Tag Archives: culture

Ode to Noodles

Uncategorized, ,

Noodles. Such a silly-sounding word for something so delicious and endlessly variable, eaten by most cultures around the world, and beloved in our family.

Apparently the English “noodle” comes from the German “nudel” in case you’re interested. The word “noodles” conjures up comfort in my mind. Generously buttered and salted egg noodles were always the go-to food in our family when tummies were upset, or one was just feeling down. My sister and I still like to eat any kind of leftover buttered noodles for breakfast, even when we are happy. (Despite the possible guilt brought on by the calories, and sodium and cholesterol bomb.)

I recall one of my first encounters with a noodle that was not buttered or smothered in a vaguely Italian tomato-based sauce. (I’m looking at you, Chef Boyardee…and also remembering my mother’s signature canned tomato-soup, bacon and bell pepper spaghetti sauce recipe.) I was maybe about six or seven, and our family was having a rare meal out, at a Chinese restaurant in Patterson, New Jersey. I demanded spaghetti.

No amount of the grown-ups trying to explain that “Chinese people did not eat spaghetti” would console me. I had to have spaghetti; nothing else would do. And so, the waiter, who knew perfectly well that “Chinese people” might not call it spaghetti but certainly did eat noodles, brought something that was, well, not spaghetti but was definitely in the noodle family. Lo mein maybe? Wish I could say it was a big hit with me, but I think someone else had to eat it.

Fast forward to international cuisine opening to me like the beautiful flower it is. My personal awakening involving various noodle dishes thankfully got better as I got older. I recall the first time the amazing world of Vietnamese pho was revealed to me, back around 1990 when visiting my colleague Lynn in Hawaii. (Then the state folk arts coordinator of Hawaii, but later to become my friend and confidant when she moved to the same position in New Hampshire, and we conspired in the co-curation of the 1999 New Hampshire program… but that is another story entirely.)

I almost cried out to my huge bowl of noodles, swimming together in fragrant broth with its compatriots of lean beef, Thai basil, and bean sprouts – “Where have you been all my life?” Well, maybe I’m being dramatic, but still. It was truly life-changing. Move over, buttered noodles, there’s another crave-worthy comfort food in town.

Today, as for many years, the homemade noodles and dumplings at Chinatown Express in what is left of downtown DC’s Chinatown is the go-to for cheap and authentic eats. Many an intern has been introduced to this modest, no-frills establishment on 6th Street, and it is a de rigueur outing for my daughter and I whenever she visits DC. I even convinced our office to order a boatload of dumplings and noodles from there for our holiday party this past year. I should be getting a commission?!

Our new family favorite at the Vietnamese complex, The Eden Center (usually where we go for pho because you can just throw a lime wedge in any direction and hit a place serving pho there) is actually a tiny Thai Street Food joint, Kao Sarn. Their noodle soups will bring back the memory of eating at any small partially outdoor stall in Bangkok or Chiang Mai by anyone who has visited Thailand and experienced “real street food. ” (Well, except for the price, but then you don’t have to fly half way across the globe to eat here if you’re a local, so there’s that.)

In short, there’s a whole world of noodles out there to conquer, and while nowadays I am partial to Asian noodle dishes, despite my childhood encounter with “Chinese spaghetti,” I have absolutely nothing against attacking noodles and noodle-adjacent dishes of all shapes, sizes, sauces, and cultural origins with gusto. Pierogies, halushki, ravioli, wagon wheels, seashells, carbonara, momos, spaetzle, ramen, udon, soba… the list is inexhaustible.

Hungry yet? If not, these photos of various noodle experiences will surely put you over the edge. Go forth, eat noodles, and be comforted.

I honestly don’t recall what noodle dish this is, but I would eat it again in a heartbeat.
One of the many trips to Chinatown Express, I think with friend and colleague Lora. I usually default to the chicken noodle soup, though all the flavors I’ve tried have been equally yummy. As well as the dumplings. And the scallion oil accompaniment is a revelation too.
Whenwe visited Hanoi, Steve discovered he could order pho for breakfast. Not only that, but after he polished off one bowl, he could ask for another. The tiny hotel we were staying in did not have its own kitchen, they just stepped outside into the alley and flagged down a street vendor.
Our friend Ang, who was our cultural guide during a trip to Thailand, demonstrates how to eat “real Thai street food” in Chiang Mai.
M.E. slurps up some Boat Noodle Soup at the Eden Center.
Just before Christmas last year, we visited Philadelphia. Their Chinatown has some amazing noodle establishments as well, including this one.
Honestly, I do not recall taking this photo but it came up when I searched my photos for “noodles.” I think I would skip “sauerkraut balls” (sorry to say) but cabbage and noodles, called by the Slovaks “halushki,” is always OK by me.
A big old bowl of Japanese noodles with a side of California roll, in New York City. Excuse me while I start dinner…

