Bangkok Glutton

Cartagena is Colombia’s fifth-biggest city, but is its biggest tourist draw. Like Thailand, it has probably seen its fair share of hardships during COVID, if our reception was anything to go by. “Welcome to Cartagena,” shouted one man in the street at our ambling, unwieldy procession as we blocked traffic on a narrow street. “We love you!” Earlier in the day, as we left our enormous tour bus (one of 4 that would leave our ship alone that morning), a police officer bowed to my daughter in what I assume was a well-intentioned gesture of welcome. Tourism is a big deal in Cartagena, home to the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Cartagena de Indias, aka the Old Town.

We had only 5 hours to spare in Cartagena, and 4 of it was spent on our tour, so I did not get the chance to sample what I was told was a typical Colombian meal: fried fish, rice, a salad, with a side of fried plantains. I did not even have a chance to snag an arepas rellenas (corn pancake stuffed with meat) or pandebono (cheese bread) from a vendor’s cart. And there were a lot of vendor’s carts. If sheer numbers of vendors were any indicator of how popular a particular item is, then hats would win, hands down. You will never go hatless in Cartagena, if what you are looking for is a hat.

From our port — where we were docked next to a Caribbean Princess ship and where I could imagine the geriatric inhabitants of both cruise lines could clash, West Side Story-style — we fought traffic into town and disembarked at the Naval Museum, where our guide attempted to lead us through a series of exhibits, all confusing because our group was vying with a host of other tour groups with guides attempting to do the same thing. What I gathered was that the English did a lot of bad stuff to Cartagena during the Tudor reigns in the name of Messing Up Spain’s Business. I also found out many pirates and corsairs (what I assume is a high-class pirate) trawled the waters in wait for Spanish ships laden with riches from the New World. The museum helpfully provided an image of one:

We then went for a walk through the charming Old Town, where, just like Bangkok, fueng fah grew in profusion from residential balconies, motorcycle taxis weaved through traffic, and humidity hovered like the spirits left behind as the neighborhood sprouted pricey boutiques and even a Starbucks. Among the beautiful houses boasting carved wooden balconies, however, is a cursed dwelling that housed the Palace of the Inquisition for 200 years. Here, enemies of the Catholic Church were interrogated, during which all either perished or confessed, and were then put to death in a variety of ways. Interrogators came up with several ingenious ways of torment, including a heavy collar that resembles Hellraiser’s face with a hole in it, as well as a contraption named the “Breast Ripper”, reserved for women accused of adultery or of having an abortion. Once a person ultimately confessed to something like witchcraft or being a Protestant or any other heinous crime, they were put to death, usually either by guillotine or by hanging from a scaffold, much like the one built for Mike Pence on January 6. In the 200 years of the operation of the Palace, only 5 people were burned at the stake.

It was heavy stuff, and later in the courtyard as I waited, I saw a profusion of mangos rotting on the ground. There was a tree nearby, where the sweet yellow fruit grew freely. No one ate them except for the ants, I assume because the ground is cursed. But it did get me thinking about fruit, and after leaving that place and encountering a fruit vendor outside, I immediately bought a big bag of it.

Just like in Thailand, you are supposed to haggle when you deal with a vendor. Even though I live there, I am not a good haggler. When the vendor said “10 dollars” for 3 big purple fruit, two pitaya and a yellow globe they called a “dragonfruit”, I balked. A woman munching on mangos next to the cart said that the price wasn’t really that bad. I ended up paying it, only realizing after I crossed the street that the woman also worked there. So there you go.

This was part of my haul:

The “dragonfruit”, I learned later, was more of a passionfruit-like fruit, but with bigger seeds and much, much sweeter. Like, no tartness at all. Later, I learned that this fruit is actually called granadilla.

The pitaya ended up being the dragonfruit, but not like any dragonfruit I’d ever had. When my friend Dwight raved about the dragonfruit in Colombia, I sneered at the thought that dragonfruit could ever be that flavorful. I mean, it’s basically chunky water in Thailand. But the pitaya here is incredibly sweet and juicy, changing everything I ever thought I knew about the fruit.

