Firewater

At the end of a relentless and busy week it’s nice to be able to look back at the long hours, the lack of sleep and the stress and realize that when you start out with a night of food, friends, a little repose and a lot of Aguardiente, things aren’t quite so bad.

We met at the house of our friends Danielle and Federico, the former a mutual co-worker and the latter her boyfriend, a chef and molecular biology student who we just don’t see enough of anymore. Although they currently live in Hartford, Federico is originally from the sprawling city of Medellín. Nestled in the Aburrá valley along the Andes range in Colombia, Medellín is known as the City of the Eternal Spring.

Upon arriving, we were greeted with a Colombian staple, a shot of Aguardiente.

As he poured the clear liquid into four small glasses, Federico explained that in Colombia, drinking Aguardiente, or firewater, is a way of life. A smooth, warming liqueur made from sugar cane and flavored with anise, Aguardiente is shared during meals, on long bus rides and basically whenever the mood strikes. Most importantly, the bottle is rarely left unfinished.

After a shot or two to fuel our appetites, we ventured out to Hartford’s South End to Parrilla y Sabores. A small and austere Colombian restaurant located on Franklin Avenue, not even Google knows about this place.

While Freddie ordered a round of Aguilas, a light yet full-bodied Colombian beer, I poured over the extensive menu and struggled to make up my mind. There was so much to choose from I didn’t even know where to start.

Both Danielle and Freddie selected their usual Parrilla order, the ceviche of calamari, shrimp, scallop and white fish for her, and the bandeja paisa for him. Pork medallions in a spiced fruit sauce sounded too good to pass up for me, and Adam, in a show of good faith, opted for something he had definitely never had before, beef tongue.

Our ambassador, Freddie, translated our orders and threw in a couple more shots of Aguradiente for good measure.

Along with Aguardiente, Colombians love meat, and they certainly don’t mess around when it comes to portions size either. Freddie’s meal won for most imposing dish since it involved so much food that a single plate could not contain it. A popular Colombian mixed platter, the bandeja paisa included rice, beans, fresh avocado, a fried egg, arepas (thick Colombian-style tortillas), fried plantains, chorizo and chicharrón (a row of crispy fried pork belly that was so good it should either be made illegal or sold by the pound).

Danielle’s ceviche won for healthiest dish, with vibrant citrus and generous cilantro, but the sheer size of it really prevents me from calling this dish light.


The beef tongue definitely won most tender. Slow-cooked with onions, potatoes, parsley and bay leaf, I have to admit that Adam and I might be developing an obsession with organ meats.

Colombian cuisine frequently makes use of the many tropical fruits of the region, such as in blended fruit smoothies or in savory dishes. The pork medallions, served in a sweet pineapple and raisin sauce spiced with clove, wins for the most dessert-like dish still containing meat.


With our leftovers packed up for lunch the next day, we decided to round out the evening with a little more Aguardiente back at the house.

A few days later, once the busy workweek had started, an unexpected thing occurred; I got a craving for Aguardiente. If this week is anything like last week, I may have to sneak back to that little hole-in-the-wall for some beef tongue and firewater, just to take the edge off.

No Shirt, No Kilt, No Haggis

For a welcome change of pace, last night I got to sit back and enjoy a home-cooked meal without actually having to cook it myself. And what a delicious meal it was, considering this week’s Passport dinner was prepared by an even worse veggie-phobe than Adam, my roommate Craig.

A hilarious, self-deprecating, toilet paper deliveryman who looks for any excuse he can to don a skirt, Craig also just so happens to hail from Scotland.

Last month when he went on holiday to his hometown of Edinburgh, I had one simple souvenir request, a haggis. Although certainly not the most appetizing-sounding item in the gastro-globe, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try the national food of Scotland.

Made with sheep pluck, suet, oatmeal and spices, haggis is a kind of sausage traditionally encased in a sheep stomach. Today, plastic is often used in place of the stomach casing and it is also common to find canned haggis. Once removed from the tin or casing, however, haggis looks more like a hash than a sausage.

