The Milk Alchemist
February 13, 2010 | Location: India | 8 Comments
Manick boils the fresh buffalo milk in a wok over an open flame. He stirs, thoughtful, coaxing his father’s dessert out of the thickening liquid.
I ask him how he will know when the milk has boiled enough.
“The milk will tell me.”
His laughter, made gravelly by the smoke of biddies, spills from the tea stall, into the chaos of Sudder Street. Manick grins at his own magic.
Chai on the Sidewalk
Helene and I met Manick when we sat on the tired wooden bench of his streetside tea stall, inches away from the endless parade of honking taxi cabs, hawkers, beggars, motorcycles, musical instrument peddlers, rickshaw pullers and the occasional goat herd. Manick’s place stood as an oasis amidst the chaos, and his masala chai – milk tea boiled with cardamom, sugar, cinnamon, ginger, and a few other spices – quickly marked the pace of our days.
At any time between 6 AM and 11 PM, walk west on Sudder Street from Mirza Ghalib Street, and you’ll find Manick busy at his stall, a little distance away from the statue of Indira Gandhi. Tall and narrow, Manick stands straight and firm, a biddie at his fingertips. Although he was born in the Indian state of Bihar, he and his wife raised their five daughters and two sons in Kolkata.
Manick is one of thousands of street food vendors and entrepreneurs in Kolkata, providing for his family through hard, unrelenting work, every single day of the year. Manick exhudes quiet strength, dignity, and pride in his work.
One taste of his yogurt, and you understand why. “This is the best yogurt I’ve tasted,” I told Helene the first time I tried it. “Like, ever.”
I told Manick. His eyes lit up.
Making Ghee
Turns out my appreciation of Manick’s yogurt was no coincidence. Manick makes his own yogurt daily from fresh buffalo milk, delivered straight from the countryside. “One hundred percent original,” he said.
To illustrate the quality of his yogurt, Manick set a curd to cook in a wok over coals. While the curd itself turned dark over the flames, a light green layer of fat began to float to the top. This is ghee, used ubiquitously in Indian cooking, and the byproduct of a long chain of transformations of fresh milk. The product is an allegedly healthier form of animal fat that has more in common with the lightness and color of olive oil than butter.
From a seemingly useless blob of yogurt curd, Manick had extracted a vital and healthy ingredient of Indian cooking. But the man was not done yet; he scraped the blackened bottom of his wok, threw in a pinch of cane sugar, and handed this to me on a plate. I tasted milk, and its caramelized sugar content.
Manick grinned. “This is called India!”
Here, nothing goes to waste. People make use of anything, from plastic bags to the mud on the streets. Manick, himself, keeps a bag of dried mud in his stand, from which he bakes his own charcoal ovens. By the time he’s done with them, they have turned red, baked for thousands of hours into the color of bricks.
Buffalo Milk Magic
Not content with making ghee, Manick makes a deal with us. I pay him in advance for two liters of buffalo milk, and return in the evening.
Manick’s father was a sweets maker, and knew no less than fifty-six sweets recipes. This recipe is one of them: with just two liters of buffalo milk, and a few spoonfuls of sugar, Manick sets about invoking some of his father’s magic. He sets the milk to boil slowly over coals.
After an hour of diligent stirring from Manick, his wife and two of his daughters, the milk acquires a shade of yellow. As the water boils away from the milk, the fat, sweet content begins to thicken. When the mixture reaches the consistency of cooking dough, I’m staring in amazement and disbelief.
After spreading it carefully about the wok until it looks like maple sugar, Manick throws in a few tablespoons of cane sugar, and forms the condensed buffalo milk into small, yellow balls.
He calls them amrit laddu, sweets made of amrit. The ambrosial substance is the antithesis of poison: whereas poison kills all those who ingest it, amrit nourishes anyone who feeds from it. Manick is right to call it thus: with a refreshingly low amount of unrefined sugar, even diabetics can enjoy the amazingly complex, delicate and fabulous concoction he has coaxed out of a simple jug of milk.
