a sidewalk feast on saint anthony's night

Pedro has been telling me about the madness and wonder that is Saint Anthony's night for years, but we haven't been able to experience it together until now (well June 12th, to be exact). I think I expected something along the lines of a block party with a lot more sardines, and something about basil plants? Little did I know that Lisbon's heart would be transformed into a torrent of food, drink, parades and wonderfully tacky music that would last for days, with people squeezing into every available space to eat, drink, and dance. I'm still not entirely sure what the basil plants have to do with it all, but there were countless stands of neatly potted bushes for sale, and people wearing curly green wigs that were meant to resemble the basil. Sardine hats, sponsored by the local beer company Sagres, were being sported too (as you can see above).



It was decided between Pedro and friends that heading to the Graça neighbourhood for food would be the best strategic move, as the likelihood of finding a space to sit while eating was greater. P and I claimed a slice of sidewalk while Pedro and Pedro battled the crowd for beer, grilled sardines, and pork. We made a fine table out of a backpack, and got down to business:



Between the grilled sardines, the morcela, and the accordion-filled Pimba music blasting through the streets, I felt a lightness bubbling up inside me that I hadn't known in quite some time...



...and it was only the beginning of the night!

beer, soup, and war potatoes

After all that swooning in the Van Gogh Museum, we needed a little something in our bellies. Going out for a beer in Rabat is not as simple as we had imagined, and though neither of us are habitual drinkers, the idea of sitting in a pub and having a chat over a cold glass of beer seemed heavenly.



We found a nice place with old rugby memorabilia plastered over its tobacco-stained walls, and ordered two beers of the day with soups— tomato for me, and broccoli for Pedro. Our lunch was intentionally on the light side, because there was something else I had in mind that was an absolute necessity...



Patatje oorlog, "war potatoes", is a heap of frites loaded with mayo, peanut sauce, and fresh onions. Though I am a firm believer that the Belgians have the world's best fries (OK, the Dutch are equally amazing with fried potatoes), that peanut sauce-onion-mayo combination is out of this world. Pedro was not so convinced, but I tell you, it's amazing.

Who needs ketchup?

finnish delights

If you lean towards the carnivorous end of the eating spectrum and find yourself in Finland, a taste of reindeer is absolutely necessary. At Aino, a 'real' Finnish restaurant in the North Esplanade of the city centre, I sat down to order the poronfileetä, mustaherukkakastiketta ja puikulaperunapyreetä— reindeer fillet with blackcurrant sauce, and mashed Lappish potatoes, which came highly recommended. The reindeer was not unlike venison, and melted in my mouth. I think the sauce was sweet, and the potatoes creamy— but really, all I can remember is that fillet— and the dreamiest mushroom soup, which sadly, I did not photograph. I lust for that soup...

The wee bit of Danish in me manifests in funny ways, one of them being a passionate love for anything fishy— so when I spied the mini fish called muikku, all fried up and waiting for me at a market stall by the harbour, I counted my coins and got in line. There also happened to be a salmon soup calling to me, served with a fish-shaped slice of buttery brown bread. The warmth of the soup, the sourness of the bread, and the crunch of the fishies... so, so good!
 


I enjoyed these muikku so much, that I later ordered a fancier version of them for dinner with a nice wine— and the following day, I had a creamier salmon soup at the EMMA café. I really could happily live off of anything that comes out of the sea.

belly belgique

My belly has an odd, GPS-esque ability when it comes to finding food. One of the first things I wanted to do in Brussels was devour a paper cone of frites— more commonly and mistakenly known as the "French fry". What most people don't realise, is that the ubiquitous "French fry" is actually Belgian. Nowhere on earth will you find a fry that can compare to the frite. Top it with a dollop of eggy mayonnaise (please don't kill it with ketchup) and heaven feels more accessible. Ignore the calories, forget about cholesterol— life is worth living to the fullest. These humble, double-fried potatoes hold special place in my memory, so I was delighted to find myself in front of a frite stand within less than twenty minutes of walking through town. They were exactly how I remembered them— crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, eggy mayo.

