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Sunday, March 7, 2010

theories on vertical rotating meat

you gotta be smart about your rotating meat. there's a lot of places to choose from, so choose wisely.

1. if it looks like dog food, it's probably dog food. or dog.
look for discernable layers. the pate-ish ones are mostly filler, maybe cardboard. if you can see texture and pattern, you can rest assured the dog meat is mixed with other kinds of dog meat. or vegetables? even better.
2. the bigger the better
notice the width of the meat tube. if it's like a small hippo, or young american, it's fresh and good. if it looks like a skinny mangled sausage just clinging to the spit, it's been there for a while. go somewhere else, come back in a few days to see the fresh plump version.

3. it's apparently ok if the guy uses his hands
don't cringe when the dude picks up a stray potato or slice of meat with his fingers and puts it in your sandwich, or cuts open your bread with his fingernails. only us foreign americans are all creeped out by bad hygeine. keep your cool, blend in with the locals.
4. make sure it's sliced fresh.
don't get the pieces lying in the pan, sliced during the dude's last cigarette break. point to the meat tube, make slicing gesture. a good place will give you the pieces about 105 degrees clockwise from heat coil.
5. no electric knife slicer things!
that screams "shortcut" to me
6. say no to any tea from behind the counter
if you can water it down yourself (there's a little hot water spout under the tea ball thing) then you're ok. but if you're served it with no option to alter the potency, it's probably the battery acid variety, beware of immediate stomach cramps.
7. try, try again
for statistical significance, your sample size must be twice the standard deviation. you can't pick the best doner after only trying a few of the bigger places. you need to hit every single one, at various stages of progression (see #2). even the one in the u bahn station, even the one that no one else goes to. you never know where the best secret meat tube is hiding.

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Thursday, March 4, 2010

german appetizer

it's called a "snowstorm." cream cheese with chives and spices, lemon, and...pretzels. another place served it with red onions. always with a side of cold, stale rye bread.

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Monday, March 1, 2010

my new boyfriend..

...is sabah, the septagenarian owner of the junk shop down the street. every day this turkish family sets up a little faux house on the sidewalk with hideous old furniture - rounded leather sofas, wood paneled cabinets with gold trim, tables with wheels.
i finally ventured to see what the inside is like - a sort of rough n ready with an eastern european grandma furniture allure. i found some nice 70's chairs that compliment what's already in my living room. i then discovered the downstairs basement which has an endless assortment of beer mugs, cups, small appliances and stuff arranged into categories: the broken umbrella section, the hardware area, the mismatched shoe collection.
i was told i could pick out whatever i wanted as an extra free gift, so i got a GDR teapot, some bowls. then i was offered some tea in a small glass that had the taste and consistency of battery acid.
we watched a little soccer, i admired sabah's wedding photo album. he was a little touchy feely with all the petting of my hair and calling me "princess." but, he offered me a nice ring and a bracelet so i guess we're legit now. as soon as the tea started wreaking havoc on my insides i had to quickly run home. i have to be careful when i walk by in the morning, because otherwise i'll never get to work on time, or, i might start coughing up blood on the u-bahn which could be uncomfortable.
i think next weekend if it continues to be rainy and grey, a fun activity would be to bring a bunch of friends and see who can find the weirdest item. then, then drink as many cups of tea to see who doesn't get sick. winner wins the items the others picked out.

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Tuesday, January 19, 2010

ask and you shall receive: bratwurst

bratwurst.
don't ask why the bun is never as big as the wurst, it's been like that for hundreds of years and it will never change. actually, i tried to ask the guy after i took a bite, but i turned around to see him making lewd gestures mocking me wtih his buddy. not cool.
i'm across the street from the best currywurst in town, which i shall sample next time i'm wasted at 3 am (eh, maybe tomorrow?), which is how you're supposed to eat it.

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Friday, January 8, 2010

german indian food

met some people today who drove to france over the holidays for some good food, they say germans have the worst taste. i didn't think the food here was that bad.
then i went to the indian place that advertised a "live kitchen!" whatever that is. i saw real indians though and went in.
i got the samosas, wasn't that hungry (huge lunch, as usual) and they were smothered in red sauce. at first i thought, dang, probably spicy sauce but it was like, salty ketchup? and there was stringy mozarella cheese in the samosas? and something crunchy that must have been peanuts? and a sweet cardamom on the exterior? no clue what planet these samosas came from.

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Sunday, January 3, 2010

le barratin

the barratin shows up on google maps of the 20eme paris with a little martini glass. four of us went there for lunch and it makes me want to hit every little google map knife and fork and suitcase within a 2500m radius.

we showed up for lunch, just before the rush. typical windows onto the street with loud metal framed doors that don't shut perfectly, spartan tables and chairs, tile floor, and a simple small curved wooden bar from which you can see into the kithen.

only 2 tables large enough for us were free out of the 10 total, i wanted the one by the window. "desolee, c'est reserve!"

really?

