Bee Pollen

Naturopaths and deluded peddlers of pseudoscience claim that bee pollen, also called bee bread, is nature's most perfect and complete food. Many purport that it rejuvenates, invigorates, prolongs life, heals organs, enhances athletic and sexual performance, fights infection, and inoculates against allergic reactions. That's quite an impressive array of medicinal properties packed into such tiny little balls of pollen. But there's a flaw to even the most basic claims about the nutritional profile of this supplement. Because bees don't typically stick to one flower, the composition of the pollen can be very hard to ascertain. Therefore, the proclamations that any container of bee pollen contains all of the essential amino acids along with high values of vitamins and minerals cannot be completely verifiable. And because the pollen sources are not known, those with allergies to any specific type of pollen run the risk of suffering a severe allergic reaction by consuming the stuff.

Anyway, there's a great article here by an actual doctor debunking the erroneous claims put forth by the promoters of bee pollen (which can be found en masse with a simple google search). So, crap aside, let's get down to the food stuff itself. I'm sure you've seen these little balls of spit and honey dangling from the hind quarters of a bee making daily nectar rounds in the garden. These are brought back to the hive used to manufacture honey, fueling the colony and the future generations of bees... that is if they're not stolen by some malicious supplement salesmen as the poor, unsuspecting bee arrives home from a hard day in the fields.

I was taken back at first upon opening my bottle and smelling the contents and even more surprised by the taste. The pollen balls smelled sweet and, get this, honey-like so, logically, my reaction didn't make much sense. But I could detect no distinct flowery scents nor any other aromas one associates with the pollen storms of spring. Noting the smell, the flavor and texture should have come as no surprise but this dry, chalky honey still caught me off guard. Illogical, yes, but it's hard to divorce honey's sweet and pungent flavor from the syrupy texture, as if some particular quality of the bee spit is responsible for the characteristic taste. But no, here it was in near-raw form. Surprisingly nice but not something that remains pleasant after the first couple teaspoons.

Don't believe the hype. If you're interested in trying some bee pollen, approach it as food and not some miraculous panacea. I could definitely see myself sprinkling it over some ice cream or adding it to the foamy top of a fancy coffee concoction. But one must take great care if they are prone to pollen allergies. There are cases of people dying after having a severe reaction to this food/supplement and there's no guaranteeing the composition of the pollen. Proceed with caution and skepticism.

Cashew Juice

Our aspiring city recently took another small step forward in modernity with the opening of the region's very first Whole Foods. Organic produce, healthy meals, and weird foods galore. One late night trip resulted in enough bounty to satisfy my penchant for the strange for the next couple months... or at least it will have to considering these uneasy economic times.

My first sampling from the lot was a carton of cashew juice. Cashews, like almonds, are the seeds of a drupe and not actually a nut although they are commonly often referred to as such. This juice is made from the fruit part of the cashew which, with the seed dangling down from its nether regions, is a strange looking beast indeed. The fruit is high in tannins and rather astringent so it requires a bit of processing prior to consumption. As a result it is rarely consumed in this part of the world.

The cashew fruit contains a high levels of vitamin C and therefore the juice box goes on to list a variety of health claims linked to the indigenous use of the cashew fruit in South America and vitamin C in general.

Poured into a glass, the juice looks strikingly similar to commercially available grapefruit juice but expresses no distinct odor. Upon my first sip I actually yelled out in surprise. This stuff is incredibly acidic, like a very tart orange juice, an effect which is exacerbated by the addition of citric acid.

Beyond the first mouthful, the taste starts to mellow out a bit and begins to take on the characteristics of a poor quality orange juice with an aftertaste of nuts. This aftertaste is quite unsettling at first but gets better with time. Still, it gives one the sensation of having a mouthful of nuts and can remain a little unpleasant.

I know, it sounds bad, but the overall combination of the strange qualities makes for interesting experience and I'm far from dreading drinking the second one I purchased in a buy-one-get-one-free deal.

Addendum: This stuff gets better every time I drink it. I'm at a point where I'd be willing to alternate my daily intake of orange juice with cashew juice. Shocking at first but an easy taste to acquire and enjoy.

Kombucha

We here in the Western world are constantly turning to the East in search of elixirs that will allow us to live a prolonged and healthy life. Sure, there are the yogis and wise men of the orient whose lives ultimately span a century or more but really, when you're sitting down in the lotus position and remaining calm all day then you're bound to live a long, happy life. Reduced calorie requirements from not moving much means that you can survive on far less food than those villagers starving to death at the base of your holy mountain. Living at such great heights also makes it harder for roaming bandits to come and kill you in your sleep.

The latest oriental potion boasting mystical properties that I've encounter is kombucha.

Wikipedia says: "Kombucha is the Western name for sweetened tea or tisane that has been fermented using a macroscopic solid mass of microorganisms called a kombucha colony."

Perhaps the recent introduction of this drink to the US stems from the popularity of probiotic drinks and other microbe infested foods that are purported to support well-being.

