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

Farewell, Trinidad

One last time, I sit in front of my view of the emerald hills of Cascade. Our little family is preparing to move to Panama, and the packing boxes that surround me foretell a change. We've said goodbye to friends, colleagues, our local fruit stand, Maracas Bay, bake 'n shark, soca, calypso, and the steel pan, and look ahead at a new adventure.


The best way I know how to say farewell to my island home is to pay tribute to one of its recipes, which has brought me so much pleasure. Corn soup. I told myself that before leaving Trinidad, I had to learn how to make this soup so that I could replicate it when the craving for it hits, which is usually on a melancholy and comfort-food seeking Sunday evening. Even though it won't be at the street food stalls of the Savannah, I will enjoy corn soup in my Panamanian home and think of the rhythms and Caribbean beats of my Trinbagonian home of three-and-a-half years.

Pimento peppers

Mayah, our lovely housekeeper, taught me how to make corn soup. She's of Indian decent, and it was interesting to speak with her about what she thought the origins of corn soup were. She said she thought that, like much Trinbagonian food, it was inspired by Indian food. A major ingredient in corn soup is dal, or yellow split peas, which are a staple Indian food. I've also had corn soup in Trinidad that contains pig tail, which shows that non-Hindu Trinidadians, like those of African decent, also created their variations of corn soup. See this previous blog entry about origins, and alterations, of Trinidadian food.

ingredients for corn soup

There are many variations of corn soup, and Trinidadian families make their version according to taste. This is Mayah's version.


Corn Soup


yellow split peas
salt
garlic
pumpkin
pimento peppers (mild chili peppers photographed above)
canned cream style corn
corn-on-the-cob (not sweet corn)


In a large pot, bring salted water to a boil. Rinse yellow split peas, and add them to the pot. Add  minced garlic and boil the peas until soft (at least 45 minutes). Cut pumpkin into cubes and add to the pot. Add minced pimento peppers and season to taste.

Once ingredients are soft, use a hand blender to puree them. This will create a soft texture without completely liquifying the soup. After blending, add canned cream style corn and pieces of corn-on-the-cob. 

Corn soup usually contains "dumplings" made of flour and water. This is not my favorite part of the dish because I don't believe it offers any added taste value nor is it very nutritious. 

maya's delicious corn soup

Trinidad offers plenty of comfort food options that we learned to know and love. Panamanian cuisine is much like the kinds of things we eat in Cartagena. For example, deep fried red snapper served with patacones (fried green plantains) and lulo juice (more on this to come) are a staple, and I know I can be very happy in a place like that.

Macaroons for Trinidad

Oh, joy of macaroon joys!


Who ever said that it's impossible to make macaroons in 90 degree, 90 percent humidity? Everyone.


Well, I took it upon myself to prove "everyone" wrong and make macaroons in Trinidad, whose climate is quite different from that of Paris, to say the least.


I returned to our island home on Sunday, eager to return to a life of normalcy after our Parisian adventure. Any other person with some kind of sanity would rest, take time to unpack, and enjoy their home. Not me. I felt the need to get right into the kitchen and start practicing what I've been learning for the past eight months. 


So, I decided to participate in Trinidad's UpMarket, a lovely food market that takes place once in a while where chefs, both professional and amateur, sell their goodies. This was just right for my homecoming project.


A sane person would have probably stayed safe and chosen to make cupcakes or banana bread. But not me (once again). I chose the pastry that is perhaps the most difficult to make. Even for experts who have been making them for a long time. Macaroons. French macaroons.


Macaroons are tricky little guys. They hate humidity and water, are totally susceptible to the weather, and if you mix your batter a little too much, or a little too little, they simply won't budge. They won't poof and make the little "feet" I told you about long ago in a previous entry about my first time making macaroons.


Needless to say, I was extremely nervous because many people have told me that they've tried to make macaroons in Trinidad, and other hot and humid climates, without success. Their batter doesn't rise, the pastry cream oozes uncontrollably, or they simply don't taste good because the ingredients don't work well together because the cosmic universe of the tropics decides to work against them.


