Is that the reason why Asahi Shuzo, the Iwakuni-based liquor company, is opening Japan’s first ever plant on the East Coast of the United States?
Nah, but according to CEO Kazuhiro Sakurai, the goal is to not only tap into the large U.S. market, but also to present sake as a great pairing for cuisines other than Japanese.
Great, now I’m envisioning bagels and sake as the new brunch mash-up for 2023.
The seven billion yen (~$53 million) facility will be located in Hyde Park in upstate New York, close to the Culinary Institute of America, and will offer tours and tastings to the public. Furthermore, domestic sake sales in Japan have been on the decline for years, China and the United States have been two massive growth markets for the industry. Consequently, the Hyde Park brewery will have 52 5,000 liter tanks, using a type of rice called Yamadanishiki grown in Japan and Arkansas.
Interestingly, Asahishuzo has created a sake just for the North America, called Dassai Blue. The name dassai means “otter festival,” which alludes to the fact that otters used to display their catches everyday on the water’s edge. A Japanese poet by the name of Shiki Masaoka adopted the name dassai because he would scatter his papers around his room. The “blue” part of the name comes from a Japanese proverb that talks about how blue dye comes from indigo plants, although that color is even more blue than indigo itself. Thus, the idea is that child should do better in life than the parent, regarding Asahishuzo’s desire to keep creating superlative products.
Dassai Blue is a type of junmai ginjo. What does that mean? Sake is classified by how much a grain of rice is polished before brewing; roughly, the more rice is polished, the more aromatic the sake becomes. Junmai ginjo refers to sake that has been polished no less than 60%.
What’s your favorite sake, and have you tried any produced in the United States?
A few years ago, I took a road trip with some friends around southeastern Mexico, starting and ending in Orizaba, Veracruz, ultimately getting as far as Cancun. As I may have mentioned before, Mexico – thus far – is one of my top three countries for eating…thus, I was not only looking forward to exploring more of the country with locals, but also to trying new and familiar foods along the way.
Fast forward to my road trip, and the city of Mérida, located in the state of Yucatan. Although counting nearly one million inhabitants in its metro area, its downtown area has a cozy feel to it. Mérida is hot year-round, has boulevards lined with mansions built almost entirely thanks to rope, and owing to Mayan tradition, unique foods found nowhere else in Mexico.
Plus, due to its recognition as being one of the safest cities in the country and with that, a sizable expat population, they’ve got some fine places eat and drink. Places like Ki’XOCOLATL, a small chocolate shop adjacent to Santa Lucia Park.
Hot Chocolate, Two Ways, Ki’XOCOLATL (from left to right, “brown sugar, cinnamon, achiote, allspice, and habanero;” honey is in the container on the central plate)
When it was first discovered nearly 4000 years ago by pre-Olmec cultures, it was consumed in its naturally bitter state, ground into a paste with water. Subsequent civilizations started to add in what was organically found at the time in Mexican jungles and rain forests, namely honey, chilies, and vanilla.
After a long stroll through downtown Merida, I wanted to sit down and relax with some sweets. Ki’XOCOLATL offered hot chocolate, two ways, I as I deem it. The first method was the contemporary style, sweetened with sugar. The latter, evoking how Olmecs and Mayans may have enjoyed it, started off by merely being the bitter cacao seed heated up with water. The waiter served it alongside honey, brown sugar, achiote – a yellow-orange seed typically used to add color to foods, allspice, habanero, and cinnamon, although cinnamon hails from Sri Lanka.
Although the ancient hot chocolate took a bit of getting used to, I admit that the modern one was the best cup of it I have ever tried.
Where did you have your favorite cup of hot chocolate? Whether it was in Mexico or somewhere else, let me know!
Some call them water crackers, Philadelphia crackers, or Trenton crackers, but they’re most commonly called oyster crackers.
Although Westminster Bakers Co. claims to have invented them as early as 1828, officially that record is from an 1847 listing for the Adam Exton Cracker Bakery. No matter what the correct answer is, they’re ever-so-slightly modeled after oysters, and started off as a popular topping for oyster stews.
