Tag Archives: Food around the world

San Pancho, Mexico – What to Eat!

San Pancho, the perfect little village, situated just north of Sayulita, about 45 minutes from PVR. Here, you will find a beautiful, swimmable beach, a small surf break, artisanal shops selling handmade goods, and most importantly, delicious food. We spent a week here, and I collected the names of our favourite places; the places with the best deals, the best food, and the best people. Here is what to eat in San Pancho:

I ❤️ Al Pastor

Ok, I don’t actually know if this is the name of this place, but that’s what their shirts say. Here you will find the Mexican City classic, pork meat slow roasted on a spit. There is a pineapple on the top of the spit that drips down as the meat cooks. The meat is expertly shaved with a giant machete, and piled onto a fresh corn tortilla. Make sure to order “con piña” for a couple slices of pineapple on top. You decorate your own tacos with a variety of sauces ranging from creamy avocado sauce to ‘sweat through your cheeks’ habanero sauce. This street spot is always busy, so be patient and be sure to snag a seat at the picnic table if one becomes available.

What to eat San Pancho

Con Amor

Want a good deal? Look no further. Con Amor has a nice, little menu with delicious tacos, beautiful quesadillas, and great prices! They are next door to a grocery store where you can buy beer and drink it at your table. And who doesn’t like dinner and a show? The local minstrel always comes by Con Amor to serenade the patio with his renditions of Queen, David Bowie, and Pink Floyd.

Limbo

This family owned restaurant is closer to the beach, and has a lovely little outdoor seating area. The food is a little more expensive than the al pastor place, but this is where we satisfied our craving for aguachiles. Big, fresh prawns are drowned in a bowl full of lime and chile. The citrus cooks the prawns, and the chile adds just enough bite. At Limbo, the aquachiles is served with tostadas, and salsas on the side. I’m salivating just thinking about it. 

The Best Sandwich Ever.

Actually though. This restaurant didn’t appear to have a sign out front, so I’m actually not sure what it’s called. BUT, it is kiddy-corner to the ATM, Cajero Banorte. They are only open during the day, but they don’t serve breakfast. The Mexicana torta will change your life. A sandwich on fresh bread, with cooked sausage, ham, bacon, beef, and onions, drizzled with homemade sauces, diced tomatoes, and jalapeño. We ordered one each, then looked around and noticed that every local sitting at this place was eating a Mexican torta. Seriously, best. Sandwich. Ever.

What to eat San Pancho

Los Arbolitos

People will tell you for the best tacos in town, go to Los Arbolitos. They aren’t entirely wrong (I mean the al pastor tacos around the corner are the best tacos in town), if you are looking for chicken, beef, or mushrooms. The frijoles at Los Arbolitos are next level, and the best part is that they are sitting out on the table with all the sauces, so you can take as many as you want! I had half a mind to bring a Tupperware and just fill it up to take home… I refrained. The beer is a good price at Los Arbolitos too, so you won’t break the bank. 

To drink:

TuTu

Looking for a fancy AF cocktail? Look no further than TuTu. This is a nightclub, I think the only one in San Pancho, but we never saw it busy because our bedtime was too early for such activities. We sat outside at one of the two tables, and ordered fancy mezcal and passionfruit cocktails. The glass was rimmed with tamarind and the paper straw was wrapped in a tamarind candy – Mexico, where even the candy is spicy. Here, you won’t find much food, but if you’re feeling a bit boujee, and want a very photogenic drink, this is the place for you.

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Cerveceria Artesenal San Pancho

What would a cool, small, hippy surf town be without an artisanal craft brewery?! Cerveceria Artesenal drew our attention one evening when a band was set up outside, and sitting at the tables were the coolest people I’ve ever seen. The beer selection is great! IPAs, blondes, and ambers. Good ol’ craft breweries. You can order snacks food bites too, if a liquid dinner isn’t your thing.

Check out some of the other food I’ve eaten around the world!

A Kasbah Tour and Some Damn Fresh Chicken.

We were on the road to Ait Ben Haddou — a very well known and highly visited kasbah in Morocco. We decided to take a back road, one that tour buses don’t dare drive in fear of donkey traffic (I still can’t believe that’s a real thing that I now consider when planning our driving days), and found that this back road was indeed the scenic route! The view down the valley, the mountains on the other side of the river bed, the surprisingly green riverbanks – it was all totally stunning. We turned a corner and standing majestically in front of us, perched dangerously on a cliff edge, stood a huge kasbah. According to the map, it was not Ait Ben Haddou, but we couldn’t just drive past this place, especially considering that in the car park, there was only one car — with a European license plate — and three camels.

