ALBUQUERQUE - ITS A TRIP

Sunrise over Sandia Mountains

Orangey haze, reddish desert and a crimson sunrise eerily greeted us upon approach to  Albuquerque International Sunport.  From the window, the sun’s reflection created a reddish hue on the silver aircraft as the landing gear locked into position.   This is the country of Roswell, known for UFO’s, the US Military and the setting for the Prime Time Emmy Awards TV series Breaking Bad. 

 

If you have not seen this series, I desperately urge you to do so.  It’s about a chemistry genius turned high school teacher using his expertise to secretly provide for his family by producing the world’s highest quality of blue crystal meth. 

Now you have an interesting impression of Albuquerque.  

What hits you most is the vastness of the area with a small population of just over 550,000.   It’s quietness and stillness echoes throughout the roads and freeways.  What goes on in the city is neither quiet nor still.

Nativo Lodge with Mexican theme motif running through the hotel was where our party stayed.   Unpacked and ready for my adventure of being lost in this void,  is the scariest sensation of vanishing along with the dust of Albuquerque’s  Route 66.

My GPS  Satellite Guide and sensible people in the party made very sure I was not going to be snatched for Alien experimentation or  nabbed by officious looking  hick-town tobacco chewing cop for speeding.   Destination is Route 66 Malt Shop on Central Avenue.  

The Malt Shop, Route 66 Albuquerque

The ambience of the Malt Shop transported me back to the 1950’s,  I was truly lost in time.   This Malt Shop had every kind of soda floats, from Root Beer to Brown Cow! (That’s coke float with chocolate syrup).  Their gourmet hamburgers,  Hebrew hot dogs, deli sandwiches and Southwest specialties all but takes you back to the days of diners and jukebox with repeats of Connie Francis “Lipstick on your Collar” in the background.   The brief memory of fast food indigestion slips away unguarded if you are hungry enough, only to return with a vengeance half an hour later.

The Malt Shop, Route 66

The Candy Lady, Debbie Ball

The unreal back in time, eerily quiet town, shadows lurking behind each step provides now a tourist trap for those wishing to visit the set of Breaking Bad, even you can buy “blue” crystal meth candy as souvenir from The Candy Lady store.  The blue tinted snack is merely sugar rock candy, though it bears a close resemblance to the blue crystal that is central to the plot of the TV drama.  In fact, The Candy Lady store supplied the “meth candy” for the show as props for the drug.

As with dark humor, there is always light. The signature activity in Albuquerque, for instance, if it’s Paris, a must is The Louvre, so with Albuquerque, a must is a Hot Air Balloon trip chasing after other unidentified objects in the sky.

Four a.m. wake up call and always ready to scare myself silly, I was taken to the Balloon Festival Park at the northern edge of the city,  hopped into this wobbling basket ready for action.   It’s not very steady and I’m told to stand in the middle and to hold on to the attached rope real tight.  It is still dark with only the gas-light radiating warmth and light.  Anchored by a rope before the gas is ignited.   Once lit, a little push, then lift off.   Away we go, slowly at first and then reaching the required height our balloon pilot switches off the gas…. Silence and darkness.   The only sound is the wind passing us by.  It is almost as if the world had stopped and I had become a bird gliding in total rhythm with nature.    Little rays of sunlight casting shadows from hillside rocks and mountains, the multi shades of red sky cascading outlines of the ground below revealing that dawn had broken.    

Hot Air Balloon in Albuquerque

Suddenly I realize there was other balloon rides scattered around me, some higher in altitude, some within shouting distance.   A little puff of gas and we escalated a 100 more feet.   A thrilling moment when your stomach lurches forward, no safety belt, not much to hold on to, with cold calm winds against your face.  For 45 minutes, I was traversing around Sandia Mountains and had a bird’s eye view of the magnificent Bernalillo County terrain.   The sight was breathtaking.  All the turmoil in my life left at ground level suspended in this heavenly space above New Mexico’s sky.

There are two things that New Mexico is noted for, Tequila and Chilies.  El Pinto takes their Margaritas and Chilli sauce seriously.  I met the owners of El Pinto, the twin brothers, Jim and John, who joined us for the seriously 137 best varieties of martinis, before our Mexican dinner.  Their Salsa has got to be the fieriest in the world and knowing we were a party from Thailand, he challenged us to try his Scorpian Salsa made with the hottest chili on the planet.  What could be worse than prik-ki-noo, the peppers I souse my noodles with everyday at lunch, so not so much as a glance, I took a nacho and dipped.

In my delirium of losing my tongue to the devil, my botanist grandmother’s words once lectured me long ago on capsicums came flooding in my mind.  They grow best, and most potent in the driest patches of red earth.  She was so right…this place has dry patches of red earth granite.  Not only are my vocal chords no long functioning but I was also seeing red.  Not red patches of sunlight, or reflections of crimson sunrise, but fiery blood raising my body temperature all over.   I capitulate and raise the white flag.  Scorpian Salsa is the winner.

I believe it is time to go home.  