Sharing the Magic
I can see in his eyes that Manick is proud of his accomplishment. When he shares some with his daughters, they exclaim their enthusiasm. “Mind-blowing! You should be called Sweets-Maker.”
I joke to Manick that he will now have to bake amrit laddu every day for his children. Manick smiles, but shakes his head: he doesn’t have the money to make the sweets his father made on a regular basis. At $2 per pound, and two hours of preparation, they are too costly for him, both in terms of cost and time. And without a restaurant of his own, Manick cannot easily bake the recipe, which he could hope to sell for $8 at the market with some effort. So he goes on making tea, yogurt, chapati, rice and curry on the side of the street, day in and day out.
By financing the milk, I’ve given Manick a rare chance to practice his alchemy of milk. But sitting at his stall, watching his tired but shining eyes, sharing sweets and smiles with Manick and his family, I have no illusion about which of us was the most generous.
“Every man should know everything,” says Manick, who can bake his own ovens, prepare Ayurvedic medicine for his children, and coax amazing sweets out of milk. Watching him sift another pot of chai, I have to agree: my existence is richer for knowing him.
Where to Go
You can find Manick’s stall on Kolkota’s Sudder Street, near the corner of Chowringhee Lane. You will recognize the stand from the words “TEA STALL AND RESTAURANT” painted on the front.
Manick’s stall is unique on a backpacker-heavy street for catering mostly to locals. During mealtimes, you’ll see them crowding the benches, eating rice and vegetable curry.
I’ve seen a few tourists for whom the experience was a tad overwhelming and perhaps too much of India in one sitting. My one advice to you is this: sit on that bench, and stick with it. Once you taste Manick’s food, it will all be worth it. Plus, you often get to chat with local workers on tea break; and at 12 cents per glass of chai, that’s quite the deal.
Life in Exuberance: Kolkata Moments
February 5, 2010 | Location: India | 9 Comments
A middle-aged woman in a saree squats barefoot in the dirt of the sidewalk. She sings to herself softly, in spite of her hard life; the sound barely rises above the roar of cabs and the furor of the city’s life.
Her name is India, and I’m in love with her.
Life in Exuberance
For many travelers coming to India, poverty immediately strikes them and overwhelms their impression of the country. This is especially true of Kolkata (formerly known as Calcutta,) whose suffering was painfully highlighted by the work of Mother Teresa. The poverty definitely persists in the West Bengal capital; it stares at you at every street corner, not only in the plight of professional beggars, but also in the short, hard lives of manual workers, rickshaw pullers, and tea stall boys.
But left untold in so many tragic travel tales is the joy and exuberance that pushes through. Look close enough at the teeming mass of humanity, and there is joy poking through the grit. Life shines through in the songs of the people, in the laughter and the smiles that soften faces caked by hardship.
It’s not to say that this joy nullifies the hardness of their lives. If anything, it puts them in sharp contrast. But I cannot overstate the beauty of the joy that resonates through the city, day and night. For the first week, it has made my heart soar and ache at the same time, and I spent long moments with inexplicable tears of joy in my eyes.
Instead of trying – and failing – to capture my impressions of Kolkata in broad, unfair statements, here are some of the moments that touched my heart over the last week. I hope they give you a sense of the spiritual wonder, the joy, the pain and the immensity that is India.
Kolkata Moments
Shared Papad
I drink chai on a bench on the sidewalk, oblivious to the screams of car horns and the bells of rickshaw pullers. A mentally handicapped young man walks by, laughing to himself. A cab driver shares his papad with him, and laughs along; and my heart soars with joy.
The Booksellers
It takes one woman and six men to sell me the book. The woman writes an extensive receipt for five minutes. A man next to her sticks a price tag on the back cover; the next one runs the book to the bagging counter, where number three will bag it; the fourth man, smiling, takes my money to the cashier at the back. The sixth snores softly at the counter, his head against a towering pile of books.
