit down on the cushions along the railing. Trays of bananas and apples, hot sweet tea, cardamom scented coffee, and a box of beautiful sticky dates come around as the dhow leaves the harbor. The dates in particular are popular. They are from the owner's own date palm grove, and have a sweet sticky chewiness as good as toffee made with caramel and butter.

We get to meet the owner later that evening around the campfire, and enjoy his stories of how he started his company years and years ago. "I am a fisherman, and I started with my fishing boat, taking people around the fjords." Combining forces with likeminded local individuals, it grew into the successful sea adventures and tours company it is today (website below). We talk about his date palm grove, and he explains how he makes date syrup: ripe dates are gathered in cloth bags and suspended over earthenware pots. The weight of the dates presses the syrup out. "You must come to my house and taste our homemade date honey," he invites us.

The captain with his weathered face looks completely in his element, as he steers his dhow through the waters of Musandam. We are relaxed in the cushions, looking out over the water to the rocks and cliffs. Suddenly, the captain points into the water and starts to whistle. We rush to the side. A humpback dolphin caught up with our boat and playfully swims along. Its large grey shape is easily spotted just below the surface. Every now and then it comes up for a dive, seems to smile at us and then disappears under the boat to come up again on the other side. It happens again and again, and we never tire of these beautiful creatures.

We anchor in a small inlet for lunch and a swim. We are not alone: shoals of colorful fish swim around us. The refreshing dip whets our appetite for lunch on board. It is a healthy lunch. Spiced rice with a vegetable curry, grilled chicken, mixed Arabic salad, hummus, and pita bread. Kept warm in double-walled pots, it tastes magnificent on deck of this dhow gently bobbing in the quiet bay under the rocks.

When we sail into a secluded bay, we spot a camp set up with tents, and a long table and chairs, right underneath a steep cliff. It is ours for the night, and excited we jump ship. Literally: I land feet first in the water as it laps at the sandy beach. Dinner is grilled freshly-caught fish and squid on the BBQ, as well as some mighty juicy marinated chicken legs. We sit by the camp fire for a long time. The clear dark night sky is sprinkled with stars, the moon shines in the calm bay water. What a beauty!

The silence of the clear morning is breathtaking. The sun is still behind the cliffs, and there is a crisp chill in the air. The sea is perfectly calm and pale blue in the early morning sunlight. A couple of brave ones in our group decide to go for an early morning dip, claiming the water is "not at all cold", but their clenched teeth suggest otherwise. And then the first rays of sun drop over the cliff. We leave the campsite after a basic breakfast of fruits, bread, boiled eggs, jams, and cream cheese, and climb back aboard the Dhow for a full day sailing along the coast to pass by the remote village of Kumzar. Located on the Strait of Hormuz, this most northerly inhabited village in Oman has been there for over 500 years, accessible only by boat.

When we anchor for lunch, we spot a fishing boat a little further down the bay. Pearl divers. One of them remains in the boat, the other one goes down with snorkel and mask. He does bring up a couple of large shells, but we cannot see any pearls from our distance. We simply enjoy this bonus bit ofcouleur locale from the comforts of our cushions.

Back in the harbor, the owner is waiting for us. He hasn't forgotten his promise, and asks us to follow him to his date palm grove first, and his home after. It is an absolute privilege, and an extremely pleasant one at that. His wife has made us cakes and legaimat, served with homemade date syrup. The ladies in our group are invited to meet her in the kitchen, where she shows us how to fry the delicious legaimat : you "pinch" thumb and first two fingers together, dip into the dough to pick up a dollop, and drop it in the hot oil to fry. Back in the house majlis we sit on the cushions around the carpets, enjoy hot karwa (Omani coffee spiced with cardamom and cloves), and exchange stories with our host. It is the most wonderful conclusion of an unforgettable weekend.

		Dubai - United Arab Emirates
		2 hours 30 mins

Khasab, Oman

183.4 km

Khasab is a harbor town in the northernmost province of Oman. It is the jumping point for boat tours of the Musandam fjords (Dibba al Fujairah is another). Khasab is reached by direct road from Dubai in 2.5 hrs, barring traffic and border formalities. It takes you through three more Emirates: Sharjah, Umm al Quwain, and Ras al Khaima, before you reach the border with Oman. If you drive your own car, make sure you carry your car license with you! The border is an adventure in itself: you park the car, get inside, and wait in line to get your passport stamped. This is to exit the UAE. You drive through the border control, show the stamp, and then park again to repeat the process, this time to enter Oman. It is the same procedure on the way back. (map taken from Google Maps)
Musandam Sea Adventures Travel & Tourism (www.msaoman.com) is a Musandam based companies specialized in tours of the Musandam fjords. They are outfitted with several dhows with onboard equipment for snorkeling, diving, fishing (depending on what tour you book), their private campsite is very well setup and complete with tents, bedding, toilet tent, seating (dining, campfire & majlis). Ours was a private overnight camping trip with our own group.
Legaimat are crunchy fried little dough balls, served with a sweet dipping sauce often flavored with spice, saffron, and lemon. It is an Arab dessert popular throughout the Gulf countries. Legaimat comes in different spellings (I have also seen gaimat and lgemat, for instance), as well as different pronunciations. Our host pronounced it "lokamah", and served them with homemade date syrup.
The majlis is an Arabic term for "sitting area", and in the private home is a room (usually separate for male and female) where you entertain your guests.

