United States, Great Britain and Asia

Coffee jello at Durgin Park in Boston

Oh, poor misunderstood gelatin! Anything resembling gelatin has been given the name “jello” by Americans (“jelly” by the British), although Jell-O is actually a trademark of one brand of commercially available gelatin. Gelatin in its pure form is clear and practically tasteless; it is typically manufactured by boiling down the bones, connective tissues, organs and the hides of cattle, pigs and/or horses in order to extract the collagen (sounds tasty, doesn’t it?). Surely you remember as a kid when mom boiled that ham for a New England boiled dinner, popping the remains into the fridge – when that door swung open the next day, voila! – gelatin. Serving just the gelatin became popular way back in the late 1800s, although it required the aforementioned cooking down process or buying dried gelatin sheets and purifying and reconstituting them, which quite frankly was a pain in the gluteus maximus. Commercially available powdered gelatin made dessert preparation easier because of two men – Peter Cooper who patented the process of powdering gelatin, and Charles Knox who created and marketed a pre-granulated gelatin. Pearle Wait (who bought Peter Cooper’s patent) added flavoring to the powdered gelatin in 1897 and began marketing it as Jell-O; Knox became known for his unflavored variety. To this day Jell-O (which was manufactured by General Foods) and Knox are both Kraft Foods brands, with Jell-O so popular that the governor of Utah declared it to be the state snack (take that, Illinois, with your stinkin’ popcorn).

Cold or hot, you cannot beat coffee

Gelatin on its own hardly seems like a trippy food (at least to Americans and the British), but ingenuity has taken this simple food to a whole new level. Boston’s Durgin Park has been operating as a restaurant since the 1830s (named by John Durgin and Eldridge Park who bought it in 1827). Through the 1980s the restaurant had the reputation of being rude to the customers, which customers assumed was a gimmick much like Ed Debevic’s in Chicago or Dick’s Last Resort, but when I remarked to the waitress that she was actually quite polite, she stated that the former wait staff were “just plain grouchy”. The story goes that sometime during mid-1900s, frugal proprietor James Hallett got tired of seeing the day’s coffee being poured down the drain and hit upon the idea of creating a desert from it, namely “coffee jello.” The desert is served topped with real whipped cream, which adds just the right amount of sweetness (the gelatin and coffee combination is unsweetened). The coffee component tastes homemade using a good quality brew, and the black, shiny cubes topped with the frothy, white whipped cream makes it a sight to behold.

Jellied eel - yummy!

Jellied eels are a British specialty that dates back to 1700s London. Freshwater eels (traditionally right out of the Thames) are boiled with nutmeg, lemon juice and diced vegetables like onions and carrots, then cooled creating a gelatin in the same manner as with the pork or beef variety with the cooking process releasing the collagen. The cooked eels have a similar consistency and taste to herring (perhaps a bit firmer) with tiny brittle bones like sardines. Jellied eels are generally available at pie and mash shops in London’s East End, but I tried them at a small alleyway stand in Greenwich. The eel was served cold and delicious, requiring some deft tongue work (one of my hidden talents) to work the flesh off the bones. As long as I was there, I had a small cup of whelks with vinegar, which were chewy but flavorful, and pie (meat) and mash. I won’t spend much time on them since the article is about gelatin, and quite frankly the pie and mash were substandard; a fellow patron stated that the flat, soggy and chewy pie tasted like it was frozen and then microwaved. I’ll have proper pie and mash on my next visit to London.

A hand made gelatin flower

The recently popular trend of artistic gelatin is producing deserts that look like flowers in Lucite but are completely edible. The Wilton School offers classes specific to this culinary art, which requires patience, concentration, and a variety of syringes, with the output almost too beautiful to eat. A friend has started producing these, bringing one to a recent party. The dish is a treat for multiple senses, especially since the multiple colors used have different complementary flavors that blend together perfectly. At the aforementioned party, we asked her to serve it for us as none of us wanted to be responsible for ruining her masterpiece.

Grass jelly is a special Asian treat that is included here even though it is not technically gelatin. It is traditionally made by boiling stalks of the mesona chinensis plant (a variety of mint, also called xiancao, sian-chháu, or leung fan cao) with potassium carbonate and some starch and then refrigerating. The result looks like a lighter version of Durgin Park’s coffee jello, with a refreshing taste similar to an unsweetened mint tea. It is sometimes served as a gelatinous drink by itself or mixed with soy or evaporated milk, although for me it makes a nice dessert after cramming my bowl filled with whatever is available at the local Mongolian BBQ.