The Goatherds
We follow the goatherds the moment they cross under the elevated overpass. For once, the taxis are quiet, weary of startling the flock as it encircles them. The goatherds stop in front of a decrepit church: one of them milks a goat, storing the milk in a plastic water bottle.
The Exhibit
We sit in the grand hall of Kolkata’s Indian Museum. A woman in a red saree approaches Helene. ‘May I take your picture?’ The woman flashes her cellphone. Later, her husband convinces their daughter to stand between us for another photo. Somehow, surrounded by centuries-old works of art, we have become the main attraction.
Sharing Tea
Judging from the peace in his eyes, the tourist on the next bench has been here a while. A rickshaw puller rings his bell for him. ‘Please give this man a chai,’ says the tourist to the stall owner. The owner throws in a cookie as well. The puller grins, eyes bright; he’s lucked out, for a brief moment in his short, hard life.
A Strange Sight
“Look!!” says the Indian teenager; she laughs and points. Ten amazing things jump at me at once, but I can’t see what she wants me to see. “Look! A foreign woman in a saree!” The entire street, blind to the chaos and wonder of its own existence, laughs and waves as the blonde woman walks by.
A Tea Tray
The tea boy hands me steaming chai in two baked mud cups. I burn my fingers on them, and put them down on a low brick wall. The rickshaw puller tugs at the newspaper under my arm; he helps me prop it up as a tray, then sets me off with a grin and a pat on the back. I spill some tea on my shoes, but Helene gets most of it intact.
Farewell to Southeast Asia
January 27, 2010 | Location: Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand | 8 Comments
One hundred and forty-five days ago, Helene and I began our adventure around the world.
After a short layover in Japan, we headed down to Indonesia, to Denpasar and Ubud on the island of Bali. Relaxed but increasingly annoyed by the overgrown tourist industry of Ubud, we took the slow train across the island of Java, in the most exciting two weeks of our trip to date. We stopped in the towns and cities of Banyuwangyi, Probolinggo, Surabaya, Yogyakarta, all the way to Jakarta. From Jakarta, we flew to Singapore, where we spent an awesome two weeks with our friends Audran and Joëlle, discovering soup tulang, durian and amazing Indian food.
From Singapore, we rode the bus across Malaysia to Melaka, then to Kuala Lumpur, and from there flew to Bangkok, where we happily renewed with the city’s superb street food. We discovered our happy place in a small ocean bay to the south, then ventured forth to Vientiane, Laos, where we lost ourselves in the awesome French food. On the way back, we rediscovered the joy of traveling off the beaten path by exploring the cities of Isaan; specifically, Udon Thani and Nakhon Ratchasima made a strong impression.
After all this time, South-East Asia feels like home. In farewell to the region, here’s our very personal roundup of the high and low points of our adventures so far.
Best Street Meal: Nasi Goreng, Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia
We found this street stall not too far from the backpacker area by following our noses – no joke! The owner was so friendly and charming, I took to calling her my Indonesian auntie. The next evening, her granddaughter cooked our nasi goreng (fried rice) and soto ayam (chicken soup) in a wok over charcoal. The food was so amazing, it beat any fried rice I’ve had before – and I’ve lived three years in China.
Runner-up: The famous and fabulous noodle soup in Bangkok, Thailand
Best Upscale Meal: Yantra Restaurant, Singapore
When my friend Audran said he’d treat us to a fantastic Indian meal, he wasn’t kidding – Yantra’s menu was so exquisite, it makes my mouth water just thinking about it again! Yantra marked one of the first moments in our trip where we just knew we had to go to India next. Thanks again, Audran!
Runner-up: Le Vendôme’s superb French comfort food, in Vientiane, Laos
Best Drink: Java Joss, Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia
What happens when you take a boiling glass of sweet Javanese coffee, then dunk in a piece of glowing coal? Coffee heaven! We had to look hard to find this one, as it’s only available north of the train station after 6 PM, from a line of street stalls along the sidewalk. The caffeine kept me up all night – it was totally worth it.
