A Taste of South Africa

The first thing I do when I buy a guidebook to any country is flip to the Eating section. So when I picked up the LP Guidebook to South Africa, and read through their dining choices, I was sad. There were Italian restaurants, sushi bars, a couple Indian spots, and that was it.

Turns out I had been reading the list for the V&A Waterfront. It's been done up recently, and it caters to tourists. We had a couple of meals here. One was at a bistro that I can remember the name of. The other place was some seafood joint named Ocean Basket, which was pretty much South Africa's version of Red Lobster. Or Long John Silver. Or someplace in between.

While reading the list of restaurants under the Bo-Kaap section, the cuisine started to get unfamiliar. Cape Malay? What the heck is that? The short of it is that it refers to an ethnic community in the Western Cape. Prisoners and slaves from Malaysia and its nearest lands (think Java) were brought over, some by the Dutch East Indian Trading Company, and settled down in what later was called Cape Town.

Cape Malay cuisine is a fusion of the Malay and Dutch influence. Our concierge pointed us to Noon Gun Restaurant, atop Signal Hill in Bo-Kaap. The name refers to the Noon Gun that fires at 12pm every day. K and I never heard the gun go off. I was sad about that.



Noon Gun has a charm about it as soon as you step inside. It looks like you just showed up at someone's house for dinner. In a way, you have. Our waitress told us that the owner bought this house years ago, converted the terrace into a restaurant, and Noon Gun was born.

In researching Cape Malay cuisine, I was directed to two dishes: Denningvleis and Bobotie. Denningvleis is a cubed lamb, stewed in a tamarind sauce. But they were out of that, so I went with Bobotie instead.



Bobotie is oven-baked curried beef with a rice and sauce. My first instinct was to equate Cape Malay food to Indian food, because of the abundance of curries on the menu. It took me a while to figure out that Indian dishes don't have beef in them. So they're not the same. Anyway, the Bobotie was fantastic.



This is K's Masala Fish. She liked it as well, although she found the portions rather big. I dunno. I guess I was hungry that night.

After our meal, we chatted more with our waitress, who told us about the history of Noon Gun Restaurant, which was pretty much a history of her family. We never got her name, though. It's a small regret.

I have NO regrets about trying Cape Malay food. Can I get some of that stuff in LA? I can only hope.

The Springboks

On our first morning in Cape Town, I flipped on the TV. A bunch of buff guys in dark green collared shirts with gold trim were talking about Rugby. The South African National Rugby Team, nicknamed The Springboks, were taking on The Wallabies of Australia. It was halftime, and these guys, with their bulging biceps and incredibly thick necks, were giving their analysis, which was essentially, "We're better than these guys. How are we losing?"

Downstairs at our breakfast buffet, the seats were filled with people wearing these same dark green shirts, As were our servers. As were the people at the front desk. Everyone was glued to the TV, yelping with each potential score. The head chef came to our table to go over K's wheat sensitivity, only to dart back to the TV whenever there was a yell. He had a look on his face like he was expecting twins.

As I was digging into my streaky bacon, I no longer heard cheers. Just silence. I looked back at the TV and a tennis match was playing. That was odd, I thought. We asked our server what happened. "We lost." She sighed, cracking a smile. I was sad.


*The Springbok Shirt*

Outside our hotel, the V&A Waterfront was decked out in Springbok colors. Back on the tube, every news program lead with the same story. "Heartbreak in New Zealand as the Springboks have been eliminated." Sportcasters were giving their post-mortems, while still wearing the Springbok shirt. It was like some guy in LA giving the sports report in a Lakers jersey. You can't possibly count on him for objectivity.

The Spirit of the Springboks carried us through our time in Cape Town. And only when I catch the inflight movie on the flight back to the States, "Invictus", did I get it.

The short of the movie is, Mandela is freed, becomes President of South Africa, and sees an opportunity to unite the country through their support of the Springboks during the Rugby World Cup. The people start pulling for the team, slowly putting aside fifty years of racial tension (apparently). The reality is probably more complicated than that, but it's a movie. What do you expect?

I still don't understand rugby, other than it is a predecessor to the football I'm used to watching. But one can never underestimate sport in social context. It can bring people together, across race, economic status, and religion. And that I understand.

New Blog

Same as the old blog....

Since we're married, it's only fair that K contributes to this blog.

Posts and pics on our South Africa trip are coming soon.

The Road To South Africa - Prologue: Back on the Horse

K and I are still going strong after six months of marriage. We're finding our rhythm as a couple. During those six months, the travel bug has come and gone. Now it's back, and it's not going away.

We're going stir crazy. The honeymoon in Belize was the last time we left the country. It feels like longer. Our Japan/Hong Kong trip seems like it was ages ago. My London/Paris/Amsterdam trek seems like it happened in another life.

K and I talked about traveling to Africa before starting a family. While she has been to Rwanda many times for work, K has yet to "vacation" on the continent. I made a stop in Cairo two years ago, but according to K, that doesn't really count as traveling to Africa.

