There’s a big culture of tipping here (well, in Fez and Marrakesh at least), which I’m not sure is indigenous or learned from the tourists–but what is expected is far more than I even tip in the U.S. And sometimes when you do tip, you’re given a withering look or a, “that’s all, my friend?”

Needless to say, by dinner the next night we just wanted to hide in our riad and not leave. =P Luckily, we had a cooking class and a spa so much of the day was filled with activities (which will be written about in another entry), but for dinner we didn’t want to chance it with the unknown restaurants that charge $10 for a bad sandwich or bland pizza or bland tajine.

Our last dinner in Marrakesh? KFC. And you know what? It was more delicious and cheaper than the crappy food stalls that tried to scam us. Oh…and the KFC had guards at the doors! ;P

We decided to go for a bit of a wander around–a walk that couldn’t have been more than 1km seriously took almost two hours. There’s so many turns and places to get lost, so many people who run up to you to give you directions, say hi, or try to have you buy their goods. It’s an assault on the senses, in a good way. I remember feeling this way when I first went to Japan, “wow, it REALLY IS exactly like it is in the movies…” (back then, it was “in the anime/manga, though.”) We’re in the old city of Fez (9th century!) and it while there are stalls selling cellphones and our beloved happy cow cheese, it feels like we’ve stepped back through time.

Hugh navigating the medina

We’re in a Muslim country, so we’re trying to be respectful–at one point, after a long slog, Hugh put a candy in his mouth and some young men shouted at us, “Stop! It is haram! Forbidden!” and died laughing when they saw our look of embarassment and shock. There are cafes open to tourists, even during Ramadan. It felt very embarassing to be eating food in front of people fasting all day, so we will probably try and avoid that again, even if it isn’t expected of us to fast. We’ll at least try and eat away from street view.

After getting lost in the medina for 4 hours, we went back to the riad and relaxed and then had dinner on the terrace which was delicious (as was lunch.)

Fez at night

Chick on a stick...not actually very tasty.

While in the Philippines, my cousins and uncles have been trying endlessly to gross out Hugh with “exotic” Filipino food. I think this is a pretty common practice around the world, where rather than be embarassed about some local delicacies, most people consider Americans (and its usually Americans who are so grossed out by foreign delicacies) to just have boring diets. And honestly–with our health, who are we to be grossed out by what people eat? I’ve come to consider the giant bowls of fat they serve at restaurants back home to be pretty foul.

However, Hugh’s a pretty adventurous eater so he always ends up grossing people out in their attempts. In Japan we/he sampled such delicacies as: bees, sake with a dead snake coiled in it, raw horse meat, not to mention many of the more normal things like seaweeds and shellfish that some people would find repulsive. In Laos, we tried silkworms and water buffalo. I’ve had turtle-shell jelly in China and Taco Bell in America. It isn’t about trying to gross each other out, or be adventurous or anything. There are certain things we won’t do–I won’t eat anything killed before my eyes (like the snakes and their beating hearts in Vietnam) which are often done just to be grotesque for tourists and not because the majority of the population eats it. But we figure that if people in a culture eat this sort of food, then it’s certainly worth trying. At worst, just don’t eat it again. It PROBABLY won’t kill you. We rolled our eyes at tourists in Laos who would go on and on about how horrible it was that Laotians ate certain things (civet cats, random wildlife, birds), never realizing that certainly certain groups of people think the Western diet of beef is possibly horrible, or that Laotians are poor and hunting game in the forest isn’t about sport, but about survival.

Food is all very cultural anyways. I never grew up on fancy cheese (many Asians don’t) and as a result, I often find the cheeses that my European friends love smell and taste like vomit, or worse. I mean really, do you know WHY blue cheese has blue flecks in it? My point is–blood pudding or dog meat or whatever. Food is food.

Saddam Hussein pizza?!

In the Philippines there are delicacies such as dinaguan, a stew made of pigs’ blood, which isn’t really that strange to some cultures who eat blood puddings or marrow, but most infamous with non-Filipinos is balut, which is chicken embryo.

