Bad taste - mekenita restaurant signature dishes

Jane and Michael Stern, who have eaten in the United States for more than 30 years, are authors of more than 20 books, including road food and two books on the road.
The first book we wrote was about long-haul truckers --not card-
Carrying truck drivers who live an orderly and normal life, they transport wild cats and independents on the edge of the world.
Search the truck driver
In the only magazine, Jane saw a classified advertisement inviting women to join the National Women's Trucking Association.
President Jean Sawyer
Location: Charleston, United States of AmericaC.
She submitted the application together with a $2 membership fee.
Soon, an NWTA membership card is engraved with 18-
The gorgeous signature of Wheeler and President Sawyer.
Jane's membership number is 2.
After trying to call Jean Sawyer for an interview but not a success, the only way we decided to talk to the president was to win the audience in person.
So we go south. -
As we approached Charleston, the back of the car was packed with prizes on the road: a picture of a tearful Elvis Presley on black velvet, a snow-Neil bed cover with colored peacocks and a box of Lafite, A North Carolina cola flavored with cough syrup.
After staying at a motel in the suburbs, we tried to contact her again.
Sawyer on the phone.
But no.
Fortunately, Jane's membership card has the address of the NWTA.
The environment changed when we drove to find the headquarters of the association.
The gracious pre-war family gave way to the level of division, which in turn gave way to the dilapidated trailers and overturned sheds, which were marked in front of the yard,
When the road is over, we find ourselves facing
Mike's truck parked in a wood yard. frame house.
The president opened the screen door himself. She glared.
"What do you want" Jane took out the membership card.
Sawyer grabbed it and admitted it.
She turned around and yelled at her life
Let the boyfriend out of the way and signal us to enter the door.
She called her guy, little flying elephant. -
We have never been officially introduced. -
But in our view, this sad fat man is not as cute as a cartoon elephant.
She took us to a kitchen table full of old newspapers, parking tickets, empty TV lunch boxes and Kool-
Aid from a plastic pitcher.
"I want to interview you with a book about the life of independent truck drivers," Jane said . ".
The expression of Jean Sawyer is getting stronger and stronger.
"This is a good idea," she ordered . "
"You can stay for dinner.
"The next few hours have passed, and the shorthand notes are too dumbfounded.
But her eyes and Michael's old Leica camera recorded the scene for future generations.
Let's tell you what Jean Sawyer looks like. Rake-
She's wearing a drill. bedecked cat's-eye glasses.
Above the glasses are blonde hair, partly her own hair and a bunch of wigs and wigs.
She can't keep moving.
When she spoke out to her enemies in the world of Trucking (it was such a tortuous and complicated attack that we could not understand ), she has been busy styling and restyling her clothes.
She threw a large chunk of golden acrylic hair into a plastic laundry box and fished it into the trash can for others to apply on top of her head, like a frivolous Bird's Nest, rebuilding a huge
She took us to the backyard and her two red 1961 Cadillac parked there with vanity plates for victim I and victim II.
She held her hairstyle steady with one hand and tried to explain to us the whole city of Charleston ---
No, let's all South Carolina. -
She was being persecuted.
Later in the afternoon, the kitchen began to fill with adolescent boys, her and the little flying elephant.
It's dinner time.
Jean Sawyer took out a small, thin steak from her deep freeze.
So far, we are not sure what it is;
Before we had a chance to check it out, we saw a fascinating food --prep technique.
Sawyer ran the tap water to the gray towel she took from the sink.
She unscrewed it and wrapped it around the steak.
Then cook the steak in the oven for 40 minutes.
It was our dinner.
For her and dunbo and the children, she grabbed a box of burger assistants and started cooking in a frying pan on the stove.
A dozen hungry eyes watched as steak towels were opened for valued guests.
It feels a bit like the characters in "Suddenly, Last Summer", we saw at the side of the meat and tried our best to chew.
"Okay ? " The youngest complained that he had already gobbled up the burger Helper assigned to him.
"Eat," said Michael, cutting a piece of meat and reaching out to put it on the child's plate.
