Parts is parts

The image in the middle of this post is decidedly out of focus. I took it in Hong Kong in February of 2013 when I was there to do an MS class and exam. Tommy Lam, our local contact, insisted on taking us to his favorite hole-in-a-wall noodle joint for lunch. It was dimly lit and filled with rickety chairs and tables covered in crusty plastic table cloths that had probably been checkered red and white at some point.

On entering, Tommy called out to the owner behind the counter. Salutations were exchanged in Cantonese and then we took a seat in the corner. A woman quickly came up with menus but Tommy brushed those aside, and immediately began ordering a slew of dishes directly to his compadre. A spirited back and forth commenced with Tommy turning to us at the end, saying he’d ordered the best things on the menu for us to try.

A round of Tsingtao beer in bottles soon arrived sans glasses. Within minutes, a succession of dishes started to show up. Among the first was the noodle soup pictured above. But it wasn’t just any noodle soup. Among the broth and noodles were many small gray cubes that looked vaguely tofu-like. “Cured pig’s blood,” said Tommy. “It’s good for you. Cleans out the system.” Armed with that curious factoid, we took a few bites. The broth was pork-based, savory, and salty. The gray pig’s blood bits tasted like liver. But they were also squishy—not exactly a texture I like in soup. Needless to say, I didn’t finish mine. But Tommy did. The man had a gargantuan appetite and would routinely finish whatever we didn’t throughout the trip.

The pig’s blood soup wasn’t the only offbeat thing served at lunch that day. Another starter that appeared early on was a bowl of what looked like shiny gelatinous glass noodles. The shiny and gelatinous parts were definitely true. But the glass noodles, not so much. Turns out it was a bowl of steamed jellyfish, considered a local delicacy. Being in ~~Rome~~ Hong Kong, and willing to try anything new at least once, I helped myself to a large spoonful and then tucked in. I can only describe the experience as slimy. Like eating snot that had the scent and texture of the sea. You know, like sea snot.

By now, you’re probably thinking I have a long list of the strange and bizarre I’ve eaten during my travels. Truth be told, I would be considered a mildster when it comes to adventurous eating compared to some of my colleagues, many of whom have spent far more time in Europe and Southeast Asia. Places where the phrase hoof to snout is taken literally. That said, I’ve had more than my share of unique dining experiences—and not just eating durian several times. Although that definitely gets me a gold star in the strange food department. With that, here are a few of my more memorable dining experiences.

China

I’ll continue with China because there’s no end to the unusual when it comes to regional cuisine. As mentioned, slimy seems to be a favorite texture. Slimy also brings to mind the number one bizarro Chinese delicacy—sea cucumber. I had it a number of times, even featured in fancy multicourse dinners I hosted for bankers and CEO’s of multinationals. Yes, sea cucumber is slimy. But there’s far more. It resembles a large, oblong slug and has a tough leathery skin. As for preparation, sea cucumber is usually steamed and served with various sauces. The taste is pungent and bitter, and the texture again is slimy and leathery. I’ll let that sink in a bit before telling you there were times when it was served as the entrée of the meal. And the wine paired with it was a big Napa Cabernet weighing in at over 15% alcohol. Wine that should have been paired with a grilled porterhouse steak or live game. Just kidding about the last one. Regardless, a tannic, alcoholic Cabernet matched with sea cucumber can only be described as a train wreck in the mouth. Truly the single worst food and wine pairing I’ve ever experienced. But that didn’t stop all the attendees from enjoying the combination with relish.

One other curious morsel during my China trips. The picture above is from a dinner and features a catch-all plate of chicken parts including steamed chicken’s feet. Eating chicken’s feet is the essence of the hoof-to-beak concept. Sure, it’s not a mammal. But the fact of the matter is that you’re eating a part of the bird that has no meat. It’s all bones, skin, and sinew, meaning it’s chewy as hell but without a lot of flavor. But at least it’s earthy.

Spain: A truck stop lunch

Europeans also have a long history of not wasting any part of the animal. After all, more than a few places were mired in poverty over the ages before travel and lifestyle magazines discovered them as cheap vacation destinations, quickly setting the gentrification-decay cycle into action. Aside from that sad fact, there are many places throughout the continent where you can still dine like the locals do. Spain is as good as any.

During one of my trips there, our van pulled off at a truck stop in the middle of somewhere nowhere for lunch. The parking lot was crammed with cars and trucks of varying size, always a good sign for an unknown restaurant. Inside, the place was buzzing with locals, seated at rickety tables covered with the ubiquitous red and white plastic checkered tablecloths that were still actually red and white. Large platters of various victuals were piled on tables with everyone eating, drinking, smoking, and talking. It was 2007, after all.

Meanwhile, our guide did a quick once over with the menu and made an executive decision that we would eat like the locals. He then placed an order with our waitress in rapid fire Spanish. In minutes, bottles of local white, pink, and red wine showed up along with clunky glasses that would have been handy in a bar fight. Then the food started showing up il furioso. Traditional tortilla and tenderloin of black pig, followed by plates of mystery food. Our guide pointed to each and identified it. I’ll save lengthy commentary and will just offer a quick description of each:

Pig’s feet: hoofs with gelatinous bits that were chewy
Pig’s snout: very chewy
Pig’s ears: beyond chewy
Calf’s brains: looked like grey scrambled eggs. And they tasted like livery scrambled eggs. But after hearing about the warnings concerning foot-and-mouth disease (FMD), I only tasted a tiny bit.
Calf’s heart and lungs: I took a hard pass on both.
Tripe: I’d had tripe some years before in Italy. It’s best described as seriously chewy, and all the spicy red sauce in the world doesn’t change that.

In the end, parts will always be parts. My history with them goes back to childhood and my dad’s love of calf’s liver, which was in fact cow’s liver. And how my Mom made it for Sunday dinner once a month, despite us kids threatening to riot. Alas, to no avail. I remember one time having to eat cold liver and onions for lunch the next day because I wouldn’t eat it for dinner the night before—and wouldn’t eat it for breakfast earlier that morning. I’ve never been a fan of calf’s liver since. Pâté and the odd morsel of fois gras, yes. After all, a man’s got to know his limits with offal.