Costa Rica 1

My wife, a biologist who has spent time in Costa Rica, warned me that every día it's the same plato del día, typically gallo pinto, or black beans and rice.


After one day here, it seems she is on to something. Breakfast by the Río Sarapiquí: following a glass of chilled, fresh fruit juice and a selection of papaya and watermelon, a plate of gallo pinto accompanied by roasted plantains and scrambled eggs.


Lunch, at the Pozo Azul restaurant: a buffet featuring red beans, rice, steak and chicken.


Dinner, in an outdoor mall in downtown San José: casado, essentially a kicked-up version of gallo pinto, paired with steak, fried egg, roasted plantains (maduros) and a small salad.

Tapas

The photos turned out almost as wacky as my homemade pita chips, with garlic-infused olive oil, paprika and irredeemably burned undersides. But trust me, there was also Raclette and goat cheese, marinated artichoke hearts and cornichons, sauteed mushrooms, green beans and broccolini.

Toast, in Thailand

Earlier in the night, I had a few bowls of endive salad with orange bell peppers and chopped, raw, red cabbage. So I wasn't particularly hungry when I arrived at a friend's apartment in Van Ness on Saturday night. That's how I know the "Thai toast" was a bona fide treat, not only merely delicious, but really most sincerely delicious. Prepared by Naureen Kabir and Art Jirut, it had ground turkey, scallions, eggs, garlic and fish sauce, and it was served with a refreshingly crunchy cucumber, red onion salad dressed with white vinegar, sugar, salt and water.

Red cabbage recommended

I suggest, now and again, raw, chopped cabbage for your tacos. Red recommended.

Bisontennial

I go in with the best intentions. Salad fixings, like an avocado, cucumbers and a "spring mix," that's all that's on my shopping list. But last night and again tonight, Whole Foods, that evil temptress, lured me to its butcher shop, where the buffalo meat is deeply discounted, and delicious.


Simmering some ground bison beef last night, I made a meat marinara and a pound of pasta, and I hoped that would be the end of my flirtation with at-home omnivoring. After all, after a year of eating almost nothing but steak in Uruguay, I have been trying to transition to tofu. Ah, but tonight the bison skirt steak caught my eye, and so I gathered up some green beans and onions, raided my roommate's Thai sauces and marinades, boiled yellow rice with frozen peas, and soon I was munching on the flesh of my childhood friends from the Bronx Zoo, those furry, lazy, regal creatures that my father, since July 4, 1976, has always called the "Bisontennial."

Mook

Forgive the hyperbole, but on stardate Oct. 10, 2009, I encountered one of the most impressive feasts I've ever seen. The delay in posting the photos is evidence not that I'd forgotten about this unforgettable Korean smorgasbord, but rather that without help, I simply could not identify a single dish. Now, thanks to the beautiful and talented Sarah Yun, one of the chefs and my culinary translator, I'm ready to relive this meal, and to kick myself again for being too shy to swipe some sobras.


At top, "japchae," sweet potato noodles sauteed with vegetables; "dduk-boki," sticky rice cake and fish cakes cooked in red pepper paste; and "bo ssam," steamed meat wrapped in cabbage. Above, "dooboo" (tofu), cooked in spicy soy sauce.


"Jun," egg-battered, meat and zucchini mini-pancakes.


"Mook," Korean jelly made with green lentils, topped with soy sauce, seaweed, sesame oil and herbs.


DVD (er, slide show) "special features": The chance to see Sarah and her fellow chefs, including Regina Kim and the hostess, Kee Hoon Chung Ju Hye Ki, and to discover another dish from the Korean bounty (spicy garlic chicken, a Korean/Chinese fusion) and another Sarah Yun specialty, served up more recently at a mini-Korean encore feast (two types of "rice fists," translated literally because they look just like fists, one with tuna and the other with "kimchi").

To celebrate Halloween, try chewing a thrupenny bit

I invited a friend tonight to an "Irish Halloween" dinner, and though his official excuse was being out of town, I'm not sure he'd have come if he'd been home and dying of hunger. "It is actually kind," he replied, "even if the two English words that scare me most are probably 'Irish' and 'Halloween,' and I've never even seen them in such proximity to one another."


I have also taken a few cheap shots at Irish cuisine in the weeks leading up to this dinner, hosted by my friend Iseult Fitzgerald, an Irish diplomat who seemed so worried about feeding guests Irish cooking that she nearly put together a Georgian menu instead.


Oddly, Halloween inspired some Irish national pride in Iseult, who not only insists the Irish invented the sweetest and spookiest of holidays, but she says there are traditional Irish dishes (not candy corn) cooked but once a year in October. No, it's not brown bread, though Iseult did bake a tasty loaf and served it with slices of smoked salmon. No, it's not beef stew, either, though I was happy to find that Iseult had filled her cast iron pot with red wine-stained onions, carrots, celery and meat.