Traditionally served with “tatties” and “neeps,” mashed potatoes and mashed turnips respectively, haggis is not generally the most appetizing-looking meal either. Modern variations on the dish have made an appearance in recent years, however, including such oddities as haggis pizza.

Citing personal preference, Craig decided to follow the nouveau haggis movement and prepare Balmoral chicken. Found at many upscale Scottish restaurants, Balmoral chicken is a chicken breast stuffed with haggis and wrapped in bacon. Watching Craig assemble our dinner, I couldn’t help but think that our first haggis experience was going to be okay.

In addition to the canned haggis that Craig smuggled back from the homeland, our friend Jevon also contributed the frozen haggis he had been gifted by a family member. Not of Scottish descent himself, it is still a mystery as to why Jevon was given such an odd Christmas present, but hey, the more meat the merrier.

While the chicken baked in the oven, we helped ourselves to an appetizer of, well, haggis. Once Jevon’s Christmas haggis had baked for an hour, we made quick work of it, spooning up mouthfuls of the savory hash.

Nutty in texture and peppery in flavor, the haggis alone was nowhere near as bad as I was expecting. I can actually imagine myself thoroughly enjoying a haggis pizza, if only I could get it delivered.

Topped with a whisky cream sauce, the Balmoral chicken was moist and flavorful with a light sweetness to compliment the spiciness of the stuffing.

It is my firm belief that bacon makes everything better and my highland flatmate has proved this is even true for offal.

Although Craig’s creation was so delicious that not one morsel was left over, our meal would not have been complete without a couple of Tennents Scottish lagers, a dram or two of Macallan 12, a recitation of the Robert Burns poem Address to a Haggis, and of course the proper attire.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

Breakfast of Champions

This is what happens when I watch the Food Network first thing in the morning:

The Big Bunny Cookout

Since Adam and I are the kind of folks who usually end up working on holidays we sometimes come up with our own ways of celebrating. Take this past Easter Sunday for example. Instead of hiding brightly colored eggs and exchanging chocolate bunnies, we cooked the Easter bunny and ate him, along with two of his friends.

Now before you baulk at our grotesqueries, let me reassure you that we at least waited until the day after Easter, when the Easter Bunny’s job was done for the year, to have him for dinner.

Also, I know many of you are curious as to where we found Bugs, Thumper and Peter, so allow me to set the record straight; no it was not PETCO. We actually went to our friend Bill the butcher at Highland Park Market in South Windsor, the very same Bill from our infamous turducken extravaganza, and he helped us get our anti-Easter feast hoppin’.

Prior to this week I only had a vague recollection of what rabbit tastes like and I certainly had no experience trying to cook one, let alone three. This is why I decided not to put all my eggs in one basket. Working under the assumption that although I could potentially screw up one dish, I couldn't possibly mess up three, I chose three different recipes for our three separate bunnies.

I have since learned a few lessons.

First, It’s not as easy to overcook our furry-eared friends as I had thought. Everything I read about rabbits and rabbit recipes said that due to the extremely lean nature of the meat, it is very easy to end up with a tough, dry, waskly wabbit.

Maybe I was just hyper-aware of this possibility, but our bunnies stayed tender and juicy, even through the juggling of three diverse meal preparations.

Second, Juggling is hard. Next time I get overambitious and attempt to make three elaborate entrees for one meal, hopefully I will the have the presence of mind to stop myself before I get out of hand.

Third, I really need to invest in a set of good kitchen knives. Deboning the rabbits ended up taking as long as all the other preparations combined (not at all like that how-to video we watched that made it look effortless)!

Thankfully this part was not my job. Adam took care of all the trimming and eventually did a good job of it, considering the tools he had to work with.

All in all, however, I was pleased with the products of our hard work. When your dinner guests ask to take home their leftovers, I consider it a good sign.

Next Easter, if you’re tired of the same old honey baked ham, try one of these recipes. Just don’t tell the kids what’s for dinner.