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When we stepped out of the van, a Moroccan man wearing a blue deraa, a traditional outfit, approached us. He stunk like cigarettes, his hands were leather, his fingernails were black with dirt, and when he smiled, he revealed just one lonesome brown tooth hanging from his upper gum. In French, with a few English words thrown in, he explained that he would take us to the kasbah. We’ve been burned before with these guys. They tell you they will take you somewhere, they show you the way, or they just walk in front of you, and then when you get there, they demand money, or more money than you offer (we even had a knife pulled on us in Fes because the guy wanted more! But that’s a story for another time). I showed some attitude, and told him we didn’t need a guide. Whether it was the loss in translation, or the fact that he just didn’t care, we found ourselves following him.

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He introduced himself as Abdul, and for a man who has only one, brown tooth, he sure smiled a lot. I was still hesitant as we walked through the small streets. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. I’m just going to say it, I was acting like a bratty child. We turned a corner and Abdul walked over to a closed door. He unlatched it, pushed it open, and motioned for us to follow him inside. He led us down a dark hallway to a large, open room – an old mosque. The little bit of light in the room came from small windows in the ceiling, but even in dim light, we could see the beautiful colours the mosque was painted. Abdul said “very old, not used anymore,” and shook his head. I softened a bit, he had already shown us something we wouldn’t have otherwise seen, maybe this will be good?

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We followed Abdul down some steps from the village into the river valley. He took us through the kasbah gardens. Here, he picked beans from the stalk, opened the pod and let us taste them. He picked almonds off the trees, cracked the shells with a rock, and again, had us taste. There were rose bushes, fig trees, pomegranates, and the biggest, possibly oldest olive trees I’ve ever seen. The kasbah was built in the 1200s. I wonder if these olive trees are from then? Is that even possible?!

After a quick tour inside the kasbah, we walked back through the village towards the van. We took a little detour to a house surrounded by a picket fence. Outside, hanging laundry, was a middle-aged woman. She smiled when she saw Abdul and said something in Arabic. A man of the same age appeared from the garden and greeted Abdul. Abdul asked him something. The man looked at us and nodded. Abdul turned to us, “my father, and my mother.” He smiled that lonesome tooth grin, and walked into the garden. He emerged again with a handful of fresh beans. He handed them to me, “for tagine!” he said. We thanked him and his parents — what a kind gesture!

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Trigger warning: Please take note that the following part of the story may not be suitable for vegetarians, vegans, and those meat-eaters who prefer to buy their meat from the frozen, faceless section of the grocery store. Audience discretion is advised.

Back at the van, we asked Abdul for a butcher nearby to buy some chicken for our tagine this evening. He nodded and we followed him down the street. We stopped in front of a closed door, and Abdul yelled across the road to some men on the roof of an unfinished building. One came down, crossed the street, introduced himself – Ismail – and unlocked the door in front of us. Inside, at the back of the room, a bunch of chickens were wandering about, eating seeds from the floor. Oh dear. Ismail quickly grabbed one of the squawking birds, and returned to us. “Twenty minutes,” he said and smiled. I smiled at him, looked at the chicken, and then back at him. “Ok!”

Abdul put out a table and chairs for us to wait. A few moments went by and Ismail came back and sat down. He lit up a cigarette and we chatted for a while. He asked about Canada, about how long we have been in Morocco, and if we like it. I wondered if he had given the chicken to someone else to butcher then Michael turned to me and said, “he’s probably draining the chicken right now…” Ismail excused himself again. We sat with Abdul, in silence and waited. When Ismail returned, in his hand was a plastic bag filled with the freshest chicken I’ve ever had. He handed us another bag with a few vegetables and a handful of parsley and rosemary inside, “for the tagine!” he smiled.

