Monday, April 26, 2010

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.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

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!