Indiana Adventure I: Adze the World Turns

Indiana adventures, Uncategorized,

On a recent trip to Indiana, my old stomping grounds (from starting grad school in 1977 to leaving for a job at the Smithsonian in 1987), I had many adventures with my dear friend and fellow “wander Indiana” enthusiast, Peggy Sailors. I will report in a series of scenarios and photos!

Adventure #1 was a trip to Terre Haute to attend the “Art of the Adze” exhibition curated by colleague Jon Kay, the State Folklorist of Indiana. I had once held this position for a couple of years in the early 1980s, but he’s really done a much finer (and longer lasting) job of it, I must admit. He and his intrepid research assistant, Katya Chomitzky, curated this lovely exhibition on wooden bowl hewing (AKA “chopping”). They had planned a “Chop In” or “Chop-a-Thon” featuring a gaggle of wooden bowl artisans, which we could not miss.

This event took place at the otherwise tony small art museum, the Swope, in the middle of downtown Terre Haute. Just a wood chip’s toss from quiet galleries featuring works of Grant Wood, Edward Hopper, and Andy Warhol, among others, the din of the the chopping of three generations of bowl makers rang out joyfully. A museum volunteer gamely tried to contain the chips (which fell “where they may” and defied staying on the tarps that had been laid down to protect the floor) with a broom.

Present in spirit, and in memory, was the Father of All Indiana Bowl Choppers, Bill Day, from West Lebanon (may he rest in peace, though maybe he’s chopping bowls beyond the Pearly Gates and driving St. Peter to distraction?). Peggy and I had interviewed Bill and visited with him and his wife Marion while working on a state-wide crafts exhibition called “Materials at Hand.” (More about that at a later date, as it really bears a revisit.)

Bill was a short but powerful retired farmer, with a distinctive high-pitched scratchy voice and an even more distinctive laugh (something like the braying of a donkey combined with a buzz saw maybe?). He honed, so to speak, his already wide knowledge of working with wood into a second career of splitting logs for fence rails. Then, when Marion brought home an old wooden bowl from an antique store, he pondered how to make such a vessel. After perfecting the method (which requires hewing large pieces of green wood with a series of adzes) and making a noisy mess in their house, Marion shoed him out. He rented a small former utility building in “downtown” West Lebanon, dubbed Bill’s Chop Shop.

Bill’s work earns a prominent place in the exhibition, and his memory is well preserved by the older current choppers in attendance a the Chop-In. It was gratifying to hear them speak so fondly of Bill and his work, his generosity of spirit in teaching others, and his time as resident bowl chopper at the Indiana State Fair’s “Pioneer Village.” And also to see that the “art of the adze” is being passed on down the generations. (The youngest chopper in attendance at the event was a strapping 15-year old.) And to see that several women have found their way to bowl chopping, too!

Check out the exhibition and Chop-In!

Peggy (right) and me (left) pose in front of the sign that pays homage to Bill Day and even mentions us!

The sounds and sites of the Chop-In! Featuring in this grouping, the Ruble family, led by patriarch Keith, who succeeded Bill Day as chief bowl chopper at the State Fair. He taught his sons Andy and Luke and daughter in law Kasey, all seen (and heard) chopping here.

Choppers assembled to exchange info and get their photo taken in the gallery. Youngest chopper, Luke Boyll, is in right forefront with his teacher/mentor Blaine Berry.
View of exhibition showing in forefront some excellent examples of Bill Days work. (These were loaned by Peggy!)
Terre Haute, as it says on this historic marker, is located at the cross-roads of America, as this historic marker tells us. This spot being the crossing of US Highway 40 and 41. Which just goes to show that Indiana is at the center of all good adventures…so tune in next time for more!
Chapel of the Virgin de Guadalupe with central image of Virgin and worshippers flanking either side, fashioned of multi-colored glass mosaics.

Mosaic Moments

mosaics, travel, Washington, DC, ,

How patient are you? Imagine facing a two-year project that involves arranging fourteen million tiny pieces of Venetian glass into an 18,299 square foot mosaic. Then imagine a whole huge basilica full of wall and ceiling mosaics.

