Voyage Issue 5: The Food Issue by Voyage UW

VOYAG E

ISSUE 5 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; THE FOOD ISSUE

ISSUE 5

The Food Issue Editor’s Note

#voyageuw Shots

My French Farm Stay

Ecuador

Fine Dining – An American Hierarchy

Home Away from Home

Motherland

Get Me to the Greek

Everyone’s Abuela

The Evolution of Creole Cuisine

From the Heart: TAM Noodle Box and the Evolution of Asian-American Cuisine

Butchery

Finer Food Through Fermentation

Travel the Light Rail Stops

Photo Competition

Voyage is a travel adventure magazine entirely crafted by undergraduate students at the University of Washington. With stories and photos that span from our home turf, the Pacific Northwest, and across the world, we seek to inspire adventure and increase cultural and geographic awareness.

VOYAG E

IN THIS ISSUE 11.18

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V O YA G E

editor’s note

EDI T O R - I N - CHI EF

Jayna Milan

COPY

Shannon Gu Kevin Teeter Gabi Capestany Casey Grosso Daniel Green Jack Russillo

L E A D C O P Y E DIT O R C O P Y E DIT O R C O P Y E DIT O R

“แรงขึ้น” – “Higher heat!” Khun Yai urges from over my shoulder. I crank up the heat, splash on more fish sauce, and apprehensively sample the bubbling kai jeaw. I nervously pass her a piece and hold my breath until she nods approvingly. She turns away to hack at a giant green papaya over a bucket in the sink, and I stare into the deep-fried egg, memorizing the perfect tango of salty and tangy on my tongue.

C O P Y E DIT O R C O P Y E DIT O R BL O G E DIT O R

DESIGN & A RT

Ostin Kurniawan Cynthia He Kyler Martin Taylor Hammes

L E A D L A Y O U T DE SIG N E R L A Y O U T DE SIG N E R A R T IST

Food is a universal love language. Flavors extend across borders, religions, and cultures to impart a sense of comfort, nostalgia, appreciation, and curiosity for those willing to share a dinner table.

A R T IST

WRITING W R IT E R

Whether you’ve passed on family recipes or been stuffed to oblivion by insistent aunties at holiday parties, we all have our own food story. For me, the vibrant flavors of Thailand and time spent cooking, eating, and weaving through busy markets have chipped away at the language barrier between my Thai grandma and me. The flavors of kai jeaw, the first dish Khun Yai ever taught me and my sister to make, will always remind me of her.

W R IT E R W R IT E R W R IT E R

Angela Shen Grace Madigan Esther Chien Hannah Myrick

PHOTOGRA PHY

Daniel Kim Vivian Chou Arianna Addis

L E A D P H O T O E DIT O R P H O T O E DIT O R P H O T O E DIT O R

We hope that our stories not only make your stomach rumble, but also hungry for more connection and community in your daily life. Before you kick back to enjoy this issue, consider inviting a friend out to explore a new restaurant, calling home to say hi, or — my favorite — practicing self-love with a pint of chocolate ice cream.

WEB

ไชโย! Cheers! Here’s to food for bringing us together and for making us, well, damn better people.

MA RK ETING

Akash Srinagesh Kelden Lin

W E B DE V E L O P E R W E B DE V E L O P E R

SPONSORSHIP SP O N SO R SH IP C O O R D.

MA R KE T IN G C O O R D.

Nabilla Gunawan

Michelle Pyke

FINANCE FIN A N C E C O O R D.

Rosie Sun

CONTRIBUTORS C O N T R IBU T O R C O N T R IBU T O R C O N T R IBU T O R

Jayna Milan Editor-in-Chief

C O N T R IBU T O R

Emma Oriol Katie Chua Brian Chou Emma Miller

SPECIAL THA NK S A DV ISO R

Cover

“Bún bò Nam Bộ, a grilled beef vermicelli noodle dish, is served at a small shop in Hanoi, Vietnam to a hungry lunch crowd of locals and tourists alike.” – Jayna Milan @jayna_milan

@voyage_uw facebook.com/voyageuw voyageuw.com

Patrick Stiver

Read the Blog

Join the Team

Visit voyageuw.com for more stories, insights, and photos from the Voyage team.

Visit voyageuw.com/ subscribe or email voyage@ uw.edu.

Voyage is always looking for passionate team members. Apply at voyageuw.com/apply.

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COMMUNITY

“Searing hot flames fuse tiny beads into a necklace at a silversmith’s workshop in Yogyakarta.” – Daniel Darmawan, @dan_darms

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Ian Culhane, @ianculhane

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“The Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourviere is a beautiful basilica in Lyon, France.” – Joe Wu, @joe__wu

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Farm My French Stay tay By Emma Oriol

“

am not sure which wakes me up first: my phone alarm or the taunting mosquito bites that speckle my legs. It is 7:00 a.m. and all around me the farm is coming to life. People are emerging from tents, beds, and couches to gather at the table for breakfast. John, the host farmer, has been up for hours and is just returning from the boulangerie with baguettes for his volunteers.

sit down to chop vegetables for lunch, joining in an animated conversation about the proper ways to swear in French. We eat lunch family-style, sitting around a long makeshift table on broken chairs and stacked crates. After lunch, the afternoon heat is building, and almost everyone retreats for an afternoon nap. I lay on my “bed,” which is a mattress with a loose sheet and couch pillow, and drift off to sleep.

Thirty minutes later we’re pulling on our boots, grabbing our gloves, and getting our assignments for the day. John is all business now. He divides us into groups and leads a few of us to the greenhouses to pick green beans, cucumbers, and strawberries. He uses simple French and careful demonstrations to communicate our tasks. Today I am picking. Yesterday I was weeding. Tomorrow, I may be rolling dried spices or pruning tomatoes. John has been farming organic, non-GMO produce for years and I have been soaking up his knowledge and expertise on the science, ethics, and methods behind farming.

Once we’re all rested, we get ready for our afternoon adventure. Today, we want to go to the beach. We pile into two tiny cars and drive a few miles to our favorite spot. Other days we aren’t so lucky to have a ride and have to take bikes or hitchhike. At the beach, I crack open a beer, lay on my towel, and journal a bit. I take in the Mediterranean ocean that laps against the rocky shore and feel lucky to be here. On past afternoons, I have hiked up to the nearby castle and climbed down through the gorge, adventured on the public bus to neighboring towns, or just sat in the garden and watched my friend paint.

Sweat drips down my brow and bees buzz around my head as I search for the largest green beans and chat with other volunteers. We weave up and down the rows of the greenhouse, nestled in the property among fig trees and strawberry bushes. The farm sits near the top of a mountain just below a castle, overlooking a forested gorge below. In the distance you can glimpse views of Toulon sitting along the Mediterranean coast.

We return to the farm after dark and begin dinner. As always, it is a team effort, and by eleven we are gathered around the table enjoying some curry. After dinner I chip in to help with the dishes, then join the others hanging out on the patio. We play cards and darts, drink, and sing along to our favorite songs. When I am just about too tired to stand, I collapse in bed, my exhaustion overriding the itching from my legs. My 7:00 a.m. alarm is just around the corner and I need to be ready for whatever tomorrow brings. •

A few hours later, I rinse off a layer of sweat and dirt from my hands, ignore my already sore muscles, and

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EC U A D O R

A PHOTO ESSAY BY KYLER MARTIN

“American, huh? Ahhh, the culture there is very corre corre corre — run run run — no?! Y tienes una frase — you have a phrase — ‘time is money.’ Pues, bueno. I might visit los Estados someday but, no sé, I adore mi tierra.” Taxi drivers of Ecuador had un opinión or two on U.S. culture, and I heard it every time while waiting for the never-ending traffic in Quito, the capital of Ecuador. The more I heard it, the more apparent it became that these frases were the legacy of Americans: time is money. Corre corre corre. The words rang true and through to my core as Ecuadorian taxistas continued to repeat these cultural concepts back to me, and hearing it in Ecuador tore my PNW, American perspective from my cuerpo and handed it to me backwards and upside down. I couldn’t help but think about the contrasting connotations of drive, determination, and ambición in the two cultures.

How I value my time as money. ¿Qué significa? What did this mean? Should I care that this is how Americans are viewed? I was well aware, after all; my life in Seattle makes these stereotypes blindingly apparent. An average day is twelve hours of caffeine-driven school and work and socializing and extracurriculars and meditation to attempt to suppress the anxiety and fatigue that press at the back of my eyeballs. In El Ecuador, this lifestyle was in la distancia. A new pace of life started to seep into my red, white, and blue veins by way of the people, the culture, y la comida — the food. Food in Ecuador says what words can’t about their forma de vida, their way of living. Small food tiendas, or stores, work as communal glue. They give folks a spot to talk over café, all while developing a sense of reliance between clients and owners. The diligent preparation of food forces a

FRU I T

Fruit is not only a key component in the Ecuadorian diet, but also a key component in Ecuadorian orgullo, pride. The temporal, springlike climate of Ecuador allows for a year-round supply of fresh fruits ranging from yellow pitahayas grown in the Amazon rainforests all the way down to the bananas from the humid coastline. My host casa’s kitchen always had a beautifully stoked rack of orgullo on display. My host mamá would be the first to wake up every morning to get breakfast set out with a freshly squeezed glass of juice on everyone’s individual placemat, and while I drank my jugo she would tell me all about the different fruits she used in it and where in Ecuador they all came from. My host hermano would bring home bags bursting with ripe avocados specially for me, and my host papá never failed to ask how I liked the food. “¿A ti te gusta?” he would bluntly ask, and as I began to reply with “sí” he would enthusiastically agree. These prideful pieces of fruta never failed to keep our relationships and the dinner table conversations strong.

