Few cities in the world are as inexorably linked to a particular food then New York City is to the pizza. Tokyo may be known for their sushi and ramen, Rome — Gelato; Edinburgh — haggis; Ho Chi Minh — pho, banh mi; Munich — bratwurst; Lima — ceviche; and countless others. But — minus the bagel or perhaps the pastrami sandwich — pizza is still forever linked to this city, at least for most travelers.

Need proof? Head to Grimaldi’s, DiFara Pizza, Lombardi’s or Artichoke, and I guarantee you will encounter a line, most of which is likely made up of visitors to the city (to the chagrin of nearby locals). Tell a friend you were just in New York, and one of the first questions they’re likely to ask is whether you tried the pizza. Also, watch “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.” This highly accurate, well-researched film clearly depicts the obsession that not only New Yorkers have, but also are mutant reptile brethren, have for pizza.

So the question remains: you’re visiting New York, you want to try the pizza, where’s the best place to go? Well, depends on who you ask, er, read. (more…)

Growing up in the Ottawa Valley was not especially interesting. It was not as adventurous as Toronto. It was not laid back like Vancouver. It was, however, an hour or so from Montréal, the city that boasts bagels, poutine and dépanneurs with beer-stocked fridges. Being young, penniless and car-free, I never got the opportunity to truly appreciate the cosmopolitan Québécois cuisine.

After I moved to Toronto and saved a little money, my friends and I decided to take a weekend trip to the city. To say that “we did the city right” would be an understatement, as we overindulged in a lifestyle that was decadent, yet affordable. We stayed up until the bars closed at 4 a.m. — an anomaly for Ontarians — consuming riches of wine and martinis, and eating until our bellies rounded. Since then I have not returned, still suffering from the food coma that ensued. That was five years ago.

For me, reading Emma Sloley’s account in The Australian of going “the whole hog” was nostalgic. Although I had not eaten a pig’s hoof stuffed with foie gras or “gooey gratin,” her article still brought back memories of Brazilian beef skewers and all-you-can-eat sushi. It made me remember the grilled paninis avec tomates sechées and poutine piled high with fresh curds and gravy. It reminded me that Montréal’s cuisine was and is dynamic and worldly. (more…)

There is a deep, dark secret that many foodies keep tucked away in the depths of their food-loving souls. Actually, it is more of a psychological obsession that hijacks all decision-making functions when one comes face-to-face with choosing a place to dine. In my case, the infatuation usually surfaces during conversations with my husband that go something like this:

Husband: “Honey I found a tapas place in Philadelphia that I think we should try.”

Me: “That sounds great . . . uh . . . hmm . . . is it . . . a . . . a Michelin star restaurant?”

Husband: “No, but it gets great reviews from Zagat.”

Me: “That sounds . . .” (Fight the urge Maria, don’t let those stars trick you into thinking that they are the only way to find good food.) “. . . great, go ahead and make reservations.” (Phew! didn’t give in this time.)

I will be the first to admit that I have been brainwashed by the Michelin phenomenon and have gone to great lengths (involving a gypsy, hypnotism, and some fried sinew — don’t ask) to subdue my attachment to this label.

Don’t get me wrong, this prestigious award has led me to many ethereal dining experiences, but it has also burned a painful, irreplaceable hole in my pocket. The “pretension” factor can also be a turn-off when it seems as if the maître d’ is checking your clothing tags (to be sure the garment is a designer brand), and requests a printout of a recent trust-fund transaction — both of which, unfortunately, I do not have — upon entering the restaurant. Still there are many laid back Michelin-awarded eateries that welcome sneakers, a quick bite at the bar, and chuckling at high decibels. (more…)

There are only a handful of things I credit America as giving to the world: spaghetti westerns, national parks, those stupid roller skate heel shoes, and barbecue. Let’s face it, America is a nation in its infancy, but one thing that we’ve got totally figured out is down-home, face-covering barbecue restaurants. The meat has been roasting for hours, it’s swimming in sauce, and it’s all there for your pure, unadulterated pleasure. There just isn’t anything better than an Adam Richman session over a pile of ribs. No, make that a pulled pork sandwich. Wait . . . brisket. Yeah, let’s go with brisket.

A while back the research team over at Budget Travel must have jumped when the memo came through about finding the best barbecue joints in America. Here’s the thing: every city has a “best bbq” place, and every area has that little roadside dot on the map where all the locals go to chow. How do you decide where to start? I recommend looking past the beans and cornbread; it’s all in the name.

