EatingAsia

In Santa Fe, Tortas, Tacos and a Daily Special

In Santa Fe, a torta to remember

A visit to my folks' place in New Mexico always includes several trips to Santa Fe, about an hour's drive away.

We hop into the car and drive -- under that expansive, jaw-droppingly gorgeous turquoise sky -- into 'town' to stock up on groceries, pick up the necessities that will see us through another year in Asia and, of course, eat. This is our chance to answer cravings for Mexican and American Southwestern flavors that can't be satisfied halfway around the world. 

This year we revisited an old favorite, a carniceria (meat/butcher shop) that serves freshly made burritos, tacos, and tortas, as well as a daily special. We feasted on wonderfully comforting soup -- clear pork broth packed with juicy golf balls of chopped pork, wedges of summer squash, carrots, and rice -- and an ethereal torta stuffed with roasted barbacoa (goat meat).

The torta was so special, with a toasted soft bun spread with chunky guacamole sandwiching tender shreds of meat lightly crisped on the griddle, that we ordered a second. Alternating mouthfuls of bread and meat (anointed with a drizzle of fiery salsa made with dried and roasted chilies) with nibbles from a hot-as-hell roasted jalapeno, we ate until we were stuffed.

And then there was Tacqueria La Chabolita, a new (since our last visit to New Mexico, anyway) taco truck that beckoned with its cheeky graphics (a huge avocado on the front and back of the truck, a big head of lettuce and floaty, swirly red peppers as background to a menu of tacos and burritos on the front) and then drew us back not once but twice with its tasty offerings.

 

We tried the tacos - lengua (tongue), barbacoa, azada (roasted beef), tripas (tripe), and al pastor (pork); the tripas and azada stood out especially for their deep, almost gamey flavors. Browned and caramelized onion wedges add a sweet note and the green salsa served alongside has a pleasant tart edge.

Equally delicious was this outfit's gordita, two thick flour tortillas browned on the griddle enclosing a choice of meats (azada pictured below), beans, and melted cheese with a bit of tang.

The steady business that this truck was enjoying on each of our three visits is a testimony to the deliciousness of its offerings. Each item is cooked to order and the wait can be tortuous. But don't let that deter you. It certainly didn't keep us from returning again, and again.

Carniceria Santa Fe, Felipe Street (at corner of Cerillos Road - a side street just across from the El Rey Inn), Santa Fe New Mexico. 505-983-7281.

Tacqueria La Chabolita, Cerillos Road (across the street from Cottonwood Motel -- and just a few blocks from Carniceria Santa Fe)

Taiwan, Asian Coffee Mecca - Who Knew?

Not us, until research for a story on coffee in Asia led us to the island last June.

As we relate in an article in today's (Friday's) Wall Street Journal Asia 'Weekend Journal', Taiwanese are serious about their java, and that makes the island one of the easiest places in Asia to find a superior cup. I'm not sure where else in the world, other than Japan, you're more likely to find nothing-special neighborhood cafes serving siphon coffee brewed by the cup with fresh beans ground a la minute.

(The piece also includes my sidebars on coffee culture in Malaysia and Vietnam, and a writer in Japan contributed a piece on that country's java scene.)

And some photo out takes here.

***

The photo above wasn't taken on Taiwan, but in one of our favorite Malaysian kopitiam (coffee shops): Sin Yin Loong in Ipoh, an old tin mining town a couple of hours north of Kuala Lumpur. 

The beverage of choice at Sin Yin Loong is a local specialty - 'white' coffee.

While regular Malaysian-style kopi is made with beans roasted with butter (or margarine) and sugar (the latter 'burns' on the beans, making Malaysian kopi extra dark and not a little bit bitter), beans for white coffee are roasted with butter/margarine only. The result is a lighter but very rich, smooth, and almost caramel-y brew that really stands up to ice; it's always served sporting a thick head of whisk-induced froth.

