Food

Food in Taiwan has been excellent. The photo here is a box lunch we got on the train ride back from sight seeing. All freshly made and for a couple of US dollars. Food is freshly made and there are lots of places to eat - and they have all been good, though sometimes odd.Odd food has been 'stinky tofu', which smell as good as lutefisk, except the smell is not only in the air, but in the food as well; a 'brat' where the bun was made of sticky rice; various kinds of seaweed; eggs hard boiled in tea (giving them the brown color in the photo); fresh mango with shaved ice that was almost as tasty and custard; chicken butt (yes the very end of the chicken - sort of the tail bone - cut off and grilled).

Happy Fathers Day!

Ack spent it along the east coast and East Rift Valley. Seeing sights like Liyu Lake, Chiahnan Forest Na MelunShan Park. Saturday was spent hiking in Taroko National Park.

food!

We have been eating some good foods - including, chicken stomach, jelly fish, wabasi fries, odd purple looking fruit with green seeds, an interesting seaweed, Chinese black mushroom, passe fish. The photo here is from a restaurant view of dinner with faculty from the National Central University. Food with meetings are an important aspect of the visits here.

Taipei

Ack has made it to Taiwan for a visit to universities and a conference. The first full day he was here was "Dragon Boat Festival". Every thing was closed. It occurs on the 5th day of the 5th lunar month. It goes back in time to a corrupt government, when poet Chu-Yuan cast himself in the deep waters of river Mi-Lo. Efforts by dragon-headed boasts failed to rescue him. People made leaf-wrapped sticky rice dumplings and hurled them into the river so the fish would eat the rice and not Chu. The day honors him and his integrity. The delicious dumpling above was made by Chian-Yi mom, and in addition to the sticky rice, had some pork, mushroom and peanuts.

Ack also gave his first presentation - a workshop on MODIS and other satellite data, using HYDRA. The remote sensing center was happy to see him:

Happy Memorial Day

A parade, gardening, sailing and BBQ brats and beer.

Brown Bread

Brown bread.  What a humble food and yet so glorious.  Erin and I reveled in the brown bread we ate on the trip, served at every meal and tea. 

The brown bread is not like our whole wheat sandwich bread but a squatter denser thing.  Its thick graininess forced a good bit of chewing but its non-uniform composition meant you had a lot to think about during that chew.  Its flavor has a hint of sweetness that distinguished it yet again and meant you could eat it without butter – but why skip butter if you don’t have to?

It wasn’t until we bought a loaf ourselves that I understood that we were eating soda bread.  Trained all my life by Mimi’s beloved baking to understand soda bread as deliciously white, soft-textured, with raisins and sometimes caraway seeds, my safe little world of preconceived notions was shattered.  BROWN soda bread?  If it tastes like this, sign me up. 

The most available brand comes as a 500g loaf (yes, they’re metric in Ireland) from John McCambridge of Rathcoole, Co. Dublin.  Touted as a family recipe, the ingredients are 43% fresh buttermilk, 30% stone-ground wholemeal flour, followed by traces of bicarbonate of soda, salt and wheatgerm.  We found it for sale in grocery stores but also in a gas station convenience store and even at the airport, transforming this commodity into a souvenir. 

I was such a fan of the brown bread that I paid little attention to the other types of breads we encountered.  The breakfast baskets often included slices of toasted white bread and scones.  Erin informs me that we were even served farl at one meal. She, the great baker, was paying attention but I was stuck on the single variety. 

We first encountered brown bread in our first breakfast of the trip.  We were spending two nights at the ABC Guesthouse in Dublin, a budget B&B in a terrific location – right on the main road from the airport which made it very accessible to buses.  It was also near the National Botanic Gardens (where we spent a beautiful morning sauntering along paths and through glass greenhouses) and Croke Park Stadium the pinnacle of Gaelic football fields (which we merely passed).  Our room was impeccably clean and spacious with complementary wireless and helpful host but with a shower that merely dribbled water that was either scalding or freezing. 

Groggy and disoriented, we arrived in Dublin later than originally planned because of volcanic ash delays.  We stumbled through the afternoon leaning how to navigate the buses (delightfully double decker!), visiting the Book of Kells at Trinity College, playing a round of cribbage during a pint at Banker’s Pub, and eating supper at Cornucopia, a vegetarian restaurant with a vegan cole slaw that both of us list as a food highlight of the trip (again found through the Bridgestone Irish Food Guide).  That night, Erin collapsed and I wandered down the road to Kennedy’s Pub for a session (seisiún) of traditional music.

The next morning we encountered the first of many full Irish breakfasts. Basic contents include fried eggs, links of sausages, thick bacon, roasted tomato, a basket of bread and tea.  Tasty variations that we would later encounter included black pudding, white pudding, roasted mushrooms, and boxty.  But at the budget B&B, the highlight of the meal was the wonderful brown bread.

Irish Salmon

Salmon.  The beautiful fish that plies the rivers and coasts of Ireland and lives in its legends as the source of all knowledge.  I’m not sure that all the salmon we ate was locally sourced – or wisdom inducing -- but it certainly was the most available main dish of our journey.  The single most delicious we found through the Bridgestone Irish Food Guide and so we went out of our way on Erin’s birthday to visit The Burren Smokehouse in the small town of Lisdoonvarna.  

On a road that further west along the County Clare coast, we passed the smokehouse to pull into the car park.  A river tumbled just beyond the unprotected edge of the tarmac.  Passing the giant-sized stylized salmon statue at the Visitor Centre entrance, we entered the richly dark room.  Bulletin boards and brochure racks spilled over with information about the local foods movement in Ireland.  

A woman from Arkansas – “I married a native” – was preparing small samples affixed with toothpicks.  The swallow wasn’t enough for me to actually gain a taste but it was for Erin.  She knew she wanted more.  We skipped the five- minute video on the smoking process, offered in lieu of an actual tour, made use of the restroom, as all road trippers should at any opportunity, and perused the items for sale, all of which were of higher quality than typical.  Seeking a respite from the unsatisfying radio stations, I purchased two CDs of music, one a compilation as a fundraiser for the Doolin Rescue Patrol.  Erin purchased the fish. 

The salmon is from two farms that they operate on the coast, one on Clare Island.  This was a good omen as Clare Island is the home of Ireland’s pirate queen, Grace O’Malley, a legendary figure who had caught Erin’s imagination months before. Two varieties of the salmon were available: hot smoked or cold smoked.  They are smoked with oak for a soft mellow flavor, the hot at a temperature of about 80 C to result in a firmer flesh, sometimes flavored as if barbecued.  Erin wisely chose the more traditional cold smoked. 

We ate the salmon at a picnic later that day, our backs leaning against a round tower at the disappointingly overdeveloped Cliffs of Moher.  Settled out of the wind, I sliced the plastic open with my penknife and we used it to draw out each thin slice.  The color was deep coral pink and the flesh melted in our mouths.  Erin quickly declared, “This is the best salmon I have ever eaten – in my life!” A sage judgment.