I’m picking up where I left off a couple months ago with the food & music review; despite the fact that all of you thought I’d forgotten. Your faith in me is both underwhelming and to some degree, accurate.
After a reluctant exit from Slovenia, I made my way down through Croatia for a couple weeks. Having a long, rocky coastline that snakes nearly all the way down the Adriatic, I naturally gravitated towards seafood for much of my stay here. Any whole fish I ordered was typically prepared minimally with some lemon, light olive oil, and garlic, and was of predictable freshness. No complaints there, and if Croatia weren’t located along the coast of a large body of water, I’d say the fish was all very good. Seeing as how it does indeed have a prominent coastline, it was pretty average. Make sense? Sort of like when you spot a hot girl on the street in Herald Square, you’re liable to slip a disc at the sight of such a rarity. However, if you’re partying on the island of Hvar and see one, you’re more likely to yawn and order another beer. And then maybe jerk off. In that order.
That was the fish. The grilled calamari, on the other hand (if it didn’t react horribly with my digestive system), was outstanding. They serve it with the guts (is there another word for this?) still inside, and the portions you receive are definitely more than is necessary. I contend that calamari, be it grilled, broiled, or fried (yuck), makes for a great appetizer, but is a bit too heavy and briny for a main dish. This is especially true in Croatia, where the seawater is extra salty and is evermore present in the seafood.
Besides that, the baby squid was incredible. If you can get over the fact that you’re eating 5-7 once-living organisms in each bite, the baby squid I had in Croatia was as tender and light as it was mild. Simply brilliant. Pair that with the octopus salad, which was little more than a delectably tender octopus ceviche, and you have a nice contrast of sharp and mild flavors. Kind of like what I imagine the vagina of a 20 year-old virgin to taste like. Wait… too much? Come on, like there’s such a thing as a “virgin” anymore…” Either way, the octopus ceviche was good stuff.
Another thing Croatia does very well is the pizza. In fact, I am tempted to say that although I’ve never been to Italy, it may have the best pizza in the world outside of New York City. The dough is light and fluffy and crisped up nice underneath a fresh, tomatoey sauce that takes on more of an active role in the overall flavor of the pie than it does back home. The cheese is fresh and laden in just the right ratio to the dough beneath. There isn’t nearly the emphasis on garlic here, and any toppings you get will be a nice, never-frozen addition to an already delicious meal. We made pizza a pretty major component of our diet, right after anything served in a 0.75L bottle. Yea, we get drunk!!! Woo-hoo!!!
One thing I did learn while in Croatia is that there is virtually no difference between cuttlefish and squid by the time it lands on your plate. Cuttlefish risotto and squid ink risotto is EXACTLY the same thing. Don’t let some slick waiter with an overbite tell you anything different. Fuck that guy, it all tastes like shit after the third bite.
Having watched a Discovery Channel special on cuttlefish over Thanksgiving, I have since learned that cuttlefish are among the most intelligent of all underwater living things. And… since then, I have been left feeling more than a little guilty for eating these super-intelligent little critters. Especially since they taste the same as a dumb old squid.
It’s like how you can nickname someone a “squid” and you know that kid is a fucking douchebag. But if you nickname someone “cuttlefish” it’s more likely to be someone on the other end of a Dawson’s Creek friends-that-will-never-amount-to-more relationship. Either way, Dawson was a fag. That shit is scientific.
Moving on. I don’t need to go into much detail on the kebabs in Budapest after the way I lauded them a few months ago. Granted, nine-tenths of my meals there were under heavy alcohol and “philosophic” influence, but the kebabs were amazing. The rest of the food there was usually eaten with the homesick, humorous, and horny Jeff Jones, and tended to be of mixed European fare. I had some decent beef on occasion, but nothing particularly noteworthy. Anything else seemed to be rather nondescript. Either that, or my memory of Budapest suffers greatly from a three-month binge on cheap (and delicious) vodka in Ukraine. Or maybe it’s equally likely that I’m making excuses for my weakness for (good) kebabs. Fuck those things are good.