P R E V I OU S PAG E

slower pace of life as buying premade broth, sauce, or microwavable food is practically blasphemous. Meals are expected to be truly made from scratch and to be made right. The fresh tropical fruit and coffee from la costa; potatoes, quinoa and cuy from los andes; and bread baked in the tienda around the corner build a strong sense of orgullo –– pride –– in Ecuadorians for their abundant and diverse homeland. All regions for food production come together during lunchtime. Almuerzo is the centerpiece of three daily meals, which means Ecuadorians will take a midday pause from work to make the trek back home through the sweeping city of Quito where mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, grandbabies and friends sit and chat over a three course home-cooked meal with the guarantee of fresh jugo, an overflowing bowl of soup, a mountain of rice, and a hearty food coma. This daily process speaks directly to Ecuadorian

values and priorities. The food in Ecuador, like in many cultures, says a lot about the forma de vida. When distinguishing between the corre corre corre of the United States and the overall sentido in Ecuador, food acts as a physical manifestation of that separation in cultural values. Their family-centric, patient, relajada, and prideful way of living can be fully illustrated with taxistas’ other favorite topic of conversación: the food of El Ecuador. •

Kyler Martin

The role that corner stores play in Ecuador is central to building la comunidad. It isn’t uncommon for families in Ecuador to stay loyal to one corner store after years of cultivating a relationship with the store owners. Oftentimes it was difficult to distinguish those who worked at the store from the folks who just hung around the cigarette and chip display all day. The corner store culture was strong, and I slowly became integrated into it. I visited the same corner store almost daily for three months to buy papaya, pitahaya, grapes, avocados, and plantain chips, and in interacting with and meeting multiple generations of families working together in these little tiendas, it became so much more than a buying experience. It became an integral part in my community-building experience.

T I LA P I A

The most mouthwatering, melty, salty fish dish known to man lives in the Amazon rainforest and is carefully prepared by two incredible river guides. Maito de tilapia is tilapia cooked in a banana leaf with yuca, lime, salt, time, and serious attention to detail. What I found in Ecuador is that anyone from street vendors to households refuse to skip a step in their meal preparation. Basic staples like juice, jam, broth, and peanut paste are all expected to be homemade. But this tilapia was no exception to the rule, as it was caught in one of the local rivers running through the town of Tena and carefully prepared by our Amazon guides over the course of four hours. By dinner time, they served 12 separate plates that looked identically gorgeous. The appreciation for food quickly doubles and triples when you know the amount of arduous dedication that has been put into cooking it.

CUY

With its ears, teeth, and little foil booties in full glory, the cuy, or guinea pig, is a classic Andean dish. It is classically used in spiritual rituals andspecial occasions amongst Andean families. As Ecuadorians recognize many Western cultures keep them in their homes as pets, it is now utilized as a popular tourist attraction in Ecuador for its shock value. My relationship with guinea pigs has certainly been turned on its head as I now know and love it as the chickenflavored, slightly duck-textured meat dish found in restaurants and street carts. After having seen them growing on a farm like chickens, it makes all the sense in the world to me to breed, farm, and process little native animals that grow as quickly as their feathered counterparts.

E M PA NA DA S

If time is money for Americans, I certainly got my bang for my buck on these $0.50 empanadas. But the catch was the time I spent waiting for them while she meticulously fried the dough to perfection. Restaurant outings always had a catch: Slow service. Lack of food. Lost and forgotten food. Receiving a fork for your soup. Street vendors shoving sunglasses into your face as you dig into arroz con pollo. While these factors seem detrimental to the dining experience, it did nothing but add to it. It spoke to the laid-backedness, the hominess, and the expectations in Ecuadorian service culture. Above all, it was expected that you be welcomed into a restaurant with open arms but on the restaurant’s terms and timeline. This is a common theme throughout restaurants, businesses, and households.

C R I O L LO

Ecuador is the home to cacao and more specifically, Criollo. This type of bean originates in Southwestern Ecuador and is known for its aromatic, fruity flavors that produce some of the finest and most expensive chocolate bars in the world, hardly any of which can be found in Ecuador itself. This is due to the fact that a vast majority of specialty item products like cacao, coffee, and quinoa are exported out of the country, leaving Ecuadorians with cafe en polvo, instant coffee, and the Latin American equivalent of Hershey’s chocolate in their stores. •

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FINE DINING — AN AMERICAN HIERARCHY by Grace Madigan illustrations by Taylor Brienne Hammes

a nation, we’ve always had difficulty “ Asin accepting people, and that’s been reflected in the cuisines that have become part of the mainstream.

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The Hierarchy The crisp edges of a white tablecloth adorn the table. A candle flickers as a carefully curated playlist of music sets the mood. Servers glide between tables, their eyes scanning for empty glasses. These meals are special. You don’t get to dress up every day for dinner and you sure aren’t going to make dropping the cost of your weekly groceries on one meal a frequent habit. So these fancy meals are set aside for special occasions. My family is not unique. Whenever someone accomplishes something big, we go out to eat and that person gets to choose the place. It’s widely known among my family and friends that I like to celebrate and will find a reason to celebrate with noodles and rice. Here’s something that bothers me, though. There aren’t that many fancy restaurants for what is considered to be “ethnic food.” Date nights, anniversaries, and big celebrations often take place at the nice Italian or French restaurant and not the local taqueria with handmade tortillas and meals served on paper plates. And it’s not that we can’t go to the local taqueria to celebrate; we can. But we don’t because by most American standards, we don’t think of Mexican food as upscale. Burritos are drunk food, tacos are cheap eats, and guacamole is that thing that costs you extra at Chipotle. Why don’t we associate Mexican food, or most other ethnic foods for that matter, as being “fancy” or sophis-

ticated? Why is it that we are so narrow-sighted when it comes to what we consider “fine dining”? We need to examine how this hierarchy of cuisine is rooted in our country’s history of racism and intolerance. First, though, we need to acknowledge that this hierarchy exists and then figure out our individual role in dismantling it. When Food Isn’t Cool... There’s a common story I’ve heard over and over by people who grew up with different food cultures. At some point during their elementary school days, they brought some sort of food from home for lunch that was not the standard PB&J, and they were made fun of for the “bizarre”- smelling and foreign-looking food that sat in front of them. These instances made these kids feel different for being themselves. It was an early exposure to what it would feel like to be “different.” The story often ends with them asking their parents to let them buy lunch at school or hiding food from home so they could avoid being ostracized by their fellow classmates. There’s an irony to these stories because more often than not, the food they were eating at school and got humiliated for has since become popular, whether it’s Eater proclaiming that Filipino food is the new “thing” or Bon Appetit comparing pho to ramen. Despite thinking of ourselves as a nice melting pot, America’s acceptance of foods reflects our acceptance of other cultures — slow and reluctant.

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The World of Fine Dining The Michelin Guide awards stars to the best fine dining establishments around the world. If you take a look at the restaurants awarded a Michelin star, you’ll notice a commonality: The overwhelming majority of restaurants are listed as being “Contemporary.” In Chicago, of the 22 restaurants that have been given any number of Michelin stars, only one is listed as Mexican cuisine. The man behind the restaurant is the well-known chef Rick Bayless, a white guy from Oklahoma who has risen to fame cooking Mexican food. There’s nothing wrong with cooking food from a culture that’s not your own, just like there’s nothing wrong with eating and enjoying food that’s not part of your food culture. That’s one of the great parts of today’s globalized world. However, a problem arises when two people are making the same thing but charging two different prices. This clearly results in one profiting far more than the other. Someone like chef Rick Bayless who has name recognition can charge seven dollars for a tamale that’s been locally sourced and hand-crafted while the local taqueria which also makes homemade tamales can only charge a couple dollars. Some might argue that Bayless can charge that much for a tamale because of the locally sourced products and the cost of tableside service. But wouldn’t these mom-and-pop stores also charge more to pay their employees and increase revenue if they could? The bottom line is, Bayless is making money off the fact that people who dine at his Mexican restaurant are willing to pay more for a tamale because they believe it’s innately worth more. The Price of Cheap Eats Small businesses have played a critical role in immigrants’ abilities to be socially mobile and pursue the American Dream. One of the more common businesses immigrants have historically started are restaurants. Walking down Cherry Street in Seattle’s Central District, you’ll notice all the Ethiopian restaurants. If you head just beyond Chinatown, you’ll find yourself in Little Saigon where you can get some of the best pho. These ethnic enclaves formed to build communities when the rest of society shut them out.