The next time Aunt Millie brings out the Jell-O mold with embalmed fruit bits suspended in it, explain to her how gelatin is made and it may get you a bye at having to eat it. Just don’t expect a nice knitted tie at Christmas…

Durgin Park
340 Faneuil Hall Marketplace
Boston, MA 02109
GPS coordinates: 42°21′37.38″N 71°3′18.57″W

G. Kelly’s Eel and Pie
526 Roman Road
Bow, London, UK E3 5ES
GPS coordinates: 51°31′57.48″N 0°1′48.65″W

See images of Val eating gelatin-based foods

Monarch Day

No expense spared to herald Monarch Day

Europe has its crowned heads, and North America has is own monarchs – the Monarch butterfly. Probably the most recognizable butterfly in North America (or at least a close tie with the yellow and black tiger swallowtail), the Monarch’s reign ranges from the southernmost parts of Canada in the summer to Mexico. Unlike other American butterflies that can survive the cold weather, the Monarch migrates south to Mexico and in the west congregates north through California along the coast. One particular vacation paradise for the Monarchs is the Pismo Beach Monarch Grove, located in a thick stand of eucalyptus at the south end of the North Beach Campground. The Monarchs begin arriving in October, and the height of their population is at the beginning of February, prompting February 5th to be declared Monarch Day by the California State Legislature (California Western Monarch Day Bill/SCR 66).

Tens of thousands of butterflies cover the trees

Although the Monarchs can be seen in the grove throughout the winter, Monarch Day is somewhat of a celebration at the grove, if only on a small scale. The event gets news coverage, and several activities are planned (usually targeted at the youngins), but it also draws naturalists, photographers and others who want to see the mass clusters of the beautiful winged creatures at their peak. Towards the end of February, the Monarchs begin heading north in search of their trippy food of choice, milkweed. The milkweed and Monarch butterfly have a unique relationship – the toxic plant is avoided by other fauna and flutterers, but actually provides a defense mechanism for the Monarch since the toxin stays in their bodies and makes them an unattractive meal to birds (much like the McRib sandwich).

A male and female Monarch do the wild thing

If Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds” made you nervous, you may want to stay near the entrance to the grove, as they will land on you and any other semi-solid object they can find. If this disturbs you, resist the urge to snuff out its fragile little existence as it is highly discouraged and since they are a protected species, getting booted out of the grove may be the least of your worries. It requires a conscious effort to avoid trampling them, but if being surrounded by an orange and black-winged cloud of feather light pilots sounds like your idea of fun, it is well worth it. The City of Pismo Beach goes all out, decorating their “World’s Largest Clam” (at a modest 7 or so feet tall) with the Monarch butterfly’s signature black and orange striped pattern. The city actually has two “World’s Largest Clams”, one at the entrance to the city and the other next to the Chamber of Commerce, a Trippy Food trippy destination on its own. Pack up the family and make a day of it, checking out downtown and the pier, the beach and the dunes but a word of advice if you bring the kids – you may have to tell little Timmy that the butterflies aren’t fighting. How you explain the insect love-fest is up to you.

Largest clam dressed up for Monarch Day

Pismo Beach Monarch Grove
State of California, North Beach Campground
Highway 1
Pismo Beach, CA 93449
GPS coordinates: 35°7′44.13″N 120°37′57.70″W

See more images of the Pismo Beach Monarch Grove on Monarch Day

A quick history of Sandy the sandhill crane

In the race to build the superlative beast, it appears that the contest for world’s largest sandhill crane is down to a field of one. The 40-foot tall sheet metal avian (“Sandy”)  stands watching for tasty cars passing by on Interstate 94 (North Dakota’s big beast highway) in Steele, North Dakota. Easily visible from the highway, Sandy seems to have nested in an unlikely location. Unlike the fanfare for her bovine and bison counterparts, there are no billboards or gated parks that indicate her home. Sandy stands at the end of the giant gravel parking lot of the Lone Steer Motel Restaurant and Lounge, a place that would look at home in one of those movies where the car breaks down and you have to spend a creepy night. Sandy’s grassy plot is not conspicuously marked – there’s no entrance booth or path, just a couple of wooden kiosks describing the life and migratory habits of the sandhill crane. The park is populated with local plants, bushes and trees that were donated or purchased through a grant from the North Dakota Forestry Department.

