Public markets and cat calls

Last month, we packed up and moved from Panama to Brazil. During our last weeks in Panama, we celebrated with friends, said our goodbyes to the high rise that I had a tumultuous relationship with for two years, and visited the public market. I've always said public markets are the essence of a city, which is why I chose this place to say my goodbyes to Panama. 

Watermelon vendors, Panama 2014

Markets are where you buy delicious food, and also receive cat-calls that either make you or break you. Being a tough cookie, I generally respond well to cat-calls because I find them anthropologically fascinating. They transcend racial and class lines, and, if they are harmless, PG-rated, and fall along the lines of "you look as delicious as these watermelons", I find them endearing.

A week after visiting Panama's mercado de abastos, which literally translates to provisions market, I went to visit my sister in New York City. The public market scene in NYC is different than that in Panama because markets in NYC are usually cleaner and more expensive. I've also never received cat-calls in NYC farmer's markets. Actually, I receive significantly less cat calls in the US than in Latin America, or other countries.Despite these differences, markets do have some things in common. You have to talk to someone to buy your food.

There's something valuable and appealing about speaking to another person to ask for the items you want to buy, having to communicate with someone instead of simply grabbing a pear at the grocery store produce section and rushing, anonymously, to the check-out counter. I love that a conversation with a fruit vendor about seasonal cherries very often becomes a conversation about something else completely unrelated to a cherry.

It's hip to buy locally-grown stuff at a farmer's market. I think the popularity of farmer's markets is due to the element of human interaction and not just about the quality of the produce. Despite our addiction to anti-social smart phones and our need-to-grab-our-food-and-go culture, I believe we like the idea of stepping outdoors and talking to a vendor about their watermelons…even if they begin the conversation by telling you that you look as tasty as their bounty. Or perhaps you're lured to their stall because that's how they started the conversation in the first place.

This marks my last entry about my life and culinary pursuits in Panama. Watch for entries about my new adventures living in Brazil... and whether or not I'll get cat-calls at Brazilian markets.

A palenquera fruit vendor holding my son. Cartagena, Colombia, 2009

I mean, how could you NOT buy couscous and lamb from this guy? Marrakech, Morocco, 2011

Here are some photos of some lovely public market vendors I've come across in my travels.

Feeling warm in Port of Spain, Trinidad & Tobago, 2009

Coconut vendor by the Savanah, Port of Spain. When I shared this photo on a blog post, my friend's mom recognized this vendor. She was raised in Trinidad and left more than 40 years ago. He's still selling coconuts.

Beautiful boy, beautiful pomeracs, Port of Spain, 2010

My shark vendor in Port of Spain. She had bright red hair and always a smile on her face. Trinidad and Tobago, 2010

Moroccan mint tea server in Marrakech, Morocco, 2011

Fried red snapper, Embera Drua indian community, Panama, 2012

Mr. Best fish curry in the world, New Delhi, India, 2013

Le Cordon Bleu = The Plan

This journey begins in Port of Spain, Trinidad & Tobago. As wild parrots fly by my window to make their morning calls, the French Embassy telephones to inform me that my student visa was granted.

The Plan: 

Move to Paris for eight months to study Le Grand Diplôme, the highest degree in culinary and pastry arts, at Le Cordon Bleu.

Why:

This crazy idea started when I was telling my husband (for the millionth time) about my dream to go to culinary school. But I didn't want to go to just any culinary school. I wanted to go to the culinary school. Le Cordon Bleu. And I didn't want to go to just any Cordon Bleu. I wanted to go to Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, the city that has inspired some of the most influential and creative people of all time.

He, being the most generous, supportive, and fantastic man in the world, said, "Do it!"

Background:

In order to tell you the whole story about this dream of mine, I should start from the beginning. I remember eating (and enjoying) spinach crepes at age six, when my friends thought they were "yucky" and "weird". I was raised eating escargots and drinking Möet Chandon (even if a bit watered down) before the age of ten. The protagonists of this exposure were my mother, a fantastic cook, and my father, a fantastic eater.

I eat street food, restaurant food, and everything in between. Macaroni and cheese from a box (which I first ate at the age of 26, when my husband introduced me to the stuff), to warthog in peanut sauce in a remote village in Equatorial Guinea, Africa. Fat ants in Colombia and fried grasshoppers in Mexico. Boeuf Bourguignon in a Parisian cafe, and lovely spots of tea in London, Karachi, and Beijing.

I was born and raised in Colombia, one of the most beautiful places in the world. My family is from Cartagena, the most beautiful place in the world. Cartagena's history dates back forever and ever as a melting pot for West Africans, Middle-easteners, Native Americans, and Europeans, among others. The food of Cartagena is a product of its diverse immigration history. A common dinner in Cartagena, for example, is a pot roast cooked in the French style, served with coconut rice and plantains, which are West African dishes that I also ate in Equatorial Guinea, Africa, by the way. But I'll leave that for another blog entry. 

Inspired by the social context in which I grew up, I went on to study two Masters degrees in social anthropology, one at the London School of Economics (LSE). The LSE is a petri dish for international development workers, one of which I became. I worked at an NGO in Washington DC on education programs in Africa and Latin America. A couple of years later, I moved to Trinidad and Tobago because my husband was offered a job working for an international organization. I left my job and dedicated myself to being a wife and mother. Shortly after our son was born, I realized I didn't want to continue working at the same pace as before he was born. That's when I considered realizing my dream about attending culinary school.

I'd like to think of myself as an amateur food anthropologist. I have much to learn, however, and thus my plan to become a chef. I am not a foodie, nor am I an expert in anything. What I am is an ethnographer who enjoys learning about food, its history and context, and who wants to become a chef. In this blog, I plan to chronicle my experience living in Paris and studying at Le Cordon Bleu as well as talk about the food of my travels. Trinidadian cuisine, for example, is fascinating to me, so look for entries about it during the next few weeks before I head off to Paris.

Here we go...