Things we ate at the 2011 Cambridge Carnival

Saturday was the Cambridge Carnival, an annual celebration with live music, a parade down Main Street, and Caribbean food.

Which of the three did we care about most? Hmmm ...

The food booths were in Kendall Square, so that's where we started. First, the booth for La Auténtica, which we assumed was a local restaurant, though I can find no trace of it in the Internets; not a review, not a location, nada.

I'm pretty sure we didn't make up the just-enough-filling, not-too-fried, hand-sized empanadas:



Or the amarillo with a mainline of cheese:



Or the golf-ball relleno de papa, where the fried sphere of mashed potato had a core of chorizo:



And we certainly didn't make up that those three items cost $15. Fifteen! Bucks!

Mind you, they were pretty filling. We couldn't manage anything else right then, so we headed down to the Central Square end of Main. And just as we were about to turn back, we realized the parade was starting right in front of us.











Yes, for some reason, that is Predator. In a thong.

And then we started back toward the food.

Every summer, we try to get to at least one of the handful of local multicultural festivals, with the basic aim of finding two items: the empanada (or Jamaican beef patty) and the fishcake. We'd already checked the first one off the list, and we'd seen a likely candidate for the other.

Aha — fishcake!



However, there were three problems:

1) There was much more cake than fish, and the batter was thick and heavy;

2) The cakes had been fried some hours back and then stored in an aluminum tray covered in foil, where the steam made them even more stodgy and dense;

3) There was a special secret inside, in the shape of fiendishly spicy peppers. My still-baby tastebuds did not do well with this; The Boy (who is no wimp) bit into a generous slice of pepper and had to spit it gracefully into a napkin.

Our tongues ablaze, we headed for the best antidote: a mozzarella-stuffed arepa, bursting with sweet corn flavor. It put out the fire and served as a reasonable solution to dessert.



That evening, the air carried a definite hint of fall. If summer is really over, at least it went out on a lively note.

Felicidades Fina and goodnight Irene

I had planned to spend today writing about Restaurant Week, and the fifth consecutive visit that Lovely Co-Worker Sarah and I had planned for lunch at L'Espalier.

And then Irene happened. (To rub it in, she's hurling herself against our windows right now.)

See, last weekend we went down to Puerto Rico to celebrate The Boy's grandmother's hundredth (!) birthday. The plan was to fly in on Saturday, help set up the function room, have a blast on Sunday, and fly back Monday.

The first part of the plan went very well.









The birthday girl:



Despite the fact that we knew a hurricane was coming, we were pretty confident that we'd make it out. But then Irene descended, knocking out power to most of the island (including the airport). On Monday morning, our flight was canceled.

The Boy made a call to JetBlue. The next available flight was ... Thursday.

Now, it could have been worse. There were 90,000 people without drinking water; roads were flooded, trees were down, traffic lights were out. Our only problems were not having clean clothes for a couple of days and having to use up the little vacation time accrued since I finished treatment and went back to work.

With the power out (except for the single line from the neighbor's back-up generator to run the fridge and charge our phones) and a forecast of torrential thunderstorms for the next few days, we settled into a routine of Trivial Pursuit and eating.

Luckily, the power was on at some good restaurants.

Metropol (beware! Website is Flash and has music!) supplied us with avocado salad ('tis the season), ham croquetas, and a fabulous Ropa Vieja:







At Zayas in Hato Rey, there was a very tender empanada de pollo with rice and beans. Oh, and avocado.



At La Parrillada Argentina there was a rich, dark morcilla, served with olive oil-whipped mashed potato:



But it wasn't all meat and fried. On Wednesday, once the worst of the rain had passed, we went to the Plaza del Mercado in Rio Piedras to pick up veggies for lunch.



Oh, and avocado.



The Boy's mom put together a beautiful salt-cod salad:



with a variety of local root veggies.

(Before)





(After)





So while our stay was longer than we had anticipated, it was great. We got to spend extra days with the family; we had some peaceful down-time; and — as is always the case in Puerto Rico — we ate very, very well.



So as long as you don't do too much damage up here, Irene, we'll say nothing more about it. Except perhaps goodnight.

Friends who have food

When a friend of mine was going through cancer treatment, he told me, "When you have cancer, you really learn who your friends are ... who have pot." Apparently his diagnosis prompted various acquaintances to suddenly offer him herbal remedies.

In my case, my friends know my body is a temple (this is always funnier when said while holding a martini) so instead of offering drugs, they tend to my needs with food.

Here are a few of the lovely things that have arrived in the past couple of months:

From Eric and Nicki, an insane amount of homemade ice cream and frozen yogurt. Best flavors are the roasted banana, the anise, and the coffee. But frankly they're all delicious, as is evident by the fact that I ate most of them before I remembered to take a photo.



From Mary D., a deeply decadent Nutella-chocolate torte, topped with — get this — white-chocolate-dipped hazelnuts. Oh yeah.



(Also Italian custard, rice pudding, and a vanilla pound cake of extreme awesomeness):



From Amy, some fabulous truffles with a nice crisp chocolate coating and a buttery interior:



From Mike, a thick Middle Eastern yogurt drizzled with olive oil and a fresh, bright baba ganoush:



From Robbin, a selection of goodies from the Chefs Cooking for Hope fundraiser, including addictive candied lemon slices:



and this:



Maple. Bacon. Cotton. Candy. Smoky and sweet as it melts on the tongue.

From my cousin Deborah, a Harry & David hamper — Moose Munch FTW!



From my dear mother-in-law, Puerto Rican comfort foods and some colorful candy:



And then there were all the lovely non-food gifts I've had: books and hats and flowers and toys and jewelry, not to mention the much-needed emotional support in the shape of emails, cards and phone calls, or the visits from friends that lift my spirits and make me feel normal.