I would be a quick snack for a real crane of this size

Sandy is relatively young – she was built by James Miller of Arena, North Dakota between 1998 and 1989 in a shop where he does ironwork. The crane looks like a crane was required to assemble her – she (he?) was built in sections (head and neck, body and legs) and then welded together and placed on a flatbed. Sandy appears to have a strong secure foothold, an important feature for a top-heavy 4 1/2 ton metal sculpture. She is accurately painted, a fine representative of her species. Although much smaller than Sandy, sandhill cranes can attain a height of 4 feet with a wingspan of almost 7 feet, and live to the ripe old age of 25. Cranes have evolved very little over millions of years – they are the oldest birds identified from fossil records.

Sandy stands at an approximately even distance to the world’s largest buffalo in Jamestown to the east and Salem Sue, world’s largest cow to the west in New Salem. You can spend the better part of the day driving across North Dakota to see the beasts in the land of the giants, ending the adventure on the Enchanted Highway, a stretch of road populated with huge metal sculptures. They say everything’s bigger in Texas, but it’s obvious that North Dakota puts the burden of proof on the Lone Star State. C’mon guys – you have some catching up to do.

World’s Largest Sandhill Crane
615 Mitchell Avenue North
Steele, ND 58482
GPS Coordinates: 46°51′41.96″N 99°54′47.43″W

Mon Land Hot Pot City, San Gabriel, CA

Fresh rooster testicles

Although I’ve never seen a rooster strutting around the barnyard “balls-out”, I was surprised to learn that they actually have testicles. As a food adventurer, it occurred to me that after having had just about every part of the chicken, I was missing out on this delicacy. Desperate to find them locally, I turned to friend, writer and fellow blogger Eddie Lin who had the balls to suggest Mon Land Hot Pot City in San Gabriel, California (and no, this is not the last of the puns). I enlisted Josh (Trippy Food’s webmaster and usual partner in crime), as well as a few friends to join me in San Gabriel for a sack lunch (I warned you).

Mon Land Hot Pot City - we sat outside

Since it was a warm, sunny day we opted for the patio and were seated at a table with a stone top, a circular opening neatly cut into it (reminding me of a Korean BBQ). Instead of the familiar grill, our waitress placed a heating unit under the table and into the hole a huge metal bowl partitioned in the middle in the “ying/yang” style of Yunnan Province. One side was filled with a milky, beige broth and the other with a menacingly red one. These were heated to a rolling boil, and the steam coming off the liquid was pure, intoxicating, aromatic bliss. The red broth was spicy, with what appeared to be Tien Tsin chilies drowning in the oily abyss; both sides were flavored liberally with garlic, cloves, ginseng, ginger, goji berries and other unidentified spices. We had ordered our dishes from a pick list, and I was transfixed by the vapor when our food started to arrive.

Mild on the right, spicy on the left

We had ordered fish balls and shrimp balls (the shape, not the sexual organs), which were dumped readily into the pot. Plates of beef and chicken (frozen so that it could be shaved to almost translucent slices) were brought out and we dunked them in the broth with our chopsticks, cooking them almost immediately. Chunks of pork kidney and rings of pig intestines were brought out next, which cooked up beautifully – the kidney was mild, with hardly a hint of pungent taste usually associated with it. The scallion pancake was like a thin, crispy pizza, and the lamb dumpling reminded me of a juicy lamb burger encased in a dough overcoat. There were three sauces for dipping (a pinkish sauce made from fermented tofu, a spicy brown oily sauce, and a bland, light colored sauce – these could be mixed to add a combination sweetness, spiciness and saltiness). As captivating as all this food was, all activity came to a halt when the guest of honor arrived at the table – the chicken fertilizer. These were listed on the menu as “chicken nuts” (most likely to avoid confusion with the shrimp and fish balls), although they looked more like tiny, pale kidneys. At the waiter’s suggestion, these got dumped into the broth, although we had to drag the river for them since they declined to rise to the occasion as our waiter informed us they would. The scalding broth turned the flesh white and swelled them so that they looked like tiny hard-boiled eggs (possibly the source of their nickname, “rooster eggs”). If your weren’t aware of what they were, the image wouldn’t be even slightly disturbing.

The first attempt at rooster testicles

So what of the taste? Well, I daintily maneuvered one of the little guys into my mouth with the chopsticks, took a bite and experienced the Mount St. Helens of testicles. Scalding hot liquid filled my mouth, but since it wasn’t blistering I took the time to examine the taste. It was creamy and smooth, with a taste like egg mixed with a dash of chicken liver – it didn’t taste like chicken, but like it came from a chicken. I learned a valuable lesson after the first one, and allowed each subsequent one to cool slightly on the plate. Since only one or two of the six lunch guests cared to try one (and only one), the task of finishing off the last of them was left to yours truly. The broth was so amazing that I had them pack it up for me to take home and use for cooking, knowing that I would be better off straining it first to get rid of the twigs and seeds.