Runner-up: The incredible avocado shake with chocolate syrup and condensed milk, in a flowery alley of Surabaya, Java, Indonesia
Worst Meal & Drink: Breakfast in Banyuwangyi, Java, Indonesia
After a string of amazing food in Denpasar, Bali, it came as quite a shock when we went out for the free breakfast of our local hotel in Banyuwangyi, on the Javanese side. The soto ayam (chicken soup) was barely recognizable, and filled us with sadness. Worst yet was the coffee – in an island known for its coffee beans, it’s shocking to find a cup of java that tastes like the inside of an intestine – no, really, it did.
Runner-up: Pad thai on the street in the Khaosan Road area of Bangkok, Thailand. I’ve had a better pad thai in a mall in Canada, and that says a lot.
Best Beer: Beerlao, Laos
More than just a beer, Laos’ Beerlao is a matter of national pride. You see its charmingly antiquated logo everywhere in Vientiane, making the beer near-ubiquitous in the Lao capital. It’s best enjoyed with ice, Lao-style, cooling down on a terrace.
Runner-up: Indonesia’s awesome Bintang beer
Best Accommodation: Bladok Losmen, Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia
An amazing city, super friendly and helpful staff, a pool(!!), a balcony… We could have moved into that room on the third floor of Bladok Losmen. We spent all our evenings sitting on the balcony gazing at the city and listening to the evening call to prayer (and then downing a Bintang or two), and even indulged in the fancy but entirely satisfying restaurant downstairs. At $15 USD a night, this was the absolute best value we found.
Runner-up: Souphaphone’s gorgeous rooms ($25 USD) and friendly staff, Vientiane, Laos
Worst Accommodation: Sama Sama Guesthouse, Melaka, Malaysia
I’ve never run away from a guesthouse after dark – until that night when one of us stepped on a fat cockroach in the dark of our room. Coupled with the crappy shared toilets and the flimsy bed that complained all night at my weight, we just couldn’t face another night there. In Sama Sama’s defense, though, the guy working there was an absolute gentleman about the entire thing.
Runner-up: Orchid Guesthouse and its lethargic staff, located down a burning garbage-ridden road in Surabaya, Java, Indonesia
Most Beautiful Place: Happy Place, Thailand
The sound of the ocean usually woke me up in the morning, and we spent our days strolling along the ocean front. We loved the place so much, as a matter of fact, that when I blogged about it, I didn’t dare reveal the name lest some Lonely Planet writer stumbled upon it and ‘discovered’ it. I’m still gonna keep it to myself, but feel free to ask me by email!
Runner-up: Ubud, Bali, Indonesia – touristy but genuinely gorgeous for its numerous temples, flower offerings and startling rice fields
Scariest Moment: Hit and Run in Bangkok
You get used to the way Bangkok taxi drivers hustle in traffic. Then one day you climb aboard a cab with a driver who appears to be high-strung on amphetamines – allegedly, a common problem with taxis in Bangkok given how many hours they have to work in a day to make ends meet. Our driver proceeded to drive like a madman, and when he bumped a couple riding a motorcycle to the ground, he just sped away as Helene and I yelled our heads off at him. We opened the car doors to threaten damage to his cab if he didn’t stop, but that didn’t seem to scare him as much as the prospect of facing the cops. When the traffic in a side-alley forced him to stop, we took the cue – and jumped out of the cab.
Runner-up: Driving at high speed the curvy, narrow roads of Mount Bromo, Java, Indonesia; good thing we didn’t miss a curve – and plunge to a fiery death hundreds of meters below
Friendliest Place: Probolinggo, Java, Indonesia
“Welcome to Probolinggo!” grinned a young man, shaking my hand. This type of exhuberant display of friendliness was our first real contact with Java – and we fell in love with it. People asked us to pose for pictures with them, and a group of kids yelled at us enthusiastically from the other side of the busy boulevard. Helene ended up spending a long, merry hour talking to the girls, who gave her a rock star ovation when they saw her walk by the next day. We love Probolinggo!