considered “cheap eats.” People seem to value these places only for the novelty of eating “foreign” foods and how inexpensive they are. Little thought is given to the history of these mom-and-pop restaurants, the communities they serve, and the fact that families depend on them to make a living. The discrepancy between how much family restaurants cooking their traditional foods can make and “upscale” or “fusion” restaurants with white owners and/or chefs can make off the same dishes is absurd and unfair. More simply put, it’s appropriation. We need to do some reflecting as consumers as to why we won’t pay more than a few bucks for a couple of tacos — a whole meal — yet we will pay a few bucks for a couple small French cookies. It’s the small business owners of these ethnic restaurants who are losing out, and their loss has far greater consequences than dropping a few extra bucks on a meal from their restaurant. Consider This… As a nation, we’ve always had difficulty in accepting people, and that’s been reflected in the cuisines that have become part of the mainstream. Eating and enjoying another type of cuisine is not equivalent to accepting the people or culture the food comes from. Treating a dish or food as “ethnic” essentially “others” that culture. It marks it as different and not part of American culture. Restaurants for immigrants have given social mobility to families and also created places where others from their community could come for a meal. We as consumers need to start paying attention. We need to start valuing the food from these “ethnic,” “cheap eats” spots that have been relegated to the bottom of this food hierarchy. America isn’t perfect and it’s fair to say that the American Dream seems to fade further and further into the distance, but let’s not forget or give up on those aspirations of the accepting nation we so love to claim to be. If we’re going to eat good food, let’s also pay for that good food. In that process, maybe we can help those who dream of their hard work paying off, and maybe even their dreams of a better life, come true. •

Eventually, Americans started to branch out and these “ethnic foods” slowly made it into the American mainstream. However, only a few have been lifted above what are Grace (DD) Madigan

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AN A SIAN-AMER IC AN EX PERIENC E

HOME AWAY FROM HOME 16 S H ANNON GU

MOTHERLAND 18 K ATI E CH UA

GET ME TO THE GREEK 20 BRI AN CHOU

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HOME AWAY FROM HOME by Shannon Gu photographs by Caean Couto

many ways, the depiction of Chinese food in America “ Inis parallel to the challenges within the Asian American experience: misrepresentation, homogenization, and the loss of cultural identity.

fter one glance through the restaurant window, my mom refused to step through the door. She peered inside, stepped back, and shook her head. “Let’s go somewhere else,” she declared. “Why?” I asked, checking my phone to make sure we were at the right place. According to Yelp and other restaurant review sites, we were standing in front of supposedly the best restaurant in San Francisco’s Chinatown. When we planned our

summer vacation to California, one of the first places we decided on was this Chinatown, figuring that the oldest Chinatown in the U.S. was our best shot at getting authentic Chinese food outside of China. Not knowing anyone in San Francisco who could give us restaurant recommendations, our only option was to turn to sites like Yelp to tell us what to eat. My mom, however, was adamant that Yelp was

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wrong. “We’re not going here.” “Why?” I asked again, barely holding back my frustration. The fact that I was very, very hungry didn’t help. She pondered her answer for a few moments; as she thought, she almost looked embarrassed. Then, she whispered sheepishly, “There’s too many Americans in there.”

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“Mom!”

every night?

She gestured toward the windows, and I leaned forward and looked inside. She wasn’t wrong: While the restaurant was full, only two tables in the entire restaurant were occupied by Asian families. Still, I hesitated to agree with her reasoning. “Shouldn’t we try it? It seems pretty popular.”

As my mom pointed out during our trip to San Francisco, the aim of many Chinese restaurants is not to serve home cooking, but to serve food that is uncommon enough to be intriguing but simultaneously dumbed down enough to be appetizing to the American palate. Hence, the popular notion of Chinese food in America primarily consists of orange chicken, chow mein, and whatever else Panda Express serves nowadays.

Her previous expression of embarrassment turned serious. “What do Americans know about good Chinese food?” she retorted. “The only Chinese restaurants they ever go to are the ones that change the food so it’s suited to their tastes. If you go to a restaurant anywhere in the world, you want to go where all the locals go, right?” “Yeah, of course.” “I don’t think the locals here use Yelp at all.” She grabbed my hand and we started walking away from the restaurant. “Let’s go.” Within ten minutes, we found ourselves in a restaurant surrounded by locals. And at that restaurant, I ate the best Chinese food I’d ever had in the States.

he search for authentic Chinese food has been a personal quest for a long time. When I was a kid, my parents often took me to Chinese restaurants in Portland’s Chinatown whenever they didn’t feel like cooking. There, I was introduced to what are still some of my favorite foods — Peking duck, chow fun, and eggplant, just to name a few. At a certain point, though, I found that the restaurants I frequented with my parents no longer tasted as good as they used to; I never got the flavors — and more importantly, the comfort — of my family’s home cooking. Why was it that I became tired of restaurant food so quickly but craved my mom’s cooking

The Chinese food I grew up with, as well as the food I’ve had during trips to China, is so far removed from Chinese food in restaurants here. For instance, my mom often cooks organ meats — pig intestines, pig kidneys, chicken hearts — and I have a fondness for them, despite how unappetizing they might sound. When I used to visit my relatives in China every year, they would prepare dishes like softshell turtle soup, deep-fried snake, and braised beltfish, thinking nothing of how uncommon those foods are outside of China. And not too long ago, I went to Xi’an, a Chinese city most famous for the Terracotta Army, and had the most incredible food experiences there. On the outskirts of the city, a food stall near one of the temples sold a massive bowl of handmade noodles tossed in spicy garlic oil for just $1; right outside my hotel, another food stall served roujiamo — minced meat seasoned with cumin and peppers, stuffed into a round pocket of flatbread — in the early mornings, with a line of customers wrapping around the block. Foods such as these are what I consider to be “real” Chinese food. As a result, I yearn for those flavors and actively seek them out in the States, outside of my family’s and family friends’ kitchens, but to no avail. Few Chinese restaurants seem to be bold enough to stray far from the classics of American Chinese cuisine. While sticking to familiar dishes undoubtedly draws people in, I can’t help but feel that it doesn’t do justice to showing people what Chinese cuisine truly is and what it can be. Ultimately, traveling around the States in pursuit of authentic Chinese cuisine is a search for the taste of home, as well as an exploration of my Asian American identity through food. In many ways, the depiction of Chinese food in America is parallel to the challenges within the Asian American experience: misrepresentation, homogenization, and the loss of cultural identity. There’s persistent pressure to fit in and be liked, even if it means sacrificing the very qualities that make us who we are. But it’s time to step away from that, be unabashedly true to form, and embrace every bit of it. •

Shannon Gu

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MOTHERLAND

香港

by Katie Chua photographs by Jayna Milan

MY CHILDHOOD CONSISTED OF TRIPS TO HONG KONG EVERY OTHER YEAR. MY MOTHER GREW UP IN A TOWN CALLED ABERDEEN, A ONCE-FAMOUS FISHING VILLAGE, NOW ADORNED WITH SKYSCRAPING APARTMENT COMPLEXES. MY GRANDPARENTS LIVED ON THE 14TH FLOOR OF A TOWERING BUILDING; THE SAME THREE-BEDROOM APARTMENT MY MOTHER AND HER FOUR BROTHERS GREW UP IN HAD TO ACCOMMODATE MY GRANDPARENTS, ONE OF MY UNCLES, AND OUR FAMILY OF FOUR. YET, IT ALWAYS SEEMED TO WORK OUT IN THE END.

Every night we would gather around the large wooden table with a steamed whole fish resting in a mixture of ginger, green onions, and heavy soy sauce and bowls of rice. I always took for granted the care my grandparents took in offering me fish pieces with no bones. Every morning, we would walk down to a nearby restaurant. I remember walking with my parents through the busy streets and smelling the strong scents of fish and the sea, a smell so foreign to a landlocked native Coloradan like me. From early in the morning to late in the afternoon, the restaurant would serve dim sum. Big metal carts weaved through crowded tables as servers yelled out the different dishes they possessed. “Cha siu bao?” “Siu mai?” I only knew the names of the ones I liked, and nodded passionately when my parents looked around at the table when the servers asked if we wanted it. Perfectly steamed barbecue pork-stuffed buns, glistening sticky rice with chicken, Chinese sausage, black mushrooms wrapped in lotus leaves, and wonton-like skins stuffed with pork and

shrimp were my must-haves. If we were lucky, my sister and I could each order sodas. Heady scents of black tea and cigarette smoke engulfed us, and the clanging of chopsticks on plates reverberated through the large room. It was here where we would sit for hours, long after we had finished our food. I always grew so impatient, but

“

I always took for granted the care my grandparents took in offering me fish pieces with no bones. it was one of the only times my parents could catch up with everyone. Living on opposite sides of the world from their own families made this time so precious to them.

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“

Food ultimately brings us together. In a country where both my mom and I felt a simultaneous connection and disconnection, we could always rely on food to bring us together.

I handed her my plate. I proceeded to watch her use my teacup to rinse off my plate. Lastly, she took our chopsticks and rolled them between her hands in the bowl of hot water, then repeated the process with her own dining set.