Now, I have no problem whatsoever with claims of reasonable health benefits but the label of this drink goes a bit far, forcing me take the Bill Hicks stance on marketing. What we have here is essentially a soft drink. There is a decent amount of good nutrients loaded into this little bottle but you also get a dose of added sugar (which, admittedly, is significantly smaller than what one typically encounters in most soft drinks). So you can pack the mini-fridge next to the couch with these things to your heart's content but kombucha alone is not going to do anything for your longevity.

Spurious claims aside, this commercial implementation of the kombucha recipe is marvelously flavorful. It tastes like a lightly carbonated ginger sweet tea which is funny because it's actually a lightly carbonated ginger sweet tea with magic microorganisms (they apparently don't add much to the taste).

I don't remember how much this was because I received it as a gift but expect a high price tag attached to those mystical properties, even if you are just buying it for the taste.

Elvis Sandwich

Edible Oddities is proud to announce the very first episode in an exciting new series called Creating Culinary Abominations! Not really, but this is the first post where we run you through the process of making the disgusting food before consuming it.

Abandoning the sleek figure and sex-symbol status of his young life, Elvis Aaron Presley became a bloated fat man throughout the years leading to his demise and it's no surprise (his fatness or his death) considering what he was eating. One of his favorite foods, a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich, appropriately dubbed the Elvis sandwich, has attained a cult status all of its own. As with most cult figures, including the barking fat man himself, there are many different theories and conflicting ideas floating around about this iconic snack. Some claim the sandwich also contained bacon and, instead of being fried in butter on a hot skillet, the left-over bacon grease was used to do the dirty work. So, in the spirit of going that extra mile for an extra disturbing experience, I thought why not try both? Half with bacon and half without for that simultaneously authentic and awful experience.

Here's what you will need for one sandwich:

2 slices of white bread
1 banana
peanut butter
butter
3-5 slices of bacon

Start by toasting your bread. Don't make it too dark since the sandwich is going to be charred a bit more during the frying process.

Cut your banana into relatively thin slices. This will ensure the sandwich fits together tightly and if you want your bananas thick you can always layer them up.

Now, start cooking your bacon. Keep that grease, we can use it to fry the sandwich later.

The toast should be done so, while the bacon is cooking, spread the peanut butter thickly over one piece of the toast. Although the authentic recipe only calls for one piece to be subjected to the peanut butter treatment, you can do both pieces if you'd like. Doing so will probably help the sandwich stick together better.

Once the bacon is done cooking, keep the grease warm while you collect the ingredients and assemble them together. Again, we were doing half of the sandwich with bacon and half without. Whether you use bacon at all is entirely up to your personal preferences and gastrointestinal fortitude.

Grab your assembled sandwich, press firmly, and drop it into the cooking grease. If you find that there isn't enough grease to do a sufficient frying job then butter the outsides of the bread. Once peanut butter starts oozing out of a disgustingly crispy and greasy sandwich then you know you're done. Whip that sandwich out of the frying pan and get yourself excited whilst letting it cool down a bit.

There's nothing truly horrific about the taste of the Elvis sandwich. The bacon fits surprisingly well with the banana/peanut butter mush, which by itself is also quite nice. Overall, the sandwich is pleasantly flavorful albeit in a disturbing way. But with such high levels of fats and carbohydrates you can almost feel yourself going into shock. Sure, as animals we are supposed to be uncontrollably drawn to foods with high calorific content but this is almost too much. A few bites into this beast and you'll be fighting the urge to bring it all back up again.

I couldn't finish the entire sandwich, leaving a large corner of the bread untouched despite still feeling a bit hungry. I can imagine eating a couple of these things and not being satisfied due to the lack of bulk but I felt so disgusting after my one that I didn't want to eat another thing for the entirety of the day. Still, this is something adventurous eaters should definitely try. Once. I can't fathom how anybody can eat more than one of these in a lifetime, much less with any regularity, but there is ample photographic evidence depicting what happens when you do.

soan papdi / patisa

The formal education system of the Western world, the United States in particular, unjustly neglects to pay much attention to the rich culture and history of India besides giving a cursory nod to Gandhi and the Indian Independence movement and that's only because a movie was made about the period. Now that I mention it, almost everything I "learned" about the history of other countries throughout my time in the American primary education system had some sort of movie tie in. There was "Gandhi" for India, "The Last Emperor" for China, "Nicholas and Alexandra" for Russia, and "Excalibur" because the fictional account of British history is somehow more relevant than the actual history (of which we learned naught). If I remember correctly, think we might have even watched "Braveheart" because everyone knows that it's an accurate portrayal of Scottish history.

Anyway, back to India, the seventh largest country in terms of land mass yet the second most populous country in the world with over one billion people. A smattering of Indian cuisine has been assimilated by the Western world with curry crossing culinary borders into all sorts of foods, Mulligatawny soup appearing on both menus and sitcoms, and naan bread gracing the shelves of the local supermarket. But, in a place with over a billion people and more than a thousand languages (29 of which have at least a million native speakers each), there's bound to be more that we're missing out on.

One class of foods that haven't quite made the mass exodus are sweets and confections. Now, I love curries and could easily eat traditional Indian meals daily but I'm not a fan of desserts hailing from any of the world's many nations. However, given that I've enjoyed all of my Indian food experiences, I gladly accepted my friend and colleague's offer to try some of his cherished sweet: patisa (aka soan papdi, sohan papdi, or sohan halva).

