Tuesday 15 August 2017

V is for Vietnam

V is for Vietnam

Hey everyone (i.e. hi parents). Ooooo-eeee, the end is nigh – just a few more weeks to get through and then you’re FREE! No more photos of dough in various guises clogging up whatever social media you use. No more wildly tangential ramblings about my overwhelming love of peanuts. No no, soon it will be no more. Rejoice!

So, here we are at the letter V. Unquestionably one of the easier decisions I’ve come across over the course of this challenge, given a) the exclusivity of the club (a mere 4 members) and b) the fact that I have only visited one of them. Actually, that is a lie: I have indeed visited the Vatican, but I was so mortified by the size of the queue snaking its way around the square in front of St. Peter’s Basilica that I opted for an hour-long pilgrimage to a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint instead. FYI, this is an extremely good example of where my priorities lie when on holiday, should you ever have the bad luck of finding yourself stuck in a foreign country with me. Vanuatu and Venezuela didn’t even get a look in this week: for me, it was time to say xin chào to Vietnam.

Vietnamese food has rightly been lapping up plenty of attention on the food scene for a few years now but maaaan alive, NOTHING can prepare for the sheer joy of the food available in the country itself. Vietnam was the first country in South East Asia I’d ever visited and it was basically love at first bite (baaaaahahahaha). Hmm, in retrospect that may not be true. No, in fact that is another lie. The first night in all round good-time town Hanoi, my cuz/travel bud and I consulted our VERY well-known brand of guide book and ended up in a sadly sub-par little restaurant, dining on mediocre noodles and rice, and inevitably surrounded by other diners with said guidebook sticking out of their pockets. From that dismal moment on, we decided to eschew the book with a firm hand and trust our noses to lead us in the right direction. By the end of our month there, we had managed to convince ourselves that it was in fact normal to eat 6 meals a day, so flippin’ incredible was the food on offer. Needless to say, my body did not thank me for it the first few days into an epic bike ride in Cambodia a few days later!

Fundamental to Vietnamese cuisine – touted as one of the healthiest in the world – is the concept of the five elements: wood, fire, earth, metal and water. Each of these five elements is represented by a certain, hmmm, ‘type’ of flavour, known as ngũ vị – sour, bitter, sweet, spicy and salty, respectively – which in turn correspond to a particular organ in the body. The term ngũ vị means ‘five spice’, which is so beautifully succinct and to the point that there is absolutely no need to go any further into the etymology of it. Hoorah! The Vietnamese are also big on the idea of food as being a multisensory experience in which every one of the five senses should be made to feel like they are the most important one and should be getting all the gold stars at school. Aside from the more obvious senses of taste, smell and sight, the sound is said to come from the crisp freshness of the ingredients, and touch from getting stuck in with your hands wherever possible. This philosophy towards food results in a lot of very happy diners, but believe me when I say that it is certainly more complex and interesting than the measly little description I’ve just given you. I won’t do it the injustice of trying to delve any deeper here, but hey, why not read up on it yourself? Live your life!

The range of sublime dishes and ingredients in Vietnam is vast, but speaking purely from my personal experience, there are definitely a few things which I feel make it stand out from the rest of its neighbours. First of all, the freshness of, well, everything goes above and beyond anything I’ve ever experienced: almost every meal or snack I ate there (every 45 minutes or so, HA!) was accompanied by fistfuls of fresh salad and the herbiest damn herbs you could think of, regardless of what was going on in the main dish. Even the humble but MINDBLOWING banh mi sandwiches you can pick up for about 30p on any street corner (from a vendor, not just off the pavement) are absolutely stuffed with herbs, pickled carrots and daikon, and lettuce. Jesus, I am drooling just thinking about it. Secondly, I particularly enjoyed the abundance of noodles in Vietnam. Of course, nothing says “Heyyyyy I’m a tourist and have no idea what I’m doing” better than ordering a steaming bowl of phở (noodle soup with beef or chicken) for your dinner. It’s all about noodle soup for brekkie, folks – ask Cambodia, they’ll agree. Like many other noodle dishes in that neighbourhood, phở features long, thin rice noodles, making it delightfully light and giving you the sense that you are eating something very wholesome indeed. That said, 3 bowls later and that feeling of springy lightness is generally replaced by a rice noodle food baby and a very full bladder (but NO REGRETS). Finally, I have to mention the coffee. As an avid coffee-avoider for more or less my entire life beforehand, Vietnam was the country that paved the way to coffee-drinking, and therefore something akin to adulthood, for me. It is sensational, truly. Served steaming hot in little metal filters, it is a bit of a waiting game watching it slowly drip, like blots of jet black ink onto paper, onto the indecently thick layer of condensed milk at the bottom of the cup. But when it’s done, holy cow, it is the BUSINESS. Vietnam is second only to Brazil in terms of coffee production and export, but if I were a Vietnamese coffee baron, I’d be keeping all that goodness for myself and start engineering cows that produce condensed milk straight from the udder.