Courtesy of the Irish pagans, the Halloween specialties we sampled were colcannon, a floury potato casserole with curly kale, and melted cheddar cheese; barmbrack, a raisin loaf flavored with cloves and allspice; and a sweet Irish crumble fruit pie.


Nothing sounds particularly crunchy, right? But be careful as you chew. In another Irish Halloween tradition (would it be so hard to simply dress up and trick-or-treat in Dublin?), the host hides coins and trinkets in the brown bread and colcannon. Your teeth are not the only thing at risk. Sure, a coin is good luck, a ring means you'll marry in a year and a piece of miraculous medal could win you a spot at a nunnery or seminary. But be careful not to spit up a pea, or you'll be doomed to a life of bachelorhood, or a piece of rag, a harbinger of poverty.

That's pretty heavy stuff from the people who brought us green beer, parades and kiss-me-I'm-Irish pins.

Providence pork tacos

Continuing my tradition of blogging memorable meals that I can't quite remember (either because I was not invited, unable to attend, or simply gulped one too many glasses of sangria), I'm posting (above and below) photos my wife, Keryn Gedan, shot of our friend Andrew Altieri's pork tacos. They're slow cooked in a crock pot with salsa and seasoning, accessorized with fresh fixings including home-pickled jalapeño peppers and other vegetables, chopped red cabbage, onions and cilantro, shredded cheese, refried beans, yogurt, lime and fresh corn salad, fired up by Chulupa and Marie Sharp's hot sauces and served in either corn or flour tortillas.

I'm not surprised to see the elaborate bounty, even though Andrew has two young daughters; Keryn's biologist buddies know their way around the kitchen, including her thesis adviser, renown for his annual cook-what-you-study gala, the Argentine scientists who have toured every butcher shop in New England looking for the best meat for their regular asados, and Andrew's wife, Sharon, whose Saint Patrick's Day feast makes even the historic O'Rourke's Diner, in Middletown, Conn., seem like an IHOP by comparison.

Estilo Salvadoreño

Lest you worry that I popped into Delicias Market tonight simply to check out some bull bits and pieces (or because it was dark out and I was terrified to walk a block down 14th St. to Panam), here is the real reason for my trip: Salvadoreño-style tortillas, hand-made and sold fresh. I filled them with refried beans, onions sauteed in Goya's salsita sauce (with lime), salsa fresca from Giant, locally pickled vegetables, avocado and queso blanco.

Note: The actual tacos were quite a bit less orderly than they appear above, but I saw an episode of Top Chef yesterday at the gym, and apparently "deconstructing" food is all the rage these days.

Bolas del chancho

I discovered tonight that my neighborhood butcher, at Delicias Market (3702 14th St. NW, by Spring Rd.), sells "criadillas de toro," bull testicles, or "bull balls," as the sign translates it. In case you're wondering, they sell for $3.29/lb. And while we're on the topic, here's one of my all-time favorite Uruguayan expressions, for expressing frustration when you're forced to sit by the bathroom on a long bus ride: "Atrás como las bolas del chancho," ("in the back, like the balls on a pig").

Greek lamb and orzo stew

Tanya insisted that she was not much of a cook, blaming her mother, who she described as the only Greek woman in South Africa who fed her family with take-out every night. But there were signs Tanya knew her way around her tiny, Dupont Circle kitchen: the dozen cookbooks on her bookshelf; the heavy duty, cast iron cookware from Le Creuset; and the photo album of her dinner at El Bulli, the Barcelona monument to "molecular gastronomy," open only 7 months a year, with reservations accepted just one day a year.


Not surprisingly, the "peasant food" Tanya served up was fantastic. Greek salad, accented by feta and multicolored grape tomatoes. Orzo and lamb stew. And a Greek take on eggplant parmigiana.


Dessert was somewhat less creative and significantly less authentic, but no less tasty.

Pickled tacos

I've had a hard time locating empanada shells around D.C., striking out at both at the Whole Foods on P Street and the Giant by the Columbia Heights Metro stop. (Truthfully, I couldn't even find an employee who had heard of an empanada at either market.) Hunting down fresh tortillas, on the other hand, is a good deal easier. Today, for my black bean tacos, I bought a stack of white corn tortillas from Delicias Market (3702 14th St. NW, by Spring Rd.), where I also picked up some fabulously pickled vegetables ($3.99 for a tall jar), including chopped cabbage, onions, carrots and jalapeño bottled in Virginia. I sauteed onions, cooked up yellow rice and frozen peas, sprinkled on top a bit of cilantro and added fresh salsa (including diced cucumber) from Giant and a bit of Sriracha hot chili sauce.