The ingredients in this confection are sugar, gram flour, sugar, flour, sugar, ghee, sugar, milk, sugar, and cardamom. First a quick explanation of some of the ingredients foreign to the Western world: Gram flour is a flour made from chickpeas/garbanzo beans. Think dehydrated hummus without the tahini (sesame seed paste). Ghee is a clarified butter and is a very important ingredient in Indian cultures. It is used for culinary, medicinal, spiritual, and even cosmetic purposes. Rather than attempt, and subsequently fail, at piecing together a proper explanation of this substance, here's a quote from Wikipedia:

"Ghee is made by simmering unsalted butter in a large pot until all water has boiled off and protein has settled to the bottom. The cooked and clarified butter is then spooned off to avoid disturbing the milk solids on the bottom of the pan. Unlike butter, ghee can be stored for extended periods without refrigeration, provided it is kept in an airtight container to prevent oxidation and remains moisture-free."

The resultant dish is a giant block of dry, flaky, meringue-like confection. It's fairly difficult to pick a segment up when the slightest pressure causes it to crumble. If you are able to manage getting a piece in your mouth you will find this strange substance instantaneously melts upon reaching its destination. Despite the apparent dryness during handling, the fats and oils from the ghee come to the forefront when mixed with your saliva producing a creamy texture and flavor. The initial experience is very pleasant and stimulates that cream-loving beast locked within each of us. However, the situation quickly falls apart for me when the second wave hits.

Sugar. There's so much of it in this dish that I could almost feel my pancreas convulsing uncontrollably and screaming "don't glaze me, bro." Being somewhat sensitive to things high in sugar, I was afraid that I had gone too far given myself insta-diabetes, like the tragic teenage drug-addict who either gets hooked or overdoses during their first curious self-experiment. And like the young addict, I found myself intensely craving the stuff a mere five minutes later. "Just one more try," said the trembling inner voice, "one more little bite won't hurt." Temporarily weakened by the thought of the lovely creamy taste and sensation, I picked a small piece up and popped it into my waiting mouth. Oh creamy bliss, but again there was the second onslaught of sugar and I had to resolve never to eat the stuff again out of fear for my health.

I also sampled another dish similar to the patisa / soan papdi but this was more milky and needed refrigeration. It inhabited a realm somewhere between ice cream and cottage cheese in appearance and consistency. It also had a very nice flavor but was, again, loaded with an incredible amount of sugar.

For health reasons I'm going to have to stay away from these tasty treats but anyone with a sweet tooth is sure to enjoy them. I will, however, visit one of the many local Indian grocers in the near future and stock up on some other interesting foods so that I can further offend an entire nation by calling their food weird.

Fried Green Tomatoes / Yellow Tomatoes

Tomatoes are my favorite fruit. But they're a vegetable, you say. Fruits are sweet and are thus appropriately artificially approximated as flavors for candy. Even the United States Supreme Court ruled in 1893 that tomatoes are to be labeled, and therefore taxed, as vegetables. But the term vegetable is not scientific and, biologically, a fruit is defined as the ripened ovary of a flowering plant, the simple defining characteristic being the seeds. But regardless of what you want to call it, I think the tomato is grand.

One oddity involving tomatoes that I had long been interested in sampling was the fried green variety. Most fruits are strictly off limits for consumption prior to ripening due to the tough texture, bitter flavor, and occasional toxicity. Cooking an unripe fruit can take care of the hard texture and alter the flavor to a more palatable form. One such treatment is the Southern favorite, fried green tomatoes.

Being of Australian origin and British descent, when I think "fried tomato" I think of a few naked slices of tomato fried up in sausage grease, part of a traditional English breakfast. Suffice to say, I was a little confused when I received my order of fried green tomatoes at Savannah's wonderful Moon River Brewery (highly recommended if you're in the area) and quickly realized how obviously mistaken I had been to think they wouldn't be breaded. The breading, in my opinion, masks the full flavor of the green tomato so I ripped the outer covering from one of the bunch to fully appreciate the taste. With the breading they tasted much like other fried fruits and veggies like fried okra and even onion rings. Naked, however, the flavor was more distinctly "tomato" yet with some of the pungency one finds in the vegetation of the plant.

Not being a fan of battered and fried foods, I think I'll steer clear of these in the future but I might experiment with my own pan-fried green tomatoes to see how they compare.

While the green tomato is simply an unripe red tomato, over the past few years we have seen an increase in the number of tomato cultivars being offered by supermarkets which include some odd colored and strangely shaped varieties. Recently I picked up a yellow tomato thinking that the extraordinarily high price tag would correlate to an extraordinarily wonderful tomato.

Note the difference between the two tomatoes above. One is of a typical red tomato hue, the other inhabits a more orange/yellow position in the spectrum. But if you're thinking that's the only difference between the two, well then, you're just plain right. The yellow cultivar was really no different from a red of comparable quality. There may have been a slight difference in certain components of the flavor but these were only very subtle.

