Amid the media phenomenon that is Commander Chris Hadfield, you may have overlooked his turn as the International Space Station’s top chef.

The Canadian astronaut, who landed back on Earth Monday along with two other ISS crew members, wasn’t just hamming it up during his five months in space. (Although ham it up he did: In the last couple of days, his rendition of David Bowie’s “Space Oddity,” shot in orbit, has gotten nearly 7 million YouTube views.) While still aboard the space station, Hadfield also took the time to enlighten viewers on the intricacies of meal prep in space.

“In the early days of space exploration,” he informs us in one video, “food was mostly squeezed out of tubes and brought up in dehydrated packets. But today, we can have quite a variety of food. … We just need some minor adaptations.”

Such as swapping tortillas for bread when making sandwiches – mostly, he explains, because bread makes crumbs, and in space, crumbs don’t fall, they float away. Apparently, the tortillas that astronauts eat are specially packaged in an oxygen-free environment, which makes them “good for 18 months.”

Still, dehydrated foods remain a reality of astronaut menus, as Hadfield demonstrates in another video on prepping spinach (just add water). While it’s great to see our space cadets getting in their vegetables, you’d be hard-pressed to call the mushy green concoction that Hadfield displays before the camera appetizing.

So in the scheme of things, perhaps it’s a blessing of sorts that in space, astronauts lose their sense of smell — a key factor in how we experience the flavor of food — and get a hankering for hot sauce. Faced with that spinach dish, we’d probably reach for the Tabasco, too.

Copyright 2013 NPR.

Chef Edward Lee moved to Louisville, Ky., 10 years ago to take over a restaurant called 610 Magnolia. There, he mixes the sweet of Southern food with the salt and umami of Asian cuisine. Photo: Dan Dry/Artisan Books.

Listen to the Story on Morning Edition

Post by Lydia Zuraw, The Salt at NPR Food (05/03/13)

Korean and Southern food may not seem like a natural pair. But now it’s one more example of traditions emulsifying in the great American melting pot. Korean-American chef Edward Lee makes that case with his new cookbook Smoke and Pickles: Recipes and Stories From a New Southern Kitchen.

Fusion cooking comes naturally to Lee: He grew up in an immigrant neighborhood of Brooklyn surrounded by Jamaicans, Indians, Iranians and Jews.

“When they immigrated to America, my parents deliberately decided they weren’t going to live in the big Korean enclaves,” Lee tells Morning Edition host David Greene. “They wanted to spread out and be amongst other people. That education in cuisine, ranging from so many different immigrant groups probably left more of a lasting impression on me in cuisine than anything else.

“Their whole thing was ‘You’re an American. Be an American,’ ” Lee says.

But Korean food was a way Lee connected with his grandmother. She rarely spoke of Korea because she didn’t have very happy memories, he says, but “food was the one thing that was kind of sacred and pure and hadn’t been torn apart.”

Photo: Artisan Books” width=”250″ class=”size-full wp-image-61229″ /> Edward Lee’s first cookbook, Smoke and Pickles: Recipes and Stories From a New Southern Kitchen, features Korean-southern comfort food.
Photo: Artisan Books.

As a kid, Lee says he would hang out with her in the kitchen, and at first, she ignored him. “I would, little by little, start helping her with things,” he says. “She got very annoyed by that at first. She’s like, ‘You’re a man. You’re not supposed to be here learning how to make kimchi — that’s women’s work.’ ”

Over the years, he says, they developed a strong bond that relied on few words.

Korean food was also how Lee established himself as a chef. In 1998 he opened a restaurant in Manhattan called Clay, which attracted a clientele that included plenty of celebrities. But the excitement wore off quickly.

“Everything seemed right on paper: Korean kid opens Korean restaurant,” he says. “But it just didn’t feel right to me, and I wasn’t incredibly proud of the food. I felt like it was just an extension of what I thought people wanted me to cook.”

He started to re-evaluate things and decided to travel around the country. The farthest his family had traveled in his childhood was New Jersey. “That was huge for us,” he says. “Although I grew up in America and I was influenced by all of the things that other Americans are, I had no idea what America was. It was this vast unknown beyond New Jersey.”

So in 2001 Lee went to places like Wisconsin and Washington, D.C., for the first time. And it was in Louisville at the Kentucky Derby that he fell in love with the South.

Within a year he had moved there to take over a restaurant called 610 Magnolia and the fusion instinct kicked in. He started mixing Korean spice with Southern comfort food.

“Southern food tends to be a little bit on the sweeter side. Asian food tends to be a little bit on the saltier, kind of umami side,” Lee says. “When they work and you put them together, they are actually are a wonderful marriage.”

Grits, for example, reminded Lee of congee, a rice porridge Koreans usually eat with soy sauce and seafood. So Lee came up with a recipe for lamb braised in soy sauce and served over grits, transforming the sweet taste of the corn into something new.

Or take fried chicken. Koreans actually have a long tradition of frying chicken, Lee says. They just have a slightly different method of preparing the chicken for frying. “The results are almost similar, but it’s just different pathways to the same place,” he says. “And I find that a lot in Asian cuisine and Southern cuisine.”

Related Stories
• Recipes from Smoke & Pickles

Copyright 2013 NPR.

Jennifer Ng’s obsession with ice cream is the foundation for her upcoming book, “The Ice Cream Travel Guide.”

Ice cream is her answer to everything.

When faced with jet-lag and oppressive humidity in Bangkok, Jennifer Ng found solace in a few scoops of sweet corn ice cream. While planning her 30th birthday celebration, Ng, a non-drinker, chose San Francisco’s Ice Cream Bar as the destination, her version of a watering hole.

It’s probably safe to say that Ng has eaten more ice cream than the rest of us. She will combine that passion for ice cream with her interest in travel in the upcoming book, “The Ice Cream Travel Guide.” The book will map the world’s top ice cream destinations, along with recipes and stories that illustrate what this frozen confection means to cultures around the globe.

“It’s a happiness business,” Ng says. “It’s a place where people come and leave happy. Wherever I went, it was a community-sharing experience.”

The 30-year-old mobile designer from San Francisco has visited roughly 40 ice cream shops and other destinations in Seattle, Los Angeles, Columbus, Ohio, Argentina, Taiwan, Canada and the Philippines.

She just raised more than $7,000 through a successful Kickstarter campaign to help fund travel to New York City, Italy and Turkey to continue researching ice cream for the book, which she plans to self-publish later this year. Each city will include a map with notable ice cream stops, history and recommendations, plus recipes and stories from ice cream makers and lovers.

Obviously, Ng is a sugar addict, but she also is clever about food, says friend and journalist Eric Simons. She’s been known to throw interesting food parties, such as an annual Halloween book club gathering where she usually chooses a zombie book and serves brain-themed foods.

As part of her “31 Flavors” project, Ng vowed to create 31 flavors of ice cream in the year before her 31st birthday in May (she’s completed No. 30, an Asian pear-green tea sorbet and started No. 31: horchata with snickerdoodles).

Her favorites so far include strawberry candied jalapeno (a nod to San Francisco’s Humphry Slocombe); goat cheese ice cream with caramelized figs and candied bacon (inspired by a Jeni’s Splendid Ice Cream in Columbus, Ohio); and celery ice cream with rum-plumped raisins and a peanut butter swirl (modeled after the childhood combination of celery sticks, peanut butter and raisins).