While Abe’s Bar-B-Q is the don’t-miss roadside shack deep in the heart of Mississippi, it’s got no pop for me. I need more sex appeal in the name to get me in the doors. Even a place named Dink’s Pit Bar-B-Que in Bartlesville, Oklahoma, with its cowboy paraphernalia lining the walls, just doesn’t have enough pizazz.

What catches my eye from the list are the Cajun-style sausages and fall-of-the-bone BBQ pork ribs of The Joint. That name has attitude. It says, “look, if you want a filet, piss off.” That’s what makes a good barbecue place. It was also one of New Orleans’ first restaurants to open post-Katrina, and it hosts the International Bar-B-Q Festival every second weekend in May.

What screams barbecue more than a place called Fat Willy’s Rib Shack in Chicago? “Baby back rib dinners come loaded with coleslaw, garlicky grilled Texas toast, and a choice of hearty sides like baked beans and collard greens.” That sounds like a food coma of the very best kind.

As synonymous with Vietnamese food as the country’s signature dish, pho, it turns out banh mi is actually quite a new invention for this very old culture. What, did you think the rice farmers along the Mekong Delta were munching on French baguettes back before the 19th century?

As the WSJ recently examined, the French — who, as you may not be too surprised to learn, often stuck to their own familiar cuisine, even when colonizing countries thousands of miles away — introduced the baguette into Vietnam during their occupation. The new loaves of bread were named banh tay (or “foreign cake”) by the locals and, due to their high price, were eaten only by the rich. Originally just bread, butter and ham or pâté — a very traditional Parisian sandwich — banh mi, as Andrea Nguyen in the NY Times explains, then went through a transformation. “Then, the Saigonese made things interesting.”

Driven by an urge to adapt local tastes to a foreign food, ingredients were added, ranging from cured and cooked pork, lemongrass chicken, egg, crushed pork meatballs, green herbs, sweet pickled vegetables, cilantro, and sliced chili peppers. Stuffed inside a sliced baguette with a healthy dose of mayonnaise, the sandwich enjoyed a renaissance during the ’80′s as Vietnam’s economy grew, finding its way into the streets of the cities as a to-go meal.

Fast forward a couple decades, and the sandwich started to catch on the U.S., with shops springing up around the country. Now, cities like New York and L.A. are brimming with Banh Mi options (here’s a list of 10 places for the best in New York and a list of the best in L.A.), each with their own take on the creation, from homemade baked baguettes to specially-sourced meats. For the best in Ho Chi Minh, try Concierge.com’s tip and head to the street vendor at 37 Nguyen Trai Street (in District 1) where, they promise, the peddler is guaranteed to turn you into a banh mi lover. As if you needed any convincing.

[image by Charles Haynes/Flickr]

When we conjure up thoughts about fruit, images like deep red strawberries, dripping-from-your-lips watermelon, and crisp apples come to mind. Yeah, that kind of stuff is synonymous with cooling off on hot summer days — in some parts of the world. In others, well, let’s just say we’ve all heard of the shenanigans that often hits the plates and markets of Asia. We’re talking deep-fried tarantulas, live octopus, you name it, people eat it. They aren’t afraid of expanding their taste horizons as much we are in the Western world.

Take Dragonfruit for example. The magenta, scaly, spiky skin looks like it should be guarding a princess locked in the tallest tower of a castle. It would be easy to pass by that half-lizard looking thing. If you do, however, you won’t get to bite into the sweetness of the bright white flesh, polka-dotted with tiny black seeds. It resembles the meat of the kiwi fruit — well, that is, a fire breathing kiwi fruit.

Then there’s Rambutan. A fruit that looks as if it came leaping off the pages of a Dr. Seuss book. They’re best described in this article over at BootsnAll as a “cartoon-like fruit that many think looks like something from another planet, or from the depths of the ocean. Its exterior is a vibrant pink, with hints of green, with a coat of thin, long, soft spikes. Inside, the fruit is similar to a lychee, but thicker and sweeter.”

Anyone now drooling from the picture above of durian, know that its closest relative is the band Gwar. Jackfruits, rose apples, custard apples, sweet tamarind, persimmon, mangosteen, and green mangos are all mouth-wateringly described in the BootsnAll article. If you’re not sure what in the world I just mentioned (a mangosteen is actually a cross between a mango and Bruce Springsteen), rest assured that my computer’s spell check has no idea as well.