Having invited over numerous guinea pigs to get involved with my Vietnamese venture, I decided that a few different dishes was the way to go. Also, it gave me a good excuse to cook way more than I usually would (*ahem* admit to), which is never a bad thing. So, I raided my bookshelf, looking for recipes that would have me weeping into my noodles and longing to jump on the next flight out. One thing I knew I wanted to make was bánh xèo, which are basically Vietnamese style crepes filled with pork, prawns and, of course, an entire herb garden. The name literally means ‘sizzling cake’, so with these babies, you’re getting a double dose of sound (re: the five senses situation, see above), from the crunchy sturrrrffff and the crepes themselves. They’re also a big hit with the ‘Bodians across the border, but as far as I know, the Vietnamese are the geniuses that came up with them. The batter is made using rice flour (among other things, naturally) and the addition of turmeric turns them – and inevitably everything else within a 2-metre radius - an alarming shade of yellow. What’s not to love?

The second recipe to catch my eye was a gloriously and characteristically simple dish of rice noodles and tofu. At the time of writing this post, I’m a 6-hour train ride away from the recipe book and I can’t remember for the life of me what the dish is called. If I Google it, all I get is many, MANY links to vegan and “clean eating” sites, which is definitely not where I got my recipe from, so I shall have to forego the name and just describe it instead: rice noodles and tofu – ta da! OK, the tofu was tossed in seasoned flour and fried so it was all yummy and crispy, but seriously, that was as complicated as it got. And once again, simplicity took home the gold medal, with this dish coming out on top with ma’ g-pigs. If you are one of those folks who is still a little sceptical about tofu, on the basis that it is a wobbly, bland block of beige nothingness, I implore you to give crispy tofu a try. Get yourself a decent dipping sauce or season the flour with ridiculous amounts of salt and pepper, and prepare yourself for a trip to your new happy place. You are welcome.

Finally, as I am getting close to the end of this challenge, I decided to treat myself by making one of my absolute favourite South East Asian desserts. Oddly enough, it doesn’t involve tapioca, which seems to be the go-to dessert ingredient over that side of the globe, but the pud still does have a pleasing gelatinous quality to it: Chè Trôi Nước. Actually, I’m not 100% sure that is the name of what I made, but again, my cookbook is not to hand, so I’m gonna have to trust Google on this one. This is a dish of little glutinous rice balls with a chunk of palm sugar tucked away inside, boiled and then served in a bath of warm, sweetened coconut milk and topped with toasted sesame. These little monsters are popular in Cambodia too, which is where I know them from, but dammit, they were in my Vietnamese cookbook, so I allowed myself to believe that they are indeed Vietnamese (apologies if Bodge did actually invent them!). Apparently, the name translates to something along the lines of ‘dessert wading in water’, which is so wonderful that I’d be tempted to make them even if I didn’t adore them with every fibre of my being. They are a little time-consuming to make, but for me, it was absolutely worth it. The jury was out from the guinea pigs, as some found the sweetness a little too hair-raising, but this time, I didn’t even care ‘cos it just meant I got to inhale a couple of more. Yay!

 Vietnam, your food is divine, and your reputation as one of the greatest cuisines is well and truly deserved. Well done you!

Friday 4 August 2017

U is for Uruguay

U is for Uruguay

Goededag, dames en heren! I’m writing to you from a little room in a very breezy Delft, in the Netherlands, where I’m putting my shamefully rusty Dutch through its paces in an intensive language course. So, I apologise if nothing in this post makes sense. At this moment in time, my brain is reminiscent of a melted ice cream, or indeed een gesmolten ijsje, as the folk here would say.

The dough and, well, my table
Blah blah blah, no-one cares about all that nonsense, I hear you cry. Alright, I’m back on track, on the food train, heading south west! The letter U was surprisingly plentiful in choice: I was expecting it to be a case of 3 or 4 countries, but once again, my utter lack of geographical knowledge led me astray. There were, in fact, 7 entire countries to choose from – and not bad ones at that. Having tackled Russia a few weeks ago, I ruled Ukraine out pretty sharpish, and the United Arab Emirates may as well have not been there at all, for all the enthusiasm I had for cooking food from the Gulf again. I was very tempted to have a total calorific blow-out and make any number of sinful dishes from the USA (chicken fried steak, mac ‘n cheese, a properly massive Devil’s food cake), or indeed to pay tribute to my homeland of the UK. Lord knows I can demolish a scone in about 3 seconds flat. But no, at the time of cooking, a very dear friend of mine was visiting and so, to thank her for schlepping all the way over to Germany to see yours truly, I left the choice down to her. And what was her country of choice? Well, none other than little old Uruguay!

