Returning to beloved culinary destinations
Traversing the globe with a culinary focus is more complicated than before, so how should a food lover proceed?
There have been moments over the years. They haunt my memory, welding place and food – an unbreakable bond. It’s how my mind works. I cannot, for example, think of steamy, vast, hectic Ho Chi Minh City without recalling one ridiculous night my brother and a few of his expat mates, all living in old Saigon and working in the ad industry, took me to an outdoor barbecue where, I was assured, the most memorable goat would be served. The build-up was considerable. Inevitably, of course, by the time we left a session that involved way too much locally brewed Heineken with ice and made our way to the famous goat joint – little more than a dirt car park with a fire – all that was left to eat was chargrilled goat udder. You read correctly. And cooked over fire or not, udder is, without a doubt, the singularly most dreadful thing I have ever tried to eat in my life.
Fortunately, the great thing about memory is that it comes pre-programmed to a Glass Half Full default. It’s the wonderful stuff that comes flooding back easily; the disappointments filter off to a folder we call “Never Mind”. But as someone who appreciates adventure, and at the same time has been fortunate enough to forge some great memories abroad over the past 40 years of getting away whenever the opportunity, or budget, presented itself, I am on the Hemingway-esque Death in the Afternoon horns (hola, Spain, I’d love to be there right now) of a dilemma. And it’s a dilemma my partner in crime shares acutely.
On one side of the ledger is a dream to experience places we’ve never known. To eat real mole verde in Puebla; proper asado in Buenos Aires; haggis in Glasgow (that’s a singular desire, by the way); a never-ending kaiseki dinner in Osaka at a restaurant that seats six. The flip side is retracing our tracks, going back for more. Heading to the places we know we want more of. And that involves eating and drinking as the activities around which everything else must pivot. I’m thinking, while we’re still in Vietnam, of the remarkable pho I had when my brother’s Vietnamese housekeeper took me to an obscure old market in Ho Chi Minh City. It was a simple market cafe, tourists non-existent, and the fragrant, powerful noodle soup laced with stunning fresh herbs and raw beef remains the standard by which all others will inevitably be judged. Or was it just the setting? Or then there’s the place in the city specialising in the food of Hue I went back to three times, all on the back of a motorbike taxi.
And an incendiary som tum made with fermented baby rice-paddy crabs bought from a street vendor near Chiang Rai in Thailand can’t be forgotten, and not simply for its scud factor. Between jobs, wives – lives, really – it’s the most powerful food memory of a two-month stint travelling Thailand “to find myself” that preceded many subsequent visits. I’m not trying to romanticise the moment. I’ve had some amazing food in Thailand over perhaps eight visits through the years – I mean how can you not? – from the gutter to five-star restaurants. Some even home-cooked when we bought prawns from a fishing boat and its crew of swarthy old salts in the Straits of Malacca during a bareboat charter one year. But the som tum is my enduring, single-most meaningful food moment in that crazy country. But I wonder: will it be there if I go back?
I confess to a little paranoia about the speed with which the world is changing and the staying power of those quintessential moments when food and culture collide. In short, I wonder if I’ll get to see the cliches I long for again. And not only because progress may thwart me; there can be no doubt the events of the past two years will change forever how we travel and how we interact. I mean, triple, quadruple boosted, whatever, how would you feel about strolling Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar now or ever again? With all those people? And yet I know that somewhere within that confounding, endlessly entertaining labyrinth is a little place where, for about eight dollars, you can sit down to an amazing charcoal-grilled Adana kebab, salad, flatbread and a glass of ayran, the chilled yoghurt drink you will never forget, regardless of price. And that, on the south coast of that same, marvellous country, outside Fethiye, is a little open-air market where a woman will stretch dough across a big round timber paddle, fill it with spinach and crumbly, snow-white sheep’s-milk cheese, then cook it on a dry, flat-top grill and that, for about $25, 10 people can have the best gozleme of their lives for lunch. With water.
