the confined nomad

Dodging sniper fire all the way down the tarmac Hillary style…or were those just rain drops on 31st St. in Astoria? Whatever. One by one, we made our way to Pasha (28-27 31st St., Queens), the first stop on our mini tour of Bosnian cuisine in Astoria.   While the restaurant itself is fairly nondescript, with little if anything to identify it as Bosnian, the same cannot be said of the service. The Nomad and I arrived at nearly the same time, and we were greeted warmly by our hostess/server, who more than lived up to the Bosnian people’s renowned hospitality.  She was genuinely friendly though not overbearing, and always made sure we were well informed on our menu choices. read more »

Finally, we had identified the site of our quarry: the nondescriptly labeled International Restaurant (44-10 48th Ave, Woodside, Queens 11377), known to insiders as “Mi Bolivia.” We descended upon the restaurant in the manner of foreign investors interested in Bolivia’s lithium stores, with a bottomless capitalist hunger and a neocolonial sense of condescension toward the strangely lit décor.

We had the good fortune of encountering an empty restaurant, ensuring the complete attention of our gracious hostess/waitress who escorted us to a table next to an unattended bar and under a television playing videos primarily comprised of Bolivian pop stars performing in large arenas, with occasional dance interludes featuring children in typical Bolivian funny hats (chullos). You may notice in the accompanying visuals the eerie neon green lighting, which, though it initially only cast our dinner in an unappetizing pallor, eventually resulted in our seeing red upon departure from the restaurant. Despite the humble surroundings (or perhaps because of them?) our anticipation was unwavering. read more »

Apologies for the delay in posts recently.  I’ve been away for the past three weeks, enjoying fufu and groundnut soup in Ghana.  The others kindly refrained from continuing on the alphabetical journey during my absence, so we’ll be picking back up again shortly.  We’re also waiting for a write up of our Bolivian adventure from a guest blogger, so be on the look out for that very soon.

To keep your mouths watering, here’s a picture of some okra soup and banku that I thoroughly enjoyed in the city of Ho, in the eastern Volta region of Ghana, close to the Togo border.

My fascination with Bhutan probably began about 5 years ago, while backpacking in the Indian Himalayas. I read or heard something about the fabled ganja trees of Bhutan, which apparently grew wild everywhere. Later I learned that the king of the ancient land-locked Himalayan nation doesn’t gauge the country’s prosperity by GDP like the rest of the word, but instead uses a measurement of Gross National Happiness (GNH).  Other interesting things that piqued my interest: that its natural environment and culture are very well-protected, that it is difficult to be allowed entry as a foreign tourist, and that it had a long-time ban on television (the national broadcasting service didn’t begin until 1999).  And most recently, I found out that the editor of Gourmet magazine once declared that Bhutan was known to have the “world’s worst cuisine.”  Intriguing indeed.

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A birdhouse in East Harlem

We had nearly given up on Benin and started making plans to try to grill up some bush rat at home so we could move on to Bhutan.  I had sent e-mails to Benin Diaspora USA, an organization based in Harlem, the Nomad had called up the Benin permanent mission to the U.N. several times and I had stopped by to no avail.  Admittedly, we are heathens, and we made a lot these efforts on Good Friday, not thinking that since Benin is over 40% Christian, that probably wasn’t the best time.

The following week when I had some down time at work, I decided to make a last-ditch effort to contact someone at the mission.  The man who answered the phone could not have been more helpful.  He told me that there weren’t any restaurants that he knew of, but he had a phone number for the person who usually caters their functions.  He recommended that I ask for ablo, a typical West African starch usually made from corn and yeast.  In my excitement, I effusively thanked him and hung up without asking for any other pertinent information that might have been useful, like recommendations of other typical Beninese dishes or the name of the person I was going to call for example. read more »

I’ve heard that in some parts of the nation and around the world New Yorkers have a reputation for brusque behavior and cockiness.  Based on all sorts of outdated, exaggerated or misinformed sources– cop movies, news reports from the 1970’s and 80’s, hip-hop lyrics, stories about a friend of a friend who got mugged once in Central Park — some people tend to think that the city is full of unpleasant people, and dangerous.  We can attest that unsolicited acts of unbelievable kindness are far more common than the rare rotten deed that is more likely to be publicized and held out as exemplifying the tough streets of the city.

After the article about our food adventure appeared in the NY Daily News, we were approached with generous offers of homecooked Belizean meals from more than one reader.  We took up the offer of Chaka Lakhram, and had the incredible experience of eating food from the 18th country on our list at her home. read more »

None of us gets too excited for the European countries.  They tend to be the easiest to find, we usually have a good idea of what to expect, and worse, they tend to be in Manhattan, and unattached to any real community.  For the most part, we’re creatures of the outer boroughs.  That’s where we want to take our family and friends when they visit, it’s where we live, and where, in my mind at least, both the city’s continuity and constant renewal are most evident.

Still, despite everything it had going against it, Belgium ended up being the perfect antidote for a body weary of winter and yearning for spring.

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New York plans to raise taxes on people making more than $250,000.  Bernie Madoff’s Mets tickets are going to be auctioned by the trustee of his securities firm.  Vice President Joe Biden’s daughter videotaped snorting coke.  Exhortations against corrupt politicians in Albany.  Brooklyn trio sampling food from 192 nations without leaving the city.

The clock started ticking on our 15 minutes yesterday as we were interviewed and photographed by the New York Daily News for a story that ended up on page 3 of their Sunday paper.  We’re right next to Cameron Diaz and only seven pages away from the Queen of England. read more »

One of our favorite places in the city is Brighton Beach.  In the summertime, sitting at one of the cafes on the boardwalk, sipping on a liter of draft Baltika, watching a table of sharp-dressed Russian men drinking bucket loads of vodka, trying to decide if they are Russian mafia or not, is one of my favorite NYC pastimes.  So I was quite excited to learn that we’d be traveling to the area to get food from Belarus.

Outside of Neptune Ave station, almost at the end of the F line, is a bright and colorful 24 hour deli called Belarus II (495-497 Neptune Avenue, Brooklyn).  We had read about this place in the Hungry Cabbie’s column in Gothamist, and all we knew was that they had pickled apples. Sounded good enough for a mid-winter trip to the beach.

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I guess it had to happen at some point.  We’d hit our fifteenth country and managed to clean our plates every time.  What events conspired to lead me to toss my overstuffed foil container of Bajan leftovers into the trash before I even entered my apartment?  Read on, friend. I’ll explain.

A fifteen-minute bus ride from Kensington left the Nomad crew at the corner of Flatbush Ave. and Empire Blvd. on the east side of Prospect Park, still a good fifteen-minute walk from either of the restaurants the Nomad had scouted.  Anyone looking for a leisurely Saturday afternoon stroll could do a lot better than Empire Blvd. between Flatbush and Nostrand.  Although the desolate trudge past warehouse after garage after warehouse was hardly transporting me to anything approaching my heavily stereotyped image of Barbados, it was doing wonders for my appetite, and I arrived at Culpepper’s (1082 Nostrand Ave, Brooklyn 718- 940-4122) raring for a feast.

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