"one guest is already here" and up pops a little furry happy cat head, "c'est sa place."

so we take a seat in back, in front of the bookshelf with magazines and other provided reading material and glance at the menu, which is a large chalkboard on the wall with imperfect elementary school script of today's 3 course offering for 16 Euro with a few choices.

periodically, one of the waiters climbs up on chair to erase what is 86'd with his sleeve and scribble in its replacement. it's almost like a twitter feed...

we chose a wine from the neighboring chalkboard, and it was served in a simple thick-bottomed bottle. my dining companions had the lentil salad to start, i had very tasty flaky fresh cod-stuffed peppers with endives drizzled with olive oil.
the other's main dish was the same delicious fresh cod on tomato and onions in a broth, i had a vegetable and beef cheek soup with meat so tender i never needed a knife. a bit of salt, but no knife.
all very simple plates, what you could probably make yourself if you really put your mind to it, but let's face it, you'd rather be here in this cozy place, eating bright, perfect comfort food made from items purchased the day before from the market down the street.
an elderly couple had been seated at the table with the cat, who simply looked on as i did, occasionally closing our eyes the way cats do when they purr and are just simlply content. the chef came out from the kitchen to help the waiter when the place became jammed, i kept wondering why that wasn't my brother instead, with heccubus seated next the old people, growling happily, smacking his tail against a purse while constable cuddlesworth plays stupidly with a man's shoelace?

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Wednesday, July 1, 2009

the porcine peddler

this is actually in the USA.

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Saturday, May 16, 2009

your wish is my command. food pictures

friday night dinner. peanut-y chicken (skinny chicken) satay with lontong vegetable. so i'm all lontong? and the guy is all yes! looooong! dooooong! long dong! and makes a hand motion of a long dong. hilarious. this is what makes their food so dang spicy! stomach NOT happyindonesians luuuuuv their meatballs. one whole aisle of meatballs at the Carrefour. this stuff will probably give me diahhrea (ice cubes big no-no), but it's totally worth sitting on the can for a day, so much i went back for seconds: coconut milk with praline-y flavor and gelatinous lime green stuff, made from rice i guess (as is everything). deeelish.

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Friday, May 15, 2009

more stories about food

on my last night at the maharani i decided to eat at the hotel restaurant. i don't really think i'm ready for full-on street food yet. it's kinda scary out there at night, too.
maharani was fancy! fancy! nothing under $3! i pick something with peanut sauce - i've ordered peanut or coconut sauce every time we go out, but it always ends up just being some sort of broth with neither ingredient. so i order this skewer thing with rice and the waiter goes, with chicken, yes? and i say no, i'll try lamb.
"really? you want lamb? no, you want chicken."
why wouldn't i want lamb? (oh, i'll just skip to the punchline - why the hell am i ignoring the advice of the waiter anyway - because it's more like goat tendon).
so, i end up ordering the goat tendon, but not after he recommends everything else on the menu.
does this come with vegetables? i haven't eaten any vegetables in days.
he points to the salads - raw vegetables is generally the last thing you want to eat for hygeine...
he shows me something with vegetables and peanut dipping sauce.
yum, the elusive peanut sauce.
are the vegetables cooked?
"they are cold"
but are they cooked?
"they are cold"
they are probably not cooked, so i stick with my first choice.
well it wasn't peanut sauce, but it was a delicious tangy sweet and savory mixture, in a gravy boat. lots of little red onions! i poured it all over my rice. the meat was barely edible, for reasons stated above. i am surviving on rice and tasty mystery sauce. so it's the truth: my brother's rice diet is really the way to go.
for lunch the next day, i head back to the street with all the vendors. i can't tell what is appetizing so i go for something safe - the fruit guy. i pick some grapefruit, watermelon, 2 mystery fruits and i ask for manga - mango.
so i'm chatting up his friends, taking some pictures and he's cutting everything up and putting it in a bundle. i know i got ripped off when it was 3 times what i was expecting, but can you really haggle over 50 cents?* that is what i ended up paying. as i walk away i hear them all laugh. jerks
so i get back to my desk and open up the bag and there's a little dimebag of brownish salt and a little package of super spicy sauce that burns my eyes. weird. i munch through all the tasty fruit until i get to the mango. it's totally green, completely inedible. my dutch colleague comes in and i'm all can you believe these guys? first they rip me off then they give me a totally unripe mango. and he's all no, that's manga. did they give you the spicy sauce?
yes.
"well that's how you eat it, duh"
ummm, i don't think it will help.

so what happens when it rains? the cart people are nowhere to be found, yet the office is empty so people are eating somewhere...ha, i found them! in the basement, well actually, the parking garage. you take the elevator down to B1 and walk between all the scooters and cars and at the end, a teeny tiny shop. it's a million degrees, their air conditioner has been broken forever, only one measly fan. about 12 dishes are so are displayed inside a glass case (yes, keep telling yourself this stuff was made less than 20 minutes ago) and there's no line, you either creep around the back of the case and grab a lady directly, or wave your money in someone's face to get their attention. if it's to-go they'll fold up a brown paper bag into an amazingly leak-proof container, wrapped in a rubber band.

they start by give you a whopping volume of rice and then you point and choose. the things that i thought were dumplings were actually hard boiled, then fried eggs. yum! i had some tempeh with peanuty sauce and some super spicey vegetables (i'll be more vigilant about inspecting for peppers). i don't know how they come up with the price, but for over a pound of food, 6,000 rupiah (60 cents). i'm so full.


