For Lack of Tacos

Life Goes On...and On...and On

2011-05-20T08:15:00.001-04:00

Wow…I had such plans for blogging. And, I pretty much have been, but not here. We have a family blog and somehow right now that seems to be where my energies are. Life in the Foreign Service starts to seem so normal I wonder if there’s much to write about. Then, I see all the stuff that is definitely NOT normal…or that I never envisioned I would consider to be normal…and I think there’s just too much to write about.

I went through a phase this spring of feeling like my life was not in my hands. I’ve spent time abroad before, but never this long; and although I love it here, this was a phase of culture shock I had not anticipated. I realize now that it’s not just the living abroad, the feeling of being mildly left out of the decisions of my own life is Foreign Service Culture Shock. I worked as a social worker with immigrant children in the States and I remember drawing out the culture shock cycle on a piece of scratch paper for them. I would explain that the fact that they were young, couldn’t speak the language and, often, undocumented made their culture shock all the more complicated. I should have remembered this for myself….not that I’m any of those things, but you know what I mean. Culture shock is a guide – each individual, crazy life changes the cycle. In the end, it’s not much a cycle at all…more like your sh** just dumped randomly out of your suitcase.

Anyway, I needed time for reflection…and time to assess what was and was not within my power.

Work stress? Definitely within my power – it was time to reevaluate my priorities. I feel I did so successfully and things are much more under control.

Learning French? What the hell - I’ll learn it or I won’t, but I will give it my best shot – AFTER my huge work event ends in early June.

Firing the guy who does a really bad job of cleaning our pool? Well, here’s where I have a hard time with the pity party I throw for myself…because…well…we have a pool. But, you know what, if I can’t hang my own pictures on the wall or call whomever I want to fix my leaky faucet, then I am damn sure going to fire that guy and figure out the freakin’ pool by myself. So, through a bit of insanity…and, I won’t deny tears, I got the pool ungreen, learned how to prime the pump and test for and add chemicals. Seriously, I am almost as proud of this as I am of the fact that my kids are polite 80% of the time.

And, the list goes on. It was a crazy spring. I spent my week in the US feeling like I was in a total bubble. By the last few days I felt like the break from Santo Domingo had been good. By the time we got back I was ready to be home…this home – here.

And, now we are five months from D-Day. We have put up a calendar on the wall where we mark our plans – the beaches still left to visit and the normal every day things that must get done in the midst of it….that might include blogging here…it might not. I guess we’ll see.

The Final Quarter Begins...almost...but first some tacos

2011-04-13T22:50:00.002-04:00

It’s after 10:00 PM, I’m exhausted and yet I feel like I just cannot let another day pass without blogging. We have been so, so busy, it’s difficult to find even a few minutes to get things down. We’ve had the normal busy stuff – a visit from the in-laws, a three-year-old with a broken arm (with two boys and an accident prone husband, such injuries can be categorized as “normal” for us) and loads of work (I am organizing a national conference and my husband has just moved to his final rotation – American Citizens Services).

Plus, we’re now within days of officially entering our final 6 months. This has hit me in ways I hadn’t expected. For instances, if something is frustrating at work, it’s hard to focus – I see myself almost out the door. And, if I find myself in a meeting with the super amazing local professionals on my conference planning committee I think, “How can I leave this?” Then, I see the boys whizzing away with their amazing Spanish and I think about how they’re going to lose it in a sea of French and Malagasy. I imagine a few years from now saying, “When we left the DR they were fluent in Spanish.” We’re seeing new friends make their way here and “old” ones prepare to leave. Our closest friends from the 144th will be heading off to China and El Salvador – to me this seems like a guaranteed minimum two-year separation. That makes me sad. And then again, what a reunion we will all have for a few months in DC!

All this has left me feeling emotional and reflective and sometimes anxious and other times really impatient to get on with the show. On a daily basis I have found myself feeling alternately more in love with my island than ever and seriously frustrated. This weekend I finally just gave myself a good kick in the ass and decided to get over it. The goodbyes will suck. They will suck now and next year and the next and the next. But, they will get easier and I believe a million times over that it’s better to live an adventurous life with the crappy moments than a dull one of perfect ease. And nothing can change the incredible experiences we have had here – the ways in which we have grown, our boys have grown and the way a small decade-long dream has turned into a reality. We still pinch ourselves.

Of course, all this mushy happiness doesn’t change the fact that I am giddy with excitement of spending Semana Santa in Austin! In just a few short days we will be touching down. I am already eating every meal here knowing that these old beans and rice have nothing on my Austin food heaven. I have figured up that we will be spending approximately 187 hours in Austin over the next week. How much can I eat in that span of time? WHAT can I eat in that time frame?

Admittedly, we probably eat better here – more basic food, closer to the Earth. We have both slimmed down quite a bit. We eat out less. It’s good for us, BUT man do I get sick of it. Sometimes I look down at a plate of roasted chicken and white rice and I dream of a huge plate of Indian or Thai or Ethiopian or, of course, Tex-Mex. Sometimes I just want a dinner of chips and salsa and beer – GOOD chips and salsa and beer. It’s food for the soul and I’m eagerly awaiting the recharge.

I’m not really one to stuff myself, but I can fill every moment with my favorite food and drink with absolutely no problem. So, if you have ever wondered what one person could eat in Austin within 187 hours (‘cause I’m sure you have, right?), stay tuned. I’m gonna’ food diary our trip. ETA four days. Stay tuned.

Best Disguised FS Couch

2011-03-14T20:50:00.004-04:00

Well, I guess I’m in on the contest. Fantastic FS blogger Zoe, over at Something Edited This Way Comes, has initiated this contest to help us celebrate one of the most consistent aspects of FS life – ugly couches.

So – I’m in. But…don’t hate me…we don’t have to disguise our couch. It’s nice. Like, actually nice. I would buy it for my own home.

Some how, somewhere we ended up with this new edition of the FS couch. I have not seen it in any other home here (from the almost tippy-tippy top of the totem poll to the very, very newest of the most not-senior FSO).

Would you believe it’s the first thing people comment on when they come to our house for the first time? They ask us if we brought it from home. Or, they simply launch into, “How did you get that couch!?” I have seen many a manager (or manager’s spouse) swoon over our sofa/loveseat pair. It’s couch envy. To mark it as ours (at least until we leave) I have jazzed it up with that nice $5 Ikea blanket.

Níspero - Another Crazy Fruit

2011-03-13T22:04:00.005-04:00

That looks like a ball of dirt, right? Well, it is not. It is a delicious fruit called a níspero. Some of you might remember my efforts to fall in love with the decidedly ugly zapote …twice.

I really, really wanted to give the zapote a chance, but our love was just not meant to be. Fortunately, the DR is one of those places where wild, delicious, tropical fruit literally falls out of the sky, lands at our feet and says, “Go ahead, enjoy!”

That’s how I learned about the níspero. There is a níspero tree at my office. Every day one of my colleagues will try to collect up the fallen ones before they get squished by the vehicles coming in for the day. Then, at lunch, we cut them open and enjoy.

I really thought that these must be related to a zapote. Despite the difference in size and shape, they both have a light brown, sandpaper-like exterior. And the seeds are also very similar. The níspero has more seeds and, of course, they’re smaller, but they look a lot alike.

However, where the differ is the taste. Níspero taste like cinnamon and vanilla and almost just like an oatmeal cookie. I promise! The texture is a bit like a cross between a pear and a plum. They’re super sweet and almost remind me of a fig in their richness – like one of those fruits that makes you feel like you’re indulging in a delectable dessert.

A bit of wikipedia research reveals that they are indeed related to the zapote. And, they’re also common in India and other parts of Latin America. In other Spanish speaking countries there are also called Sapodilla. The scientific name is Manilkara zapote.

Of course, I have been getting my fill of níspero for free up until this point, but I was on a work-related trip on Friday and decided to stop at a roadside stand and pick up some to take home. I really had (and have) no idea how much they should cost. A banana is 5 pesos at a fruit stand – I figure that price is pretty constant and can serve as a my guide. When I asked the guy how much for the níspero he said 150 pesos per dozen. That seemed a bit high for me. Bargaining is the norm here so I counter-offered. I thought maybe 10 pesos would be more reasonable – the fruit are seasonal and rarer than bananas and the poor guy was the last stand after several and probably wasn’t going to get much business. “120 for a dozen,” I said. He agreed. I did my bargaining. I got my níspero. That all felt pretty good.

But, today I saw this article in the New York Times. For those of you who travel – or live – abroad, this has some good tips on how to bargain and still help the poor fruit seller, trinket hawker or odds-and-ends dealer when you’re in an economically struggling country. Although I try to keep these things in mind anyway and, of course, you can’t expect to ever do this perfectly (there’s always a grey area), it’s good to have someone else’s perspective and a bit of a reminder about where our dollars, pesos and rupees go. Next time I’ll pay the 150 and ask him to give me 15 of these tasty níspero.

Fuego!

2011-03-08T22:45:00.002-04:00

It has crossed my mind that one of the worst possible things here would be to need emergency services of some sort – police, fire department, ambulance. Sometimes as I sit in traffic bumper-to-bumper, door-to-door, three lanes easily turning into five and I hear an ambulance behind me and I think, “Good god I hope that person isn’t really in need of urgent care.” Of course, there is a fad here of buying car horns that makes a police, fire engine or ambulance sound – presumably to get people out of your way. Those people are marketing to the wrong country. Even if drivers want to move out of the way – it ain’t happenin’.

Unfortunately, I had first-hand experience with a high-speed ambulance transport about a year ago. Thank goodness for us it was 10:00 PM – the roads were practically empty.

Today, I got the first-hand introduction to the Santo Domingo bomberos (fire fighters). My boys’ school caught on fire. It was early – only a few children were there and they were quickly evacuated. Then, the teachers and parents and neighbors and rubber-neckers waited outside until the fire trucks arrived. As we were pulling up, the section of the school that was burning (a small gym on the side of the school) was down to the metal braces (I’m guessing it had been a good 20 minutes from spark to bonfire). About ten minutes later a fire truck finally inched its way through the traffic to check out the scene. Fortunately, the school maintenance man had bravely climbed up on the building with a garden hose to have a go at the flames, so it appears the bomberos* were mostly on check-out-the-scene duty. They opened some windows and sprayed some water…I think…I’m actually not sure about that part. It was a bit chaotic. Then another fire truck came.

This is where I just want to say – I love it here, but AGGGHHHH! It’s a SCHOOL! It’s on FIRE! DANGER! To top it off, I feel I am getting way too used to this type of thing. While I was deeply concerned by the delay in the fire fighters and despite my little thirteen word outburst above, I really felt very little true frustration. It was more like, “No way! This sucks! How sad. Oh well, no school today. Load up boys.” My husband is a little more freaked out. I get it. I mean, jeez, it is crazy.

Then, after I was moving on and heading to work, I (well, our car) got hit by a carro público driver (carro públicos are like tin cans pretending to be taxis that run like buses on fixed routes)! Did I freak out? Cry? Worry? No, not really, I got out, attempted to examine the damage. Watched in dismay as the carro driver jumped out of his car, hopped into traffic, ran up the block and then returned with my hubcap. He popped it back on and smiled. I said, (translated from the Spanish obviously) “Good for you it wasn’t worse than that.” He said “Yep.” I said, “Have a good one.” He said, “Same to you,” and then we were on our way. No harm. No foul.

I recognize on the one hand that this might be ideal Foreign Service adaptation behavior. When in Rome, right? Imagine if you got upset every time things like this happened in Pretoria, Dhaka, Kuala Lumpur or San Salvador? You’d be screwed. You would be one frustrated and exhausted human being.

But, I do fear that this sets me up for a life of expecting very little if/when we’re ever posted to the States. “Ms. H, your child broke his arm today. He’s waiting it out on the playground. We gave him a sucker. I’m sure he’s fine.” Or “I am sorry to inform you that you will no longer be receiving electricity. The State of Virginia has decided to ration such services. We’re at your service. Please feel free to call…Monday through Friday noon to three.” Or perhaps, “I’m so sorry, we don’t sell milk or bread anymore.” I imagine myself kind of shrugging and walking away, only to be told by my non-FS friends that this type of thing is actually not acceptable in the United States. Hmmmm, that must be what home leave is for. Re-adaptation. A chance to remember to have standards….any standards. Good. I’ll need it.

* No Dominican fire fighters are being blamed by me for the delayed response. They are paid a shameful $120 per month to attempt to respond to fires. I am sure they dream of quick and efficient rescues that elude them on a regular basis.

On the Horizon

2011-03-06T22:06:00.001-04:00

We are now, even with 6 ½ months left, in count down mode. I am resisting the urge to move into the tic-toc tic-toc, but it keeps being apparent in ways that I do not expect.

For instance, today the guy who cuts the grass for our complex asked us to loan him some money. He’s never asked before, he always does a good job and his mom is very sick in Haiti and needs surgery. Yes, perhaps I’m an idiot, but the money, although a large sum for him, is very little for us. Of course, in the end, maybe his mom isn’t sick in Haiti. Maybe he doesn’t even have a mother. I like to assume whatever the reason, it’s probably an actual need – whether he’s sick, his neighbor needs school fees for her child or his church’s roof caved in, all are worthy causes in my book. A loan is a loan – we’ve all asked for them at some point, right? Anyway, I calculated how many more times we would be paying him before we leave (15) and decided how much would be taken out each week to return the money. Only 15 more paydays! How is that even possible?

And, we have also decided to go to the States in a few weeks. We’ll probably go for 10 days or so in the summer too and then we’ll have a month of home leave when we finish our tour here. These big markers of time when we will be visiting friends and family make our remaining months here feel so divided into brief periods.

We keep saying we’re going to make a list of things to do here before we leave, but we haven’t gotten around to it. I’m not sure why. In some ways I think we’re defeatists. Presumably, we will both be working right up until our last days here – where in the world would be find time to do the things that are remaining? The reasons we haven’t done them thus far have to do with time and distance. I think we figure we will have lived it up here to the best of our ability. There is no doubt about that. And, time is not being wasted – we’re still trying to reach every corner possible – with or without a bucket list.

Our oldest child is perhaps our biggest reminder of what’s up ahead. Every couple of days or so he asks, “When are we going to Madagascar?” or “When will we get to Africa?” in the same sort of sing-songy, slightly whiny voice that’s usually left for long road trips. He loves it here, but like his parents, the next adventure is always a welcome horizon. We keep reminding him of the months we have left here – with his room, his friends, the beach. He hears us, but it doesn’t seem to sink in. As for Oakwood – I think he’s in denial. We’re trying to sell it on the snow (which we will surely have), the train and the Air and Space Museum. He remembers these things fondly, but when we explain it he says, “And then we’ll go to Madagascar!?”

The everyday reminders, the planning, the over-and-over again explanations – these are the things that make the clock tick. The craziest and yet most certain thing of all is knowing that when it’s time to board the plane – we will be so, so sad to go and so, so ready to leave.

Old friends and Roadside Stands

2011-02-22T21:37:00.017-04:00

This weekend I heard one of the best phrases ever – “This is the best vacation I’ve ever had!” It came from one of our dear friends who, after much secret scheming and plotting, I had arranged to fly down to surprise my husband for his birthday. He was only here for three and a half short days, but we managed to see some of the best nooks and crannies of this drop-dead gorgeous island in the span of that time. And, we found ourselves rediscovering some things from our early days here, while finding new bits and pieces we hadn’t previously encountered.

There was nothing about this escape to the Samaná Peninsula that I would have changed – we had beach and we had rain, we had walks and we had drives, we had tons of food and little roadside snacks, we had beer and we had chinola, and above all else we had lots and lots of laughter and love and fun.

I find that one of the best things about having visitors is that we see things through their eyes. In this vein, we really lived it up and tried to make every minute of his trip worthwhile. This was easy because this is a country where there is just so much to see and do if you keep your eyes open and say “yes”…or “si” to the opportunities.

Because we stayed at an eco-lodge this trip was filled more than most with a keen awareness of the foods we were eating and from where they came. Like these things:

The top photo is of pineapple (obviously) and the bottom photo is a pineapple field - that goes on and on. In all of the time we have been here and despite eating tons of piña, I had never actually seen a pineapple field - let alone tromped around in one...on the way to milk a cow. The sun was still fresh in the sky and my boys were so fascinated by the adventure. It took me back to my childhood in the country...only we didn't live on a farm and I didn't milk cows.

Our hostess pointed this plant out to us and explained that they often use it to color foods - like sauces for fish - and that the Taino (the natives of the island) were thought to have used it for painting and body art. I thought at the time, "Hm, that's interesting." But, when I did a little research I discovered that this little plant is none other than annatto - a very common natural food dye that I have seen on packages of all kinds of things.

My thought was that these are very, very tiny just-sprouting mangoes. The tree that hosted them looked like a mango tree to me and, despite their size, they seem to be mangoes. My boss, however, who is a bit of naturalist and has been here almost 20 years says she thinks they must be something else. My plan is to email the photo to our hostess at the eco-lodge and find out for sure. I kind of hope they are mangoes because they're just so cute....and because I want to trust that my ability to identify fruits and trees here is developing.

This is a fruit stand on the dirty, pot-holed road out to Rincon. That is the fruit stand owner - he gave us a wonderful presentation on the things below...

This first photo is of cacao fruit (the stuff chocolate comes from). Of course, I have known that cacao is produced here and through work have even had the opportunity to taste some yummy, yummy dark chocolate straight from the source. But, I never had any idea that that's what the fruit looked like. When they cut it open it has those white seeds in it - the frutero said they're a bit like almonds, but taste nothing like chocolate. Then they put the seeds in the sun (the final photo) to dry them out. Then, they pulverize the seeds with a giant mortar and pestle and then roast them. When they're done they have a big hunk of cacao. Now, I have a big hunk of 100% cacao...and I am waiting to decide what delectable thing I can make next by combining it with this...

This is coffee flower honey! That's right - the bees drink the nectar of the coffee flowers and then produce their honey! I have long since felt like the honey here was abnormally good. It is so incredibly rich and sweet. My mom had the theory that they must put something extra in it. Our friend who was visiting had a much more attractive theory (he works for an organic food distributor) - honey in the US often has things added to it. This stuff here is straight from the source. Someone is probably going to tell me soon that I am in danger of contracting some tropical illness from eating this stuff, but if I did, let me tell you the medicine would go down sweet because this is nectar in a bottle...coffee nectar no less!

These are guandules shells. Guandules are evidently pigeon peas - I hadn't realized that before, but that's probably because I never ate them in the states. I love guandules!! Everyone loves guandules. I have never heard anyone here say, "Yuck! Guandules!" You can eat them one of two ways - moro de guandules which is essentially guandules mixed in with rice or just guandules...which is guandules on top of your rice. Love, love, love!

These are some packs of tree bark for making mamajuana. Mamajuana basically looks like sticks and leaves and things stuffed into a bottle with some liquids - more or less the witches brew kind of mess we would make while playing in the woods as children...only we used pond water instead of alcohol. I will never drink this. I think the stuff looks scary...and the guys who sell it on the beach do not look to me to be the most trustworthy sorts either. But, you know, if you wanted to brew up your own, this bag of bark would get you started. Or you could drink this...

And there you have it - the typical Dominican roadside stand. Hooray for an old friend for inspiring us to get out of the car and mill around a bit! Fantastic!

The Constants

2011-02-10T21:51:00.001-04:00

Moms are good for so many things when you’re abroad. Yesterday mine sent me Girl Scout Cookies. That is so mom of her. In fact, I am inclined to think she has sent me Girl Scout Cookies in every foreign country I have ever lived in. I guess not everyone has such a mom. I am lucky. My Mimi (my maternal grandmother) is the same way. Does an excellent job in the category of, “Saw this and thought of you.” It’s the type of nice thing we should all aspire to I think.

Back to Girl Scout Cookies. You know, come to think of it, they’re one of the things that bind us culturally. It might sound like an overstatement, but think about it, have you ever heard anyone say, “I hate Girl Scout Cookies!” We wait every year for their arrival. I wasn’t even a Girl Scout (my Girl Scout Cookie-buying mom wouldn’t let me join even though she had been one…she felt it was exclusionary), but I find the once-a-year treat to be really…nice. A few cookies every year after year, decade after decade, they never, ever change. You can rely on Girl Scout Cookies. They cannot let you down. If you liked them this year, you will like them next year.

The FS life is extremely unpredictable. Makes me super happy to have my constants. And who can’t lose herself in a box of Caramel deLites?

The Great Divide

2011-01-31T19:26:00.001-04:00

Increasingly, we have begun to notice that our life is divided in two – our old life (i.e. our pre-FS life) and this life (the FS life). We say things like, “Well, in our old life we would have_____, but in this life _____.” Funny, of course, because it’s still our life. It’s really, always “this life.”

I find the space between remembering and forgetting really interesting. I went to a small high school. I am certain that when I graduated I could name everyone in my class of 100, but now when these people’s faces pop up on Facebook, I often have no idea who they are. When did I forget? When did the new crowd out the old? Does it happen in an instant or is it a bit by bit shedding of brain cells that lose their purpose?

This is true with having children too. Of course, I remember our life before having kids, but I can’t really remember it completely. I remember the facts, but not the feelings. Mostly I wonder what we did all day.

I feel that in this life there are lots and lots of these divisions. For this first post it stands out to me when I try to remember what I thought the DR would be like before we arrived. I honestly cannot recall. And yet, I am totally certain that my images and imaginations were vivid and detailed and full of the excitement of getting to learn the reality. Our first day seems burned in my brain along with the dawning that happened on our drive from the airport that, “This looks a lot like a typical ‘third world’ capital. People might not visit us here…” I hadn’t thought it would be all resorts, but my fantasies were selective I think. Now everything here begins on that first drive into our new home.

The division permeates every corner of our lives. I write about it all the time with food, but it happens in other ways too. Even Jeremy’s music, we noticed, has had to change. He is a musician and writes is own music. In Austin, we were always surrounded by dozens of the same. No one played covers when you got together with friends, everyone jammed to each other’s stuff. In our FS life, people want covers. It’s all-good, but with far-fewer musicians, music serves a different purpose.

We now live within a world where babies are timed for home leave and weddings coordinated with CDOs. Where spouses and partners of officers wonder if they can still put their “profession” as attorney, or therapist, or teacher on forms if it’s been years since they worked outside a Consulate. Where, at some point, the number of years you have lived away from “home” is fewer than the number you have lived everywhere-else and you have a decision to make when people ask, “So, where’re you from?”

I have been reading about the events in Egypt. Back when Jeremy was in A-100 we had bid Cairo high. It would have been an interesting place to be. We weren’t totally feeling easy about it, but we were curious and thought it would be a good first post. Once you’re in the FS, you look at events like these through a different filter. My reaction is typically not one of fear, but one of practical awareness – Always have a bag of food ready to run with. Check and make sure the boys’ clothes in the emergency packs are not too small. Make sure our passport photocopies have the updated visas. And, sometimes there’s a bit of fear there too. Ever since the earthquake, if I can’t sleep at night, I imagine the best way to get out of our house. I really hate underground parking garages now. I wonder what in the world we would do with our 100-pound dog if we had to leave in a hurry.