“There are a billion things you can do with ice cream, but she’s really good about finding different flavors of ice cream, different preparations, and different people who make it with different cultural backgrounds,” Simons says. “It turns out to be intellectually interesting.”

Ng will serve up ice cream trivia in the book, including the story of how William Dreyer gave an ice cream made with chocolate, nuts and marshmallows the name Rocky Road to cheer up Great Depression-era Americans. Or how Ben Coen’s lost sense of smell led to Ben & Jerry’s signature chunkiness as he sought additional texture.

She’ll also delve into some of the cultural differences surrounding ice cream. In Buenos Aires, where gelato, or helado, is commonplace due to the flow of 19th century Italian immigrants, ice cream is enjoyed while lounging with friends and family late at night after dinner, Ng says. In the Philippines, ice cream is often picked up and consumed at home.

Ng will include in the book a map of San Francisco, which she says stands out for ingredients that are high quality, local and seasonal. Those traits are evident at places like Smitten Ice Cream, which features a seasonal flavor of the month, such as Meyer lemon gingersnap or rhubarb crisp.

We asked Ng for recommendations at some of San Francisco’s top ice cream shops. Outside San Francisco, she’s keen on Fenton’s in Oakland, Real Ice Cream in Santa Clara and Sunnyvale, Ici Ice Cream in Berkeley, Tara’s Ice Cream in Oakland and Berkeley, Fairfax Scoop in Fairfax and Three Twins in Napa.

Bi-Rite Creamery: Many people know this Dolores Park hotpot for its salted caramel, but Ng really loves the Dainty Gentleman Sundae, made with olive oil and sea salt, which she says adds silkiness and draws out sweetness. She also recommends balsamic strawberry ice cream when it is in season, along with Bi-Rite’s seasonal popsicle.

Bi-Rite Creamery’s Dainty Gentleman Sundae with honey lavender ice cream, hot fudge, blood orange olive oil and Maldon sea salt.

Humphry Slocombe: Ng says this joint isn’t your typical ice cream shop. You’ll find Warhol-inspired art and flavors that range from the familiar to the eyebrow-raising, including banana, carrot and bacon. Ng recommends the Thai chili lime sorbet and the Harvey Milk and honey, made with honey and graham crackers.

Humphry Slocombe’s Thai chili lime sorbet.

Ice Cream Bar: This ice cream and soda fountain parlor offers lots of seating space, Ng says, making it ideal for parties. She recommends the Tropical Split (ask for a similar sundae if it’s not in season) and the Hamilton, especially with basil ice cream and fresh strawberries.

The Hamilton at Ice Cream Bar, made with a spoonful of ice cream, lemon, malt, fountain syrup and soda.

Mitchell’s Ice Cream: This San Francisco institution is known for exotic and tropical flavors such as avocado, ginger, horchata, jackfruit, lucuma and macapuno (coconut from the Philippines). Ng calls Mitchell’s a great example of business owners adapting their offerings to the demographics of their customers.

A scoop of ube — purple yam imported from the Philippines — and the Tropical 4, a mango, guava, banana and pineapple combo at Mitchell’s.

Mr. and Mrs. Miscellaneous: The menu changes everyday — and sometimes during the day — but this Dogpatch shop always offers 10 flavors. Ng suggests asking for staff recommendations on a house-made cone. Ng admires the consistency in quality and texture, noting that here the ice cream is kept much colder than at other ice cream shops.

Butter toffee and burnt sugar ice creams on a house-made cone at Mr. and Mrs. Miscellaneous.

Smitten Ice Cream: This tiny ice cream shop located in a shipping container in Hayes Valley uses liquid nitrogen to make its ice cream on the spot. Among its offerings: two classic flavors, two seasonal scoops and vegan Popsicles.

Ng recommends one of Smitten Ice Cream’s seasonal flavors; March is blood orange with pistachio shortbread.

Related Information:
Blog: Ice Cream Moments
Facebook: Ice Cream Travel Guide
Twitter: @jennism

Danielle Alvarez cooks Dungeness crab downstairs at Chez Panisse. Photo: Naomi Fiss

When a contingent from Chez Panisse went to Cuba last December, their visit was duly reported in the press. A crew of Alice Waters devotees was poised to foment a food revolution in Havana — or at least feed people well for a few days. Steve Sullivan baked bread. Charlie Hallowell grilled pork on a parrilla in the streets of Havana. Jerome Waag plated polenta for Cuban dignitaries at dinners designed to showcase the Chez way of cooking.

Missing from the coverage: Any word from either of the Chez Panisse line cooks on the culinary diplomacy mission who are of Cuban-American heritage. Danielle Alvarez and Melissa Fernandez both have roots in the island nation and Alvarez, who set foot on Cuban soil for the first time, spoke with Bay Area Bites about her recent visit. The 28-year-old says she went on the trip with an open mind and exploratory spirit, wanting to learn more about the land her family calls home, despite bittersweet memories common to a generation of exiles in the aftermath of the revolution. She came away, though, with an overwhelming sadness, she says, for what has been lost from Cuba’s culture and cuisine, despite encountering a few bright spots on the food and farming front and hope among besieged residents for better times ahead.

Let’s be frank: Nobody goes to Cuba, widely regarded as a culinary backwater, for the food. And nothing about growing, selling, buying, cooking, or eating food — whether at home or in restaurants — in Cuba is easy. The lack of variety of fresh ingredients alone would make a farmers’ market-loving Northern Californian cry. Food is still rationed in Cuba and much of it is imported (about 70 percent) or frozen, the result of a survivalist mentality born out of scarcity. An agriculture exchange which sprouted in 2011 after the Cuban government loosened up restrictions on a range of small businesses would suggest greater freedoms on the farming front. But such shifts are both an indication of just how much the country has changed, according to a recent New York Times story, and the political and practical limitations that continue to thwart this Caribbean country flirting with capitalism. By most measures, Cuba’s free-enterprise farm experiment has failed, writes journalist Damien Cave, with many Cuban residents actually seeing less locally-grown food at private markets.

Still, Alvarez was encouraged by first-hand accounts from Waters’ personal assistant, Varun Mehra, a man mad for all things Cuban, who was instrumental in organizing the recent “Planting Seeds” edible expedition, the first of what he hopes will be an ongoing U.S.-Cuba dialogue around food and farming. “Havana’s food scene is changing rapidly and the Cuban government is phasing out its system of rations and cautiously allowing private restaurant ownership,” Mehra notes in his recent travelogue for Paper Magazine. “As a result, the population is rediscovering its own pre-revolution culinary history — a delicious mix of Spanish, African, and Caribbean influences.” Mehra refers in his piece to paladars, home-based private eating establishments popping up in Cuba in recent years, that some say could revolutionize — and spice up — Cuba’s dining options.

Snapshots from Cuba’s farm and food scene. Photos: Varun Mehra

Alvarez was eager to see for herself. She grew up in Miami, dining in on the vivid stories her relatives told about a magical place they left behind. Her mom’s family owned a sugar plantation in Cuba’s eastern Oriente Province, her father’s family hailed from Havana; they both moved to the U.S. as young children shortly after the revolution. Alvarez grew up eating Cuban food: White rice, red or black beans cooked with sofrito (aromatics like garlic, onions, and peppers) and a little sugar and apple cider vinegar, which, she says, made her mom’s version special. Her mother and grandmother cooked peasant food that could feed many, Cuban classics like ropa vieja, (shredded skirt steak stewed in a tomato sauce) and Moros y Cristianos (“Moors and Christians,” a rice and beans dish elevated in flavor by the addition of pork fat or bacon.)