Somehow though, Hugh managed to finally put my family’s taunts to rest when he ate a day-old chick which are served whole on a stick and meant to be eaten as such–bones, innards, head, feet and all. My uncle who will eat balut seemed positively disgusted by the fact we ate it, though you could joke and call it overripe balut. My cousin Jean made him do it and he heroically did so, announcing “tastes yolky!” as he did so.

For Christmas Eve, I met up with a Thai friend of mine who I met in Japan. She took us down to a local street food market full of delicious food that of course, isn’t listed in any guidebooks. We sat on the street and they ordered a massive feast of food, that of course is actually authentically flavored since its made for Thais. I think pretty much every meal in a foreign country is vastly improved by having a local do the ordering.

As strange as some people may find it, we were excited to be in Bangkok and to be wandering the streets and shopping and just enjoying city life. Our next stop is the Philippines for a month, but seeing as we will be with family I think this may be the end of our “backpacking” trip. In fact, Hugh and I splurged on a suitcase and are far too excited to be filling it with stuff. Amazingly, after 5 months we bought very, very few things on the road so its kind of hard to break that habit. Not that I want to. A little less materialism never hurt anyone.

Anyways, the dinner was pretty untraditional as far as Christmas Eve goes, but I was still really happy to be in a big bright city with good food and good company.

Lemongrass, galangal, spicy wood, and many other things make up the base flavors of Lao food

Hey foodies! This post and photos are for you! In Luang Prabang, we decided to check out the cooking class by Tamarind (a restaurant) which was highly regarded (and turned out to be good).

The class started out with a market tour led by our Lao teacher, Jack. He pointed out various herbs, meats, and sauces used by Laotians (insert whinging by an annoying old Australian couple here about the cleanliness of the market and how awful it is to eat certain meats, waaaah). After that, we were taken to the riverside kitchen to cook.

Something I noticed before is that in Lao, most cooking is down over hot coals. Most people don’t have electricity at home and therefore, no stoves or ovens (remember, electricity only really came to Lao 15 years ago). Cooking is primarily done by grilling, stewing, or steaming. This is also one of the poorest, most isolated countries on earth so, traditionally, food is also very simple. The ingredient list might be quite long, but it’s all stuff that can be picked in your garden (or foraged from the forest/riverbank.)

Steaming sticky rice over coals, the Lao way of cooking

Another important point in Lao cuisine is the fact they use sticky rice to eat. They pull rice out of the steamer, then ball it up into their hands and dip it into different food. Therefore, Lao food tends not to be as soupy/creamy/oily as Thai food. Lao food tastes more “herby,” and what we discovered was that it was flavor overload for basically everyone.

On the menu were several dishes. Orlahm, is a traditional stew in Luang Prabang made with buffalo meat and basically every herb you can think of in huge quantities. It also contained something they call spicy wood, which is…wood. It was pretty weird eating wood, the outside is super bitter and spicy while the inside tastes like peppery chicken. It also makes your mouth feel like you’ve been injected with novacaine. I don’t feel any guilt in saying I’d never eat it again.

Hugh models a wonderfully marinated tilapia

We also made a delicious steamed Tilapia in banana leaves. Once again, the marinade was made up of every herb in existence. But it was really, really nice. A few little alterations and I could definitely add this to my dinner repetoire (the authentic way is a little too flavor country for me.)

Next was the technically difficult to make, stuffed lemongrass. How do you stuff lemongrass, you ask? Well. It was hard. But the results were delicious. Ingredients were minced chicken, lemongrass, every herb in existence (okay, okay–Lao basil, coriander, kaffir lime…oh geez, I don’t know.)

We also made our own spicy Lao dip and laap (a meat salad–I made mine with water buffalo meat). Hugh indulged in the fried worms/catepillars that were offered as a snack. I declined. Nonetheless, I knocked back a shot of lao-lao (aka moonshine) mixed with honey and orange. It still didn’t provide me the courage to eat the grubs though.

All in all, a very good use of the day. You know how they say the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? I always thought that saying had real meaning beyond men being really hungry. =P I believe food is a great way to understand someone, and a culture. Thailand knew this when they sent chefs all over the world to open up Thai restaurants: get people to love your food, and they will love your country (or at least they’ll be up for a visit.)