Pan Roasted Rabbit with Crushed Blackberry-Ancho Sauce

I pureed the blackberries into the ancho paste since I was forced to use frozen berries (gasp) instead of fresh. This sauce has a wonderfully subtle heat to it, although it was more watery then I was expecting. Also, if you are going to use frozen berries, I would use double the amount called for since I found their flavor ultimately got lost.

Rabbit in Tarragon Sauce

An easy recipe that just as well could have been made with pork, this is a great sauce for over pasta.

Rabbit Coq Au Vin

More time consuming than the others but well worth it. Served over wild rice with some crusty bread to soak up the sauce, the Coq Au Vin was the favorite dish of the evening.

Eat With Your Fingers

Striving to play catch-up after taking the last week off, we headed to Abyssinian on Farmington Avenue in Hartford in order to try our hand at Ethiopian food.

While Tisane next door was packed with people who spilled out onto the patio, Abyssinian’s modest yet cozy atmosphere was quiet and inviting in comparison. With warm earthen tones, small woven tapestries and exotic art prints, this hole-in-the-wall has an almost tangible family-run feel that exudes a pride in their craft. The food and service conveyed that same passion.


For each country we’ve tackled so far I researched the cuisine beforehand so as to mentally prepare. This time, however, Adam and I both went to the restaurant completely blind, as just another couple walking in off the street.

Since neither of us really knew what we were looking at as we perused the menu, it was great that our waiter was so helpful in answering all our questions. It was as if he was actually sharing the culture, rather than just increasing his check averages.

Even with the input of our server, neither of us quite knew what to expect from the Yesaga Wot Be-Denish that Adam ordered or the Yebeg Wot that I chose. We were reassured, however, that although Ethiopian food is usually very spicy, Abyssinian’s recipes are toned down to accommodate the milder New England palate.

When our food arrived we were given a brief lesson on how to eat Ethiopian-style.

A large metal tray, topped with a layer of injera and a few dollops of pureed lentils, collard greens and a small salad, was placed on the table between us. A staple of most Ethiopian meals, injera is a spongy, crepe-like bread with a slightly sour flavor.


The yesaga and yebeg wots, beef and lamb stews respectively, were then spooned into small piles on top of the bread. Extra injera came on the side to serve as our “silverware.”

As in many Indian and Middle Eastern cultures, Ethiopians eat with their right hands. The injera is used to scoop up the tender meats, vegetables and savory sauces and it is considered a sign of friendship to feed an injera-wrapped mouthful to another.

The yebeg wot consisted of lamb, onion and green pepper simmered in a traditional berbere sauce. A spice mixture made from chili peppers, ginger, coriander and allspice, berbere is a key ingredient in Ethiopian cooking. The meat was succulent and not too spicy and I licked my fingers after every bite.

Adam also enjoyed his selection, a similarly spiced beef stew with chunks of potato. As we shoveled in mouthfuls he actually used the word, “phenomenal.”

Our bellies filled quickly and we found we had plenty left over for a tasty lunch the next day. We did however make sure we ate the berbere-soaked injera from the platter where our wot had been spooned. It just seemed like it would be the best part.

Once we had finished we were brought moist, scented towels to wipe our hands with.

A delicious meal we both wouldn’t mind revisiting, Abyssinian gets two greasy thumbs up.

Made with Aloha

For all you hungry Passport readers out there I apologize for the delay in this week’s post, but I just got back from a vacation in Hawaii and therefore had to take a brief hiatus from our dinning project. That’s not to say that I didn’t have some wonderful and strange food while I was away, but unfortunately Adam was not there to enjoy it with me.

Now I know what you’re thinking, and I do hate to disappoint you, but no, I did not have any Spam during my stay in Waikiki. I did however taste some other uniquely Hawaii dishes that thankfully did not come from a can.

On the second day of our trip my traveling companion (also known as my Mother) and I had the Hawaiian version of ceviche: Poke. Pronounced to rhyme with okay, poke is usually made with yellowfin tuna, although there are over 100 versions of poke served throughout the islands. The sashimi-style tuna is usually diced and tossed with soy sauce, sesame oil, inamona (ground kukui nuts with sea salt) and seaweed.