When we were in Ipoh last March - for only a little over 24 hours - we spent a disproportionate amount of time drinking in white coffee, and Sin Yoon Loong's homely ambience. Whenever we stopped in for hot or iced (and a piece of the shop's justifiably famous cream-filled sponge roll) -- whether it noon, 2pm, 5pm, 7:30am, or mid-morning (the stuff really is that addictive) --  the place was consistently packed. 

In recent years white coffee has become a bit of a gimmick in Malaysia; it's served at regular and chain kopitiam (such as Old Town White Coffee, established by Sin Yoon Loong's across-the-street-competitor), and you can even buy it in instant powdered form. Just add water. 

But it was at Sin Yin Loong that we had our first taste of the real deal, no other version comes close. The locals seem to agree.

Sin Yoon Loong, 15A Jalan Bandar Timah, Ipoh Malaysia. 60-52/241-4601. 7am till evening.

 

Death of an American General Store

There was a day when every rural American town had a General Store. At these usually family-owned and operated institutions locals could post a letter, catch up on the latest gossip, gas up their trucks, and pick up everything from a hundred-pound bag of livestock feed to a quart of milk.

I wonder how many of these places exist anymore. Martin's, a general store a few miles from my parents' rural New Mexican home that dates back to the 1930s and boasts a beautiful tin ceiling and authentic Old West false-front facade, just closed this past August.

Now the 1,300 or so residents of El Rito, a farming and ranching town that attracted Spanish settlers in the early 18th century, have to drive about 20 minutes or so to pump gas or buy a newspaper.

 
This isn't the case of a local being driven out of business by the arrival of a big chain store; word has it that the owner of Martin's closed shop so he could enjoy his golden years. The building is for rent. But what with the current state of the economy and a Wal-Mart within a 45-minute drive, I'm doubtful that the place will reopen anytime soon.

El Rito's kind of a quiet town. Traffic along its one main road does pick up during tourist season, when visitors make the drive for the award-winning green chile stew at El Farolito, just across the street from Martin's (I highly recommend the red chile enchiladas as well).

But the other night El Farolita was quiet (though the red chile sauce was as good as ever).

And meanwhile Martin's sits empty, its shelves still -- strangely -- half-stocked, a shopping cart in front of the check-out counter, looking for all the world like a store in one of those horror movies about the plague that befalls a town and, within half an hour, kills off the entire populace as it's going about its daily business.

 

Oyster Omelette, Redeemed

Oyster omelette, fresh oysters fried with beaten eggs and usually bound with some sort of starch solution, is an Asian street food staple.

I had my first taste in Hong Kong about 15 years ago -- the dish's flavorless bivalves and strangely gummy texture left me underwhelmed. Since then I've sampled -- usually at the goading of well-meaning local gourmands -- various versions, from Shanghai (mushy oysters) to Penang (nice char, but an awful lot of grease), and I remained unimpressed.

Until last June, when we ate our way around Tainan, Taiwan's unofficial xiao chi ('small eats', ie 'snack') capital.

On Guohe Jie, a narrow lane alongside Yun Le Market that's lined on both sides with food stalls, four or five oyster omelette vendors ply their trade side by side. Deciding which stall to order from was easy; the stools in front of this gentleman's counter were consistently occupied when others sat empty.

The quality of eh-ah jian, as oyster omelette is known in Taiwan, rests firmly on the quality of its main ingredient. More than three weeks of grazing along the island's west coast showed us that its seafood is among the best in the region. And Tainan proper sits near the coast, so the freshness of this vendor's oysters was never in question

 

To make his omelette, he heats oil on a well-seasoned griddle and adds about fifteen plump specimens. While the oysters sizzle he breaks a couple eggs (duck eggs are available on request) to their side, piercing the yolks with the corner of his spatula. After sprinkling bean sprouts, shredded lettuce, and bits of pork crackling over eggs and oysters, he drizzles a third of a spatula of starch solution (sweet potato starch mixed with water) over the lot.

A large lid placed over the griddle firms up the eggs and the binder,

 

and then he folds the four sides of the 'pancake',

to make a neat egg and oyster envelope.

The eh ah jian is served alongside a pool of sauces, one a bit sweet and salty like fermented bean paste, the other tasting like a cross between hoisin and oyster sauce.

