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Food And Place

Discussion about this topic can be found at DiscussFoodAndPlace.


[Feathers of Hope (Pica)]The Inquisition lurks around the tables in taverns, watching, watching.


[Fragments from Floyd] I'm letting family take over this biweekly. For some reason, Food and Place conjured memories of hearing this tale over the telephone. Our son survived for eleven weeks, mostly on Ramen noodles and peanut butter. So, when actual food appeared that probably saved his stupid life, it seemed like "Trail Magic" and an answer to parental prayers. Our son, Nathan, comes in on the middle of his long, long story from his book, How Many Roads. Hope you enjoy it.


[Hoarded Ordinaries] On Friday I made a pot of spinach-lentil soup. It’s easy, one of the first recipes I ever attempted. Just bring some green lentils to a boil then leave them to simmer while you prepare the other ingredients: chopped onions sautéed with garlic in olive oil, diced potatoes with spinach, coriander, and lemon juice. Being lazy, I use frozen spinach, which I leave to thaw in a red bowl on the counter until the lentils are soft. The trick to making spinach-lentil soup is to take your time: not only do the lentils need to simmer, but the potatoes need to reach just the right mushy, stewed-with-flavor consistency. It’s easy, but it can’t be rushed.


[London and the North] When I emigrated to Yorkshire six years ago, after a million years in London, one of the first things I noticed was the change in cuisine. We tried to adapt and experiment - some of which paid off and some of which did not.


[Switched At Birth] "Deceptively simple." I think I finally know what that phrase means. Writing about Food and Place should be a piece of cake for me. I write about food all the time over at [Mary Beth's Kitchen].

But as I focused on the minute details of food and place in my own life experiences, the more global my thoughts became, wondering how fellow bloggers in China, Australia, Virginia, Boston, South Carolina, Texas, Tennessee, Canada, Wales, Iraq and elsewhere nourish and nurture their physical bodies and spiritual selves, and under what conditions. . .


[Brain Crayons] I truly can't remember the first time I visited the restaurant known as Jacala's. One thing I do remember is that Jacala's has always meant three things for me ... (1) San Antonio, Texas (2) Family, and (3) Excellent Mexican food. Before there even was a me, my extended family would meet at this neighborhood Mexican restaurant. Birthday? Christening? Graduation? Engagement? Any of these, and other family occasions, would find us all huddled together at Jacala's. We were likely to run into Willie Nelson, or John Wayne, or a host of other known faces there. Many of our photos were taken in this place, and in fact, the ONLY photo in existence with all my siblings and both parents was taken in this restaurant.


[Feathers of Hope (Numenius)] Food capitals of the world.


[Noplace]: Sometimes, as the restaurant critics will tell you, the place is more important than the food. And sometimes, it's not even the place.


[Older and Growing] I’m probably missing out on something, but I’ve never been one to see food as an art-form. Although sharing a meal together can be a happy social event, an excuse, should we need one, to spend time with friends, I can never regard the food itself as much more than fuel for the body. That may be why food adds to the pleasure of camping and climbing trips. I’m not bothered by the simple nature of the diet or the basic preparation facilities; quite the reverse – I delight in the simplicity of nutritious, satisfying meals prepared over a single-burner backpacking stove.


[CassandraPages] Since I read the name of the current topic, the memory of one meal has kept pushing itself forward, like a special dish insistently proffered by a Middle Eastern hostess...


[First-n-Main] Food is at the essence of place, at least for me. And not just any food but bread. I think about a favorite bakery in North Beach, San Francisco or the Cuban bakery in Miami that sells the most wonderful guava pastries. But it goes much deeper than that. The one memory I carry from my childhood in the Philippines (we moved away when I was three) is of waking up in the darkness and smelling the fresh bread baking down the street. I'm not a good enough writer to describe the aroma or the sense of warmth one can get from it, though I can almost smell it now as I sit here. Today, whenever I pass a bakery in the morning, I'm sometimes overcome with a sense of longing for a place that I never really knew.


[under the fire star] Tiffin in Madurai: ... I discovered a little hole-in-the-wall... A blackboard was propped outside the door, with the day’s offerings chalked in Tamil. Just inside the door a man stood behind a small counter with a small compartmented cash box, which he would padlock at the end of the day. There were a few dinky tables. There was a door leading to a tiny kitchen, from which emerged conversation and clattering. The walls were grimy with smoke; or perhaps it was just grime. A man with a big belly, wearing a dhoti tucked up to knee level, would saunter around to ask what you wanted. In a very short time he would bang down a metal plate with your food on it; and afterwards, a smaller plate with a paper chit, with the amount due written by hand...


[Laughing~Knees] In this fast-tracked modern world, where the goods that hold up our daily lives magically appear, cut up, cleaned, wrapped, and ready to eat, more and more it seems as if we've lost touch with how and where it all comes from...
[unganisha.org] It’s my last evening, and I am in one of Bahir Dar’s less illustrious bars. You knew that when the table looked like it had been hacked into shape with a panga [machete], and rusted milk powder tins substituted for ashtrays. The ashtray on my table has a couple of yellowed molars among the cinders. Healthy blokes these – not a cavity in them, they didn’t fall off because of bad dental hygiene....


[alembic] I live in gastronomic paradise. Here in Northern California, in a temperate climate that fuses the best of your dreams of Mediterranean living – sans the dust and clutter of history – whatever yen your taste buds decide to bring on can be satisfied almost instantly.


[The Middlewesterner] Fairwater Lions Club Valentine Brunch is one of the rituals of this little community. Some years ago, after we'd attended the brunch (as we did again this morning), I made a journal entry about the experience. What I wrote then could pass almost word for word for our experience today...


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