Here's my advice for anyone who loves tomatoes as much as I do: grow your own. I have never bought a tomato from the store that has been anywhere near as amazing in odor, flavor, and texture as those I've pulled off the plant myself. Even when they're scabbed and mottled, the amazing succulence and intense flavor put any of the store bought varieties to shame... yes, even those from high-end, over-priced organic markets. They're relatively easy to grow and incredibly rewarding. Just watch out for the caterpillars.....................

Cherimoya

"The most delicious fruit known to men," proclaimed Mark Twain in The Sacramento Daily Union on October 25, 1866. While he may be right, the cherimoya is certainly one of the ugliest too. I have a sneaking suspicion that these things are actually the eggs of the reptilian humanoids purported by small bands of delusional neanderthals to be in control of the world's governments and financial systems. If my theory is correct then I, for one, welcome our delicious reptilian overlords.

The official story our government wants us to believe is that cherimoyas are fruits native to the Andean-highland valleys of Ecuador and Peru and currently produced throughout many temperate regions throughout the world. The trees don't like frost and snow but thrive in cooler temperatures, leading to the indigenous peoples of the Andes to claim that, "while the cherimoya cannot stand snow, it does like to see it in the distance."

The skin of a cherimoya is soft and smooth, not unlike that of a reptile, and the sweet perfume of the flesh comes through slightly, entirely unlike that of a reptile. Cutting the fruit open reveals a creamy white interior and some very large brown seeds, an appearance that could partly explain why it is also commonly called a custard apple. The flesh is actually segmented into velvety pods that each contain a single seed and can be peeled out intact.

Be careful not to eat neither seed nor skin. The seeds are poisonous if cracked and can be crushed up for use as an insecticide. Even better, eating the skin can result in paralysis for a period of 4 to 5 hours. Learning of this only made me want to try it but I didn't want to chance having my diaphragm or heart paralyzed. Death by cherimoya may be exotic but definitely not too glamorous.

Mr. Twain has a fairly solid case for proclaiming the cherimoya the most delicious of fruits. The closest comparison I can draw to the flavor is a well made, not-too-sweet, non-alcoholic piña colada but really this does no justice to the complexities and smoothness of the flavor. The sweetness teeters on the safe side of being overbearing so that no matter how many pieces of velvety flesh you eat the taste does not become tiresome. There are hints of banana, pineapple, feijoa, and dragon fruit. The texture, sweetness, and flavors also bear a striking resemblance to bubblegum.

The major drawbacks to the cherimoya are its relative rareness, small window of availability, and high price. Five bucks a pound was what they were going for at my local store and my insane cheapness prevented me from buying more than my initial sample. But I can imagine that the passage of time until next season will compound my craving and leave me compelled to indulge in this succulent fruit once more.

Mochi/Daifuku

mochi/daifuku
2008-11-28

You can tell a lot about the agriculture and staple food items of a region by taking a cursory glance at their sweets, snacks, and liquor. Here in the USA, land of the almighty corn kernel, everything is sweetened with corn syrup, we stuff our faces with corn chips, most American beer contains some amount of corn, and proper Bourbon, arguably the most American of spirits, is made exclusively from it.

To quote the late, great novelist, Kurt Vonnegut Jr.: "Harold Newcomb Wilbur got his medals for killing Japanese, who were yellow robots. They were fueled by rice." If you can wrap rice around a stick of raw fish and call it dinner then it's not too strange an idea to pummel it into a paste and call it desert. This paste, called mochi, is used as a base for many confections and sweets in Japanese candies. One common preparation, called daifuku, involves rolling the mochi into a ball and stuffing it with a sweet paste made from the red azuki beans.

Red beans and rice, eh? Sounds like the only other side item at a Cuban restaurant besides fried plantains, not a piece of candy. But trust me, this little ball of sweetness is a lot nicer than it sounds, sort of like the japanese version of a jelly donut except that eating a couple won't put you into a diabetic coma.

"What the hell is that crap?"
"Mochi!" chirped my chipper Chinese colleague, thrusting the box in my face. I reluctantly grabbed a piece and retreated to my sanctum for closer inspection.

The weirdest thing about my little mochi/daifuku sample was the strange covering of blackened sesame seeds, seaweed, and lint with some little green balls that, keeping in mind all of the unsettling ingredients in the sushi I've eaten in the past, are probably best left unidentified. I wasn't expecting much at all from this little morsel, particularly since previous experiences with Asian candies and snacks have been less than wonderful. With facial muscles tensed, I took my first bite... not bad, not bad at all. Having demolished half of my ration in one solitary nibble, I was saddened to see how little I had left to savor. Even without the strange outer coverings the mochi and red bean paste filling would have been a nice, subtly sweet treat but the addition of the complex savory flavors and crunchy texture made it a lot more interesting on the whole.

I'm going to have to hit up a local Asian food market for some interesting eats in the near future and, despite not being a big fan of sweets, I can definitely see myself picking up some more of these to stuff my face with on the drive home.

Cuy (guinea pig)

Some regions are known for a particular dish and some dishes are known only to a particular region, lacking the global appeal to cross cultural and geographical borders. I make no mystery of my fascination with indulging in these isolated delicacies and one such oddity was repeatedly brought to my attention in our plans to visit Peru and hike to Machu Picchu: cuy, also known to local pet shops as guinea pig.

