I’m having visions of Michael Scott visiting his favorite New York pizza joint.
I had what was probably the best pasta I’ve ever had yesterday here in Osaka. A chilled carbonara with roasted sweetcorn, ham, and sliced truffles (not stingy on the truffles either). Ten dollars with a coffee and assorted bread hot from the oven.
Congratulations, YOU just failed your own thread. Tapas is not a collection of specific recipes: it’s a way of cooking, which does involve using local ingredients and reinventing the local cuisine. It should vary by location. I looked at the menu and the fact that it does include stuff based on Swedish food gets a big thumbs-up from me, whereas something which was all chorizo, serrano and pimientos would see me backing away. The best not-in-Spain tapas bar I’ve eaten at happened to be in Helsingborg; mind you, they cheat: the owners are a Swedish man and his Spanish wife, who is the cook.
Once, while in Paris, my hotel was right next to a Chinese restaurant, so I decided to find out how French Chinese differed from American Chinese… or Chinese Chinese. The menu was, of course, in French and Chinese, neither of which I spoke very well. So I just found something in French that looked familiar and ordered it. Well, there were four small plates, with a tiny “structure” of food on each. I had no idea what they all were. They were in no way Chinese, but nevertheless delicious.
I was traveling through Mexico years ago and was in the mood for a hamburger. Saw a market stall that had it on the menu, and I decided to order one.
It was literally a piece of ham with some breading on it served between two buns.
There was this Greek restaurant in the Netherlands that had a portrait of Filipina actress Cherie Gil posted on their wall. Now she is quite the distinguished and well-respected actress in the Philippines, but relatively unknown outside the country. When questioned, the owner claimed that it was supposed to be a picture of opera singer Maria Callas.
Cherie Gil had previously played Maria Callas on stage and apparently the artist had lazily picked out a publicity photo from an internet search, not bothering to verify the picture’s subject.
In the Southwest the long-running joke I’ve heard comedians make is that most Chinese restaurants are staffed entirely by Mexicans, who can make the food just as good.
When I was in Paris me and a few of the tour group went to the Parisian Chinatown for dinner. They did not speak English, we did not speak whichever Chinese language they did, and our respective versions of French were not mutually intelligible. At the time I knew just enough Chinese writing to pick out the characters for things like “chicken” or “pork”. We ordered by pointing at the Chinese menu. I have no idea what we actually ate (other than two chicken, a beef, and a pork dish), but like you said, it was delicious.
I’d been on a trip in Rome for a while and was getting a little tired of the ‘stand-up, espresso and a cake’ breakfast, and was woo’ed by a sign outside a cafe offering 'cooked bacon and eggs.
WELL, the plate came. It had one fried egg, which was so undercooked that the egg white was still jelly, and drizzled in extra virgin olive oil. the bacon was pancetta, chopped into tiny cubes of the sort you might mix through a carbonara. I don’t know who was in the kitchen, but they had clearly never even seen a picture of bacon and eggs.
Actually, I became a fan of corn pizza. But canned tuna? Not so much.
Agreed. Almost every place outside of South Louisiana that does Cajun, save maybe for the odd place in North Louisiana, East Texas, or Western Mississippi screws up Cajun bigly.
We were at a resort in Jamaica one year when they had a Super Bowl party, featuring hot dogs and hamburgers. The hot dogs were some sort of sausages, but not what Americans would call hot dogs, and the hamburgers were quite different, too.
Yeah, it’s really bizarre for a food that is just so dead simple to make (though, to be honest, I know plenty of backyard cooks here in the US who can’t make a good burger or make something that’s more like a meatloaf than a burger. Just keep it simple and know your technique.)
I had perhaps the worst burger of my life in 1996 from some kiosk in Wolverhampton’s city center. I have no idea what this weirdly pink, mushy/mealy sandwich was, but it was not a hamburger as advertised.
In Budapest c. 1999, there was a 50s American-themed diner on the Buda side that had all your typical rock & roll diner kitsch and served food to match. Except their hamburger came as an open-faced sandwich, for some reason. All the right toppings, just no top bun. Why this was, I don’t know, as there were plenty of McDonalds as well as BK and Wendys in the city, so it wasn’t like there weren’t examples of American hamburgers around.
At any rate, in the mid-2000s, Budapest really stepped up its burger game and they became one of the local hipster foods for awhile, and the locals did do it in a way I would consider “right.”
In general, I don’t give a wet fart about authenticity, and when I read this article “Yelp Reviewers’ Authenticity Fetish Is White Supremacy in Action” I felt obscurely vindicated. (I’m sure that article will be totally noncontroversial around here, but it’s worth reading, even if just to figure out why you disagree).
But there were two times where authenticity came up. One was at my favorite sushi restaurant in town, this little place run by a kind of hippie dude from Japan. I had several friends who worked there, and it was great food. One evening the sushi menu contained BLT sushi. My friend who was waiting tables told me that it was basically a prank: the chef hated putting things like cream cheese in sushi, so he made up BLT sushi to make fun of people who’d order cream cheese sushi.
In 2003 I visited Norway. I was pescatarian, and goddamn if the seafood wasn’t amazing. So much salmon, so delicious. But after awhile, I started craving vegetables other than potatoes, and had a helluva time finding them. I went to a Chinese restaurant in Bergen, figuring there would be greens on the menu, but couldn’t find any, so I ordered an egg roll, thinking they’d have to put some cabbage or something in it.
Nope. My egg roll was a wonton wrapper surrounding a link sausage. Nothing else.
<Homer Simpson drool sound>
That sounds more like a ‘The Onion’ piece, than a ‘The Onion’ piece.
Holy hell. The proud ignorance of some.
Cheesesteaks do not work that way!
But seriously, I’ve only ever found one place outside of the Delaware valley that makes a reasonable approximation of a Philadelphia cheesesteak (a sandwich shop in Bozeman, MT, just off of campus). Which is also the one place I’ve found outside of the Delaware valley that doesn’t call their steak sandwich a “Philly steak”. I asked the folks there about it once, and they said “Oh, no, we don’t make a Philly style steak. We don’t put lettuce and tomatoes and mayo on it.”. Yes, exactly. The actual Philadelphia cheesesteak is really, really simple, and yet everyone still manages to get it wrong.
I was disappointed when my girlfriend took me to a tapas restaurant. I thought she had said “topless.”
I was in a seafood restaurant once. The catch of the day was veal.
Mexican restaurant in a small town we stopped in driving through West Virginia. The chef seemed to have an acute aversion to spices. The salsa was basically indistinguishable from a can of crushed tomatoes. The enchalada I ordered tasted more Italian than Mexican, because the only flavor was of tomato. We were in on off hours so I don’t know who their usual clientel were, but the workers all seemed as white as wonder bread. I feel sorry for any poor kid who grew up in that town, and grows up thinking that that is what Mexican food is supposed to taste like.