I. And Love. And Food.
The loves of my life, in order, are as follows: Jesus, my family, and food.
Food is one of the greatest sources of joy in my life. It is central to my being and the cause of so many of my most wonderful memories. When I travel, I travel to eat. Often, friends that I travel with get exhausted (or perhaps elated, depending on the crowd) by my persistent search of the best, most delicious food in the city I’m in.
My soul-level love of food began before my memory does. While my classmates were busy spending time watching cartoons and idolizing athletes, pop stars, and other celebrities, I was watching Food Network and chatting about the meals my favorite chefs were preparing. I spent most of my days with the following people: Rachel Ray, Emeril Lagasse, Alton Brown, Sarah Moulton, Sandra Lee, Tyler Florence, Giada De Laurentiis, and Ina Garten. Celebrities felt like friends, but these chefs felt like my heroes.
I watched Food Network obsessively, developing regular before or after school routines (depending on the time period) to make sure I caught my favorite shows. On at least one occasion, I convinced my dad to let me watch longer because it was “educational” – I stand by this move.
I’m a self-professed food snob. Though, I do not identify with the term “foodie” because I think it cheapens the food experience. Basically, I try to limit my mediocre dining moments to a minimum.
My passion for food didn’t come out of nowhere. My mom’s side of the family has a long history of creating incredibly delectable meals. Fortunately, she imparted those values to me. It’s something we share and I’m grateful that because of her I get to so regularly enjoy one of the greatest art forms of all. She’s also an incredible cook. I’m pretty lucky.
Many of my most salient memories are attached to food. I could fill up volumes of text describing my food encounters, but instead, I will share with you just a few of my favorite experiences. I think it’s important and humorous to note that I tried to take a picture of all three of the foods I describe below and all three times I failed because I was more focused on eating than curating an Instagram-worthy moment. So, instead, I have random pictures of thematically-related food sprinkled throughout the following text.
I have had the incredible pleasure in my life of eating some of the best food in some of the best food cities in the world (Vancouver, BC is one of my favorites – it’s highly underrated). However, there are certain moments that stand out from the rest and this particular story tops the list. This may sound familiar to some because I’ve shared it many times before, but it’s too good to keep out of this post.
I participated in a short-term study abroad program in France just before my senior year of undergrad. The trip was primarily focused on food culture, so I jumped at the opportunity. On one fateful day, I was strolling through some shops in Paris with my professor and a few classmates when we landed outside the original location of Le Maison Du Chocolat. I was taken aback by the hand-carved chocolate sculptures that filled the shop windows and as if in a trance, found myself walking straight in.
The décor inside was cold and simple, which allowed for all of the chocolate confections (and pieces of literal art!) to shine. I made eye contact with a box of truffles that looked like marbles and I couldn’t look away. They were quite possibly the most beautiful thing, that also happened to be edible, that I had ever seen in my life. Begrudgingly, I broke eye contact and perused the rest of the store – stepping upstairs for a moment to check out the more unique and fragile chocolate sculptures.
On the way out, I had pretty much decided that anything they were selling would be too expensive for me to buy, but I chose to check the price on the box of truffles just in case. It contained four truffles sold for... 100 USD. I was both shocked at the price and disappointed that I would have to leave the store empty-handed. I exited with my head hung low actively trying to erase the painful memory.
Fortunately, my professor who shared a similar food perspective as me took notice. I briefly wandered into a mustard shop (or something like that... I honestly don’t remember) before I saw my classmate rush in to find me. She told me that our professor had asked the employee running the chocolate shop if she could give us a sample, and she’d agreed.
I raced back into the dark space and met up with my professor at the counter. I quickly found out that a sample meant an entire ($25) truffle. My stomach dropped to my knees in excitement and anticipation. I watched as the woman carefully pulled out a truffle for each of us and handed it across the counter.
I kid you not, as soon as I put the chocolate into my mouth, my eyes filled with tears. Flavors of rich dark chocolate and bright, zesty lime exploded across my taste buds coating them in creamy, chocolatey deliciousness. I looked up at my professor speechless. At that exact moment, as if straight out of a dream, the shopkeeper turned to us and said in her perfect Parisian accent, “I know. We are the best chocolate shop in all of Paris.” I second that.
Po’boy:
I still watch a significant amount of food-related content and when I do I like to keep track of restaurants that I’d like to visit if I happen to land myself in the city they are in. And this, my friends, is how I learned about Seasoned Vegan in Harlem.