Of all the things that we experience in this life – the new food, language, customs, rules – it’s the divide between who we were, or the life we lived, and who we are that most separates us from the past…and most connects us with now. For all the preparation that the FS requires, it’s funny, in the end, we mostly just live from this point forward…in complete and utter ignorance of what comes next.

Aroma del Almuerzo

2011-01-26T22:18:00.002-04:00

I grew up in the Texas Hill Country where the air is incredibly clean and fresh (even during the dreaded Cedar season). Even in Austin, where I spent about 14 years before we joined the Foreign Service, I felt like you could take fantastic deep breaths despite the number of cars on the road.

In contrast, Santo Domingo is a stinky city. It’s polluted. Black soot settles on everything. If you don’t have someone to mop everyday, your feet will be caked with grime from your own floors. In my unscientific analysis I think it’s probably worse the New York City, but better than Mexico City. Who knows. In short, it doesn’t smell good. Except…

Except for lunchtime. I love lunchtime in the DR! Even in Santo Domingo, you can sometimes walk by a local mom-and-pop restaurant with just a couple of plastic chairs and a doña cooking over a dented and blackened metal pot directly over the flame of a gas canister. Dominican rice and beans and meat (la bandera) is so, so, so tasty and the smell just draws you in. Even today I was leaving the hospital (my husband got his yearly ER trip out of the way early this year) and the cafeteria aromas (is that an oxymoron?) wafted out and I seriously considered going back in and getting dinner to go.

And then! Add those perfectly seasoned scents to the countryside – the smell of dust and fruit and sometimes the sea, but more often the earthy smell of things left humid just a few years too long – and you get this pungent, rich, almost historical smell (like if you were to visit a famous landmark like a long-dead president’s home or a Revolutionary War row house only the people were still there cooking and living).

This weekend we drove down to the southwest – my favorite part of the country – where the smells simply overwhelm. The remote roads wind and wind through villages wedged between the Caribbean Sea and mountains. Unlike in Santo Domingo, you can roll down the windows and breath deeply. The smells draw you in and you feel like you’re transported to an entirely different world. And, at each bend, if you find yourself passing just as noon begins to roll towards one, you can catch a hint of la bandera simmering over an open flame waiting to be eaten, all crowded onto one plate, heaping piles of addictive Dominican white rice, with a soup spoon. The true DR piled into one perfect, aromatic bite.

Import

2011-01-17T23:04:00.002-04:00

Tonight I made chilaquiles. We also, after months of searching, found a new air filter for our car. Big news all around today. We clearly delight in the seemingly small things around here.

We can’t get tomatillos here, but a dear colleague went on TDY to Mexico for a month and brought me some canned (well, actually they were in a box) ones. They worked smashingly! Chilaquiles used to be a quick easy, tasty breakfast-for-dinner meal I would make relatively frequently back home. Here it is the stuff of dreams. Clearly, air filters for a 2005 Toyota are as well.

We have sporadically searched for a new air filter here for the past couple of months. I will make every effort to go to all future posts with things like air filters. It’s the challenge of living in a place where everything appears to be inefficiently imported.

When we first got here I used to go on these shopping scavenger hunts convinced if I just looked harder a favorite, much-needed cooking item would pop up. Now I have succumbed to the “si Dios quierre” attitude. I don’t know where such and such is and, well, they probably don’t have it anyway. One time, I kid you not, I went to buy new bras (sorry too much info, I’m sure) and all they had at Jumbo (our Super Wal-Mart like store) was hundreds and hundreds, rows and rows, hangers and hangers of size 32B.

I say all this out of love. It can be crazy, but you get used to it. And, I have it on good authority that some places are crazier. Here’s my new favorite statistic that I love to tell people when they say, “Madagascar?! That will be interesting,” The per capita GDP for the United States is $47,400 (which would buy you 1,436 twenty-pound bags of rice on Amazon). For the Dominican Republic it’s $8,600 (also known as 260 twenty-pound bags of rice). For Madagascar it’s $1000 (30, yes three zero, twenty-pound bags of rice). Of course, there’s this too.

The Inner Sanctum

2011-01-12T21:51:00.001-04:00

I eat lunch at work everyday with a cornucopia of women. We represent three decades, at least three religions (and some non-religions), at least six languages and four nationalities by passport, but many more by race and ethnicity. We laugh, we cry, we support and sometimes we even constructively criticize. We always, always have chocolate. We call ourselves the “inner sanctum.” The hour (or two) I spend with these women is not only one of the greatest joys of my life here, but will remain for eternity one of my most treasured blessings.

In the FS life, there are distances that Skype and Facebook and Gmail can’t span. How great to have Internet and social media, but they’re not always spontaneous enough…and they can lead you to an LOL or an LMAO, but they rarely result in the tearful belly laughs that can only happen with your girlfriends at arms length. And, although Jeremy and I once proposed a Skype double-date night with some friends posted to Caracas, you can’t really share a meal over the Internet. Knowing this makes me miss those girlfriends back home even more. Having the inner sanctum makes it bearable…in fact, maybe even much better than bearable.

Happy First Birthday FLT!

2011-01-11T22:44:00.001-04:00

Sooooo, that was a really long break. I was trying on not-blogging. To be honest, I kind of liked it…but now I miss it.

My original plan had been to do this for a year and then see how I felt about it. I hadn’t even realized it when I sat down to write this post, but tomorrow will my little blog will turn one! Happy Birthday For Lack of Tacos! I feel really good about having had a go at this and sticking with it. Oddly, I appear to have started the blog on the night of the Haiti earthquake! I remember that evening perfectly and remember exactly where I was sitting at the kitchen table when I was overcome with a wave of nausea and vertigo – a common result here in Santo Domingo when the earthquake hit. Wow…

Anyway, I have taken some time off and feel happy to get back to writing. Actually, I didn’t really stop writing – taking time away from FLT gave me time to focus on my family blog and I know the grandparents like that better anyway.

So, for tonight, as I get back into the swing of things I want to say, first of all, may this year bring each of you joy, peace and happiness from all of us displaced Austinites in the For Lack of Tacos family (i.e. me, Jeremy, the niños, the dog). And, in the midst of so much insanity here and at home, perhaps it’s apt to remember a phrase that a few open-minded Dominicans paste on their bumpers, “Todos somos Haitanos” (“We’re all Haitains”). In other words, we’re all in this together. Give. Love. Smile.

Peace.

Ooof!

2010-12-14T20:47:00.000-04:00

So this is one of those things that probably just won't come across on paper (or the computer screen), but I have to share it anyway. Dominican Spanish is a language all it's own. It has so many little (and big) idiosyncrasies and so many words that are unique to the DR. And, there are tons of expressions that I am certain only a Dominican (or someone living here) would get. There are so many - I could go on and on.

One of my favorites is "Oof!" It's something you say when someone asks something like, "So how many years have your grandparents been married?" or "How many people died in the earthquake?" or "How much trash is dumped into the river?" In other words, if the answers is "A lot! Too many to count! Where do I begin?" you just say, "Oooof!" and for added emphasis you can kinda' wag your hand around like you just burned it.

The other day we had a trainer come from DC to do a presentation on WMD (yes, that's right) and he asked "How many germs do you think are in this room?" Most of the room was Dominican employees - "Ooof!" they all replied. "Is that a lot then?" he asked. A little later he asked, "How many people do you think this stuff could kill?" "Oooof!" they said. He laughed, "Ooof again! Must mean a lot."

Guess you gotta' see it. Trust me. It's funny.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-28T07:53:00.002-04:00

Thursday we celebrated Thanksgiving. It was my third international Thanksgiving. It was Jeremy’s fifth. The second international Thanksgiving for the boys. I love Thanksgiving abroad. Being in the DR is interesting because so many Dominicans are also Americans. The supermarkets know…or perhaps envision they know…the details of a Thanksgiving meal and stock their shelves accordingly. My family has always been more of a “from-scratch” kind of Thanksgiving family, so the shelves of canned gravy, canned cranberry sauce and boxed stuffing don’t go far for me, but one quickly gets the messages for whom these things are intended…they’re also stocked next to the hundreds of Butterballs that have been imported for the occasion.

We were super fortunate to have my dad and his wife here for the week. We went all out and the day was absolutely perfect. We had turkey, cranberry sauce (made from fresh cranberries that I bought last year on a fluke and then froze), stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh bread, toffee pudding, pumpkin pie, lots of wine, coffee. Truly, the whole nine yards and then some. We invited a few friends over, let the kids run around and stuffed ourselves in phases. Perhaps the only thing lacking (by most Americans’ standards) was football – we don’t have cable. And, perhaps shamefully, our table included more soccer fans than American football fans.

Since Thursday I have been really struck by how at-home we feel. I think there is this image that people have that if you’re abroad for a major holiday you must feel like you would rather be “at home.” I have been wondering if that’s true. I know I certainly wouldn’t have traded our Thanksgiving for anything – it was wonderful and joyous. We felt blessed to be surrounded by so many friends and the added bonus of family from home. If we hadn’t had friends over too, would we have felt differently? Without family, would the occasion have been dreary? What about no one? What if we didn’t have the boys? If we were a childless couple would things have been sadder?

I guess, in conclusion, I do think that a Thanksgiving without friends or family would have been kind of depressing. Of course, the people are more important than the food and being surrounded by love and acceptance makes Thanksgiving (or any holiday) perfect. From the FS perspective this means we might be free to have a pizza Thanksgiving, a curry Thanksgiving or even a sushi Thanksgiving someday because somehow, I’m certain, in this life the fabulous friends just keep on popping up just as the dreams keep coming true.

Five

2010-11-17T21:27:00.001-04:00

Our oldest turned five. I cannot believe I have let the last two weeks pass without blogging about it – it was an adventure in food and culture. You know you’re neglecting your blog when such a perfect blog opportunity presents itself and you decide to watch Glee instead….or you just know how freaking amazing Glee is.

Anyway, I plotted and schemed and researched about how to make the most fabulous cake – Mystery Machine? Lego? Fire truck? When I finally decided on a crazy stackable Lego cake and spilled the beans to the birthday boy, he was like, “Jodi (yes, he calls me Jodi…going on about 4 months of it), I really just want a white cake with strawberries, in a circle, with a number 5. And some cupcakes too.” I sadly let go of my ridiculous Lego fantasies, but was also totally relieved to realize he wanted something I could fulfill. The kid hates surprises anyway….unless they have wheels.

So, about 2 weeks ago twenty-five 5 and 6 year-olds made their way with their teachers from the school to our house for a little “field trip.” November is the month of the family so we turned it into a little mini-lesson and did some Skyping with grandparents. I provided a snack of cheese sandwich, apple slices and Cheetos and a juice box. And, of course the cupcakes for desert. I was trying to win them over with the Cheetos I won’t lie. They were a hit, along with the juice boxes and cupcakes. Most of the kids (except for mine and the children of one of my American friends) turned up their noses at the sandwiches and apples. Ya’ can’t win ‘em all I guess.

There was one moment when I looked over at my son and he had commandeered an extra juice box from the fridge and had a huge plate of Cheetos. I told him to put them back and he looked at me with his big brown five-year-old eyes and his teacher said, “Oh, pero los quierre (he wants them).” I felt out-numbered and, anyway, you know, birthday and all. At least I had stuffed the piñata with cheap toys and not Tootsie pops. Today I had to remind Vilma that cookies are not a snack even if they’re served with a slice of cheese. My faithful five-year-old had reported her. I think that’s funny – the word galletas can mean cookies or crackers. He’ll be kicking himself tomorrow come snack time. So big and yet still so innocent! Five.

Chili's...just kidding...kinda'

2010-11-17T21:24:00.001-04:00

Today in the car on the way home from work we saw a sign announcing that Chili’s will be coming to the Blue Mall (the Blue Mall is one of the many, many malls here that just scream money laundering…but that’s another story). We kinda’ laughed at it. I hate Chili’s. Being from Austin I have no idea why anyone would feel the need to eat there. If you can get actual food that is not from some sort of microwaveable kit…or whatever it is that makes all their food turn out identical from Lubbock to Lisbon…why would you eat it?

Anyway, can I tell you the depth of sadness that exists from the brief moment when I was like, “Mmmm chicken strips with honey mustard sauce.” And Jeremy said, “Nachos.” We suck. It’s so gross. Will we? Won’t we? Only time will tell.

Absentee

2010-11-03T22:28:00.002-04:00

This year we voted absentee.

We follow the news back home regularly – sometimes with horror and sometimes with pride. Being abroad puts a whole new spin on the gap between our daily reality and the daily reality of folks back home. Even the economic problems seem kind of far away for us. We know some people who are struggling, but I think we know many more who are doing pretty well or for whom things haven’t changed all that much. Admittedly, we might have a surprisingly conscientious group of friends.

Anyway, this year I looked at my ballot, decided to read up on the people I didn’t know and then voted straight party. I have been following a few nationally important elections, but not much about Texas. It’s sad, but honestly, for a liberal, Texas can feel like a hopeless place. It’s also a little sad because I definitely have a lot of pride about being a Texan, but when I hear crazy stuff about secession and text books and abstinence only education I think, “Wow, am I glad I’m outa’ there!” I kid you not, I feel like I betray my friends back home just a little bit every time I think that. They’re mostly social workers. Poor Texas social workers – no hope for you I’m afraid.

I love voting. I think it’s important. I actually feel really proud when I do it. But, voting absentee is different (even if I still feel great when I check off my boxes). It can highlight that sense of being an outsider.

Sometimes, I feel like we live in a bubble. We do live in a bubble. In fact, many bubbles – the DR bubble, the State Dept bubble, the Embassy Santo Domingo bubble, the house with screens and AC bubble. Occasionally, this bothers me. It makes me feel like I can’t be informed enough – that I’m missing something. And then, I look at the bubble of back home. The bubble that includes questions like, Where’s the Dominican Republic? Do they speak a foreign language there? Aren’t you scared to leave the US? Don’t you worry the boys will grow up without friends? It makes me think, “It’s like they live in a bubble or something!”

And so, in the end, I voted. From my bubble – perhaps a bit out of ignorance, but I voted. I believe this gives me the right to keep calling myself a Texan…or at least an Austinite. This was my first election abroad. Of course, it won’t be my last. I give myself an A for effort. It’s probably always a bit of a crapshoot anyway…right?

Commute

2010-10-26T22:54:00.001-04:00

There was a point at which I stopped knowing if the traffic here is bad or not. I mean, it is. Of course it is. It’s insanity, but somewhere, somehow I have become used to it. And yet, this adaptation does not make my morning and evening commute any easier. We live about 5.5 miles from my office. Every morning it takes me anywhere from 45 minutes to 1 hour to get to work. On the way home it’s the same. I put on my music. I take a deep breath. I don’t get angry at the crazy drivers (I am really, really, really used to it). I suck it up. It’s life. I make the drive. But I don’t like it.

The other day I had this realization that in DC I won’t have a commute. And, it seems from what we know so far, we won’t have much of one in Antananarivo either. It dawned on me recently that this makes me very happy. Clearly evidence that the commute has been taking its toll. I love it here…but the traffic…

And then, almost bizarrely and purely by chance things have fallen into place in such a way that suddenly both my morning and evening commute times have been cut in half. I didn’t really get how much I felt the commute sucking away minutes of my day until, out of nowhere, I am spending 25-30 minutes in the car in the morning and 30-35 in the evening. I could pinch myself. In the world of Santo Domingo traffic it’s like a dream. How could this be happening? How could I have wasted so much time in the car if these alternate routes were possible? I knew these roads existed so why didn’t I ever think of trying them?

Anyway, no need to dwell. The new morning route was a chance suggestion from a colleague and for the evening route I can credit an especially laid-back taxi driver. Of course, I can’t go back and reclaim all those minutes I sat in traffic, but I can stay in awe of this new journey. I can sing a little louder in the morning having found it and take my last sips of coffee at my desk rather than downing the last cold dregs to the tune of blaring horns with a good 20 minutes left to go. And, best of all, I can come home, be with my family, eat dinner and just be.

And, I still have one whole year to get to drive this way! I feel this somehow brings home the countdown. The clock is ticking now. Everyday this becomes more and more home, more comfortable, more figured-out, more easy …and everyday we start to move closer to making it the past. Wow.

Life in a Bottle

2010-10-13T21:33:00.002-04:00

Wanna’ freak out an Embassy person? Tell them the water they’re drinking is tap water!

I run around with my Peace Corps crowd and find my job to be a wonderfully perfect fit for me. I’ve roughed it around the world here and there. I’ve been to some of the poorest countries in the world and to the richest. I get the difference. I’ve been there poor and been there with a few bucks to my name. I’m not usually bothered by dirt, crowds, petty crime, germs. I feel here I do a pretty good job of navigating the differences...right? Well, I like to think so anyway. At heart I’m more of the Peace Corps type, it’s no surprise to anyone who knows me.

So, it is with great shame that I admit that even after drinking three glasses of delicious, crystal clear, cool water on a hot day, I could not bring myself to finish the fourth after I found out it was tap water. The conversation went something like this:

Peace Corps volunteers and I: chit-chat, chit-chat, chit-chat..etc, etc.

Peace Corps volunteer #1: I remember when we were here for training some people got parasites and the med unit determined it was likely from drinking the botellon (botelled) water.

[picture me with my glass, taking a drink, scrunching up my nose, “What does she mean?”]

Peace Corps Volunteer #2: Ya’ I’ve heard that. The people who drink the botellon up here tend to get sick more easily that those who drink the tap water.

[me, lowering my glass…silence]

Me: What do you mean?

PCV #2: The tap water is safe up here, but the botellon is more likely to be contaminated because maybe it’s not being filled with good water…you know brought in from somewhere else, or something.

[me, still holding my glass, paralized]

PCV #2: This is tap water.

Me: Really? [my words come out in a rasping squeek…worry, worry, worry]

PCV#2: Ya’ it’s safe.

Me: But, you guys are probably used to it. I have only had bottled water since I got here. In the entire year I’ve been here! Only. Botellon. Water.

PCV#2: No, you would know already if you were going to get sick. It’s fine.

I totally thought I was going to have a panic attack. I was imagining how I was going to continue my workday and then get home if I ended up with a parasite. I was trying to determine how exactly I would “know already” if I was going to get sick. I was thirsty, but I could not finish my glass of crystal clear, mountain spring water. I was officially a loser.

I feel like I have crossed a land that no Embassy person would ever dare tread. And, I’m fine. There’s no need to be dramatic I guess. It’s just water. But, it really reminds me that in this life, the FS life, the expat life, the “What in the world are they eating!” life, the “I have more frequent flier miles than I will likely every have money in my bank account” life, we can never really know what we think we know. There’s always gonna’ be someone, or something, to come along and shake things up. As soon as we think we know…we don’t.

Dreams

2010-10-10T15:13:00.005-04:00

Yesterday was my birthday – my 34th. I share it with John Lennon – I pretty much believe that sharing a birthday with John Lennon is fabulously awesome. Maybe because John’s life was ended so tragically and because I sometimes wonder what he would be doing (and thinking) today if he hadn’t been killed, I frequently find myself reflecting on my birthday.

Being in the FS lends itself to a high degree of reflection. There are lots of anniversaries in the Foreign Service – the day you took the written exam, the day you took the oral exam, the day you got the call, your first flag day, your first day at your first post, etc. etc. Even as the spouse of a Foreign Service Officer, I feel a large part of my life revolves around these dates – because, of course, we’re in the Foreign Service. It’s a family affair. Oh, and as far as reflection goes, birthdays are just good times to reflect.

My birthday neatly coincides with our first week here. We left DC last year on October 14th and arrived in Santo Domingo on October 17th (no, it wasn’t a three day flight, my husband had consultations in San Juan).

So, yesterday I was doing some thinking about how we ended up here. What we thought when we first arrived. What our next (and final) year in Santo Domingo will be like. I was wondering, if I could go back five years and tell myself this is where I’d be, would I believe myself? Yes. Ten years? Absolutely. Fifteen. Probably…although I would have had a lot of questions about how (being nineteen was a rough time for me). Twenty years ago? No question. Honestly, I don’t really remember a time when I didn’t envision myself traveling the world. When we were home this summer the boys discovered the book below on my mom’s shelf. This was my favorite book as a child. It’s about a boy who ties a rubber band to his bedpost and travels around the world and beyond.

The book makes me think about the places we go and the ties we create. We have seen many friends arrive here after us and already hugged a few goodbye. We’ve gone home and seen friends and family and come back here, happy to return to our new friends. With all the possibilities laid out before us the world seems so big. With all the connections we’ve made, it also seems small.

Hmmmm…admittedly, I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this. Perhaps just to this point, to note some things I believe now that I may not have known last year (or maybe knew, but didn’t take much time to think about). Things like:

Be yourself and be kind. Have good intentions. They rest will fall into place. Don’t worry if someone doesn’t want to hang out with you. Focus on the people with whom you share a mutual interest.
There’s not really a place in the Foreign Service for contempt. You’re in a foreign country. It’s different. Remember that and move on.
Have good days and bad days. It’s no big deal. It’s normal.
Don’t worry so much about your kids. They’ll be fine. Kids are amazing. Be present with them. A loving home is a loving home, no matter where you are.
Skype. Facebook.
Dance. Listen to new music. Meet new people. Throw parties. Do simple things. Realize you’re free (or can be) from the American burden of having to “have.”
Laugh at yourself and the crazy things you see (or eat…or hear). This really is tremendous blessing that will pass before you know it.
You had this dream. Now live it.
Hope all of the above for the people you encounter. Despite the perks, the Foreign Service life is not always perfectly easy (although I’d never trade it). Give people a break. Smile.

And, you know, remember a little John Lennon for good measure – “A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.”

Peace.

We speak...?

2010-10-03T22:07:00.002-04:00

When our oldest was about 18 months old someone gave him a chocolate lollipop. A few weeks later I was making chocolate chip cookies and he asked me for a “chocolickter.” I had no idea what he was talking about…until he pointed to the bag of chocolate chips. I always associated this with the lollipop – something chocolate that you lick – a “chocolickter!” The name stuck. I have a horrific sweet tooth and have learned (with time and patience) to satisfy it by giving myself about 20 chocolate chips after dinner. I might ask my husband, “Do you want some chocolikters?” or our oldest (who is now almost 5) will say, “Can I have chocolickters for dessert?”

Now our youngest is two-and-a-half. For some reason, he can’t say chocolikters. He calls them “choconilders.” So, when we talk to him, we call them choconilders. It has become part of our family vocabulary.

I think this is probably true with all families, but I see it being especially true for Foreign Service families because of the language mishmash. Jeremy and I had a handful of foreign words we used before the boys even came along. Two of our favorite words came from our time in Japan – “iinaka” for countryside (which has now totally been changed to campo) and “benri” for convenient. I especially love benri. We use it like, “Do you just want to stop and pick something up to eat on the way? It would probably be more benri.”

We also both tend to use the word “cheers” at the end of phone conversations – this is left from our time working in Belfast (and Jeremy’s Bunac days in London after college). And, then we have the ever-increasing Spanish. Now we even say things like, “Podemos ir a Jumbo (that’s the supermarket near us) and pick up some dinner. That would be mas benri.” The list goes on and on.

And then, we top it off with all of the abbreviations – both from State and Peace Corps. HHE, UAB, PCV, CBT, COS… WOW!

I sometimes wonder if our boys will even know the English words for things. More and more I just say this gobble of words from different places and trust that it makes sense…at least to the FS people.