Abdul was the loveliest lesson I’ve learned in Morocco. I was so hesitant, so closed off, and immediately expected him to rip us off. Had I allowed my negativity to win, we wouldn’t have seen such a beautiful side of the kasbah, toured the gardens, or enjoyed the fresh beans. We wouldn’t have met Ismail or had the experience we did with the freshest chicken ever. And we wouldn’t have tasted the most delicious tagine we have EVER made. If there is one thing I have learned from traveling, it’s that when you open yourself up to beautiful and wonderful things, beautiful and wonderful things will happen. Just another life lesson learned.

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Read about my experience in a Moroccan Hammam here!

And read about some other Moroccan experiences here!

Making our First Tagine in Morocco

She placed the huge, oven-hot ceramic dish on the table in front of us, and with just the perfect amount of flare, lifted the heavy dome to reveal the most incredible chicken and vegetable mix, yellow with turmeric and billowing steam, and in that moment I thought, “I must have one of these.” A tagine. A Moroccan ceramic cooking dish with a tall, conical lid. It is placed on hot coals and left for an hour or so to slow cook whatever deliciousness you put inside. I wanted one. We could figure out where in the van it would fit later. I had to have one.

A Moroccan friend told us when looking in the souk for a tagine, we should expect to pay about 60-80dh which is about $8-10 CAD, but we, of course, can barter the price down. I knew as well, that in the souk, there would be both functional tagines for those who want to cook with it, and decorative tagines for those who want to put it on their mantle, so we would have to make sure to buy one we could actually use. It wasn’t hard to find the man selling tagines. There were about 50 of them, all different sizes, displayed out in front of his truck. These were the real ones. Not decorative at all. In fact, the glazing was just downright sloppy! These were no-nonsense tagines. We found the right size, one bigger than the smallest one there, and asked the man how much. He offered 50dh. We didn’t barter. We just bought it.

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We continued through the souk and found a man selling spices. Bright yellow turmeric, deep red paprika, and sandy brown cumin, were just a few of the big, full bags sitting on the table. I had no idea what we needed in order to create as beautiful a dish as the first tagine we had. The man started speaking to us in French and I just said, “tagine?” “Tagine!” he exclaimed, and began preparing multiple bags of spices for us. We ended up with the bright yellow turmeric, the deep red paprika, and the sandy brown cumin, and a bag of what the spice man called, “tagine mix”. Perfect!

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We took our tagine and our too many bags of spices back to the van. We had onions, tomatoes, potatoes, zucchini, and carrots. For our first tagine we were happy to make a simple vegetarian dish, and, granted we didn’t blow the place up with our first attempt, we could graduate to meat dishes later. While Michael ‘seasoned’ our brand new tagine (boiled water in it for 20 minutes to prep the lid with steam), I took to Google to find recipes we could loosely follow. I was disappointed to discover the top hits on Google for “tagine recipes” were all people cooking in casserole dishes and frying pans, and serving their food in the decorative tagine they bought in Morocco, OR even some on Amazon. Huh?

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We would have to figure it out without Google’s help. We rubbed oil all over the bottom part of the dish, and poured a few tablespoons in. We heat the tagine and added onion, and then tomato. While they cooked, I tossed the potato, zucchini, and carrot in all our spices. All of them. When the onion and tomato began sizzling, we turned the heat right down, and stacked our other vegetables on top of each other. And that was that! We set the timer for an hour. We drank wine, played cards, ate a few olives to whet our appetites. The timer went off and our food was done!

I placed the huge, oven-hot ceramic dish on the table in the van, and with just the perfect amount of flare, I lifted the heavy dome to reveal the most incredible vegetable mix, yellow with turmeric and billowing steam. Our very first tagine!

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Shopping the Sunday Souk in Sidi Ifni, Morocco

We left the van and went to the Sunday Souk in Sidi Ifni (try saying that three times fast!). The souk is a big marketplace, which boasts vendors from near and far, selling all sorts of things. There are so many stalls, and each one is very specialized; there’s the veggie guy, the olive guy, the spice guy, the clothes guy, the miscellaneous kitchenware guy, the jewellery guy… We prepared ourselves for many stops on this grocery shop.