Chicken testicles aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but as part of a greater feast are a nice touch. In some places they’re deep fried, but I recommend them in hot pot for a full appreciation of their flavor. Call me nuts, but I could handle grabbing testicles for lunch at least once a week. OK, now I’m done.

Mon Land Hot Pot City
251 W. Bencamp Street
San Gabriel, CA 91776
GPS coordinants: 34°4′43.82″N 118°6′10.34″W

See more images from Val’s trip to Mon Land Hot Pot City

Video of Val and friends enjoying rooster testicles in hot pot

Marmite - Love it or Hate it

Over the years, I have had the pleasure and opportunity to savor unusual food from across the globe. I have enjoyed guinea pig at at a table where the other diners didn’t like the way the entree was looking at them; I have delighted in the rich, buttery taste of the spiky and odiferous durian, while others were gagging in the bushes. To this day people wonder what is my kryptonite, my gastronomic achilles heel. Surely, there is some food-like substance that has the power to ruin my breakfast. Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let the record state that for the murder of my taste buds, I find the defendant – Marmite – guilty as charged. I’m sure I am going to catch some flak from some of my British counterparts for this, but this is to be expected. In fact, the official Marmite web site is split into two sections accessed from the home page – one for folks who love it, the other for those who hate it. Hate seems like a harsh term, but it adequately describes those who intensley dislike this crime against nature disguising itself as food. Marmite is a spread for toast that is the by-product of beer production; it is a sludge-like substance made from yeast extract. It has the consistency and stickiness of molasses and the taste of salted crankcase oil from an engine run for 100,000 miles. I don’t really have a point of reference here, never having salted crankcase oil, but I’m willing to bet I’m right.

I give Marmite the old college try

Marmite has been a breakfast staple in Her Majesty’s realm since 1902, originally sold in earthenware jars (presumably to keep the evil at bay). Because the source is the same, it is similar to the famous Australian Vegemite (thank you, Men at Work) but with a unique taste (since the manufacturing process is slightly different). When mentioning to my friends in the UK that I have tried Marmite for breakfast I am greeted with either a “Dear God in Heaven, why?” or “Heavenly – I love it!” The conflict between love and hatred of the spread has even prompted a classic commercial for the product that perfectly demonstrates the two sides; I will only say that it needs to be seen to be appreciated. As with any allegedly edible substance, I have given it the old college try numerous times. My first encounter with uni (sea urchin) was less than desirable, but it turns out that sampling sushi in Michigan for the first time may not be the best approach – a second attempt in California was enough to win me over. Sadly, I have tried Marmite approximately 5 times now, each with the same result. Since the traditional application is to slather the goo on toast, I’ve even tried it with artisan breads hoping to improve the experience – ever seen a loaf of bread commit suicide? At each sitting I completely eat the slice of toast, hoping that some subtle undertones or mysterious aftertastes come into play, but the result is always the same. The heady aroma of fermented yeast, paired with the saltiness and glue-like consistency always results in something like an episode of FOX TV’s “When Breakfast Foods Attack”. A freind had sent me a bag of Marmite cashews – roasted cashews lightly coated in Marmite – but for some odd reason the taste was not overwhelming and I was able to finish the bag.

Marmite cashews, a good entry point

Whenever I am sampling something for the first time, whether with family members or friends out dining, I always impart the same advice – do not say it’s disgusting until you try it. Have a nibble, a sip, and if you don’t like it, you’ll never have to eat it again. I do not wish to discourage anyone from trying new and unusual foods, and my opinion is just that. To those of you traveling to (or living in) the UK, I advise you to at least try some at breakfast and decide for yourself, but I strongly caution against the investment of a large jar should you decide to make a trip to the market. Personally, I believe in the manifestation of evil on Earth, and for me, Marmite is proof of that.

Marmite
Available at most UK groceries and import stores in the US

See video of Val eating Marmite
See video of Val and friends eating Marmite cashews
See hilarious commercial for Marmite

Burns Night Supper

The guest of honor - the haggis

Few events celebrate both a famous poet and a national dish quite like the Scottish celebration that is the Burns Supper. The event is traditionally held on the birthday of “Scotland’s favorite son” and national poet, Robert Burns. Burns was born on January 25 in 1759 and on that night it is not uncommon throughout Scotland and other parts of the United Kingdom to gather to memorialize not only Burns, but also haggis, the national dish of Scotland he made famous. The annual Burns Supper generally follows a particular structure, with the dish immortalized in Burns’ “Address to a Haggis” being the guest of honor. A true Scotsman would either be touched by Burbank’s Buchanan Arms holding a Burns Supper, or recoil in horror of having Americans give it a go for olde Rabbie Burns.