Runner-up: The friendly and upbeat people of Nakhon Ratchasima, Isaan region, Thailand
Coolest Fellow Travelers: Kara and Damien
Kara and Damien, two Americans on a year trip, wrote me one day to discover the secret of our Happy Place. They asked nicely, so I relented. We hooked up for a street-side meal and a few drinks, and became fast friends. We gave them our Rough Guide to Thailand, and we inherited a cozy wool sweater given to them by friends in Jordan, an Indian SIM card, and plenty of advice on India and the Middle-East. Here’s to our next encounter on the road!
Runner-up: Beatrice, a cool German woman traveling independently at 62 for the first time in her life
Worst Fellow Traveler: Papa Bill
We call him “Papa Bill”. He latched unto us in Probolinggo, and just wouldn’t let go. Loud, disrespectful, narcissic and scatterbrained, he walked around with his younger Thai wife in tow, and through sheer inspired negligence ran into trouble faster than I could blink. When we boarded the train in Probolinggo, his presence and his numerous insults to the Indonesian people – spoken at loudspeaker volume – chilled the previously friendly atmosphere in seconds. He then proceeded to take pictures of workers outside the train, yelling “Yes! Yes! Yes!” to quell their protests. When the train came into the station in Surabaya, we didn’t think twice – we ran.
Runner-up: Any of the dozens of inconsiderate and condescending tourists that give us a bad name with the locals, especially around Khaosan Road
What Now?
It’s been in the cards a long time – we’re headed to India! Whether it was the vibrant lights of Deepavali in Singapore, or the street-side delights of a South Indian restaurant in Melaka, we’ve been craving a visit to the Indian subcontinent since the very first days of our trip.
On January 29 2010, we’re boarding a flight to Kolkata, in West Bengal. A new chapter begins for the Backpack Foodie!
Southeast Asia in Blog Posts
Indonesia
Singapore
Malaysia
Thailand – Bangkok and the South
Laos – Vientiane
Thailand – Isaan Region
Thailand’s Northeast, Part 2: Udon Thani to Khorat
January 25, 2010 | Location: Thailand | 6 Comments
For the first part of this two-part series, see Thailand’s Northeast, Part 1: Vientiane to Udon Thani.
The train ride from Udon Thani to Khon Kaen was uneventful, except for the dirt that landed in my mouth.
The train’s wheels launched a dirt chip in the air, through the window in front of me, where it impacted against the seat. A small bit flew straight at me and exploded against my teeth. I spent the next ten minutes rincing my mouth with water and spitting it out the window.
Considering we were paying 85 cents for a hundred kilometer train ride, I didn’t make too much of the unexpected meal service.
The Lost Dinosaurs
I spend a lot of time talking about the places I love on this blog. I do this because I like to share positive experiences and enthusiasm for foreign cultures and food, and I don’t think much of remembering the places that let me down.
Khon Kaen was, unfortunately, in the latter category. The Rough Guide to Thailand sold it to us as a cheerful, upbeat place, with plenty of street vendors north of our chosen hotel, a vibrant student community, and an abundance of dinosaur statues, commemorating Thailand’s largest fossils on display at Phuwiang National Park, within daytripping distance of the city.
Suffice to say that we found none of these things. Whereas the residents of Udon Thani were cheerful and welcoming, and the food ranged from excellent to amazing, Khon Kaen welcomed us with drawn faces and uninteresting food. We cut our stay short, and boarded the local train to Nakhon Ratchasima, also known as Khorat.
We bid an unrepenting goodbye to Khon Kaen and its lack of dinosaur statues. The local train ride was filled with chattering students on their way home, and we stopped at every village along the way to let them off after their day of school.
I received no dirt chip in the mouth this time around; things were looking up.
