PRAMBANAN, INDONESIA

A thousand years ago, about the time William the Conqueror arrived in England, long before Marco Polo went to China, maybe about the time Vikings reached North America, the kings of central Java were building these massive stone temples. This elaborately-carved, hundred twenty foot tall tower, the centerpiece of a group of five (four are smaller but still impressive), has survived the fall of dynasties, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and hordes of tourists. As recently as 2005, an earthquake knocked some of the stones loose. Today, if you go inside the main temple, you must wear a hard hat. A half mile away, another temple complex is still mostly piles of rubble, and it should be years before they can piece it back together again. The lower photo of me and Deb was taken in front of the partially-reconstructed north temple, which was hard hit by the same catastrophic earthquake. Given that this site is on the edge of the Ring of Fire, and that the island of Java has about one hundred active volcanoes, its condition should be no surprise. The effort it takes to sort out the thousands of stones, most about 19" square and perhaps carved on one or two sides, is hard to calculate.
The calm temples are perhaps twenty miles east of the frenetic city of Yogyakarta, and inhabit a park-like area with acres of lawns and trees and - of course, as this is Indonesia -  karaoke near the children's playground. Indonesians seem to love noise, particularly music played at levels that will deafen in no time flat. Apparently, being totally tone deaf is no deterrent, and listening to someone who couldn't carry a song in a suitcase is no big deal.
In the States, having a food concession at a major tourist attraction would lead to twelve dollar hamburgers and six dollar French fries, but here at Prambanan the open-air restaurant served the usual Indonesian lunch of rice, stir-fried water spinach with prawns, and a tall glass of iced tea...for less than two bucks. No tipping expected, the waiter delighted to do anything he could to make us happy, and lots of wais when we left.
I guess I'll put up with the karaoke.

TORAJA: BAD FOR BUFFALOS

Many documentaries have been made about the funerary practices of Torajans, who live in the central highlands of Sulawesi, a volcanic island in eastern Indonesia on the edge of the Sulu Sea. Just north of Bali and Lombok, the ruggedly beautiful upland is cloaked with the brilliant green of rice paddies, stands of bananas, patches of coffee and cacao, and punctuated by gaudily-colored roosters, snuffling black pigs, and some of the ugliest dogs you ever laid eyes on.
The star of the show, however, is the water buffalo, prized among animals for its endless usefulness. It's fair to say that the rich variety of Torajan life could not go on without the invaluable buffalo. The guy on the left, about seven years old, led by a ring through his nose (not 100% effective, by the way), is especially valuable because of his coloring. Solid black is not as pleasing to the gods, and animal sacrifice is a major part of Torajan funeral rites.

IN PRAISE OF RICE

The Global Foodie reports in!

Take a good look at your next bowl of rice. Be it boring white, yellow and fragrant with saffron, fried golden brown for nasi goreng or a similar dish, or Arborio in a risotto, bet you never thought about how it got to your table. I'm sitting at an internet cafe in Rantepao, Toraja, on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, and have just spent the day hiking through miles of stunningly beautiful rice paddies. I also tried my hand at threshing rice (maybe twenty whacks against a board, four minutes total and that was enough, thank you very much). The women who'd let me try the task laughed at me, and went back to threshing, which they would do for ten hours each day. As pay, they get 20% of the harvest.

CIAO, COLUMBIA (updated)

Here is St. Petersburg, we've had yet another controversial "improvement" latched onto by our muddle-minded City Council. At one point, one worthy woman stated that the voters didn't know their own minds, so the City Council had to make it up for them. I will not go into how stupid elected officials can be, we are witness to too much criminal idiocy from Washington every single day.

This time, for us, it's the demolishing of the not-so-very-old Pier (see photo right)  and its replacement with a Frank Gehry wannabe thing of absolutely no esthetic value (but worth one helluva lot to developers and contrcution companies). This thing is called The Lens, and its sails and  flying protruberances (think of a hybrid with Bilbao Museum and Sydney's Opera House by way of a WalMart committee with the designer of Kim Kardashian's camo gown as chairperson) will make Bilbao's outwardly stunning (I never did get the interior) museum look like very small pesos indeed.

The present inverted pyramid Pier beloved by tourists replaced, two decades ago, an older Spanish style (the basic traditional architecture of St. Pete) edifice. Now we'll go 21st Century. Yippee.

So what's that to you? Not much, unless you have dined at the glass-walled Columbia Restaurant, on the fourth floor of the Pier. It closes in less than two weeks, so we went there for a last hurrah. One of a half dozen branches of the venerable Ybor City (Tampa) restaurant, the food is classic Cuban/Spanish and the house salad is one of the best. And here's why: just before serving (always table-side, bless their hearts), the waitperson takes a fresh half lemon, plunges a fork into its cut side, and twists. The fresh lemon juice falls on the salad. Do this at home. You just dress the salad, vinaigrette and all, then do the lemon thingie at the last instant. Sensational! It makes an amazing difference.

In my ceaseless search for the utlimate calamari, I taste tested the Columbia's. Not so bad. Crisp, a very generous amount (note all the whole critters with tentacles!), a decent although too-bland sauce to dip. On a 1 to 10, I'll give it an 8. My friends each had the crab cakes, said they were good: two big ones with sauce. Too bad the St. Petersburg branch of the Columbia's going to be closed for three years; I'd go back for more. Guesss I'll just have to toodle over to Ybor City for a calamari fix.

SOMETHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY

 


Normally, I would not mention a food item by name (I don't think that's my place in the scheme of things), but this one is too good not to share. This, fellow gelato lovers, is special.

I don't know who makes this stuff (please, don't tell me it's Kraft, makers of fine polyester cheeses), but I'd like to shake them by the hand. They have got it nailed. They have made a line of gelato and sorbetto flavors that is nothing short of sensational.

THE GREAT DIM SUM SEARCH, in London

In London's Chinatown, only two blocks square, there are 78 restaurants. Most of them these days serve dim sum, many of them from carts (my favorite way to browse). Let's put aside the insane prices here in The Smoke. After all, dim sum is usually so reasonably-priced that even the hideous dollar-to-pound crunch isn't too bad. I am searching with limited success for the ultimate dim sum; London may not provide my long-sought Nirvana.

I tried, with my friend Alex, Wan Chai: cheaper then Cheung Leung but not as good, the fillings not as flavorful, the downstairs room drafty and noisy (opt for upstairs, very nice, plus the ladies' loo is there), the waiters rushed and brusque (not unusual, but at the Cheung Leung they were relatively attentive and smiling).

For all that, I always walk down from Shaftesbury Avenue along the edge of Chinatown and look for the dragon twining around the overhead "barberpole". Inside, it is always warm and bustling, with the cart tenders calling out their wares. The restaurant is enormous, the clientelle enthusiastic, the carpet well-trod, and the variety of dim sum, while not exactly endless, has never proved boring. As always, I'm willing to look away from the traditional center of things, and am eager to hear from dim sim-ophiles. Talk to me!

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