She was dismayed by what she encountered on her ten-day trip. “The food culture has largely been lost there, they just don’t have a lot of ingredients,” says Alvarez, who has worked at Chez Panisse for more than two years. “We were told we couldn’t get seafood, which is incredible to me because it’s a Caribbean island surrounded by the sea. My mom has stories about live crab walking around the kitchen but now there’s no fishing industry to speak of.”

Back in Berkeley, Alvarez finds an abundance of seafood. Photo: Naomi Fiss

And Alvarez was stunned by the limitations in the kitchen — from a lack of oils, vinegars, and spices to a narrow range of fresh food. “There’s no variety in what type of produce they have – they have one type of lettuce and it’s really beautiful, but it’s all they have. One lettuce, one type of tomato, and one type of eggplant. We asked the farmers and were told that the state supplies the seeds and that’s all they have to work with. Since there are no seasons a lot of the plants don’t even go to seed, so it’s not like they can harvest their own.” Likewise, while beef might be on the menu at many local restaurants, it was never available to order during Alvarez’s stay; pork was the only meat of choice on offer at most places.

Raw ingredients weren’t the only limited resource on the island. “It broke my heart because at the culinary school and other restaurants we visited they had so little equipment,” says Alvarez, a graduate of Johnson & Wales University’s College of Culinary Arts in Miami. “I found it difficult just to do what we do, as simple as it is, not having pots to cook in or basic equipment like spoons.” Everyone she encountered asked if they could have a pan or a knife, including the tour group’s guide and driver. The Chez Panisse team brought pots and pans with them with the intention of leaving them with local chefs. Dinners were held at Old Havana’s El Patio restaurant, a state run enterprise, and at Le Chansonnier, a popular paladar. Mariela Castro, daughter of Cuban President Raul Castro, made an appearance at both events and State Senator Loni Hancock and her husband Berkeley Mayor Tom Bates also attended the dinners, as part of the “Planting Seeds” entourage.

Chez Panisse chefs foraged fresh food for their trademark salads served at Cuban dinners. Photo: Nina Wolpow

Alvarez observed other hardships that aren’t typical in North American kitchens. One of the restaurants the contingent cooked at didn’t have electricity or running water until the afternoon. “I couldn’t tell if that was a regular thing or just happened once in a while, but it seemed like they knew it would come on at four,” explains Alvarez, a native Spanish speaker, who has done stints at Boulette’s Larder in San Francisco’s Ferry Building and landed an internship at the Wine Country’s French Laundry straight out of cooking school. “We lost electricity several times while we were there in different places. Just very basic things that make things difficult that we take for granted here.”

One trip highlight: A sourcing excursion to a farm to find pigs and rabbits for the dinners. The family who ran the farm gathered for a big pot of boiled yucca, a root vegetable similar to potatoes, and the visitors were brought a bowl of steaming yucca to share, accompanied by mojo, a local marinade of garlic, onion, lime juice, and spices. “I grew up eating yucca, it’s a favorite, and that was probably the most delicious thing we ate on our trip,” says Alvarez, who made yucca ceviche for one dinner cooked by the Chez Panisse chefs.

Danielle Alvarez gives plates a final look before sending them out to Cuban diners. Photo: Nina Wolpow

Overall, though, Alvarez found the local food disappointing. “So much of our philosophy at Chez is about fresh food that’s cooked very little. But in Havana much of the food we encountered was frozen, canned, and cooked a lot,” she says. “I realized, too, that the limited fresh produce they have doesn’t really make it to the people because they can’t afford it.” She did pick up some tips, however, from a local chef on the fine art of braising pork belly in an oven that crisped the skin to perfection while keeping the meat tender and moist.

Fellow Cuban-American Melissa Fernandez plates dishes before serving Cuban dignitaries. Photo: Nina Wolpow

She also discovered that pizza and pasta (local chefs made pasta from scratch at a cooking demonstration at a local cooking school) are becoming go-to foods in Havana, which intrigued the visiting chefs, known for cooking such dishes to critical acclaim in the Bay Area. “A lot of people have these little businesses now where they sell pizza out of a window in their homes,” explains Alvarez. “It’s not like it’s great pizza – it’s just doughy, oily bread with I don’t know what kind of cheese, and a smear of tomato sauce.” Still, such scenes — residents dispensing savory pies out of decaying colonial buildings — would have been unheard of even a few years ago. But as the New York Times notes in recent Cuba coverage: Havana’s growing pizza peddlers are one indication of the entrepreneurial spirit of a country long schooled in socialism and the state. These government-sanctioned edible entrepreneurs are viewed by some as a desperate move by the ruling party to kick start the country’s flagging economy. Could culinary endeavors be a pathway to prosperity for some Cubans?

It’s tough for Alvarez to consider such questions, since her family was doing well before the revolution. At the end of her trip, Alvarez added on a couple of days to visit with the few remaining relatives who never left the island. “I went to the family farm and that was just hugely emotional for me. I was sobbing. I got to see the daily struggles of every day life,” she says. “I had pictures with me about how it used to be; buildings that were once there are now just a pile of rubble. The old houses my family lived in were gone. There were just little wooden, thatched-roof shacks on the property.”

Alvarez is still processing her visit and how to make sense of it to her family in the States, none of whom have returned to the homeland in more than 40 years. And she wants to focus on the positive things she encountered in a country that bombards newcomers on the ride from the airport with billboards covered in socialist propaganda. True to country stereotype, two in the Chez Panisse crew who needed health care — Jerome Waag badly burned his hand behind the stove and Cosecha’s Dominica Rice endured an inexplicably swollen ankle — reported that they received excellent medical services, at the same hospital where Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez was receiving cancer treatment.

Mostly, Alvarez was drawn to people’s enduring spirit in the face of adversity. “I’d be such a miserable person if I had to live there. Cubans just persevere and try so hard in difficult circumstance,” she says. “And still it’s hopeful. People feel change is coming, little by little. As bad as things are they love their country so much.” (Proving, perhaps, where one person sees a prison another sees paradise.) “One of the consultants on our tour who went to the University of Miami, as I did, has come back to Cuba and says there is nowhere else he would want to live,” says Alvarez, who adds: “I understand, it’s home.”

Martin Yan. Photo: Creative Mint

Martin Yan eating steamed dumplings at M.Y. China. Photo: Mary Ladd

Bay Area Bites: Why open a restaurant in a mall?
Yan: The Westfield mall invited us to come here. This is one of the busiest malls in Northern California with over 20 million people passing through. Having a brand new M.Y. China in a mall gives us tremendous exposure: there are guests from around the country and around the world. It’s the same reason why people go to Las Vegas and New York to open a restaurant: branding and prime location. The dome is beautiful. Westfield wanted to have a good operation here and gave us a very lucrative offer for tenant improvement.

Bay Area Bites: What are your favorite dishes?
Yan: When people develop a menu, they always do a favorite. This menu is small and has only 53 to 55 items; a typical Chinese menu has 250-400 items. We selected some of my personal favorites and went with what we think are everyone’s favorites for the menu. That means every single ones are my favorites (laughs).

