I am obsessed.
Certifiably, perhaps. Plagued by constant mental revisitation? Certainly. Perhaps it is unhealthy, perhaps it is bizarre. But I am caught, forever, in a mental hamster wheel. There are memories that I lose, easily--- the location of my keys, the e-mail I was supposed to send, the thing that I was supposed to do yesterday that was so important but I completely forgot to do-- but some things I hold on to, indefinitely.
The first bite of my first brioche.
The nose filling, palette swimming, dark punch of a creamy Catalan cheese.
The burn of that spicy fish I ate in Chiang Mai, Thailand-- so spicy I thought I had suddenly come down with a fever, sweat gathering in the folds of my elbows.
Black truffles, sliced thin and placed on a scallop, in a cafe in Paris, in Bellville.
The first time I tasted duck.
Smoked mussels on the deck of a sail boat of the island of St. Johns.
Bright green olives slightly cured served in huge bowls in the Tuscan countryside. My classmates remembered the wine-- I couldn't forget the olives. To this day I search for them, in vain. I have never again found those incredible, meaty, perfect ovals of green.
Snails cooked with lemongrass and chili, prepared for us at a "fresh beer" shop on the streets of Hanoi.
Roast corn, cooked on coals, on the beaches of Chennai, India.
A bagel with cream cheese, lox, and tomato at Rachel's Nosheri, in Center City, Philadelphia.
It's true that I love to travel, to explore the world and see the sights. I can do the tourist thing and take the obligatory photos of the obligatory important spots. But what I love most of all is to eat. And everything I eat becomes a tangible memory for me-- the taste and smell is easily conjured up at will, allowing me to relive the most spectacular moments when I need them. When I leave a place-- it is the food that I carry with me, more than anything else. My family would say this is because we are Jews-- after a trip, the first question we ask ourselves and each other is: "And what did you eat?" I'm not sure why this is a particularly Jewish trait but perhaps it has something to do with the deep connection between food and celebration-- at Passover, we feast; at Yom Kippur we break the fast; we define ourselves by the special things we eat and those we avoid. Try to explain the joy of gefilte fish to a gentile and you'll see what I mean. Or try to tell a Jew to eat their bagel with butter, not cream cheese.
My relationship with food has not always been easy. When you are obsessed with food-- consumed by the constant exploration of everything you let pass your lips-- you can easily become unable to think of anything other than calories, fat, excess. You lie awake at night cursing yourself for your thoughtlessness, your momentary slips in vigilance. How could you be so careless! You must watch everything with perfect precision-- you must control intake because if you don't, who will? No one can protect you from yourself.
But I'd like to believe my food obsession has found a healthier plane. Now a days I am obsessed with the idea of food from the cultural roots of it to the making of it. My bookshelves contain more tomes on food than most anything else. I've watched every food/travel TV show there is-- my favorites being Bizarre Foods and No Reservations. I pride myself on finding the most local, most obscure, most extreme food experiences I can when we travel.
That being said, I hate mayonnaise. And I've avoided pork and beef for more than twenty years. For a long time, I was a vegetarian. Then I tasted duck for the first time in France-- and I was hooked. Now I'm a "when-the-mood-strikes-me-atarian"- that is to say-- I am mostly vegetarian, except when I am confronted with things I cannot live without: huge head-on prawns, duck, roast chicken, snails, crabs, fish eggs... Some might call that being a BullshitAtarian. Or at least a HypocriteAtarian. I'm not sure what I am but I long ago decided that I won't feel guilty for making my own choices. I am plagued enough by Food Related Guilt. I can forgive myself the treat of fish eggs, a few times a year. Who can deny themselves salt-and-spicy roasted crab legs in Vietnam? Not me.
So why write a blog about all of this? I mean- who cares? Perhaps no one does, but this is the curse of the obsessed: we don't know what to do with all of our excess thoughts. We can lie awake and think about them. We can bore our husbands to death as we ramble on and on about "the complexities of flavor in the spice rub" over yet another meal. Or we can put it all down somewhere so perhaps we can get on with the rest of the business of our lives. I know I must have mental space for something else rather than trying to conjure up in my sensory mind the exact tang of the tamarind flavoring in those prawns in Saigon.
So forgive me. In advance. I need a space to obsess and share. I need to find some use for all of these memories, and perhaps at the same time inspire those who are traveling to a given location to try something new. I am full of food-related travel advice. Maybe you want to hear it, maybe you don't. It's a blog- you don't have to read it. I won't force you.
But I'll write it because I need to. The hamster wheel brain stops for nothing.