*i gave my 10 year old scooter taxi guy a 25 cent tip the other day for driving extra slow after he was driving like a madman and chit chatting away blah blah blah! i like obama! i eat fish! my mom has long hair! and i told him i would pay him to shut up and hug the curb. when i gave it to him he bowed and tried to kiss my feet. then he asked me for my phone number - ew, feet breath!

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Friday, April 24, 2009

hey hey vidalia happy hour

you're so sneaky vidalia - your tasty happy hour that features wine tasting and free hors d'oeuvres ends at 6:30 pm. i mean, who actually gets out of work early enough to start drinking before then? are you catering to the jobless? i don't think so, you're just luring me with your comfy pleather couches and pillows you can lounge on, the quiet fancy ambiance and the prospect of $3.50 maker's mark, those home made corn nuts and bready things and then, after my 5th drink you slap me the bill. you clever thing, you. no, i don't regret paying $10 for that awesome mushroom and goat cheese flatbread, or that charcuterie plate with those tangy chutneys that puts so many others to shame. but for the drinks and some potentially free food, i'll just know better next time...and start, end my workday earlier!

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Thursday, February 26, 2009

i love champagne!

it's true, i love champagne! i just realized i'm so over beer, it's all about the champers. at my uncle's house over christmas we'd down entire magnums before lunch, it was the best. champagne is going to be the new beer, i'm getting special plastic flutes to bring to softball games.

so, best places to get champagne:

1. Urbana happy hour. every day of the friggin' week! $5 champers. and if you happen to stay past the 7pm, after you munched down some $8 pizzas and broke a few glasses get a bottle of Albrecht for like, less than 40 bucks. you get 5 glasses. do the math. rosé is in, people, and was long before J-lo got that huge pink diamond.

2. Asylum mimosas come in pint glasses, no ice (um, unlike some people). nobody said they're good, it's just value.

3. Trader Joe's. they have $6.99 prosecco from like, Missouri or something. shit is tight. you don't even need to mix it with OJ, just drink straight from the bottle. they also have these adorable mini-bottles of real good stuff for $10, you can take 'em, anywhere, like...the movies!

4. the movies! mini bottle fits in the purse, bring some paper cups your non-smartfood cheddar cheese popcorn (only $1.99) and you're golden. what's that pop sound you just heard old lady? i don't know, look the other way and mind your own business. i'm toasting to slumdog. and cheers to you too, dreadlock guy who also snuck in to the see "the reader" after slumdog ended. you should have followed us to see Milf, i mean, milk. whatever. i wish i had thought of bringing some more champers.

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Tuesday, February 24, 2009

what don't i like?

i have a friend who doesn't eat seafood, doesn't like tomatoes, goat cheese, anything with peppers or sesame seeds...the list goes on and on. and then she asked me "what don't you like?" and you know, i had to think about it for a pretty long time.

and all i could come up with was...i don't like bleu cheese. i really, don't like it. not the real thing, no roquefort, and no salad dressing. but what else? ummmmmmm. honestly, i think beyond the obivous bugs and worms and caterpillars and such, i'll eat pretty much anything. i mean, i don't love eggplant with the skin but i'll eat it. i don't like spicy food...but other than that, i guess i'll eat anything. wow.

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Tuesday, February 10, 2009

i'm turning japanese!

walking home the other night i saw that the japanese travel agency at 17th and u is now a full-on japanese market. they have everything! frozen roasted eel, dumplings, miso soup, japanese gummies, newspapers, crazy japanese gum! it's heaven.
i used to have to trek to wheaton to get my nori and sushi rice - not that i don't love the entire aisle of soy sauce at han ah reum, but the owner guy here, i forget his name, he totally let me try out my japanese. and there was another guy and they both bowed when i left the store, it was fantastic. i've had udon noodles every day for lunch!

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Monday, February 2, 2009

new heights gin joint!

maybe i shouldn't publicize because i kinda want to keep it a secret, but the new heights gin joint is MY new joint. all mine.

i went to the new heights gin joint last weekend for several reasons.
1, because a year ago when waiting for a table upstairs i had a most tasty gin and tonic i had never heard of and thought, well, i should definitely come back here.
2, since my pal Logan Cox started working the kitchen, but really, it's
3, i met a guy in a bar when i was really drunk and he asked me out for drinks and i needed a small place where i would be sure to recognize him among other patrons. oh, and it had to be quiet because for some reason i imagined that he might have a stutter or a lisp, and finally, why not impress someone with a tiny hidden spot in woodley park on a friday?

so, the gin joint.

he was already there when i arrived and thank goodness spotted me when i came in, otherwise, i would have likely sat two chairs down and ordered on my own. he had already gotten the jist of the menu and explained to someone who never even imagined there were more kinds of gin than the ones that come in the plastic bottle and bombay sapphire (which i only started drinking in college in honor of my indian friends). i was intrigued and eager to sample, almost overwhelmed, but they are sorted in a specific order on the menu so you can figure out what's going on (do they ever do that with wines? because i always just sort by price...second from the cheapest!). i started with a rather safe choice, right in the middle, a hendrick's that i knew was guaranteed tasty, but the next round (or two?) were complicated, delicate mixes of something truly unique in DC.