Westminster Baking Co. Oyster Crackers, Santa Barbara, California, United States
To me, oyster crackers have always been reminiscent of being slightly less salty versions of Saltines.
But what if I told you that there’s a “leveled up” version of these so-called oyster crackers that actually contain the aphrodisiacal mollusk?
For a sample of those, you might have to go — or these days, find an awfully generous local — to grab you these snacks. Why?
Because they’re in Japan.
A random stop in Kurashiki, a pleasant little canal town known for its centuries-old rice warehouses, helped lead me to bicchu kurashiki Setouchian (in Japanese, 備中倉敷 瀬戸内庵). This particular store specialized in local gastronomy, and I must say they had some delicious offerings that you may never have expected to see; for instance, I remember going back for sample after sample of their orange butter and (famous in the region) peach butter.
I did end up buying a jar of the peach butter, but what struck my attention for a bit of Japanese food fusion was the oyster senbei:
Senbei (煎餅・せんべい) are rice crackers, local snack staples throughout much of the country. Many are flavored with sesame seeds, seaweed, and/or soy sauce. This one, however, had oysters BAKED IN, ostensibly from the nearby Setouchi Inlet.
It was an umami feast, but after a few of those, I needed something sweet.
So that’s where the peach butter came into play ….
These days, Nabisco’s diminutive Oreo might be a mainstay in supermarkets, convenience stores, and vending machines. However, these black-and-white sandwich cookies received great inspiration from the Hydrox, the original, introduced by Sunshine Biscuits in 1908, four years earlier than the Oreo. Whether or not you prefer the darker chocolate of the Hydrox – or that it still tastes as good as it did back in 1908 (quite an exclamation) – there’s no denying that the origin of both cookie names is unusual.
The history of “Oreo” is even more dubious, as it either refers to the Greek word for mountain (Όρος “oros”) – since the cookies originally were slightly mounded – or the French word for gold (or), because the first packages were golden.
Alas, we’re not here to cover the background, or the rivalry between the two brands. Instead, we’re going to focus on Oreos – and their knock-offs – from all over the world.
The discoveries were mostly in North America and East Asia – no shock there – but there will be a nuanced example at the end.
The United States
Marilan Bauny, from Brazil, seen in Philadelphia, USA
Giro, from Mexico, seen in San Diego, USA
Kinnikinnick Kinnitoos (gluten-free), seen in New York City, USA
Lotte Sandu, from South Korea, seen in Los Angeles, USA
Dux Festy Wow!, from Colombia, seen in Philadelphia, USA
Nothing too unique found in the US; yet, three of the brands don’t even hail from the country. Then again, there’s the token gluten–free “Oreo,” but I wouldn’t touch those with a 10-meter cattle prod.
To start off this post’s language lesson, “giro” in Spanish means “turn,” which reflects the most famous way Oreos have been eaten. Also, although there is a word for sandwich (샌드위치 senduwichi) in Korean, the Lotte package abbreviates it to 샌드 “sendu.” Japanese does this too; the verb “to make into a sandwich” is サンドする (sando suru), literally “to sandwich.”
Mexico
Considering the bright colors, I could stick this package on the back of my metaphorical bike, in lieu of a yellow reflector. Found in Mexico City, this Oreo “trio” offered a combo of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, better known as the Neapolitan.
Cambodia
The Lotus Strawberry Mini Leo come from Thailand, but I saw them in Siem Reap, Cambodia. C’mon Thailand, you can be much more creative with your flavors.
Taiwan (ROC)
Though the product doesn’t quite look like an Oreo, the name sure does. But are Orievo the biggest offenders? Stay tuned.
Bought the Goriorio at an Indonesian store in Kaohsiung. The cookies were so artificial tasting that the wrapper probably would’ve tasted better.
China
Mango and orange Oreos, made in China. So, replace the mango and orange with Styrofoam and dish soap, and then you’d be correct.
Nah, I’ve been craving Hunanese food lately, so I’ll lay off of the reality for a bit. They weren’t bad, but the grape and peach ones were another story.