The oddly named cocky leeky soup

The event appeared to be advertised primarily by word of mouth – it was nearly impossible to get in. Buchanan Arms have been staging the event for years, and the proprietor mentioned that they get the same people in attendance year after year. It was difficult finding a Scottish accent in the place, but many of the men in attendance favored a kilt over pants. Friend and fellow blogger Eddie Lin wondered if a Catholic school uniform skirt could pass for a kilt, but I believe it would only give the impression that one was planning a night out in San Francisco’s Castro District. I opted for a green plaid scarf, hoping I wasn’t going to start a brawl for wearing a tartan pattern from a disgraced clan, figuring I could excuse my ignorance by stating I was cold. The event was standing room only, and I had negotiated seats at the bar, which actually gave me a good vantage point for the festivities. Traditionally a grace is given (usually the Selkirk Grace), but at this shindig the food was served without fanfare. The meal started with either a salad or cocky leeky soup. There was no way I was about to turn down a dish with a name like that, so I requested the soup. Cocky leeky (alternately cocka-a-leekie) is a simple soup made with chicken, leeks and rice. The rice was cooked down to a porridge-like consistency, which made it hard to identify, but the soup was flavorful and satisfying.

My second go at haggis

For the main course, guests could choose from five options: fish and chips, chicken, bangers and mash, roast supper with Yorkshire pudding or haggis. Being a party in celebration of said haggis, this was my obvious choice, although Claudia selected the fish and chips. She stated that it held up to the standard of what she had in England, but I noticed it was served with whole peas rather than mushy peas (which she preferred since she likened mushy peas to baby food). At a true Burns Supper, the haggis is served as the main course after the address, but since everyone else was eating, I wasn’t complaining. The haggis was served in traditional style, with tatties and neeps (mashed potato and parsnips respectively). It was quite a departure from the store-bought haggis I wrote about in a previous blog article – since haggis still cannot be imported into the United States, Buchanan Arms made their own from sheep offal and cooked it in a synthetic substitute for the lamb stomach. The taste was remarkably different than Macweens – the sheep parts outnumbered the oats, imparting a very strong, earthy flavor with less of the sweetness. Claudia compared her small bite to a cross between ground beef and liver. The strong taste was cut considerably when mixing forkfuls with the potatoes and turnips, but the trio perfectly complemented each other.

After the plates were cleared away, the pomp and circumstance began (actually “Scotland the Brave”) as a bagpiper lead the procession in true form, a massive two foot-long haggis on a silver tray taking up the rear (wow, that sounds wrong). The mini-parade wound its way through the pub to the stage, where the thick-brogued Moira Stewart addressed the haggis to a hushed crowd. In dramatic fashion, she read Burns’ “Address to a Haggis” aloud, slicing the behemoth open on queue like a Scottish Jason Vorhees. The traditional toast of Scotch whiskey followed the address; for the toast I had the barkeep supply me with a wee dram of Glenmoranie Original (which she “guessed” was 12 years old). She initially suggested Crown Royal, but it didn’t have the appropriate ring to it. Dessert (trifle) was brought out; there are an endless variety of ingredients and methods to make it. Buchanan Arms had prepared theirs with Jell-O, blancmange and some sort of crumbly cake, topped with whipped cream and a cherry. It was every bit as sweet as it sounds. The band (The Ploughboys) continued to play Irish and Scottish songs for the remainder of the evening until the revelers began to filter out.

I believe you should accept every opportunity to try a new dish coinciding with a celebration, and a Burns Supper is a good way to do both and participate in age-old tradition at the same time. Just don’t do imitations of Star Trek’s Scotty or you’re likely to end up in the haggis.