The red of Jean Sawyer
The hands of the DingTalk pounce on prey like a falcon.
"That's it," she shouted . "
"The steak is from the company.
No side dishes, no desserts, no coffee, where is your courtesy?
When the children disappeared from the table, Jean Sawyer's attention shifted.
Her wig and her battle with all the people in South Carolina made her lose her mind because she became more passionate about men, women, God and the devil.
We didn't know what she was talking about, so we gave up trying to understand.
We stood up and walked to the screen door and let ourselves out.
The little flying elephant sat in a chair, smoking while staring into space.
It seems that Jean Sawyer did not notice our departure.
As we drove away, we could see in her window that she was talking a mile to anyone every minute.
Regina Schrambling wrote about food and travel for the Los Angeles Times and other publications on her website www. gastropoda. com.
So I was lying in a hospital bed in Italy thinking that it has been 27 hours since my last meal.
This is the last meal.
We got off the plane in Turin and had lunch directly at the Piemont country hotel.
The owner was a great cook and he brought us a fantastic scones and tuna --
Make roasted peppers, a mushroom pie, in a pool of veal Fonda. and-
Spinach is then stewed with guinea hens. the dessert is an apple.
I insist on trying to pour everything into the glass: a lovely white Annis, Barbera d'Asti, moscato d'Asti, and even a Granpa so powerful
Then my colleague and I went for a walk in that beautiful country, I tripped on a rough road, fell and broke my femur in the worst place.
An ambulance took me to the nearest hospital and another ambulance took me to another hospital the next day for surgery ---
No one ever fed me.
Now I'm lying here, suffering and hungry while my roommate on my knee talks to her visitors about the sushi restaurant in Turin.
Can't they talk about anything other than food my surgeon? He is one of the few English speakers I will meet in the next 15 days, I have been discussing my terrible choices and have managed to inform all those who listen to me, I am the "Joe narista Gourmet" from New York ".
I like the sound.
But I am ready for dinner.
This is the saddest meal I have ever faced. -
I had dinner at the circus.
For the industrial age, this is Dickens-style porridge, which is mounted on a tray with a soft plastic board on it, with dents on each "course.
"There is a piece of wheat cream on a square.
The second larger pasta, put a pasta that looks like Cheerios in a sticky, almost sticky broth.
There is a pack of processed mild things like cream cheese, a hard roll wrapped in plastic and a pink yogurt container mainly sugar, but at least one other thing is not: A taste.
Have these people never heard of spices, let alone salt and pepper? -
But there was a mocking glass logo on the tray.
I endured because I was hungry, but I swear in private that I would never discredit the airline's food again. It's five-
In contrast, stars.
How could they bring such rubbish to a gourmet restaurant? -
Even if it is such a self-sealing person, she already knows that "padella" means "potty" and "tiralisu" is not a dessert, but a "promotion of herself"
"Then, long after the nurse came to clear the frustrating crumbs, I looked at the bedside table and noticed a piece of paper lying there. It's a menu --
It has been there since I was pushed forward.
All I had to do was check what I wanted for the week and it turned out that I would get at least as good food as a regular Italian restaurant in New York: Turkey and rosemary, risotto, garlic cheese, black olive meatballs, spinach agnorotti, Italian rat plum, Turkish pizza
The first time I was brought was just the equivalent of a standard void meal anywhere in the world.
So the arrogant food journalist who never bothered to learn Italian missed the most important details.
She vowed never to discredit the hospital's food again.
I'm starting to destroy the services they provide on the plane again.
Steven Rinella is the author of The Guide to premium food scavenger and a contributor to the outdoor magazine.
He lives in Alaska.
My biggest professional disadvantage as a writer is that it is not very professional.
I am unable to maintain an objective distance from my subjects.
The relationship from the beginning of the interview usually turns into friendship, or contrary to friendship.
I always knew that my habit would lead to a bad ending.
But I never thought it would be the end of eating a duck.
As we all know, Balut is a Filipino cuisine made of a duck that was cooked alive in the Shell a week before birth.
Not a regular visitor to the fetal fare, I never heard of Garrett until I went to the country to do a magazine report, tell the story of an American rafting expedition drifting along a remote river in the highlands of Luzon island.
