Bombay By Way Of San Jose

charminar market Aug 16, 2009 3-56
Fresh pineapple cut to order. Don’t eat it, though. You’ve been warned.

Greetings from India. This is my fourth week here, about the halfway point of the trip, and all is well.

Well, sort of. The first week was taken up with recovering from jet lag. They say to expect a day of screwed-up circadian rhythm for each time zone you travel through, and I passed over fifteen getting here. Once you’re over it, however, you kind of miss it. Even though you’re crashing out at around nine every night, you’re also awake by four in the morning, which equates into a whole extra half-day if you act on it. But even when you recover from jet lag, homesickness can set in right afterward.

A little history: not only is this my first visit to a country outside the U.S., it’s also the first time I’ve traveled anywhere by plane in over a decade, since before 9/11. So between not getting sick on the flight over and not getting sick from questionable food or water sources, I think a little pining for my own bed is a natural reaction and the least that could happen. It could very easily have been worse.

And by “worse,” most people mean, of course the Indian equivalent of Montezuma’s revenge, a.k.a. “Delhi belly,” or less delicately, mudbutt.” Dysentery and its cousins can be caused by improper food handling, unsanitary conditions, or simply a tender tummy’s reaction to new foods. But the biggest culprit of intestinal illnesses in the developing world is, sadly, the water. The hard and fast rule is that if you’re traveling in a country where you don’t absolutely trust the source of your food, there are only two safe choices; eating something that’s had the shit boiled out of it, or eating something that you can peel, like a banana.

Of all the things you’ve heard about India, the one that turns out to be the most true is the people. I’m currently working in Hyderbad, which is one of the country’s Silicon Valley counterparts; it’s also the third largest outsourcing city in India. People are everywhere; crowding the roads with their insane driving, building mansions into the rocky hills, and selling everything in the marketplace. Find out what after the jump.

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What Would You Do for a Klondike Bar? (On an Airplane)

bread

Ever since some asshole tried to blow up a plane with liquid explosives, the TSA has really limited the items that innocent, hungry travelers are allowed to take into the airport and thus, onto the plane. Most infrequent travelers don’t realize that these restrictions are mostly on liquids, and that you can take meals from home with you, even if it is a pain in the ass. Eating airport food is easier and acceptable if you travel from an airport with decent food choices, but if you’re doing this twice a month, it gets tiring. As a result of this bullshit necessary policy and the subpar quality of most airport food, I’ve come up with some creative ways to package my food for travel, and some ways which I’ve figured out will get you strip searched immediately.

DO:

-Wrap all food in cling wrap and put it in throw away plastic containers. It’s easiest if the security folks can tell what it is right away.

-Package in small portions for the easiest consumption (I break up my travel-safe banana bread into 6 smaller pieces).

-Leave the condiments on the side, if you can. Nobody likes a soggy sandwich (who knows how long you’ll wait at security?), Mayo or ketchup packets do fit into your pockets, or the 1-quart size bag you are allotted for liquids, and won’t set off a metal detector.

DON’T:

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Food Fight!

orange-festival

I’m  sure most of you have heard of La Tomatina, that fantastic/wasteful/tasty 50,000-tomato fight that takes over southern Spain every August.

But did you know Italians prefer to pelt their friends with oranges (ouch!), and Greeks get their kicks by dousing each other with several tons of flour?

If you like playing with your food as much as eating it (and who doesn’t?), check out my recent story from mental_floss‘ 10 issue: The World’s 10 Messiest Food Festivals.

TVFF, Tacos & Twitter

tacobell

As you read this, I’m being spirited away to a highly coveted, one-of-a-kind foodie destination that I’ve dreamed of visiting my entire adult life but never thought I’d actually make it into. No, it’s not El Bulli. It’s the secret, underground compound where the folks at Taco Bell formulate their latest menu items.

The tour will include a look at a number of different topics, including the development of the new Volcano Menu items.  Once I’m released back into the wild, I’ll be sure to bring you the full story of my visit via right here on ES.  But if you just can’t wait to hear my breaking news from Chalupa City, be sure you’re following Endless Simmer on Twitter for occasional, semi-coherent messages direct from the test kitchens.

Peanut Butter: A Revolutionary Divide

Would you like some oatmeal with that peanut butter?

My mom looked down at our floor and said, “What is that down there?” Yes, she had found our large box of peanut butter which we order in bulk online direct from the company. With the peanut butter scare a while back, you’d think that would decrease our peanut butter use, but we have a favorite company, which was not part of the scare, and so our habits continued. We go through about one small container of peanut butter per week – hence the need to buy in bulk. We put it in oatmeal in the morning, and admittedly, sometimes the oatmeal tastes more peanut buttery than oatmealy. Still working out the balance.

There have been two big peanut butter debates that I’m fascinated by:

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Pick of the Pics: Best of the ES Flickr Pool

chicken

Rkazda‘s delectable Cajun chicken sandwich isn’t the only thing making us salivate over on the ES Flickr pool. The taste-tastiest shots, after the jump…

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A Meal with Legs — Lots of ’em

Editors’ Note: Some of you may already know Bliz from his work over at A Moveable Feast. We’ve asked him to stop by ES and share some of his culinary exploits and photographic hotness with us.

octopus

I love my friends. They give me the freedom to assign menus with the authority of a fascist  dictator. They complement my efforts despite my failures. They smile and eat dishes that I myself stopped eating after a few bites.  But while I appreciate their support, a twisted part of me really likes to see them squirm when I serve up something they weren’t expecting.  So last Saturday, the gang got a taste of braised octopus with home fries.  The reactions, to say the least, were mixed…

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