Caffe Milano

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.

Margó

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…

El Museo de Jamon

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.

Lupe's Taqueria

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.