My group is from the purple-
Hair programmer to soap-
The opera actor, he thinks the wilderness adventure might help him give up the bottle.
Our captain is Gretchen, a tall and strong man.
A wayward woman who claims to be sponsored by an adventure swimsuit company.
The journey was cursed from the beginning.
First, customs fell into chaos due to the import of rubber rafts, and then when the Maoists closed the only road to the river, things were completely off track.
Tensions have escalated.
More specifically, the tension between me and Gretchen broke out.
Apparently, under the sponsorship of an American company, she not only asked her to wear a variety of bullet-proof clothes a lot --
She also highlighted the strict requirements of "cultural-sensitive ecological environment.
The seriousness of a Sunday school teacher.
I broke most of the rules of Gretchen without even trying.
Out of curiosity about the news, I asked about the cost of an elderly prostitute in Manila;
I found a screaming deal on the local rum and made a lot of purchases;
I took part in a fight.
I used the hand artist to wheel-slide and polish the wooden penis with the ashtray and scrotal slices.
When I had a screaming fight with Gretchen for The Ugly Americans, the situation was a mess.
She said I was the definition of an ugly American;
I retorted that "ugly American" was actually a good man in Eugene Burdick and William Leder's 1958 book in that book, which attacked the United StatesS. foreign policy.
She never heard of the book, but it didn't stop her from suggesting that I messed up when I explained it.
The argument was not resolved, and soon both myself and Gretchen fell into a war in which each of us tried to live out an exaggerated version of our own travel ideology.
She expressed moral anger at poverty and scoffed at craftsmen who sold rare tree trinkets.
I am fascinated by a bar called The Hobbit, which employs only short and middle-aged people and serves English rock played by drugs every night --
Foreigners. Enter balut.
This is one thing that I agree with Gretchen.
Or, rather, accepting balut is something we agree.
I, because I 've been bragging about how I'm going to eat anything that this country has to offer.
Gretchen, because no American with a valuable passport will be angry about international goodwill.
Our showdown was held at a dinner hosted by government tourism officials who wanted to make up for our failed rafting program.
We have two duck eggs on our table, and an explanation, state food.
It is clear from the funny expression on everyone's face that we are for something interesting.
I was eager to get the first punch and, following the chef's instructions, made a hole in the shell.
I poked a thick film with blood vessels and sucked the broth out.
I overheard someone say "amniotic fluid" when the liquid hit my lips ".
"Nausea swept me with the image of a baby duck fetus curled up and sucking its thumb.
I said to myself, pay attention to this matter.
Gretchen was still urging her eggs, but I pulled them into my eggs cheerfully and blindly stuffed the salty things into my mouth.
I now know that Balochistan has a lot of power: it's a spring medicine.
It replaces the lost sleep;
It avoids the super Aswang.
The scary Philippine monster attacks at night and sucks your guts out.
But at that moment, balu had a railing in his mouth, and I didn't realize anything but its poor taste.
Duck embryo contains 176 mg of phosphorus-
That's enough, believe me.
It tastes like the air after a night of fireworks.
The only thing that stopped me from getting upset was the strong expression of jealousy on Gretchen's face.
My lips curl into a disgusting grimace, but as I turn around to face her I stubbornly replace this expression with a enjoyment.
I know that my face must also show something deeper: An enlightened consciousness that doesn't mean anything to go to a new place unless you're willing to embrace it completely.
But the second stage of balut eating--
This includes combing the contents of my mouth with my tongue, isolating the bones to decide which ones can be swallowed whole, which ones should be chewed first and which ones should be pulled out ---
Threatened to damage my carefully arranged expression.
After throwing away a mouth and a leg, I struggled the duckling.
Our host of the Philippines burst into applause.
It's all for me.
I did a good job for America.
The eggs of the Gretchen haven't moved.
My intention was to let the applause go away and then go into the bathroom to clean.
But Gretchen did something puzzling.
She handed me the egg.
"You like them so much," she said with a smile . "
Until today, I was wondering: Is my charade game so fooling her that she put down the axe for my enjoyment, or was she having sex with me at the time, that I didn't analyze.