Apologies for the inferior photo quality, but the most important aspect of the photo is clear enough. “Ord.” That’s a good one. But might it be shorthand for the Chinese ghost city aka Ordos? No. No way.
Indonesia
These Indonesian “Dueto” look like pieces of chocolate instead of sandwich cookies. Maybe marshmallow is in the middle? Tidak (no), it’s not. They were also extremely artificial tasting. But what’s that sneaking into the photo on the bottom?…
Ooh, now we’re talkin’. Tried these coconut delight Oreos in Solo (Surakarta), and they were addictive. Deliberately took the photo in front of the sign which translates as “ginger alley 3.” Ginger-flavored Oreos? Perhaps one day…
Japan
Soft Strawberry Oreos? The darn things will fall apart in the milk all too quickly. I’d bake ’em first.
Cream Clan by Happy Pocket. What???
Egypt
Egypt decided to join the fray, and surprise, their “Borio” brand is the winner of the least original yet mostly likely to cause a chuckle award.
Which Oreo (or Oreoesque) cookies would you like to try first?
Pulpo Zarandeado, Restaurante Marajillo, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico
I’ve got to show a hint of appreciation to a lackluster Airbnb for having introduced me to one of the best octopus dishes I’ve ever tried.
Marajillo, a small, noisy restaurant and bar in the middle of nowhere touristy Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, was mostly a bright spot during my brief stay in that tourism hub. Although I cannot recommend the comparatively bland and insipid ceviche Vallarta, the pulpo zarandeado, chicharrón de pescado (fried fish resembling pork rinds), and aguachile were excellent.
Although the verb zarandear generally refers to shaking and jostling something, in cooking, it refers to a style from the central western Mexican state of Nayarit. In this case, it means to split something — usually fish — from head to tail, and grilling it on a rack over hot coals. My dish at Marajillo was pulpo, or octopus, one of my favorites from the wide world of mariscos mexicanos, or Mexican seafood:
Originally the location of horse stables for a client of Luis Barragán, Mexico’s most well-known modern architect, Tetetlán, a Mexico City restaurant specializing in local ingredients, is the result of an extensive remodeling effort by an art collector.
Although a bit snobbish, I was quite taken by the combination of the emphasis on local ingredients — for instance, some of the greens on the avocado pizza were grown at Xochimilco, an ancient irrigation system — as well as Tetetlán’s architecture.
Tetetlán Restaurant Main Dining Room, Mexico City, MexicoTetetlán Restaurant Secondary Dining Room, Mexico City, Mexico
If you’d like to experience it before you experience, watch my quick review of Tetetlán:
I walked into a Mexican supermarket called Bravo and strolled right up to the wall of spices, herbs and who-knows-what. Sometimes, I-know-what, with a fair amount of culinary travel experience in Mexico under my belt; but even if I didn’t know Spanish, some foodstuffs like albahaca (basil), perejil seco (dried parsley) and tomillo (thyme) might still be familiar.
But then we have this one …
Los Compadres-brand Tequesquite (or Slack Lime) Mexican Cooking Product
Known as such. What am I supposed to make of that? Did someone royally screw up spelling mesquite? At first glance, it looks like clay, or stale psyllium husks.
Tequesquite, what are you? Similar to salt but composed of various minerals, it originates from the depths of various lakes in what is now Distrito Federal (Mexico City) and the state of Michoacán. Trivia time: Name two more Mexican states (if you say Texas, I’d like to see your globe). The word stems from the Náhuatl language, whereas tetl means rock and quixquitl signifies gushing or sprouting. During the dry seasons, the beds of salt lakes such as Texcoco would be exposed, thus giving rise to the practical uses of tequesquite.
Aztecs and their descendants predominantly used tequesquite to leaven corn dough, but it was also used to soften corn kernels, as well as preserve the green color of nopales, or cacti. On your next trip to Mexico, when you order a tamale or a corunda, its triangular cousin from the state of Michoacán, you might have tequesquite to thank.