On some days when it would get especially hot, my father, sister, and I would go down to the town square. Surrounded by different shops and stalls, the square housed a massive fountain in the middle with outdoor tables framing it. It was a common place for elders to congregate in for post-afternoon tea. We would go after rainstorms and the square’s red tiles would be slick with rainwater, the humid air hanging heavily around us. Our dad would take us to the various shops and the day would be finished with a trip to McDonald’s. For some reason, McDonald’s soft-serve was indescribably better in Hong Kong than in the U.S. The creamy sweetness of vanilla ice cream melted on our tongues as we sat in the hot square surrounded by elders playing Mahjong. My childhood was a mishmash of vanilla soft serve and red bean pastries, of Sprite and hot black tea. Hong Kong was a place I always fondly associated with my childhood. During high school, I wasn’t able to go to Hong Kong for so long because of schoolwork and the difficulties of finding time off, so returning to Hong Kong as a college student was strange. This time, my mom and I stayed in a different region, as my uncle had rented out the old apartment in Aberdeen and moved closer to Mainland. There were familiar sights like the towering buildings and the double-decker buses, but there were differences like the streets and the people. Throughout most of the trip, my mom and I were lost and confused. Even though this was the place she had grown up in, she had now lived longer in America than in Hong Kong. We often bickered as the heat got to us and we argued over directions. One day we picked a direction that everyone seemed to be walking in and followed them, finding ourselves in a restaurant on the seventh floor of a shopping mall. It was 4 p.m., not quite lunch and not quite dinner, so we were some of the only customers in the restaurant. Our table overlooked the muggy streets, riddled with crowds of people and smoke from the food stalls. The server handed us a sizable empty bowl and a carafe full of hot water. Even though we hadn’t done this in years, my mom knew exactly what to do. Immediately, my mom poured the hot water into the bowl and took my teacup. With an alarming sense of efficiency underscored with great care, she quickly rinsed out my teacup. After she finished that, she opened her palm expectantly and

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While rinsing your dinnerware before you eat is generally for cleanliness reasons, it signified so many other things to me. I was struck by how automatic it was for my mom to go for my wares first; the care she took in doing the job correctly; the unspoken assumption that she would even do it for me in the first place, rather than leaving me to do it for myself. After so many years of attempting to assert my independence, it was nice to have someone look after me. In fact, the whole trip she had looked after me. She shepherded me to places she knew I would enjoy. Asking for directions always fell on her. The tours of her neighborhood as we meandered around the streets required her memory. Whenever I bought something, she would hold my shopping bags for me. I looked at her as she began ordering for us. Food ultimately brings us together. In a country where both my mom and I felt a simultaneous connection and disconnection, we could always rely on food to bring us together. You never could go wrong with tried-andtrue favorites, but it was exciting to try something new as well. Amidst the chaos, heat, loud Cantonese, and strong smells of fish, Hong Kong was where my mother and I learned more about each other. I found out she loves egg waffles, that she would buy a pineapple bun with her friends before walking to school every morning, that she preferred steamed dishes over baked. There’s something powerful in sharing memories and food, and as we ate a home-cooked meal on our last night, she bought all my favorites without having to even ask me what they were. She just knew. • Katie Chua

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GET ME TO THE GREEK

by Brian Chou photographs by Lucas Boland

“Malákas!” It was the first Greek word I learned from my Greek friend, who accentuated its enunciation by slapping the back of his left hand with his right, both palms facing me. It’s derogatory in most contexts, the English equivalent to “asshole,” but I took no offense, for it was my own curiosity that led to this discussion of Greek profanity. When I was younger, I asked about curse words in languages other than English; my earliest exposure to Chinese came in the form of an insult my mother revealed, something about being the “egg of a turtle.” That was about as far as I got with the Chinese language. Although born to Chinese immigrants, I’ve never fully identified myself as Chinese. I don’t understand the language; I instead have to gauge people’s tones and body language and respond to them, which works much more than it should. I just learned how to use chopsticks a few months ago. Most of all, I avoid Chinese food whenever I can. People are always surprised by my distaste for Chinese food, as if Chinese people aren’t allowed to criticize their own cuisine. For years, my mother, who I credit for my particular palate, struggled to accept my lack of interest in Chinese food. She would recreate traditional dishes from her childhood, incorporating a wonderful variety of foods I didn’t care for (turnips, eggplant, bok choy, and mushrooms, to name a few). There was just very little about the cuisine that I found appetizing. My pickiness forced my mother to expand her repertoire towards more Westernized styles like Mediterranean and American. She pulled it off incredibly well, since she had refined tastes and cooking skills to begin with, but she seemed resigned in doing so, probably sensing that I would never thoroughly enjoy Chinese food. My mother found solace in the fact that I cared about what I ate, though, so she supported my interest in other cuisines. I therefore wasn’t raised in the traditional Chinese sense; I was an Asian-American New Yorker with a fondness for Greek food. I had the fortune of living near the heartland of Greek America, the historic neighborhood of Astoria in Queens, New York, where my family and I made weekend pilgrimages. We would go to Greek grocery stores, unpack boxes of halva, and taste variants of feta cheese straight from the barrels. The Greek bakeries would have tiers of galaktoboureko, melomakárona, and various baklavas, each adorned with an assortment of nuts

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Food transcended our inhibitions a reservations over public and private identities. It catalyzed our experien with other cultures in the most sati way possible, regardless of where w ourselves.

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and sugary elements like honey or powdered sugar. We even established a few restaurant staples, all of which were family-owned and so popular with the community that we often had to settle for outdoor seating during the unforgiving New York summers. I somehow convinced my family that it was worth visiting Greek festivals in the same sweltering heat just to lay claim to the swaths of fluffy pita, charred souvlaki, and syrupy loukoumádes served at each event. My family and I often found ourselves the lone Asians at Greek functions. While most of the families belonged to the Greek Orthodox Church, food was the closest thing to religion for us. I once asked my father if he was ever bothered by the fact that we were usually the only non-Greek, let alone Asian, people at these restaurants: “No. It just means we have unique tastes and that we enjoy exploring them. We’re adventurous.” It’s true. My family rarely limited itself to a single cuisine. Dad was always on the lookout for South American rotisserie chicken and cheap “neighborhood gems.” My brother and I inhaled a variety of meats from Persian grills, Korean barbecues, and Italian delis. My sister inspired me to support local farmers markets, artisanal bakeries, and third-wave coffee shops. I had monthly (and gastrointestinally masochistic) cravings for Indian lunch buffets.

and e nces isfying we found

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Guacamole and Puerto Rican pernil were my mother’s go-to party foods. During our summer vacations in Cape Cod, she would casually pry open clams that we had unearthed just moments earlier. She would then slurp them in front of people who were trying to enjoy their romantic long walks on the beach and insist that “it doesn’t get any fresher than this!” We thought little of other people’s judgment if it meant getting the best food. Food transcended our inhibitions and reservations over public and private identities. It catalyzed our experiences with other cultures in the most satisfying way possible, regardless of where we found ourselves. Moving across the country to Seattle for college didn’t stop my Greek cravings. On a Friday night during freshman year, I googled “Greek restaurants” and ended up at what turned out to be the humblest and purest of places in Pláka Estiatório, a Greek family restaurant in the heart of Ballard.

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Eating is a cathartic, comforting, and collective experience that brings out the best in people; it’s my favorite activity in the world.

The restaurant was just off Ballard’s busiest street with an austere storefront and a sign with its name in Papyrus font. The door was flimsy and an oddly-placed ramp followed. The entire staff of eight people, including the family that owned the place, welcomed me as if I was an old friend, even though it was my first time there. They told me to take a seat anywhere, since I was the only customer at 5:30 on a Friday evening. It was a much bigger space than I expected, as it looked like it could seat up to eighty people. I decided to sit at the bar, where there was an uninterrupted view of the lone chef, Jonathan, in his open kitchen. I was hoping to befriend him, especially if he turned out to be truly special (which he did almost immediately). I’d never heard of many of the menu items (also in Papyrus font), so I figured that this must have been a departure from the Greek restaurants I was accustomed to back in New York. I kept it safe with saganáki and roast lamb.

I’ve been a regular ever since. Pláka’s caretakers, led by the indomitable Ourania “Nia” Tziotis, have become my extended family, as they’ve grown close with my actual family over the years. I try to visit them at least twice a month, which gives me the chance to stay updated with the staff, ask about the kids, and talk about our personal lives. I use every opportunity I get to take my friends and family there, because sharing this experience with those unfamiliar with Greek cuisine has become one of my favorite things to do in Seattle. My family loves that I’ve developed such a deep connection with a Greek restaurant, while the restaurant folks embrace my family’s shared enthusiasm for Greek food. As for me, I’m grateful for my bond with Pláka, because it’s yet another example of food as the common denominator in our lives. The beloved, pioneering chef and author Julia Child once wrote, “People who love to eat are always the best people.” Food goes beyond mere sustenance; it is a culmination of histories, traditions, and memories. It has the unique ability to break down cultural barriers, shift our notions of other cuisines, and ultimately reframe the narratives behind what we eat. Eating is a cathartic, comforting, and collective experience that brings out the best in people; it’s my favorite activity in the world. Every visit to Pláka is like a reenactment of Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. It often feels like it’s just me and the restaurant folks at the bar, where time seems to stand still. Just as the diner is an uncomplicated sanctuary for the subjects in Nighthawks, Pláka has become my simple safe haven. A sense of contemplative solitude and urban isolation, similar to that in the painting, occasionally washes over me here. I don’t consider my situation as somber as the Nighthawks scene, however, because I know that, as long as food is involved, any moment can become a story worth sharing. So find your restaurant, order your dish, and say it with me: “Kalí órexi!” •

Brian Chou

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Everyone’s Abuela Food and Family with my Cuban Grandmother by Gabi Capestany

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My abuela ruined me.

is the “Key West way” of eating this dish. Every year for my birthday, Abuela asks if I want to go out to eat, and every year I tell her that all I want is her ropa vieja.