The last fruit, which resembles a large mangosteen, is actually incredibly sweet inside. While Colombia does have mangosteen (referred to as “mangostino”, according to my friend Joel), I did not see any on offer today. I saw guavas, coconuts and passionfruit galore, but the fruit that seemed most predominant were these big purple globes like big tomatoes. I later learned they are “magelia Colombie”, and they are VERY sweet inside, like Thai santol or zalacca, but EVEN SWEETER.

Needless to say, these fruit are more delicate than they look and leaked juice all over my bag, but — as I eye a veritable mountain of the stuff on the desk by my bed — I’m thinking that it will probably be worth it.

Next stop: Manta, Ecuador.

This 6-month cruise ship diary is meant to be a a sort of personal diary, so I’m not sure what the website that takes my posts piecemeal and changes a couple of words to make it look like their own writing will make of it. In any case, today is the day. The day we get on our cruise ship. We spent last night at the Intercontinental, where passengers were given $150 a room to spend at either the buffet dinner they had prepared for us, or on any other property of the hotel’s. Naturally, we spent it at the bar. This morning, we convened in a windowless ballroom for breakfast, and these are my first impressions of my fellow passengers: average age, 75; not so friendly; and no other people of color.

I did not get to see Ocean Drive, or South Beach, or Pitbull, or anything else that Miami is famous for. My afternoon was spent looking for a pair of white walking shoes for my mother-in-law (she chose Skechers, in case you were wondering). But I did get my greatest Miami wish fulfilled, which was to have a meal at Versailles Restaurant, which calls itself “the most famous Cuban restaurant in the world”. If the Jay Fai-like line to get a table was any indication, this claim may very well be true.

I have never had Cuban food, and have only had Cubanos in Bangkok. This is embarrassing to admit, but there it is. So I felt like my first time should be at a place that is indisputably famous; of course, Versailles fit the bill. Sadly, founder Felipe Valls Sr. recently passed away in November, but the food (I’m assuming?!) has not suffered as a result, and the crowds thronging the front of the restaurant were not solely made up of tourists like us. The wait, amazingly, was not that long, even for a group of 9. It helps that the restaurant is pretty enormous.

I had read a list of the things that one must order at this restaurant (I was NOT going to come all this way just to order a sandwich). But our waiter helpfully filled us in on what else we should order, and it really saved us. Cuban food may have a few similarities with Spanish food and South American food, but really the rich flavors, slight tang and satisfying heft make up a flavor combo that is all their own.

Main dishes were accompanied with plates of both white and purple rice, which was mixed liberally in with black beans, and sides of boiled cassava, which my nephew Weka said “tasted like French fries all mashed together” but which I appreciated for their plainness and simplicity — a good foil for all the other stuff going on. We got vaca frita, aka “fried cow”, shredded flank steak with fried onions and a spritz of lime, which had a deeply satisfying beef jerky-like flavor. The lechon asado, the most popular dish there, is marinated pork slow-cooked for up to 7 hours and then shredded, with some crispy pork skin on top (which disappeared as soon as the plate was set down).

There was a recommended fried red snapper topped with a tomato sauce and shrimp, and a hearty paella, and a mixed seafood platter that arrived with a lobster tail, which my sister-in-law promptly claimed for her husband (I allowed this because this was the first meal together but all y’all know this will not happen again). In case you are curious: my favorite was the braised oxtail with that purple rice with black beans — obviously I did not take a photo because WTF do you expect while I’m stuffing my face, I’m no gymnast. Also the mixed croquetas, OMG.

When I go abroad and am moved (or feel obligated) to write, I usually say something about the food I am encountering and what I think that says about the place we are in. But I am not doing that this time, because we are in Orlando for Christmas and New Year’s. If you are not aware, Orlando, home of Disney World — marketed the “happiest place on earth” — is in Florida, which, besides its southernmost tip known as Miami, abounds in strip malls, supermarkets, and chain restaurants. Here, a small and very personal ranking of the restaurant chains that are within a short drive of my rental home:

1. Il Mulino
2. Joe’s Crab Shack
3. Red Lobster
4. Vito’s Chophouse
5. Morimoto
6. Outback Steakhouse
7. Cheesecake Factory
8. Olive Garden
9. Cracker Barrel
10. Appleby’s

