Ruby's Notes on Street Gastronomy
This is my favourite salad in town – a mix of duck gizzard, lard, creamy sauce, half cooked eggs, some greens topped with foie gras on toast. Epic find! I so love every element of the meal and the many dimensions of taste and crunch make this less of a chore to finish. Especially for a non vegetable eater like me. This piece comes in various names, Sud Ouest Salad, or Perigourdine depending on which version the eatery takes its reference from.
NON.
Non merci, Monsieur. Ce n’est pas tempura.
You don’t serve me Ebi Tempura with batter meant for Ebi Furai. And that dipping sauce is not the same one as gyoza’s. And where is that grated radish??
Once again I breathed a sigh of despair for another failed mission to find an authentic Japanese restaurant in Paris. The one that is affordable for the common men and gives an air of authenticity that I could find elsewhere.
I guess authentic Japanese restaurants will flourish in cities where there are many Japanese expatriates and it’s possible the percentage is higher in Jakarta than in Paris (will check the numbers)
Post World War II, many Japanese journalists, scholars and high officials came to France to experience the high culture of France. But how many is enough to push for Japanese to create eating places for their fellow nationals? Currently, most Japanese restaurants are owned by non-Japanese nationals, i.e. Chinese, Thais and Cambodians.
Largely catered to French.
And so I shall continue to dream about Kamameshi at Umena Dori, Aji Tataki at Sakana, Hana Bento at Kyoka and the highly priced Teppanyaki at Shima.
Until I exit Paris, there’s always sashimi. Can’t get more authentic than that.
In reminiscence of my first Tempura at Pan Pacific’s Furusato and my first Teppanyaki at Yamazato, Hotel Indonesia
A good friend told me of her trip to Loire Valley – a beautiful area known for its many chateaus. She and her French husband visited old friendsther and experienced such pleasures that I hope I will have one day.
All were simple acts of enjoying nature, really. Meeting old friends. Garage sales off the houses. Dining al fresco. Tasting ripe tomatoes freshly picked from the backyards, with dimensions of flavour not found from store bought tomatoes. Eating grapes picked from their vine, just right above the dining table. Cooking freshly killed venison (hunted, not bought), grilled outside in the garden, with little spices, done only up to medium rare to retain the tenderness and the fresh taste of the meat. They opened a bottle of the region’s first harvest. And a bottle of the region’s 1965.
Imagine this conversation happened in a hectic Bastille at lunch time, a tratieur Asiatique (Chinese point and eat fast food outlets), plastic chairs, plastic plates, microwaved food.
I sat there entranced.
What life, what pleasures! I wonder if eloquent words, endless vocabularies and great camera shots will be able to capture the simplicity of them all. I know for sure that these are the type of stories that I would want to have in my head and in my heart before my memories fail me.
Maybe not. I was thinking of closing up shop, because this blog site was meant to document my adventures on the streets of Indonesia – but come to think of it, I’ve filled it with visits to other countries too. Maybe the title and the original intention are no longer relevant. I’ve opened a new site called ‘javaneseinparis.wordpress.com’ but it may not be related to food, no?
*taking a deep breath* to a new life in Paris.
Horror of horrors! A meeting was set for two days in Solo – my food haven in Central Java. Fried ducks! Nasi Liwet (sans Dharmawangsa hotel’s price)! Angkringan! Just a week before I have decided to lose a significant amount of weight for the sake of my health and ultimately my life.
Low carb is possible in Solo, someone said. Oh he must be a fool with optimum body mass index. Damn him.
The plane touched down after 30 minutes delay, the sun was out and it was time for dinner. No nasi pecel at night.. maybe I should try sate NongNongan without lontong and sambal kacang?
The only place I will not miss whenever I'm in Solo
But nouww. We decided to go to Wedangan Pak Tukiyo near Hotel Sahid.
Order: tahu bacem, nasi kucing bandeng sambal, kikil bakar, tempe goreng, bihun goreng, sate daging and the cherry on top: tape bakar with melted cane sugar inside.
Less than two hours in Solo, all was lost.
I must write about Pak Tukiyo, my beloved Angkringan place.
Nasi Ulam at Cap Gomeh 2008
I’m just venting:
I have always wanted to accompany my stories with nicely shot photos – just like all the food blogs out there. However, I feel like I don’t have the eyes for it.
I’ve read the books, all the instructions. I’ve tried all types of cameras, from the simple pocket to the large black things with all that thingamagic buttons, and I still don’t know what to do with the objects in front of me.. Yuck yuck yuck
I was fully aware of the risk. Going to Dharmawangsa Hotel by itself was already a venture towards “chi-chi”dom. The intention was to down its famous Chocolate Martini, glasses after glasses. I have planned a substantial investment for an intoxicating night – and I find their drinks deliver the values. My mistake was to go to the hotel with empty stomach, I was too tired to drive somewhere else to eat after an all day meeting etc.
So I ordered Nasi Liwet Keprabon – they highlighted this particular food, with outlined, bold fonts etc. Damage, Rp 145k. The portion was huge, shredded chicken meat (white) and drumstick, bits of liver and labu siam (chayote). The taste wasn’t that much different to the ones at Keprabon, Solo. But still, without the background ’sinden’ and the warm Solo weather, the meal did not deliver the Nasi Liwet experience.
I finished only a third of the portion.
Now, that was expensive. Accompanied with lychee martini, the experience was surreal.
What I find most enjoyable whenever we go to the bubur ayam behind Hotel Jayakarta at Kota area is actually watching the men chopping up the chicken into cuts and pieces. With their skilled hands, they’d chop, cut, slice a whole chicken and produced drumsticks, breasts and de-boned wings which is not a mean feat!
chicken wings quickly meticulously sliced and deboned
The porridge is something I’d write home about. It has light viscosity, not thick and sticky like the usual street porridge. Eating it doesn’t become a chore after a few spoonful though not as smooth as Crystal Jade/Duck King porridge. I would order half portion of chicken with extra wing, thousand year old eggs, livers and gizzards.
hearts, livers and gizzards add texture to the whole porridge experience
Fries fries and more fries
Wherever you go, when you need something familiar, just visit the nearest McDonald’s. However, I visited a highly packed outlet in the touristy area (somewhere near Arc De Triomphe) so the line was very long and the fries came out all soggy.
To note, the difference is in the sauce. Mayo.. yeah!
Too bad we didn’t find KFC until the last days of the visit. That would have been more heavenly: to order a bucket, take home and eat with your own cooked white rice.
Croque Monsieur - Definitely not Ohlala
Hoping for a snack and a coffee on a minus degree weather, we hopped into the nearest brasserie somewhere in Republique area, called La Grisette (or was it Le Grisette?). Anywho, I ordered Croque Monsieur, expecting a tiny sandwich the size of American bread. Lo and behold, came a huge portion of bread with tonnes of melted cheese and who knows what’s in it.
Even the look overwhelmed me. The cheese tasted … real – there was a depth of taste which signifies unprocessed non cheddar cheese. Yum. The bread was probably a complet, meaning it wasn’t white but wholebread.
A meal on its own. 9 Euro.
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