then came the food...the charcuterie plate had a bunch of items to offer...some chicken liver, which i just jumped on (sorry buddy, you wouldn't like it anyway), some real tasty jerky, but i really, i was all about the mackerel dish that followed. i would never order mackerel (it's always the last rubbery waxy piece of fish on the sushi combo platter) much less even order fish (my friend from NOAA would kill me...there are no more fish, people!!) however, as i know the list by heart... mackerel is totally in the green column! there was a crisp skin, a bright refreshing flavor, and the mustardy fingerling potatoes with capers. yum.

i just might have fallen in love with mackerel! my date, however is a whole different story. but, as they say, there are always more fish in the sea, and i will most definitely be bringing them into the new heights gin joint!

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Monday, January 26, 2009

schlong salad: part TOO

so, despite, - no wait, actually, in spite of the phallic nature of my previous meal at vinoteca, i actually love the place. the wine is way cheaper than veritas, who just upped their bottles into the 'beyond my means, especially in this economy' range (which means if ever, i can only go on a monday). vinoteca also has nice menu that's more than cheese and meats (and those new crazy pricey but tasty chocolates). it also just happens that the citypaper is running a special (check this page for $50 gift certificates for only $25!) so, there's little reason NOT to go there..

i have already attempted several times to use my gift certificate, but even with my winey-ist of friends could never eat or drink enough to meet the $100 minimum for the coupon (the place is thrifty i tell you! especially during happy hour) so when it was my friend's birthday over inauguration weekend, we went back for a ladies dinner.

as giggles never managed to be subdued, i had to ask our waitress if the beet salad was for real. maybe one of the chefs was messing with me? (as we watched them stroll through the dining room, we all wished they were!) i showed her the picture and she turned, pardon the pun, beet red. a little while later, the general manager came by and said, "it's you? the blogger who wrote about us?" and it was my turn to be blushing. oh my, they read this garbage i write? yes, they get an email anytime anyone writes "vinoteca." "we have your write-up posted in the kitchen!"

so they offered me a complimentary salad. i said yes, but only if it's REALLY huge. i learned later that my dish went through several iterations as the first versions were deemed too risque even for me. so i ended up something just as tasty, and a little more abstract i guess.
i was too full for dessert, but i am curious to find out how many other vinoteca dishes are inspired by the cookie puss?
i'll have to go back and find out. in the meantime, vinoteca, vinoteca vinoteca!

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Sunday, January 11, 2009

schlong salad

it takes a lot for me to be offended. good thing too, i could have complained of this phallicular joke served to me at vinoteca the other night. may i add that the slang term for 'male genitalia' in french is 'bite' pronounced 'beet.' yes, it's just a homonym, not a chef trying to make me blush. i mean, i'm not crazy right? this totally looks like schlong?!

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Wednesday, June 4, 2008

culture shock in namibia

so it's still a little culture shock here in windhoek. i can drink the water! i can eat salad again! i don't have to carry wads of toilet paper around in my pockets! (i just got my cargo shorts back from the laundry...what a mess). hey, it doesn't mean i don't like roughing it, people... it's just weird to think that only a few km away, over the border is such a completely different environment (e.g. angola, zimbabwe).
the only thing i'm not prepared for...it's f-ing cold! it is winter, afterall. at night it gets rrreal chilly. like 50s. i have a fleece and a sweater, but i'll need a hat and some thick socks or something. i can only imagine what it's like in the desert up north. so i'm going to have to do some shopping. robin, my canadian colleague here (and old friend from mcgill) found a store called "beaver canoe" that he wants to check out, we suspect it might originate from america's hat. canadians, always sticking together.
so last night we ate dinner at joe's beerhouse, which is just a short walk away. it's a crazy maze of picnic tables, trees, fireplaces, animals heads...and bottles of jagermeister. the sign at the door says "the house wine is....JAGERMEISTER. drink up!" the fireplaces were all glowing and warm, just like the atmosphere. i drank a tofel and a beer shandy, and for my meal, ordered some springbok. this is a springbok, fyi:

this may have been one of the tastiest meals ever. it was a brochette of the most tender, flavorful, perfectly grilled meat (sorry, dad!). better than duck! it came off the skewer with ease, and melted like butter in my mouth. in between these tender morsels, bacon wrapped figs, mmmm. all of this accompanied by these large balls of butter corn fritters delicately pan fried to keep their shape and asparagus and cauliflower with some sweet chutney on it. simple, deelish. robin had the oryx steak, which was also tasty and we are planning on working our way up to zebra, which, according to the menu is a "man's meal."