Chimichurriiiiiii
Uruguay, where even are you? I mean, yes, we all know somewhere in South America, but where? There, in the middle somewhere? Oh. Oh no, not even close. To the left? No, not there either. Oh dear. Right down at the bottom of Brazil?! Who knew?!?! You kept that secret, you sneaky little country. And little it is, at least in comparison to its mammoth neighbour to the North (Brazil, obvs) and its sizeable pal to the West (Argentina). In fact, geographically-speaking (and we all know how GREAT my geoggers is by now) it’s the second smallest country in South America after Suriname, a former colony of my interim home here, the Netherlands. Although I apparently have zero idea where it actually is, I have to say, I harbour a secret admiration for Uruguay, primarily for its superlative national attitude towards renewable energy (almost 95% of the country’s energy is from renewables, dontcha know). But having just Googled the country, my obeisance for it has at least quadrupled in the last 10 seconds. Why? Well, here are just a few reasons for you to chew on: on a per-capita basis, it contributes more than any other country in the WORLD to UN peace-keeping missions. I KNOW!! It also ranks first in Latin America in terms of democracy, peace and lack of corruption. Are you packing your bags, too? Finally (at least for this bloglet), Uruguay is regarded as one of the most liberal and progressive nations on the planet, leading The Economist to crown it country of the year in 2013. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m already looking at apartments in Montevideo.

Before the fill-fest
When it came to investigating the tasty treats that this absolute beaut of a country serves up, I admit I had my preconceptions. Given its proximity to Argentina, land of meat, I was pretty sure this week would be a choice of steak, steak, or maybe even steak. Generally not something I would go for, as I’m not a massive carnivore, but for the sake of this project, I was willing to struggle through and get hold of a couple of big juicy slabs of meat. Hard life, eh? However, once I’d delved deep into the black hole of the internet, it transpired that Uruguayan cuisine is surprisingly diverse and indeed European, basically welcoming any and every other national cuisine with open arms. Goddamit, Uruguay, must you excel in EVERY area of life? It’s particularly heavy on Mediterranean flavours, with more than a few nods to Spanish, Portuguese, French and Italian cuisine. This, for the most part, is down to immigration. Once again, it was the Spaniards (yeh, those guys again – seriously, was the rest of Europe just picking their nose for centuries or something?) who paved the way for Europeans who wanted to try out life halfway round the world, swiftly followed by a sizeable wave of Italian immigrants. As is the case in Argentina, Spanish and Italian immigrants formed the backbone of society in Uruguay, and their influence can still be felt in the architecture, language and traditions of both countries. You need only go as far as Montevideo (say with an Italian accent whilst gesticulating wildly to get the full effect) to get a clue as to how much of an influence the Italians had there.
My outstanding assistant, sans head

As a result of this melting-pot situation, I was faced with quite the dilemma when trying to figure out what to cook. Given the above-mentioned influx of Marios, Giuseppes and Marias, it’s hardly surprising that pizza is kind of a big deal in Uruguay. Of particular intrigue was fainá, which is a thin, round chickpea flour pizza-crêpe type job found all over the shop in Uruguayan pizza joints. However, my idea was swiftly poo-pooed by my guest, who understandably fancied something a little more interesting than a chickpea crêpe. The dessert section of the great menu of Uruguay was also brimming with possibility: not only are they fans of everyone’s favourite artery clogger, dulce de leche (sweet, sticky caramel-type sauce), but they also enjoy a good churro. If that ain’t enough to get you reaching for your phone, just in case you have a heart attack, Uruguayans also indulge in a wide range of so-called bizcochos, which is more or less what we know as Danish pastries. May I reiterate: Uruguay is the dream land.

Yes yes YES empanadas
However, my dear guest and I had already almost eaten ourselves into a sugar coma by the time it came to cook, and so we opted for a savoury dish: empanadas. I’m sure most people have heard of empanadas before – they’re a popular snackette all the way across Central and South America, as well as in the Southern states of the US, and indeed in Spain, the originators of the little blighters. But what exactly is it? Well, basically, it is the Spanish equivalent of a Cornish pasty: a semi-circular pie filled, in general, with some kind of meat, and fried. And all of that in a practical hand-sized portion, ready for you to inelegantly stuff into your chops without the inconvenience of using cutlery. The Uruguayan version does not differ hugely from its neighbours, although the use of a generous handful of fresh herbs seemed to be bucking the trend slightly. The version we produced also called for a bowl of chimichurri sauce on the side, made of a buttload of parsley and oregano, chilli and garlic. As baking goes, empanadas are definitely not hard to make at all. It was actually strangely therapeutic filling them and making them look all nice with forked edges. The end result was a hit, if I do say so myself, with the herbalicious chimchurri giving the whole shebang a nice whack ‘o fresh. I feel like I’ve said this a lot throughout this blog, but people, this time I mean it: Uruguay is IT. Montevideo, watch out, I’m coming for you!