I’ve been to New York City a few times and always make an effort to try new things while also visiting some tried and true favorites. When I heard about Seasoned Vegan, and particularly about their po'boys, I knew that I had to stop in during my next visit.
I brimmed with enthusiasm on the day of. Well, mostly anyway. My friends had decided that they “weren’t hungry” (I put it in quotes because you make room for good food; that’s just what you do) and we were also in a bit of a rush to get to an evening show. We’d decided that I would run-in, order takeout, and then eat on the train back. I was mildly peeved but refused to let anyone harsh my tasty-vegan-soul-food mellow.
It was a bit of a walk from our stop to the restaurant and for a moment I thought we were lost because of the relative quiet of the streets we were walking, but then I spotted it. And the angels sang.
The restaurant offered a stark contrast to the gray, empty buildings that surrounded us – it was so full of life and energy and fun.
One of my favorite things about a restaurant is when they have an open kitchen. I love looking in and peeking at the chefs. When they seem to be enjoying what they’re doing, it makes me smile. Chefs are the real unsung heroes if you ask me.
This place was hoppin’ – the kitchen was grooving, the wait staff was friendly and energetic, and just wait until you hear me talk about the food. I had a lovely banter with the man who took my order – he was obsessed with my name being “Abbey” because it reminded him of Young Frankenstein, which he used to watch with his mother.
I grabbed my to-go order, said goodbye to my new vegan friends, and hit the trail back to the subway stop. Fortunately, there were plenty of seats available once we entered the car so I plopped down and opened up the package that had been consuming my senses for the 15-minute walk prior.
I took my first bite. And the angels sang again. Or maybe it was just a street performer.
I am not the biggest fan of food that contains multiple brown components (i.e., fried food inside of bread), but this sandwich converted me. The roll was soft and dense with little bits of caramelization on the inside. The shrimp-style yams were crispy and packed with seasoning. I can’t even relay to you what kind of seasoning because it was such a nondescript burst of goodness. The shredded lettuce on top was fresh and had snap. And the remoulade. Oh, that sweet baby remoulade. It was like sauce poured from heaven that added a little bit of spiciness, a little bit of tanginess, and a hearty touch of creaminess to complement the crunch.
I had never had anything like it prior and despite my persistent search for quality po’boys in recent years, I haven’t had anything like it since.
I know that my friends were sitting next to me as I devoured the most beautiful culinary gift and yet, I don’t remember them at all. For a moment they faded into the background and it was just me, the sandwich, and some goosebumps.
I’ve come to realize recently that Mexican food is one of the most comforting foods for me personally. I grew up in Southern California with a Texan father, so it has always been a staple in my diet. I used to regularly visit the Mexican bakery with my mom which is where I discovered my deep and abiding love for churros. Truthfully, the flavors of various Mexican and Tex-Mex cuisines have probably shaped me in more ways than I recognize.
When I was a kid, my mother would occasionally take me to get sweet tamales from Las Golondrinas down the street. It was one of my favorite after-school treats. I opted for cinnamon raisin and she usually went for pineapple coconut. We’d find a place to sit down, catch up, and enjoy a warm snack.
When I moved to Oregon, I figured that sweet tamales were commonplace and that I’d be able to have them again. Imagine how disappointed I was when I realized this to be false. Despite my searching for over a decade to find something, anything that would satisfy my craving, I fell short. Well, actually, Oregon fell short. The people here are really missing out on some culinary prowess, but I digress.
Last year, my mom and I went home to Capo Beach and made a concerted effort to track down our favorite sweet tamales. We’d visited a few times before, but hadn’t ever made it back to the place that we both held dear. This was the moment (If you aren’t singing “This is the Moment” right now then I’m sorry, we can’t be friends).
On the morning of, we pulled up to the restaurant and ordered our tamales – one cinnamon raisin and one pineapple coconut. We decided to split both since it was a special occasion and we wanted to benefit from the shared deliciousness. They were warm and smelled like cinnamon, vanilla, and coconut. It took all of half a second for us to dive in.
They were even more magnificent than I had ever remembered.
There is something about the combination of masa, fruit, and warm spices that create a truly poetic balance of sweet and savory flavors. The cinnamon raisin tamal was dense and spicy with plump raisins sprinkled throughout. The pineapple coconut one was creamy and rich. I opted to not eat as voraciously as my stomach desired, but instead savored each bite.
At that moment, I was transported similarly to the food critic in Ratatouille at the end of the film.
Naturally, we stopped for more on our way out of town. Oh, what I would give to have them delivered to me now.
Well, that’s one love letter to food down. I’m sure there are many more to come.
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