Armed with valor and positivism, I turned on the A/C unit in my kitchen to 18 degrees, studied my recipes, laid out my equipment, measured out the ingredients (which I had to visit five places to find), pre-heated my oven, and crossed my fingers. 


I didn't find ground almonds in Port of Spain (anyone who knows where I can get some in this city, I'd appreciate the info), which is the key ingredient for macaroon batter. So, I've been using a coffee grinder to grind almonds. Not a fun task. I whipped my egg whites, folded the batter (this is the trickiest part), and into the oven they went. 


Macaroons and ovens. I won't go into detail, but let's just say it took me three hours to make forty macaroon halves (two halves, with a filling, make one macaroon). The oven dance, as I like to call it, requires opening and closing the oven to let the humidity out, turning the oven on and off at precisely the right times in order for the macaroons to poof, and pray to the cosmic universe of the tropics to help you out. Repeat this five times, and that's what I've been up to since Tuesday.


So, what you've been waiting to find out...they were a success! Lemon, raspberry, and chocolate ganache fillings are ready for tomorrow's sale, and I'm all set. Here's a sneak peek at the macaroons on sale tomorrow:

veronica's macaroons

raspberry macaroon

So if you're in Trinidad, stop by tomorrow at the UpMarket, where I'll be selling these little pieces of almond and meringue heaven.

House of Jaipur: A bit of India in Trinidad

A dear friend took me out for a goodbye lunch at one of my favorite places: House of Jaipur. Located in an unassuming street in Woodbrook (a residential/commercial area in Port of Spain), this tea house is an oasis from the bustling, trafficky, concrete hood in which it lives. 

As soon as you enter, you're transformed to India. The proprietor has impeccable taste and everything from the furniture to the cushion covers and picture frames are for sale. You can come here for a spot of tea and a sweets platter and also stay for lunch - a colorful, aromatic, delectable lunch.

We had samosas and dosas, accompanied by a lovely masala chai. 

The burnt reds and oranges and the glittery lamps shades and table cloths were beautiful. But the most fabulous part of the lunch was spending time with my friend. I'll miss her and this lovely Indian oasis in the Caribbean.

Doubles: The ultimate Trinidadian street food

I don't know how I've gone this long writing about Trinidadian food without telling you about doubles. They are by far the most popular comfort street food and are yet another example of how Indian cuisine has evolved into Trinidadian cuisine on this Caribbean island.

Doubles consist of two fried flat breads and filled with channa (chick peas) and other sauces, such as chutneys or pepper sauce. If you only want a little hot sauce, you ask for "slight pepa" = "a little pepper". People crave doubles in the morning, which is when you're more likely to see vendors on the streets.

The taste is not uncommonly delicious, and it is not the best food ever made. It does, however, taste like, well, like Trinidad. It offers a few bites of T&T pride. The vendor I bought my doubles from this morning proudly served me my food, asked me where I was from and if I had come for Carnival (which is next Monday and Tuesday). Speaking of Carnival, I can't believe I haven't told you more about it, and it's coming up so soon! This week, I promise to get you in a Carnivalesque mood and write to the rhythm of the soca beat.

Trinidadian public market

The best way to get to know a country is to visit its public food markets. This is where you see people up close and personal - what they wear, what they look like, how they speak, how they interact with each other and with you, and, of course, what they eat. It's where you figure out where the food you eat comes from and where you can get tried and true local recipes. 

My favorite fish vendor

What's left

The pristine super markets of today have distanced us from what food really looks like. Watermelon isn't actually diced cubes of fuchsia fruity flesh - it is actually a large, hard, green oval-shaped thing that you have to chop up in order to get to the fruity flesh - and remember seeds? In most countries they are still not a thing of the past. Chicken is actually not the perfectly clean piece of pink meat that we know as chicken breast - it is actually full of veins and bones, feathers, and feet that you have to clean and cut. How long has it been since you saw a chicken? I'm talking about the whole shebang - the complete chicken that you are about to eat? A while, I'm sure.