Long before you brought Mr. Tweetypoo home from Petsmart for a life of squeaking, eating, and crapping on the carpet, the Andean peoples were domesticating guinea pigs for the explicit purpose of eating them. Originally used in ceremonial meals, cuy was eventually adopted as an acceptable food for any occasion calling for the consumption of rodents. Peruvians we met expressed a great appreciation for guinea pig meat but it is a bit pricey and therefore not regularly consumed by the common populous. However, there are still an estimated 65 million guinea pigs being eaten each year and these can't all be attributed to tourists looking to spice up their lackluster lives by eating weird food, like I do regularly.

Eating a guinea pig was priority number two for the trip (priority number one was making it to Machu Picchu in one piece), so the night before we embarked upon our hike I visited a local establishment that specializes in all things cuy.

Most restaurants will actually require you to order cuy a day in advance and put down a deposit to prove your sincerity which is typically 10 soles out of the average 50 soles for the dish (with a 3:1 soles to dollar exchange rate). The most common and traditional preparation is called cuy al horno, meaning roasted guinea pig. Here's the shocker, it's brought to you whole. There's no denying the fact that you're eating a guinea pig when it is lying there complete with tooth and nail, near intact sans fur.

Lacking certain mental components that would cause a normal human being to become nauseated at the mere sight of this fetid feast, I was completely unfazed by the scene laid before me (I blame it, along with my many other deficiencies, upon the multiple instances of blunt force trauma to the head in my developing years). Still, I tried to be dignified about the whole process and attacked the rat thing with my knife and fork, much to the amusement of the staff. Thick skin and meager amounts of flesh made this tactic difficult.

"When dissecting animals, I usually use a scalpel," I remarked to the sole English speaking waitress.

"You're supposed to eat it with your hands," she said in a tone that sounded so genuinely nice that it couldn't have been anything but mockery.

But eating it with my hands didn't make the process any better because, to be completely honest, the taste of this creature was absolutely disgusting.

Ever eaten rabbit? It's delicious and I hope to eat it again someday soon and include it in this self-indulgent set of literary and journalistic abominations. Ever eaten snails? I have and didn't particularly enjoy the experience due to the overbearing bitter component in the flavor. Well, take that bitter component and marinate an emaciated rabbit in it and you can begin to imagine the flavor of guinea pig. I'm ashamed to admit that for a few days following this adventure I became overwhelmingly nauseated at the mere mention of cuy, far more nauseated than I was during the actual consumption of the foul creature.

So I gave up, leaving most of the flesh untouched, and instead focused on the tasty stuffed peppers traditionally served as side items, without which I would have starved that night.

Far be it from me to dissuade anyone from sampling any delicacy (that doesn't have some horrid environmental consequence) so I leave it entirely up to you. Take a good look at that face and ask yourself if you can actually stomach eating something that both looks and tastes this bad.

Pisco Sour

Pisco is a brandy-like liquor distilled from grapes that forms the base for the pisco sour cocktail, both of which are currently being fought over culturally and legally by Peru and Chile, each fervently claiming to be the birthplace of these drinks. Ignoring this near-hundred year struggle, I must apologize to the Chileans and limit my discussion to the Peruvian versions since it's all I've had the pleasure of trying but I welcome all Andean countries, or any nations of the world for that matter, to make travel arrangements for me to visit and sample the wonderful local victuals.

The pisco sour is to Cusco, a fascinating tourist destination in Peru and starting point of the Inca Trail, what the margarita is to Key West, a fascinating destination city in the US and starting point of the US1 highway, and can often be acquired as a free compliment to a meal at many of the local restaurants.

A mixed drink, you say, what's so strange about that? Well, here's a list of the typical ingredients:

* 2 fl oz (8 parts) Pisco
* 1 fl oz (4 parts) Lime juice
* 3/4 fl oz (3 part) Simple syrup
* 1 Egg white
* 1 dash Bitters

Egg whites, that's crazy! There was no doubt a look of sheer horror on my face when I saw my first pisco sour being prepared, especially when I was supposed to be avoiding any situations with a potential for causing diarrhea. My flirtation with and successful avoidance of gastrointestinal distress aside, the raw egg white whipped up into a foam within the cocktail was actually really good and the drink would have been incredibly boring without it.

In my limited sampling of this concoction I found that some places went a bit overboard with the syrup and it became far too sweet. The pisco itself, or at least the cheaper varieties, is said to taste like a weak (as in flavor) rum but it's difficult to isolate any flavor when your only exposure to it is in mixed form. Because of the lemon or lime juice used, the pisco sour is a bit reminiscent of a margarita in certain respects but the frothy egg whites give it more of a cappuccino-like texture.

I'm not a big fan of cocktails but this was interesting enough to call for repeat samplings and I owe that primarily to the egg whites and citrus juice. We even found some places gave the egg white treatment to lemonade which resulted in a wonderful and refreshing beverage. Definitely recommended for the adventurous lushes out there but don't blame me for any cases of diarrhea or salmonella infections.