Everything we have done is all handmade and beautifully done. The juicy shanghai dumpling are called that because they are juicy and very moist. I love the cut noodles, beef longevity noodle, Kung Pao chicken and Kung Pao crab. There is a spinach seafood dumpling with tangy garlic sauce.

Executive Chef, Tony Wu making noodles. Photo: Blair Heagerty

Bay Area Bites: You travel often. Where are we with appreciation for other cuisine in the U.S.?
Yan: There are 54,000 Chinese restaurants in the U.S. and then another 15,000 Asian restaurants. By common sense, there is supply if there is demand. You see more and more sushi. Thirty years ago there was not a lot of sushi places and even 40 years ago the fishermen would not eat their raw fish. It had to be cooked.

Americans are becoming more appreciative and adventurous, more accepting and more sophisticated because of TV, cookbooks, and people travel widely. There’s more commerce between the US and China.

I think the American palate will continue to expand and grow and be more adventurous. Things they never tried before they now try.

Bay Area Bites: Where have you been lately?
Yan: I just came back from Manila, Malaysia and Vietnam. I did 26 shows to air later this year, called Taste of Vietnam. We went to every city and village in Vietnam. I go to Asia eight times a year. I taste it all and try to experience the local culture and heritage.

Anthony Bourdain and Martin Yan. Photo courtesy of Martin Yan

I’ve done events with Julia Child, Jacques Pepin, Ming Tsai, and Rachael Ray. Recently I was at Hell’s Kitchen with Gordon Ramsey.

Bay Area Bites: Where do you go to eat when you are in the Bay Area?
Yan: I like Gary Danko, Boulevard, Yuet Lee and Yank Sing for dim sum.

On the Peninsula, I like the Kitchen in Millbrae and the Hong Kong Flower Lounge. I know so many people and chefs so I never order off the menu–it’s usually a dish recommended or cooked by the chef.

Bay Area Bites: What are you working on these days?
Yan: We have a second M.Y. China set to open in November this year in Santa Rosa. I also have something in the works for Summerland, Las Vegas. With a lot of developers, once they know I want to do a restaurant, they always give us some deal.

Bay Area Bites: It’s the year of the snake. What is your sign?
Yan: I’m a snake. We’re going to do a special New Year dinner and menu. The New Year is always about sharing, family, and longevity. So we’ll serve a lot of noodles.

Bay Area Bites: Do you have any guilty pleasure foods?
Yan: I’ve maintained the same weight for 26 years, and not gone a pound over. I live a very clean, simple life. I eat a lot of vegetables and seafood. I stay away from junk food. I never touch popcorn or chips — those tortilla chips with the cheese. If I’m going to a movie, I just eat a simple dinner before. A lot of people love snack foods and I don’t. Snack foods are loaded with salt and preservatives. I studied food science at Davis and think “Why do that to yourself?”

Related Information:
M.Y. China
Address: Map
845 Market Street, 4th Floor
San Francisco, CA 94103
Phone: (415) 580-3001

Twitter: @MYChinaSF, @ChefMartinYan
Facebook: M.Y. China, Martin Yan

Victor, the oyster man

It’s early morning and I’m perched on a plastic stool near Mazatlán’s stunning seashore, squeezing lime juice on a plate of oysters that were awakened–rather rudely, I suppose–from their oyster beds only moments ago. Victor, the proprietor of this makeshift beachside oyster bar, squats on a rock, shucks the freshly caught oysters and serves them on paper plates with cut limes and bottles of hot sauce. He has worked these waters for the past 33 years with his brothers, uncles, nephews and cousins, as his father did for 52 years. I learn this through the interpreting skills of my friend Dianne, an American who has called Mazatlán home for the past five years. As we slurp our oysters, Victor tells us that since the emptied shells have larva on them, they return them to the ocean to regenerate a new harvest.

oyster diver

The divers, some of whom wear wet suits, take floating inner tubes fitted with nets out into the sea and armed with sharp tools, dive down to the oyster reefs to harvest the shellfish, while holding their breath. When their nets are full, they trudge back onto shore with 50 kilos of scratchy shells on their backs and fill large mesh bags with shellfish that will be sold wholesale to restaurants. Also benefiting from their catch are lucky customers like us who walk up to enjoy the freshest oysters in the world for less than 50 cents each.

ceviche with lime

Later, during brunch at the restaurant of my hotel, the gorgeous El Pueblo Bonito, we begin with mimosas and shot glasses of fresh shrimp ceviche. As soon as I place my purse on the floor, however, a pleasant server rushes over with what looks like a very short coat rack and indicates that this is the place my purse should go. Dianne, an intercultural consultant who has lived all over the world and is the founder of a training program called Cultural Detective, knows there’s a cultural reason behind this action. “It’s bad luck, isn’t it?” she gently prompts the server, who confides, “Yes, if you put your purse on the floor, all the money will run out.” From then on, I am on the lookout for more percheros and find most restaurants provide them in styles to match their décor (simple white wood, gleaming aluminum, wrought iron or bright turquoise curlicues).

pelicans wait for lunch

Fortified, we’re off to visit some fish markets. Dianne and her husband Greg take me to the simply named Mercado de Mariscos, a basic strip of concrete stands near the docks that the fishermen share with about a hundred pelicans. While the freshly caught fish are gutted and cleaned, pelicans clamor for the scraps they know are coming. The fish laid out here are mostly bought by local residents (not a tourist in sight).

Mercado de Mariscos

Then we head downtown to the large indoor market called Pino Suárez. On the way, I can’t resist some neon-hued coconut candy from a street vendor’s cart, which we all munch on while perusing the market’s many stands.

coconut candy

Underneath gaily dancing piñatas, shops sell all manner of spices, seeds, nuts, fresh cheeses, kitchen goods and dishes, more coconut candies and cones of piloncillo (Mexican brown sugar). We get tastes of the huge orange slabs of smoked marlin.

smoked marlin

The next day, we take a non-fish related excursion to Las Labradas, a UNESCO world heritage site and clamber over boulders to see the ancient petroglyphs carved on volcanic rocks that line the shore 30 miles north of Maztalan. No one has yet deciphered the meanings of the 600 water-worn, thousand-year old carvings, but like the petroglyph fields I visited in Hawaii, they exude a special energy. Dianne tells me that the spring equinox is celebrated here by traditional dances from a group of Indians who wear deer headdresses (Mazatlán is a Nahuatl word for “place of the deer”).

petroglyphs

A group of us have lunch at Los Arcos — a cheery seafood restaurant where shrimp is queen. The meal starts with appetizer platters heaped with fresh shrimp, octopus, chunky scallops, and ceviche with lime. (I notice that lemons are nowhere to be found in Mazatlán but tiny, tangy limes are a tasty substitute.) We all order variations on the shrimp theme: deep fried “seahorses” stuffed with cream cheese and breaded with coconut, shrimp in mango sauce, tamarind sauce, spicy red or green sauces.

shrimp and more shrimp

After touring some artists’ galleries and a nice siesta, we meet for dinner at La Costa Marinera, a festive spot where Dianne and Greg held their wedding rehearsal dinner many years ago. Their specialty is a mariscada seafood platter served atop a large, pig-shaped clay pot that keeps the food warm. We enjoy grilled shrimp, oysters diabla, lobster, dorado filets, frogs legs, accompanied by a singing waiter and large pink margaritas.

shrimp ladies of Mazatlan

On my last morning in Mazatlán, Dianne and Greg take me to the visit the “Shrimp Ladies” — Changueras — whose colorful umbrellas line a street called Aquiles Serdán. Tubs and tubs of brown shrimp, blue shrimp, white shrimp, fresh water, deep-ocean and farmed shrimp are kept cool with large chunks of floating ice. Maria del la Paz has been working on this street for 30 years and arrives daily at 3am to buy her shrimp from the fishermen; then sells her wares to housewives and restaurant owners until 7 or 8pm. As her experienced fingers peel shrimp at lightning speed, she tells us that her father also sold shrimp and she hopes her daughters will soon get a coveted spot at this shrimp shopping center.