pig snout

My point is that public food markets remind us of what food really looks like. I enjoy taking my son there because I want him to know what real ingredients smell, feel, and taste like. Of course we also buy things from a box and inevitably eat processed foods, but I believe it's important to always return to the real stuff. The original food that we, as humans are meant to eat. I often wonder if cancer rates are going up because we're eating so many processed foods. I'm no expert, but I feel better eating the real stuff. Bones, veins, and all.

hot sauce and chutneys

So, this morning, armed with my Mexican market bag, we headed to the public market in downtown Port of Spain. Here, vendors set up tables and sell everything from pig feet, salt fish, cow liver, tongue, and intestines to plantains, okra, hot pepper, red snapper, shark, bread fruit, and lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my!


I love this place. People are always eager to tell you about their produce, especially when they proudly explain that they grew it themselves. Many others import produce since Trinidad imports most of the goods consumed in the country. 

Locally grown okra

My market bag full of goodies, we headed to my friend's house to cook the things we bought. Tomorrow's blog = Trinidadian home cooking.

Trinidad and Tobago street food entry #1

Trinidadian street food is a mix of Indian, Creole, and other yummy culinary traditions. This Saturday, my husband and I had a craving for the ultimate Trinidadian comfort food - Corn Soup. 


Corn Soup is sold in giant vats in makeshift tents by the side of the road, or, in this case, at the street food bazaar that magically appears Friday to Sunday evenings at the Queen's Park Savannah. Usually a massive, empty, grassy lot, this part of the Savannah transforms into a kind of tent city, where vendors park their mini vans, open the trunk, put up a tent, and set up shop to sell home made Trinidadian goodies. 

We made our way straight to the corn soup lady before she ran out of the good stuff. Corn soup reminds me of Colombian ajiaco. Both of these soups are heart-warming, guaranteed-to-make-you-smile broths in which corn plays a vital role. Corn soup has a few more spices with a bit of a kick, however, and is served with pieces of corn-on-the-cob and what they call "dumplings", which are small balls made of dough. The soup is made of dahl (red lentils), pumpkin (like the one I told you about last time), corn, and hot pepper. Delish.

Also available at the Savannah street food tent city (I baptized it like this - I don't actually know what its called) were cow heel soup, chicken wings, bbq pork, pig tail, fresh fruit juice, and something called souse. It can be made with different proteins, but the base is usually the same - a kind of pickled cucumber sauce with spices and who knows what else. This vendor was offering chicken feet souse, and to be honest, I couldn't bring myself to taste it. I have tried souse made with a part of a pig I couldn't even identify, and to be honest, it was not my favorite thing in the world. Actually, it was downright nasty. It was like a pork intestine ceviche gone awry. 

Having waved goodbye to the souse, and holding on to our beloved corn soup, we returned to our SUV, opened the trunk and joined the other street food tailgaters on that warm, Trinidadian Saturday afternoon. Children were running around and in the background you could hear the boom boom boom of the soca beat...Carnival time is here. Are you ready?

Pomeracs

Have you ever heard of these little guys? Well, they're beautiful and delicious little bits of tropical heaven. 


I was first introduced to them by our good friend who owns three still life paintings of pomeracs (also known as "malay apples") by Che Lovelace. I fell in love with the paintings and requested Che, one of Trinidad's foremost artists, a surfer, and a friend, to paint one for us. It turns out he had painted a fourth piece in the pomerac series in 2006. Check this out. Our gorgeous pomerac still life and Che Lovelace original which now hangs in our living room:

Che Lovelace pomeracs, 2006

As you can see, they look like little magenta pears. They're in season now, so I finally had the chance to taste them for myself. I picked some up by the side of the road today.  Devon (photographed below) sold me four little pomeracs. I took a bite, and loved it. Underneath the merlot-colored skin is a pearly-white flesh that tastes like tangy pear. I gave my 21-month-old son a taste, and he loved it and asked for more. 

I've not seen them anywhere other than Trinidad, but I've been told they also grow in Suriname. I've read that any food of purple/blue color (eggplants, blueberries, beets, and I'm guessing pomeracs), help reduce the risk of heart disease, reverse memory loss, and may prevent cancer. http://www.thedietchannel.com/Eating-A-Rainbow-Part-4-Health-Benefits-Of-Blue-Purple-Foods.htm


Pomeracs: refreshing, healthy, and simply adorable. Maybe they'll become the next pomegranates? I'm sure they're related.