From the Wayback Machine re: mexconnect.com
Oh, and as for assigning it an English name, there’s a possibility that builder’s or slack lime are contenders. Slightly off-putting for use on supermarket shelves, but I can hear an avant-garde Home Depot calling its name.
Have you ever made tamales or corundas? Are you able to find tequesquite?
Founded in 1825, Atzacan is best known for its maize (corn) and beans, as well as an annual festival in April celebrating Santa Ana (Saint Anne), its patroness saint.
City View of Downtown Atzacan, Mexico
Of course, I was there to eat. Given the spectacularly diverse terrain in this part of Mexico – among sloping hills and tropical valleys, volcanoes and thus, fertile soil also pepper the landscape – I was tipped off about tamales and atole as being local specialties.
This was a cool find for at least a trio of reasons. One, it’s Mexican food, so it’s mostly likely going to be delicious. Two, it’s a locavore’s delight. And three, my tamale knowledge was woefully limited until that day.
Again, given the terroir of the region surrounding this pueblo, ingredients as diverse as berries, chocolate, coconut, pineapple, bananas, and many other things could be mixed in with the masa, or nixtamalized corn dough, to prepare the tamal.
Chocolate Tamal, Strawberry Tamal, and a Cup of Corn Atole (not seen, the Rapidly Devoured Coconut Tamal)
As for the atole, the hot drink made of masa, cinnamon, water, and often raw cane sugar (piloncillo), it’s a particularly heavy pairing with tamales, though no less tasty. Over time, atole, too has come to be prepared with guavas, pineapple, nuts, and other naturally sweet ingredients…to wit, its most famous cousin, champurrado, is made with masa, water, and chocolate.
My short visit to Atzacan was something of an eye-opener. Not only did it provide more context to the breadth of hyper-local Mexican cuisine, but it also made me appreciate a bit more places that take pride in what they produce for themselves.
As much as I trumpet Mexican food, I don’t often write about Mexico’s drinks. Specifically, given the biodiversity and varied topography throughout the country, I’m also curious about what everyone was drinking before the conquistadors.
On the topic of indigenous and Prehispanic beverages, let’s look at a couple – tejate, and pozontle – which both originate in the present-day state of Oaxaca.
Woman Preparing Tejate in Oaxaca, Mexico
Yes, tejate, the first of today’s two Pre-Columbian (before Christopher Columbus) drinks, is often seen in vats at markets and bazaars in Oaxaca. Centuries before the Aztecs, the Zapotec peoples – mostly the upper class – of what is now the state of were enjoying tejate. Its ingredients include water, toasted corn, pixtle (ground roasted mamey pits; incidentally, pitztli means bone or seed in the Aztec language Nahuatl), fermented cacao beans, and cacao flowers. The cacao was most likely introduced to Oaxaca from Chiapas state in Mexico through early bartering.
Generally, tejate is served in a bowl made of jícara, an inedible fruit from the calabash tree:
The Jícara Tree, Valladolid, Mexico
I consider tejate a light and very frothy drink, a bit bitter and not too sweet. Though there are indeed, differences in flavors, I had a similar opinion regarding the less well-known pre-Hispanic Oaxacan beverage, pozontle.
Pozontle’s four more recognizable ingredients are water, panela (unrefined cane sugar), and ground specks of cacao and corn. The cacao and corn are rolled into little spheres, which are then dissolved in panela water. The fifth ingredient, called cocolmécatl, is a vine in the Smilax genus that when ground, causes the rest of the pozontle mixture to foam.
Many of us might be quite familiar with Mexican dishes. But when it comes to Prehispanic drinks, that’s an entirely different world equally worth discovering.
We’re nearing end of the Ugo Boncompagni calendar, which means I will be sharing my favorite meals of the 2021. Though 2020 understandably didn’t get much love in terms of culinary travel, 2021 flipped that pandemic fear around a full 180°.
Without further ado, let’s go eating around the world – fine, two continents – and discover the best of 2021.
Sopa de Lima, Jugo de Chaya, Sikil P’aak, Ix Cat Ik, Tradicional Cocina Maya-Valladolid, Mexico
You might be thinking, he’s talking about the soup. He loved the soup.