I said it before about The Boy and I'll say it again about my amazing friends and family: I am a very, very lucky girl.

Guavate: Pig heaven in Puerto Rico

I've been eating more than I've been writing, so it's time to catch up!

A couple of weeks ago, we were in Puerto Rico for The Boy's cousin's wedding. Most of our short stay was taken up with the event itself (the reception for which involved three live bands and lasted way past my bedtime).

But The Boy has evidently inherited his parents' love of good food, and they were happy to make a side trip to Guavate, a small mountain town famous for one thing: pork.

Specifically lechón, whole pig roasted on a spit.



The road through Guavate is essentially one lechonera after another. All follow pretty much the same design: open-air restaurants with a small bar and picnic-table seating, offering not just spit-roasted pork but also every possible variation on the magical animal: smoked,



fried with onions,

and turned into various types of sausage. The morcilla was amazing.



The star, of course, was the lechón: fatty and juicy and sweet, and served with its crisp, salty skin.



We got a little of everything, plus pavechón (turkey roasted in the lechón style); rice with pigeon peas; rice with longaniza (another sausage); a dark, almost malty pastel (filled with pork, natch):



Also batata (a root vegetable, boiled); mangú (mashed plantains with olive oil and onions, aka fufu); and cuajo (pig stomach in tomato sauce).

I think that about covers it.



There was more than enough for four people, and plenty of leftovers to take with. Total cost, including drinks: $50.

And bonus points for the mural depicting happy pigs awaiting their delicious end.

Twelve years of adventure with The Boy

Tomorrow, The Boy and I celebrate 12 years of married-ness. We're marking the occasion in the usual way: with extensive consumption of lovely things.

Today we went to the new Davis Square location of The Boston Shaker and picked up bitters: Peychaud's and Scrappy's Cardamom. The latter is now dancing a very pleasing three-way tango with 10 Cane rum and Canton ginger liqueur.

And it's making me think about the ways in which The Boy has changed, challenged and advanced my appreciation of food.

I grew up in a small industrial town in the north-east of England. There was one sit-down restaurant (Chinese); everything else was take-out. And back in the 70s and 80s, the most exotic food we saw was the annual arrival of strawberries and melons.

There were not many opportunities for culinary adventure, and as a result, I didn't really feel the need to explore beyond the known.

But since I've been sitting at tables with The Boy, I've discovered many wonderful things.

Sushi
On one of our early dates, and possibly as a test, The Boy took me to a sushi place near Harvard Square. He warmed me up with tamagoyaki, and just as I was getting comfortable, he introduced the ikura.

Eww eww ewww! Asploding seawater! Do not want!

But he was patient, and persuasive, and now I love eel and mackerel. I'll even go sea urchin if it's not too kitchen-sponge-left-in-a-tidal-pool-for-three-days-ish.

Octopus
Again, not the best first impression: he'd decided to make arroz con calamares, a dish of rice and squid cooked in ink, the whole thing black and salty.

I was particularly unnerved by the very evident and recognizable strips of tentacle because, as I told him, "I didn't know where they'd been." I had visions of cephalopods scratching their butts (or their heads; I'm not sure they're not the same thing) and then ending up on my plate.

And then, while visiting his family, he ordered us an octopus ceviche at the bar at El Convento, and suddenly I didn't care where they'd been sticking their digits.

Lechon
Okay, this is not as much of a stretch; the English are known for their adoration of all things porkular. But had I not met The Boy, I would most likely never have had the opportunity to travel to a town in the mountains of Puerto Rico to eat the most heavenly spit-roasted pig.

Likewise, I'd never have tasted carne mechada:



or mofongo:



And without his encouragement, and his excitement for new discoveries, I most definitely would never have found myself enthusiastically deciding that I wanted to eat a pig's head.

So thank you, sweetie, for 12 years of eating better, and more adventurously, than I could have dreamed possible. Here's to the next dozen.

Things we ate in Puerto Rico

Of the many good things about Puerto Rico, one of the best is the food. I don't believe I've ever had a meal I didn't love. And okay, that's partly because they recognize the innate perfection of salt and pork fat, but generally it's easy to find food that's simple, carefully made and delicious.

Some kind of meat, from the land or the sea, fried or braised or pressure-cooked, is always involved. There are beans (pink, mostly) cooked with cilantro and garlic and tomatoes and often a ham hock and calabaza squash.

There is rice, sometimes basic white,

sometimes yellow with pigeon peas,



sometimes rich with meat or seafood.



There are plantains, either yellow, ripe, fried, sweet and caramelized (amarillos), or green, fried, smooshed into flat disks and fried again (tostones).

If there is salad, it's generally iceberg with imported beefsteak tomatoes, finished with grated carrot or canned green beans or corn. Salad is not big.



This may give the impression that each dish is just a repetition of the previous one. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Our first meal: The Boy's mom's own carne mechada, a version of pot roast in which the beef is stuffed with a mixture of ham and olives and braised in a rich tomato sauce with potatoes and carrots.



The next day, we had arroz con gandules and pernil, the second-most perfect thing one can do with a pig:



thanks to Norma (hi, Norma!):



Other lunch experiences involved mofongo (garlicky smooshed plantains) stuffed with conch:



And mofongo stuffed with squid:



An amarillo boat stuffed with ground beef (which was $4.95 with rice and beans):



And an amarillo boat stuffed with fabulous ceviche:



Of course, as in every cuisine, there are some things that are not for the faint of heart. Sea snail salad is one example (this one was lovely, with tender snails in a light vinaigrette):

No meal is complete without avocado. And if the restaurant doesn't supply it? Bring your own!