Known as Raquel Capestany to many, she is abuela (grandma) to me. She ruined Cuban food for me with her cooking; the warm, flavorful bites of her homecooked feasts have been present throughout my life and no restaurant in Seattle has been able to satiate my desire. My family fled Cuba and ended up in Washington back in the ‘60s, the furthest point in the United States that one can get from Cuba. For my entire life, my abuela’s cooking has been a beacon of Cuban culture and heritage that I just couldn’t find anywhere else around me.

“We are very lucky to be here in the United States,” Abuela tells me. She, my dad Adolfo, and the rest of my large extended family fled Cuba in the 1960s following Castro’s rise to power. The dozens of Capestanys went through different countries (mine through Spain) and eventually ended up in Olympia, Washington, where my abuelo’s eldest brother, Edward (Maty) Capestany, was teaching philosophy at Saint Martin’s University.

Growing up, all of your typical American holidays would be slightly Cuban-ized at my house. Christmas included a classic ham paired with heaping plates of yucca and black beans and rice, and Thanksgiving wasn’t complete without my bisabuela’s (great-grandmother’s) famous flan.

From cooking food for those large family get-togethers up to just bringing food over to our house every week, Abeula’s cooking has been omnipresent. “I like to make congri for people,” she tells me. “It is just rice and beans and very easy to make, and I can bring it anywhere.” Cuba’s national dish may be ropa vieja, but black beans and rice can be found as a side for every single meal. What makes congri different? “In congri I use yellow rice and put bacon bits in it too,” says abuela. “Congri is typical of Oriente, where I am from.”

This flan has a bit of a reputation among friends and family, and especially with my dad. He’s a self-proclaimed “flan snob” and knows exactly when my abuela has tweaked the recipe. He’ll take a bite and contemplate for a moment.

Today I don’t see abuela every week and I don’t get to eat her food as often as I’d like (I know, I’ve been spoiled). I have tried my fair share of Cuban food up here in Seattle and it always pales in comparison; Cuban food is something I’ve known to be a shared experience in your home with your best friends and family gathered around. •

“Mami, what did you do this time?” he’ll say with an annoyed look. Abuela will just smile and laugh. She likes to experiment with milk and egg ratios, but in the end the original flan recipe has all of my family and friends beaming when she comes over with a big flan laid out. The jiggly flat disk is covered with a gleaming layer of syrupy caramel. I can’t recall ever having leftover flan; it’s always gone within minutes. For me, through her, croquetas and ropa vieja have a hold on my heart. When abuela would bring over her croquetas, small fried breadcrumb-coated ham rolls, I would have enough to last me through my school lunches for the week. They were easy to snack on, with a crunchy outside and a soft, savory inside. They are simple and delicious, but the ropa vieja (which translates to “old clothes” as a nickname for the way the beef appears in the recipe) is the star of the show. Shredded beef is slowly simmered with tomato, peppers, and robust spices to an almost stew-like consistency. The tender meat is then poured over fluffy white rice. I prefer mine over yellow saffron rice, and apparently this

Gabi Capestany

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I have tried my fair share of Cuban food up here in Seattle and it always pales in comparison; Cuban food is something I’ve known to be a shared experience in your home with your best friends and family gathered around.

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TH E E VOLUTION OF C R EOLE C U ISINE

rich soup stock. Cajun sausage. African okra. Now combine this with a dash of powerful seasonings: bay leaves, thyme, and filé powder, a spicy derivative of the sassafras tree. The combination of these ingredients with the “holy trinity” of vegetables — celery, bell peppers, and onions — results in the hearty soup, gumbo, a dish popular in the Southern United States. Because of its wide variety of ingredients, gumbo is frequently used as an analogy for the mix of cultures that exist in its home state, Louisiana. Traditionally, the cuisine that gumbo belongs to, the Louisiana Creole cuisine, draws inspiration from early encounters with French and Spanish settlers, as well as Haitian and West African cultures. The early French inhabitants of New Orleans sought to create a new, distinctive cuisine, one that both traced its origins to traditional French cuisine and also incorporated elements from their surroundings. From their alliances with the Native Americans, French settlers learned new methods of cooking and preparation of indigenous plants. This

E STH ER CH IEN photographs by Jayna Milan

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marked the beginning of Creole cuisine, which continued to flourish as more waves of settlers arrived. An unexpected change occurred in the early 18th century, when slave ships began arriving in Louisiana. These ships brought not only rice, but also individuals who were experienced in growing it. As a result, rice soon became a staple of Creole cuisine. A few years later, the German presence in Louisiana increased, introducing the art of sausage making. Spanish settlers also came to Louisiana, many of whom were fishermen who supplied the food markets in New Orleans with an abundance of seafood. These ingredients were gradually integrated

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Soul food is often viewed as a symbol of African American resourcefulness, as it was born out of a narrative of hardship and survival. into popular dishes like the rich and hearty jambalaya, and by 1800, they were all incorporated into the New Orleans culinary scene. Creole cuisine originated from the accelerated shift in the cultural diversity of New Orleans, providing the locals with a distinctive type of cultural fusion. Similarly, in the Southern region of the United States, soul food is another cuisine with a rich cultural history. Especially prevalent in regions with a history of slave plantations, soul food blends the food and cooking techniques of West Africa, Western Europe, and the Americas. Characterized by many dishes such as fried chicken, collard greens, and okra, soul food was one of the few aspects of African culture that sustained many generations of African Americans, especially as language and family were slowly stripped away. In the South, slave owners had complete autonomy over the diet of their slaves and allocated the bare minimum to them. Enslaved Africans were given the least desirable parts of pork, like the head, ribs, internal organs, and feet, all of which were slowly integrated into the African-American diet. To compensate for the lack of a nutritionally diverse palate, they demonstrated their resourcefulness by using combinations of seasonings and sauces to mask the flavor of these leftover parts, as well as adopting new techniques to extract food from

Louisiana

their environment. African slaves incorporated produce from the Native American diet, such as corn, to make foods like cornbread. Slave ships also brought many traditionally African ingredients to the States, like the African variety of rice, and okra, which is thought to be native to Ethiopia. The African population in the United States sought to recreate their cuisine in the States as a means of connecting with their homeland. And because rice is a staple in many traditional African dishes, as is okra, enslaved Africans transformed their diet by incorporating many of these ingredients in newly con-

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cocted dishes. An important distinction to note is that because slaves were not permitted to read or write, many of the cooking techniques had to be passed down orally through the generations. Combined with the lack of nutritious meals for slaves, soul food is often viewed as a symbol of African American resourcefulness, as it was born out of a narrative of hardship and survival. •

Esther Chien

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CAME FROM THE INDELIBLE ANCHOR OF FOOD From the Heart: TAM Noodle Box and the Evolution of Asian-American Cuisine

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First Hill, family-run TAM Noodle Box is a contemporary dining spot of longtime Seattle restaurateur Cynthia Hoang, serving up a variety of wok-fried noodle dishes that speak to the recent evolutions of Asian-American cuisine that cater to a new American palate.

creamy coconut milk and the hints of lime and tamarind that linger on the tongue; a longing for the comforting aroma and tenderness of a long-simmered stew or a freshly prepared bowl of noodles.

by Angela Shen photographs by Jayna Milan TAM Noodle Box was a break with tradition for Cynthia Hoang, who has been managing her own restaurants in Seattle for over two decades. While her previous restaurant ventures had specialized in Vietnamese cuisine, TAM — which opened on the corner of Broadway and Jefferson in the spring of 2017 — offers a menu of wok-tossed variations on popular Asian noodle dishes, ranging from pho to pad thai to Mongolian noodles. This move capitalized on an auspicious trend in Seattle’s food scene over the past decade: the emergence of a new echelon of Asian-American restaurants, answering the surge of primarily young clientele in the city’s burgeoning neighborhoods who increasingly crave the distinctive flavors and tastes of global dishes and cuisines, with bold fresh takes on ‘fusion’ and traditional cuisines by restaurateurs who are navigating the terrain of appealing to this cultural palate. The evidence of this change in popular taste is in the steady outgrowth of Asian cuisines from their longtime niches in the city’s outskirts, such as in the International District, White Center, and in suburbs like Federal Way and Shoreline, into the mainstream hubs of the city. Yet what might be more telling is what these restaurants have introduced into the trending dining vernacular of their communities: a proclivity for dishes with the burning rush of Thai bird chilies and Sichuan peppercorns and a briny undertow of soy and vinegar; a desire for the taste of

These tastes act as anchors to the cultures and histories of people who have, for one reason or another, departed their homes and old lives. “Food is the part of a culture that can easily be transported across borders and passed on through generations,” Hoang’s daughter Brianna Nguyen says, speaking to a history of immigrant restaurateurs who follow similar origin stories.