Red Bananas

I really like bananas. Currently, due to the intersection of my love of their flavor and my constant hunger with their nutritional value, their bulk, and their low cost, I am consuming three bananas a day. Once I heard a rumor that eating more than two bananas a day could lead to an early death due to the high levels of potassium. Actually, I think I read it in a book or saw it in a movie but a quick search on the Google results in many pages in support of this idea that bananas are going to kill me.

I feel fine.

Regardless of whether or not bananas are going to cause me any sufficient damage, the sad fact is that the trees bearing these wonderful packages of plant matter are currently under threat from the horrid Fusarium oxysporum/Panama disease/Agent Green, a fungus that wiped out the Gros Michel cultivar of banana, predecessor to the current most popular variety, the Cavendish. The bananas you buy at the store are all the product of essentially the same organism. You may have noticed that the bananas you buy have no seeds as a wild specimen would have. This is because all Cavendish banana plants are reproduced by removing and planting offshoots from the main plant. Banana plantations are armies of clones producing sterile organs harvested for our consumption. As a result of this homogeneity, what ails one banana tree can lead to the destruction of them all and Fusarium oxysporum, to which Cavendish bananas had earlier been resistant to, seems poised to obliterate many of the commercial banana crops around the world.

So what do we do? Experimenting with the commercial viability of other banana cultivars is one good tactic and it may not be long before we start to see red bananas appearing in many of the major super markets. They're already infiltrating the smaller health food stores which is where I picked up my first sample.

Here's one major problem with introducing new bananas or different pigments: when are they ripe? The green, yellow, black phases we use to make judgement calls regarding the state of a banana don't work when the banana is red. Instead you have a red/pink, red/purple, black progression and the distinction between the under-ripe and ripe phases can be confusing.

So I bought my first red banana and rushed home, excited, for my first sampling. I took some pictures, did a bit of reading, and decided that it should be good to consume. I peeled back the skin a bit which showed some resistance. "It's just a different type of banana," I said to myself and then sunk my teeth into the flesh. Immediately all of the moisture was sucked out of my mouth and into the banana shaped block of wood. Not ripe, nowhere near it. Leaving it for a few days didn't rectify the problem and, heartbroken, I was forced to abandon the banana to the trash can.

Fast forward to a market in rural Pisac, Peru. We'd been told to be wary of eating local fruit unless you could peel it yourself. Even then, be careful we were warned. So I was wandering around, observing the wares and dodging chunks of flesh and bone flying forth from the butcher stalls, when I saw them: bananas rojas! My health store midget cost me about a dollar in the US; I scored this whopper for a mere 15 cents and I didn't even think to haggle.

The scent of the red banana is a bit more "tropical" than what we're used to with our yellow Cavendish cultivar. There is a hint of the acidity of citrus in the aroma and a floral component. The taste and texture are noticeably different but not drastic enough to jeopardize its commercial viability. The hint of citrus is present in the flavor whilst the typical "banana flavor" is less pungent but bold nonetheless. The texture is fluffier, a bit velvety, and a little drier which results in a slightly less filling snack. I've also noticed that they tend to be shorter than the Cavendish but are often a bit fatter when at full size.

I've had subsequent success with buying from the health food store so just be sure to pick the darker, more purple banana if you're planning to give one a try or you'll get a mouthful of wood. While I would surely lament the passing of the yellow Cavendish banana if it ever came to a tragic end, I would be just as happy with the red banana and would love to see them both sold side-by-side in major supermarkets.

Alpaca

I've previously mentioned my disdain for the term "gamey" in describing the flavor of meats. It's not just that the word itself sounds somewhat infantile but that it's rather ill-defined and simply suggests boldness or pungency. So it's all I can do not to use this dreaded adjective in my following attempts to communicate the taste of alpaca meat.

A good whiff of the steaming hunk of flesh gave me the impression that I was in for a salty beef or venison analogue but, while it was indeed rather salty, the characteristic flavor of the meat was wholly distinct from any other I have so far had the opportunity to savor. Pardon the negative connotation but the initial taste was something like a kick to the tongue by an incredibly agitated musk ox. Musk... musk... the sole word I was capable of producing in my mind whilst chewing that fist morsel. With an effect similar to a first encounter with wasabi sauce, the flavor hung in my nasal passages like a thick fog.

The texture was very similar to that of a thin, lean, tender steak and succulent in spite of the low fat content. The flavor, despite its incredible pungency, was pleasant but I imagine it could become overbearing if the portion was increased by much. If you're traveling in the Andes and aren't opposed to eating cute beasts with soft fur and grotesquely undershot jaws then definitely give it a try.

Coca Candy

Continuing my hazardous experimentation with substances in foreign countries, I moved from the coca tea to some harder stuff: coca candy.

These little sweets actually taste pretty good. I doubt there's any more than a single coca leaf in each one meaning the natural presence of the illicit substance that shall not be named again is incredibly low. There's a slight flavor of vegetation but nothing like the pungent bouquet of the coca tea.

The best things about these things were that, in the dry atmosphere of the Andes, popping one into your mouth stimulates a healthy production of saliva to help counteract the ever present thirst one suffers in such an arid climate.