Certifiably, perhaps. Plagued by constant mental revisitation? Certainly. Perhaps it is unhealthy, perhaps it is bizarre. But I am caught, forever, in a mental hamster wheel. There are memories that I lose, easily--- the location of my keys, the e-mail I was supposed to send, the thing that I was supposed to do yesterday that was so important but I completely forgot to do-- but some things I hold on to, indefinitely.
The first bite of my first brioche.
The nose filling, palette swimming, dark punch of a creamy Catalan cheese.
The burn of that spicy fish I ate in Chiang Mai, Thailand-- so spicy I thought I had suddenly come down with a fever, sweat gathering in the folds of my elbows.
Black truffles, sliced thin and placed on a scallop, in a cafe in Paris, in Bellville.
The first time I tasted duck.
Smoked mussels on the deck of a sail boat of the island of St. Johns.
Bright green olives slightly cured served in huge bowls in the Tuscan countryside. My classmates remembered the wine-- I couldn't forget the olives. To this day I search for them, in vain. I have never again found those incredible, meaty, perfect ovals of green.
Snails cooked with lemongrass and chili, prepared for us at a "fresh beer" shop on the streets of Hanoi.
Roast corn, cooked on coals, on the beaches of Chennai, India.
A bagel with cream cheese, lox, and tomato at Rachel's Nosheri, in Center City, Philadelphia.
It's true that I love to travel, to explore the world and see the sights. I can do the tourist thing and take the obligatory photos of the obligatory important spots. But what I love most of all is to eat. And everything I eat becomes a tangible memory for me-- the taste and smell is easily conjured up at will, allowing me to relive the most spectacular moments when I need them. When I leave a place-- it is the food that I carry with me, more than anything else. My family would say this is because we are Jews-- after a trip, the first question we ask ourselves and each other is: "And what did you eat?" I'm not sure why this is a particularly Jewish trait but perhaps it has something to do with the deep connection between food and celebration-- at Passover, we feast; at Yom Kippur we break the fast; we define ourselves by the special things we eat and those we avoid. Try to explain the joy of gefilte fish to a gentile and you'll see what I mean. Or try to tell a Jew to eat their bagel with butter, not cream cheese.
My relationship with food has not always been easy. When you are obsessed with food-- consumed by the constant exploration of everything you let pass your lips-- you can easily become unable to think of anything other than calories, fat, excess. You lie awake at night cursing yourself for your thoughtlessness, your momentary slips in vigilance. How could you be so careless! You must watch everything with perfect precision-- you must control intake because if you don't, who will? No one can protect you from yourself.
But I'd like to believe my food obsession has found a healthier plane. Now a days I am obsessed with the idea of food from the cultural roots of it to the making of it. My bookshelves contain more tomes on food than most anything else. I've watched every food/travel TV show there is-- my favorites being Bizarre Foods and No Reservations. I pride myself on finding the most local, most obscure, most extreme food experiences I can when we travel.
That being said, I hate mayonnaise. And I've avoided pork and beef for more than twenty years. For a long time, I was a vegetarian. Then I tasted duck for the first time in France-- and I was hooked. Now I'm a "when-the-mood-strikes-me-atarian"- that is to say-- I am mostly vegetarian, except when I am confronted with things I cannot live without: huge head-on prawns, duck, roast chicken, snails, crabs, fish eggs... Some might call that being a BullshitAtarian. Or at least a HypocriteAtarian. I'm not sure what I am but I long ago decided that I won't feel guilty for making my own choices. I am plagued enough by Food Related Guilt. I can forgive myself the treat of fish eggs, a few times a year. Who can deny themselves salt-and-spicy roasted crab legs in Vietnam? Not me.
So why write a blog about all of this? I mean- who cares? Perhaps no one does, but this is the curse of the obsessed: we don't know what to do with all of our excess thoughts. We can lie awake and think about them. We can bore our husbands to death as we ramble on and on about "the complexities of flavor in the spice rub" over yet another meal. Or we can put it all down somewhere so perhaps we can get on with the rest of the business of our lives. I know I must have mental space for something else rather than trying to conjure up in my sensory mind the exact tang of the tamarind flavoring in those prawns in Saigon.
So forgive me. In advance. I need a space to obsess and share. I need to find some use for all of these memories, and perhaps at the same time inspire those who are traveling to a given location to try something new. I am full of food-related travel advice. Maybe you want to hear it, maybe you don't. It's a blog- you don't have to read it. I won't force you.
But I'll write it because I need to. The hamster wheel brain stops for nothing.
What about gummy bears? ��
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