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The roots of the immigrant restaurant culture extend deep into America’s foundations; any immigrant is at first an outsider, the nuances of their cultural tastes and habits misunderstood and exaggerated, until time gradually weaves them into the social fabric.

Hoang’s journey to the U.S. began after escaping Vietnam during the war. She spent two years at a refugee camp in Thailand before being sponsored to the U.S. when she was sixteen, where she went on to study business and accounting at Seattle University. While her full-time job today is as an accountant, Brianna explains, it was always her passion for food and sharing a piece of her culture through it that first brought her into the restaurant business and has fueled her

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work there since. Where TAM and other contemporary Asian restaurants further break with the past is in their emphasis on more than the food itself. The presentation of the restaurant is just as important; gone are the no-frills, momand-pop restaurants of first-generation immigrants that populated the original niches. TAM accentuates its high-ceilinged, bright and airy space with bold, whimsical colors, large Hollywood-style marquee lights that spell out the restaurant’s name and illuminate the illustrated chalkboard menu below, and colorful stools at the bar that peer into the open kitchen. Yet the traditional image of the humble immigrant restaurant has always been part of the bedrock of the American culinary imagination. Take, for example, the iconic white folded takeout box historically associated

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Food is a part of culture that can easily be transported across borders and passed on through generations. the effort to cook like this for us.” Brianna counts more than forty cousins living across Washington and Texas, as well as in Australia, and every family gathering, she says, was “always a big event, held potluck-style with a lot of food.” Her large family was kept even closer together, in part because of the strong family-oriented values instilled in her and her sisters through their grandparents, but also because growing up around the family restaurant business meant a lot of time spent at the restaurant in her childhood. “I remember helping to decorate for the grand opening of Café Pho by assembling the chairs in the courtyard when I was young,” she recalls of one of her mother’s former restaurants.

with American Chinese food (and which is also TAM Noodle Box’s namesake), or the image of a modest family-run noodle shop, or a gritty hole-in-the-wall late night locale. The roots of the immigrant restaurant culture extend deep into America’s foundations; any immigrant is at first an outsider, the nuances of their cultural tastes and habits misunderstood and exaggerated, until time gradually weaves them into the social fabric. * Every Friday night, Brianna recalls, her mother would get the entire family together to cook dinner and then they would all eat family-style around the table. With a large yet close-knit family in Seattle, “everyone participated in making sure that we got to eat as a family often,” she explains. “We didn’t all eat together like this on a regular basis, so I really appreciated Mom for making – 30 –

While growing up, Brianna made frequent bus trips down to the restaurant after school, and eventually her mother would impart more responsibility and duties onto her and ask for her advice on business matters. This was largely the way she got to know the workers at her mother’s restaurants, but also, because her mother tended to hire people she already knew, many of the workers were often people she knew as well. As a result of this, “the atmosphere at our restaurant is always relaxed and warm,” she notes, “and since many family members also work restaurant jobs, if, for example, an extra worker is needed, then someone can just be asked to hop in.” This familial warmth is palpable at TAM, whether exhibited in the casual bantering between the employees working at the front counter and those in the kitchen, or in the lively, friendly energy and smiles that every customer is greeted by. Perhaps this is the thing that is special about a family-run restaurant: the common thread that runs among the workers, not just by blood but by the shared memories of what food brings, of childhood, family gatherings, celebrations and special occasions held together.

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* What is Asian-American cuisine? The term is more complex and nuanced than it appears, encompassing the culinary cultures of many countries that span huge regions of land with no single language or tradition to hold them together. It includes the cultures of the descendants of first-generation Asian-American chefs and restaurateurs, who now lead in changing the landscape of what is considered ‘Asian-American.’ Mainstream ideas of Asian-American cuisine borrow from the longstanding public imagination of cheap stir-fried takeout and countless chain restaurants in shopping mall food courts selling the same variations on noodles or soup; such examples of ‘ethnic foods’ are flagged with accusations of inauthenticity. Travel to a more upscale, more cosmopolitan locale in the U.S., where both Asian and non-Asian chefs and restaurateurs spin out ‘fusion’ takes on Asian dishes or strive to recreate personal versions of the Asian foods they love. The diner shells out the higher-end price for these examples of ‘ethnic foods,’ but these foods, and the chefs who created them, are weighed down with charges of inauthenticity as well. This may be the minority’s enduring dilemma, for the perception of one’s character to rest on a scale that wavers between their loyalty to the traditions of their ancestors and their capabilities for change and innovation. It is, after all, a deeply American ethos that celebrates the coveted narrative of a newcomer who begins from nothing, and through their own abilities and persistence rises up through the ranks to forge a path of his or her own. And then there is the conundrum for the children of first-generation immigrants, for whom being raised in two cultures at once — in between both and never resolved in one — induces an awareness of the social lines that restrict and exclude, but also permits the freedom to fluctuate, at will, in between the obligations of preserving tradition and striking it out on their own.

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* It is impossible to speak about trends in Seattle without addressing the gentrification of the former spaces that have allowed these new and more upscale establishments to take root. “Gentrification raises everything to a

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Perhaps this is the thing that is special about a family-run restaurant: the common thread that runs among the workers, not just by blood but by the shared memories of what food brings, of childhood, family gatherings, celebrations and special occasions held together. standard,” Brianna says, acknowledging the effect of Seattle’s gentrifying neighborhoods on the culture of their surrounding restaurants. “A lot of these older, more tradition-

al shops now struggle with how to market themselves to a new clientele — it ties back to foundational cultural differences.” Location matters, of course, but she points out that now the overall experience that the restaurant is offering, such as the decor and the ambiance, are much more important factors in marketing a restaurant to a new, younger generation. “The one thing we all spend money on is food,” she states, “and when eating out, the choice of restaurants in an area will showcase the taste of that community pretty well; often in more affluent, up-and-coming areas, for example, you’ll see these gentrified spaces surrounded by nicer restaurants that are primarily appealing to millennials.” “Mom and I argue about how to market the restaurant,” she admits with a smile. “It’s always in between staying true to what is traditional Vietnamese versus going in the direction of what is more ‘Americanized,’ and often what will be more tailored towards millennials.”

changed to fit the standards of a different demographic that wasn’t the original one. These spaces are people’s homes, and you don’t just lose the original business, but you are losing the cultural significance attached to those spaces.” In a city where urban pockets are going through rapid turnover and demographic change, this is why a community will push back against its replacement of what should be newer, more expensive and better, over the space that used to be there, especially if that space — be it a restaurant or a business or housing — has accrued meaning and personal significance to the people whose histories and lives have been built around it. It comes back to the indelible anchor of food, and what the act of sharing food might actually really mean: the preparation of food as an act of personal investment and love, as the running thread through a family or community that holds what is important to them, what really matters, together. •

Brianna brings up her own experiences growing up in White Center, a historically low-income, diverse area currently undergoing gentrification: “It’s weird to see a space Angela Shen

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“Food is everything we are. It’s an extension of nationalist feeling, ethnic feeling, your personal history, your province, your region, your tribe, your grandma. It’s inseparable from those from the get-go.” Anthony Bourdain

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Butchery A PHOTO ESSAY BY EMMA MILLER

TOP L E FT

Hogs, horses, chickens, ducks, dairy goats, and two friendly farm dogs enjoy the freedom of the barn and pastures at Scabland Farm, a family-run farm in Eastern Washington owned by Paul and Jill Knittel. TOP R I G H T

Jill, who sells Scabland Farm pork at local farmers markets, laments the price comparison to grocery store meat. Scabland’s prices “reflect the genuine value,” Kristina said. “They reflect the [initial] cost of the sows and boars, the hours to tend to them and feed them, processing and transporting to a slaughter facility, butchering and packaging.” B OTTOM R I G H T

Heritage breed livestock, specially bred to adapt to their environments, are crucial genetic resources in the age of industrial meat, where only a few breeds of livestock that produce more or yield certain cuts of meat are used. B OTTOM R I G H T

Kristina, Jill, and Jill’s son, Jon, talk as their heritage breed hogs, known as Large Black hogs, enjoy the open pasture.

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TOP

In January, Kristina created Butchery 101, an ever-evolving butchery class aimed to reduce the burden of education placed on farmers and restaurant staff.

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B OTTOM

Each class offers an in-depth demonstration of the butchering of either a half or a whole pig, a meal prepared from some of what is butchered, and a cut of pork to take home.