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We stopped at a veggie man and began! The vendor handed us a plastic bin. The idea is that you fill the bin, then you pay by weight of everything together. Cool! We bought 2 potatoes, 3 zucchini, 4 beets, 2 tomatoes, and 3 carrots. Phew! Veggies, done! We continued our walk. We found a chicken man, and figured we would find eggs here, but realized that the chicken man only sells chicken — you choose one from the pen of live chickens, he weighs it, and then takes it behinda tarp, kills it, and prepares it for you. Huh. We didn’t buy any chicken today. We DID however find a fruit guy at the neighbouring stall! We bought 1 mango, 3 oranges, 4 kiwis, and 3 avocados. We walked on and found an olive guy. I like the olive guy because he lets you, nay, encourages you to taste all the different varieties of olives. We did! And we bought 250g of a beautiful preserved lemon and parsley marinated green olive, and 250g of crazy flavourful, and shrivelled up black olives.

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Next stop: the spice man. The spice man sells many spices in many forms. For example, here you can buy turmeric roots, turmeric seeds, or ground turmeric. Here, you can buy full henna leaves, henna seeds, ground henna, or henna paste. Here, you can also buy garlic bulbs! We bought 3. Then, we finally found the egg guy — that’s all he sells — and bought 12 beautiful fresh eggs.

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We found a banana man, who sells bananas by the kilo. In order to make up a kilo, we had to buy 10 bananas. They aren’t big, but 10 seems like an awful lot of bananas for two people. We walked past the preserves guy and he let us try some Moroccan figs, and natural almonds. Oh man, we just had to buy some! They sure are good salesmen at this souk. We walked past another spice man, and asked if he sold salt. A man buying spices told us we would be better off just going to a grocery store and buying a bag of saltfor 10dh. We thanked him for the advice and chatted with him a bit. He is Berber, from the mountains, and comes in every week for the souk with his friend. He insisted we come to their table. We did. His friend, an old, weathered mountain man, makes rings out of Euro coins and cedar wood. They were stunning pieces of jewellery. We asked how long it takes to drive in from the mountains. The men laughed. “It takes one day on the camel…”We laughed too. We explained to the old man we did not want to buy anything. He assured us that he was just happy to have met us, two young Canadians. He thanked us for saying hello and gave us a gracious welcome to Morocco.

I took to my spreadsheet, the beautiful one I made to keep track of our day-to-day spending (I call myself a highly organized cheapskate), input all the spending we did at the souk today, and took a look at the total. We spent 47dh, which is about €4.19, which is about $6.34 CAD. For all those veggies, fruits, eggs, and preserves, not to mention a kilo of bananas. My goodness. I do LOVE the Sunday souk!

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Update: We ate the entire kilo of bananas in three days.

Five Places to eat in Porto, Portugal

I like to think of myself as the queen of budget traveling. Finding good quality, artisinal places to eat can be hard, especially when one is on a budget as low as mine. But it’s not all ketchup packets and crackers! I do still eat out and enjoy a meal on the town every once in a while.

Looking for a delicious meal out in Porto? Here are my favourite five places to dine:

1) O Diplomata for a big, pancake breakfast

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Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so kickstart your metabolism with a huge stack of homemade pancakes from O Diplomata. Here, one can decorate their pancakes with various toppings, fruits, sauces, and even ice creams! You can’t go wrong with the perfect pancake and whatever topping you choose!

 

2) Base for cocktails and beanbag chairs

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The best time for a cocktail is anytime. We were tired from walking up and down the many hills in Porto, and needed a place to rest our weary legs and enjoy an ice cold beverage. Base is a super hip cocktail bar, nestled in a park in the middle of the city. Here, you will find grassy knolls, bean bag chairs, and homemade crate furniture. Sit under an olive tree and order a cold one!

3) Tapabento for an unforgettable twist on Portuguese classics

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Image from the Tapabento website

Tapabento is the perfect place for a delicious dinner. It is definitely not the cheapest meal I’ve had in Porto, but it is absolutely the most unforgettable while still being reasonable. The fois gras toastie changed my life, and I will be chasing that cucumber ice cream forever.

4) Brick for the perfect shareable meal

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Pic by our lunch date @jm_brewpub

It’s fun to eat rich and decadent food while on holidays, but sometimes your bod needs a break! Brick is the perfect place for a healthy, shareable meal. The toasties are to die for. Order a few rounds of each and you’ll walk out satiated and jubilated! Try the pork cheek toastie!

5) Ro for Ramen something different.

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Image from this website

Portugal has some delicious classic dishes, yes, the Francesinha changed my life, but sometimes when you are traveling you want to taste something a little different. Right in the middle of the coolest area in Porto, is Ro, a ramen place! Enjoy a delicious bowl of steamy,  hot ramen, and wash it down with their signature red sake sangria!