I didn't feel any other effects upon consuming the candies so, again, I recommend opting for some chocolate covered espresso beans if you're looking for a buzz but the experience and unique flavor are well worth the meager dollar if you find yourself in the areas of South America where they are sold.

Coca Tea

It's true what they say... that hemp bearing 9 bar was a gateway drug, driving me further and further along a path of depravity, bringing me here to coca tea.

Coca tea, or mate de coca, is an infusion enjoyed throughout South America, particularly in the Andes, and is made from the leaves of the dreaded coca plant from which one can extract cocaine if one is so inclined. But the cocaine is present only in very small amounts, approximately 0.2% of the weight... still, due to a zero tolerance policy at work, I ask you all to please refrain from telling my boss.

In late September we embarked upon a trip to Peru and were greeted with an unlimited supply of coca tea as soon as we reached the hotel in Cusco. It is a bold yellow in color, much like the Peruvian Inca Cola soft drink or urine after a vitamin B supplement, and best served warm like the latter. The pungent aroma gives hints of fresh cut grass, spinach, and boiled brussels sprouts. The taste doesn't differ much from the scent and can be simultaneously odd yet appealing.

Purported to help with the effects of altitude sickness and to have a stimulant effect similar to coffee, coca tea is said to be the secret strength behind the incredibly impressive porters who lug tourists' heavy bags along the mountainous Inca trail for days on end.

I was ill-prepared to properly ascertain the effects at first. Sleep deprivation and the sudden arrival at high altitude rendered my mind a dizzy muddle and the tea didn't seem to aid in my alertness. Despite repeated experiments throughout our stay in Peru, I wasn't able to get any meaningful effects from the tea and gave up for the king of stimulant brews, coffee. I did notice that my eyes became drier and red and that my blood vessels felt constricted, which is a physiological mechanisms of the cocaine, but I had no numbness, no "energy" boost, nor anything else of the sort. Perhaps if I'd tried pouring the tea in through my nostrils...

Being that the coca leaf is a big part of the native Andean culture, no visit to Peru would be complete without drinking of coca tea or chewing a quid of coca leaves, just don't try bring back over the borders. Even though the cocaine is present in very small amounts, your ass could still end up in jail. And why risk it when, as far as I'm concerned, you'd be much better off sipping a latte and chewing on some chocolate covered coffee beans?

9 Bar

The last of my UK fare is a tasty little bar with wholesome ingredients and edgy packaging designed to appeal to both zen housewives and their rebellious teen progeny. You see, there's a big pot leaf on the front label. This is, of course, there to signify the inclusion of healthy little hemp seeds (only 3% by weight, 20% by label), not at all marketing ploy to attract drug addled teens. But who am I to judge, being a willing victim of the clever packaging myself.

"Whoa maaaaaaaaaaaan," I said to no one, pointing at the little package of wholesomeness and watching, unblinking, the world dissolve around me for five minutes until I was surrounded by three dimensional grids of white hot light.

Not really, I'm just a sucker for healthy little snack bars with "all natural" ingredients, particularly when the label prominently boasts about the protein content.

I don't remember how much this thing cost but, because it was in pounds, it can't have been too cheap. I think it was around a pound and it doesn't seem you can find them for sale in the land of dollars. This is good news for my wallet but bad news for my appetite as I could happily tear through a box of these tasty little morsels each and every day. Delicious, really, and it's all down to the fantastic mixture of tasty ingredients, listed as such:

Sunflower seeds, Pumpkin seeds, Carob topping, Honey, Raw cane sugar, All vegetable margarine, Dehulled hemp seeds (3%), Sesame seeds, Poppy seeds.

Fat, sugars, and protein, all blended in such a way to retain the characteristic flavors of the ingredients without being sickly sweet. Infinitely more addicting than the associated drug yet without any negative side effects (well, except obesity).

I doubt these will be making an appearance in the US anytime soon so, if I find myself in the UK before they're banned I'll be sure to start cramming them in my mouth faster than a stoner can say "huh?". What? I like to savor my food sometimes.

Ox Tongue

Tongue has been near the top of my list of meats I'd like to try for quite some time and for a very valid reason. No, this doesn't have anything to do with my obvious mental instability and apparent lack of decency but from my addiction to the act of repeatedly lifting heavy objects and subsequent need for massive amounts of protein.

The tongue is a very strong muscle so I figured it would be pure protein. As it turns out, there's also a lot of fat in tongue (fuel stores for delirious bouts of verbal diarrhea) but that's perfectly acceptable for my purpose of beefing up. It doesn't, however, do much for the texture and taste.

What I tried was essentially deli meat and I'm going to wait until I bite into a full, cooked tongue before passing final judgement. The couple slices of tongue smelled a little more, how shall I say, alive than typical deli meat. There was a definite aroma of beast to the two strange slices of meat. And the taste, the taste... almost like a meat paste; creamy, pungent, and with a texture that leaves an oily residue all over your tongue as one might imagine feeling in the aftermath of a make out session with one of these drooling, lumbering beasts.

Again, I'll suspend judgment until I'm able to bite into a whole, cooked tongue but for now, despite the density of nutrients, ox tongue is a no-go. Now I need to find some heart...