The Lady of Khorat
Nakhon Ratchasima, nicknamed Khorat, is Thailand’s second-largest city after Bangkok. You’d think that would make it an impersonal metropolis, but you’d be wrong. Away from the beach and the hill treks, there are few enough tourists coming here that many people will say hello to you as you walk down the streets. It’s easy to feel welcome here: the city even smells nice, with fragrant flowers filling the air with a jasmine-like fragrance.
The moat that used to surround the old Nakhon Ratchasima is still there, but the center itself has moved immediately west of the old city walls. There, the statue of Lady Ying Mo, the Heroine of Khorat, guards the city proudly. Pilgrims come here to honor the woman who helped defeat Vientiane insurgents in 1826; when she was captured alongside other citizens of Khorat, she organized a rebellion that secured the prisoners’ escape.
Ying Mo is a true feminist icon: one who is praised for her heroic acts and leadership, qualities too often reserved for men. On the fresco below the city wall, she is depicted with her hair short on the sides, looking lithe and commanding, slashing down her prisoners with two swords at once.
Happy New Year 2553!
Khorat proved so inviting that we decided to spend the new year here. This being Thailand, we would bid farewell to the year 2552. Near Lady Ying Mo stood a stage, around which numerous food stalls popped up, offering everything from fresh fruit juice to fried grasshopper. We grabbed a pad thai and some Isaan-style grilled chicken, and enjoyed the meaningless chatter of the people on stage, as they awaited midnight.
Near the center of town, Helene got her shoes repaired at a street-side shoemaker, and we chatted away with his friend. The ten words we had in common lasted us throughout the repair and beyond.
As the countdown (in Thai) came to zero, the city exploded in a show of fireworks, some of which were fired right next to us in the crowd. As we slowly retreated to our guesthouse, we soaked in the atmosphere of Khorat one last time: its upbeat feel, its energetic, happy and friendly people.
Two days later, we boarded the train to Ayutthaya. We exited Isaan in an air-conditioned train, the dirty windows blocking both the view of the countryside, as well as potential dirt chips. I’m not sure it was such a good deal.
In Isaan, we found people of amazing energy and friendliness, and all we had to trade for them were the hotel resorts and the tourists. Isaan proved, once again, that this is a trade that I will always be willing to make, and I look forward to coming back.
Where to Go
If you’re looking for a place to stay in Khorat, check out the Ban San Sabai, a fabulous guesthouse maintained with pride by its friendly owner. We paid $18 USD for a tastefully decorated, impeccably clean en-suite room with AC and a balcony, one of the best deals we’ve found in Thailand.
There are very few proper restaurants in Khorat, but street food can be found anywhere. In particular, the area immediately south of Ying Mo turns into a fantastic and immense bazaar at night, and you’ll find amazing takes on Isaan’s cuisine staples, including pork sausage, grilled chicken, som tam (spicy papaya salad) and a wide variety of sweets
Your mileage may vary on Khon Khaen, but try as I could, I did not find much in that city to call me back. If you’ve had a different experience, I would love to hear about it!
Eating at Street Level: Tips on Enjoying Street Food
January 19, 2010 | Location: The World | 4 Comments
Deceptively simple and quick, often fiery and unpredictable, street food is the truest expression of a country’s cuisine. After you’ve sat down on a plastic bench and braved car fumes to enjoy an eye-wateringly spicy noodle soup, eating in a five-star hotel restaurant will feel as relevant to visiting a country as staring at postcards. Plus, it’s the most delicious, cheapest thing you’ll find.
But for many of us raised on the West’s overzealous hygiene standards, taking the first bite into a street dish can be a daunting experience. Here are five tips that will help ensure your meal is a positive experience.
Note: By street food, I designate both street kitchens, where the food is prepared and served literally on the street or the sidewalk, as well as tiny, no-frills restaurants where the decor is nonexistent and the seating capacity is limited.
Caveat Emptor: My experience with street food extends to North America, Western Europe, the Balkans, North Asia and Southeast Asia. It’s highly likely that this article can be generalized to the rest of the world; if you have experience that corroborates or contradicts this, please let everyone know in the comments!