I know I probably wouldn’t be able to get far back home with something like this (which will be an actual accounting of my Tuesday evening this week), “Since I’m going to be in Constanza on Wednesday doing the CBT charlas with the PCTs and since the Newmans are coming over for dinner after their HHE gets picked up, maybe we should just pedir a pizza or something.” Sounds like an evening to me…adding, of course, a dessert of chocolickters…or choconilders that is.

Next steps...

2010-09-28T19:15:00.002-04:00

I can confirm that finding out one's second post is no less exciting than the first time. Jeremy called me from work today to tell me that we will be heading to (drum rolllllll) Madagascar in May 2012!! It seems a million years away and then still so soon. We will be here until October 2011 - we are about to begin our second year - I can't believe it!. Then, six short months in DC and then off to one of those places I think I never even really believed existed! Evidently, they eat a lot of rice there. And, it's a consumables post. But, there will be time to consider the food in the future I'm sure. For now, back to good ol' Dominican habichuelas. (happy dance, happy dance, happy dance...for now and for the future)

We have donuts!

2010-09-18T21:59:00.002-04:00

Today the Embassy sponsored a 5K to raise environmental awareness (a seriously hefty task in this country). I ran it, so I was more than prepared to enjoy our brand new Krispy Kreme for an afternoon snack. That’s right, Krispy Kreme has come to Santo Domingo! Let’s get dressed up and go out and wait in line because there is nothing like a donut! And, a real American style latte…in an 8 oz. cup…not one of those little ones like dentists’ offices use which is how coffee is usually served here.

Our only snag (waiting in line for 30 minutes doesn’t count because there are big windows where you can see the donut machines and anything with gears will keep my boys entertained for hours) was when I attempted to order milk for the boys (because, while I will gladly treat them to a donut I cannot and will not serve it with a soda or a Minute Maid). The conversation went like this (translated from Spanish):

Cashier: Anything else?

Me: Yes, a café latte and two milks.

Cashier: We don’t have milk.

Me: What?

Cashier: We have juice.

Me: Well, no thank you, I don’t really want juice. I would like to order milk for the kids.

Cashier: We don’t serve milk (uneasy smile).

Me: But, you do have milk. It’s right there. Just the same milk you use for the coffee, but in a cup for the kids.

Cashier: Do you want a cappuccino?

Me: Um, no. Can’t you just give me milk and charge me for a soda or plain coffee or something?

Cashier: (Looking helplessly at the cash register). Uh, uh, uh…no.

Me: Well, I mean, a coffee is 30 pesos and a soda is 20, I would happily pay 20 or 30 pesos for a milk. Can’t you just charge me that?

Cashier: Uh, uh, uh…(goes to get manager).

Me: (to manager) I would like to order milk. Can you just charge me for a soda or something?

Manager: (laughing) Hmmm..(turns to coffee guy) asks him to just give me some milk. (coffee guy, manager, cashier look at each other and shrug).

I leave with free milk.

This is a very typical type of conversation here. Everything is very top-down. Cashiers, secretaries, store staff, etc can never, ever make decisions on their own and rarely are things done outside the box. There is not a lot of critical thinking…or even problem solving that goes into these sorts of transactions. If you go to the store and your item doesn’t have the bar code, they cannot just enter the price, they have to send someone back to find one with a bar code. This doesn’t seem too crazy I guess, but if none of the products are bar-coded, you are out of luck! You cannot buy your item because they cannot ring it up. This happens! It doesn’t even matter if the price is clearly displayed in the shelf.

Just more for the files of ever-expanding patience I guess. And, anyway, anything's manageable with a donut...right?

Leonel

2010-09-14T21:41:00.005-04:00

The Dominican Republic has quite the sordid political past. Invasion, war, dictatorship, corruption, coup, stir, repeat and add those famous Caribbean waters. Serious history. And it just keeps on happening.

Right now the President is Leonel Fernandez. He is serving his third term (second consecutive). The Constitution says he’s done come May 2012. That’s why these billboards get me a little weirded out. And I keep missing my chance to get a photo of the ones encouraging us to consider the fabulous personal characteristics of Margarita…the first lady. Because, you know, presumably, she could serve that fourth term...or something. Wow.

This one doesn't make sense to me, but translated it means something like, "Because he doesn't belong, but the country deserves him."

"Always forward, never back."

"The country is asking for him."

"Listen to my voice."
"Destiny."
"I'm with Leonel" - this is a Dominican/English play on words - they often use "toy" for "estoy" - clearly appealing to the younger generation here.

Perception

2010-09-08T21:43:00.002-04:00

I’m busy. Really busy. Back when I started this blog my life was…not busy. It was full, but definitely not busy. I love, love, love my job – it increasingly is becoming one of the things I will miss most when we leave here (which is still a long way away, but I tend to be a future thinker). Anyway, back to busy. The result is that I am not writing as much as I want to. But, something else has also come to my attention. Part of the reason I’m writing less is because I keep trying to tie everything back to food. The problem? The longer I’m here, the less the food matters. Food is still interesting. I love food and I love to eat, but I see things now through the metaphorical taco-lens, not the real one (hee hee, I am imagining myself with Groucho-glasses shaped like tacos).

So, this is where “The Culinary Adventures of a Foreign Service Spouse” becomes, simply “The Adventures of a Foreign Service Spouse.” The difference might be subtle, or perhaps in the end, non-existent, but for me it matters. It gives me permission to keep writing, but to not be confined (except by my own rules – no photos of family and no gory details about them). Truth be told, I will probably still write a lot about food…like right now.

Here’s an update on lechoza (what Dominicans call papaya). Something has happened – I love it! The mangoes right now are fabulous and I cut one up with some lechoza, squeeze on a little lime and perhaps a scoop of chinola and viola – ensalada de fruta! I am not sure if I have become accustomed by some bizarre osmosis of culture or if I just found the right combination or if I am in a phase like I once was with portabella mushrooms (in which case, I will soon swear it off for the next 13 years or so).

Here’s just a little random DR tidbit. It’s going to sound strange, but one of the things I really love about here is seeing the people in the morning, on their way to work with their lunch boxes. They tend to use those small, soft-sided coolers, like people often do at home (and like I do here, as well). But, I don’t know, for some reason it stands out to me here. Public transportation here is incredibly chaotic and pretty dirty and takes a level of persistence and patience far exceeding that of the average American commuter (I’m positive). So, for some reason seeing women dressed in their pant suits, their heels, their matching jewelry, hair still in a tube (pronounced too-bay) dodging motos and cars…or riding noxious gas spewing motos with the ubiquitous soft-sided cooler strapped over their shoulders makes me feel a bit like we’re all in this together. Me, them and the guy with his cooler and dress shoes and shirt perfectly pressed and tucked-in waiting… waiting.... waiting for the guagua as I sit in my car and wait for the light…and then the next one…and then the traffic police…and then the person trying to beat the traffic and then the power goes out. Yep, all in this together.

Finding a Place

2010-08-31T21:58:00.002-04:00

If you spent time abroad before you joined the Foreign Service and especially if that time abroad was doing something that put you in close contact with the “everyday” citizens of your host country, your first tour can make you feel a little out of place. If you always took public transport without a single worry beyond making sure you had your wallet in a front pocket or never packed make-up because who needs that while backpacking through the Mayan jungle or figured a shopping spree included sturdier tent stakes and an extra set of flashlight batteries to compliment your new mosquito net, then having security guards patrol your neighborhood and having a generator and a cistern to supply you with continual household comforts can seem weird…although at the same time it doesn’t, because electricity, water and a certain level of safety feel normal at home and an Embassy feels like a little corner of the US abroad.

I have been thinking about this a lot as we’re going through our bid list. B Files has told me a couple of times I should update the Santo Domingo RPR of Talesmag (I am writing an RPR for it poco a poco now). I had never read it, but she’s right. Wow! – what a difference of opinion people can have regarding the same post. And why? We’re all different people I guess. We seek different comforts, different moments, different ways to make our home away from home feel like the place where we belong. It’s no secret that we (my family and I) have come to love it here. We have a lot going for us when it comes to this post and I guess that makes it easier. For one, we always loved traveling to places like the DR (hectic, chaotic places with spotty electricity, tentative bus schedules and loud, joyful people). Being part of the Embassy makes experiencing this the way we used to a little more difficult, but we seek out moments (and, I say, thank god for my job because it takes me far from the Embassy life quite frequently). Of course, it helps too that I speak Spanish. I didn’t really have to go through the navigation process in the same way many accompanying spouses and partners do. Plus, our kids are young, they are adaptable and have taken to life here completely.

So, this all sounds completely random, I know. And, obviously doesn’t sound at all related to food. But, it’s food (and bidding, of course) that got me first thinking about how we make a home somewhere. There are these moments, frequently…or perhaps all the time, when I am visiting a community for work. It’s crazy hot and humid and dusty in the air and muddy on the ground and I cannot imagine wanting to be anywhere else. And then, that wonderful moment is made perfect by the offering of a chair from a community member. A plastic chair, always, slid over a concrete floor and wiped clean before I can even move to sit down. And then a small, plastic cup of refresco (Country Club Orange or Cola Real usually) with a tiny bit of hielo. The most incredibly perfect antidote to the heat. And a smile…or often many because in small communities it takes little to draw a crowd. And I think, in that moment, I get to spend forever finding these moments, over food, over refreshments, with new friends, everywhere. If that’s the case, if we can find that, how do we not love every post, in some way, some how? Oh, and that’s rhetorical by the way, don’t answer it. I’m not naïve…just at peace.

bidding...bidding...bidding

2010-08-20T22:12:00.002-04:00

Aaaand, just when we were getting to the point where tostones, rice and habichuelas were feeling like food of the gods (or, you know, good) it’s time to bid again! I can hardly believe it! And yet, it’s been 18 months since we last bid, so it makes since. I love, love, love bidding. It is exactly like when I used to lay on the floor with the Atlas as a child and close my eyes and flip the pages and imagine where I would end up.

All the questions. All the categories. Schools? Danger? Language? Job? Coffee or vodka? Falafel or sushi? Pad thai or curry? Aaaahhhh the possibilities are endless…within a certain highly constricted realm.

Okay gratuitous request: If you have a post you loved – tell me. If you have a post you hated – tell me. And, if you have something especially good (or bad) to say about the food definitely let me know. Would love to hear from some of you all and move towards narrowing down this list.

Constanza

2010-08-16T20:45:00.006-04:00

One of the perks of working abroad is that you usually get off both American and host-country holidays. Today is a Dominican holiday –Restoration Day to be exact. That means that, knowing we would have today to rest up, yesterday we were in the mood for a family adventure – and we certainly had a good one.

Most people think of the DR and think beaches. Of course, they’re not wrong, we have some pretty incredible beaches. But, we also have some wonderful mountains (including the highest peak in the Caribbean – Pico Duarte) surrounding beautifully, green, fragrant and cool fertile valleys. It’s hot here right now – in the mid-90s every day in the capital - but, as we set out on our journey to Constanza, a remote town known for its cool temps, fruits and abundant vegetables, the air began to cool and thick clouds brought in breezes and some rain.

The road to Constanza turns off of a major highway between Santo Domingo and the DR’s second largest city, Santiago. After leaving the main highway in Bonao, it’s a couple more hours of windy mountain roads through villages. The road is really well paved, thank goodness (that’s not always the case), and filled with guaguas (buses), trucks carrying produce, cars (ranging from Porsche to once-was-a-Datsun) and motos. Halfway up you can stop at a chapel and say a prayer…or take a photo or moment of silence…whichever suits your fancy.

Knowing that much of the Dominican produce you buy in the supermarket comes from the mountains of the interior is one thing, but seeing the fields and fields of green is something even better. As you finally make your way into Constanza (don’t think cute Alpine village or hipster Washington state commune, it’s neither, but that’s okay) you are practically bowled over by the smell of garlic in the air. Jeremy said, “Forget garlic, it’s like driving into a giant kitchen of vegetable soup.” The combination of the 30-degree temperature drop and the patchwork hills of veggies make this a seriously fantastic change of scenery.

It had been a long drive, but well worth it in so many ways. Admittedly, once we got to Constanza we weren’t entirely sure what to do with ourselves. The guidebooks warn that there is not much to do there…that is true. But, we made our way to a little hotel that has a restaurant and we enjoyed some okay coffee and delicious flan. We also happened to see two sets of non-Embassy friends who were spending the day there. It was a really nice surprise – one of those things that makes you feel like you really live somewhere.

We had a slight misadventure with the brakes on the way back down. Despite some mountain driving under my belt in the past, I had clearly forgotten some of the most important rules. But, we made it. We had stopped at a pleasant, roadside restaurant in Bonao (Tipico Bonao – for which Fodor’s has this review…if you’re interested) for lunch on the way up and (after our brake-related delay) decided a Dominican truck-stop dinner was in order. We laughed at how we chose the white rice, beans and fried plantains instead of the pizza. The boys flirted with the locals. All-in-all, it was a bit of international adventure at its best – we finished the day feeling a tiny bit like our old backpacker selves…albeit with the kids, and a car, and enough cash to ward of fears of being stranded…but still.

Guineo(s)

2010-08-11T20:50:00.002-04:00

That banana (Dominicans call bananas guineos, by the way, if I haven’t mentioned that before) looks pretty big doesn’t it? That’s because there are two in there! Cool, huh!? My boss tells me it’s not all that rare here. She said she always looks for the double ones because the fruteros will only charge you for one. At home they must just send all those back or something. This reminds me…when we first got here I had a two-headed pineapple. Weird.

The Common Table

2010-08-08T10:39:00.002-04:00

Well, I have delayed long enough. We’re back and it’s precisely because we’re back that it has been difficult to find time write. The boys and I touched ground at Las Americas last Saturday. It felt so good to be back in the land of chaos and continues to feel so nice to be home. I’m amazed at how much the DR has become home to us and yet how much what we call home is a shifting between two (or more) worlds. It stands out to me, of course, in the food we eat.

I went back to work on Monday and found myself, at the end of the day, anticipating Vilma’s rice and beans with a little salad. I had missed this. The simplicity of it. The easy leftovers. The guarantee that the boys will eat it. Knowing that Vilma (5 months pregnant and with the boys all day until school starts back up) can leave this to cook practically unattended reduces my stress level.

Wednesday we had a despedida (a good-bye party for our amazing Consul General) at the Ambassador’s residence. We still don’t have an Ambassador (which is a total bummer because the guy they have lined up sounds pretty cool…and he’s a Texan). When we have events there the food is never fancy. Not at all like those parties for diplomats in James Bond movies. But, it’s always good. And, I love these parties. Santo Domingo lends itself beautifully to outdoor festivities – especially in the evening, when there’s a breeze. Despite the simplicity of the food (which was good) there is always this cocktail party atmosphere that reminds me that we’re diplomats. It’s the type of party I pretty much never went to in my old life. Even if it’s not all sparkle and champagne, it looks more or less what one would anticipate those things look like.

Then Friday I spent the day traveling for work. My colleague and I visited an orphanage and a batey and then we stopped and had arroz blanco y habichuelas from a stand on the side of the road. It was served on Styrofoam out of plastic buckets. We sat at a card table we shared with whatever other travelers happened to come by. There were lots of bees. It was hot. We talked about what would be the next step with the community we had just visited. We laughed a lot. Our bellies full, we hopped back in our jeepeta and headed back to the office.

Friday evening we went to a birthday party for one of the boys’ friends from school. It was also a despedida. The family is Italian, have lived in the DR for many years and the husband has been transferred to another country. Besides the family, we were the only foreigners. We see this group of people all the time – the boys’ school is very tight-knit. But, at the end of the day, we remain outsiders there. People are very friendly and the boys are loved by their friends, but we have found it challenging to develop strong relationships there. People already have their lives. The party was at a restaurant called Lincoln Road – it is the most fabulously perfect kid-friendly restaurant in the entire city. They also have a great weekday lunch special. The kids were served chicken nuggets and French fries or mini-pizzas. The adults ate communally off a plate of what my girlfriends and I used to call “fried goodies.” Picking (not loading up your plate) is considered appropriate. Take one, eat it slowly. Move on subtly to the to the next item. Eating seems to happen this way frequently here (although I can’t claim to have done a thorough study) – it’s quite the contrast to the free-for-all of the driving, queuing and shopping.

As usual, I think I am beginning to ramble. It’s actually through the rambling process that I seem to work out my point – which was sitting there in my brain all along. What I love about this post: all these worlds, compartmentalized and yet woven together.

Have I mentioned before that I love Santo Domingo? I don’t love the food here. I’m not passionate about it. But, I do love having all these different areas of my life that I adore and finding that they’re joined through the simplicity of the food. At each of these events the food had the same quality – nothing fancy. But, every second, of every one of these moments I felt so at home. I felt in love. I never wanted, at any moment, to be somewhere else or eating something else. I love the wonderfully simple meals I can prepare with good ingredients back in the States, but I wasn’t racing home from work on Monday wishing I could have…I don’t know…anything different than what I knew Vilma was cooking. I don’t spend my time at Embassy gatherings thinking it would only be better if the hors d’ourves were more delicate, more cuisine-like. And, I certainly don’t secretly wish that Dominican street food were Malaysian street food even though Malaysian street food is a-ma-zing. We may have few Dominican friends, but I’ll take the moments we do share with locals however I can get them, even over a plate of nibbled fried goodies with insanity of five-year-olds whirling in the background.

I think what this all means is that food matters, but maybe the longer you stay somewhere it matters less than you think it does at the beginning. Or maybe it means that what happens while you’re eating and who you eat with matters more than what’s on your plate. On the other hand, perhaps it means I am starting to love the food simply because I love the DR and our life here. Hmmm…either way, we’re back. We’re eating. We’re laughing. We’re home.

That. Was. Good.

2010-07-30T23:42:00.002-04:00

Well, the whirlwind is coming to an end. We have eaten our way clear across Texas…well, actually we pretty much stuck to Austin…but we did eat a lot nonetheless. Some final thoughts on our first R&R experience – (1) I never really stopped being aware of the pure yumminess of all the food – every meal was absolutely enjoyable and I felt mindful of the gift of it, (2) I did get sick of eating out and remembered how nice a home-cooked meal is when you’re not having to substitute any ingredients, (3) my boys mostly seemed to enjoy meals of rice, salad, fish and fruit – go figure (check out the watermelon they downed for desert tonight) and (4) I ate far fewer tacos than I thought I would, but still ate a lot. Most significant thing I hadn’t really realized how much I missed (and dare I say, missed perhaps more than tacos – gasp!) – Indian!! The thing is, I can cook TexMex in DR. I know TexMex. TexMex is in my blood, but good Indian takes a level of skill that I have never been able to work up to. I can whip up a pretty good dal or an edible basic curry, but there is nothing like the Indian at places like Bombay Express. They might serve all their food on Styrofoam and be in a strip mall, but MAN do they make me want to be posted to India!

So, there you have it. It was delicious and fun and now we are ready to get home – to daddy, to Vilma, to plain ol’ rice and beans and fruit salad on the street and Presidente. I feel a renewed sense of excitement for Dominican eating. For the curious – what food made it into the grand shop-o-thon? Well, a handful of food requests from colleagues, but not a single thing for us. I kept being tempted, but figured I didn’t know where to start…or rather, where to end. And, blissed-out on incredible fare, I like to remember, absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.

Farm Memories

2010-07-26T11:13:00.002-04:00

I'm behind. I started writing this post as we were returning from Indiana. Now we're back and I feel I'm moving on towards saying goodbye to Austin - again. But, there is still so much to wrap up about our Indiana visit. Perhaps this post will suffice. Then on to the final days in taco-ville.

There are a handful of places in the world where I can close my eyes and be transported. The Grove family farm, outside Muncie, is one of them. The Groves – Bob and Sandy – are close family friends from the “yankee” part of our life. Bob had been my parents’ high school principal, when my parents married they went to the same church as the Groves, their daughter (Angela) used to baby-sit my brother and I, their son (Michael) used to let my brother play with his super cool big-kid trucks and action figures.

There won’t be any way to do it justice here, but going out to Bob and Sandy’s was so much about the smells and tastes of the farm. Life there always included several big meals – especially the midday meal. Food like chicken and dumplings, mashed potatoes and homemade yeast rolls were not reserved for special occasions, they were the norm. The air was always sweet with the smells of peonies in full bloom, crab apples on the tree and the ones that fell in the dirt to rot and the smell of hogs (which is not sweet literally, but sweet for the memory – we always used to get a piglet to play with and care for during the few days we stayed out there every summer).

When I close my eyes, Grandma Sandy and Grandpa Bob’s farm (we called them that long before they had there own grandchildren) is straight from a movie set – rolling green hills and a pasture, a tank (funny, I think that’s a Texas term – they called it the pond), laundry swaying on the line, a rope swing, farm dogs, a cellar, bees. Their house was once a one-room, log schoolhouse. The living room has 12 inch think walls – built up around the logs. The floors are uneven in places. There is this very specific smell of well water in the bathroom – we used to spend lots of time in there because if you moved the door just right the mirror would reflect millions of Jodis and Christians into infinity.

I believe we are truly coming to the end of an era. They’re selling the farm. They don’t farm much anymore. They rent out parts of their land. No more cows. No more hogs. In the winter, they get snowed in. But, it’s hard for them to sell it too. When I responded in shock that they were moving, Grandma Sandy said, through tears, “I can’t talk about it.” It makes me realize that perhaps they never really knew that the memories created there were not just theirs. It’s funny how a place can hold so much. At some point the other day someone said, “Has anyone told Christian?” My brother takes changes like this especially hard (even at the ripe ol’ age of thirty-two).

So, on our last visit there, we enjoyed a classic Grandma Sandy favorite – blackberry dumplings. Blackberries picked fresh from the vine (we used to collect them in buckets from the woods as children), stewed up with a little sugar and donut-like pastries, served hot with vanilla ice cream. Pure farm. Pure memories.

Blue Bell...Update

2010-07-20T21:55:00.001-04:00

Whadya’ know! We went to a new little café in Muncie today and guess what…Blue Bell! Speak of the devil! The boys and I each ate a scoop on a cake cone. It was wonderful. And, I got a comment from For Lack of Tacos Reader Rachael who points out that Blue Bell has, indeed, arrived to the Hoosier State. Gotta’ love the irony.

The Best Ice Cream in the Country

2010-07-19T15:30:00.003-04:00

Today we are off for the next location in our R&R adventures – we will be visiting family in Muncie, Indiana. Because of airline issues we are stuck, at the airport, all day. But, I had wanted to blog last night and didn’t get around to it, so what better time than now (yes, the boys are with me, but one is sleeping and the other has his eyes peeled for landing planes). Once we get to Muncie, I will have limited Internet access and am imagining stealing moments at Starbuck’s here and there.

Going to Indiana very much reminds me of the cultural adjustment process. My mom and dad were in their late 20s when they left Muncie for Texas with my brother and I. I was five, my brother had just turned four. My dad had left for our new home a few days before with my brother. My mom and I backed out of my grandparents drive-way in my mom’s Datsun hatchback, tears streaming down all our faces. I was only five, but I remember that chilly January day in 1982 perfectly. I even remember I was wearing a light-blue zip-up sweatshirt (it was hooded, but these were the days before they were called “hoodies”). In retrospect, I think of my mom as having been very brave. The other day she was recalling that people called her an idiot or crazy for moving. For many summers and holidays, Muncie stayed home, but eventually the pull of friends and the familiar in Texas won out. I think my brother and I definitely called Texas home by the time I was ten. My Mimi still refers to Indiana as home when she talks to me even though she knows I have long ceased to consider it such.