6) Zenith for a bonus breakfast!

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If you’re like me, you enjoy breakfast so much, you list two breakfast places in your “Five Things” article about where to eat. I couldn’t go without mentioning Zenith’s incredible twist on eggs benedict. They bread their poached eggs, serve it with avocado and crispy serrano ham. Paired with a breakfast cocktail, you can’t go wrong!

 

Full of food and looking for something to do? Check out Six Things to do in Porto here!

Heading to Lisbon next? Let this story inspire you!

Driving through France with “France Passion”

There we were, in Germany, with our newly purchased campervan, Vinnie the Van, trying to figure out the quickest, and most beautiful way to get to the north of Spain. We knew we would have to drive through France, but we couldn’t decide which way to take — do we just speed through the country on the highways, or do we take the scenic route past Switzerland and down the south of France? Well, all the super fast highways in France are tolled, the degree to which is astronomical (we paid €27 for driving 200km!*), and driving past Switzerland and through the Alps along those winding mountain roads in a 1997 Ford Transit didn’t sound like my idea of a good time.

That’s when we discovered a third option — France Passion! France Passion is a program that’s been running for 25 years. Members are able to stay for free with farmers across the country. There are thousands of farmers taking part in the program. We purchased our year-long membership for €25, and it gave us access to an online guidebook that allowed us to plan our route according to length of the drive in between, and the kind of produce they made. It was the best way we could have imagined to get across France (I proudly say this without any sort of compensation from the company).

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One of the “Golden Rules” of France Passion is that campers are not obligated to buy anything from the farm, but really, how could we not? What’s a few euros for a fresh snack from those who made it, especially when you aren’t paying for accommodation? France Passion is the ultimate cheapskate solution. As I mentioned, we mapped out our trip based on the food and goods we wanted to buy, so it wasn’t even a question if we would buy anything. We began our stops with Beaujolais wine (€12 for two bottles), enjoyed some charcuterie in Montregard (€4 for jar), and then followed the Route des Fromages (yes that’s a real thing!) to a farm that made the most delicious cheeses (€7 for two blocks!). We decided to try something new and drove to a fois gras farm (€10/ tin), and then finished our trip with a private vineyard tour of a winery in Bordeaux (€13 for two bottles).

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If you are driving across France, in an RV or campervan, the average cost of a campground is €20-€25. Do yourself a flavour (haha!) and sign up for France Passion. For the same cost, you can stay for free at thousands of farms around France, and taste the sweet, sweet goods from the farmers themselves.

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*Not only did we pay €27 for about two and a half hours of highway driving, but also, the highways are not picturesque, and the gas prices are crazy high! When we switched to toll-free driving using Google Maps, we saw way more of the countryside, drove past beautiful little villages and towns, and paid a solid €0.25/Litre LESS for fuel. Take it from a cheapskate, unless you are desperate to make it through France in a day or two, avoid those toll roads, they just aren’t worth it!

At La Tomatina, in Buñol, Spain.

Have you ever been in a food fight? Someone throws a spoonful of peas at someone sitting cross the table and then total chaos erupts in the school cafeteria leaving you wondering, “who the heck is going to clean that up?” At least that’s what happens in movies. Ladies and gentlemen, I, Beth, of Where the F is Beth, have never been in a food fight! I felt like I needed to check it off my never ending to do list, but I wasn’t going to settle for a spoonful of measly peas. When I do something, I like to do the best, the biggest, the MOST ridiculous. So, I journeyed to the small village of Buñol, Spain and took part in the world’s biggest food fight — La Tomatina.

Our day began at the crack of dawn. We were instructed to be at the Plaza de Tetuan at 6am, at which time the busses would leave and whisk us to Buñol! The bus ride was fast and easy, and when we arrived, we joined hoards of other busses. They say 22,000 people attend this festival, that’s a lot of busses! The crowd wandered through the village and down the hill, to the old town. We walked past the street where the fight would take place and saw that all the locals had covered their houses and balconies in tarps. To get us ready for the fight, Festivals All Around had a big pre-party with free sangria and live music.