I have eaten at all of these restaurants, hence have legitimate opinions. In spite of its chicken ‘n dumplings, Cracker Barrel is lower in the list because of its general vibe of a post-2020 election MAGA rally; Olive Garden, because of its stubborn refusal to accept reservations, leading to lines that resemble the ones at a Universal Studios roller coaster ride after the lunch break. I can write about lines as well, because I now know them intimately, having endured a 4-hour wait to get into an Avatar ride at Disney’s Animal Kingdom that, according to my brief calculations, amounted to .001 percent of the time spent in line. I can confidently say that the food at Disney (particularly the warm pretzels with beer cheese at Animal Kingdom) is far superior to the food at Universal (loaded shepherd’s pie “jacket” potato). I can tell you that the customer service at Universal is far more empathetic. I can point you in the direction of the best, cleanest bathrooms (Disney’s Epcot Center). But I cannot devote a whole post to the food here, made by people that, just like me, are simply trying their best to get through the holiday season.

Instead, I, like many of the writers here in American who find themselves in the strange lull between Christmas and New Year’s, will write something about my favorite food memories of 2022. After all, everyone else is recapping their year in whatever they have been doing. Why can’t I coast and be lazy too? So here it is, my favorite stuff this year, in no particular order:

I’ve written about this place before, but what am I if not repetitive? It’s simply the best thing on the Yaowarat Road for me, the reason why I trek over there at 5:30 in the afternoon when most vendors are still setting up their stalls. Get there early before the line, or get stuck long enough to start mulling over your terrible life choices as you watch the live lobsters get plucked from your grasp one by one, destined for someone faster’s table.

Baan Tepa is, simply put, my favorite new restaurant of the year. Sure, the name is a little pretentious and the location is on the notoriously traffic-snarled Ramkhamhaeng Road, but the food, by young chef Tam Chudaree Debhakam, is really worth it. On my most recent visit earlier this month, I enjoyed a crab course of soft shell crab with a warm crab salad and crab roe, crab chawanmushi and a sauce of nam poo, or pulverized field crabs. Meanwhile, an earlier iteration of this course involved a custard of blue swimmer crab with “three oranges” vinaigrette, Trang soft shell crab with yellow curry and bamboo aioli, and a black crab brittle:

And although of course I remain a fan of Jay Fai and her crab omelet (even if it’s not the best dish she makes), it is not the best kai jiew dish in Bangkok. Instead, that distinction belongs to Samlor, where the omelet arrives as a deceptively fluffy “cake” meant to be broken into and eaten as a “slice”, replete with Japanese rice bottom and wonderfully gooey interior. My meal there was charming and innovative, much like Chefs Joe and Saki themselves.

Of course, it wasn’t all fine dining meals for me. There was also the introduction by Adam of @otr.offtherails to this lovely curry rice spot that has been around for half a century; my favorite thing there, the kai khem puu jaa, a mince of pork and crab studded with a single salted egg yolk and served with a tangy-spicy Thai vinaigrette (that means fish sauce, lime juice, garlic and chilies, ok?)

Finally, closer to home, Emporium’s rererevamped food court finally re(rere)opened, with a couple of new additions including an Elvis Suki (but without the scallops or seabass) and Pad Thai Fai Ta Lu, alongside longstanding veterans like Bamee Sawang and Royal India. My new favorite of this latest crop is Nai Uan, not of the Yaowarat Nai Uans of guay jab fame, but the Old City Nai Uans of yen ta fo fame. I have been wary of yen ta fos in shopping mall food centers since tasting a spectacularly bad one at MBK’s food court (an experience that soured that place for me forever), but Nai Uan’s bowl — topped with a healthy smashed handful of chilies, in the fashion of Thi Pochana‘s Bowl on Mahachai Road — is a delicious version if you’re after a good cry and clearing out of the sinuses on your own at the food court as a lonesome farang finds himself unwittingly staring at your face.

And that’s it for 2022. Next time you hear from me, I will (hopefully) be somewhere else, tasting something that hasn’t been reheated in a microwave. Here’s to a better New Year for us all.