One of my earliest memories of identifying as Texan involves Blue Bell Ice Cream. When we first moved to Texas we lived very briefly in Houston, then moved to Austin. I actually grew up in a small town right outside of Austin – Dripping Springs. When we moved there the entire school (K-12) was about 200 students. The 1st-12th grades were in a campus of two buildings and couple of portables. The kindergarten was in a one-room building down the street. The school didn’t have a track (well, there was actually a ring of grass), but it did have a rodeo “arena.” Ag and 4H were by far the most popular activities. Its claim to fame was that Willie lived down the road and his grandkids attended school with us. In fact, he used to come to the football games when I was in elementary school. And, there was an old hardware store where you could buy ice cream and “soda water” in glass bottles. There was only one light and it blinked yellow. The town has long since changed – it is actually a town now. I don’t know it anymore and really don’t have any friends out there.

But, I’m getting side tracked – back to the Blue Bell. All these things remind me of Blue Bell Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream. And the “Original” Cookies and Cream. And Homemade Vanilla. Blue Bell is not the healthiest ice cream in the world, but some how, in Texas, it’s the best. I remember walking into that sawdust floored, un-airconditioned hardware store with my mom (we were such outsiders, people actually referred to us as “damn Yankees”) and trying to lick and lick the ice cream before it melted away in the hot Texas heat. Those early days of Blue Bell in Dripping (we drop the “Springs” for convenience sake) made me feel Texan. Especially when we went back to Muncie and we couldn’t get it. It seemed like a tragedy. We would talk about how great it was. No one would believe us that something good could come from Texas. In the eyes of our Hoosier family and friends, we had moved to the most backwards place in the world. And, to this day, I still choke up at the commercials – most of which were like this one.

It’s funny how, in little ways, we repeat ourselves – as parents, children, travelers. I’m working on making sure my boys eat Blue Bell and identify as Texan and here I am, making the trip to Muncie, again. No matter how far we travel, we still wander back to where we feel at home (whether it’s here or there) and return to the food that tastes best (regardless of where we ultimately hang our hats).

Food and Play

2010-07-17T00:02:00.004-04:00

I have been feeling a little bit of writer's block. This is something I hadn’t expected – not being able to write about food because all the food is so good it just feels normal. I’m not sure if that makes sense. I guess what I am trying to say is that I am in my complete and utter food comfort zone. From snacks to cocktails there are no mysteries in Austin. All of it’s good and because I am here for a limited amount of time, I am only eating the good stuff.

Much of our time here so far has included play dates. I love play dates and I love play date food. The Austin play date diet includes the following: fresh fruit, cheese, and either crackers or some healthful bread (from one of three places – Central Market, Whole Foods, or the Wheatsville Coop). Frequently there is peanut butter, but never, ever is there Jiff. And, oh my goodness, the juice boxes here – we have gone from sugar as the first ingredient in Santo Domingo to sugar occasionally being an ingredient. These are sweepingly ridiculous generalizations based completely on my socio-economic and educational status and that of my friends. But, in my Austin world, that’s what kids (and moms…and here in Austin, dads) eat on play dates.

Tonight we went out for sushi. All the tables around us had kids – ranging in age from two-ish to mid-teens. One table was three moms and four toddlers! I love it. Austin is not the only city, I know, that treats kids like grown-up eaters, but it is certainly something that Austin does well. Austin is insanely kid friendly. I remember in DC struggling because I couldn’t find restaurants with playgrounds (except for fast food). But here, you can go eat a real meal and there might very well be a playground, or a fountain, or a big green grassy area.

And yet, despite all the ease with which living and eating (and everything else) happens here, I am starting to miss “home.” We have all taken to calling Santo Domingo home. I got my four-year-old a new electric toothbrush today and he said, “Well, I’ll keep using the one I’m using now here in Austin and use the new one when we get home.” Now that Jeremy has left we refer to Daddy as being, “Home in Santo Domingo.” It doesn’t quite feel like vacation here, but it doesn’t feel like our old life either. What ever it is, I am enjoying the in-between. Nice here. Will be nice to get home. Just kinda’ good all around – perhaps makes for boring blog posts, but asi es la vida.

Imported

2010-07-10T22:10:00.002-04:00

I saw these the other day at one of my favorite Austin grocery stores – Central Market. Their produce section is absolutely fabulous. It is without a doubt one of the major things I have missed living in the DR. We really get wonderful tropical fruit, but sometimes I really crave a bunch of spinach or a pint or two of blueberries. Central Market does a great job of buying local fruit and vegetables, but that doesn’t mean they shy away from imports. I thought these mangoes were especially funny. Imagine – paying the value of 100 pesos for a mango that has been sitting in a crate for a few days! Imagine thinking that it’s necessary to harvest these things. I can’t specifically speak for Haiti, but you all know how DR mangoes grow – dropping from the trees left and right. All perspective I guess.

Independence Day

2010-07-04T22:56:00.003-04:00

Two years ago, on this day, I wrote the following lines on our family blog, "Who knows where will be for the next 4th, but the increasing chance that it will be life in the foreign service likely means that we will be enjoying our (veggie) dogs and brews on US land abroad." I take great delight in reflecting on where we thought we would be…and being reminded that our dreams have come (and continue to come) true.

Last year we were in DC. This year, not at the Embassy as we had imagined, but in Austin, home from full immersion in the FS reality. Today was filled with the typical fare - baked beans, potato salad, burgers (veggie and regular), hot dogs (veggie and regular), chips, sodas and beer. I love Independence Day food. I love the tradition of filling up and munching throughout the day - like warm-weather Thanksgiving. In this life of unexpectedness, it's these American traditions that I think we hang on to the most. Even a British colleague of mine says she loves the American Independence Day celebration at the Embassy in Santo Domingo. She describes it has "great people and great food." I'm not an over-the-top patriot, but as we wrap-up this day of celebration, I think I have to agree - it's perhaps the thing we do best.

Tacos and Roots

2010-06-30T10:12:00.002-04:00

Breakfast tacos have been successfully eaten by us. Taco Shack potato, egg and cheese. I am sad to say that I was a little disappointed. Funny how that happens. The eggs were undercooked. I get really grossed out by undercooked scrambled eggs. It reminded me that, while Taco Shack had become the most convenient taco locale in the 6 months prior to our departure for DC, it was never exactly our favorite. We were solidly El Chilito. Interesting how one can forget those things. And, in the end, I can't exactly complain…am not complaining…tacos rock. Word on the street is Torchy's is the new fabulously awesome taco joint. One needs only minimal excuses to try new tacos. I will do so and report back.

In other news, back in DR one of our favorite evenings out is dinner with new friends. Here, we are living it up going out to dinner with old friends. There is nothing like the ease of conversation catching up on the events of the past year. Above all else in Austin, we have always been blessed with the coolest friends around. Last night we were able to try a new restaurant (well, new to us) - Buenos Aires Café. De-lish!! I can't attest to its authenticity (although the website says the chef is Argentinean), but I can attest to its insane tastiness. We arrived at 8:00 and were the last ones to leave. They literally turned off the lights except around our table and then locked the door behind us as we stood on the front stoop continuing our conversation.

We have dinners like this lined up almost every night until Jeremy leaves to head back. It's the type of thing that fills me with so much love and joy. It's the type of thing that reminds me, although I need little reminding of it, how important it is that our boys know that, wherever we go, Austin is home (or can be, if they want it to). We were recently having a conversation with some FS friends in DR about the common thread that joins all FS people. We all agreed that it is the need to not put down roots, the need to be able to uproot and keep uprooting. I have been thinking about that some - reflecting on how much I love Austin and yet how much the FS life is 100% for us. Perhaps it's not, at least for us, about not planting roots, but about having lots of them and letting them grow long and full.

Before the FS we talked about how we would keep the boys connected to a home (like my parents did for me with Indiana, even though we moved to Texas when I was five). Being here, I realize that having a home, a true home like Austin, is not just a convenience, not just insurance for the future, but a gift. Having this stable place to come to makes spreading our roots possible. Knowing that, if all else fails, you are welcome somewhere else makes you confident that you can step outside the Austin city limits and know what the rest of the world has to offer (even if it means no tacos).

Sinking In

2010-06-28T16:49:00.003-04:00

Last night, around 8:00, with the sun slowly making it's decent into the Texas hills and a strong breeze mellowing the 90 degree heat, I kicked up my feet on the screened-in porch and watched the deer nibble around the garden (where those tomatoes up there came from). Texas is easy. Austin is easy. I was always a little frustrated to know it so perfectly. I have always craved the new. But, after 18 months of nothing but new, I am just sinking into the old familiar like flip-flops after a day of heals.

And, where do I begin about the food? It's so nice to eat the familiar. Believe it or not, I haven't even made it over to Taco Shack yet. I did have migas though, so really that's the same thing, only on a plate instead of a piece of foil. We are trying to pace ourselves. And, Austin is so smooth, so slow, so steady, so quiet. It's hard to do anything before the moment exactly presents itself. Which, truth be told, was always a bit of the problem of living here. Ahhhh…home…heaven.

Back in Tacoville

2010-06-25T09:53:00.003-04:00

My first domestic meal in almost 9 months? A bagel, wrapped in saran-wrap, with squeeze-on Philadelphia cream cheese, at Miami International. Not exactly what I had envisioned, but the ability to tell Jeremy, "Just grab me a bagel," when he went to procure snacks was so, so awesome. The oddest thing about arriving in the States? The fact that the airport food looked tasty. I found my mouth-watering. This perhaps suggests I have been suffering from a higher degree of depravity than I had previously imagined.

We had the most amazingly smooth travel experience - I can only hope it goes as smoothly when I am returning to DR with the niños by myself a little over a month from now.

And how's the land of tacos? Well, we were dog-tired and couldn't make it to one of our favorite taco haunts and forget even touching a Negra Modelo, but we did opt for the always convenient Chipotle. That and a glass of my mom's iced tea….aahhhhh…we're off to a fabulous start.

Weird things? Well, my mom had a fruit bowl filled with grapes. We were all over them. I kept feeling guilty like, "I'm eating all her grapes," then I realized that (1) she can get grapes whenever she wants and (2) they will cost her a normal grape price, like, I don't know a couple dollars per pound. In other semi-food-related weirdness - it's surprisingly difficult to believe you can brush your teeth with and even drink the tap water. It's like our brains have created an automatic resistance. Today we venture out and I am sure will be more inundated with these rarities.

Oh, and the chinola made it just fine!

Project Chinola

2010-06-23T21:27:00.005-04:00

Some things you just can't leave behind. Like chinola. We have juiced about three pounds. It is congelandose right now in the freezer. Here's to hoping we don't arrive in Austin with orange, sticky clothing. And, here's to chinola margarita!

Water for thought...

2010-06-23T21:21:00.001-04:00

Our four-year-old had his first international dentist visit last Friday. Earlier in our time here I had wondered a little about fluoride. We don't drink the tap water. Bottled water doesn't have fluoride. I had thought, "Is this going to be a problem for my kids? Surely there isn't a worldwide history of FS kids having bad teeth." I kept thinking about it, but figured I probably shouldn't be concerned. The teeth report is good - no cavities, but the dentist recommended sealants. No problem. And, she did talk to us about fluoride. Evidently, the thing to do is buy a fluoride rinse. Seems all the dentally informed Dominican parents do this for their kids. Who woulda' thought? So, here's question for you other FS parents out there - What's the scoop on water, fluoride and your kids' teeth?

Calculations

2010-06-20T14:48:00.005-04:00

The photo above is of a very large (larger than it appears in the photo) bowl of mango salsa. We had a BBQ yesterday - one last little get-together before heading off on R&R this week. The mangoes have been so amazing I figured mango salsa was a must. I was able to get 6 perfect mangoes from the frutero on the corner. Funny thing is, you don't actually have to buy mangoes here if you don't want to. There are a couple of 20+ foot mango trees on the grounds of my office - I pick up at least one every day.

I was doing a bit of calculating - my total cost for a giant bowl of mango salsa was about $150 pesos - that's around $4. The same salsa would have cost me around $12 at home. And yet, if I were to buy a pack of, let's say, veggie burgers here it would set me back around $10. I long ago gave up on creating a veggie burger that was worth the time and effort. I mean, the whole point of veggie burgers, in my opinion, is ease of preparation.

Making these calculations is such a big part of the FS life. What do I need now? What can I do without? Is it worth the money? I have written about this before. What I am finding interesting now is that the longer we are here, the less and less I make these calculations. With time we are just starting to live completely present with the food that we have here. This isn't a consumables post, but at this moment it's difficult for me to imagine preparing for a consumables post by stocking up on endless "necessities" at Costco. Who knows where our next post will be - maybe I will feel differently, but I do wonder where exactly one begins in the grand consumables shopping spree. I mean toilet paper and pasta might be on my list some day, but would peanut butter and cereal really make it? How does one decide to buy a two-year supply of cereal? Why does one decide to buy a two-year supply of cereal?

Presently, I have decided that as long as I have rice, vegetables and some form of protein I will do just fine, but this has taken time and patience. And at the end of the day, we can actually get almost anything here. As a result, I don't really have to live with that looming sense of "what will we eat?" Everything in degrees I guess. I have a friend who traveled in Mongolia for a few weeks. All they had was mutton. Now that would definitely send me straight for Costco...

But, back to mango salsa. If you want to make some, here's how:

Mango Salsa

Six ripe mangoes diced
One red onion finely diced
One red bell pepper finely diced
Two Serrano peppers, minced (leave the seeds in if you want it extra spicy. If not, scrape out the seeds)
A handful of cilantro or culantro
Juice of two limes
Salt to taste

Mix it all up and, if possible, refrigerate for about two hours before serving

The Countdown Begins

2010-06-13T09:35:00.002-04:00

Our trip home is just around the corner. I'm thinking some about the food, but not as much as a thought I would. Yesterday we watched the World Cup UK-US game at The Hard Rock Café (our first time there) and ate nachos. They were nacho-y. They had actual pickled jalapeños - that was nice. I am not typically a fan of the Hard Rock Café - it has this weird kinda' 1980s feel to me. I think that comes from the fact that back when Austin was more small town-like we used to think it was cool to go to Dallas and go shopping and eat at the Hard Rock…that's really 80s…and it was the 80s. Now Austin has it's own Hard Rock. I've never eaten there. Can't imagine I ever will.

Mostly what I am thinking about is how weird it will be to go home. We are now well over what I like to call the 6th month hump - the time abroad when you decide you're either going to sink or swim in your host country. We're swimming (literally, in crystal clear Caribbean water, which helps) most of the time. We like it here. It's homey. So, to that end, I think it will be weird to go back to a place that's so easy. We have so many conveniences living in the capital, but even the convenient things have a level of negotiating that has to happen all the time. Lately, I have been thinking about certain situations back home, imagining myself there and then I suddenly realize that my imagination is happening in Spanish. I speak Spanish, but thinking about a whole world in pure English seems so…simple.

Eating out here is incredibly expensive. Even a fast food bill is easily $20 for our family of four. That will be different back home. I'm determined to not go overboard on things like chips and queso, really good pizza and Starbuck's. I will go overboard on all the delicious salads and fresh tomatoes from the garden and salsa.

I'm trying, I guess, to find balance before we go. Not just to establish a balance of what I'll eat, but what we'll buy because it's convenient and we think we'll need it and we won't be able to get it here. And, a balance of mind. You can't be the person who goes back to the States and points out, at every corner, "It's so crazy that people stop at the red lights and stay in their lanes," "How weird not to have people wash your windows at stop lights," "There are no children begging here," "This lettuce looks so green." That kind of thing annoys people quickly. Moderation of shock at how different things are is appropriate I guess. Perhaps increased meditation is in order. The countdown begins.

Ratatouille

2010-06-03T21:31:00.004-04:00

My worries have been proven a little true - it's more difficult to keep up with the blog now that I'm working. And, the extent to which I productively concentrate on food has also slipped. I do spend a fair amount of time in unproductive concentration on food - this includes (1) thinking of quick meals that enable me to hold on to one of the household chores (cooking) that I am not prepared to completely turn over to Vilma and (2) realizing that the time I am away from the boys results in an increase in the amount of time they eat what typical Dominican children eat.

Oh the sugar! If there was any doubt about how Dominicans contributed to the economic stability of their own country, rest assured, they keep the sugar industry well supported. Dominican children (yes, I am freely generalizing here) eat a ton of candy. This candy gets passed to the boys in places from the doctor's office to school from the neighbors' children to random people on the street (yes, pure stranger danger there!). I came home yesterday to find our two year old sucking on a BlowPop that he was washing down with a juice box (in which the first two ingredients were water and sugar…nice). I hadn't realized when I was at home how much I regulated those things (i.e. threw them away or refused them before the boys could catch the offer). It also makes me realize that I completely took for granted in the States that my children's childcare providers were not passing this stuff on to my kids. I think the most I ever had to do was ask my mom not to give my oldest cereal bars because the third ingredient was high fructose corn syrup - but, at least those things actually had fruit…and a grain of some sort.

I have completely digressed from where I intended to go with this post. So, back on track. Recently, my vegetable hating four year-old has been really into the movie Ratatouille. He asked me the other day if I know how to make Ratatouille. I said, yes - which is basically true - I know how to roast vegetables in the oven. In fact, I told him that I had made it once and he wouldn't eat it because it had vegetables. To this he exclaimed that he would have eaten it had he known it was ratatouille. "Maybe the one you made didn't look like the one from the movie Mom." "Well," I thought, "that's true. It was really just some vegetables in a pan." So we agreed - we would make Ratatouille. I did my research - that is, I watched the part of the movie where the make the ratatouille. You can't learn much from watching a cartoon rat make a dish - in case you were wondering. But, I did figure I could come up with something that looked like the thing in the movie. Tonight we went to work in the kitchen together. Dominican holiday so no work, no school = plenty of time to make dinner = happy Mommy.

As always, I had to use what was available here, so this may not be super traditional, but it was really, really good. And, in the end, it wasn't that time consuming - about 30 minutes to prep and one hour of cooking time unattended. It serves 4-6. Here you go:

Ratatouille

Ingredients:

1 large carrot, peeled and very thinly sliced
1 zucchini, very thinly sliced
2 small-medium sized potatoes (red or Yukon gold), very thinly sliced
4 Roma tomatoes, very thinly sliced

For the Sauce:

1 tbsp olive oil
½ red bell pepper, diced
1 small onion diced
3 garlic cloves crushed
5 fresh sage leaves chopped
leaves from 3 sprigs fresh rosemary chopped
two tbsp tomato paste
a pinch of sugar
salt and pepper to taste

The Steps:

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

To make the sauce, heat the olive oil in a skillet. Add the onion and garlic and sauté for 2-3 minutes. Add the bell pepper, sage and rosemary and sauté for 1-2 minutes. Add the tomato paste and about ½ cup water, stir and allow to simmer. As the water cooks down, add more little by little until you get the consistency of a chunky sauce. Add a pinch of sugar and salt and pepper to taste.Spread the sauce into the bottom of a 9x9 inch glass pan. It should thoroughly cover the bottom - there should be plenty of sauce, use it all. Begin to make layers with your veggies by making little stacks in your hand (e.g. carrot, potato, zucchini, tomato). Place the veggies in the pan on their ends, slightly tilted (a little like the way Oreos look in the plastic packing). Do this until you have long rows of veggies.

Bake for one hour until the sauce is bubbling up into the veggies, the veggies are tender and some areas are crispy on top. You'll find when you eat it that the onions in the sauce will have caramelized and the tops of some of the veggies will have taken on a chewy/crispy texture while the bottoms will be super tender.

Serve with a green salad and crusty bread. Enjoy!

Bananafied

2010-06-01T22:22:00.003-04:00

I just have to write about one of my very, very favorite Dominicanisms (and there are many). This one I will write about here because it is food-related…kinda'.

Platanado means to become acculturated, Dominicanized, local. In English, bananafied. This word might actually be used in other Caribbean islands, or come to think of it, in other Spanish speaking countries. I don't know. But, I never heard it before here and I love it.

I feel platanado sometimes, against all odds. I am clearly far from becoming Dominican, but sometimes in tiny ways I feel like I fit here. It's nice this bananification.

Cuppa' Caribbean Joe

2010-06-01T22:13:00.002-04:00

The DR is a coffee producing country. For most of my life I drank tea and then somewhere (i.e. grad school) I began drinking coffee. I love coffee. I was very much looking forward to being in a coffee producing country. But alas, my coffee journey has not turned out to be exactly what I had expected (silly expectations).

But first, some back story. When we first learned we would be posted to Santo Domingo and we read about the frequent power outages we decided to go power free and switched to a French press. That was step one in the major coffee transformation. There was no going back - the coffee just tasted so much fresher and fuller. Then, we decided to invest in a little grinder (yes, it requires electricity, so we kind of balanced out in the end). We came to love, love, love grinding our own coffee. It all seemed like it would work out so perfectly.

The French press and grinder had won the coveted spot of suitcase transport (over HHE and UAB) for the very reason that we would have, above all else, perfect Dominican coffee brewing within hours of arrival. We arrived and went shopping. Imagine our shock that we weren't able to find whole bean coffee. We decided that we might have to shop around a bit, but settled on the Santo Domingo Coffee (the Dominican favorite in a simple red and white bag). We brewed our first cup and our hearts sank in disappointment. It tasted burned and stale.

I then began my journey to find whole bean coffee. Store after store resulted in dead ends. Finally, I learned that the Embassy store was selling some through a Peace Corps volunteer project. We tried it. It was good. We were happy. But, inevitably, we would run out and find it to be a hassle to go to the Embassy for more (parking, traffic, store hours). We debated our next steps. This went on for months. Then, one night, after dinner at our neighbor's house we were served coffee. Rich, smooth, chocolaty coffee. Perfect. "What kind is this!?" I asked. "Oh, just the Santo Domingo," was the reply. I couldn't believe my ears or taste buds. What had happened? How could I like something that I had hated merely months ago?

I was tempted to try that ground, stale, super-cheap stuff again, but couldn't quite bring myself to do it despite the positive experience I had had that night. And, I still really wanted to hold out for whole bean...and then again, it was so good that night. I just couldn't make up my mind. I bought more of the Embassy kind. Then last week we decided on a whim to try out a grocery store we hadn't been to before. We strolled through the less than fabulous, slightly rundown aisles and sub-edible, fly-filled produce section thinking it would be our last trip. Then, I saw a clerk pouring whole bean coffee into a grinder. Jeremy and I looked at each other and scrambled to see where it had come from. There, in the midst of the produce section was not one, but two kinds of local whole bean coffee. And just days later we are floating on a sea of island, caffeine satisfaction.

We don't drink it like the Dominicans (very, very strong, black, in tiny cups and with tons of sugar), but we are converts. Or, reverts…or something. It's strange, we had tried Dominican coffee back home and liked it, but I was once told during my coffee search that what stays here isn't as good because the best stuff is exported. Now I think it's just a matter of taste. It's that view of what's normal. It's the acquired taste of things. Either way, it seems like another way in which we just keep discovering and that never gets old. Reminds me of why we do this.