Dianne mentions that ordering a “shrimp tamale” will get you a masa-encased shrimp with head, legs and shell, which you are expected to eat. She has learned to order a tamale “gringa style” to have it peeled first. Greg points out the establishment across the street where you take your freshly purchased shrimp and have them prepared to order, so we pick out a few dozen shrimp and enter the diner that is still empty this early in the morning. (Greg says at night it’s a guy-hangout filled with boisterous men with beer). After ordering one plate of garlic shrimp and another a la diabla, the welcoming aroma of garlic quickly fills the dining room as we see flames leap around the pan on the range. I toast my friends and thank them for showing me a little of their Mazatlán–a seafood-lover’s paradise, thanks to more than 20 miles of beaches, the ocean’s generous bounty and the labors of all the unsung oystermen and shrimp ladies.

(Full disclosure: The writer was a guest in Mazatlán courtesy of the Sinaloa Tourism Office)

Before the 1990s, the Hawaiian Islands had a reputation as a culinary backwater — the land of SPAM and pineapple. And, let’s face it, even today few mainlanders head to Maui for the food. The popular island vacation destination is a playground for water-sport thrill seekers, nature lovers, honeymooners, and stressed-out haoles seeking serious beach time and fruity cocktails with tiny umbrellas.

But that may be changing as Maui chefs look beyond local standards like poi and poke for edible inspiration. In recent years, a new culinary culture — one with homegrown roots — has emerged on the island and now residents and visitors alike are digging into dishes that wouldn’t be out of place on menus in the Bay Area and beyond. The plates coming out of restaurant kitchens, though, reflect Hawaii’s rich cultural traditions, exude a clear sense of place, and embrace Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, Portuguese, Polynesian, Korean, traditional Hawaiian, and, yes, European flavors and techniques.

It’s not the first time in recent memory the 50th state has stirred things up on the stove. Twenty years ago, a dozen celebrated chefs, including Peter Merriman, Roy Yamaguchi, and Alan Wong decided to showcase the island state’s evolving edible landscape in what was dubbed Hawaii Regional Cuisine. Their mission: fresh local food prepared in creative ways. This new cuisine was a welcome shift for a state known mostly for its plate lunch.

An updated spin on the plate lunch: Loco Moco Fried Rice from the restaurant Aloha Mixed Plate. Photo: Courtesy Aloha Mixed Plate

This ubiquitous restaurant item — still found in many places and getting a makeover too — typically consists of two scoops of rice, a scoop of macaroni salad, and meat such as Hawaiian BBQ, beef teriyaki, kalua pork, chicken katsu or the Loco Moco, a ground beef patty topped with a fried egg and brown gravy. Not exactly local food, and rarely served with a piece of tropical fruit, taro, or fresh-caught fish in sight.

What’s different about the latest crop of notable Maui chefs — who include resort restaurateur Isaac Bancaco (formerly of Humuhumu now at the Pineapple Grill), casual dining standout Sheldon Simeon (Star Noodle and Leoda’s), and farmer-forager-pop-up-chef James Simpliciano — is a renewed focus on collaborating closely with farmers and fishermen and sourcing sustainable ingredients that reflect the many microclimates of Maui. This new breed of cooks embrace a farm-to-table sensibility that many Northern Californians take for granted, and seek to modernize menus, offering food with flair and finesse but in a more casual atmosphere than their culinary trailblazers. And this shift in thinking is taking place at fancy resort restaurants, pop-up farm dinners, and eating establishments in between.

Fresh island flavors with a twist shine at Star Noodle, such as the Avo Ahi with sambal (chili sauce) and usukuchi (soy sauce). Photo: Courtesy Star Noodle

“The new generation of leading Maui chefs have a stronger connection to our local food traditions and food cultures and for the most part they are born and raised in the islands and have a natural affinity to the land, sea, mountains, and valleys,” notes Christopher Speere of the Maui Culinary Academy at the University of Hawaii Maui College. “These chefs were raised on pork adobo, ahi poke, kim chee cucumbers, wild guava smoked pork, shoyu braised pork belly and grilled hamachi collars — island flavors and the use of island ingredients are inherent in their everyday cooking practices. They stay true to their roots and cook from the heart.”

The star behind Star Noodle, Sheldon Simeon. Photo: Courtesy Star Noodle

Case in point James Beard Award-nominee Sheldon Simeon whose Star Noodle — an Asian-inspired, made-by-hand noodle house in an industrial park near the tourist mecca of Lahaina — and Leoda’s Kitchen and Pie Shop, a roadhouse diner in Olowalu featuring fresh salads, savory pastries, and pies — have drawn appreciative nods from critics and consumers alike.

Simeon and fellow chefs took off for New York to get ideas and inspiration from noodle bars like David Chang’s Momofuku, for Simeon’s noodle joint, and it shows in his small plates offering imaginative flavor pairings. Pohole Salad showcases Hana fiddle head ferns, Maui onions, ebi (shrimp), and kombu (seaweed); Lahaina Fried Soup (actually a noodle dish, not soup featuring doubly-thick chow fun, pork, and bean sprouts), and bacon-flecked Brussels Sprouts with Napa cabbage and kimchee puree also wins rave reviews. Desserts include a modern rendition of the popular Portuguese doughnuts known as Malasadas, served with chocolate and butterscotch caramel sauce and chopped peanuts.

Noodle dishes, such as the Lahaina Fried Soup, feature at Star Noodle. Photo: Courtesy Star Noodle

Save room for dessert at Star Noodle. Photo: Courtesy Star Noodle

Similarly, a kitchen crew from Leoda’s decamped to the Bay Area to research bread, pies, and pastries at places like Tartine, Mission Pie, and El Porteno Empanadas. On the menu at the roadhouse: a savory corn hand-held pie filled with hibatchi sweet Kula corn, lime zest, cotija cheese, chives, and cilantro, along with hearty chicken or meat ‘n potatoes pot pies. Also in the mix: sweet berry pies, flaky crusted yuzu-lemon tart, macadamia nut chocolate praline pie, and coconut cream pie. Sides worth scoping out include the Reuben lumpia (corned beef, sauerkraut, provolone cheese, thousand island dressing) and the fried salad (Brussels sprouts leaves, burnt orange vinaigrette, celery leaves, mixed hydroponic greens, radish, local mint.)