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After a few drinks in our bellies, we left the party and walked to where some of the festivities had begun. As we walked, the locals sprayed us with water! Water dumped off balconies, hoses sticking through the holes in the tarps and men on the streets, splashing buckets of water at us! The first part of La Tomatina is when the attendees try to climb a huge pole covered in grease, and snatch the jamón (ham) from the top. We stood in the crowd and watched as multiple soaking wet, sangria drunk men and women clambered on top of each other for their chance at La Tomatina glory. They say the tomato fight doesn’t begin until the jamón is claimed, but while we stood there and watched attempt after failed attempt, a local nearby said nobody has reached it in five years. We left the crowd and moved back up to the skinny street where the tomato trucks would be driving through.

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Finally, we heard a truck horn! They’re coming! The tomatoes are coming! The trucks drove down the dangerously skinny streets and we were pushed up right against the tarps to allow them to pass. I reached into my fanny pack and took out my swim goggles. I’m ready. People stood in the backs of the trucks, throwing tomatoes down on to the streets. Chaos ensued. Pick up a tomato, squish the tomato in your hand, throw the tomato at a total stranger, repeat…until the next truck blares its horn, drives around the corner, and empties its contents onto the street. Six trucks went by. I think. Maybe seven. It’s all a blur — tomatoes flying past me, pulp showering me from all sides. The fight continued for an hour. I didn’t stop laughing for a second.

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The streets ran red with tomato juice. I stood ankle deep in the mush. Tomato puree dripped off my head, into my ears, down my back, and into unmentionable places. My throat hurt from being pelted with an unripe tomato, my knees hurt from falling onto the tomato-wet pavement, my face hurt from smiling too much. Best. Day. Ever.

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In Florence, Eating the Best. Sandwich. Ever.

Michael googled a great place to eat for dinner this evening: La Fettunta. We slowly made our way over to the street. People sat on the sidewalks, curbs, and doorsteps that lined the street on the way to the restaurat. We found our place and were given a table. The man who seated us told us that sandwiches were served outside. Ok? We took our seat and began looking at the menu. It was so hot in that room. I thought maybe it was because we just walked here, but no. I looked past Michael at a woman sitting at a nearby table, and she wiped sweat from the side of her face. I said to Michael, “that woman just wiped sweat from the side of her face. Let’s get out of here.” He agreed. We told the man we wanted sandwiches and he pointed next door.

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We walked into the next door place, still La Fettunta, and I was quite pleased to see the big slab of porchetta in the display case. Delish! A very Italian man, wearing a black leather jacket (that’s how you tell), sat on the stoop of the shop, eating the most amazing looking sandwich I’ve ever seen, and drinking an ice cold Coca Cola out of a glass bottle. He looked like a Coca Cola commercial. He made that Cola look so damn refreshing. And I wanted that sandwich.

I asked him what he was eating, and with his mouthful he laughed and yelled Italian to the woman working. She came over and began speaking English to us. She explained how it worked—choose bread, meat, cheese, vegetables, and sauce… wait a minute. SAUCE?! Please tell me this is real. We haven’t had mayo or aioli or any kind of sauce on a sandwich since Canada. Oh my gosh. I didn’t realize how much I missed sauce until I felt the familiar ‘about to happy cry’ lump in my throat as I read the list of available sauces: garlic, Gorgonzola truffle, sun dried tomato, truffle cream. Holy shit. Pinch me. I pointed at the man sitting on the stoop, drinking his Coca Cola in slow motion, “what’s that?” Pizza bread, porchetta, garlic sauce, melted cheese, fresh tomato. “I’ll have exactly that.” She laughed. Michael ordered sausage, with fresh tomato, melted cheese, and the Gorgonzola and truffle sauce.

We took our seats on the curb outside the shop, and began. This is absolutely, without a doubt, one of the top 5 meals we have had in Italy so far. Maybe even top 3. Maybe even number 1. This sandwich changed my life tonight. Michael just laughed at my totally genuine reaction to the sauce.

We sat on the sidewalk, feet in the street, eating our FUCKING UNBELIEVABLE sandwiches, drinking our Birra Morretti (my new favourite Italian beer), and chatting. It’s absolutely amazing that we don’t run out of stuff to talk about. Best sandwich ever. Best evening ever.