Cereza!

2010-05-25T21:20:00.004-04:00

When we first got here we Netflixed a movie called Sugar. I highly recommend it. It's about the experiences of a Dominican pelotero (baseball player) who is recruited to the minor leagues in the US. In one scene, the main character recalls getting a scar on his head as a child. He says he got the scar falling from a cherry tree. I remember when we were watching the movie I said, "They have cherry trees here?"

Indeed - we are now in cherry (cereza) season! I really wish I had a photo of the man who goes down a super busy street near our house with a rickety horse drawn carriage and wagon with cerezas overflowing. It's this unbelievable contrast of the modern with the old - like so many things here. When we go out - jugo de cereza has now been added to the list of fresh juices that the waiters list off for our boys when they order.

Yesterday, on the way home, stuck in the loco Dominican traffic a man was selling bags of cerezas. One large bag went for 100 pesos (about $2.50, but more like $1 in real value). He ended up giving me two bags for 150 pesos. The bags were almost overflowing and filled the car with a thick, syrupy sweet smell. I was imagining cherry cobbler.

When we got home Vilma said, "I'll make juice!" I said we could do that, but to freeze half the cherries so I could use them later to make a cobbler. As soon as she started preparing them for juicing I realized that was not going to happen. I actually have a cherry pitter - a very handy little tool that I almost never use. But, I was surprised to find that the cherries had more than one pit! And, they are so small they popped right through the part of the pitter that is supposed to hold the fruit. So no cobbler for us - which is really okay because we are now less than one month away from Austin and the final stages of peach season which means peach cobbler…with BLUEBELL!!! Yippeee!

But - no worries! They are sweet and do make great juice. Interestingly, because of the seed and size issue, Vilma just dumped the whole fruit in the blender, chopped it up and then strained out the seed parts with a sieve. De-lish!

Where the Heart Is

2010-05-18T21:28:00.000-04:00

My teenage neighbor - an FS child - has asked to videotape me for her theater project. I have apparently now reached the age where I can be considered an adult by high schoolers and therefore worth "interviewing." I'm not sure what this means considering I think she thought I was about eight years younger than I am, but anyway that's what's happening.

Tonight was the big interview. One of the questions was, "If you could have the perfect evening out what would it be?" Amazing - no matter where I am in the world - the answer is infinitely easy. Beer, chips, queso, tacos, live music, outside.

Life is picking up in pace here. We're feeling settled. We're both working. We have a great network of super cool friends. The boys love Vilma and are speaking killer Spanish. We are in love with our life. But…well, it's not really a "but," maybe more of an "and" my greatest moments lie in Texas food. In the end, even if for just a night, nothing will ever top my Austin comfort foods paired with the perfect bliss of rock-a-billy, hill country breezes and summer shooting stars. Maybe this is me beginning my R&R countdown.

The Small Stuff

2010-05-18T21:16:00.001-04:00

My life is full of great and fantastic adventures. I frequently think, "Is this real?" So much of our FS life is big - big moves, big language adjustments, big pack-outs, big culture shock. I try not to get wrapped up in the big stuff. I am a constant observer of the small things - but not by nature - it takes practice. Having kids has helped. They always notice the little things and that helps me notice the little things too. Like yesterday.

Back in Austin it's a normal spring occurrence for oak pollen to collect on one's windshield. It's really ugly stuff - brown, bristly, dusty and hyper-allergenic. It's nasty. Sometimes, because I used to only wash my car twice a year (yes, that's right) I would find oak pollen from the prior spring collected in the nooks and crannies of the engine.

But, this is DR - no oak pollen. What did I find collected on the windshield along the wipers - a mango!! I had parked under a mango tree the other day. My four-year-old thought this was endlessly fantastic. He was speculating about how long it had been there (I am thinking it rode out three days). He couldn't wait to cut it open - although, he is not the biggest mango fan (it's the texture, I think). It was delicious!

Seriously! I live a life where mangos fall on my car and collect like autumn leaves…or Texas oak pollen. It's awesome….and perhaps provides a warning about parking under coconut palms.

You Can Take the Boy Out of Texas

2010-05-12T22:04:00.002-04:00

You see it above - we are first time recipients of "the drink order." Evidently, above all else, Americans abroad crave drinks from home. I am not sure if all posts do this, but here in Santo Domingo, twice (I think it's twice) per year you can look at a long list of things you might want to drink and order cases at US prices.

I hadn't planned to order drinks, but then I was in the AERA store one day and decided to browse through the list. That is when I saw the Dr. Pepper. Sodas are bad for you. I am the occasional Diet Coke drinker, but we very rarely buy sodas. But, Jeremy, born and raised in Texas, loves Dr. Pepper. I decided that he works so hard he should have this extra special treat from home. So, I ordered five cases.

So, now we have 118 cans of Dr. Pepper. It would have been 120, but two of the cans busted open in transport, so they replaced it with two cans of Diet Coke at my request. It may be an interesting study in consumption. I wonder what it will feel like to arrive at the end of 118 cans of Dr. Pepper and think, "I have consumed 118 cans of Dr. Pepper." Or, worse, "I have just added an additional 472 teaspoons of sugar to my life." Nice.

Meals

2010-05-10T21:31:00.002-04:00

For many years, every Sunday morning I have taken a piece of paper and written the word "Meals" in the top right hand corner of the sheet. Then I start making my list of things we will eat for the following seven days. Usually, on the left hand side of the paper I start the list of things we need at the store. It usually reads something like, "milk, apples, bananas, yogurt, raisins, snacky things…"

However, since moving here the list has almost ceased to exist. It has been replaced by any number of lists on scraps of paper that subsequently collect in the bottom of my purse. These lists might say, "milk, culantro, ajo paste, perijíl" or "oranges, berengena, vainitas." Usually they are the result of me realizing in the morning that either Vilma or I are going to cook something and we are missing a handful of the specific ingredients.

Then yesterday happened. I knew we had to go shopping. Since I started work today there would be no last minute running to the store, no debating what to cook for dinner until 3:00 in the afternoon and no on-again, off-again veggie chopping breaks to draw the dinner preparations out over the course of the day. I went to the printer and pulled out a clean white sheet. I found a good pen. I wrote "meals" in the top right hand corner.

Then, I sat I looked at the page. There was so much pressure. I felt the draw of the "meals" heading, outlined by a neat rectangle and its history. My mind slipped right back to the old employed me - the me who loves to cook, but had stopped finding the time for meals that take more than 20 minutes.

I used to have a notebook in which I would write down our grocery lists every week. I rarely pulled out the old pages so they just stayed there. I was flipping through it one day last year and discovered that every week we bought exactly the same thing. And the meals varied between only about ten different things - fewer if you count veggie burgers with mushrooms and Swiss and veggie burgers with guacamole and pepper jack as the same essential meal.

I am happy to be back at work and so thrilled about this new endeavor. On day one, what does this mean for our meals, for the list? Well, the list looks like this: couscous, black bean tacos, pizza, pasta and (since no veggie burgers here) grilled cheese and salad. I'm glad I got that Eggplant Parmesan in while I had the chance. And, admittedly, it was great to see our oldest son delight in an old staple at dinner tonight - couscous with roasted almonds, feta and cranberries over a bed of greens. I thought it would feel disappointing, but we always ate those meals because they're tasty, healthy and easy. It was a quick, delicious dinner. Final verdict? Perfect. I feel in a weird way like this means we - the old two-working-parents we - have finally arrived. Like somehow this meal system reflects the real us, or something. Maybe it just symbolizes me as not being just EFM, but a more complete identity. And anyway, now I have a whole office to make cookies for…

Branching Out

2010-05-06T10:10:00.003-04:00

WOW - where to begin? So, I have been kind of silent the past week…or really, completely silent. I have had a busy week. A week that is certainly going to affect my blogging, my cooking and my eating. I now have a job!

How I came to have said job is really kind of a long and complicated story. I am still a little bit overwhelmed that it happened. I'll be busy. It's full-time and I will be traveling a couple of days per week. Does it say something about how much I have come to feel like For Lack of Tacos is part of my identity that some of my thoughts after I accepted the position were, "Ooo, local food to try in really local ways!" and "I bet I will get some great photos of fruit!"?

I start on Monday. The reason I was so busy the past week is because this was not the only job for which I had applied and one of the jobs required a lot of testing and coordinating and interviewing, all of which seemed to happen at once.

Now, back to food. What's to come of For Lack of Tacos? I'm not sure. I'll keep blogging, but it will be different I know. I won't have my leisurely mornings to walk the dog, do yoga and bake/cook before the boys come home. But, the rickety fruit stands with colorful vendors will only increase I'm sure. And, I will be doing habichuelas (beans) and arroz like there's no tomorrow on my visits to the campo so my boredom with Dominican food may change as I try new….types of beans? Maybe? Well, who knows about that one. For now, I'm not going anywhere. And, I kind of feel a new sense of energy and have a new perception about blogging. So, we'll see. We. Will. See.

Sushi. Ya?

2010-04-27T09:56:00.002-04:00

The other day Vilma was flipping through one of my cookbooks and came across the page in the photo above. She said, "You made that." I looked at the page, "Sushi? Yes, I've made sushi." "No," she replied, "the other day…" She then proceeded to describe something that I made, which now, a few days later I cannot for the life of me remember what it was. Something I had made reminded her of the photo. But, it was not sushi.

I began to explain what sushi was. She stared blankly. She couldn't imagine it. This is someone who knows quite a bit about food and had worked for ten years for a wealthy Peruvian family. Somehow it surprised me she had never heard of or tried sushi. Although, I know, it shouldn't surprise me. At one point I said, "For some reason I thought that sushi was popular in Peru." She said, "Yes, there are lots of Chinese people, but they don't eat that." Well, that would be true, of course.

Anyway, this gave me the idea to take Vilma out for sushi. I was so excited. We have a pretty good sushi place near us that delivers, but I decided we would go pick some up and bring it home. It was the lunch rush and the restaurant is small so seating and parking would have been a nightmare. I wasn't sure what she would like so I got a bento box that included sashimi, tuna rolls and veggie rolls.

We got home and I busted out our little soy sauce bowls and demonstrated how to put the wasabi in the soy sauce and mix it up. At first she got a huge blob. We were able to fish it out and go a little bit more mild. That was funny. We both laughed. Then it came time to dig in. Fail! She ate some (using chopsticks for the first time quite well), but clearly she hated it. I felt awful. I know I had built it up. She must have been hungry. I ate a ton. I was stuffed.

I know sushi is not for everyone. I realize I kind of wanted her to try this new special thing and love it and that occasionally I might say, "Hey, should I pick us up some sushi?" and she would smile and say, "That sounds great!" Although….come to think of it, even if she loved it she wouldn't say that. Whenever she does join us at a restaurant she won't order (and she can read). She always tells us to get her whatever we want to get her. This is difficult. I'll never get used to it.

Oh, but of course the story doesn't end there. That night Jeremy and I were going out and I cooked up something simple for the boys for dinner. As I was getting the boys fed, Vilma was in the kitchen cooking chopping, tossing, frying. It smelled delicious. She said, "Here, try this." I took a bite. It was delicious - a kind of vegetable, fish sauté. "What is it?" I asked. "My sushi, from lunch. Better now, huh?"

Savory and Sweet

2010-04-23T21:44:00.007-04:00

So recently I have been inspired to try some new recipes. For years I feel I have been kind of cooking the same things over and over again. I think this mostly had to do with working full time and having two kids back-to-back. I lost the time and inclination to try something new - or at least to try something new, often. This is actually what led me to cancel my Cook's Illustrated subscription. I love Cook's Illustrated and I have never made one of their recipes that didn't turn out perfectly, but man the time commitment for most of them was insane. I remember my mom saying she stopped reading the magazine when she spent 6 hours one day making meatloaf.

However, recently I have been pulling a little from Cook's Illustrated online. I like the online version of the magazine much, much better. It's searchable so I can think of something I want to make and then search for it. I am also a passionate believer in their product recommendations. I have stopped buying any kitchen goods without first reading up on their opinion. After my pizza disaster I became the proud owner of this amazing pizza peel thanks to Cook's Illustrated.

But, anyway, back to the recipes. So, part of the reason for trying the new recipes has to do with the reclaiming, or perhaps better said, reorganizing of my cooking duties at home. Vilma and I had been struggling to come up with an acceptable cooking arrangement given the fact that (1) she clearly believes it is a tragedy to consume merely a sandwich or a salad for lunch and (2) she enjoys being in the kitchen as much as I do. It kept coming up that she would ask what I wanted her to cook for lunch and I would very frequently feel like, "I don't care." I honestly just wanted to make a sandwich and truth be told, the boys are fine to eat a sandwich for lunch as well. However, it is true that if she cooks us lunch, it's usually more substantial and more nutritionally balanced. I've talked about this before. Anyway, I was starting to feel frustrated and claustrophobic about having full-time help and then I realized that the solution was actually easy. All I needed to do was sit down with Vilma and figure something out. Last week, I finally said, "Okay. We need to come up with a better cooking arrangement." She immediately shook her head in agreement. I said, "How about you cook lunch and I'll cook dinner?" She said that sounded perfect and we appear to have found our stride.

This week I decided to plan out and shop for our meals like I used to back in the States. It was nice to get back to this. I planned out some old favorites and tried this fabulous Eggplant Parmesan from Cook's Illustrated. I didn't stick exactly to the recipe on the sauce - I used fresh tomatoes, red bell pepper, onion, garlic and fresh basil and then threw in a handful of the breadcrumb mixture that was left over from the eggplant along with a dash of red pepper flakes. The recipe was somewhat time-consuming, but not at all difficult. I have to say this was the best Eggplant Parmesan I have ever eaten! Even our four year-old, the pickiest of picky eaters loved it. He was helped along by Sam, our two year old, saying, "Mmmm, this is pizza!" Sam may have been confused, but it was enough to give Jasper the nerve to try it and he loved it. I overheard Jeremy trying to explain to him what eggplant was without using the dreaded word "vegetable." Evidently, eggplant is a very popular vegetable here. There is always a ton of it in the super market, but I am not sure what they use it for. I think I am going to try to search out some recipes. Vilma's opinion was that the Eggplant Parmesan was "Magnifico!" and that the eggplant (berenjena) that Dominicans make is not worth trying. Go figure. I am still curious though.

I also recently tried this recipe for Banana and Chocolate Chip Upside Down cake from David Lebovitz. I follow his blog because he writes about food (he's a chef and cookbook author) and he lives in Paris - so it has a great expat angle. This cake was so amazingly perfect and rich without being over the top. I am thinking next time I will try to give it a Pineapple Upside Down Cake twist (perhaps leaving out the chocolate) because the pineapple here is just incredible divine.

And, finally, in recipe land, I resorted tonight back to one of my all time staples in desert perfection. I went through a phase a couple of years ago where I was determined to find the best chocolate chip cookie recipe. I found some good ones, but not a single one that had the perfectly crisp edges and gooey center that I craved. I spent a great deal of time tweaking various recipes to try to get exactly what I wanted, but never quite got it perfect. Then, a friend of mine brought some oatmeal cookies to work one day and, except for the fact that they weren't chocolate chip cookies, the texture was perfect. The recipe was from The Silver Palate - a cookbook I have seen, but never read. She gave me a copy of the recipe and I set out to make my own new cookie recipe from it. This recipe is almost identical to the original, but I think it's better because I reduced the sugar by half and added dried cranberries and dark chocolate. When I make these, people close their eyes as they chew and let out a big "Mmmmmm." Enjoy!

The Yummiest Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies Ever

Ingredients:
1 ½ sticks unsalted butter, softened
¼ c. granulated sugar
½ c. brown sugar (By the way, if you live in a country like we do where you can't get brown sugar - it's easy to make your own by just adding a tablespoon of molasses to a cup of regular white sugar)
1 egg
2 tablespoons water
1 tsp vanilla extract
2/3 c. unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp salt
½ tsp baking soda
3 c. quick oats
1 c. dried cranberries
1 c. dark chocolate chips (I use the Ghirardelli 60% Cocoa chips)

Steps

Preheat the oven to 350 and grease two cookie sheets. Cream butter and sugar until fluffy then add egg and beat thoroughly. Mix in water and vanilla.

Mix together flour, cinnamon, salt and baking soda in separate bowl using a fork. Then, add it to the egg mixture and mix well. Add the oats, stir and then add the cranberries and chocolate chips.

Drop spoonfuls of the dough on the prepared baking sheets. Bake 10-15 minutes. They will still appear a little soft in the middle, but will become chewy once they cool. This makes about 2 dozen.

In the Bag

2010-04-21T09:48:00.002-04:00

I feel like I'm slacking a bit on the blog. I have a pretty long mental list of things I want to write about, but at risk of revealing my true nerdiness - I am reading a really good book and I just got a new sewing machine so I have been…ahem… busy. Well, actually I also seem to have discovered a new aspect of cultural adjustment. I have lived abroad a few times before, but only once longer than 6 months (Japan). Now that we have been here six months, I am finding myself settling in and as a result, am quite busy. I am now able to make doctors appointments, register the boys for swimming and gymnastics and run errands (which takes forever here). I'm also sitting on an Embassy board. And, I still have those two crazy, adorable monsters who follow me around. So, life has gotten more hectic and the blog posts pile up in my head and aren't making it as quickly to the page.

But, that being said, I do have some topics stocked up. I'm going to try to stretch them out to several posts, but here's one thing in particular I have been wanting to blog about for months - plastic bags!!

Allow me a non-food related tangent here. I have two, well probably more than two, but two especially big environmental pet peeves - plastic bags and bottled water. I firmly believe that if US and international manufacturers transferred the money and energy they put into making plastic bags and bottled water into making reusable bags, reusable water bottles and bringing potable water to the world we could change millions of things about the way we live in every corner of the world. And if governments around the world were to ban (or highly tax) the use of plastic bags…well, I'm no environmental expert, but I am thinking tons of new innovative industries and a reduction in pollution could be the only result. I have not researched this much and I am not out to change the world, but this is what I think.

So, this actually does bring me right back to food. When you buy groceries here - they send you home with a ridiculous, and I mean Ridiculous number of plastic bags. Bagging groceries is something I know about - I worked at a supermarket for five years. I know all too well how many items you can get into a plastic bag without it breaking and I know how you can pack it so they bag won't break. Supermarkets in the US over use plastic bags too, but I am telling you, here it is insane.

Here's an example - the other day I bought: two packs of plastic hangers (10 hangers per pack), two bunches of basil, a bunch of parsley and a head of lettuce. How many bags did I come home with? Five! Yes, five plastic bags. That is a bag for the parsley, a bag for the basil, a bag for the lettuce and a bag for each pack of hangers. I don't know why they do this, I really don't. Jeremy has the theory that because in most homes you can't flush your toilet paper, you want these bags to line your trashcans because you take the trash out every day. It is true that most Dominican households do take the trash out every day. We too line our trashcans with grocery bags, but we can flush paper, so we're not in exactly the same situation. But, still, I just don't get it. There's got to be a better way.

Now, I bet you're asking where my reusable bags were the other day - I forgot them at home. I really, really try not to forget, because the bagging here is so out of control. But, this takes us to the funny part of my story - the reaction by the cashiers and baggers when I do bring my reusable bags.

Here's the way it goes down:

I walk up, put my old, grungy Trader Joe's and Whole Foods bags along with the canvas Esprit bag I have had since the fourth grade (I am super proud of still having this bag) on the belt followed by my groceries. The cashier asks me, once all the things are unloaded, if she can start. It's always a she (I have never once seen a male cashier) and they always ask if it's okay to start. I am assuming this is so I can check to make sure everything is ringing up correctly - I can appreciate that.

Then, she proceeds to try to find the bar code for my reusable grocery bags. I say, "Those are mine already. They're for bagging my groceries." She says, "Oh, you're not buying these?" I think this is funny because they are on their last legs of shoppingdom. "No," I say, "I want to bag my groceries in there."

She smiles, seems to get it and throws the bags down the belt, where the bagger (always a teenage boy - there are no female baggers, ever) proceeds to put my reusable bags into a plastic bag. I say,"No, no, those are for bagging the groceries. I want to put my groceries in there." Blank stare. Removes reusable bags from plastic bags. Groceries begin to come down belt. Bagger begins to bag my groceries in plastic bags. I say, pointing, "No, please use the bags I brought. Those bags, there." He picks them up, points to them. "Yes," I say "Please put my things in there." He puts one or two things in.

Then, something comes down the belt that throws him off - a pineapple. It's thorny, perhaps dangerous, it might break these nice bags the lady has brought, better go back to the plastic. He goes back to the plastic. "Please," I say, a bit more firmly, "All the things can go in the bags I brought." He leaves the pineapple in the plastic bag and puts it in my reusable bag. This repeats throughout the entire checkout process, every single time I go to the store.

Adventures in grocery shopping - see totally about food : ). One time I lost it a little bit…just a little bit. I kinda' snatch the bag away and was like, "Here! Let me show you!" and I did it myself. I think I needed to do that once. But, afterward I felt really bad. The other day Jeremy got annoyed at a bagger and did a similar thing. I was like,"Oh, you're such a newbie at shopping." He said, "Ya', how do you handle it now?"

How do I handle it now? I just repeat myself, slowly, firmly, but with an unfailing smile. Sometimes I tell them I know it's strange, but I am trying to protect the environment. Sometimes I laugh a little, but in a kind-hearted way (I think). I kind of try to remember that these teenage boys who work for pennies and whose parents can't afford to send them to school maybe just think I'm crazy. That's fine with me really. In the end, maybe it saves a few bags from going into the sea - where I'm sure our trash goes because there's no recycling here…

Mango Season in Progress

2010-04-15T17:15:00.011-04:00

So, I can't yet give a description of the taste of the perfect mangoes that are hanging from trees all over Santo Domingo, but with mango season well on it's way I can give you a few shots of how they look from this end of mango season. These photos are from the park behind our house.

I imagine myself a bit like the characters in those movies based on Jane Austen novels. Casually skipping along, plucking a piece of fruit from the tree as I giggle and my young, Hugh Grant-like beau grabs my hat and runs off laughing as a take a big bite of my newly plucked fruit before casually throwing it on the ground and running after him because, hey, there is a ton of this fruit around here.

Except, I guess one can't eat mangoes like apples....and I'm no Victorian sweetheart, but still - one can let the mind wander with all this tropical fruit around. I hear something similar happened to the Conquistadors.

Zapote - Take 2

2010-04-14T09:37:00.006-04:00

As you can see above - I went out and purchased an apparently ripe zapote. As you will recall, I have tried this fruit before and struck out. This time I think I may have purchased one that was slightly over ripe, but overall in good eating condition.

The verdict? Still not my cup of fruit. I just don't like it. The last time it tasted like raw pumpkin. This time it tasted like mushy, raw pumpkin. I love pumpkin - cooked. So, I think I have given it a fair shot - for the sake of cultural and culinary exploration. My relationship with zapote ends here.