Actually, whereas the sopa de lima – Yucatan lime soup, and jugo de chaya – a Yucatan variety of spinach – were good, the star of the show was the sikil p’aak, a pumpkin seed and habanero salsa. Both the pumpkin seeds – pepitas – and habaneros were roasted, and mixed with fresh tomatoes and chives from the restaurant’s garden.
I had a lot of salsa this year, but this one might be the winner. Fortunately, tens of other salsas are all tied for second.
From the city of Guadalajara, I took the metro to its satellite city of Tlaquepaque, hoping to see its famous upside-down umbrellas. Nope, sorry, not this time.
However, the day trip wasn’t a complete loss, as I had stumbled across a real hole-in-the-wall by the name of Tlaquebagre.
Seafood was the name of the game, and I was craving shrimp. I ordered an aguachile – “chili water” – a Mexican dish in which shrimp is prepared with lime juice and serrano or chiltepin chilies, and served immediately. Add in avocadoes and red onions, and you’ve got yourself a delectable puddle of briny heat.
Eating seafood on the beach in Mexico. Yep. And I’d do that all day long…eat seafood, that is.
Mc-Fisher, unusual name notwithstanding, was something else– Stingray soup, octopus with melted cheese tacos, marlin tacos, a taco with all three of those ocean dwellers, SHRIMP and beans. My only complaint was that the tortillas were meh, but I was pretty sure that the rest of the country could make up for that.
If you want good seafood, you want Mc-Fisher.
Smoked Salmon and Sweet Potato Tots, Calumet Fisheries, Chicago, USA
Over the summer, I had a long layover in Chicago. Having already tried the adopted Chicagoland favorites – deep dish pizza, hot dogs without ketchup, and my pick, giardiniera – I looked up hyperlocal spots.
All the way in South Chicago, Calumet Fisheries opened in 1948, and became known for smoking fish on oak logs, in a smokehouse adjacent to their shop.
An order of sweet potato tots complimented the deliciously smoky, melt-in-your-mouth hunk of salmon that I ended up eating as if it were an apple. It needed no extra flavoring, and would be most welcome as a Christmas gift sent directly to my plate.
Eggplant Tostada and Mixed Seafood Tostada, Contramar, Mexico City, Mexico
Don’t get me wrong, that mixed seafood tostada on the right was a treat. It’s Contramar, after all, one of the more well-known seafood restaurants in Mexico City.
But I must say that their eggplant tostada – tostada de berenjena – was my vegetable dish of the year. Or, berry dish?
It was buttery, yet you could still discern the mild sweetness of the eggplant. Specifically, I ordered it since I seldom notice eggplant on menus in Mexico. If Contramar, or any other Mexican eatery would do a grilled eggplant/meat combo, that would likely be on my list for 2022.
Eggplant, Shrimp and Ricotta Pizza, Broadway Pizza, White Plains, New York, United States
(On closer inspection, there’s no meat on this list. That has to change.)
The cashier said they don’t “normally allow shrimp as an add-on,” so I reminded me that they worked on tips. A fistful of dollars later, and I had my slice of the year– breaded eggplant, shrimp, and ricotta cheese.
Next time, I will see if they could put all of that stuff in a calzone.
Flaky Buttery Excellence?, Blé sucré, Paris, France
It’s my first time in Paris in 23 years, what am I going to eat?
Cheese, butter, and pastries, obvi.
Hey Paris, where’s “the best” pain au chocolat? Hard to say, but Blé sucré is one recommendation.
So, I take my walk to the 12th arrondissement – district – and queue up for my first ever Parisian pain au chocolat.
Sold out.
However, as I stared at the empty space where that would have been, a baker whips out a tray of something even more tantalizing (in the photo, on the left). I don’t know the name of it – perhaps you could help out – but it was a flaky, buttery, frangipane-filled viennoiserie.
Was there a more decadent dessert eaten in 2021? Perhaps. Was that decadent dessert more delicious? It’s not on this list, now is it?
Finding Food Fluency 