On a recent food and farm trip to Maui, Simeon stopped by this reporter’s table at Star Noodle to share his thoughts on the current state of dining on the island. Simeon, originally from Hilo on the Big Island, recently earned a People’s Choice Award for Best New Chef/Northwest and Pacific region from Food & Wine magazine. He also appears on season 10 of Bravo’s Top Chef, which begins November 7 (he was mum about the show, as one might expect.) But there’s nothing celebrity chef-y about this cook: He arrived in a T-shirt, shorts, and slippers (island speak for flip flops) en route to his second baby luau of the night. (A first birthday luau is a grand celebration, he and another local informed me. Naturally, food plays a starring role in such events.)

He’s a humble guy who comes from a food-loving clan (his dad born and raised Hawaiian, his mom from a Filipino family). Simeon is happy for his restaurants’ success and also quietly striving to do more to feature Hawaiian farmers who grow local gems — he thinks it’s time for restaurant chefs like him to step aside and place the spotlight on what growers are doing to improve food in Maui.

“It’s an honor to showcase local ingredients and incorporate local culture in the dishes we serve,” he says. “As a chef I like to introduce customers — locals and visitors — to flavors they can’t find anywhere else.”

The fried salad at Leoda’s features Brussels sprouts coated in a kicky dressing. Photo: Courtesy Leoda’s

His wildly popular Brussels sprouts dishes at both hot spots illustrate some of the challenges inherent with island culinary life. Simeon concedes Brussels sprouts showed up on his menus as part of a national trend, and now they’re too big a hit to come off. But these cruciferous vegetables are flown in from the mainland. So he’s working with farmers in cooler areas on the island, who can grow small Brussels sprouts for a short season, and hopes to switch to this homegrown crop for however long they last and educate diners about seasonal eating along the way.

Food writer Bonnie Friedman says much has changed on the plate in the 30 years she’s called Maui home — despite the island’s limited resources. “When I first arrived here in terms of ‘fine dining,’ most places were serving frozen mahimahi, frozen vegetables, a baked potato and calling it a day,” says Friedman, who leads local food tours designed to whisk visitors away from the resort areas and into the small towns where local people live, work, and eat. She passes on “name” places for holes-in-the-walls in central Maui, mom-and-pop shops, cowboy country fare, and gas-station grub to highlight what she calls the island’s “amazing melting pot of ethnic cuisines.” There’s always a shave ice stop too.

Not everyone is enamored with the current state of island eats — notably newbies from the mainland. At O’o Farm in Kula Country, a growing region on the island’s west side, the resident chef on a farm and lunch tour there — who relocated from food-centric Seattle for the gig — maintains that island food is 5 to 15 years behind what’s on plates Stateside and says he hasn’t been wowed by anything he’s eaten while out and about in the eight months or so he’s lived on Maui.

Pop-up dining, Hawaiian style, at Kupu Maui. Photo: Monica George

No matter, for the most part, locals are content to do their own thing without emulating mainland trends — or at least giving them a refreshing island feel. Take a recent pop-up dinner, old hat in the Bay Area for sure. But this event, sponsored by the local chapter of Slow Food, had a distinctly island vibe: James Simpliciano, who grows greens and has worked in the kitchens of large resorts, dished up dinner on protected land while local musician Joel Katz played Hawaiian steel guitar. Proceeds from these events benefit local groups — the spirit of giving back to the community is alive and well in the land of aloha — in this case the Hawaiian Islands Land Trust.

Farmer-chef James Simpliciano cooks for the pop-up crowd. Photo: Peter Liu, Kaiscapes Media/Flickr

This pop-up event, dubbed Kupu Maui, (kupu means sprout in Hawaiian) was held at Waihe’e Coastal Dunes and Wetlands Refuge, a quiet, pristine, shoreline plot home to eight different endangered species. On the menu that night pupu (bite-sized appetizers) such as chai-smoked pork with lilikoi (passion fruit) jelly and micro greens on taro chip (a vegetarian version showcased local goat cheese). The main meal served buffet-style included a lamb tagine with aromatic Maui onion mire poix, Honakahau taro, Kapalua sweet potato, Ka’anapali carrots, beets, garlic and Hawaiian sea salt. Much of the food was donated by local farmers and prepared by a crew of local cooks. Kupu Maui pops up once a month at a different location, frequently a farm. For instance, last Saturday the event was held at Kupa’a Farm, an organic grower whose produce sells out within hours at the UpCountry Farmers’ Market on Saturdays.

It’s true much of what is consumed on Maui is still imported from the mainland, perhaps not surprising for an isolated island a five-hour flight from San Francisco. But increasingly, resident chefs feature homegrown food for the same reasons the rest of us seek local eats — health, environment, economics, sustainability, taste, terroir — and a dash of well-deserved local pride.

Full disclosure: The writer was a guest on Maui courtesy of Maui’s Visitors & Convention Bureau.

Self-taught chef and restaurateur Mourad Lahlou is the one name repeatedly whispered at industry events as someone who is innovative and daring. Lahlou’s first cookbook “Mourad: New Moroccan” came out last year and the recipes reveal his personal interpretation of his native Moroccan cuisine. Eating at his Michelin starred restaurant Aziza remains a popular “must-do” for many, and Lahlou was recently appointed a culinary ambassador by Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Lahlou is also gearing up to open a new restaurant in downtown San Francisco, which Lahlou has said will be different than Aziza.

Bay Area Bites caught up with Lahlou via a telephone and an email interview recently. His comments have been edited for length and clarity.

Bay Area Bites: How did you become a culinary ambassador? How will it change your schedule?

Lahlou: Hillary Clinton decided to start this new initiative called culinary diplomacy, using food as soft diplomacy. When dignitaries come to the United States from North Africa, I will cook for them. The main task, though is for me to travel and talk about how we care about the world, and care about the environment…that covers what we eat, what we produce and our children.

Imagine if you have a Japanese dignitary coming to the U.S. who has food made by an American with strong links to Japan. It will show them we care and that they are cared for, and I think that’s really important. This whole thing is labeled soft diplomacy. There’s also hard diplomacy, which is the typical way of doing diplomacy. I’m really surprised that it’s taken this long for this initiative to happen. Food is the one thing that we all put into our own body to achieve many purposes: to survive, to be entertained. By cooking, you’re sustaining someone’s life. It’s a very powerful but overlooked way of achieving diplomacy.

I will travel to New York and Washington, D.C., as well as abroad. Every time I go abroad, I have to go to the embassies and consulates. I also will do conferences, events and connect with people on the internet. It’s not just a title, and you don’t just show up for an event.

Dignitaries are coming to the United States on a daily basis. You’ll get advanced notice three days ahead, a week, three months — of course, all the chefs are all stoked and really want to make sure it’s a success. It needs to be nurtured and taken care of. We would like other chefs to be invited to participate in this initiative so it grows. So the chefs are a very important part of this process.

Bay Area Bites: What are you passionate about food-wise these days?

Lahlou: I’ve really been obsessing and having a hard time with reduced sauces. You know when you eat a dish that’s really sticky and it’s been strained 20 times? It’s delicious and the flavor is deep and profound but it lacquers your tongue. You have to power wash to get it off. It’s so ugly. I’m experimenting with figuring out the components in the sauce so that I can reduce it without it getting sticky, so that it stays runny. If I can figure out how to break the molecules, then I will have a brothy sauce that is also reduced, flavorful and amazing.