*About the roti blog...it's coming soon.


Two links to Che Lovelace's work:
http://www.exhibitiona.com/pages/home.aspx

http://www.artnet.com/magazineus/features/finch/finch4-27-09.asp

Ode to Coconut Water

During my recent trip to the US, I discovered that coconut water is becoming available in many supermarkets. I heard people talk about its benefits, speaking as though they just discovered the stuff. It's becoming a chic thing to drink.


When I was little in Cartagena, my sister and I used to ask our grandparents' gardener to get us some coconuts from the palm trees above our heads. He would climb the trunk like, well, like a monkey. He would hug the palm tree with all fours and scatter up the trunk quickly and barefoot. I never saw him wearing shoes. He would use his giant, rusty machete to chip away at the top of the coconut and hand it to us. Once we drank the water, he chipped at the coconut a bit more, and we'd eat the fleshy inside lining. Yum.


After a quick internet search, I found that among its benefits, coconut water increases metabolism (yes, it helps you lose weight!), helps fight viruses, reduces the risk of cancer, promotes your immune system, improves circulation, and naturally re-hydrates your body after exercising, among many others. 


Trinidadians, like many other inhabitants of tropical climates, have been drinking, and selling, coconut water forever. It's typical for hosts to offer you coconut water when you go to their home for a visit. One of my favorite things to see along the Queen's Park Savannah, the largest park in Port of Spain, are coconut carriages. 

After a long walk around the savannah (the perimeter of which is 2.2 miles and makes up the largest traffic roundabout in the world), people stop at these carriages for a sip of coconut water.

Today I met a man who's been selling coconut water at the savannah for over 40 years. With a machete that looked a lot like the one my grandparents' gardener had, he chipped off the top, and I had a delicious drink. Perfect for the 87 degree afternoon.

I asked my new friend (I'll visit him again soon to ask his name) what he thought about the bottled coconut water you find at the grocery store these days. He told me that they have to add preservatives to the water because it goes bad quickly after it's taken out of the coconut. And besides, he said "It not da same! People keep comin'."

My local grocery stores carries 2-liter bottles of coconut water.

Not sure if you find coconut water as interesting as I do, but hopefully you appreciate its benefits. So go out and get yourself a rusty machete and chop up some coconuts...or go to Whole Foods and get yourself a tetra pack of the stuff.


Check out this link for more on the benefits of coconut water:

http://www.knowledgebase-script.com/demo/article-320.html

Next entry: My brother-in-law has asked me to investigate roti, a typical Trinidadian dish. Your wish is my command, dear brother. 

Trinidad

Let's talk a bit about Trinidad and Tobago, where my adventure begins.

I'm sure you can wikipedia T&T (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trinidad_and_tobago) as effectively as I can, but let me give you a little summary:

The two islands have a population of around 1.3 million and have an area of 1,980 sq miles. They are the southern-most of the Caribbean islands, and are very close to Venezuela. T&T was a Spanish colony and finally a British colony, so the national language is English. 

What fascinates me most about the country (which got its independence in 1962) is its fabulous mix of ethnic and cultural backgrounds. Indo-Trinidadians and Tobagonians are the largest ethnic group (40%), which are descendants of indentured laborers who came from India to replace freed African slaves. Many Indo-Trinidadians continue to practice Indian and Hindu cultural traditions. Divali, for example, is a national holiday.

Afro-Trinidadians and Tobagonians are the second largest ethnic group (37.5%). There are also descendants of European immigrants from Spain, Portugal, France, China, Syria, and Lebanon, among others.

The result of this fantastic melting pot of people is darn good food.

Typical street food includes roti, doubles, pilau rice, etc., etc., etc. More of this to come...

For now, I'll leave you with the view from our apartment. We often see rainbows hugging the emerald mountains that surround us. Not a bad spot to write a blog, eh?