We opted for South Africa; Four nights in the Mother City of Cape Town, and three nights at Kruger National Park. Not a lot of time, but it's still a trip. It's still a cultural experience. It's still traveling.

In a way, it feels like I'm back on the horse. Although that much time hasn't passed, traveling feels different. It's a lot like life. Traveling in my single days meant doing things more on a whim. It meant going all out until my body said no. I listen to my body more closely, and it says "no" more often.

This feels like the start of something new. A new kind of travel; one where I'm spending practically every moment with someone else. It's shared travel. Shared experiences.
I haven't done much planning for South Africa. I figure I'd let the city, and its delights, come to me. Come to us, I should say.

However, in the days leading up to our trip, we've lost whatever rhythm we've attained. We haven't slept well at all. Our free time has been filled doing random things here and there to get ready for our trip. We're tired. And top it all off, my beloved iPhone, trusted friend and companion, went kaput this very morning.

And now we have to wake up before 3am so owe can board a flight to DC, then Jo'Burg, then the Mother City. God help us.

OK, enough talk.

Let's do this.

Around the World in LA: Lagos African Cuisine

This summer I thought it'd be a good idea to try some new restaurants in LA. I've been eating the same foods for a while. Why not try something new?

Recently, I went to a place in Mid-Wilshire called Lagos African Cuisine.




I had looked it up on Yelp, thinking it was called Ngoma. They changed it two years ago, according to our waitress.

The menu is extensive. There's a section of entrees from East Africa, West Africa and Nigeria. We ordered one dish from each region, plus an order of Cassava Chips.



The texture of the Cassava Chips is interesting. I wanted to think of it as eating fries, but that's not accurate.

Here are the three dishes we ordered:



Ugalina Sukuma Wiki. Ugali is like a cornmeal paste, and by itself has no flavor. It's a staple of Eastern and Southern Africa. To get an idea of the ugali's texture, it's similar to grits. Since it has no taste, it's served with the sukuma wiki (kinda like collard greens) and chicken. It all works well together.



Fried plantains and fried yams, served with grilled fish. This was off the Nigerian section of the menu. While the plantains were OK, that fish was tasty.



Poulet Yassa. This is chicken marinated in a lemon sauce, sauteed with vegetables, served with rice. It's a West African dish.

I'm not a food writer at all, so I can't tell you the intricacies of African cuisine. But I do like food. Especially when it's something new. And Lagos was a success! I would go back here to try the other dishes.

Lagos African Cuisine (Formerly Ngoma Restaurant)
5358 Wilshire Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90036

A word on the Yelp reviews: There are two one-star reviews for Lagos, which you can take with many grains of salt. Their Ngoma page has more views and averages 3.5 stars. The food hasn't changed since they renamed themselves. I wouldn't let the one-star reviews sway you.

If you have a favorite African dish or restaurant, please comment! I'd loved to hear about it.

Before I Forget: Hong Kong

Writing about my last two trips has been difficult. I start strong, writing a great deal about the beginning, and then I lost focus and quit. This is an attempt to make amends.

My Highlights of Hong Kong:

Family



The real reason I visited Hong Kong. This was a chance to see K's grandmother (Amah), two aunts, uncle, sister and brother-in-law. Family time included Chinese food up the wazoo and a Thanksgiving feast, complete with turkey and fixings. I made nice with Amah; She said I had a nice nose.

Dialogue in the Dark



K's sister brought this to our attention. It's an hour-and-a-half long exhibit, and you're blind the whole way through. A guide gives you a walking stick and you walk in complete darkness. Really. You can't see crap. It's best to use the walking stick, or you'll end up groping the person in front of you.

You're taken through a simulated market, ferry ride, and other HK experiences. All using your other senses. And the end of the tour, you discover (mini spoiler alert) that the guide is blind and has to experience living like this every day. You end the exhibit with a Q&A session with your guide and an appreciation for your sight.

Sorry, no pictures were taken inside.

Dim Sum



Like you couldn't guess this one. I love dim sum and in Hong Kong it tastes...well, nearly the same as it does in Monterey Park. Sorry. I don't have a very discerning palette.

I had dim sum on two occasions, and the har gow and tsu mai were heavenly. And cheap. That's important.

TST

Tsim Sha Tsui. It's a touristy spot, overlooking Victorian Harbour, but you get fantastic views of the HK skyline. Great for unwinding and people-watching.



Central Station



If you hang around Central Station on a Sunday afternoon, you will find yourself surrounded by Filipino women. These women work all week as domestics, and Sunday is their day off.

They're everywhere; sprawled on broken-down cardboard boxes, playing cards, eating lunch, and gossiping. Outside Central you hear packing tape ripping, over and over again, as they pack their balikbayan boxes (they're like gigantic care packages).

And throughout Central is the aroma of Jollibee's fried chicken...