Bay Area Bites: Do you have favorite food/drink spots in the Bay Area?

Lahlou:
My favorite spot to slurp a bowl of noodles is Turtle Tower. They have the best pho ga long in town. It’s a great chicken noodle soup with giblets, which is the bomb on a cold, foggy San Francisco summer day.

I’d drive across town in rush hour traffic to eat at Coi, Benu, Saison, Manresa, Commis, SPQR, Bar Agricole and Outerlands. I would actually walk across town in a rainy day to eat at any of these places. Did i mention that I would walk uphill both ways??

Nothing says San Francisco on a plate more than the Crab Louie served at Swan Oyster Depot, which epitomizes San Francisco in every bite. It’s simple, delicious and crazy fresh seafood and the place to take any out-of-towner and watch them lick their fingers because they can’t understand why the food is so deceptively tasty.

My go-to place on my night off is at home. I’d order whatever i feel like. It works every time.

For sushi, Ino Sushi has out-of-this-world sushi by Chef Ino who gets to do whatever the f*ck he wants to. It’s better that way.

The best tacos are from El Gallo Giro on 23rd street and Treat Avenue. They sell these out of a truck but they have the best tacos in town and they are ideal for eating while paying attention to something more serious than just food for a change. They are much tastier than pizza and they don’t get stale as quickly. Try their roast chicken, which are so tasty that they make you not miss pork at all.

For my best late night hangout, if it’s before 1am, I would choose Nopa. I love their burger and roast chicken. You can’t beat it at that hour of the night, morning or whatever it’s called. If we’re talking after 1am, then it’s My Canh on Broadway, for cheap, tasty grub made when most decent cooks in the city are too tired and drowning in their beer or cocktails; this is San Francisco after all.

Bay Area Bites: Who are your mentors?

Lahlou: Joyce Goldstein is an amazing human being. She’s known me 16 or 17 years. She’s a great friend and is so honest to a fault. She’ll tell you something to your face and I love that. She cares even on a more profound level. We’ve been friends and close for so many years. She respects and loves what I do and always tells me her opinion.

Bay Area Bites: What are the pros and cons of building a restaurant business?

Lahlou: The pros are the community. You’re dealing with people who frequent your restaurant who know and appreciate food. Where else can you see someone from another region and country and have it be a success. Look at Mission Chinese, at Bar Tartine. We are so open-minded and embracing of other cultures…That’s a huge draw for me. I feel like people allow me to experiment. They don’t stigmatize me with ethnicity. They don’t ask you to be the same. They don’t have a set of prejudices. They give you room to grow and experiment. When I first started, I was doing traditional Moroccan. I grew and people allowed me to do it differently and to grow.

The produce, farmers and community are also great. It makes it so much easier having easy access to them. We tend to take for granted that. I go to New York quite a bit but our produce puts them to shame. Take Joe’s Early Girl tomatoes, which are so amazing by themselves. They’re like a bundle of flavor that just explodes in your mouth. I think it’s wonderful to get up and go to the farmers’ market and then be able to cook with the produce. One of the hardest things is to go to other places and use different tomatoes. You have to manipulate the food more to make it taste better.

The hardest thing about having a restaurant in the Bay Area is that no matter what, it’s a small town. You get a limited area, surrounded with water. It doesn’t expand like L.A., which makes it so intimate and limited in a way, you know? Restaurants are opening all the time. The problem I have is: the quality of the cooks. There are great cooks but it’s really hard to find and hold on to great cooks. That’s one issue that has to be addressed sooner or later. It doesn’t allow for one place to have a bunch of great cooks who can elevate to the next level. The cost of living in the Bay Area is so, so high so cooks end up leaving and going somewhere else — back to New York, Chicago or L.A. because they just can’t be there. We end up losing them. I call it the brain drain because we lose the smartest, brightest cooks.

Bay Area Bites: How did you learn to cook such great food?

Lahlou: The environment was really fertile for me to grow in a culinary sense. If my family would have known I was going to be a cook, to travel 6,000 miles to cook, they would have revolted. It would not even be an acceptable option for me. I allowed myself to be exposed to different cultures.

I was going to go to college in France and stay with my aunt. I had an idea that I wanted to instead go to America. My grandpa wanted to find a way to tell me “It’s not a great idea, but yeah, if you want to get a visa, just know that it’s extremely hard.” Once he said it at the table in front of everyone, I was able to give it a try. I got a five-year visa and was so excited.

Everyone was shocked. My family had promised I could do it and within two to three weeks I was in a plane on my way to San Francisco. I was so homesick and business was hard. I couldn’t fly back to Morocco; it takes a day to fly back there. The one thing I could do to connect to them was food — I started making things and it was terrible. I was so lost and so sad, there were so many tears and sleepless nights. Eventually I started using my memory to recreate the days and memories with all the women shopping and cooking in Morocco. I was really reliving those moments.

Of course, in Morocco there are no recipes. I would call someone and say “how did you make that tagine?” they’d say a “pinch of this and pinch of that.” I was in college (at San Francisco State) for economics but I was learning how to preserve things, how to break down a fish and how to cook, really. Eventually by the time I was finished with college, people said, “You should open a restaurant.” I had $3,700 to my name and so I opened a restaurant. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. Once I opened the restaurant, it was traditional food, and I started to watch people eat, and talk to people about themselves and their food preferences. I started to realize that food has to have a sense of place.

Food has to connect people to where there are. I can’t cook food in the same way it’s made in Morocco. Food connects people to their past. They want to taste the stew that their great grandma made. It’s not Facebook or Twitter that connects us, it’s through memories and through food. It’s how we stay connected to people and the past. Here in America it’s always “What’s new?” and “What are the trends?” People are always looking into the future here. I was stuck because the way I was cooking was in the past. But the way people are here is that they look into the future, looking at the ingredients. Food here is a religion, a way of life… where is that carrot and chicken from? There’s an obsession here. I had to change the way I was thinking about food.

I was taking those ideas — the foods from Marrakesh and making it in SF but it didn’t make any sense. What I’m making now is food for the Bay Area. I think that’s what’s really cool.

Slithery, sauced BBQ squid tentacles; spiral, spicy potato curlicues or icy mango cubes, sprinkled with bits of chewy grass jelly. What better way to enjoy these street food treats than among a throng of thousands of fellow snackers on a clear summer night at North America’s largest Night Market in Richmond, British Columbia, Canada? Richmond, a city on the outskirts of Vancouver, boasts a population of 60% immigrants — the highest percentage of any city in North America. And fully half of Richmond residents identify as Chinese. These numbers seem to hint at good things to sample at their famous night market. Asian night markets are common in Taiwan, Malaysia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Thailand and Indonesia, to mention only a few spots. Richmond, B.C. actually has 2 competing night markets: the one I visited near the casino and “The Summer Night Market.”

This market is open weekend evenings from May 18 – October 8 and estimates 30,000 visitors a night. If you think that sounds like instant crowded chaos, you need to understand that Canada is the capital of politeness. People hold doors open for you and apologize for things that aren’t even their fault. Even the buses display a SORRY sign when they are not in service. The crowd was friendly, civilized and cooperative. And given the overwhelming food choices, fellow-tasters understood there is no way to try everything. Many generously let me photograph their meals, for vicarious eating pleasure.