I NTRO

Kristina stood over the piece of meat in the chilled room, pulling at a piece that wouldn’t come loose. She took a knife out of her belt and meticulously carved along the bone. “I felt like I was getting scammed and I feel like we’re all getting scammed if [industrial meat] is the system we are buying into,” she said. A freelance butcher and educator, Kristina Glinoga took to whole-animal butchery after a short stint being vegan to amplify the work of local farmers practicing sustainable and just animal husbandry. Whether learning about heritage breeds from farmers, explaining muscles of locomotion to students, or cooking up an unusual cut of meat for friends to enjoy, she hopes her efforts will help Seattle become a more equitable food community. •

Emma Miller

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OP P O SI TE PAG E LE F T

Kristina works away on two briskets in the butchery room at Bateau, a contemporary steakhouse owned by Chef Renee Erickson. R I G H T TO P

All of the meat served at Bateau is butchered and dry-aged in-house. When each cut has finished aging, Kristina trims off the outer layer so she can cut it into portions. R I G H T M I DDLE

By keeping each ribeye steak tied with a string, Kristina allows the different muscles of the steak to cook together. R I G H T BOTTO M

Each whole animal is butchered in regards to the specific end products planned. Here Kristina cuts a rib roast.

K R I S T I NA ’S R E C OM ME NDAT IONS t o re a d Fas t Food Nation by Er i c Sc hlosser Th e O m n ivore’s D ilemma by M i cha el Polla n In D efense of Food by M i cha el Polla n

t o wa t c h Fo od, Inc. d i r . R o bert Kenner Th e Fu tu re of Food d ir . D e bora h Koons

t o s u pp o r t S c abl and Farm Davenport, WA L o s t Peac ock Cre amery Ol ympi a , WA

TH I S PAG E

As Kristina started to care more about the food she consumed, her passion for butchery developed. One insight Kristina loves to share is the difference between muscles of locomotion and muscles of rest. She says, “The more a muscle has worked, the more flavor it will compile, and the longer and slower you need to cook it.” Kristina can be found on Instagram at @basic_butchr.

H i d d en R iver Farms Mo n tes a no, WA

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Roasted Pork Knuckle with Mashed New Potatoes and Charred Asparagus and Broccoli Rabe 1 brined pork knuckle (approx. 2 lbs) 1 lb new potatoes 1 bu asparagus 1 bu broccoli rabe 1 plum butter cream salt

Make a brine: 1 cup salt, ½ cup sugar dissolved in 1 gallon water. Soak pork roast in brine in refrigerator for 2-8 hours, depending on how salty you want it. Cook the roast sous vide at 147°F for 4 hours. Alternatively, you can roast it at 325°F for 1 hour. Remove pork from cooking method and let rest for 10 minutes before slicing. While the pork is cooking, place the new potatoes in a small saucepan and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, and then reduce heat and simmer until the potatoes are tender enough to mash with a fork. Drain away the water and let the potatoes sit in the hot pan to dry out just a little bit. Mash with butter, cream, and salt to taste. Preheat a cast iron pan to medium-high heat. Pour a small amount of canola oil into the pan, and sear asparagus and broccoli raab in batches, making sure not to overcrowd the pan. Wipe out the hot pan. Add another small amount of canola oil, and sear slices of cooked pork in the pan. Serve with slices of seasonal fruit, in this case local plums. – 38 –

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by JACK RUSSILLO photos by JACK RUSSILLO and DANIEL KIM

FERMENTATION

FINER FOOD THROUGH

I can’t recall the exact time I first experienced fermented foods, although it was probably when I was a young boy trying pickles or aged cheese for the first time. But, my first real experience with fermented foods was this past New Year’s Eve on Orcas Island, when I had dinner at the house of one of my best childhood friends. To hold us over, my friend’s mom offered us a plate of her own pickled peppers. I already knew that I enjoyed pickled peppers, so I gladly gobbled up a few of the cool, tangy-yet-spicy peppers before the next dish arrived. Served with a side of homemade bread, a small pile of sauerkraut — pickled by our hosts — was placed in front of us. The pickled cabbage was zesty and crunchy and tasted strongly of garlic, one of my favorite flavors. Throughout the night I asked my hosts various questions about their affection for fermentation, particularly concerning the bright-green, nipple-like rubber lids of their mason jars and how their gas-release feature is a vital part of the pickling process.

Two months later, while with family in San Francisco, my aunt had prepared a spread of Eastern European sausages, breads, and accoutrements. I was already excited for the meal, but a bowlful of my aunt’s homemade sauerkraut put it over the top. The fresh crunch and unique flavor of artisan kraut

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was a refreshing way to end a day full of traveling. The few hours of fermentation-focused conversation that ensued was what eventually made me decide to start fermenting foods of my own. The way that fermentation works is that, in the absence of oxygen, the sugars in the bacteria or the yeast either become a gaseous compound like ethanol, in the case of alcohols, or a lactate like lactic acid, in the case of dairy products. Depending on the desired final product, different yeasts can be used to transform the sugars into their acidic counterparts. Generally, a longer fermenting period will result in stronger flavors, regardless of the food that is being fermented. As I write this story in the spring of 2018, I

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The fresh crunch and unique flavor of artisan kraut was a refreshing way to end a day full of traveling. have made a handful of batches of pickles and sauerkraut. Some have been more successful than others in terms of taste, consistency, and edibility. But before I became infatuated with the idea of controllably rotting various foods, many prehistoric cultures across the world had utilized the process. Evidence suggests that as far back as 8,000 years ago, communities around the globe were fermenting grapes, barley, and honey to make wine, beer, and mead. Since then, various foods have been fermented to create common dishes like bread, coffee, pickles, cheese, yogurt, kim-

chi, and soy sauce. Fermentation has a variety of uses, such as food preservation and flavor enhancement. Normally a cabbage would go rancid within a month after harvest, but fermentation allows a cabbage to be chopped up and then consumed many months later as sauerkraut. The sauerkraut’s stronger flavors are a consequence of the probiotic bacteria that thrive during the fermentation process. These bacteria are beneficial for human digestion, as they promote healthy gut movements and improve immune systems. When fermenting to produce alcoholic beverages, the yeasts will die – 40 –

if the alcohol content goes above a certain point, often around 20 percent. This is why most beers and wines are below this percentage, so that the yeast strains can exist without perishing. However, like humans, different strains of yeast can tolerate different amounts of alcohol. When creating beverages that are meant to have higher concentrations of alcohol, like liquors, the product must be distilled, which is a more technical process that comes after fermentation. In my short experience with fermenting foods, I have mostly dealt with the pickling of cucumbers and cabbage. Using filtered water and apple cider vinegar, as well as the desired amount of salt, I’ve produced a few varieties of my own pickles. It is important to use filtered water because the chemicals, like chlorine, in most tap water can affect and kill the bacteria needed for fermentation.

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For my first batch, I wanted to focus on simplicity, so I used just those three ingredients. After chopping the pickles into bite-sized rounds and placing them into a jar, I sprinkled a couple tablespoons of salt and added equal parts water and vinegar. After mixing up the pickles and their brine, I placed a circular glass disk on top of the pickles to completely submerge them in the salty liquid. Keeping the product out of oxygen is an essential part of the fermentation process, so I had to make sure that all parts of the pickles were in the liquid. Once the pickle

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It’s [the] simplicity and accessibility that makes the fermentation of foods a beautiful practice. chips were tucked under the watery vinegar, I placed my own silicate nipple-like topper on the jar and sealed it up. A little over a week later (I didn’t want to over-ferment my food), I opened the jar and crunched on a pickle — and my tastebuds enjoyed the salty, sour sensation. I’ve always appreciated pickled foods because they have a particular zip to them. Soon after consuming my first jar of pickles, I was eager to experiment more. The next batches were different: The one with more salt would be kept sealed for a few more days to intensify the sour flavors while the other would be opened after the same amount of time, but would have diced garlic added. Both were smashing successes. The jar with saltier pickles was more sour than the previous batch while the other jar had a near-perfect amount of spicy kick from the garlic. I could even taste the different pungencies of the pickles, resulting from the amounts of time dedicated to uninterrupted fermenting. Controlling the pickles’ flavor for a particular palate was simple: the longer the wait, the more bite.

Since the first few jars of pickles, I’ve mostly continued the same brine recipes as I continue to fine-tune the perfect combination of salt and garlic. Toying around with onions, peppers, and other vegetables are great ways to add flavors to the pickles. I’ve also experimented with fermenting cabbage into sauerkraut, with varying success. I should note that the process and ingredients for producing sauerkraut are different than for pickles. Vinegar is not required, and more salt is used, partially to help draw the moisture out of the chopped cabbage. Ideally the cutting, mashing, and salting of the cabbage create enough natural moisture in the fermenting vessel that little to no added water is necessary. For my first jar of kraut, I chopped and mashed for nearly 20 minutes before stuffing the shredded cabbage into the jar. That amount of effort, however, was insufficient, and I needed to add water before weighing down the kraut with another glass weight and capping the lid. The first batch of kraut was decent. It wasn’t too crunchy, and the stale flavor made me think that my use of unfiltered water killed off the necessary bacteria. It didn’t smell like the freshest sauerkraut I’d ever had — it didn’t have that familiar fresh-yet-pungent aromatic blast — so I had a few bites for testing purposes and tossed out the rest. That was with yellow cabbage. For my subsequent batches, I thought I’d try out the more vibrant red cabbage. Being sure to spend more time mashing the moisture out of the cabbage and adding more salt than before, I was able to thrust the bits of

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cabbage into their jars with more natural water oozing out. Not only does the salt help decrease the chance of unhealthy bacteria growing, but it also increases the process of osmosis that draws the water out of the cabbage. Even after additional salting and mashing, I still had to add additional water to ensure that all of the cabbage was submerged in brine and out of reach of the stagnant air at the top of the jar. About six weeks later, I finally uncapped my second batch of sauerkraut — with improved results. Not only was the kraut a bit crunchier than my first jar, the taste was also much better. While the sharp flavor that pickling is known for wasn’t there to the degree that I wanted, I was able to just reseal the jar and put it back on the shelf. Whenever I re-open the jar again, whether in a few days or a few months, the cabbage’s flavor should be noticeably stronger. For me, it’s that simplicity and accessibility that makes the fermentation of foods a beautiful practice. Just take a vegetable, submerge it in a jar of water or brine, add some salt, and leave it sealed for at least a few days or weeks. Of course, getting more intricate with the recipe to accommodate for particular flavor preferences is encouraged, and the knowledge comes with experience — and I intend to let my knowledge grow with time. •

Jack Russillo

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illustrations by Taylor Brienne Hammes

xploring the international cuisine off each of South-ish Seattle’s light rail stops.