TRAVELS TO THE BAYOU AND BEYOND

Mardi Gras Jester

Synchronicity and synergy was the force that landed me in New Orleans Louis Armstrong Airport as part of a working group on a trip from New Orleans to New Mexico.  Five arrived from Bangkok via Chicago, with the remaining two, including myself from Los Angeles incredulously met at the same time despite delayed and missed flights. Mysteriously our airlines seemed to have synchronized our arrivals and the party were puzzlingly reunited in the ladies room inside the terminal.

My only sketchy knowledge of New Orleans at that point, was the Mardi Gras, Katrina, Beignet and Ghosts.  How uneducated can one be?  Never mind that, first on the agenda I was determined that my breakfast was going to be a Coffee and Beignet.   Café du Monde was my destination.

Cafe du Monde Beignets - New Orleans, Louisana

My last encounter with a Beignet was typically at a French home in the city of  Shiraz, Fars Province in Southern Iran in the good old days of The Shah Pahlavi.  Nothing prepared me for what was put in front of my French Press at Café du Monde in the French Quarter.  Mounds of Beignet covered in powdered sugar.  For those who have never pressed lips to this divine concoction, it is deep fried choux pastry heavily sprinkled with powdered sugar.

Akin to the Thai Pa-Thong Ko, Thai style Chinese Crullers, Beignets are less chewy and more delicate.  The feeling of decadence outweighs any market bought Pa-Thong Ko.   Sipping coffee, and freshly squeezed orange juice,  slowly chewing on this heavenly French concoction in New Orleans has got to be very self indulgent.

With more pressing things on the agenda of the day, I had to detach my self very grudgingly from this homely atmosphere to what was called work awaiting my attention.

Meandering through the French Quarter, I left the party to be reunited with them at dinner time, continued on to discover the area and couldn’t help being drawn into Marie Laveau House of Voodoo in Bourbon Street.   Things that scare me, I cannot resist.

All magical potions, tarot and divination, spiritual talisman and intriguing of all are the spell kits for sale.  As I ventured further into the den of black magic, an astrologer in her booth with incense, complete gypsy head-scarf, hooped earrings, peeked out and declared my fortune should be read.  Never one to decline such a chance, and believe it or not I parted with $50 for this chance…. It was an afternoon sprinkled with zest and voodoo dolls.  I revelled in it and skipped back to the hotel to dress up for dinner to dine at this ghostly haunted restaurant.

Murierl's Jackson Square, French Quarter, New Orleans

Muriel’s Jackson Square Restaurant was my venue and my date tonight was none other than the ghostly presence of Sir Antoine and the spirits of yesteryear and my party of eight dining alongside me.  Southern Creole cuisine is what’s being served tonight and I am clueless but help is at hand.  The chunky French talking, New Orleans waiter was  decisive with my indecision.   He said I could not leave New Orleans without trying their Seafood Gumbo….. how could I resist?   A glass of crisp Reisling accompanied this delectable oysters, shrimp and crab tomato based casserole over a bed of rice.  Okra the definitive Gumbo ingredient swimming alongside with celery and bell peppers just did it for me.  Another glass of Reisling was needed to finish off the plate.   This is going to be one gastronomic treat as we are only on the appetizer course.

Seafood Gumbo

My flirtatious pseudo French waiter again said I must never leave New Orleans without trying  Blackened  Redfish.  A glass of  Sauvignon Blanc, my third glass of the night, I know I’m counting too, was to accompany this tasty dish.

Blackened Redfish

The fish came with a peppery crab stuffing finished off with blue crab butter sauce. Oblivious to stimulating conversations, the Jazz band caught my attention, bellowing Joe Simons Jazz Trio.  I am truly in New Orleans capturing the essence of Creole lifestyle, transported into the Creole awakening…. or was it the wine talking?

Xavier, the waiter, we are now on first name basis, says I now cannot leave New Orleans without tasting  Black Bottom Butterscotch Pudding.  The name is suggestive and is already leaving little or no imagination to an already tipsy mind.  “This dessert must be accompanied by Tuaca, a vanilla citrus liqueur,” says Xavier.  At this point I agreed with everything.

This intriguing Black Bottom was house made praline oreos, with a butterscotch pudding on top was just out of this world.  The ending was just as good as the beginning.   I must admit my lack of memory of the walk back to the hotel – it was more of a float as I entered our lobby only to be reminded that tomorrow’s flight to Albuquerque was bright and early.  Ouch. 

 More about intrigue than about food.  See you in New Mexico. 

HOLIDAY SEASON  -  BE SAFE, BE AWARE, BE STRONG

I am being serious today - so do take extra care.

How we live is determined and governed by customs, laws and social norms.   Then when on holiday to another country, another city, with no one to judge, the rules just don’t apply.  The inevitable happens, excesses of whatever, held back before, combined with unaccountability, the flood gates are opened wide, ready to receive trouble.   The bad decisions that are made, result in the direst of consequences.