Hurricane potatoes

“Hurricane potatoes” are a Night Market classic, offered by several vendors in various flavors from jalapeno to chocolate marshmallow. These are from a stand called “Rotato” which made me laugh with a large poster illustrating alternative uses for their twirly fried potatoes on a stick (e.g., microphone, light saber, fencing sword or robot antlers).

Richmond Night Market. Photo by Michael Kalus: Flickr.com

On my visit on a September Saturday night, I explored the food fairyland with a bunch of Canadian relatives. After a short but non-stressful wait in an orderly line my cousin commented, “Canadians love lines” and we entered the market aisles, awash with smells and sounds of sizzling, grilling and chomping. But how to choose? We shared a lot. Divide and conquer.

One of my favorite finds were fish balls, called Takoyaki. These Japanese treats are traditionally made with octopus (tako) in a battered globe with a delightfully creamy center, but we also tried variations with shrimp, scallop and vegetable, topped with sweet brown sauce, Kewpie mayo and shavings of dried bonito. All were scrumptious.

Another tasty snack was also a Japanese dish: buckwheat noodles with a choice of many toppings from a stand called Soba San. They came in three different sizes with more choices of add-ons the larger the dish. When my daughter and I decided to share a small one we couldn’t agree on two toppings and so the sweet man gave us seaweed, kimchi and shrimp — all for the regular price. I told you these Canadians are nice!

Bubble egg waffles and a taro bubble tea made a pleasant first dessert, but I was craving something mango.

Bingo! Boy, did that icy mango slush with bobba balls and chewy grass jelly hit the spot!

On our amble through the market, we passed lines of patrons at stands selling Indonesian steamed dumplings, Chinese BBQ chicken knees and gizzards, Japanese Rice burgers, Korean BBQ meat skewers, filament-like dragon beard candy, and Filipino favorites. I did notice one lonely German Bratwurst stand.

With 400 vendors, I know I couldn’t possibly taste or photograph everything, so all I can say is:

Listen to the KQEDNews radio version of this story. Brownie points if you can identify the music under the scorpion car bit!

In just a few days, Black Rock City will rise from the baked earth in northern Nevada: the arrival point of a mass exodus from all over the world.

Burning Man draws in all sorts of art installations designed to astound and delight. But for foodies, one of the top attractions is surely the Black Rock French Quarter. There is a cocktail lounge, supper club, bakery, coffee roaster, gumbo cookery, beer brewery, and wine cellar.

“The first word that comes to mind is romance,” says Ari Schindler, the originator of the concept. Only two years in, he leads a gourmet army of some 300 people.

All signs are the Black Rock French Quarter will be open for sharing of gustatory delight when Burning Man 2012 begins on August 27. Photo: Blaine Ohigashi

A few weeks ago in Sunland, north of Los Angeles, we caught up with about a dozen people constructing something akin to the Hollywood back lots of old — a virtual neighborhood reminiscent of New Orleans. But these are bartenders and preschool administrators, preparing this New Orleans for easy shipping and assembly. Because what comes in to Burning Man must leave the way it came.

On “the playa” as festival goers like to call the place, no money changes hands, except for ice and coffee at Center Camp.

But this year, French Quarter organizers want to thank about 40 core volunteers in a big way, with a big dinner on August 29. Candi Achenbach, packing up silverware, explains the dinner “will be a gift to the leaders and the movers and the shakers that actually made the French Quarter and all of these other camps in our village happen.”

Naturally, the meal will take place in an art car built by Kirk Jellum and Kristen Ulmer at Mantis Entertainment. Shaped like a giant emperor scorpion, the car is set atop a boom truck.  Hydraulic points make the limbs move and there’s a seven gun flame thrower on the tail.

The venue for the “thank you” dinner. Fortunately for the chef — and the servers — this beast will not be moving during the course of the meal. Photo: Mantis Entertainment

Achenbach’s eyes light up as she says “We’re going to put tables and elegant dinnerware on it and escort our guests on, and serve them what is looking like probably the most fantastical 12-course gourmet meal.”

It’s a given the dessert course will feature liquid nitrogen ice cream made on site, but beyond that, the menu is an open set of questions for the chef, Chris Prince, to answer.

At an undisclosed kitchen in San Francisco he muses, “One of the things that I think would be a lot of fun to do is to play on the theme of fire. That’s one of the central themes of Burning Man. You know, starting out with kindling, sparks, working your way up to fire and smoke, and then ending with embers and ash.”

Think red braised pork belly, “with Chinese long beans that have been cooked with fermented soy beans and chili sauce.”

Think white gazpacho “with a smoky element.”

Of course, at least one of the dishes has to include date sugar — a playful nod to playa sand — “So you get that sweetness, that powdery texture, but also the flavor of dates.”

The cocktail pairings follow in a similar vein: a Wasabi Cucumber Gimlet, for instance — and a Russian Caravan, with smoked tea, honey and bourbon.

The Wasabi Cucumber Gimlet. Photo: Chris Prince

Here’s one of his recipes.

Wasabi Cucumber Gimlet

• 2 oz gin
• 3/4 oz cucumber juice (see below)
• 1/4 oz lime juice
• 1/2 oz wasabi simple syrup (see below)

• Shake all ingredients together and strain into a cocktail glass containing ice.  Rub one or two thin slices of cucumber around the rim, then drop them into the glass.
• For cucumber juice, puree a cucumber and press through a fine mesh sieve.
• For wasabi simple syrup, combine 1/2 cup water, 1/2 cup granulated sugar, and 2 tsp wasabi powder.  Shake and allow to set at least 4 hours before using.

Prince was the lead software engineer on Google Voice. He left a year ago to pursue other passions, including Lazy Bear, an underground restaurant in San Francisco. He’s the kind of guy who relishes a logistical challenge. That said, the scorpion will NOT actually be moving during the course of the meal.

“I think we’re close enough to the impossible level that we don’t need it to be any more challenging,” Prince says.

However, the scorpion will be parked at some distance from the makeshift kitchen where the meal will be prepared. And the forecast calls for dust storms — for which Burning Man organizers recommend goggles, bandanas and baby wipes. The playa demands radical self-reliance from those who dare to tread on its hot sands.

Prince’s right hand man in this endeavor will be his colleague at Lazy Bear, founding chef David Barzelay. “Chris and I have both done a fair bit of camping independently,” he says, “but I’ve certainly never tried to put on any kind of opulent meal in a camping situation.”

David Barzelay and Chris Prince of Lazy Bear, an underground restaurant in San Francisco, signed up to deliver a multi-course “thank you” dinner to key volunteers with the Black Rock French Quarter. Photo: KQED/Rachael Myrow

There will be refrigeration, but the men intend to sidestep dishes that depend on urban niceties like boiling water or, say, a perfectly calibrated oven.  Barzelay says “I think the tougher parts are going to be when we show up and somebody told us we had electricity and we don’t have electricity. Or when they told us we have a stove and they broke the stove getting off the truck. Things like that.”

Just the same, Prince and Barzelay are in a state of anticipatory excitement to join the masses headed east — slathered in sunscreen, lugging gallons of water with them — ready to look with wide-eyed wonder upon the collective creative work of thousands of people. This will be their first Burning Man.

Prince muses: “The scope of these things, for them to be carried to the middle of the desert, constructed in a small area over the course of a week, and then taken down, leaving no trace behind. That’s pretty magical to me.”