Next, I will re-try papaya, or lechoza, as it's called here. I have never liked papaya, but when we were at the resort, I took a pinch of a piece that I had put on Sammy's plate (I am all about helping my kids try things I don't myself eat) because it looked tasty. It was! It tasted amazing! I can't believe I forgot to write about this. I guess in my resort post I was writing about being homesick so the wonderful fruit experiences got a little pushed to the side. But, anyway, it tasted like butter and fruit and almonds. So, sometime soon I will make my way down to the fruit cart near me where I always seem to have luck getting the best fruit and pick up a lechoza and make something tasty and tell you guys all about it. I'm thinking this looks good.

Aguacate!

2010-04-12T10:34:00.001-04:00

I'm afraid fabulous aguacate (avocado) season may be winding down. They're getting slightly smaller and going up in price. One massive avocado that would comfortably feed four used to cost 30-35 pesos (that's about $1, but more like 50 cents in true value) now costs 50 pesos. I thought that I had written about avocados before, but looking back, I think I have only mentioned them. I buy avocados on the street. Sometimes I buy them from this lady down the street who has a permanent cart, but recently I have shifted to buying them from a partially blind man who sells them from a box. Lately he has a woman with him. I think she may be his wife.

There's something about the avocados here. They're huge. The variety that is often sold as "gourmet" at home. They are a little fruitier than the avocados I grew up with, almost juicy. This was a little strange at first, but we quickly got used to it. More so than the Haas variety that we're used to in the States, I think they need to be jazzed up with a bit of salt, pepper and lime. But, not much. They are incredibly delicious. You do have to buy them significantly softer than the Haas variety for them to be ripe. And, surprisingly, you can buy one that is completely ripe on one end and hard as a rock on the other. When we first got here I would just pretty much take whichever one I was handed, now I'm a bit more picky. But, it's a science and one I will need at least one more avocado season to master I'm sure.

One of my favorite things is watching the avocado sellers with their plastic bins atop their heads, balanced with ease from centuries of tradition, winding their way through apartment complexes, "'Cate! 'Cate! 'Cate! Aguacate!!" It was one of the first things my boys learned in Spanish. I loved to hear them running through the house hocking their goods and calling out to their imaginary friends.

Word is now that aguacate season is wrapping up we're moving into mango season and, hey, I'm not gonna' fight that! I wonder how I will ever manage to live in a country where fresh tropical fruits and veggies don't spill over (literally) onto my doorstep. Well, that's better left to bidding season I'm sure. For now, I'm going to plot how I can make the best of my last few weeks of 'cate, 'cate, aguacate…

PS In exciting news, my loud, crazy neighbors moved out and they have a huge mango tree that is sagging under the weight of its quickly ripening fruit. I know that fruit is just begging to fall in my yard. And, best of all worlds - according to the rumor mill the Embassy is looking to procure that house for an Embassy family. I see smoothies in my future : ).

Take-Out Heaven

2010-04-09T19:51:00.004-04:00

I speak Spanish. It's not perfect, but I'm fluent. It is very rare for me to have trouble understanding someone and vice versa. I have lived in or spent time in eight Spanish speaking countries. But let me tell you - Dominican Spanish is like no other. It frequently feels like they double the words necessary to get their point across and then cut out half the syllables. It's getting easier and easier, but one important task has eluded me - ordering take-out.

Let me start by saying one of the greatest things about this huge city (population roughly 2.2 million - the same as Houston) is that you can get anything delivered. I'm not just talking about lunch or five-gallon water bottles. I'm talking about Kentucky Fried Chicken, your medicine, an egg, one beer, a box of band-aids. The deliverymen drive these little tiny motos and weave in and out of traffic like they're unstoppable. Unfortunately for me, I feel like up until this point we have largely missed out on the delivery utopia. That's mostly because it just seems so hard sometimes to have a conversation on the phone given the linguistic challenges I feel I face every time I have attempted take-out.

Tonight, I finally bit the bullet. There's no better time than the present and we're hungry. The boys are in bed early and I just really don't want to get in the car. Our food has not yet arrived, but if all goes well we will soon be eating egg rolls, fried rice (which they call Chow Fan here - Has anyone else ever heard of this? Is that what it's really called in China?), hot and sour soup with ice cold Presidente to wash it down. The ordering process went smoothly. There was a bit of catch when he took my phone number and then asked if it was my first time calling - I thought he asked for my first name. Nice guy, he just repeated himself a couple more times (not more slowly, but a bit more forcefully).

This is a milestone. I feel like I have the wind at my back and there is nothing stopping me. Tonight it's Chinese, tomorrow sushi? Empanadas? The possibilities are endless.

Homesick

2010-04-06T10:17:00.003-04:00

We just got home from vacation. Now I feel homesick. Last night I made baked macaroni and cheese - so classic American. It was actually the first time I have ever made it. Kinda' thought it would help with the homesickness - think it made it a little worse.

We took our vacation at a resort - the first time we have ever stayed at a resort. We have never considered ourselves resort people - whatever that means. Well, I guess it means we have always been more of the backpacking type. But, the biggest issue with that and children - you guessed it - the food. In our old backpacking days we sometimes went all day without eating. One time, in Nicaragua, we actually found ourselves in a position where we ate practically nothing for four days. That was pretty bad. Of course with kids, you have to have access to easy and predictable food. Thus - the resort. And, in many ways, I think we were ready for that type of vacation.

The resort food ranged from excellent (the fruit, of course, we live in a tropical paradise) to passable (fish sticks on the snack bar - the kids loved them). I do have to say, staying at a resort is kind of like working from home with a full pantry. You want something to snack on, you walk right over, in your bathing suit and pop it in your mouth. This could be problematic if you were to stay at a resort a long time I imagine. Jeremy worked at home a lot before joining the Foreign Service - he has lost quite a bit of weight without even trying. I'm sure it has to do with the decrease in snack availability. He can put away a bag a chips like that. Anyway…

The resort where we stayed had food theme nights. We were there for "Oriental" night, Mexican night and Dominican night. "Oriental" night was mostly Chinese food, but also spaghetti and pizza - go figure. In case you're wondering, Mexican night did not include tacos. It did include black beans, Mexican rice and a soup that was labeled "tortilla soup." It was not like any other tortilla soup I have ever tried, but it was delicious (that's it in the photo above). Dominican night was the best, of course. There were no surprises there - Dominican food is predictable - which occasionally can be nice. We kind of got a little excited about it.

Now we're back to our eventful every day life. It's time to go back to thinking about food and cooking I guess. I need a job - a job that doesn't involve cooking. I love cooking. I love eating. I love food. But, the real me works outside the home. These are the ins and outs. It was only a few weeks ago that I posted this. One day I'm like, "I could totally do this forever," and the next day I'm like, "What in the world am I doing?" There was a point where I was deciding between social work school and cooking school. I made the right decision - I love to cook, but wouldn't have been a good chef. I like to believe I am a good social worker. If you could see me writing this you would be like, "Jeez woman - be thankful!" I am sitting here, outside. There is a perfect breeze. It's not hot at all. I am listening to Billie Holiday and my wind chimes that I have had in every single house since 2002 (I can close my eyes and it sounds like home). I have an almost empty cup of coffee…

Hey, that may have worked a little. I am thankful. It will come, whatever it is. The settling in more and more to this life, I guess. The job, if it's meant to be. The perfect tortilla…sometime…here or on 6 weeks of R&R this summer. For now, it's time for a walk. Then pick up my perfect children and…play…then cook dinner. No complaints.

Yin and Yang

2010-03-28T22:06:00.004-04:00

That thing pictured above is a Mamey Sapote - known in my local supermarket as a Zapote Criollo. I have had my eye on it since we arrived. It's another ugly fruit. Finally, today, I got up the nerve to try it. Evidently, it can be used for just about anything you would use fruit for - juice, salad, pudding, muffins.

I struck out. It was gross. I took one bite and threw it away. It's supposed to be bright orangish-pink inside (kinda' like Tang, I think), but the one I got was a little lighter and the fruit was a little firm. I think it wasn't ripe. It tasted how I imagine raw pumpkin would taste. It left a weird film inside my mouth. Yuck.

I'm totally blowing at this plan to make Dominican dishes. I've discovered that I mostly have to make them on the weekend because it's impossible to explain to Vilma why I have to make them and not her…and why I need to be able to do it without someone coaching me. Maybe I'm being difficult. I just want to be able to experiment and reflect and then perhaps have someone show me the right way. This is so me. I'm stubborn. My oldest is the same way - loves to do something until you start micromanaging. Anyway, I feel like I have to reserve the weekend for experimenting, but then the weekend comes and I want to experiment with things I am 100% certain we will love. And, I don't want to use meat - which requires an additional level of coordination because there is no naturally occurring vegetarian food here. As of now, I am dropping all Dominican-food related goals. We'll eat what looks good. Maybe it will be Dominican. Maybe it won't. If it is, I'll write about it. Deal?

On a more positive note - I made some fabulous red enchilada sauce today! At home I buy Hatch brand enchilada sauce . Yes, it's in a can, but I love the stuff. I also love the enchilada sauce on the Amy's brand, frozen enchiladas and Mexican bowls. I have been saying for a couple of years that I was going to figure out how to make enchilada sauce - one that perfectly mixes my two favorite pre-made sauces.

I can now say I will never buy canned enchilada sauce again. It was so easy to make my own. I minced half an onion and used about one tablespoon of prepared minced garlic. I sautéed these two things in a little olive oil and added about 1 tablespoon cumin and 1 teaspoon coriander. I also added about 1 tablespoon of chili powder. Once the onions were soft, I added one 6 oz. can of tomato paste and stirred it into the onion/garlic/spices mixture. I added water little by little - starting with about ¼ cup - until I got a thick sauce (the consistency of gravy). Then, I added a little packaged taco seasoning for spice (not sure how much, I added some here and there until it had the right heat level). I had considered adding Tabasco, but thought the taco seasoning might make for a better flavor - I think it worked well. Then I added a pinch of salt and a pinch of sugar. I let it simmer for about 5 minutes and then it was done. I'm still basking in this victory. Another kitchen success born out of the lack of staples!

But, back to the zapote. I think I'm going to try again. And yet, I am pretty sure I'm not going to like it. It has a vaguely papaya-like feel to it. I have a couple of friends back in Austin who love papaya - not me though. I realize as I type this I am making a disgusted face. What should I do? Zapote? No Zapote? I'm gonna' go for it. If any of you have zapote-related experiences, I'm game for hearing more. This fruit's got me all tangled up.

Chinola

2010-03-23T10:55:00.005-04:00

One of the very first things we discovered when we got here was chinola. Chinola is passion fruit. I'm not actually sure anyone in the States eats or drinks passion fruit. My guess is that you might buy some sno-cone called passion fruit, but I'm pretty sure it's not a common fruit in the States. Here it's like gold. You don't eat chinola, by the way. You juice it and drink it. It's amazing. However, it is difficult to imagine how it was discovered. It's not something you look at and think, "Yum!" The outside is dry and wrinkly and feels a little bit like….I don't know how to describe it…kind of like if ping pong balls were inflatable and you partially deflated a peach-sized one. Does that make sense? Anyway, they're ugly. You open them up and they look a little bit like an orange, rotten pomegranate. They are filled with seeds and have a sour, bitter taste - like if you crossed the juice of a lemon with orange zest. Sounds horrible, doesn't it?

However, once you complete the long process of juicing it - which includes scooping the insides into the blender, then pouring the blended juice through a strainer, pressing out the juice from the pulp, discarding the tiny black seeds (they look just like poppy seeds), mixing the juice with water and sugar syrup, you literally have one of the tastiest beverages imaginable. For some extra kick in the evening…or, you know, it's DR so afternoon is fine too…mix in a little of the fabulous and inexpensive local rum and it's smooth sailing on your tropical paradise.

We had Austin friends (who now live in New York) visiting this weekend - a pure joy and total treat - and I'm pretty sure their favorite DR food moment was that first sip of chinola. Their love only grew stronger when they tried it that evening with rum. What a surprise chinola is - this ugly thing with a horrific taste that somehow transforms itself into to liquid comfort right in front of your taste buds. My oldest son loves the story The Ugly Duckling. I guess it's the classic tale - you never know what is lurking beneath the surface.

It's true in life and in food. When our friends were here we ended up eating much more local food than we ever do when it's just us. Maybe that's because we get our fill, but I think it's also because when it came down to it, we wanted to show them a little bit of the local flavor (and they're pretty adventurous eaters). Santo Domingo is big and bustling and, while I actually think it's beautiful in its own way, many people do not. I felt the need to show them here like it truly is our home. Not just the surface, but the nooks and crannies too. We found ourselves driving around rattling away non-stop about this and that. They may have tuned out, I don't know, but I at least felt this need to get at it all, to cover every single detail. Now that they're gone, I am sure I will start working on the narrative, the sights, the food for the next set of visitors.

It's a big part of the Foreign Service life - this creation of a new home somewhere else. It's my favorite part I think. Because, you know, for all the waiting we do, for all the hoping, for all the unexpectedness - we do end up somewhere. And when we do, we want to share it because even though it's not always pretty, it's always ours and it's always, always, always good to see the good stuff in the middle of the crazy.

Sell Me Something

2010-03-19T09:46:00.003-04:00

Here's an interesting thing that happens here - sales people, representing various vendors are placed strategically in the grocery aisles and they try to sell you stuff. Once I was in the rice aisle and this poor 20-something girl had the rather unfortunate job of trying to convince me to buy the more expensive plain white rice. The other day, Vilma and I were at Bravo and this sad lady in a chef's hat was hoping we would buy her garlic paste. She claimed, "It is more natural than that one you're about to buy." I looked at the ingredients and said, "They have exactly the same ingredients." She replied, "Well yes, but this one has a better flavor." Vilma said, "No, I've tried them both. We'll buy this one." Crazy.

I was all wrapped up in how weird this was and then I remembered, "Uhhh, I used to work at a supermarket. Isn't this the same as the sample people?" Why yes. Yes it is. But, like so many things here, it seems different. It seems like here that not only do they actually want you to buy it, they're willing to tell you all sorts of ridiculous things to get you to buy it. Vilma will tell me all this time that such-and-such is good for this-and-this and I'm like, "Really, that just looks like plain ol' whatever."

And, my recollection from home is that when you stop by the sample stand to try your Jimmy Dean Pig in a Blanket…or, actually where I worked it was things like, Gruyere Puff with Caramelized Onion on a Bed of Baby Greens…but, anyway, when you stop to pick up your random goodie on a toothpick, you don't actually have any intention whatsoever of buying what's being hocked. You just want some free food. Here, I see people all the time walking away with whatever's being sampled. My favorite is the sample stand at Price Mart (it's like Costco) where they sample mayonnaise on yucca crackers - dis-gust-ing! But, there people go, "Mmmmm…mayonnaise! Give me two industrial-sized jars of that stuff!"

So, here is where I say forget what I just said. Are you ready? This happens at home too, believe it or not! The difference? I've written about this before, but it never ceases to amaze me and remind me of why I love living abroad so much. My eyes are just more open here. I'm forced to examine habits and practices that are easy for me to ignore at home. It's harder to be blind to what's happening around you when everything looks and sounds so different. And, above all else, what I find is that this makes it easier for me to make an honest assessment of the realities of my own culture. I'm finding the thought process that begins with "We would never do…." rarely ends where I think it will.

The Danger Factor...and Pizza

2010-03-14T22:33:00.004-04:00

Here's the skinny on Dominican pizza. There are three categories - edible, awful and disgusting. Given the situation, I have become a bit of a pizza making fool, but my ambition (and lack of proper tools) caught up with me and Friday night resulted in an epic pizza fail.

I don't really want to talk about the pizza fail itself - it involved a 500 degree oven full of dripping pizza, a broken pizza stone, pizza that resembled a crime scene and a handful of words I should not have been saying in front of my children. You can imagine.

What you might be surprised to hear is that at the end of this craziness - and trust me, it was madness around here - my four year old sat down to his tumor-esque glob of cheese and pasta sauce and said, "What a fun night!" When I called my mom to recount the adventure she replied, "Why didn't you just get delivery?" It's all perspective I guess, but it got me thinking about choices.

Sometimes I remember out of the blue, that not everyone would choose the life that we've chosen. In fact, obviously, most people wouldn't. My pizza fail was in part an issue of the fact that I cannot get the proper pizza making supplies here. I have to order them from home. I miss being able to just go to Target. I bought a "stone" at a home supply store here - obviously it was the wrong kind…or something. And, another part of my pizza problem was the fact that there was no way I was going to get delivery. A Friday night in becomes a production when you're doing everything from scratch. I don't mind it…but, you know, it would be easier to call up our local pizzeria. And yet, and yet, this is what we choose.

But, many State Department employees sacrifice much more than pizza. People die doing this job. Why would we choose this? I don't know. At what point would the sacrifice become too great. I can choose to tolerate cooking disasters, but natural disasters? War? Death? Do we become addicted to this life? Does it become the only thing we know? I had a great life back in Austin, but I can say with all honesty the idea of returning to my old life pretty much scares the crap out of me - it was so set, so planned, so predictable. I love this new life. I choose to love it. Yes, we live on a Caribbean island, a paradise, but it's not always perfect. I choose to love what I love about it and just move on from the stuff I don't. I choose to go ahead and order those supplies from Amazon and hope that next time I don't almost burn the house down. But, here's what I'm left wondering on the eve of a tragedy in a town where I have close FS friends, at what point would I choose to say "never mind" and how will I know when I get there?

My tacos. My home. My soul.

2010-03-10T21:09:00.005-04:00

So it has just dawned on me that some of you may think I am exaggerating when I talk about tacos. That, you know, they're just some crunchy things with meat…or something. Oh, oh, oh they are so not that. Tacos and coffee are Austin. And Austin tacos are like nothing you have ever had - perfect for their simplicity, their Austiness. It's a thing you feel. There are moments in Austin when you're sitting outside, the air that perfect warm, your nose is probably itching because it's always allergy season, and you're drinking your café con leche and eating a potato, egg and cheese and you just know life couldn't get any better.

Today this absolutely perfect article appeared in the New York Times. I was transported…and hungry…and more than a little nostalgic. Enjoy.

Apron

2010-03-09T21:29:00.004-04:00

Today I did the unthinkable. I bought an apron. Well, three actually (it was cheaper to go with the multipack). This is it. I am undeniably and officially an at-homer. One of the things that has been the most challenging for me since we began this Foreign Service life is that place on forms where you have to put profession. I want to stress that I have nothing against people being at home with their children - I think it's awesome. I have many friends that do it with pure joy and poise and laughter and I think they are some of the coolest moms (and dads) around. It is just not where I imagined myself. It is especially not where I imagined myself quite comfortable with the way things are.

So, I bit the bullet and decided better to get an apron than to keep staining my clothes with flour and oil and butter and chocolate and tomato and…wine. Maybe I should work towards just wearing the apron all the time.

I have this subtle, if not completely unsubstantiated, feeling that the apron will help me reclaim my kitchen a little bit. I had a friend in college who grew up overseas and she used to complain about having a full-time housekeeper and cook. I thought she was crazy and perhaps a little spoiled. But, she used to say that sometimes, especially when you're a teenager, you just want to throw together a peanut butter sandwich or make a gooey plate of brownies and lick the bowl. She always felt a little sad that she missed out on such opportunities.

As blessed as we are to have someone as amazing as Vilma with us, I do have moments when I just want my own kitchen space. Sometimes I cook something that I have been cooking for years - something we all love - and I find myself wondering if Vilma will like it and feeling bad if it doesn't turn out just perfect. It's like having a constant house guest. I have flipped hundreds of omelets in my life - never, ever missed the skillet - except the other day when Vilma was 12 inches from me, watching over my shoulder. I was a little short with her the other day when she wanted me to buy a soy sauce like substance to "color" the food. Soy sauce should have three or four ingredients, not fifteen. And, I like my food the color of itself. It's hard to explain. And one more thing, we like brown rice. We don't boycott white rice, it's fine, but we like brown. That's what we eat. Please just make brown rice.

And then, today, she made sautedita de atun . I really can't complain, can I? But, maybe there are some as of yet undiscovered gifts in the apron. I'll put it on and like a magic cape I can be invisible. Stirring, mixing, pouring, Sam Cooke, Smokey Robinson, spoon microphone. Home again.

El Famoso Tostón

2010-03-08T09:20:00.008-04:00

I'm finding myself wanting to write about food with profound observations about the culture and social structure of my host country and realizing, sadly, that I just can't do it - at least not all the time. Despite being surrounded daily by Dominicans - we don't live on a compound, my kids go to a local preschool, I'm out and about all day long - I find myself still on the outside looking in. I am certain that Dominicans include topics like race, slavery, imperialism and social justice in their daily gabs (Right? Right?), but I'm not getting invited to those discussions so where does that leave me?

I wonder if that is where the food thing comes in - it's not difficult to access the food. Dominicans love Dominican cuisine. They talk about it like I talk about tacos. So, I'll keep writing about the simple, simple food in this complicated place and hope that some day I will have something more profound to say. Maybe if someone teaches me how to make something I'll say, "So, do you have any thoughts about the African origins of this dish?" Or, maybe I'll just stick to the fail-proof, "Aye! Que rico!"

In my endeavor to make the rounds with Dominican cooking, I have opted to start with tostones. It may be cheating - I learned how to make them right after we moved here. They're easy and delicious and I guarantee, if you have friends who haven't tried them, you can pass them off as some sort of culinary masterpiece and they will never know the difference. They'll say things like,"Wow! How did you learn to make these?" and "Oh my god, I had these one time in this little Dominican restaurant in the Bronx. I love them!"

Tostones are a staple of the Dominican plate - they're served as an appetizer or a side dish…or you can just eat some with a Presidente and call it a meal. My love of food includes the healthiest of the healthy (I love a warm salad of gently sautéed spinach and grilled tomatoes) and the seriously worst of the worst (I eat marshmallow Peeps and no matter where in the world I am, my mom sends me a box for Easter). I would rank tostones somewhere in the middle - you fry them in oil (twice), but they don't absorb much of it and they are rich in fiber and vitamins and aren't as sugary as bananas. Come to think of it, they may even be pretty healthy. I don't really know.

Here’s what you do to make enough for four people:

Peel and slice 6 green plantains into 1-inch thick chunks. Do not buy bananas. Not that you would. But, I just have to stress - plantains are not bananas. Get ones that are super green. FYI - in other parts of Latin America (especially central Mexico, if I remember correctly) they make sweet plantains using plantains that are very, very ripe (blacker than any banana you would ever eat). Tostones are completely different from that - so, remember, go green! By the way - they are pretty difficult to peel - you'll need a paring knife.

Heat oil about two inches deep in a skillet. I always use canola oil, but probably anything except olive oil would work - most Dominicans use corn oil.

Once the oil is heated, drop the plantain chunks into the hot oil (you may have to do this in batches). Don't crowd them too much and make sure you move them around a bit at the beginning to make sure they're not sticking to the pan. Fry them until they're golden and then remove them and let them cool for a couple of minutes on a paper towel lined plate. After they have had a minute to cool place them on a cutting board and mash them with the bottom of a glass. They actually have this little masher thing that they use here. I came to the assumption that it was for mashing plantains and I still think it is, but I used one this time and it didn't work as well as using a glass (they weren't perfectly round like they usually are), so next time I will go with the glass.

After you have all the plantains mashed (they should look like little starbursts), put them back in the oil and fry them until they are golden all over. Remove them from the oil and drain them on a paper towel. Add salt.