Instead, I did any triggerhappy, red-
In a foreign country, warm-blooded Americans will do so.
I got it choked. And smiled.
Julie Powell is the author of Julie and Julia: a year of dangerous cooking for me.
"My mother insisted that when she was separated from my dad, when I was in the fourth grade, she lost 20 pounds. Not me.
I have never eaten ashes.
At my grandmother's funeral, I found the healing pleasure of the pimento cheese sandwich.
When I was in my 20 s, after I learned that my family's beloved golden retriever had died unexpectedly, I rolled a batch of burritos and sobbed into Cape Verde, Chile.
A few years later, I passed the scent of filling my little apartment kitchen with comforting gumbo, cheese grits, and on a lonely weekend afternoon, eased the countless bowls of popcorn I tried to separate myself and cooked with real butter;
There is no doubt that if this separation ends in divorce, I will honor this bad day with a large bowl of grandma's three bear soup.
God knows, I wish I had no appetite.
This will solve a variety of issues, including how I will wear my favorite vintage Lily Ann suit again.
But food has never proved to be the most reliable source of food for my body and mind so far. Perhaps --no, certainly --
This reflects my good fortune, and there is no tragedy to compare to my passionate digestive tract.
But what is worrying is that when looking back at the little heartbreaks in my life, my central memory is often something I have to eat.
In my memory of the separation of my parents, the most prominent thing is that I have a meal over and over again in that terrible year, or rather a burger.
Every Wednesday, my brother and I drive with Dad to Player's, a joint venture near the University of Texas.
I ordered my player's burger, nothing but mayonnaise-
No cheese, no tomatoes, no pickles and mustard of course.
I remember they were as big as a plate with thin, delightful greasy pies and harmless bread soaked in moist mayonnaise.
When Dad drinks beer, we eat at a hard plastic booth and when we finish, he will give us some space for arcade games.
A few months later, my mom asked me what I was talking about at Player's.
When I shrugged in confusion, her lips were tight on the thin lines, with a flash in her eyes;
This is the first time I 've hinted that the purpose of those nights out is not just to avoid homework hanging out with dad.
The second tip is that next Wednesday, dad asked us to sit down, put the tray on the booth and ask us in an unusual solemn tone how we were doing.
I took a bite of my burger and eagerly hoped that the conversation would end before I could chew it out.
The fall of my parents' separation also marks my first real role in the busy adolescence of the theater.
I played little Sally krajette in the annual community production of Christmas carols, mine, but I'm proud.
After each show, I put on a mob hat and rushed into the lobby looking forward to a crowd of fans waiting for my signature.
I was disappointed until one night I had an affair at the stage gate with a beautiful woman with long brown hair like Crystal Gale.
I like "Don't Make My Brown Eyes Blue ".
"I have brown eyes and I don't want blue either, thank you very much!
"Julie," she said kindly, but a little unpleasant smile.
"I am a friend of your father.
You're great tonight.
I brought you this.
"Then she took out the biggest chocolate bar I 've ever seen.
I know I shouldn't take it, not just because it's absolutely taboo to take candy from strangers. But I did.
Just when I tore the gold greedily
Wrapped in chocolate, took a bite, shook his head and turned his eyes like a rich, obscene adult with caramel oozing out of his mouth and seeping down his chin. I know who this woman is.
I know what she did to my family.
At that moment, I grew up when my desires overcame my sense of family, loyalty and decency ---
In a small irrevocable way.
I have never tasted the caramel bar again.
But I still crave it from time to time.
This is the most terrible and wonderful thing I have ever eaten.
Michael Ruhlman is the author of seven books including the production of the chef and the soul of the chef, and also co-author
Author of French Laundry recipes and Charcuterie.
"November of 1999 in by Rocco DiSpirito management of New York famous restaurant Union Pacific I eat. a. train wreckage.
It was a shock;
I had dinner there six months ago and found that only the food in the French Laundry Room was comparable in quality and attention, and many critics thought it was one of the best restaurants in the world.