Before I get to that though the music from Sziget (in Budapest, if you need reminding) was from all different genres, and it all sounds great when you have a fistful of marinated lamb meat oozing with love and devotion. Gogol Bordello though, as I think I’ve mentioned, is a speed/punk/gypsy act from the Lower East Side in New York who I hadn’t seen prior to Sziget, and was absurdly energetic and as much of a show as it was a great concert. Plus, I think the playful, pipe-hitting, pocket-pooling Jeff Jones and I fell in love with the two bass drummers who dance and prance around the stage like tempting little vixen tinkerbells. Oi. The virile, ferocious, and voracious Jeff Jones even had me concerned with his date-rape stare.
Seeing Sinead O’Connor was definitely a cool and (perhaps once-in-a-lifetime) experience. Her voice is completely enveloping, soft and somehow powerful, and all coming from this tiny little Irish chick (who has gained a bit of weight since burning the pope’s picture years ago – that’ll teach her to mess with fucking GOD…). But the whole time, you got the sense you were watching an icon. She’s not in anyone’s consciousness much anymore (at least not back in the states), but when you see her on stage, you get the sense anyone within arms length may start crying. And you’d be more apt to hug them than call them a queer.
Tool was sick.
That really needed it’s own paragraph. Once I escaped the cauldron of death (ie. the mosh pit), and was able to somewhat safely enjoy the show, I immediately understood why Tool fans have a huge boner for Maynard. Huge. The guy is just fucking cool. He’s the kind of performer I’d expect David Beckham to be if he could sing, dance, and convince me to get an abortion. Wait… what???
I expect most people who know even a little about Tool know that Maynard never shows his face. On this occasion, he was wearing dark sunglasses and a cowboy hat, and faced the back of the stage the whole time, with his silhouette broadcast on the white screen in front of him. Which makes me think that silhouette porn is probably the only frontier porn has yet to explore. And honestly, wouldn’t it also be the cheapest? Though probably also the least fruitful, from a consumer’s perspective. Whatever. Nevermind.
His air of mystique definitely pervades throughout the show as the crowd grows into more and more of a vibrating hormonal asexual orgy until some song like Schism gives everyone the opportunity for some weird emotional and energetic release, thankfully devoid of any actual ejaculations. At least as far as I could tell. And believe me, I was looking.
Anyway, I was a Tool fan (one who would buy the occasional album because I respected Maynard’s “vision” for the album so much), but never one to wear a t-shirt or pierce anything. Now, I’m quite sure I’ll never miss another show if they trip through New York.
Faithless is a jazzy-pop-electronic group from the U.K. that was about 5,000,000 times better than I thought they’d be. Granted, five million times zero is still zero, but whatever. I went in there expecting to shout “I told you so” to my hostel-mates over the top of some shitty pop track, as I made my way for a third kebab. On the contrary though, I thought they (Faithless, not my dumbass hostel-mates) brought an immense amount of energy, and that’s not just because they had the biggest crowd of any other band I saw at Sziget. Simply… they bring it. The crowd was a throbbing hoard of heaving kinesis the whole time, and every song raised the bar a bit further than the one prior until finally at the end, I needed a cigarette, a shower, and a good cry.
Pink played too. Yes, that stupid-ass Pink. I dropped by to validate how bad I thought she’d be, and even I was surprised at how brutally horrendous she was. It was like taking home a girl you KNOW is regrettable to begin with, and then finding out she can’t even fuck. I opted for a kebab instead of sitting through a third Pink song. Interestingly, a kebab is exactly what I’d be passing on in the event a sub-par girl happens past my apartment threshold.
I saw Deep Dish too. Ask me if I remember a damn thing about it. That’s how good they were. Definitely won’t miss them when next they’re in New York. I wish I could say more, but I’d have to download or Google something, and at that point, I become much less of a lame blogger, and a lot more of a lame journalist. Either way, we’re all losers.
I saw a shitload of other electronic music while there, most of it spent by myself or with the adventurous, transcontinental, and occasionally transgender Jeff Jones, and all of it is one big blur. That should give you some indication as to how good Sziget is as a festival. Simply one of the top three festivals I’ve ever been to, and probably in no small part due to the fact that I wasn’t sleeping on mud, wood chips, the back seat of a Hyundai, or linoleum.