The spaces on this list may pop up out of nowhere, being found in unmarked storefronts or as an oasis in the middle of a crazy city. Most of all, they’re stumble-upon spots: something you weren’t looking for but were lucky enough to find. They run from Pioneer Square and further south since South Seattle is home to a larger population of immigrants from all around the world. In this part of Seattle you will find the greatest diversity of cuisine. In such a tense political climate, where those who don’t fit the image of a “perfect” American live in fear of expulsion, discrimination, and isolation, it is important to support local families and businesses however you can. In this case, you can support the family-based and minority-owned restaurants who create the food that shapes our city. South Seattle is facing gentrification head-on as Seattle’s tech boom weaves its way into the roots of the city. A way to show your support for the lifelong communities is to pay for the food that is an expression of the way they continue to be the roots of those spaces themselves.

Pioneer Square. Manu’s Bodega: Latin American 2 min walk On any day when it’s warm and the small room that encompasses this Latin American spot glows in brightly-colored green and yellow light, bright blue chairs and tables will be basked in sunlight outside. Come with a book or a friend, but order an empanada for $3 from the specials chalkboard behind the register (make sure to get there earlier in the day before they run out). In this hidden community hub you’ll find intimate conversations and a lively staff, eager to recommend their favorites. What to order: $9, pork belly sandwich with cabbage, serrano peppers (if you like it spicy), and baked yams on crispy Macrina Bakery bread OR $3.50, yam and gouda empanada

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International District.

Sodo. Cafe con Leche: Cuban 11 min walk

Tsukushinbo: Japanese 4 min walk

Cafe con Leche brings you into the brightness I imagine Cuba to house, with paintings of cars and homes layered in pastel blue, yellow, and pink. They have limited hours (usually only a few hours a day), so around lunchtime the crowd is lively, hungry, and happy. Sit down with a sweet and creamy cup of their namesake, cafe con leche, and take it all in alongside a sandwich (which comes with a helping of fries and cilantro aioli). If I had to, I would skip the light rail and walk back to the cafe for the aioli itself. Bask in the glow of happy patrons and enjoy the crispy and buttery taste of any of the unforgettable Cuban sandwiches they offer.

This cozy, hidden restaurant in an unmarked storefront took some searching, but keep your eyes peeled for the oasis. Tsukushinbo offers lunch and dinner with seating at a sushi bar and smaller tables. If you order any of the gozen, a traditional Japanese meal, you’ll be treated to anywhere from eight to ten kinds of “bites” that offer sweet, savory, and filling tastes that are meant to be nibbled on, all served on eccentric plates. With the “traditional gozen” comes miso soup, tempura shrimp, pickled vegetables, salmon or mackerel, and more. Bring along a hungry friend.

What to order: $11, pan con lechon (roasted pork sandwich with caramelized onions, lettuce and fries on the side)

What to order: $20, traditional gozen OR $18, pork belly curry Benedict

Beacon Hill. Carnitas Michoacan + La Esperanza de Seattle: Mexican 4 min walk In a large, open, industrial-looking space, the tacos (in handmade tortillas) do all the talking. In the back you can even buy cheese and meat to cook at home if you’re feeling inspired. The food is simple and flavorful, and right next door is a part-convenience store, part-bakery, where you can get a slice of sopapilla cheesecake (or, honestly, anything else in the plastic display case). When looking the bakery case up and down, it’s not hard to realize that everything is worth buying. Treat yourself, and finish your meal by basking in the glory of pastry goodness.

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What to order: $6, any two tacos and a chicken tamale (+ $1.50 for the cheesecake next door)

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In such a tense political climate, where those who don’t fit the image of a “perfect” American live in fear of expulsion, discrimination, and isolation, it is important to support local families and businesses however you can.

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Columbia City. Island Soul: Caribbean 8 min walk This place is the epitome of soul food. In another brightly lit space surrounded by colorful paintings, come to savor the creamy grits, lightly fried catfish goodness and perfectlysweet maple pork hash. From brunch (on the cheaper side) to lunch and dinner, each bite oozes with sweet and salty joy. With the perfect combination of flavors, it may just make you want to melt. The staff is warmly efficient; the restaurant is filled with families, old couples, and people whose faces rest in contented daydreams, just like mine did, without me even realizing. Be warned: you won’t want to leave. What to order: $12, pork belly hash OR $12, catfish and cheesy grits. Also try: Senegalese restaurant La Teranga

Mount Baker.

Rainier Beach.

Cafe Ibex: Ethiopian 5 min walk

King Donuts 13 min walk (don’t worry, it’s worth it)

Enter through the red doors and you’ll be surrounded by a large dining room. Off to the side, a bar with the painting of a graceful ibex lying above it. Here, the staff is more than happy to answer any questions you have about the meal. The Ethiopian coffee is smoky and strong and many meals are served with Ethiopia’s national food, injera: a sourdoughesque flatbread that is used to eat your food in place of utensils. The lamb dish that I had was spicy and a little bitter. Each bite was filled with zest and packed with many flavors I was unfamiliar with, making me even more grateful I’d come. There will be plenty left over for tomorrow’s meal (and if you’re not impatient like me, maybe even the day after).

This part-donut, part-Thai, part-teriyaki spot is a hidden wonder. Outside you’ll see a bright pink storefront that speaks to the attention this place deserves. Once you step inside, it’s worth telling your friends to stay with you to eat at least one of every donut. One of the best parts for me was sitting in the tall, bright-red booths and watching the world go by inside and outside the shop, eating those donuts. The youngest brother in the family, Travis, makes a wide range of donuts. There’s even a small menu of Thai items and chicken teriyaki served on the side.

What to order: $13, spicy yebeg tibs (lamb cubes with vegetables in a spicy sauce, injera included)

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What to order: $4, coffee + buttermilk + coconut maple donut

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Othello. Rainier BBQ: Vietnamese 9 min walk You wouldn’t expect it from the outside, with its smiling cartoon farm animals and bright red awning, but once you walk through the door and down the carpeted stairs of Rainier BBQ , there rests an expansive Vietnamese eatery. A fish tank sits in the front entrance next to the list of daily specials, where there may even be a wait on a weekday. That wait time was actually my blessing in disguise, as it’s probably the only way I was able to decide on what to eat. From hearty egg pie to frog legs to all kinds of pho, you can get anything to fulfill your tastes. They have family-sized dishes perfect for big groups, so bring all your friends, from the most adventurous food fiends to even the pickiest eaters. What to order: $9, G1 (steamed rice with charcoal broiled pork, shredded pork skin and egg pie)

Final Note. Finding restaurants is not all fun and games.*

and story of your food and even your city.

In this quest, I ate at an “Indian” restaurant run by an entirely white staff wearing gauchos and beanies. I ate cold dim sum on the side of the road and wondered when the food poisoning would take over me, but also thought, “Who would let pork shumai and sticky rice go to waste?”

Eating adventures aren’t always a success. You won’t always find food you’re in love with, you may even worry for the next 36 hours about possible projectile vomiting, but you will always have a good story.

The most helpful thing I learned in this endeavor was how important it is to just ask questions: of what you’re eating, what the culture surrounding the food is like, and places to eat nearby. This quest demonstrated the importance of engaging with your food and those who gift it to you, because those are the people who give you the greatest perspective

Getting outside your food comfort zone is the best, and only, way to explore your tastes. And you will have always gotten a chance to develop a taste for the city, people and flavors all around you in a way like no other. *it’s mostly fun and games

Hannah Myrick

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P H OTO COMPETITION - food themed -

"Brunch means saving money on breakfast and lunch!" - Esther Leung @omnnom_life

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“Belen Market in Iquitos, Peru.” - Brynn Tweeddale @br.yy

2 “The food pictured is from the state of Maharashtra in India, and it features spinach dal (lentils), chapati (Indian bread), aloo (potato) sabzi, and kheer (a vermicelli Indian sweet). This food is important to me as stereotypically Indian food is represented through butter chicken, naan and paneer, but every state in India has its own unique dishes. I wanted to highlight the food from my state of Maharashtra.” - Atharva Agashe @atharvaagashe

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VOYAG E Seattle, WA Fall 2018 voyageuw.com