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Tuesday, May 20, 2008

italian food in moz

alice took me to a fancy italian restaurant on the beach....3 times. it has a 34 page menu. every combination of pasta and sauce and pizza or calzone. all homemade. i order the local pumpkin-like thing ravioli. don't have it. ok, meat then? all we have is fish ravioli. ummmmmmm. the gnochi? no gnochi today. i'll take the asparagus pizza then. no asparagus. we go through pretty much the whole menu when finally, i say, how about you just replace the asparagus on the pizza with mushrooms? or, you can add mushrooms to the regular pizza, it's the same thing (cheaper).
at this point the waiter's head explodes. he has no idea how to handle this. so i get a calzone. it's huge. it's awesome. there are loud italians drinking peroni behind us. the waves are crashing on the beach. yummy.

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Tuesday, December 11, 2007

who ordered the caterpillars?

i was very hungry at lunch yesterday and asked my assistants to bring me back to the hidden place with the rice and beans. we walk over there and this time, i got to go around the back of the house to order. it's like a national geographic scene: chickens, dogs, children and an old lady bent over, barefoot under a tarp held up by black burned sticks, cooking over an open fire with various pots everywhere. someone is washing dishes in a dirty washbasin while another woman is sweeping the cooking area with a home-made broom of tied sticks. on the table there are a bunch of dented aluminum pots. you lift up the lid and make your choice. i got the rice, beans and plantains - the first vegetarian meal i've had since i've been here, which got a roll of the eyes out of the server.
a guy showed up with a creepy homemade marionette - it had a doll head, a big booty in some baby sweat pants and flip flops for hands. he sang and made it
do a really dirty dance, grabbing it's crotch and grinding on the floor, which i presume is what happens in the nightclubs.
inside a really dark tiny cement room with a sewing machine is my new tailor. he's making me some killer button up shirts! with snaps! and a dress. for only $3. here come the christmas presents! we go sit down under another tarp, shoo away the flies and dig into our food. a few others from the office show up and have a seat and someone orders a steaming hot plate of.....CATERPILLARS!!! which are in season... everyone is all ooooooh yummy! and dig in. they're hard to pick up with a fork so a bunch fall on the ground and get eaten by a dog. they were various colors and shapes, you could see their heads and tails and feet, no hairs. i felt too tacky taking a picture and besides, they were eaten in about a minute. they saved one for me. but i just couldn't do it. everyone was sucking their fingers, yum! but for some reason i could only shudder. i thought of being on fear factor, and someone offering me a million bucks...still couldn't do it. i tried closing my eyes, imagining eating a piece of bread, couldn't do it. finally, i downed a glass of beer took a deep breath and when do one was looking grabbed it quickly with my fingers and put it in my mouth closed my eyes really hard and tried to think happy thoughts happy thoughts and finally swallowed it half chewed. it was crunchy with goo on the inside. it had an unexpected taste. like, lemony bitter eggplant. totally gross.

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Monday, December 10, 2007

weekend part I

what a weekend. there was rain and power outages, as usual. but there was so much more than last week! on friday night i was invited to the french cultural center for chicken night. i had imagined a stuffy crowd inside some lame annex to the embassy or something, but not at all. it was a full thriving beer garden with $1 bottles and chicken and fries for $3. what a bargain. i was invited out to the nightclubs with some trendy french chicks, but would have had to fly solo to get home...so i had to pass. i was a little bummed, but woke up early, had a nice egg sandwich and went to the office. my internet wasn't working so i was very productive. around noon, double-guy offered to take me to the market to buy fabric to get some clothing made.
we walked down the major avenue du 30 juin, something i could have never done alone. i got my picture taken in front of a giant Kabila statue, the ultimate proof i was in kinshasa.
then we hailed a sortof cab: a beat-up toyota with loud gospel blaring and a furry dashboard and in the back, leather seats with red and black yin yangs. the 'express' taxis as they are called are one step above the minivans with 35 people crammed in. you share only with as many as there are seats. where you go is majority rules. so the guy who wants to make a big detour to pick up his girlfriend, well he gets yelled at by everyone in the car until he finally gets out. at one point there was a big traffic jam and everyone was yelling at the driver to go around, kinshasa style, on the sidewalk to get ahead 2, maybe 3 car lengths. these people got out and walked, and some more hopped in and then you have to argue your route all over again. thankfully double-guy was doing the arguing, i was sweating a river, my thigh stuck to some old lady.
we got out near the port, where the boats come in from brazzaville. what a mess. for some reason, double-guy REALLY wanted me to see the port, "you cannot leave kinshasa until you see the port!" it's full of aggressive police, military, and people in wheelchairs (i found out they travel free from kinshasa to brazzaville because of their condition and thus play the role of exclusive smugglers). there were people screaming 'mondele!' and total utter madness. i am THE only white person here. every police officer starts asking me for my passport and i'm getting nervous. this is insane. we are essentially going into some intra-border zone and i really don't want to end up in jail or have to pay a huge bribe. double-guy is very persistent and finally we end up paying a few bucks to some border guy and we're inside this compound of chaos. there are buses nearly running me over, carts, trucks, dogs, maimed people, garbage. i saw the oldest, dirtiest, most digusting diesel train i have seen. people were all running around it, cheering, almost like they were pushing it. i'm actually sortof happy i'm getting to see this. people are yelling at me everywhere and all i hear is blah blah blah mondele blah blah. sometimes double-guy gets mad and yells back, sometimes he smirks and waves them off. when that happens i ask him to translate. he won't. he sortof giggles and says you don't want to know. i find out later it's something along the lines of "tonight, you better do her CONGO-style" or something terribly classy like that.
we go through some more border stuff where they're interrogating people, opening bags. there are a lot of guns. finally we see the river. the "hi-speed" boats that cross the river, i find out are these old patched up 12 foot whalers with 50 hp engines. the waves in the river are HUGE with crazy fast rapids and less than a mile away, another country. we talk to a border guy that double-guy knows and he tells me that when it's real windy, they have to stop traffic, but he's proud to say they haven't had an accident in several years! no kidding.