Buchanan Arms
2013 W. Burbank Blvd.
Burbank, CA 91506
GPS coordinates: 34°10′49.83″N 118°19′59.96″W

See more images of Val attending a Burns Supper
See video of Val eating haggis
See video of the address to the haggis

The sprawling cluster of buildings that make up Wall Drug

Have you ever been in traffic, maybe in Boston, Chicago or Atlanta and noticed a Wall Drug bumper sticker on one of the cars in front of you? Perhaps you’ve wondered, “What is this Wall Drug, and why does a drug store have bumper stickers?” The fact of the matter is that Wall Drug is a variety of things, least of which is a drug store. Part of its mystery and allure may come from the fact that it’s pretty far from anywhere. To find Wall Drug you’d have to either plan a trip out through the badlands of South Dakota or just happen to be passing through on Interstate 90. It’s impossible to ignore the signs along the highway for hundreds of miles in either direction, beckoning like The Thing on Interstate 10 in Arizona. Since there’s really nothing else around for miles, it almost makes sense to stop, which is exactly what Nebraskan pharmacist Ted Hustead and his wife Dorothy realized when they bought a little drug store in Wall, South Dakota back in 1931. What took a little time was to figure out how to get the lines of people heading down Interstate 90 to see the relatively new Mount Rushmore to stop in their little town. It was Dorothy who hit upon the idea to offer travelers free ice water, and as the saying goes, if you build it they will come. Billboards on the highway attracted travelers and business got so good that they grew from a storefront drug store to what amounts to a rustic, western-themed mall and entertainment complex encompassing an entire city block.

Wildlife keep watch over the restroom

If Aunt Edna needed her heart medicine before hitting Rapid City some 50 miles to the west, you could get it at Wall Drug; the problem would be figuring out where to look. As you wind your way through the 76,000 square foot labyrinth of interconnected buildings you see Western clothing, souvenirs, jewelry, furniture, art, and a restaurant that features Western art. Out through the back is Wall Drug’s Backyard, featuring concrete and fiberglass creatures including a Sinclair apatosaurus and a gigantic jackalope (dwarfs compared to the behemoths found throughout North Dakota). In the center of this madness is a water dispenser where you can still have your fill of free ice water. I visited in February, when the high temperature was in the upper 40s, but when in Rome, drink the free ice water. Winter is a great time to visit this Gene Autry version of the Magic Kingdom as you don’t have to worry about long lines of people waiting to see the animatronic roaring T-Rex (just an upper body peeking over a fence). The restaurant is decent, but not outstanding – it does, however have the drawing power of an $8 buffalo burger and a 5-cent cup of coffee.

Colossal critters roam through the Wall Drug Backyard

This mecca of cowboy kitsch isn’t going to drop your jaw in wonder, nor will you likely pack up the Buick with Indian blankets and faux Fredric Remington sculptures but it’s a fun place to stop if you happen to be cruising through that part of South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse Monument, Deadwood, Sturgis or even the stark beauty and desolation of The Badlands. You certainly get your money’s worth of entertainment value – there is no fee to enter; just don’t forget Aunt Edna’s heart medicine on the way out.

Wall Drug
510 Main St
Wall, SD 57790
GPS Coordinates: 43°59′34.62″N 102°14′29.30″W

See more pictures from Val’s visit to Wall Drug in Wall, South Dakota

The taste sensation sweeping the nation - fried Twinkie

How can something so wrong be so right? Just the thought of eating a Twinkie sends a chemically-induced sugar rush up the back of my spine, so what would prompt me to brave the cellophane-wrapped snack that looks like Sponge Bob’s coffin? The opportunity to have it deep-fried. There was still a high degree of risk, but I wanted to see what the frying process did to make this foam brick from Hell edible (or more inedible). The invention of the deep fried Twinkie in 1992 is said to be attributed Shea Apple, a transplant from Great Britain who opened a chip shop in Brooklyn, New York (appropriately named “The Chip Shop”). Unlike your neighborhood chip shop (or “chippy” in the UK), The Chip Shop batters and fries everything that will survive the Frialator including pizza, macaroni and cheese, and Mars Bars. After experimenting with various snack items, he found the Twinkie to fry up quite nicely. They use the same batter used for frying fish (for the fish and chips); it is served sliced lengthwise, dusted with powdered sugar, sitting on a berry sauce-drizzled plate.

Golden goodness right out of the fryer

Since the initial hot oil bath in 1992, the deep fried Twinkie has grown in popularity to take its place beside its corn dog cousin as standard county and state fair food. Apparently following John B. L. Soule’s sage advice, a take on the deep fried Twinkie found a home on the west coast at no less an appropriate location than The Rose Bowl. On a recent trip there (for the swap meet – football and I don’t understand one another), I happened upon a food booth (The Dessert Factory) with the magical words “Fried Twinkie” on their sign; they also advertised fried cupcakes, but the Twinkie is the item that had piqued my curiosity. The preparation is slightly different than The Chip Shop’s – the Twinkie is unwrapped and dipped unfrozen in funnel cake batter (making it the perfect carnival food), then held in the fryer with a pair of tongs. Straight out of the fryer, it is placed on a paper plate where it gets a light flurry of powdered sugar snow and then a choice of sauce toppings (including strawberry, berry and chocolate). I opted for the strawberry, applied in spin art fashion. Unlike its photo on the web page, the Twinkie did not have a wooden stake through its sugary little heart.