After walking around for a bit, taking in the sights and digesting, I decided to seek out another childhood favourite: the gaufre. Surely you have heard of the Belgian waffle? Here's where the waffle as we know it in America becomes portable. Walk up to any stand and order up a sweet, buttery, doughy waffle, and you'll have a great little treat in your hands. The toppings of whipped cream, Nutella and strawberries are mostly for tourists— try it plain, with just the butter and sugar first, to get a real taste of the gaufre's goodness. I remember cold, dark winter days, wandering through the city streets with my mother, peeling off our gloves to avoid getting them sticky as we snacked on gaufres, little trails of steam rising from the golden dough.



Lucky me, I got to meet up with fellow Moleskine Exchange artist Anna Denise, who I previously had the pleasure of meeting back in San Francisco once upon a time. It's always a wonderful experience to meet up with someone in real life, who you've known for several years online and have built a friendship with. We've been exchanging art for about four or five years now, and I find her love of life and dedication to her artwork a source of inspiration.

Anna Denise, knowing how much I love to eat, decided to take me to a most delicious restaurant, famous for its traditional Belgian cuisine. Viva M'Boma is a cosy little place with a menu that's not for the faint of heart— sweetbreads, calf liver, kidneys, horse steak and a raw meat patty mysteriously called the "Americain" are pretty much all you'll find. Not being a big fan of organ meat, I decided to go with the stoemp— a potato and vegetable mash, that was served with two massive sausages and thick ribbons of bacon. It was absolutely divine— and very, very filling. I tried Anna Denise's calf liver and onions, which I must admit, was quite tasty and not so organy.



On Friday night I had a most delicious cuisse de lapin— a rabbit leg in a sauce that I want to say had some mustard in it, from a wonderful little restaurant in some tiny square. I really wish I had written the name down of this lovely little place, it was oh so good and the service was super friendly.

Viva M’Boma / Rue de Flandre 17, 1000 Bruxelles / 02/512 15 93

istanbul delicious

What kind of friend would I be if I neglected to take Lapin and Javier on a gastronomical tour of yumminess? There is no shortage of ways to feed your hunger in Istanbul— from lip-smacking, finger-licking street food to the delicate wonders of Çiya.

Our first stop on the tour was the infamous islak burger, or "wet burger." Yes, wet burger. Imagine a hamburger drowned in a vat of garlicky tomato sauce with a vague hint of cumin. This saucy beast is then stacked upon others who have suffered the same greasy fate, then heated by light bulbs in a foggy vitrine. It has taken me two years to taste one of these monstrosities, and ladies and gentlemen, I must report that the two lira islak burger is actually pretty damn tasty.

Next stop, perfection in a half loaf: balık ekmek. Mackerel, onions and lettuce thrust into bread that threatens to burst on your lap. Pour on the lemon juice and salt to get it just right, then end it all with a little tub of lokma— fried dough bathed in fragrant syrup. A great way to spend six lira.

So you've been getting lost in the maze of Istanbul— your feet are aching and your stomach is starting to make noises that are almost audible above the cacophony of honking horns. A man yelling something incomprehensible is pushing a little lopsided cart with what looks like an aquarium full of rice and chickpeas. Nohutlu pilav is simply rice and chickpeas. Sometimes you can add some chicken to it, but why bother? It's so good on its own. You might pay anywhere between one and two lira, depending on the mood of the guy pushing the cart. 

Ah, the kumpir. A ten lira massive baked potato with its innards whipped up in butter and cheese, stuffed with toppings of your choice. I like mine piled high with a tomatoey bulghur mixture called kısır, black olives, pickled red cabbage and hot sauce.

And to think I haven't even included the famed döner kebap or lahmacun...