When most food-loving people ruminate over “meccas” of global cuisine, cities like New York, Tokyo, Singapore, and Barcelona conjure instant salivation. Being a foodie is serious business, so for most, traveling to these cities for the culinary experience is not a matter of if, but when. In a recent article in the New York Times, Madrid won the spotlight in 24 mouth-watering paragraphs highlighting its best “ethnic” eateries. So does this mean we foodies have to put off retirement another year to save for an “Eat around Madrid” fest? Afraid so.

Madrid has historically been known to take the simple, safe route in food preparation. Traditional meals often served in homestyle fashion rely on staple ingredients, notoriously defined as “heavy and hearty.” Now the city is expanding its horizons and accepting the tantalizing wonders of spice, caramelized, raw, and delectably sweet.

“Over the last decade, waves of immigrants, many from Asia, have crossed paths with legions of Spaniards who have toured the globe and developed new tastes. The results can now be sampled at restaurants all over town,” reports Andrew Ferren. And it doesn’t stop there: award-winning chefs from around the world have come to stake their claim in this small revolution, making dining in Madrid a very savory experience.

The article critiques five eateries ranging significantly in price (dinner for two, from 150 to 50 euros) and varying in cuisine, from New Orleans gumbo, to a three-hour, pre-fixe, classic Spanish feast, to a beautiful fusion of Southeast Asian and Cuban gastronomy. Dining in Spain’s capital can now be an experience that heightens the senses, pleasing the eyes, stirring the palate, and invigorating each aromatic inhalation; creating the ultimate indulgence of old and new.

Let me just start by saying that when I was a kid, I had Guinea pigs as pets. Those Guinea pigs had babies. Those babies then had babies with their parents. Those babies had an odd number of limbs.

Regardless of my pet’s incestuous behavior, I loved them. When my mom finally decided that it was time for my furry friends to find a new home, I put them into the basket of my tricycle and hit the open alley in a feeble attempt to keep them.

I say this so you don’t think I’m an insensitive, animal-hating monster. But I am hungry. And when I was in Peru, I was very, very hungry. I arrived in Lima after a 27-hour bus saga that began in the boarder town of Tacna. This was before I had gotten the memo about never taking a bus ride longer than a full earth rotation. (more…)

By Maria Russo

Is it possible to find enlightenment in a bowl of soup? Who knows, but it’s certainly worth a try, don’t you think?

During a two-week journey to Thailand, I set out on a quest to prepare my soul for the preliminary stages of enlightenment. I wished to be free from the vicious cycle of human desire and rid my thoughts of impurities to ultimately find a meditative state of peace. It was a gargantuan task, but I was ready to ward off any temptation that came my way.

Before embarking on my trip, I researched several cultural experiences, hoping to find one that would open my eyes to a simpler, more sustainable lifestyle; leading the way to Sotāpanna (the first stage of enlightenment). I came across suggestions like an elephant-back trek through the mountains of Chiang Mai where tourists can visit with local hill tribes, or sharing a meal with monks at one of the many wats (temples) in Bangkok. I even considered a spiritual climb up 1,237 steps to the peak of Wat Tham Sua (Tiger Cave Temple) to meditate before “the footprint of Buddha.”

All the suggestions sounded promising, but nothing caught my eye like the glossy page I stumbled upon in the guide, National Geographic Traveler: Thailand:

Thai cuisine is famous the world over for a reason: Its delectable balance of flavors, the freshest of ingredients, and its exquisite presentation combine to create unforgettable feasts. You can literally eat your way through Thailand, but why not pick up some practical skills, so you can re-create the experience back home? Thailand offers a plentitude of cooking schools, for both novice and professional chef.

(more…)

It may be August, it may be a time when most people are not glued to their computers, and it may be a month when other sites are sitting back, anticipating their temporary drop in readership, enjoying their “summer Fridays,” and generally slacking off like one’s prone to do in the official vacation month of the year.

But not so here at TheExpeditioner.com (okay there’s probably plenty of slacking off, but I can assure you, absolutely no “summer Fridays”). We know many of you are still stuck in your cubicles this month, and most of you are lacking the means to pack up and head to the beach for the upcoming long, summer days. And it is for you that we announce Travel Food Porn Week 2010 (Bourdain may have a couple episodes of food porn, but we’ve got a whole week for you).

From cooking classes in Thailand to the history of Banh Mi, all week we’re going to focus on eats around the world and bringing you the best of what makes up a good part of what we love about travel: the food. Bring an appetite.