In fact, I was impressed by the first time I met with DiSpirito, so I proposed to write a profile for the young chef for the food magazine.
After a few days in the kitchen of DiSpirito, the meal being discussed, the following day
It's over my job--
That night, I came here with two friends and I was looking forward to having a pleasant evening with the hospitality of contest Nast.
I said to Rocco more or less, "give us what you want ---
Let's see what you have.
"Rocco did not hide that his goal was to impress, he completely deviated from the menu, and at the beginning, if it was slow, Riesling could be matched with caviar and raw fish.
The next Salmon goes with brown butter and Sorrell. -
I was like--
With another Riesling
If you have any memories, have another bubble soup. -
A piece of celery-
With the pear, shrimp, and Roman wine I think, some sort of sherry. Hmmm.
The eyes around the table were silent.
Union Pacific Hotel is crowded but the noise level is low and our service is up to three-Star reputation.
You can see the chef behind a block.
Glass wall in kitchen
In fact, we have enough time to observe the environment around us.
By then, my companion and I had been sitting for an hour and a half.
The room was getting hotter and the conversation stopped as we waited and withered.
Nevertheless, with the arrival of the sommelier, hope is eternal. But wait --
There was another carnival. -
The next dish, get fish, a fish of fishy, is served with fishy sauce.
We went in for two hours and the food was reduced.
"For God's sake, let's have some meat here," I pray.
The third menu turned into a purgatory tasting menu and I started to ache for my guests.
They feel sorry for me.
Someone asked doubtfully, "you're writing this guy . "
But Rocco was just cooking for us, so we sat there and swallowed the hostages.
Then, the lobster bubble skating appeared.
And another Riesling.
The foam was fashionable at that time;
It has already appeared in several courses.
But what I thought about it at the time was similar to what it is now: Foam is something you skim away from inventory and throw away, and when you swim in the lake, foam is something you stay away from.
I don't want to eat foam.
But when the chef cooks for you and you don't criticize him there, you eat what he provides. You just do.
It is impolite not to finish.
So I tried it. I really did.
One of our plates has to be cleaned back.
But I still can't let myself do it.
None of us can.
Very low lobster foamtide nasty.
To make matters worse, skating is cooked too well and has become mealy.
This evening, in Rocco, in me, and this evening, I feel ashamed.
When I paid my bill for $700, it was close to midnight and my friend and I fled to a nearby bar to find some high prices --proof relief.
But the food is getting harder and harder.
The next day, when I was afraid of my task, I arrived at the restaurant to finish my report and Rocco discussed the meal with me.
In fact, the chef seems to think it never happened. -
The whole experience made me very uncomfortable.
This guy can cook like a robber, but in my opinion ---
I realized it seemed like a whole week-
His real ambition is more about what people think of him than about the quality of the food or the joy of the customer.
None of my editors are moved.
The chef tried to impress the writer and leave the menu with dishes he had never tried, a disaster.
Don't worry, they said.
It's been happening.
So I didn't worry or mention the meal.
Instead, I wrote a brief introduction to a very talented chef ---
No one would deny the description of DiSpirito.
The gourmet put him on the cover.
He became the only brand in the 21 st century: a sexy New York chef.
He got a TV show. He got famous.
If there is one, it hardly depends on how well he can do it.
Now he's not cooking in a restaurant anymore.
Seven years later, the memory of that meal was still clear in my mind, as food itself was a tragedy ---
Everyone can have a bad day except brain surgeons.
But actually, our worst meal ended up about sadness, and for me the lingering sadness that night was that it marked the end of an extraordinary gift ---
A genius in exchange for celebrity emptiness.
More difficult to swallow than lobster foam loss.
Robert Sietsema wrote the weekly column "anti-culture" for "voice of the countryside" and is also the author of "New York City's best guide to national food lovers.
"Tourists go to Havana for a variety of reasons: because of the glory of Malecsn's faded colonial period, because of the pungent cigars, because of the fine
On the beach or for a glimpse of the Cuban revolution.
I went to eat.