The version of poke that we enjoyed was one of the restaurant Alan Wong’s signature appetizers, the Poke-Pine. The first dish of a delicious 5-course tasting, the poke was wrapped in a crispy wonton purse that was sliced thin at the top to resemble a pineapple or bizarre sea creature.

Our tasting also included a soup and sandwich small plate consisting of a creamy tomato soup, adorned with a yin yang symbol and served in a chilled martini glass, and a toasted foie gras, mozzarella and kalua pork finger sandwich.

The dual appetizers were followed by a butter poached Kona lobster tail plated over a crab dumpling with a garlic and black pepper gravy.

Next came the ginger and panko crusted onaga. Locally caught, onaga, or longtail snapper, is one of Hawaii’s most celebrated fish. Served over organic Hamakua mushrooms and sweet corn with a miso sesame vinaigrette, our third course was a delightful blend of Asian and island influences.

The meat course was a soy braised and Kalbi grilled short rib with a gingered prawn and a lightly spicy Korean ko choo jang sauce. At this point in the meal I was a bit too full to partake in more than a few bites, but the leftovers did make for a great sandwich the next day.

When dessert arrived, however, I miraculously found room enough to polish off the passion fruit sorbet over coconut tapioca AND the bitter chocolate torte.

Even though it would seem we ate enough for an entire week in one meal, I knew there were more delicious Hawaiian flavors to be found, so the next day we went out in search of more.

On Oahu there is a vast Asian population so it is quite common to find rice served with breakfast, lunch and dinner. At Eggs ‘n Things on Saratoga Road, where they offer their breakfast menu from open until close, when I ordered the steak and eggs, instead of getting a side of hash browns or home fries like you would in the continental U.S., I was offered my choice or white or brown rice. In an attempt to balance out the health factor of the fried eggs and New York Strip, I opted for the brown rice.


Although Eggs ‘n Things does offer Vienna sausages as a meat choice, I was surprised there was no Spam option. There is however a Spam, egg and cheese sandwich on the breakfast menu at McDonalds. Only in Hawaii.

There’s also Spam sushi available in the pervasive ABC convenience stores. And Spam flavored macadamia nuts. Don’t ask me why.

On day four of our Hawaiian pig fest we had another satisfying and very filling dinner, this time a Kai Market in the Sheraton Waikiki. Touting the use of local ingredients throughout their extensive buffet, Kai has a wonderful selection of fresh seafood and Asian fusion dishes, not to mention a spacious, beachfront patio.

No trip to Hawaii would be complete without attending a luau and partaking in all the traditional luau fare.

Tender, juicy and smoky Kalua pig was of course the centerpiece of the meal, cooked for several hours in an imu, a kind of underground oven. Kalua refers to this process of cooking (not to the coffee liqueur Kahlua), ka, meaning “the,” and lua, meaning “hole.”


Another luau staple, poi, made it on to my plate even though everyone I talked to that had tried said they would never try it again. Still, I'd traveled over 5,000 miles to get to Hawaii, so I figured I had to try this traditional Hawaiian staple.

Poi is a starch dish made by mashing boiled taro, a beautifully purple root vegetable that tastes similar to a yam, and mixing it with water until it’s smooth. Although many other cultures use taro in various ways, and even on the island the dark purple root appeared in salads and even in dinner rolls, Hawaii is the only place in the world that pounds the taro into poi.

Poi is often graded by one-finger, two-finger, or three-finger levels, which refer to the mixture’s consistency by how many fingers it takes to eat it.

A grayish purple, three-finger paste, the poi tasted rather like dirty dishwater to me. Oh well, at least I can say I tried it.

Next time I visit Hawaii, I’ll have to try Manapua. Cantosese barbeque pork buns often found in Chinese bakeries as well as the islands of Hawaii, manapua are sweet buns filled with char siu pork and are either baked or steamed. I hear these tasty morsels are quite good and very popular: but unfortunately, there is only so much food I can eat in one week.