Photos: Travel Galore

lifeinthefoodlane — Sat, 5 Apr 2014 02:35:00 GMT

Photos: Annapurna, Nepal

lifeinthefoodlane — Fri, 4 Apr 2014 02:10:00 GMT

Mountain Trekking

Trekking in the Annapurna Foothills

lifeinthefoodlane — Fri, 4 Apr 2014 02:03:00 GMT

There is something about mountain hiking. It is liberating and energizing like few things are. I love mountain hiking, even if for me it comes with a good deal of huffing and puffing, a fair amount of under-the-breath swearing, and envious looks in the general direction of anyone passing me by with a vigor and stamina that I don't have.

I much prefer gentle alpine hikes with a reward in the way of panoramic views and a hut to rest and recharge, but for my husband it can't be too strenuous and challenging. We've always met in the middle, figuratively speaking. A longstanding dream of his was to hike in the Himalayas, and when I saw images of the Annapurna region, I was sold. I was even prepared to rough it on yak milk and communal toilets to make it to the Annapurna base camp. Closer to decision time, however, I had second thoughts. I had come across a "luxury lodge trek" in the same area that spoke to me much more than the strenuous struggle up to the base camp. It was a trek where you stayed in authentic mountain lodges; one that came with tea and biscuits at sunrise, a leisurely lunch, happy hour, and a three course dinner. You still had to walk an average of 5-6 hours every day, but with plenty reward in the making. A perfect meet-in-the-middle in my book, but I could see the disappointment on my husband's face. No base camp, no trek beyond the tree line into the snow-covered world of the Annapurna. And then it occurred to me: "Why don't we start out together, you go on to the Annapurna Base Camp with your own guide, and we (son and I) make a lower-altitude trek. We meet again back in Pokhara." The best of both, he would get to rough and tough it, our 8-year-old and I did a gentler trek, and part of it we'd walk together.

Hiking in the Annapurna region was about the scenic beauty, the remote villages, the panoramic views, and feeling humbled by the strength of the villagers, their arduous work on steep slopes ploughing fields, harvesting produce, raising animals. I saw them en route to the town market, carrying towering packs. And on the way back, the load even heavier with new supplies. As my feet tramped the stony trails, I took it all in. The rice noodles drying on corrugated roof tops, a woman grinding rice to flour by hand, a couple sifting and shaking large mats to separate husk from grain. Rice is cultivated on the lower slopes, ground in-house, mixed with water and worked into a dough, which is then stretched and rolled to form individual noodle strands to dry in the crisp mountain air. They grow corn and vegetables on other plots, water comes straight from the mountains, and their domestic animals provide for other needs, including dung for fuel. Nepal is one of the poorest countries on earth. Yet the villages around these mountain slopes seemed self-sufficient, and in many ways manage so much better to sustain a living than the poor population in the big cities, Kathmandu in particular.

Every morning, straight after breakfast we set off on the serpentining trail. Our guide (a Gurkha) showed me how to ease on the upper legs by drooping one leg a little before moving up the step. The easing is marginal for the inexperienced like me, and soon it felt like I was dragging my legs rather than relieving any strain. What did lighten my step, were the stunning views, the intoxicating motley of smells, children playing in the hamlets, and the "namaste" at every turn. What quickened my step was the pride I felt for my 8-year-old son, light-footedly treading the mountain trails, chatting with the guide, urging his sluggish mother on. There was only one moment in all six days that he stopped, sat down on a rock, pulled his hat over his eyes, crossed his arms, and refused to move. The guide offered to carry him, but that was going against his mountain-goat principles. He took the chocolate candy bribe, and marched on. Every day, with destination in sight, both of us were like the proverbial horse smelling the barn. And what a "barn"! Each of these lodges is an authentic mountain house with thick walls, tiny windows, wooden doors, and decorated with local handicrafts and artwork. There is a fire place to sit around, a lawn area with spectacular views of the surrounding mountains, and a large dining room. At the long table over dinner is where you share stories with other hikers. The individual rooms have two single beds, and private shower and toilet. Authentic and rustic, the luxury is in the fact that you are spoilt rotten on these mountain trails. You wake to a gentle knock on the door. Huddled in the down jackets provided, you get out of bed to watch the sun rise over these glorious mountains. It is a spectacle that never tires. You sip your hot tea, dunk in a biscuit, and slowly wake up, taking in the invigorating crisp morning mountain air. You spend the day on the trails under the caring guidance of your guide and his porters. A late lunch waits when you reach the lodge, and you relax the rest of the afternoon. And while you are having dinner, a hot water bottle is slipped into your bed to pre-warm it for a cold night.