On a recent visit to the Bascilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in the Brookland/Catholic University neighborhood of Washington, DC, I was simultaneously craning my neck and exercising my sense of wonder. The main part of the massive church, and every nook and cranny, it seemed, was covered with millions upon millions of these tiny glass squares arranged into massive, yet intricate, art works.

Having, during the pandemic, gotten into collaging, putting mere dozens of small pieces of cut up magazines together into something approximating art, I just could not get my head around the creation of these mosaics. Luckily, a little research lead me to this short but very informative video which gives a behind the scenes view of the artists and craftspeople at the Travisanutto Mosaic Studio in Spilimbergo, Italy creating the most recent dome mosaic for the basilica. Thence to the Travisanutto Studios web site with more information.

This is the sort of rabbit hole that us folklorists love going down. And while I don’t have time to pursue learning more about the tradition of mosaic art right now, I am still marveling at the basilica’s examples, and urge anyone living in or visiting Washington, DC to check them out. If you are Catholic (which I’m not) they will have more spiritual significance. But, even if you just like art or want to spend a couple of hours pondering human creativity, this is some special stuff.

Exercise your patience and don’t rush through. Think about how every tiny piece of glass contributes to the whole, and make it your own metaphor.

Long view of the main portion of the church showing domes. Think not only of creating this art in a studio, but then installing it hundreds of feet in the air. Crazy!
My favorite chapel was the one devoted to the Virgin de Guadalupe. Not sure about the authenticity of the clothing of the worshippers that flank both sides of the image of the Virgin, but the multicultural variety was interesting. The range of colors used overall, and the expressive nature of the faces of the people is quite amazing.
Even the “minor” domes in the chapels are dazzling. This one had a lot of sparkly gold. (Who doesn’t like sparkly gold?) and I liked the incorporation of the stained glass as well.
Down the street in downtown Brookland, there is an Arts Walk, also worth checking out, although most of the artist’s studios and shops are only open on the Saturdays. We found this mural across the street from the Arts Walk, but as the mosaics put me in a state of wonder, I liked the sentiment “to all who wonder” and its subtle double entendre.

George Alfred Townsend: A Gap(land) in our Knowledge

culture, tourism, travel, , , ,

Nature and some largely forgotten history converged on a little post-Thanksgiving jaunt we took this weekend.  The Appalachian Trail intersects with a small park called Gathland in rural Washington, County, Maryland.   I wish I could say we went on a hike, but since the light was failing when we finally got there, we just explored the mute, stone testimonies to the man who was George Alfred Townsend, AKA “Gath.”

One of the two interpretive signs that deal directly with this enigma of a war correspondent and author of several novels includes the quote, “Mankind is always interesting, but is also fatiguing.”  As a successful writer, with it would seem substantial financial means, Gath and his beloved wife Bessie built a country estate to escape mankind and Washington, DC.

As most of the other ten or so signs describe various aspects of Civil War campaigns in the area, one does not learn much more about Gath, his life, and work from the site.  Bessie gets even shorter shrift.  The buildings remaining in the park, constructed from an attractive local stone, include Gath’s “empty tomb” – highly creepy, even if his mortal remains did not end up there – and the ruins of what appears to have been a very large barn.  There are also two houses intact, and the park web site promises a museum in one of them, open in the tourist season.

The central attraction of the property is a massive and curious memorial to war correspondents, planned and perhaps financed by Gath.  It towered over the peaceful late fall landscape like the sole remaining wall of a castle, with arches and crenelations, statuary and niches.  And a weather vane.

Perhaps we will return to visit the museum if/when it is open. Perhaps we will acquire a copy of one of Gath’s novels, such as The Entailed Hat, or Patty Cannon’s Times (as you see from this link, it is available on Amazon) and read it to better understand this contemporary of Mark Twain’s.  Perhaps not.  Meanwhile, visiting what remains of Gath’s country estate and trying to decipher his life from the meager outdoor interpretation available in the park made for an interesting afternoon.

Sharing Art, Culture and an Apple

#myculturemystory, culture, memories, travel, West Bengal, ,

I promise not to write blogs about our Communities Connecting Heritage cultural exchange project forever.  But, I had one last one to share here.  And, the only other thing that has been happening to me lately involves my mother and assisted living… which I’m not ready to write about yet at all.

During our three-week cultural exchange hosting five Bengali friends here in DC, we made many personal cultural connections.  On the afternoon of July 11, I took Mamoni Chitrakar, a traditional patachitra scroll painter, to the Smithsonian American Art Museum and Portrait Gallery, wanting to share their exhibitions of American folk art with her, as well as the portraits of the presidents.