Grilling stuffed lemongrass while orlahm bubbles on the "stove"

Voila! Stuffed lemongrass and steamed tilapia

Now, let me preface this by saying that I have drank Starbucks in America approximately 3 times in my life. However, as any expat will tell you there are certain things that you just sometimes miss. Western food has something about it (fat and cholesterol) that tastes like home to me; so just as my Asian-born friends constantly sought out authentic Chinese food in Los Angeles, we seek the same thing. Except for us it’s so much easier: Authentic America = Fast Food. Whatta world.

Anyways, we were also struck by how kind the people of Taiwan were. At the train station we couldn’t figure out why the turnstile wouldn’t take our tickets. In Japan, we would have had businessmen try and shove their way through, climbing over our baggage and what have you. In Hong Kong, people would have gristled and sighed loudly about our stupidity. However, a young business-type just politely said, “Sir, you need to turn the ticket this way,” while demonstrating the proper way to insert said ticket. Amazing.

We then arrived in Kaohsiung and met up with our friend Kevin (who we know from Japan) who took us to one of the many food-stall nightmarkets, a specialty in Taiwan. I had something called a danbin which is like a wrap with all sorts of random stuff in it. Very tasty. And Hugh got to try pearl milk tea (aka boba aka tapioca) the way it was meant to be drank (since it was invented in Taiwan).

All in all, very good start to our 2 weeks in Taiwan.

This is most obvious when it comes to eating. There are many travelers out there who would never dream of eating at a Denny’s or a truck stop, yet when in a foreign country figure these places are more “local” and “authentic.” Why? I suppose because in the third world people are poor, therefore, travelers should eat poorly as well?

I’ve always thought this a bit silly. Afterall, I seek out quality cuisine in America. I look for cute cafes with interesting menus, dive diners with a solid reputation–above all, I look for quality. So, how is a traveler’s experience cheapened when they do the same thing?

Another thing–why is it less authentic and local to eat, say, Italian food in Japan? I assure you, the Japanese eat it at least once a week if not more so. I don’t think any Brit considers themselves less authentically British for loving a good chicken tikka marsala (and some would say, not liking it makes you somehow less British.) Certainly, Italian in Japan isn’t “traditional” fare, but then again neither is a lot of things local, authentic Japanese people eat.

So today, Hugh and I decided to try and be a little “local.” Upon arrival, a local who was helping us set up showed us the closest restaurants and told us they were very good. We were a bit saddened to see they were mostly non-Chinese places, ooh, sooo NOT authentic (right?) She then pointed in a direction of more restaurants but added, “those are for the taxi drivers, please don’t eat there.” Now, if I were one of these stubborn authenticity-seekers then we woulda gone over there, but here comes the rub. WHY? You go to New York and your friend says, “Yeah, avoid those spots–not so good,” would you really go? Why do we travelers act so patronizing to our host countries sometimes? Cheap & bad =/= authentic.

So anyways, unable to take my own good advice, we contemplated eating at the Chinese Hooters for giggles (needless to say at Hooters China the, um, waitresses are a little less hootery…) but we decided to save that for when we were really dying for Western food. For some unknown reason we decided upon a Japanese restaurant that are fairly popular in China it seems. Here’s where the whole bit about travelers doing things they’d never normally do comes to play–we would NEVER eat at one of these places in Japan, a chain restaurant that serves cheap food poorly. Yet we did it in China. Not surprisingly, it was pretty meh. We followed it up by going to a “local” (and dead) ice cream parlor (and not the insanely busy McDonald’s or Haggen Daaz) only to be served ice cream with freezer burn and a mint coffee that tasted like antacid.

For foodies like us, this was depressing.

Am I saying all “local” Chinese places are bad? Of course not, I’ve eaten at some delicious ones so far and found cute cafes and wonderful modern places. Some would say eating at a place that costs more than 50 cents makes it less authentic, but I call those people stupid. From now on, I’ll take my advice. Eat with the locals, even if that means having Italian in Japan.