So, put up your hand if you haven’t played the “Where would you go tomorrow if you could travel anywhere?” game over the past two years. Well, Italy, obviously. For the pizza at Starita in Naples (a cliche, but a justified one), followed by the endless passeggiata up and down the Via Toledo at dusk with a digestivo at Gran Caffè Gambrinus. Or the truffled tagliatelle at Matricianella, in Rome’s Via del Leone, where you will find charm, style, tradition and one of the best pasta dishes – ever. Or the pizza al taglio standing in the street outside Il Forno Roscioli at lunch. Ah, Roma. Even the bad meals are okay. How, then, to prioritise the gelato at Profumo di Rosa in Genoa, truly the best I’ve ever eaten north or south, or the mind-bending spaghetti with riccio di mare (sea urchin) on a veranda overlooking the Mediterranean outside Catania, Sicily? Or there’s the wood-roasted goose leg at Parma Rotta, a meal made doubly entertaining by a bottle of Barolo and a waiter who insisted the pork hock he’d delivered was goose, resulting in lots of “no parlare” farmyard role-playing and considerable mirth among fellow diners. I eventually got my goose.
And then I think... No, Spain, surely. Foie gras raciones and chilled albariño standing shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow revellers at Quimet & Quimet in Barcelona. Razor clams at one of the fabulous eating bars inside the La Boqueria. Quail eggs with morcilla on baguette at Txuleta – along with a stream of txakoli, the wonderful light Basque white wine – on a whirlwind three-hour guided food tour of Donostia-San Sebastián that unlocked the joy of the place in a way a previous visit had failed to do. The reserved charm of Valencia and paella as I have never known it before, or since.
“I confess to a little paranoia about the speed with which the world is changing and the staying power of those quintessential moments when food and culture collide.”
But then I hear a faint voice say, “We were so happy in Portugal, weren’t we? Both times.” And, indeed, I do not want to shuffle off before strolling the streets of old Porto one more time, finishing with a bowl of tomato rice at Caldeireiros, a delightful little place with excellent food, the staff of which were so unbelievably accommodating of my projectile vomiting on the way to the bathroom, a result of food poisoning at lunch. There must be a day of walking the streets, riding the trams and lapping up the beauty and style of old Lisbon again, before finishing with the greatest celebration of carnivorous lust known to man (or woman) at Sala de Corte, where the main course should be the best steak in the world: aged beef on the bone cooked in front of you in a coal-burning oven. What a restaurant. What a city. What food.
From there it’s just a quick flight to find a goat tagine in your Fez riad that will spoil you for the rest of your couscous-eating days. I really think I could handle another few weeks in Morocco. I still want to go to France again and find the ultimate cassoulet in Castelnaudary, tripes à la mode de Caen and real bouillabaisse (my last fish soup in Marseilles was an expensive, epic fail). These are mountains I need to climb – I feel like I’ve left base-camp too many times without ever having reached the summit.
I suspect extraordinary adventure and amazing food needs to be experienced in many corners of India. And Sri Lanka. I’m disappointed with myself for probably having left it too late to eat my way through Lebanon. I know most of South America would be thrilling to see and eat.
And I’m prepared to live with the reality that Africa, China, Russia and central Asia are almost certainly bridges too far. For me, anyway. But if you’re in Manhattan, I know this amazing Jewish deli...
Global locals
Flower Drum, Melbourne: It’s moody, the tables are kilometres apart, the decor a classic facsimile of Old School Hong Kong, and the waiters legendary for their manner and formality. And then there’s the Cantonese food that probably surpasses the best of Hong Kong, particularly the seafood. Flower Drum is an outstanding Hong Kong restaurant. In Melbourne.
Di Stasio Città, Melbourne: The crisp staff uniforms, the singsong accents, the heady cocktails served silver-plate, the wine, the food... the attitude. Città is a big-city, design-led occasion that reeks of contemporary Milan, or Rome. A true salute from one great city’s Italian diaspora to the mother country that says “we get it”.
Stanbuli, Newtown: There’s a vibrant, modern side to Istanbul dining, particularly in the Beyoğlu district where traditions are honoured but contemporary thinking prevails, and Stanbuli reminds me of that. Youthful, energetic, wine-centric, relaxed yet distinctly Turkish in flavour and culture. In short, marvellous.
Hellenika, Fortitude Valley: Greek-Australian restaurateur Simon Gloftis has the Midas touch and his smart Brisbane dining room at The Calile Hotel showcases no-nonsense classic Greek flavours made with top-notch Australian produce, particularly fish. It sings pride. It’s urbane and very Mykonos.
Parwana, Adelaide: I can only imagine what a family-run restaurant in Kabul, with exceptional food values, is like. Or I can go to Parwana. The food is famed, all over Australia, for good reason: there’s an authenticity to every delicious plate here (the book of the restaurant is outstanding). And the feeling that every staff member is part of the Ayubi family is real.
This article appeared in issue six of Travel + Luxury magazine. Explore the full edition here.