Food memories of the Annapurna region for me are the smoked flavor of the milk, giving the early morning sunrise tea an added dose of mountain magic. The fried corn bread for breakfast, and the Nepali dal bhat for dinner: a delicious array of curries and condiments served with rice. It was the berries and herbs on the trail the guide had me try. It was the sweet, strong black tea that kicked out the mid-hike lull. And never, ever did a momo taste better than sitting by the fire after a long day of leg-pounding climbs and descends.

Trek details
We booked the trip with Ker & Downey (website). Our lodge trek started in the Sanctuary Lodge, up to the Himalaya Lodge where we stayed two nights (day hikes in the area). From there we walked to the Basanta Lodge, then the Gurung Lodge, and finally, another night in the Sanctuary Lodge before returning to Pokhara. It is an incredibly varied trek, and it takes you through bamboo forests, past steep rice fields, across plateaus, and through mountain hamlets. Himalaya Lodge is at 2,000 meters, the Annapurna Base Camp sits at 4,130 meters. Even on the "luxury lodge trek" prepare to make several considerable elevation gains and drops on one and the same day. A typical day of walking has you gain 700 meters, drop 500 meters, ascend another 400 meters, and so forth, before you reach your next lodge. The first day particularly, it had me literally wobbling on my legs. Amazing how mountain walking works: rather than not being able to lift a muscle the next morning, I was actually feeling quite chirpy and ready to tackle the trails again.

My husband went up to the Himalaya Lodge with us, then continued on a fast-paced trek to the Annapurna Base Camp, spending two nights on the way up from the Himalaya Lodge, one night at the base camp, and two nights on the way back to Pokhara.

Our trip was in April: skies were clear, days were warm and sunny, nights and early mornings rather cold. The rhododendrons were blooming, adding even more beauty and color to the spectacular scenery. We stayed another 2 nights in the Fish Tail Lodge (website) in Pokhara, before returning to Kathmandu.

Passport & Plate - Sarawak Black Pepper Sauce

lifeinthefoodlane — Wed, 12 Mar 2014 14:18:22 GMT

Ingredients
1 full tbsp coarsely pounded black peppercorns
1 medium red onion, chopped
1 tbsp minced garlic
1 tbsp grated fresh ginger
1 tbsp chopped red chilies (more or less to taste)
1 tbsp Belacan (or any other dried shrimp paste)
1/3 cup sweet soy sauce (kecap manis)
1/3 cup light soy sauce
1/3 cup oyster sauce
1 tbs oil

How to prepare this recipe
Pound onion, ginger, garlic, and chilies into a paste using mortar and pestle. Add the belacan and pound some more. Heat the oil in a wok or shallow pan. Add the pounded paste and stir-fry until soft and fragrant. Add both sweet and salty soy sauce, as well as the oyster sauce. Reduce over low heat until thick and syrupy. Add a few drops of water if the sauce gets too thick. Add the black pepper, stir in well and simmer for another 2-3 minutes, until all the aromas and flavors have blended. You can use it immediately, but it is even better if you leave it be overnight. You can use this sauce with just about anything. From fried shrimp to braised beef. Toss these ingredients in the sauce, heat and serve. I made it many times with caramelized eggplant: fried slowly until soft and naturally sweet.

The story behind this recipe
On the coast of Sarawak, close to the border with Brunei, is a town called Miri. It is where I lived for a couple of years. We lived 200 meters from the beach, in a bungalow in tropical surroundings, where hornbills woke us up in the morning with their piercing cries, and bullfrogs kept us up all night croaking loudly after a rainstorm. It wasn’t your seaside-resort beach, but one often littered with dead fish and debris from the logging industry. In season, the sea turned pink from the tiny shrimp that fed in the shallow water. Knee-deep in water, local fishermen dragged their nets to catch them. For weeks, the shrimp dried out in the open, filling the air with their rotting smell. It is hard to believe something so putrid gives such a delicious depth to the local food. For a foodie, life in Miri was one big food adventure. From the malodorous durian to the delicate slipper lobster, I loved going to the local market. I attempted to chat with local vendors, learning that food connects, even if language fails. I watched a pineapple expertly cleaned with a machete, bought whole duck, pale head dangling on the long, curled neck, its webbed feet tucked under, every bit considered a delicacy. Despite the assault on the senses, the rats scurrying near, stray dogs and cats hoping for scraps, and the humid heat of the tropics, it also opened the mind to the abundance of flavors and smells. It is what this black pepper sauce represents for me. An abundance of flavors and smells that goes from sweet to pungent, spicy and comforting at the same time. When you taste it, close your eyes and dream of a tropical coast, fishermen dragging nets, local women pounding spices, open kitchens flaming up with hot woks and an overall aroma that is sweet, seductive and stinking at the same time.