i'm sortof relieved to exit the port area and then we're buying fabric. we stop at one stand that double-guy knows and this immediately puts all the competing stands into this huge argument over who gets to sell me fabric. congolese people certainly can YELL. so they're all screaming and double-guy is all "take your time..." but taking my time hurts my eardrums. the fabric is set up in rolls and stacked like a log cabin. the fabric i want is always at the bottom of the stack, and so the woman has to unstack everything and then she unrolls each one and says, are you sure you don't want this one? showing me this 80s neon colored batik vomit. no...i want the peacock print at the bottom.
then it starts to rain. major rain. i'm up to my ankles in mud. why did i wear these flip flops? every flip sends mud up my nose. every flop, a streak of dirt up my back. we take refuge at the artisan market. here's where i want to do some xmas shopping...i'm soaking wet, thirsty, would love just a few minutes of silence.. madame! madame! over here! here! look at me! the insanity begins again. why is that the guys who sell huge statues of dudes with weirdly proportioned genitalia are always the most persistent and annoying? like i'm going to bring this 8 foot tall phallus home in my suitcase? or the 2 very pointy antlers on this large rack? or this 25 pound malakite egg? i see a leopard skin...and a baby leopard skin. $400 for the adult, half for the baby. the fur is really soft. there are still claws and eyelids. sigh.
i find the rug things i want to bring back and this takes over an hour of haggling. bargaining with congolians is just like driving with them. they are extremely strong headed - when they're on the road, it's "i want to go here and i'm going to go and you're not going to stop me." left turns are not for the weak - you just go, cutting off oncoming traffic (there are no traffic lights) and you must be strong and confident so that others will stop and let you through (they have to, they don't want to ruin their mercedes) otherwise you get stuck in the middle of all these different lanes and people have no respect for you. it's not uncommon to be going full speed, head-on towards someone else who is driving in the wrong lane to get around something. it's a game of chicken and eventually, someone HAS to give in. only one person needs to compromise, really. and so it's just like bargaining. and at the market, well, i was the one who was more often chicken. bargaining just isn't in my blood. double-guy had it down, pretending to walk away, calling them liars, trading one thing for another. but in the end, i really didn't care if i had to pay $12 instead of $11, i figure the seller could use that extra money more than me, but i guess it's a pride thing. they're also REALLY good at ripping you off. i wanted this one rug thing, but it was 15 feet long. do you have one shorter? so they cut it. they told me they were going to sew it, but they didn't, they just cut it all crooked with frayed edges and charged me the same price, saying i was paying to rent the scissors. or they would be all, oh, you're missing 500 francs, when you're not.
we found an old renault 4 to bring us back to the office, reminding me of traveling with my grandma. the seats had a broken recliner thing so if you leaned back you would fly backwards and be lying down and hit the knees of the person behind you and get yelled at. so you had to lean forward. it was very uncomfortable. there was more yelling because someone gave a really old smelly bill to the driver and he didn't want it, nor did he want to make change for american money so he just sat there and yelled until i paid the guy's fare to be on with it already.