 

One night in Rome, Italy

May 3, 2017

Our first evening in Rome! We left Canada at 12 noon, May 2nd and after hours and hours of planing, training, and automobiling, arrived in Rome at 11am on May 3rd. It was now 10 pm, and we were so very tired. But also, so very hungry. Michael Googled highly rated yet inexpensive food places nearby and one, Trattoria Pizzeria Vecchia Roma, caught our eye. We quickly found the place. When we walked in, we joined the crowd of people waiting… no… desperately hoping for a table. The restaurant was totally packed! With Italians! We knew we were in the right place. The man who appeared to be hosting came to the crowd on the stairs and said “only reservations!” Bummer! The crowd thinned, and almost everyone left, except for two women, who were taken by the host to their reserved table. Michael and I stood on the stairs, alone. A waiter looked over at us. He smiled and I smiled back. He motioned for us to come sit in his section. Life lesson: With a bit of persistence and some friendly eye contact, you really do just get what you want.

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Our table was crammed between a huge table of ten, and a display case of various meats and cheeses. We ordered our €3.50 half litre of red wine (!) and settled in. Our waiter was wonderful! He brought us a few paper-thin slices of delicious prosciutto from the display case to try – for free! I love free food! We ordered two types of bruschetta – mushroom and olive – to share, a plate of gnocchi, and a plate of spaghetti puttanesca. Today, I learned that bruschetta does not necessarily mean tomatoes on toast. We ordered the mushroom and olive, thinking they would be mixed with tomatoes and garlic, like the bruschetta we are used to at home. In fact, our bruschetta was not what we were expecting. No tomatoes at all, just one with olive tapenade, and the other with a mushroom paste. Oh man, they were delicious! Ditto the pasta. The puttanesca was al dente, and super garlicky, and the gnocchi was cheesy and perfect.

Michael went to the washroom and our waiter came back to clear our plates. I thanked him profusely for his kind service and the prosciutto at the beginning of our meal. He said he was so happy we could join him this evening. I asked his name: Fabrizio. Of course it is. The most Italian name I can possibly imagine. Michael returned and Fabrizio brought us two tastes of limoncello- a lemony liquor made in Italy. Oh boy, it was strong!

It was late, and we were one of the few tables left in the restaurant. We thanked Fabrizio again. What a perfect first evening in Italy! We wandered back to our hotel and were instantly asleep.

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Eating Mystery Lunch in Hanoi, Vietnam

I walked alone down a bustling street in the heart of Ha Noi. The sun was hot, the air was thick with humidity, and my skin was slick with sweat. I stuck to one side of the street, partly because it was in the shade, and partly because crossing the street here is scary! The road has three lanes, but with the scooters, cars, and trucks all squished together, a terrifying traffic wall forms. The only way to cross is to play a real life game of Frogger. Step one: begin walking slowly, making eye contact with scooters in your immediate path. Two: continue walking – don’t stop! Don’t forget to keep eye contact as the scooters and cars fly by. Step three: Ignore the laughter coming from the Vietnamese onlookers, it will only distract you. Step four: When you get to the other side, stop holding your breath, exhale.

I walked until the sweet smell of delicious food being cooked nearby stopped me. I walked in, and found myself to be the only non-local in the room. A man behind a counter looked at me. I smiled. He stared. I looked around. Everyone in the restaurant looked at me. I smiled. They stared. The man behind the counter motioned for me to sit down. I did.

I looked at a menu for only a moment before I realized it was all in Vietnamese only. It didn’t matter though, for the man from behind the counter brought me something. He placed a dish in front of me and smiled a big, toothy smile. I smiled back! There sat a beautiful fried egg, beef (I think), another kind of meat, something that resembled green onion (and very well could have been green onion), potatoes covered in brown sauce, and something else that was green. It sizzled away on the plate. It smelled divine. I began to eat. As I ate, I tried to decipher what the heck it was I was eating. I had no idea. All I know is that it tasted so good.

The couple sitting across from me stared. I tried to ignore the stares, but I couldn’t. I choose to believe they stared because they have never seen someone as beautiful as me. I looked at them and said, Hello! They both smiled and nodded. The man said, Hello. The woman giggled. She pointed at her chin and said something to me in Vietnamese. Confused, I touched my own chin. Oh! There was a huge smear of the brown sauce dribbling down my face. I laughed and the woman laughed with me. I thanked her for saving me from embarrassment. I finished my dish, said farewell to my lunch mates, and prepared myself for the next game of Frogger.

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