That's it! It's very easy. Being from Texas I like to dip my fried things in something creamy so just out of curiosity this time I made an aioli for dipping - it was super tasty - although, presumably it canceled out the healthiness. But, you know, to each his own. They're also really tasty with a little lime juice squeezed on top. Enjoy - you're one step closer to making an entire Dominican feast!

This is What I Do

2010-03-04T23:40:00.005-04:00

Hmmmm - don't know if I can claim éxito, but I can claim much improvement on the tortilla front . I did some combing of various Internet recipes and then just decided to combine them all with my own desire to use butter (as opposed to lard, shortening or oil) as the fat and ended up with some pretty tasty whole wheat tortillas. When I whipped them up yesterday I was super excited about this - I ate one (or two) right out of the skillet with butter and they were perfect. The sun was shining in my kitchen window where I look out at beautiful Caribbean flowers and hear the pool pump (yes, my husband is an Entry Level Officer and we have a pool - don't blame us, we just showed up and there it was) and wind chimes (always blowing with the nice sea breeze even though we are about two miles from the water). Life was good. I wasn't rushing. I had plenty of time to make the short walk over to the boys' school to pick them up. I was singing happy songs in my head.

Then I reheated the tortillas for dinner and they were nice, but had dried out a little bit. This was to be expected - fresh tortillas are always better right off the skillet. Today I reheated one in the microwave with a wet towel. While I normally strongly disagree with heating tortillas in the microwave, it can be done if you wrap them in a damp towel. This actually softened up the tortillas quite a bit - I'm glad I tried it. We have about 6 left - that's how I'll reheat the rest of them too. They were tasty, but on day two they left me feeling a little disappointed.

Sometimes, in these cooking adventures, I feel completely satisfied with my creation - like yesterday around 11:00 AM. Other times, I feel like, "Ya cool. So what. I made tortillas. Last year I was helping people not commit suicide." I have been on a bit of a high the past couple of weeks. I feel like somehow I am finding my voice and my space; as a trailing partner, even with the most supportive of employed partners, you tend to have your career (and perhaps more) sidelined. It's not all bad by any means. I never dreamed of being a stay-at-home mom, but I wouldn't trade all of the time I have had with my boys in the past year (we reached our one year FS anniversary this week). In DC and here in Santo Domingo, we have had free reign of millions of adventures. In our family, I am the one who has ended up knowing how to navigate our new cities. And I can't imagine giving up the opportunity to live abroad. But, at the same time, I wonder if making tortillas is my best me. Perhaps I should be doing something more productive. Maybe I should be making more of an attempt to return to my professional life in some form.

The very recent truth is…and this is a reality that is, for some reason, difficult for me to admit…I actually really, really love my non-professional life (whatever that means). Making tortillas gives me great joy. I'm trying to remind myself to admit to the great happiness I feel with what I am doing now and not get hung up on what I believed would make me happy when we started this journey. Life is so teeming with unpredictability - especially in the Foreign Service - what an opportunity for reinvention. So, with my apparently successful bid at making a likeable tortilla, I am reminded of the need to embrace the wide-open space ahead, spoon in hand and possibly a dash of reinvention here and there. These things make me happy. My life is good. I make tortillas.

Oh, and if you want to make some too - here's how.

Ingredients:

2 cups all purpose flour (I used bleached because (1) that is what most of the flour is here and (2) it has a lower gluten content which I read is good for tortillas, but really, who knows)
2 cups whole wheat flour
½ cup soft or melted butter
2 tsp salt
1 ½ cups warm water
1 ½ tsp baking powder

Mix everything together. Pull off plum-sized chunks and roll into balls. Heat a non-stick skillet over medium heat. Roll out the first dough ball onto a floured surface - get it as thin as you can without tearing it. Using your fingers or a spray bottle, slightly dampen the top of the flattened dough. Place the raw tortilla, damp side down, into the skillet. Use a spray bottle or your fingers to spray a little bit of water on the up side of the tortilla. When the tortilla starts to bubble, turn it over using tongs. Roll out the next tortilla while you are waiting for this one to cook. When it looks done (a few golden brown spots), place in a basket lined with a dish towel and keep covered. Repeat the steps above until all the tortillas are done.

Mastering the Art of Dominican Cooking

2010-03-02T22:56:00.005-04:00

Here's where I admit that it would probably be a tragedy to live here two years and never learn how to cook Dominican food. But, here's also where I don't lie - if I were in India or Italy or Thailand I would perhaps never leave the kitchen…well, okay I kind of don't do that anyway, but for different reasons. Anyway, I would be like Julia Child and her French cuisine and spend every moment making sure that I returned to the US under the banner of Best Gringa Cook of All Things Indian (Italian or Thai) in the World. Here I'm like, "Okay, rice, beans, green plantains. Got it." But seriously, it would just be lame to not master these dishes whether I adore them or not. And, like I have said before, I don't exactly dislike Dominican food, I just don't find it to be especially interesting.

Today I set out to buy a Dominican cookbook. This experience was so…Dominican. Dominicans are, by and large, friendly. This does not, however, negate a fact of life here - everything is done with a certain level of attitude. Dominicans seem to be best at sticking it to each other, but they don't sugar coat things for you just because you're a foreigner (unless you're in the Zona Colonial - where all of a sudden you can pay with dollars and eat wrap sandwiches all while speaking your apparently flawless Spanish). Typically, if you ask for directions you'll most likely get, "Pa'lla" and a pointed finger. People will roll their eyes at you (the teenager, in-your-face kinda' way) if you ask for a receipt. It is not unheard of for cashiers to tell you tough luck to paying your phone bill because if you don't have correct change down to the peso I have no time for you. Evidently, the same attitude can be applied to recipes. I ended up using the favorite Dominican dish mofongo as my cookbook meter.

Here's a translation of the recipe pictured below:

Ingredients:
8 fried plantains, green
1 ¼ fried pork rinds or Chicharrones (fried pork rinds) well toasted
salt to taste

Preparation: Mash the fried plantains and the chicharrones in the same pilón (wooden mortar and pestle) you used for the garlic, add salt and a little bit of oil.

Serves 6.
Now, I know exactly what mofongo looks like so I could figure this out, but seriously, what if you were making this recipe in say, Muncie, Indiana? You would be like, green bananas? Pork rinds? Mortar and pestle?!! So, I figured I would just go to my best FS friend Amazon.com and order up a nice Dominican cookbook in English. It turns out that there are a couple of English language Dominican cookbooks out there! However, they have less than stellar feedback. Apparently, non-Dominicans had trouble figuring out the recipes. Go figure.

But, I am not giving up. It's my new commitment. Once a week, until I get bored, I will make one Dominican dish. I have already mastered tostones - fried green plantains. Maybe I'll whip up a batch tomorrow. Then, on to mofongo.

Jugo de China

2010-03-01T21:16:00.005-04:00

There was a point in my life, I clearly remember, when I considered fresh squeezed orange juice to be a luxury. That was probably way back four months ago when oranges cost me around $2 per pound and were only good for a brief period between, I don't know, January and April. Actually, I can't remember how much oranges used to cost me. I wonder what that means? But, I do remember that two good-sized Valencias yielded one small juice glass of product - a tragedy in vitamin C really.

Last summer I bought my husband a small juicer because, after visiting a friend's in-laws in Utah and having fresh-squeezed OJ for breakfast every morning, I got this crazy idea that providing him with this liquid gold would be a very special way to tell him how much I love him. He was happy with the juicer and religiously juiced himself a big glass of OJ every morning (my thoughtfulness did not include actual labor on my part). However, after about a month I realized we were spending four times as much on OJ and I nixed the juicer-every-day calendar for the very-special-day system. He relented. He had no choice of course. An unfortunate fallout of our new FS life is that I do all the shopping - it's so 1950s.

Then, then, then we moved to a tropical paradise where oranges are perfect in every way, year round and only cost about $2 per 10 lb bag (yes, that's right, 20 cents per pound)! I just wish people from home could really know what it's like to have fresh juice every single morning. Am I right that most Americans do not drink fresh-squeezed juice every morning? It's something special. You save it for that graduation brunch or Valentine's breakfast in bed - and even then you buy juice that someone else has freshly squeezed. Or, maybe I have just lived years in juice ignorance while all of my loved ones were happily juicing away their dollars, but not me - we were carton OJ drinkers.

Either way - here, now we drink fresh OJ and it is one of those things that I so much do not know how I will ever do without. We are going home to Austin for R&R in July and I am already planning how much I will have to work out so I can eat breakfast tacos, guilt-free every morning - my mom lives within walking distance from Taco Shack so, you know, could be a new running route. But anyway, for all the wonderfully perfect food moments I will have in Austin, I know that every morning I will have this empty little place in my heart for the sweet nectar that coulda' been.

For you edification - Dominicans call orange juice jugo de china. In most of the Spanish speaking world, it's jugo de naranja and in Spain zumo de naranja. I thought this was strange and had very little luck getting to the bottom of it until I found this article. Now, I didn't do anything to try to verify this information and it could be completely false, but it looks good to me so I plan to perpetuate it as fact when the topic comes up. If you come across a better explanation please feel free to let me know.

Mi Panadería

2010-02-26T11:19:00.007-04:00

This week I undertook several baking projects. Baking is becoming a new thing of mine - for better or worse I guess. I love cookies and I enjoy baking with friends as a kind of social thing…I don't dislike baking. But, it has really always been more Jeremy's thing. This is true for one simple reason - Jeremy likes to stick to the "rules" and I like to make up my own. Cooking was my thing, baking his. This started to change when our youngest was born. I took some time off from work and started cooking more - we spent less time cooking together. Then, I just started baking more. Now, with Vilma doing more and more of the cooking (she knows very little about baking), I tend to do the baking. It's my specialty now…I guess. I am finding it much more experimental here than I did at home. That's good. It means I get to make things up and try out new ideas. I used to have a subscription to Cook's Illustrated , but gave it up a long time ago because (1) it was very light on the veg options and (2) I never had time to cook any of the recipes. Now I realize - HEY! I should restart my subscription.

Some Foreign Service friends of ours gave us Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day before we left for post. I had already been baking some of the bread using the recipes the authors have available on line, but once I had the book in my hands I found myself reading and studying the recipes and trying to find ways to perfect them given the difference in product quality and climate here. I have found that the humidity greatly affects the outcome of most baked goods - especially bread, biscuits and muffins. I have already written about my adventures in hunting down unbleached and whole wheat flours, but even though that is no longer a problem, I am still baffled by things like brown sugar, coconut and chocolate (the DR is a major exporter of these products, but they are just not quite the same here). However, I can say, despite continued confusion in some areas, my bread production seems to be smooth sailing. I have now purchased enough oven stones to turn my oven into quite the panadería and was able to easily bake seven fresh loaves for an Embassy bake sale benefiting the US Embassy Haiti FSN (Foreign Service Nationals) Relief Fund.

One area of experimentation that is still in process is my tortilla production. I have been using a recipe that I got from my mother-in-law when we lived in Japan and first started making our own tortillas. Somehow here though, it just isn't turning out correctly. Don't get me wrong - flat bread that you put things on is pretty much food of the gods around here, so I can't mess up too badly. But, they are still not perfect and therefore, I have work to do. The biggest problem is that they're turning out too bready - they puff on the skillet, but instead of getting chewy, they kind of get more like Naan (which I have made here too). I was doing a little research today and I think I may need to change flours. This totally cracks me up because the zeal with which I hunted down unbleached flour was only perhaps matched by the fanaticism of Dominican baseball lovers. Seriously - do not come between me and my unbleached flour! The tortilla problem, I think, is that the gluten content in the unbleached flour is too high. But, I don't want to just use that baby powder looking dust they sell here…perhaps I can mix whole wheat? Split the difference - decrease the gluten content slightly on the batch, but go for at least a hint of healthfulness by adding the whole wheat? I sound scientific here, but trust me, I have no idea what I'm talking about. Remember - I use Wikipedia and say things with conviction - that's pretty much it.

Hmmmm…gotta' go - I have pizza to make - hoping it doesn't turn out like crackers because I ran out of yeast when mixing up the dough and I was too lazy to get dressed and go get more. Stay tuned for a final tortilla update - too bad I can't offer a taste test.

Spices Anyone?

2010-02-23T08:53:00.002-04:00

Maybe I am completely ignorant, but when I saw MSG on the shelf in the spice aisle I was totally taken aback. Do they have this on shelves at home? Maybe it's just the fact that it's labeled as "100% Seasoning." I mean, really, really? Anything could be labeled "seasoning." I seriously do not recall ever seeing this on the shelf at home. Perhaps it's something to research a little more during R&R.

That actually gets me thinking. One of the best things about being abroad is the way in which you start seeing the world around you again, for the first time. You notice things you don't notice at home because you have no choice - everything looks different. For this reason, I have always felt like being abroad enables me to live more, or at least be more mindful of my tiny little place in the grand scheme of things. DR has been a kind of mid-range culture shock for me. I speak Spanish and every single second of every single day I am so happy that's the case. The Spanish here is abbreviated and slurred and fast, but it's still Spanish. I enrolled my boys in school, I converse with Vilma about every topic under the Sun, I go to the store, I order pizza and I can even tell you off if I really, really have to (although it's not my preferred method of handling a situation). In short, I have been able to make my life work and the adjustments I do have to make seem more doable because language is not as big of an issue. For this reason, I worry sometimes that I will quickly become less mindful and begin to just make assumptions about my surroundings. It may already be happening - Motorcycles swerving the wrong way down a one way street? No problem! Negotiating the price of a pineapple? Bring it on! Two hours to pay the phone bill? Old hat I say! But, poco a poco, when all this starts to seem normal then what? A dash of MSG to spice up my life?

Caffe Milano

2010-02-23T08:50:00.003-04:00

You can't live here long without realizing that Santo Domingo is an exercise in contradictions - the lazy island vibe in the middle of a bustling metropolis, a city brimming with workers going about selling their trade coupled with an often fiery disposition that in the US would send buyers running for the door, the stark poverty of a four year-old hand outstretched, begging for ten pesos at the window of the Lexus driving fashionista.

Caffe Milano (Avenida Tiradentes, Naco), the location of our last date night, somehow made these contradictions, and the volatility of the city seem more vivid. The food was excellent - they specialize in a wide array of Italian inspired fare including pizzas, meats, salads and pastas. The service was the best we have had here so far. We had a couple of perfect glasses of red wine (after simply ordering the house red, we meant to ask about the name, but forgot). The dessert (la bomba de chocolate) was an absolute work of culinary ostentation, if not art or perfection of flavor. The restaurant is open air in the middle and the walls are draped in white. All of the lighting is dim and blue. It vaguely makes you feel like you're in Express for Men, but it's not as bad as it sounds. It's fun. It's like a club. There's even a DJ.

So, here we sat in the middle of this swanky place, surrounded by the most chic members of Dominican society overwhelmingly aware of the imbalance of it all. This nation has a long history that is not unlike the surf that surrounds it - a waxing and waning between independence and occupation, democracy and totalitarianism (or worse). The scale at Caffe Milano was tipped in favor of its patrons - overwhelmingly white, wealthy, visado (with US tourist visas that is) and worldly. The side we see most days is not these things. It was striking. It is still striking. It has left me wondering if the rich and the poor remember the volatility of their positions in the history of things here and feel daily that it would only take one coup d'état, one brand new Constitution or even one surprise earthquake to send things flip-flopping back the other way. I find I want to learn more and wish I could find a class on Dominican identity - perhaps a good honest book would do the trick…or at least shed a bit more insight.

Sautédita de Atún

2010-02-19T10:22:00.001-04:00

My comfort food here may end up popping up in unlikely places. Like usual, Vilma told me she could make, "blah, blah, blah" and I, with a smile responded, "Sure. That would be good." The problem I am finding is not that I don't understand the words she's using - it's that I don't know what the dishes are. She doesn't speak English, so there is not really a way to give a reverse example. But, imagine she did and I said I was going to make muffins (which I did the other day). Muffins were a completely foreign concept to her. She kept saying, "We call those little cakes." And I was like, "Well, it's not really cake because that would be cupcakes." Anyway, as I have said before, I am moving towards just trusting her and realizing that I will probably like what she makes whether I know before hand what it is going to be or not.

Sometimes, I not only like what she makes, I am bowled over by how incredibly perfect the food on my plate is. You know how when something really, really nice happens you feel that event, or the emotions of it, like a cozy place in your heart for the rest of the day? You just feel at peace and present with what is. And, I'm not talking about something spectacular like winning the lottery or learning you got a great new job. I'm talking about the one line at the end of a movie that just perfectly captures the scene or the gentle guidance you hear one of your children give the other when you're in the other room. That kinda' stuff.

That's comfort food…OMG…I may have just invented those books that already exist (those Chicken Soup for the Soul books). I think it's funny when that happens - makes originality seem so over-rated. Anyway, Vilma made something the other day that filled my belly and my soul. It was the most random food, served up in the most random way, completely on the fly, but at that moment I was like, "Heaven has come to my kitchen!" As always, Vilma doesn't use recipes and I didn't watch her make this, but here is my best guess on how one could recreate Sautédita de Atún.

Ingredients:

Two medium sized potatoes cut into French fries
One small red onion cut into small wedges
Two Roma tomatoes cut into wedges
One handful fresh flat-leaf parsley chopped - as garnish
One can chunk tuna in oil

The Steps:

Fry the French fries in a skillet with oil. This was actually the most amazing step to me because I know you have to get the oil just right to prevent sticking. These French fries were perfectly golden and crispy without being burned. In a separate skillet, sauté the other ingredients (except the parsley). Add salt and pepper to taste and a dash of paprika (we use Spanish paprika). Toss in the French fries and garnish with parsley. Serve alongside rice.

Herbal Diplomacy

2010-02-18T10:00:00.005-04:00

There are millions and millions of everyday facts about which I am unaware. This may come as a surprise to my four year old...well, not really, he regularly schools me on appropriate Lego construction. And, of course, I know I don't know much about a whole range of things. But, sometimes I learn something new that makes me feel like, "No freakin' way! How could I not have known this?"

This is how I come out the other side of my first lesson on cilantro vs. culantro. Of note: Microsoft Word does not recognize the word "culantro" - I am not alone! Okay. So, the other day Vilma was telling me to get cilantro, but not cilantro (which apparently is actually "verdurita"), I should get culantro. Which is the same, but not - because the leaves are wider and it's very healthy and you can drink it in a tea (or something) and it's good for kids…Vilma's list of examples of its uses and the detailed description did nothing to clarify for me what exactly I was supposed to get.

I showed up in the herb section of the nearest supermarket - Jumbo. A quick word on Jumbo - it's pretty much identical to Super Wal-Mart. I don't shop at Wal-Mart back home so I can't really say, but I do imagine that Wal-Mart is better at keeping their shelves regularly stocked one week with the things you saw the week before, but that's another story. However, picture Super Wal-Mart. And, picture a giant fresh herbs section. They actually have some killer herbs here! I have made the best pesto of my life here with giant, green, healthy bunches of basil that sell for about 30 cents. Anyway, you have the mental picture. Then imagine me looking at these big piles of green and trying to figure out which one is the culantro. I had a garden back home and my step-dad keeps a large plot as well, so I feel pretty confident about my herb identification skills. Oh, and I worked for several years at Central Market in Austin - so I feel like I should be able to find this mystery herb. But, no luck. To Vilma's disappointment I returned home with the same old cilantro that I have always known (and found impossible to grow in a hot summer, Texas garden).

When I got home I looked up "culantro" in my Spanish-English dictionary and found "coriander." Okay, so I always thought coriander was essentially the seeds of cilantro. This is where I start to assume that Vilma is just mistaken - not me. You would think I would have learned my lesson in this area. Hmmm…professional nanny/cook who has lived in DR for ten years vs. me (who is not those things). Seriously, is this Amerocentrism at its most basic or what! So, I had this plan to Google all this and get to the bottom of it. But, I forgot about it and figured, "Whatever. We can just use the normal stuff."

Then yesterday Vilma went to the market with me and showed me the culantro. At last, this prompted me to do a little research. Cilantro and culantro are cousins. Culantro is very common in the Caribbean and yet another cousin is common in Thai cooking. The taste is similar to cilantro, but not identical. Culantro is also called "spirit herb" because, historically, it was used to treat epilepsy. For better or worse, I tend to use Wikipedia as my first line of research - so, read more here if you're interested.

Now, back to Amerocentrism. There's this thing that happens when you're frustrated with the way something is going in a foreign country - you start to think, "Well, they must just be confused." This happens whether you like to admit it or not. For all the times you think, "Okay, I have no idea what they're talking about. I'm an idiot. I am so out of place here," there are going to be times where you actually believe that you know and they don't. What I am finding I have to do is put myself in constant school mode. I have to think of every day as a classroom where I am being given a new set of information. And, when the information directly contradicts what I know (or, to be more Zen, believe) to be true, I am trying to remember that what I am being taught is not about the facts of the case, but the cultural experience of my teachers. In other words, it is not always necessary to adopt the practices of another culture to understand it, to be one with it, to learn from it. Here's me now adding this to the list of things I should have known when I lived abroad in my early twenties and adding it underlined to the list of things we should really remember from a diplomatic perspective every single day.

Margó

2010-02-15T15:11:00.004-04:00

We found ourselves this week at Margó (on Gustavo Mejia Ricart near Avenida Abraham Lincoln). The description in our Embassy restaurant guide said something like "chic" and "small." It was both. It is certainly one of those places that you walk into thinking it will be good simply by the nature of the trendy, yet simple décor, the valet parking and the attentive wait staff. I am happy to report that Margó did not disappoint. Each course turned out to be not quite what we had expected, but delicious nonetheless.

I'm not going to focus on the details of what we ate - I think it gets tedious and I find that I don't care so much about what specific thing was good, average or bad as much as I care about the why of the whole eating experience in the context of living abroad. But, I do want to devote a couple of sentences to just say that we enjoyed Margó. It was one of the first places, I think, where they didn't look at Jeremy like he was crazy when he asked about getting his dish prepared vegetarian (he had a mushroom risotto). Our wine was delicious and our salads perfectly enjoyable; although next time I will ask for mine with the dressing on the side - in a country where they don't use salad dressing, it seems clear they don't know what to do with it when they do use it. I ordered a seafood tempura appetizer for my meal and it was not in any way what I had expected, but the sauce was very, very nice (a citrus chili pepper glaze) and I could actually see it being even more enjoyable served on a bed of lettuce or even with rice.

I noticed while we were eating at Margó how much the food eating experience affects my mood about our international life. First, let me say, it is practically impossible for me to imagine giving up this life. We worked so long and hard to make this happen. Sometimes I miss some little thing about home and I ask myself, "Do you want to go back?" Never once, not even for a second would I take the convenience and ease of our American life over the life we have in the Foreign Service. Maybe I say this with a rookie's perception, but this life is a dream come true for us. At the same time, there are days when I find myself missing more about home than usual. Almost always these things have to do with needing the familiarity a certain store or restaurant. And, sometimes I experience the exact opposite. A complete lack of missing.