when i got back i was just about the grossest, stinkiest and dirtiest i had ever been and when i got back to the hotel there was, of course, no power and no hot or clean water. whenever you ask when the power will come back on they say "they are putting fuel in the generator" which actually means the guy who's going to go get the fuel is now slowly walking to his truck and will be making the 3 hour round trip drive to wherever they get the gas from. no one has ever, ever even imagined the thought of having extra fuel on hand at any time of the day. that would be preposterous! some people built a trench in the road to the hotel for some reason and never bothered to fill it in, so there's a 5 foot wide and 8 foot deep chasm in the road, which i have had to jump over to go to work. they finally figure out that the truck needs to find a way to go over this thing...so they have to put together a makeshift bridge, which of course breaks immediately. you see how it is.
so i bathed in a trickle of brown in the dark.
that night for dinner, christian and i went to an indian place "the taj" that i had seen at the top of a building when i was downtown. i figured it would have a cool view. christian was very nervous at first because no one had heard of this place. we couldn't find the entrance until finally we saw a congolese guy asleep in a chair, he was wearing a torn-up old british empire doorman-like uniform. he took us to a really scary elevator. it was a relief (foodwide) to see an indian family join us, tho it was a little crammed. their little boy counted everyone inside, practicing his english: one...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten...eleven! then he points to the 9th floor button next to which is written "maximum load 6 persons." hehe. we get to the top and we appear to be in someone's apartment - it's like when you go to see a psychic and there are kids and cats, running around. here, there were indians everywhere, cheesy decor, faceted mirrors on the wall. there was a teletubby video game in one room and finally we got to the terrace i had seen from below. it was shaped like a boat, with a mast, and had an awesome view of the city.
we have a seat near the edge and i go, hey, look, our hotel is over there, pointing to a neighborhood with trees and sparkling lights. christian says, are you sure? then the neighborhood goes completely black. oh, i'm sure.
we order from the incomprehensibly written menu. they call nan "canvas" and main dishes are "very major important entrees" and most of the descriptions are "try and tell!" they're out of everything but chicken (menus are pretty much useless anywhere here. you're better off just asking what they have). the congolese waiter corrects my indian pronunciation when i order, which is really weird. we get a bottle of cheap (quality, not price, it was more expensive than our meal) french wine and it tasted like it had been sitting in a windowsill for 12 years. the food was excellent, however.
the wine gave me a bit of a headache. one of the indian kids at the table next door started running all around the terrace and he had these shoes, where every time he made a step it made a squeaky toy noise, like something you'd give a dog. squeak! squeak! double-squeak! SQUEAK! we wanted to kill this child, and then the parents who put these shoes on his feet. i will apologize to everyone for the inappropriateness of the insults that were strewn in their general direction.
my assistant guys were supposed to call to take us clubbing but they didn't, proving they are just as flaky socially as professionally. but i wasn't too disappointed. then i wondered if i was too old for the nightclub scene....i didn't get to see any booty shaking on this trip, but you know what, everyone keeps telling me, i'll be back....

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Friday, December 7, 2007

36-15 code BABY!

tonight is ladies' night - a bunch of gals from the office going out for pizza. i know where we WON'T be going...
christian had his first day at work at the UN on monday. he came back and found me and gilles at our usual rendez vous spot near the pool. he wasn't as happy and smiley as usual. he collapses into his chair "this place is impossible." he had a 2 hour UN security briefing where they tell you all the bad stuff that happens to ex-pats here - the bricks through your car window, armed robbery, police impersonation and passport theft, basically all the stuff you need to know about to never want to leave your house. there's a curfew, i found out, for whiteys. oops. gilles meanwhile turns real pale. so glad to be leaving this place, he says. he hasn't been getting much sleep as the waitresses are still finding reasons to knock on his door late at night...christian ups his spirit by telling us about a nepalese guy he'll be working with. the guy had never left katmandu until he had been assigned to DRC. "just imagine a nepalese guy, here in kinshasa! imagine what a punch in the face it was for him to land here!"

it had sortof taken the wind out of our sails for going out on gilles' last night but i said come on guys, people DO go out here. we'll get a nice reliable taxi from the hotel, it'll be fun! i saw this place the other day downtown with a patio and lots of ex-pats and locals, music, police presence, we'll be fine. so we go the receptionist to call a taxi - the hotel cell phone is out of minutes (maybe she should stop chatting with her boyfriend all the time?), so we use my phone. as soon as i hang up this beat-up carolla wagon comes barreling down the driveway. with a sunroof, yea! we negotiate an almost non-whitey price with the driver and as soon as we get in he cranks up the music, starts chatting and drives about a million miles an hour, soaring through potholes. gilles head is being pounded into the roof. we pass a car with no windows, no doors, no bumpers and completely rusted out. unbelievably, the blinker still works - one little lonely lightbulb that lights sporadically to let us know of its intentions.
the taxi driver's name is "bah-bee" (baby?). his car REEKS of gasoline. i pray that christian, sitting up front does not light up another cigarette. gilles is securing his money belt for the third time. we get let out in front of the "36-15" the place i had recommended. we make jokes about the old mini-tel, france's first internet. tapez le 36-15 code BABY!
baby is real cool, he lets us pay later. a hummer drives up to the patio, all pimping out and checking out the scene. then some hip guys dressed like wannabe LA rappers roll up in a convertible peugot, music blaring. they pretend not to notice as the hard top goes down and folds into the trunk. what's up with this place?
we walk up to a table, gilles is already feeling better. this place is real nice. pizza looks good. you see? nothing to worry about. look at everyone, all the locals and foreigners, getting along. and then we scan the place and something is odd...there's only old white guys, and all the locals are these sexed up skinny congolese ladies with fake flowing wigs. the women are sitting on the men's laps and massaging their necks, and there's a group of wealthy lebanese sheik-like guys, and one has three ladies in his lap - hey wait a minute! prostitutes?!
christian finds this hilarious, gilles is back to being terrified. don't worry gilles, christian says, they won't come bother us, not with this cougar over here, pointing to me, making the requisite rrrreow (only instead of cougar, it's 'panther' in french). now that i'm 30 i guess that makes me a cougar, nice. but he's right. our waitress is friendly, the brick oven pizza is tasty (it has to be good, because if any lebanese mafioso guys got sick this place would be erased) and we have our own little conversation, and never get drawn into what is happening around us. except when the 3 guys from doctors without borders staying at our hotel leave with a little harem.
we treat ourselves to grand marnier for a digestif. i have been forbidden to drink vitell-o anymore - it's this super sweet fruit punch soda that likely has crack cocaine in it, makes me very hyper. i'm told crazy weird stuff comes babbling out of my mouth, christian and gilles like me better on water, beer or hard alcohol if possible.
christian and i start placing bets on when gilles camerounian airlines flight will actually leave for libreville. i'll pay for lunch tomorrow if his flight is put off until evening. christian says it could be days. gilles is silent, angry because all day people have been predicting the worst and all he wants is to be back home with his family. so we make him promise to buy dinner if we find him back at the hotel the next night. ask anyone here, they have a horror story about CamAir. christian says he once had a four DAY delay in yaounde. basically, they fly when they feel like it, africa-style. we laugh at how the last time gilles called to confirm his flight was 2 days ago. 2 days? you need to call now (i'm sure there's a 24 hour receptionist!) i ask our waitress, ever flown camair? "i once got stuck in Kigali for christmas AND new years because of those imbeciles! I am relieved to hear they finally went bankrupt last year." poor gilles. he didn't join us for breakfast or dinner the next day, but i bet that's because the chauffeur left him off at the airport instead of waiting until the plane took off. and moses was off-duty. well, good thing there are dudes who sell peanuts in the parking lot.