I could do without the sauces, frankly, and the next time I dine at this stall I'll ask the vendor to leave them off my plate.

Otherwise, his forty years of oyster omelette-making experience manifest themselves in hands down the best oyster omelette we've ever eaten, a lightly charred egg pillow spilling briny, barely cooked oysters and crispy sprouts and lettuce and sporting barely a hint of grease that made me do a one-eighty on this street food specialty that I'd long scorned.

The key here is the omelette maker's light hand with the starch solution: there's enough of it to pull the other ingredients together, but not enough to create that gumminess that I find such a turn-off in other versions.

Oysters at 8am? If they take the form of this gent's oyster omelette, why not?

Oyster omelette, Guohe Jie (second stall from the corner, right next to a popiah vendor), Tainan, Taiwan. Early morning to 3pm-ish.

Oriental Salad and Chop Suey Dessert Sauce

My mother has a rather morbid habit of asking me, whenever I return to the US for a visit, to specify which of her belongings I will want for myself 'when the time comes'. I prefer not to think about it,  but if pressed I'd really only have one request: Mother, please set aside for me your entire Time Life 'Foods of the World' series.

I've spent alot of time on visits home poring over these fascinating recipe books, even more so since I began writing about food. (This time around much of what I'm reading in the American Cooking volumes from the series dovetails with a book that's on my bedside table: The Food of a Younger Land by Mark Kurlansky, which I highly recommend.)

Every year I find a recipe or ten that resonate(s) -- a relatively little known dish that I discovered in Italy, a favorite childhood dish that I'd completely forgotten about, a recipe for an obscure Asian specialty that's surprising both for the fact that it appears in a cookbook published 38 years ago and for its apparent authenticity.

And then there's the head scratchers -- like Oriental Salad and Chop Suey Dessert Sauce, from the American Cooking: Northwest volume.

There has been for over a century, of course, a large Asian population in the American Northwest. But I wonder about the origin of the 'Oriental' salad, whose only possibly 'Oriental' ingredient is rice. And what of Chop Suey dessert sauce? Here I can only guess that it's so named for its mishmash of ingredients.

At any rate -- here are the recipes. If anyone out there recognizes these dishes or  has some information regarding their origin(s), I'd love to hear from you.

Oriental Salad

From American Cooking: The Northwest, published 1970 by Time Life Inc.

1/2 c long grain rice, boiled, drained, and cooled

A 6-oz can flat anchovy fillets, drained, rinsed under cold water, and coarsely chopped

1/2 cup finely chopped scallions

1/2 cup finely chopped pimiento

1 firm ripe tomato, sliced 1/4 inch thick and cut into 1/4 inch dice

2 Tbsp red wine vinegar

1/2 tsp dry mustard

1 tsp salt

Freshly ground black pepper

6 Tbsp olive oil

Chilled crisp lettuce leaves

Place rice, anchoves, scallions, pimiento and tomato in a serving bowl and toss together.

With a wire whisk, beat vinegar, mustard, salt, and a few grindings of pepper in a small bowl until the mustard has dissolved. Add the oil gradually and continue to beat until the dressing is smooth and thick. Taste for seasoning, pour over rice mixture, and stir with a fork till the ingredients are well combined.

For each serving, arrange several lettuce leaves to form a cup on a chilled plate and spoon the salad into the lettuce cup.

Chop Suey Dessert Sauce

3/4 cup sugar

1 1/2 cups water

1/4 tsp red food coloring

1/2 cup coarsely chopped pitted dates

1/2 cup coarsely chopped dried figs

1/2 cup coarsely chopped walnuts

Combine the sugar and water in a 1 to 2-quart enamel or stainless steel saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Cook briskly, uncovered, until the syrup reaches a temperature of 220 degrees on a candy thermometer. Stir in the food coloring.

Combine the dates, figs, and walnuts in a bowl, pour in the hot syrup, and stir until all the pieces are evenly moistened. Spoon the sauce into a jar equipped with a tight-fitting lid. Cover and store at room temperature. The sauce will keep up to 3 weeks. Serve it with ice cream.