So, as we sat at Margó enjoying our wine and tasty food al fresco, the R&B inspired Spanish-language music drifting (not as loud as usual - thank god!) from the bar out to the patio, Santo Domingo's rich and trendy strolling by on their way to one of the handful of eateries nearby, I was completely in L-O-V-E with our life here. I found myself wanting to savor every single bite of my tempura, sip my wine and close my eyes as my café con leche warmed my belly because above all else in the Foreign Service what you experience is impermanence. We will only be here two years. Two years and then no more bachata, no more merengue, no more world's best rum, no more attitude, dust, guineos on the street, crazy culture mix of colors…

Big Lunch

2010-02-12T10:37:00.003-04:00

So, here is what I consider to be the best kid-lunch ever - a sandwich of some sort, some carrot sticks, a small handful of crackers or chips and a glass of milk. Perhaps, for desert one small cookie. It appears that this may no longer be the lunch of my house. And, it makes me wonder, do Americans think this is an appropriate kid lunch (1) because we are too busy without full-time maids and nannies to make anything more and/or (2) because our children go to preschool and this is the kind of lunch that best fits a lunch box? I am, of course, making the assumption that "most" Americans would agree that this is an appropriate lunch. Someone out there is going to say, skip the chips (or the cookie), but I am a very healthy eater and I always eat chips with my sandwich at lunch so my kids do the same. Of course, I am an everything-in-moderation sort of person. I do believe this is a healthy, efficient, appropriately-caloried meal.

But for us, in this new Foreign Service life, the kid-lunch may be trickling away to be replaced with "algo mejor." Or, something deemed more substantial by Vilma. As I have said before, Vilma loves to cook and she is an exceptional one. I was watching her chop an onion the other day and I was amazed at her skill. We started talking a little bit about her cooking history - turns out before she became a nanny she used to run a kitchen - evidently, a very popular one. She said you know people enjoy your cooking when they line up down the street before lunch. I think, "Yes, that's probably a safe assumption." When I asked her if she ever thought she would open a restaurant if she went back to Peru she almost cried. It turns out that is her dream - one she has deemed impossible because of the costs.

So, as Vilma plugs away at dozens of other household chores, we get plates of heaping food for lunch because that is where her soul is, in her food, in the kitchen. That's what has happened to kid-lunch. At first I was resistant to this. I kept saying it was better that we eat small things at lunch and save a big meal for dinner. However, my protestations corresponded with my husband and I trying to set some ground rules on the eating habits of our four-year old who mostly eats bread, cheese and bananas. This week I just decided to eat what Vilma serves. It is always healthy and full of a wide variety of proteins and veggies and is always perfectly spiced - I rarely even add a drop of salt and I have noticed that she only salts at the end after she has tasted the food. Our picky eater protested for the first two days, but one thing that these lunches have helped us establish is that - lunch is there, this is what it is, no more picking on snacks all afternoon.

What I wonder now is how this will change our eating habits overall. For dinner now we eat whatever is leftover from lunch with a fresh salad. Our oldest is trying foods he says he is not going to try (and loving them) and our two year old (who already eats pretty much anything put in front of him) is filling up on a wide range of new foods. If we are posted in the US next, will we go back to our old habits of convenience? Will having Vilma cause us to take on a different post bidding strategy because we will be trying to find a place where Vilma can go with us? What if she doesn't want to go with us? Obviously, she is becoming, already, a part of our family - delicious food or not. In this life of perpetual impermanence, is this just more about the need to hang on to something - culture, food, a system of eating, the relationships that develop out of food, the relationships themselves?

El Museo de Jamon

2010-02-09T21:53:00.004-04:00

I seem to be experiencing some sort of food-related apathy surrounding our date nights. Last week we tried el Museo de Jamon - a Spanish tapas bar and restaurant in the Zona Colonial. The atmosphere was to die for - a perfect breeze blowing in from the sea, a glass of wine, a handful of small groups of people scattered about the tables (many of them smoking, a habit I usually find annoying, but discover myself getting nostalgic over when the atmosphere has a European flair). The food, however, was decidedly sub-par.

We shared a Caesar salad that was passable, but the lettuce had not been drained properly and the croutons were very obviously from a box (and not a good one). There weren't a lot of veg options - this actually worked out well for Jeremy. He ended up choosing the tortilla de España and a sopa de auyama (auyama in like Caribbean pumpkin). Both were exactly how you would expect them to be - satisfying and simple. My entrée, however, was a big disappointment. When I studied in Spain I loved bacalao (dried salted cod). The smell is overwhelming and enough to make you run the other way, but when I was in Spain it grew on me (like the smell of jamon hanging in a dank tavern) and I came to crave the way my host mother cooked it - simply re-hydrating it and serving it with a little olive oil alongside steamed veggies. Anyway, when I saw bacalao on the menu I was so excited. They sell it here - I have seen it in the supermarket and have considered trying to recreate my host mother's dish, but haven't yet. What I received at the Museo de Jamon was hope-dashing. The dish did have fish in it, but I find it very hard to believe it was bacalao. It was completely without flavor, overcooked and was smothered in a tomato sauce better left for lasagna. I ate a few bites and just couldn't stomach anymore.

I am afraid my apathy comes from this discovery that truly magnificent food, as of yet, doesn't seem to be finding me here. I feel like I frequently find myself encountering food that is good or okay, but nothing where I just know I will melt in my chair with satisfaction. Even truly good comfort food seems to be lacking. I remember when we lived in Japan there was nothing like okonomiyaki (especially Hiroshima-fu)- I never grew tired of it. It was my Japanese-heaven on a plate (or hot griddle). In Malaysia, we ate roti canai as if we would never see it again. I wonder when I will find my thing here that I cannot do without. And yet, I already wonder how my life will be different when I move on from here to find that fresh squeezed orange juice returns to being a luxury and pineapples, mangos and avocados are the most expensive items in the produce section.

Perhaps I am finding myself more in the land of culture shock and less in the land of food frustration - or more accurately, culture shock translating into food frustration. We have always been big restaurant eaters. Here we eat at home. It is saving money - that's good. And, since Vilma started, a new spark has entered our home cooking. I enjoy being in the kitchen with her - we laugh about spilling flour on the floor and I am certain she thinks I am the most dangerous knife wielding lunatic to ever chop an onion - and she cooks new things that get me thinking about other new things. Our oldest, who hates new food, finds this excruciating. He told me today, "Vilma is mean to me! She put that sauce on my corn-on-the-cob. I don’t like sauce!" But, at the same time, she has him eating mashed potatoes (he has lost his position as "last child on Earth who won't eat mashed potatoes") and plays hide-and-seek with him longer than anyone else has ever managed, so it can't be all bad.

But, the food. This Thursday will find us trekking out on another date night - starving (it's usually 9:00 PM before we get to the restaurant) and hopeful. Stay tuned.

Taco Bell Zen

2010-02-05T09:50:00.005-04:00

There was a TDYer (a State Department employee from one post on temporary duty at another post) here in Santo Domingo the other day. She is currently posted in Buenos Aires. They have Starbucks there. She told us this because she heard we had Wendy's. We do this sometimes - this comparison of who gets what when you're not in your typical where.

A staple of our international life has always been the moment when, for the first time, we delight in having found the one fast food restaurant that will make our life a little easier. We have never been big fast food eaters. This is actually one of the greatest health-related pluses of being vegetarian - fast food is often completely off the table because even if what you're eating doesn't have meat in it, it was probably fried up with a big vat of things that came in contact with meat.

When Jeremy and I were first married - and eating meat - McDonald's often filled this role. If you have been on an all-night bus through Malaysia and you just saw a giant rat and you need to pee, you can stop into a McDonald's (where there is ALWAYS a bathroom) and then maybe you will just get a Coke and eat some fries while you're there. I was happy to find McDonald's being trumped by Starbucks when I was in Britain in 2004. There's great coffee almost anywhere, and there is nothing like trying a new place, but if you have to pee and you're starving (and, of course, it's raining) there is nothing like the familiarity of Starbucks - both in cost and quality.

One of my weekly delights here has become my once a week trip to Taco Bell with my children. They know Taco Bell - you can get vegetarian stuff there. My weeks here are filled with one unfamiliar challenge after another - do this, do that, bring passport, don't bring passport, pay more, pay less, etc, etc. But, on the day I pick the boys up from school and pull into Taco Bell I just feel this complete sense of calm. They are starting to know us there. The store is on a busy corner and always filled with workers from the local retail shops and banks. They always look at the boys and say, "Mira los rubios. Que lindos! Que Dios les bendiga." Fast food restaurant employees here - like in any country outside the US - take their jobs very seriously (I mean hey, there's air conditioning in there!). They help me carry the tray to the table. They ask if I need anything else. They smile at us. We enjoy our food - yes, that's right - we Enjoy our Taco Bell. And then, when we're done we go outside to the playscape. Where, under a 30 foot Ceiba tree, with a Caribbean breeze that has somehow found it's way two miles inland to a congested street corner, we find utter peace. It is, the most perfect fast food experience I have ever had. Indeed, despite my gourmet food hunting, it has so-far been one of my most satisfying dining traditions - here or anywhere.

Papas La Juan Caina

2010-02-03T22:22:00.007-04:00

Having a live-in housekeeper has presented a new problem…well, more than one, but that's a different story. The food related issue is an interesting one and quite frankly, not something I had expected. Often, Vilma cooks something and I am around - I have a kind of in-and-out eye on what she's doing and have a sense of what will be for dinner. She is now cooking about two dinners per week, not including the occasional time she will throw together something unexpected for lunch for me or the boys.

When I don't have an eye on what she's doing we end up with tasty mystery food. Most of what she cooks has potatoes, so that part's easy, but sometimes there is a sauce or a flavor that is completely beyond me. Earlier this week I bought a bottle of canola oil. I use is sparingly for greasing cookie sheets or frying falafel on the rare occasion that happens. There seems to be about a cup of canola oil missing - clearly that canola oil is now sitting on my thighs.

I do have to say though - compared to Dominican food - Vilma's cooking is light and chocked full of veggies. I once heard Oprah say you shouldn't feel guilty about eating a piece of pizza as long as you pair it with a salad. I don't usually feel guilty about food anyway (and don't take Oprah as an authority), but if I did (on both counts), I would remember that Vilma's cup of Wesson probably accompanied several cups of fresh veggies…right?

Well, back to mystery food. So, one of our mystery dishes for about a week was repeatedly referred to as - "una crema." As in, "Puedo hacer una crema si Uds. quierren." I had no idea what that would be like - a soup, a drink., a…I'm out of ideas. Like with most things relating to Vilma I said, "Sure, we'll try anything." One of the main ingredients we needed was "queso crema." I had a feeling I would end up bringing back a box of Philadelphia Cream Cheese so I had her pick-up whatever she needed. It turns out the necessary cheese was Queso San Juan Fresco. It must be this cheese or something like it deemed comparably "rico."

Ingredients in hand, we returned home where I went off to play with the boys and returned an hour later to find dinner looking quite mysterious, but very tasty. I thought this dish was a little strange, but the flavors worked and I felt like it was a nice, light, easy dinner. Kind of like what we call around here "snack dinner." So, here's the scoop on what is now known by me as Papas la Juan Caina:

Ingredients:

For the Sauce -

One pound Fresh San Juan Cheese - this is a soft, fresh, mild cheese - I am sure any kind would work - get creative.

One half pack Ala Cena Salsa de Ají Molida - if you're interested you can order it here.

Milk - I don't know how much, but enough to turn the cheese and aji into a sauce.

For the salad -

4-5 medium size potatoes, peeled, boiled and then cut in slices

5-6 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and then cut in half

Nicoise olives - however many you like

Romaine lettuce - left in big leaves

For the onion salsa -

One onion halved and very thinly sliced

One Serrano pepper, halved, seeded and very thinly sliced length-wise

Ala Cena Salsa de Ají Molida, olive oil and salt to taste

To make the sauce simply put the cheese and a little milk in a saucepan, heat until melted and add the ají. Add milk as needed to make the sauce creamy - you want it to be like a thick salad dressing. Refrigerate for 1-2 hours before serving.

To serve -

Place the lettuce leaves on a plate and top with slices of potatoes. Pour on sauce. Top with hard-boiled egg, olives and onion salsa on the side.

Enjoy!

Lupe's Taqueria

2010-02-01T20:10:00.007-04:00

Lupe's has turned out to be the first successful result of my current way of seeking out new restaurants - look for the nice cars. This is something I started doing without even realizing. I would see a restaurant and think, "Oooh, that looks good!" but it dawned on me that I didn't know why my brain, or my eyes, had selected it. You might be thinking that somehow my brain is telling me nice cars = rich people = good food. But, you would be wrong. My brain is telling me nice cars = rich people = people with tourist visas = people who have been to New York or Miami = people who know what good food tastes like.

I have developed a rather unfortunate piece of judgment that, having lived abroad before, I know is completely consistent with my current stage of cultural adjustment. It's the period where I start to think, "These people are crazy!" "That's (whatever) is disgusting!" "That would never happen in the US." Of course, these things are almost always not 100% true. But, one of the things I am saying a lot right now is, "Dominican food is not that great." The truth is that probably some Dominican food is okay. In fact, some may be actually quite tasty. However, the major problem I am having with Dominican food at the moment is that it is (1) usually too salty, (2) frequently over-cooked, and (3) rarely ventures beyond the four staples of beans, meat, fried plantains and tiny salad.

Truthfully, I do like all of the individual things in the Dominican diet, just not all of them all the time. But, I don't have to eat all of them all the time so, really, what am I complaining about?

But, back to Lupe's. So Jeremy and I have a new date night system that we are loving. Thursday nights are ours and after the boys are down we head out for an evening alone. Last Thursday we tried Lupe's - a Mexican restaurant near Gustavo Mejia Ricart and Winston Churchill in the Piantini neighborhood. We were happy with what we found. The atmosphere reminded us of an upscale taqueria in Austin - the ambiance was a lot like Miguel's. The service was overall good - the hostess, who may have also been a manager or assistant manager, was great. She checked in on us and was very welcoming. Our waiter was kind of hit or miss. We realized later that it was an important night in the Dominican baseball season finale so once they turned the TV on near the bar, he was much more responsive because he could watch the game and us. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can pull a Dominican away from his baseball.

Our appetizer of queso fundido, while not Austin quality, was good. We think the cheese may have been some sort of mozzarella, but we just tried not to think about it and ate it anyway. Our dinner was nice - I can't remember the name of the dish. It was some sort of fajita thing. We didn't realize we were getting a meat dish - clearly there was a miscommunication about the menu. Although, you would have thought when he asked me how I wanted the meat cooked I would have taken that as a definite sign. I took it more as a, "Hmmm, I guess there's meat on this." While the meat was only so-so (and Jeremy didn't eat any of it), the guacamole, the tortillas and the other fixins' were quite nice. One strange thing was the tiny enchilada on the plate. It was a chicken enchilada with mole sauce. However, they had clearly used the wrong kind of chocolate - the mole was way too sweet. Our desert was a yummy tortilla wrapped around cinnamon and sugar apples and baked and topped with vanilla ice cream. It, along with the café con leche, was perfect.

All in all, an enjoyable evening with some perfectly passable Mexican. I think this week we'll do Italian and keep on searching for that mouth-watering Dominican that is surely lurking somewhere on these crazy streets of our Caribbean capital.

To Have or Not to Have

2010-01-29T10:10:00.006-04:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about the food we crave from home and how even the simplest thing comes to represent something we'd die to have, something we can't live without. Maybe that's tacos for me, but truth be told I can make them pretty much anywhere we have lived, so I never really have to do without them. I might miss the convenience of my favorite taco shack back home, or even the perfect salsa verde, but I don't exactly suffer for lack of tacos.

The first time I lived abroad (I studied in Sevilla, Spain in 1997) the Internet was, at least for most people, some strange sci-fi sorta' thing that was only for those willing to wait around for dial-up instead of just grabbing the phone. I remember asking my mom to send me boxes of my favorite cereal or peanut butter that would arrive weeks later completely demolished and sometimes opened. When my husband and I were first married we lived in Japan and we would make a semi-regular, two hour train trip to Hiroshima where we would wind our way through the ginza to a tiny shop called, of all things, Peter Pan, to buy packs of Old El Paso Taco Seasoning (I know…but it's Japan) and peanut butter. Now, with Amazon and Target and any number of other online grocery outlets, I can have what I want within days.

There is an interesting emotional experience that happens through the process of "doing without" and even the process of "getting to have." I have noticed that doing without something I love both inspires me to find alternate ways to make our favorite foods from home (see my veggie burger post coming soon) and create new dishes (like one of our new favorites - spicy Mexican veggie bowl). I have also noticed that I see foods differently when I have to cut out something that I can't get here. This has happened with meat substitutes. As a (historically) vegetarian family, I had not realized how much I was relying on meat substitutes at home - veggie burgers, soyrizo (which I really, really miss), seitan, tofu, tempeh. Every time we needed a protein, I would just throw in one of the above. Despite years of being vegetarian, I had started to stick with the same veggies over and over again (mostly tomatoes, spinach, green beans and salad). Here, almost all of our meals are chocked full of veggies and I am relying on this, combined with super whole grains (my Amazon quinoa order will be on its way soon) and perhaps eggs, cheese or milk to provide a great source of protein and nutritional balance.

So, doing without has actually resulted in more opportunities to have the things we weren't having before. And yet, the pure emotion that comes with being surprised to find something we love from home, to taste a hint of a treasured food is a part of this process too. We have always been whole grain bread eaters, but most of the bread here is ultra processed. Unbleached and whole-wheat flours are unheard of. I spent the first month or so after our arrival painstakingly going from super market to super market looking for good flour, experimenting with the bleached stuff and calculating the astronomical shipping costs and storage options if I were to order 50 lb bags online. Finally, one day I found unbleached and whole-wheat flour (at Bravo, of course). I literally had to talk myself down. "Don't run…walk briskly to the front of the store and get a cart…take several bags, but not all of it…you don't want to look desperate." I thought I would cry.

And, I am regularly reminded that we are not alone in this process. I went back to the States for 72 hours in November and the morning I dropped the boys off at my friends house, her nanny handed me $20 and a photo of a product my friend was requesting I try to pick up at Central Market in Austin. Our nanny, Vilma, is Peruvian. The other night she was lamenting having used her last pack of her favorite Peruvian aji brought from her last trip home four months ago. Her face lit up in disbelief when I found it online and placed an order.

Bite by bite, meal by meal and day by day, we maintain this gastronomical (and economical) dance. What to buy? What not to buy? What to order online? What to completely scrap from our mental and physical craving list? And, right here is where I want to wrap-up with some nice Buddhist doctrine, but would surely be taking it out of context (like people always do with Shakespeare quotes, ugg) - so, maybe best just to say: Here's to enjoying your next meal and tasting it again, for the first time.

Peruvian Crema Volteada

2010-01-24T22:18:00.009-04:00

Our new nanny/housekeeper was rumored to be a good cook and, thank god, we are quickly learning this to be true. She shares my passion for food and when I set out to make a dish, she follows me around the kitchen taking mental notes of what I'm doing. This, admittedly, was a little annoying at first, but now I'm used to it. She has only been here two weeks and we are already learning from each other. This week she announced she would be teaching me how to make Crema "Boteada." I had no idea what that was, but imagined that it had something to do with cream and floating…or boats. Once she started dragging out ingredients I realized we were making flan.

A little Internet research revealed that what I believed was "boteada" (which means nothing) is actually "volteada" - as in "to turn upside down." And, that is exactly what you do with this Peruvian flan. Here's how you make it - without using measuring devices because Vilma doesn't use them. But, I have attempted to make guesses.

Peruvian Crema Volteada

About one cup sugar

One can Carnation Milk

One can condensed milk

Five eggs

About two tablespoons of butter

A pinch of salt

Somewhere between 1/8 c. and ¼ c. white wine

About 1 tsp vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350°

In a saucepan, pour one cup sugar and cook over medium high heat until it turns into syrup. Pour the syrup into the bottom of a square, glass baking pan. Pour water into a larger metal baking pan and place the glass baking pan into this pan. Make sure the water is not so high that it goes into the glass pan - a couple centimeters is good.

In a blender add the other ingredients and blend completely. Pour mixture into the glass baking pan. Cover with foil. Bake 1 ½ to 2 hours - checking after 1 ½ hours. It's done when it's set and the top is lightly browned.

When it's done, remove it from the oven and from the metal baking pan. Invert it onto a serving plate. Store in the refrigerator.

Our final review was that this is probably the best flan we have ever had. We found it to be denser than typical flan. My husband liked this because he normally finds the texture of flan kind of off-putting. The flavor was rich and creamy without being too sugary. The next day, I couldn't help myself - I ate it for breakfast. It's one of those perfect dishes where you just close your eyes and meditate on the flavors. Enjoy!

A Hill of Beans

2010-01-23T21:26:00.004-04:00

Moving to the DR has inspired me to make a shift in the way I cook beans…well, kind of. Theoretically, every other Sunday I will cook a big pot of black beans and a big pot of red beans and I will freeze them so that I have four meals worth of beans (two of each kind) for two weeks. This is working okay. I am cooking up the beans on a relatively regular basis - although I really just think it's so much easier to use canned beans. And then again, dry beans are just so much cheaper. I guess I am faced with the ever popular American concern of which do I care about more - my time or my money?

But, back to beans - I had attempted the dry bean cooking thing in the US a number of times (well, two…I think), but I found that canned beans were just so cheap it didn't seem worth it. My nanny seems to think canned beans are some weird sort of American luxury, or idiocy, I'm not sure which. I have tried a few different brands of canned beans here and have found that the quality of some is pretty bad - I open the can to find not much more than a black, red or white gelatinous cylinder. But, they're not all that bad. There is Goya.

At home I always bought Goya brand. I still like Goya. We remain mostly vegetarian and I have done quite a bit of bean-related research so I have strong bean opinions. I used to shop at Central Market in Austin where I ended up choosing Goya because paying over $2 for canned organic beans seemed crazy and the Central Market brand canned beans, while organic and less expensive are disgusting. Anyway, I keep straying from my point - which. is. that. - the very same can of Goya beans here has fewer beans! That's right! Goya brand beans that are canned in the Dominican Republic are still a pretty good quality, but the bean to bean-juice ratio is noticeably different. I've heard the term "export quality" here - as in, "We send the good stuff to the US and leave the rest for the Dominican populace." It makes me wonder if at some point there was a conscious decision to put in fewer beans or if it's just a matter of slight manufacturing differences or processing style. These are the things I think about. Now I'm thinking about food quality and socio-economics. Perhaps best left for another post. For now, if you want to read about Goya's history and think about beans - do so here.

The Organic Aisle

2010-01-18T20:57:00.001-04:00

When all else fails and you're desperate for a taste of home - try Bravo! It's the most homelike of our local supermarkets here in the DR. Sometimes I go and stare at the organic food aisle - for only $15 per box I could have my favorite Puffins cereal, for $40 maple syrup direct from Canada. If I were desperate, I could settle for some Kashi TLC Cheddar Cheese Crackers that would only set my back $5 - a mere 53% mark-up! Of course, this doesn't figure in the 16% import tax…which technically we don't have to pay, but practically we do because of course it's quite inconvenient to like, use subtraction. So, like a toddler in front of the Christmas display, I stare and covet, but never buy…it is, just food. And, for every time I don't buy the stuff from home because I should not have to pay that much for stuff that was overpriced to begin with, I recommit myself to discovering new tastes. But, those Blue Sky sodas are only about $1…