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Wednesday, December 5, 2007

i don't eat grasshoppers

there are two other french guys i hang out with at my hotel - the WWF france guy who gets hit on by the wait staff and christian from the UN who just arrived saturday. we'll have cocktails by the pool, talk about france, comment on the weirdness of being here. we're comfortable enough now to make fun of eachother, notably they mocking me for feeding/befriending random animals (just you wait until i go to the venemous snake place next weekend).
on sunday we finally ventured outside the hotel walls on foot. i walked in the middle, these two tall guys at either side. we made it to the end of the hotel driveway and securely scanned the empty horizon for anything of interest. a guy cooking some manioc, some dudes leaning against a wall and people pushing a car, all typical. across the street was this decrepit supermarket that appears to be open only sometimes. there's an overgrown parking lot with busted up cars and some funny beer ads on the walls "turbo king! pour l'homme d'affaires!" but if you go to the end of this vacant lot you happen upon a little restaurant in a cute garden with little huts housing plastic tables and chairs. it's called the Marquis de GB. there's a disgusting outhouse, a small soccer field, a nursery, and a sad grey parrot in a cage who tried to bite me. the service is interminably slow, but it lets us take our african time, around 2.5 hours for dinner. gilles always needs a receipt everywhere he goes, which has proven impossible so me and christian write them out, varying our handwriting, inventing the restaurant logo. the menu has an odd mix of local dishes, unique french stuff like frog's legs and greek food. i don't touch the salad (learned my lesson!), but the kebabs and fries are good - they are served hanging from a metal hook. they also have espresso, something you can't find anywhere else. we eat all our meals there, since the hotel food is iffy. the round trip walk is about 1/4 mile, the most i've walked since i've been here! we stroll very leisurely for this exact reason.

the other night we were walking back after dinner and there were some guys hanging around one of the lightposts, below a swarm of bats and moths. the guys were collecting these huge grasshoppers and stuffing them into jars. i look at the one of the jars closely, the grasshoppers with their gleaming eyes all smooshed up against this old jam jar. what for? i ask. to eat. grilled. tasty! bon appetit! thanks in advance! UN guy tells me how he's eaten huge caterpillars and moths in eastern DRC. a delicacy.
when we got back to the hotel for a nightcap i saw a bunch of grasshoppers drowning in the pool. they're huge, so gross. i don't think i could ever eat one. as i got closer the hawk-like birds that putter around (i found out they're called 'milan' in french, anyone know what that is?) were verrrry interested. i picked one out with a glass, spilled it on the ground and the birds pounced on it, grabbing it with their claws and ripping off the heads and slowly enjoying the rest of the body. edible for most, just not for me.

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Monday, January 15, 2007

brunchin it

in order to give asylum a rest for once, release them from our endless peaches and freaks of the industry jukebox selections during peak family brunch time, i hosted my own gangsta brunch.
it was tasty. i substituted my usual waffles for french toast. now the key to french toast i find is the cheaper, more processed the bread, quite simply the better it is. i'm no fan of wonder bread in my sandwich, but the spongy stuff is the way to go for breakfast. whole wheat five grain just won't cut it here.
then, i cooked some spinach and onions and garlic and made little nests atop tomatoes in an oven dish, sprinkled basil, parmesan, goat cheese and bread crumbs on top broke the egg yolks into the hole. baked 'em for 20 minutes. i think you call those shirred eggs. yummmmmmee. and the usual snausages and green onion, and a cucumber dill salad to cleanse the palate. that's easily a 26 dollar brunch people. mix a bloody at the counter bloody bar with the tommy gun vodka (make tommy gun shooting noise when you pour), add some loud gangsta rap to piss off the neighbors and you have yourself a wonderful sunday morning.

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