Somebody call the EMTs and bring the defibrillator

3 dollars later, I was poised to sample the hot confectionary dish knowing that it would probably taste better because I was outside. Anyone who has bought a pretzel, hot dog or bag of chestnuts from a New York City street vendor or a burrito off an L.A. taco truck will back me up on this. The plastic spoon went in and I tasted my first bite in utter amazement. Everything that I hate about Twinkies was purged through the miracle of hot oil. The cellulose sponge quality was gone – the batter was soaked up into it and fried into a light crispy texture that wasn’t greasy. The sugary center, usually having a grainy, paste-like quality was just at the gooey, melted stage without being liquid. Although not as sweet as baklava, it is still a dessert you wouldn’t want more than one of – it is a major sugar rush. This qualifies as a fun dessert to eat when out at an event, but it’s not going to have me running into the nearest 7-11 for a Twinkie fix or even tempt me to try making it at home – I’ll leave that to the trained professionals.

The Dessert Factory (at The Rose Bowl)
1001 Rose Bowl Dr.
Pasadena, CA 91103
GPS coordinates: 34°9′35.19″N 118°10′2.04″W

The Chip Shop
383 Fifth Ave. (at 6th St.)
Brooklyn, NY 11215
GPS coordinates: 40°40′14.90″N 73°59′5.07″W

See more images of Val eating a deep-fried Twinkie

SPAM, wonderful SPAM

What do you mean, “Ech”? I’m not sure where Spam gets its bad reputation; perhaps it’s because it comes in a can. Food snobs turn their nose up at it, likening it to the meat version of Cheez Whiz. Even the great food explorer Andrew Zimmern expresses his disdain for it. You know a food is feared when people prefer blowfish to it, but Spam also generates somewhat of a cult following. We’ll talk about where Spam gets elevated to cause célèbre status, but first let’s discuss its humble origin. Spam was originally made by Hormel Foods of Austin, Minnesota way back in 1937. Although alternating versions of the name attribute it to an alliteration of “Shoulder of Pork and hAM” or the simpler “SPiced HAM”, Hormel maintains that the name is an adjective, and insists that it is spelled with all upper-case letters. One of my personal favorite plays on the acronym is “Something Posing As Meat.” The ingredients state it is chopped pork shoulder with added ham meat. It gained a surge in popularity during World War II, especially in Hawaii where fresh meat was difficult to come by. American soldiers ate it with most of their meals, and it continues to be eaten by more Hawaiians that anywhere else on earth per capita. As I discovered on a trip to Austin, Minnesota (for non-Spam purposes), you can smell it throughout the town (those of you living near Heinz in Pittsburgh or General Foods in Woburn, Massachusetts know what I’m talking about).

SPAM sculpture at Spamarama in Austin TX

Blogging about a canned food item found in grocery stores worldwide doesn’t seem particularly trippy, but here my friends is where we talk about Spam being the cause of celebration and the creative ways it is used. Let’s start with the yearly celebration that has taken place in Austin, Minnesota’s namesake city of Austin, Texas annually since 1976. Spamarama has been a no-holds barred festival of potted pork, incorporating games into the festivities. Regular events include a Spam tug-of-war (across a pit of Spam gelatin), a Spam-eating contest (not for the faint of heart), and my personal favorite, the Spam Toss. Picture the old fair staple of the egg toss; now substitute the egg with a can of Spam, freshly opened and still glistening with gelatin. One winner grabbed the pork projectile and clasped it safely against his chest like a football, essentially ruining his T-shirt. The Spam cook-off has produced items such as Spam brownies (I am not joking) and Spam ice cream; judges are required to sample all the items in the competition. In a nearby tent, the Spam sculpture contest is held with most looking like a bizarre autopsy. Sadly the economy has taken its toll on the festival – it was not held at all in 2008 and it looks like since corporate sponsorship from Hormel has been greatly reduced that 2009 saw no Spamarama either leaving its future in doubt.