Living in New York, I am already familiar with the splendor of the food, from the Cuban sandwich that was annealing in the hot hug of the sandwich at the humble lunch counter to the garlic --
In high-end restaurants run by proud expats, they are loaded with pork and barbecue.
Then Cubans.
Chinese diners owned by mixed-race immigrants, offering Cantonese and Latin dishes on the same menu, taste strange and spectacular.
The trouble is, I went to Havana to find cash-
In this country, most of the arable land is used to export tobacco and other agricultural products, and there is almost no good food in this place ---
At least for tourists-
Unless you are willing to spend a lot of money on every meal.
Of course, there are restaurants that cater to the tastes of tourists, but these restaurants offer a faint roast chicken and fried fish fillet, which tastes like frozen since the revolution.
The high end is a few places to serve Vegas-
The stylish flooring shows the fully furnished real Cuban food, where a meal before drinks and tips is $100 per person or even more. I opted out.
At the same time, ordinary citizens live on carefully rationed white rice and black beans seasoned with pig skin, a combination called Moore and Christians.
Luxury goods like milk are reserved for children under the age of 6.
However, there are several ways to escape this grim culinary reality and I am determined to find them as an adventurous eater.
Once, I stopped looking for sausages.
Brewing and roasting) will also have something (the whole fish is packed with pickled onions and green peppers), I found this food more variable in the small of Havana Chinatown with only a small amount of meat and poultry on the menu, local ingredients are used instead of the original Cantonese cuisine ---
This is a culinary style, when in their 1920 s, the Chinese wild hand with the deed came to the island.
For example, standing in front of bean sprouts is chopped cabbage, which is almost no different from bean sprouts.
The carved samples of kale imitate bok choy and so on.
Another resource is the embassy, which sometimes displays their national cuisine in a reasonably priced cafe.
My companion. -
Philip Delhi, civil rights historian-
I found a dark carpet provided by the Egyptian embassy.
Dressed in gorgeous restaurants with delicious salads, bread dip sauces and kebabs, it may be old news in New York but unique in Havana.
One night we were the only diners in the room, and a belly dancer bravely tried to take our attention away from Baba gannosh, we were like hungry exiles
Finally, in desperation, we turn to unreliable street food to sustain our livelihoods.
I eat in the streets of Mali, Ecuador and Jamaica, and have an exaggerated idea of my ability to distinguish between health and unhealthy.
But there was not much food on the street, and it was full of ghosts and sneaky atmosphere.
At the annual May Day parade, I found that the people selected were particularly slim.
I have unproductively searched the fluttering red banners and giant floats that depict the landing of the Fidel Grama yacht, marking the Cuban Revolution
I ended up buying a heavy pipe instead of a real lunch
Filled with fig-shaped pastries, from a man who nervously looked over his shoulder, put his merchandise in a sack and hid it under his worn-out jacket.
It cost me a dollar and I swallowed it right away.
It tastes good, but it tastes good. I want to brush my teeth.
It went well late in the afternoon and at night, but in the middle of the night my stomach began to growl.
I woke up disgusting, bathed in sweat and made a straight line for the bathroom where I didn't know which end my body would go first.
These are typical symptoms of food poisoning, and because of the rapid metabolism, food poisoning always hits me within six hours after taking in illegal substances.
I have eaten three times in my long career and have eaten everything I can find ---
Good record.
Two days after lying in bed feverishly, my panicked companion took me to a hospital in Malecsn a few blocks away.
Fortunately, despite the extreme shortage of drugs, Cuba has one of the best health care systems in the world.
Within a few minutes, I was taken care of by a young female doctor wearing a spotless white coat with a stethoscope hanging around her neck.
She nodded wisely, looked at my body temperature, looked at my ears and said in decent English, "I'm sorry sir, but where are you getting food poisoning
There is nothing we can do but suggest you take a day or two off.
I hope this will not ruin your holiday.
"We thanked her and were happy to find that the exam was free.
Blessing social medicine!
Two days later, I got up again and looked around for food ---
Although I have learned the hard way to avoid street food.
I also learned another thing: in New York, Cuban food is tens of thousands of times better than Havana. ------------
Remember to send a letter to your most painful meal and share your story!