Look for Packed Places
Your one and absolute rule when choosing a place to eat is whether the place is packed with locals, especially workers or employees on break. Avoid places packed with teenagers – if it’s not a KFC, it’s probably not much better. (In my experience, teens choose hangout places on a lot of other factors besides the quality of the food – I’ve got a few horror stories to back this up.)
At all costs, avoid street stalls packed with tourists. Whereas stalls in non-touristy areas depend on word of mouth and return business, tourist-oriented stalls can attract foreigners based on criteria that have little to do with food quality, such as the ability to speak English, an attractive menu, or even happy hour specials. The difference in quality between the two types of street food is usually staggering.
Trust Your Nose
Whatever place you end up choosing, don’t be afraid to leave if you have a bad feeling. Your nose and eyes can spot a lot of things that may not register in your conscious mind. Trust your instincts! You want to go somewhere where you can relax enough to enjoy a good meal.
On the other hand, keep in mind that your own definition of hygiene may be challenged here. Observe, instead, how the cook keeps things clean or not. Yeah, those eggs are sitting on the sidewalk unrefrigerated, but chances are they’re fresh from the market, and will be gone by evening. Even in perfectly clean places, non-refrigerated meat, flies, stray cats, and even the rare cockroach on the ground are par for the course. Also, some ingredients might smell offensive if you’re unaccustomed to them, such as fish sauce, shrimp paste, stinky tofu, or cheese. Try not to let unfamiliar smells deter you.
Order by Any Means Necessary
Smile. Laugh at yourself. Gesture. Point to things (but don’t touch food you’re not gonna eat, that’s disgusting!) Point to the neighbor’s food. If you don’t get what you want, accept what you get. The point here isn’t to ask for the fanciest item on the menu. You want what everyone else is having, because that’s probably this stall’s specialty.
As far as alcohol and tobacco go, try and respect the way the locals drink and smoke, if they do at all. If they’re drinking modestly and smoking very rarely, you’ll make a very bad impression by getting drunk and chain-smoking. If you really must, do it back at the expat bar.
Oh and, in the name of all of us who enjoy our dishes spicy when the local cuisine requires it: please stop asking for non-spicy food. For the real spicy dishes, the pepper will be on the side, as not all locals like their meals mouth-melting hot. The sheer number of foreigners asking for non-spicy food, though, means it’s hard for spice lovers to convince the cook, sometimes.
Soak Up the Atmosphere
Rub shoulders with the locals, accept the stares and the laughter. Sometimes you may even cause gatherings around your table, and you’ll feel like you’re a new specimen at the zoo. You know what? That just means you’re one of the first foreigners to try this food. Enjoy feeling like Marco Polo for a little while.
Part of the appeal of street food is the direct, uncensored connection you’ll make with people outside the tourist trade. This is a great opportunity to chat with people you wouldn’t usually interact with, and food is a great conversation starter. Just mention you like someone’s favorite dish, and they’ll swell with pride and affection. Soon enough, you’ll be leaving the street corner waving goodbye to new friends!
Smile and Say Thank You
Be polite! You’re representing all of us out there. If you really liked the meal, say it to the cook. He or she might not understand your words, but they’ll get the enthusiasm. Better yet, say it in the local language.
If you’ve just eaten somewhere off the beaten path, chances are you’ll be stunned by the low price. If you feel like tipping, don’t do it out of charity for the stall owner; do so only if you genuinely feel they deserve the tip. Giving money out of pity is condescending to a business owner, and you’ll do a lot more for them by being polite, thanking them, and giving them your return business. Engage them on a human level, as businesspeople worthy of your respect; that’s worth a lot more than a few extra bucks at the end of the day.
Follow these tips, and you’ll be rewarded with a unique insight into your host country’s cuisine and culture, as well as many memorable encounters and some new friends. Be warned: street food grows on you! The next time you eat in a sanitized, expensive place, you might just walk away dissatisfied, longing for your next meal at street level.