Enjoying SPAM musubi at Spam Jam in Honolulu HI

Fret not if you are looking for the ultimate Spam party; you can still find it in the capital of Spam consumption – Honolulu, Hawaii. Since 2003, the free Spam Jam has been held on a closed-off section of Kalakaua Avenue just off Waikiki Beach. As opposed to Spamarama, Spam Jam is generally held at night with booths selling Spam merchandise and local restaurants who try their hand at creating interesting takes on the canned meat. Spamghetti and meatballs, Spam pizza, you name it, they’ve tried it. Rather than compete the foods in a contest, the concoctions are sold to the festival attendees. Several stages feature live music, while the center stage crowns a king and queen of the festival. One of the treats being sold is a Hawaiian favorite – Spam musubi. Think Spam on sushi rice with the obligatory seaweed wrap and topped with a teriyaki-like brown sauce. Odd as it sounds, it’s quite delicious. The Spam is cooked (sorry to disappoint the sashimi lovers) and the meat provides the flavor to the rice with just a little kick from the sauce. It’s larger than your typical sushi, so eating it can get messy, but it’s worth it. Stateside, you can find Spam musubi as a staple in most Hawaiian BBQ joints (such as L&L Hawaiian Barbecue, Ono Hawaiian BBQ and even the Waikikie Hawaiian BBQ in Atlanta), although there are few east of the Mississippi.

Long regarded as a prop for a Monty Python sketch or a word to strike fear in a young child’s heart at breakfast, Spam is an unreasonably feared and maligned food that deserves a try. I wouldn’t eat it every day like the G.I.s, but I’m still dying to try the Spam saimin. On the off chance that you don’t like it, don’t cause a fuss. I’ll have your Spam. I love it. I’m having Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, beaked beans, Spam, Spam, Spam, and Spam!
 
Spam Jam
2324 Kalakaua Ave.
Honolulu, HI 96815
GPS coordinates: 21°16′38.98″N 157°49′38.33″W

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Greetings from sunny Hell

What could give your bragging about having been to Hell and back more street cred than a trip to Hell, Michigan? Think about the joy of having a point of reference the next time someone says, “It’s hotter than Hell today”, or to truly know what a snowball’s chance there is. Don’t let the name fool you – although it would be fun to provide pictures of Death Valley or Kilauea and let you believe this is what Hell looks like, this couldn’t be farther from the truth; I would liken parts of nearby Detroit as more befitting the name of Hell. The tiny town is about 20 miles from Ann Arbor as the crow flies (you can substitute a raven if you’d like) and as is true of much of that region of the Midwest it is relatively flat. The drive takes you through picturesque green rolling pasture and farmland, and while the road to Hell is assumed to be paved with good intentions, I am sorry to report that it is smooth, well-kept asphalt – not even brimstone!

The road to Hell is paved with asphalt

The origin of the name is up for debate – the general consensus is that original settler George Reeves was asked what the new town should be named and replied, “You can name it Hell for all I care” and so it has been since 1841. The town’s primary source of income appears to be tourism, aside from the small local farms. The town’s population had dwindled over the years down to a modest 50 people back in the 1990s, but its lure as a place to say you’ve been to has boosted the recent population to over 250. A single green “Hell” sign on the highway lets you know you’re headed straight to hell; it isn’t until you drive into what can roughly be called “downtown” that you know you’re there. There are three buildings of note, each next to each other. The first is a general store with a tiny post office in the back. You can buy souvenirs here, including T-shirts from the fictional Dam University (yes, they read “Dam U”) and postcards which can be conveniently sent from the general store post office with a Hell, Michigan postmark (although they are served by the post office in adjacent Pinckney).

The dam on Hell Creek

Walking across the parking lot there is a tall post with signs showing the direction and distances of major world cities; at the end is the Screams Ice Cream parlor. The outside wall facing the parking lot is a favorite photo opportunity – since being converted from a liquor store they have changed the artwork to a more flame-oriented logo, still providing the perfect backdrop for those lovable family photos. Unfortunately in the renovation they also removed the freestanding “Welcome to Hell” sign that stood out front. Moving down the road is the Dam Site Inn, a small restaurant on the banks of Hell Creek with a view of the creek and it’s infamous dam. Suffice it to say the dam on Hell Creek is one of the town’s main attractions and the place to determine exactly when Hell freezes over.

The townsfolk are friendly and eager to serve (you, not Satan) and take a lighthearted approach to the town’s name and reputation, a veritable yearlong Halloween party. It isn’t the kind of place you’d want to stay for a few days (you would suffer boredom long before fear), but if you’re in the area it’s worth a visit. Take my friendly advice and when in the Ann Arbor area, go to Hell!

Hell, Michigan
Post Office / General Store
4025 Patterson Lake Road
Pinckney, MI 48169-8739
GPS Coordinates: 42°26′3.87″N 83°59′6.94″W

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