Take the case recently of two Canadian sisters vacationing in remote islands of Thailand.   From Pohenegamook, they grew up in a small town of less than 3000, schooled locally and worked during the summer in the family grocery business to save for their holiday abroad. Today’s trend-setting youngsters go backpacking in Thailand. It has become an exciting adventure of a lifetime for college students, especially if their friends have been or perhaps urged on from films like The Beach.  Stories of fun, drugs, sex and alcohol, all the things unlikely to come their way in this small town in Quebec, the two sisters decided to venture their way into a thrilling journey.

Koh Samui - Thailand

Two days into their stay, they are found dead in the their cheap backpackers hotel suspected of toxic poisoning.  The authorities did not want to darken the image of tourism so the blame goes out to food poisoning. The reality of it is, food poisoning does not warrant blackened fingernails, bloody gums, or profuse amount of vomit.   So whatever their choice of drugs, local dealers are making more bang for their bucks by cutting it with anything from talcum powder to borax to handier mosquito repellent.  What influenced these two innocent girls to choose this path, trusting strangers, ingesting something they wouldn’t even consider back home is the lack of common sense.

Full Moon Pary on Koh Samui

Why do these travelling backpackers, middle aged and old men go hell bent on vacation and return home in body bags much to the sadness and dismay of their families, is unknown but the psychology behind this can be explained.

Time and time again, German, Swedish, EU and American tourists pour into welcoming countries.  Lured by the magic of the dollar, host countries give them whatever they have been fantasizing. Back home, the toll of drudgery and mediocrity just makes life miserably boring.   So when the ability to live out their fantasy is within reach, no one to judge or critique or even disapprove, the fantasy becomes ever more exciting.

Even movie stars, who seem to have all the fantasies availed to them, can behave badly away from prying eyes.    In the instance of David Carradine, whatever his sexual proclivities were, regardless of his turbulent childhood, or his stardom, there allegedly was another person in his hotel bedroom helping him with his autoerotic asphyxiation.  Speculation on whether he would have entertained this thrill, aided by another person, had he been in his own home country is doubtful.

Observing any full or half moon parties on the beach defies all logic on why humans take their pleasure to the limit.  The holiday mind frame carries their common sense to a complete stop.  Aided by magic mushroom cocktails, local brew, viagra, sexercise on the beach and dancing all night to the beat, till dawn breaks with the sunlight streaming on exhausted bodies lying half dead would shatter the families disbelief back home. 

Morning after party
 sleeping on the beach is typical after a Full Moon Party :  Photo Getty Images

Maybe backpackers or sex tourists are not worried that they are going to judged, for nobody knows them here.  Unfortunately their bad behavior, encouraged by the host country, whose very living is determined by these tourists paying double the fees, is definitely judged. 

Sometimes the locals and police game together to bring about sheer pleasurable abandonment so that they can benefit and take advantage.  So if a few look half dead, they sink them even further by dangling even more pleasures.    How they deeply feel about the morals of these Western tourists are etched in the disparaging way they talk amongst themselves.  A window into the local mindset would make anyone shudder with embarrassment and shame and perhaps not partake so heavily and wantonly.  Or in some cases, embarrassment and shame are unfelt, as death already took place.

It is with sadness that some truths are covered up, more for the benefit of the country’s image, so that the tourism business does not suffer, than an excuse to protect the victim’s family.  The real victims are the families that are left behind, dealing with unanswerable painful questions.

UMAMI URGES

When I get the urge, which is not often,  the craving can only be satisfied then and there.   There is a problem though.  I am not physically where that particular satisfaction can be easily gratified.

Let me explain the urge. 

I have a sweet tooth and anything chocolaty, sugary caramel, sends me in an ecstatic oblivion.  The other three tastes, piquant savory dishes do the trick just as well as sour tamarind sauces. The bitter qualities of Campari has got to be my favorite aperitif.  But when I discovered Chef Escoffier’s and Ikeda’s Umami, the fifth taste that was dismissed by Democratius, Plato and Aristotle, there was nothing more to be said.  I was in another gastronomic world of  culinary ecstasy.

It was the Umami Burger,  that had me swooning and dreaming and salivating when I think about having a burger.   Nothing compares with the Umami burger in California.  

 I’m not sure what magic they put into their burgers or for that matter the definitive choice of meat.  The mysterious ingredient captured by these awesome chefs just eludes me. 

Preparation is the key.    Little breakfast and hardly anything for lunch  will arguably be the best preparation to sit down, hungry as a wolf, perusing over their wonderful menu at dinner time.

I always go for the Umami burger piled high with Shitake mushroom, caramalised onion, roasted tomatoes and the mysterious Umami house spread.  There’s also Port and Stilton burger, Hatch burger and the Cali Burger.   

To accompany my order, the handsome waiter suggested sweet potato fries, tempura onion rings and a small salad, I didn’t say no – drooling at both the thought of my dream burger and the dream hunk. 

Nothing can describe the delicious, soft and moist burger full of flavor and great texture.   I am spoilt now for I can no longer manage to consume any other food described as a hamburger any where else in the world.  

If it is their magic ingredient, I would not try to imitate it at home but will await patiently for my next visit to Los Angeles at their La Brea's branch for the ultimate in burger cuisine that no one can match.