Before viewing a dizzying array of art, including the works crammed into close quarters at the Luce Center to maximize our time, we fortified ourselves at the cafe in the magnificent Kogod Courtyard between the two museums.  We shared a sandwich (relatively easy to cut in half with a plastic knife) and a rock-hard Red Delicious apple.  Anyone who has ever tried to cut one of those beauties with a plastic knife knows the drill.

Our attempts at halving this large fruit specimen were at first frustrating, but then we both began to giggle.  Since our mutual knowledge of each other’s language is minimal (she is doing much better at English than I am doing at Bengali, though) we didn’t have words, we only had facial expressions and our laughter at our futile attempts, the butchery that ensued, and the juice all over the table before we were successful.  It was all that we needed.

Mamoni is back home now, but I think of her every day, and my fondest memory was her laughter and her smile.  I admire her bravery in leaving her family and coming to a strange country for three whole weeks, her eagerness to share her culture, and her willingness to try anything – even cutting an apple with a plastic knife.

I was thinking of writing a poem about the experience – still might – but for now, I leave you with this thought.  Share an experience with someone from a culture other than yours.   Whether its a chat on the train, some other chance encounter like a taxi ride, or an actual planned cultural exchange.  Don’t worry about language, just have fun with it.  Giggling is not required but helps.  You won’t regret it, though it might be a bit uncomfortable or messy.  Just do it.  Like the bodily nourishment of that shared apple, sharing culture feeds the soul.

 

 

Down Home on the Farm

culture, tourism, travel, , , ,

Having spent my formative years living in rural Vermont, though I don’t think about it much since I now live in the close-in ‘burbs, I do feel at home on a farm.  Even when it’s a historic farm like Landis Valley Village and Farm Museum, which I visited last week during a conference in Harrisburg, PA.

I am happy walking a country road and communing with cattle and crops.  I especially grooved on the presentation of the heritage seed program they have at Landis Valley.  Hundreds of heirloom tomato seeds!  My favorite was one called the Mortgage Lifter.  Gotta get me some of those next year.

I also learned a lot in the farm equipment part of the tour.  Like many, I assumed the Conestoga Wagon was the conveyance that the “pioneers” took across the mountains.  Not so, it was actually the 18-wheeler of its day!

At the end of the visit, clutching the chamomile plant I purchased which I hope will thrive in my side yard herb patch (which shares space with lots of weeds and where the mint has run wild), I was content to have gotten a farm fix.

West Bengal Chronicles, Part One: North Kolkata, Inside and Out

Food = Family: Adventures in International Home Cooking

culture, food, ,

Many people think my husband and I are a bit weird to welcome into our home a succession of interns, research fellows and/or other young people who come to Washington, DC and need a cheap place to live.  (Well, that is not the only reason they think we are weird, but that’s another story!)

However, I must say, the benefit is huge, especially if these young people know how to cook.  Lately, we have been benefitting from one of our current housemates, Khamo, who has introduced us to Tibetan cuisine.  Not only have we enjoyed eating these spicy and noodley wonders, but we’ve have fun trying to master the art of making them.

Momos, a type of dumpling, are juicy packets of savory meat served with a fiery dipping sauce.  I almost got the hang of pinching them shut in a sort of pleating motion, but watching Khamo’s deft fingers at the job I knew I would never be able to match her years of growing up doing this.  It was like watching a ballet of the fingers.

Tibetan noodle soup is the perfect winter treat.  The dough is stretchy, and the technique of adding the noodles directly to the steaming pot of fragrant soup is to break off short squarish bits from a long thin rope of it with your fingers.  Again, a skill perfected in one’s family kitchen over years, though a little easier to get the hang of than pleating momos.  It took me five times longer than Khamo to break the pieces into the pot (and not drop them on the floor in the process).  

Our third adventure in Tibetan cooking was hot pot.  This required a trip to the Chinese grocery store, Good Fortune, to get ingredients that we had no idea existed.  Frozen meat and fish balls of various hues, special sauces, and a variety of vegetables including lotus root.  We needed to learn how to eat this dish as well – you don’t eat the soup, you just scoop the contents out and leave the broth for cooking more ingredients.

We’ve lost track of all of the interns and fellows we’ve hosted in the past six or seven years, but we tend to recall the ones who introduced us to new food adventures or how to cook homestyle versions of foods we only enjoyed previously at restaurants.  Pho from Vietnam, authentic Indian cuisine from several parts of the subcontinent, Danish open faced sandwiches, German pastries…a world of good food and new “family members” to enjoy it with.