After Budapest I went to Lviv, and spent three months in Ukraine. I remember I was so fed up with mistaking the map for which area was Center for the first two days that I ate McDonalds three times in two days. Let me tell you, it’s no less disgusting in Ukraine. In fact, it transforms from food to remorse in less time than it takes to chase each filthy bite with cola.
After the first two days, I began moving to greener pastures and delved into cuisines from Georgian, Armenian, Lebanese, and of course Ukrainian. Let me start by saying Georgian food is perhaps the most tasty and flavorful cuisine I may have ever had. For one thing, starting a meal with harcho is a must. Harcho is a soup made from beef stock, with chilies, onions, tomato and chunks of beef making for a spicy and hearty opener. I’ve tried many other Georgian soups, and they simply don’t stack up against everything the harcho delivers.
Next, you can snack on their sweet and spicy sauces paired with flat grilled bread, and then move onto any number of perfectly grilled meats, prepared over direct heat on a skewer over a wood fire. Excellent, and exactly the way it should be.
Armenian food is quite similar to Georgian food, though their meats tended (in my experience) to be cooked over coal and that just isn’t the same. It was kind of like sex with a condom, frankly. Still good, but not nearly as satisfying.
I ate quite a bit of Lebanese food while in Lviv, only because a friend of mine owned a Lebanese restaurant nearby Ivano Franko University, so the food and the slut parade often paired to a fabulous start to my day. Not to mention, my friend made the best ayran I’ve ever tasted.
Ayran is a garlic-yogurt drink with a dash of cayenne, and not only is it healthy and satisfying, it’s also the surest way to increase your own personal greenhouse gases. Simply, it's the middle east's answer to Mexican food.
Ukrainian food is rather bland in all respects. There is an emphasis on pork (for women) and more pork (for men). This comes in many forms, including sala, which is a spiced raw pig fat, which should really be served with a bowl full of Lipitor.There is also a multitude of sausage options, and their bacon totally ruined the erection I'd typically have after ordering it, as it would normally show up raw. Their soups can tend to be rather heavy, which is fine when it's busecca, which is a delicious tripe soup served with a garlic cream. Goooooooood shiiiiiiiiiit.....
Produce in Ukraine is of the best quality I've ever had. Especially the tomatoes. Interestingly, there is no appetite for salads in this country. Which is totally disappointing, especially after a dinner of raw pig and busecca. It's sort of like waking up with a regrettable girl next to you, knowing you need a shower, and finding out there's no hot water. Crushing.
Caviar in Ukraine is top notch, as you'd expect, and even though the bread products are typically nothing more than decent, you can find a decent selection of cheeses to pair with it, though definitely no wines (that don't taste like cat urine) to complete the triumvirate.
As for music, I did see De Phazz while in Lviv, which was sponsored by Nemiroff, or else they never would have come. They're a very cool, lively, diverse jazz/funk act from Germany, with a male lead singer on some songs, and a female lead on others. They played to a half-full house of about 400, since most Ukrainians can't afford a $40US ticket. Even so, they brought a lot of energy and played not one, but THREE encores. That was a pretty nice touch.
I also saw some other new-age jazz act whose name I can't remember, but it doesn't really matter because they sounded a lot like how Michael Bolton probably wishes he sounded, and that's still not very good. But seeing them for $2US, I would hardly complain much. Though it does probably explain the crappy suits the performers were wearing.
As for me, I’ve been through Turkey, a quick fly through Syria (with some issues at the border, but nothing serious), a night in Amman, and have been in Israel now for about two weeks. I’m in Jerusalem now and heading south to the Sinai Peninsula within a couple days. From there I move to Egypt after a quick jump back out to Jordan to see Petra and Wadi Rum.
I’ve been incommunicado in general lately, if only because I’ve been on the move a lot since leaving New York. I’ll be settling down someplace in Africa for a bit to relax and catch up with everything. Unfortunately for all of you, I haven’t been drinking as much the past five weeks or so, so there isn’t quite as many opportunities for me to get into any trouble. I’ll work on that.
No comments:
Post a Comment