The Peak



It's a must-do. You can take the tram, but we took the bus. If you're mildly carsick like me, consider the tram. The Peak is also a tourist spot, but for good reason. It offers a view of HK that you can't get anywhere. We went at night, which I recommend. It was crowded, but not much. You will have to fight the tourists to get that perfect photo, which I never seem to take, but that's ok.

I very much liked Hong Kong. It's loud. It's smells funny. The streets aren't people-friendly. But the city is so alive. It doesn't hurt that the food is fantastic.

This won't be my only visit. As long as K has family living there, and as long as har gow is still being made, there will always be cause to return.

The American Tourist

While cruising my twitter feed, I found this article:

How to Avoid Looking Like an American Tourist

It's a lengthy article. It's full of "Do"s, mostly "Don't"s. I agree with some (fanny packs are just ridiculous) and there are some I wholeheartedly disagree with (leave my nylon cargo pants and travel shirt alone!), but overall, the article got me thinking.


*Breaking so many rules in this photo*

I get the point; Don't do anything to be a prime target for thieves, and don't do anything to embarrass your fellow Americans. Basically, don't stick out like a sore thumb.

Here's the thing: Americans are so good at sticking out and embarrassing themselves because that's who we are. We love fanny packs! And taking dorky pictures of ourselves! And yes, sometimes we let one fly while we're in public. Go USA!

On the flip side of that coin, we can be at ease among strangers (Americans are gold medalists in small talk), we're game for most things (see: Andrew Zimmern) and, though we may appear dorky, we're really fun-loving (see: My Travel Guru).

American tourists can follow a list of guidelines a mile long. We can ditch our fanny packs. We can switch our REI convertible pants for linen slacks. We can whisper instead of yell. That won't change things. We'll still be louder than most. We'll still be laughed at by locals.

For all our faults, I'm still proud to be an American Tourist; Thankful to have the means to travel, and eager to learn how to be a better citizen of the world.

But sorry. I'll wear my travel shirt wherever I damn please.

Catching Up

Good grief, it's been over half a year since I've posted?

I feel awful. But I had a wedding to plan and after that, a marriage to tend to, meaning time away from this blog.

That doesn't mean I've strayed away from traveling. The wife (who will figure prominently in this blog going forward, whether she knows it or not) and I spent a week in Belize. And, if all goes according to plan, we'll be hitting up South Africa in October.

When not traveling, we've been trying out a few restaurants in the LA area that serve a different cuisine than I'm used to. It's sort of a summer project that keeps me yearning to travel. And eat. And eventually, write.

And I owe a few words about the 2nd leg of my 2010 trip. Well, there's a leg of my 2009 trip that I never covered. I should put it to the blogosphere now before it evaporates.

I'm just getting my groove back. Here's hoping I hold onto it!

One Hour of Glory

I stood while singing. I don't usually sit down for the first song. K and Terri were seated. They thumbed through the songbook, looking for the English songs. This usually happens during the first song. Nobody watches you. I knew this, so I just went for it.

"YOUUU CAN DANNNNCE....YOUUUU CAN DANNCEE..."

This wasn't the first time I've sung ABBA to open a night of karaoke. This WAS the first time I sang ABBA in Japan. Or any song.

It was a moment years in the making. After singing song after song in many Norebang in LA Koreatown, and singing in my aunt's living room on the Magic Mic, this is what had eluded me; Karaoke in its home country.

"HAVVVING THE TIME OF YOUR LIIFFFEEE...OOOOOH..."

The Karaoke experience is embraced by some, abhorred by others. I don't know any in the latter category, so let's not worry about them. I love Karaoke. I love the cheesiness. The way your voice sounds coming out of the speakers. The more reverb the better. I love watching other people sing, they way they just go for the gold. And what you can't sing, you make up for in improved rap and interpretive dance.

We only had one hour. It was our last night in Tokyo, and we were a tired bunch. We broke off into two groups; Reub and Susie took a trek to Kyoto and Osaka via Shinkansen, the rest of us on a day trip to Hakone. I had agreed to postpone Karaoke on my birthday, which was two days earlier. Time was running out.

"It's not gonna happen," I thought. We're gonna get in late, everyone's gonna be tired. Nobody will be up for singing. As we walked back to our hostel, I turned to Karen. "One hour, that's ALL I need."

"OK," She replied. I didn't know if she was really up for Karaoke, or if she thought I'd be a sulking mess for the rest of the trip if we didn't do it. The two of us, with Terri, stepped into a Karaoke place a couple of blocks from our hostel. I didn't know any Japanese, the people working there knew no English, but does it really matter with Karaoke?


*The view from our room*

We rode up an elevator the the seventh floor. This Karaoke building had nine floors total. Japanese Karaoke just kills anything in the US. The room could fit the three of us comfortably. And we only had one hour.

No time for trying new songs. I went through my usual suspects. ABBA. Done. Guns n' Roses. Check. Elton John's Your Song? Sung to Karen without needing to look at the words? Yes, that too.

And that was it. My one hour of glory, done. It, like the rest of our time in Tokyo, went by way too quickly.

I'll be back here. There's a lot more of ABBA to go through.