Banana Bread Beer

A sober, boring bastard, I'd rather drink juice than some concoction designed to hide the alcohol in an "adult" beverage. Even when imbibing the intoxicants I usually stick with one. This strange brew, however, wasn't so much designed to mask the alcoholic bite but to provide a new take on the beer flavor, as in a lambic.

I must admit I was a little saddened to find banana flavoring listed in the ingredients in addition to actual bananas. Being filthy, cheap, and a lover of bananas, I'm often caught cramming the unsavory brown ones into my gaping maw and have occasionally encountered a slight taste of alcohol. Fruit ferments naturally, of course. It's all a matter of culturing the proper microorganisms and adding bananas to an already well-controlled beer accomplishes just that.

There's a definite mingling of both natural and artificial banana aromas in the mix. The beer itself does not deviate in color much from a typical amber ale. The taste is milder than the aroma, subtle enough to be nice but not naturally situated well enough to make me actively want more. Good and interesting, but not amazing enough to warrant the purchase of future bottles. Just as well, I found it in the UK and haven't seen it around these parts.

Black Pudding

Black pudding... readers here in the US (I have readers?) will probably be envisioning a dark chocolate mousse and how horribly wrong they would be. Also called blood sausage, black pudding is congealed blood mixed with some fillers (which can include meat, fat, suet, bread, sweet potato, barley or oatmeal) that is cooked and made into a sausage. It's a traditional breakfast food item in England, Scotland, and Ireland with many other countries around the world having their own variation on the theme.

So, a rather disturbing little dish but I'm a full supporter of the idea that if you're going to slaughter a beast then you should at least give it the honor of using all of its bits for something.

I can't admit to being too disgusted at the thought of eating this little morsel I purchased from the supermarket close to where I was staying in Leeds. I've always been quite fond of picking at the charred blood after cooking a steak and was heartily looking forward to the experience.

The texture is a bit pasty, as one might expect from congealed blood, and interspersed with solid bits that looked somewhat like potato but could very well have been chunks of eyeball, either way would suit me. Being high in iron, the taste is slightly metallic and a bit meaty but altogether rather different than a typical sausage. I would liken it to a liver paste. It's often fried up with the traditional English breakfast but I had mine cold and straight from the deli in order to fully appreciate the flavor.

Not nearly enough protein for me to make it a regular meal item but I'd definitely prefer it over traditional American breakfast items.

Oat Milk

Soy milk, rice milk, and now oat milk, the latest (according to my experience of the world) in the line of plant-based milk substitutes. From what I can gather, oat milk has a bit of an edge on the rest.

Oats have been long associated with good heart health for their cholesterol lowering properties. They're also a great source of "good" carbohydrates and pack a decent amount of dietary fiber. All of these wonderful properties are inherent in this milky concoction. It's also rather tasty but, then again, I'm a fan of raw oats. Rather then make oatmeal/porridge and turn the little grains into mush, I prefer to just add some milk to raw rolled or steel cut oats and dig in. Occasionally, for a quick snack, I'll forgo the milk and just toss a handful of the oats into my feed bag.

The distinct oat taste was dominant in this drink and the crisp, clean flavor gave it a grassy overtone. The texture was smooth, and slightly creamy with a very subtle silty feel. I enjoyed it so much that I drank the entire contents of my container over the course of an evening leaving only a couple mouthfuls for the next morning. But the relatively low calorie count meant that this exercise in gluttony wasn't as disastrous as it would have been with a liter of real milk.

I haven't yet seen the stuff for sale in my local supermarkets in the US and I found this one on a recent trip to England. Here's hoping it makes its way to the States so I make this a regular part of my daily overindulgence.

Chewable Toothbrush

Breaking form a bit, as this is not technically edible, I'm including this because although there is a notice on the package advising you not to swallow the contents, you'd almost certainly survive the resultant ordeal.

A recent emergency forced me to embark on an overseas trip and anyone familiar with the current state of the aviation industry and travel abroad in general will agree that this is a grueling task indeed. One of the most horrible elements of traveling is the filth your body seems to produce during the endless sitting and waiting. Grease and stenches that ought not be possible from pure sedentary activities.

The mouth is one of the most horrendously effected areas of the body. A vile film covers the insides and the teeth grow a thick pelt of fur. With travel restrictions as they are, you may find yourself without toiletries in such a situation or, not wanting to unpack the entirety of your carry-on luggage in an airport bathroom, they may be effectively inaccessible. But fear not, travelers (to the UK, at least) the Chewable Toothbrush is here to help you.

Depositing a one pound coin gives you two little, translucent-green balls containing an odd looking, plastic venus-fly trap. Directions simply instruct you to open the ball, pop the little plastic jaws in your mouth, chew repeatedly, and spit the contents out when done.

The tiny toothbrush is covered in a refreshing minty baking soda based powder. Funnily enough, it feels as though you're chewing on a little plastic toy you purchased from a gum ball machine. I walked around the airport chewing on this thing until I came dangerously close to drooling on myself and then did the sensible thing: spat it into a nearby garbage receptacle.

So, not really edible (unless you want to brave the sensations of those little jaws scraping through your innards and out the other end) but close enough... and effective too. If you're traveling and in serious need of an oral cleansing, I recommend it if they're available.