火锅

To condense the customary apology: sorry for no blogging/have been very lazy/will try to do better so please keep checking etc etc. And now that's over, let's move on to one of my favourite things in the world: food. I love food. I love making it, looking at it, smelling it, talking about it and, of course, eating it, which I have been known to do in rather sizeable quantities. In short, I am an unapologetic hog. And given China's considerable culinary reputation, great food was one of the things I was looking forward to the most about moving to Chongqing. Suffice to say, it has not been a disappointment; food is abundant, cheap and delicious, and it will take far more than one post for me to even start to express the wonders of Sichuan food.

Where better to start though than with huo guo, which is the Chongqing speciality. When any Chongqinger with a smattering of English approaches us to try out their skills (this happens frequently, and is normally accompanied by requests to pose for a photograph with them), one of the things they are almost guaranteed to say is 'do you like huo guo?' I dread to think what would happen to the poor soul who answered 'no,' as huo guo is a matter of such local pride that to snub it would be like telling the residents of Pisa that you don't think much of the Leaning Tower, or the folk of Anfield that you think Liverpool FC are a big'ole pile of shit.

Although it's usually transliterated into English as hot pot, huo guo literally translates as 'fire pot,' and is definitely deserving of that moniker. To whit, it looks like this:



Now, that is by anyone's standards a sizeable quantity of chilli. And this is hotpot in a relatively tame state; when it heats up it starts to fizzle menacingly and give off acrid chilli fumes that makes poor foreigners' eyes water and noses expel phlegm in considerable quantities. It is so toxic in smell that it could be used effectively by the police as a means of crowd control.

And yet, despite its initially off-putting aroma, this fearsome brew is delicious. It is a communal meal; the hotpot is places and heated in a hole at the centre of each table, and you then order various delights- which can be anything from fish balls to rabbit's blood and lamb's testicles - which you place in the hot oil to cook. After a couple of minutes, armed with chopstick in hand you delve in to the cauldron to dig out your food. And although it is spicy, it's not actually the pot of death juice that it appears to be - on coming out of the pot, the food tastes really, really good.

Hotpot is not the only dish in which the Sichuanese indulge their love for chilli. One dish we ordered in Chongqing arrived looking like this:



With all the chilli-fied delights on offer in Sichuan, we've found that our palates have adjusted to spice with alarming speed. As my home cooking adventures in Sichuan cuisine have progressed (on which more to follow soon) I have found myself adding ever more liberal amounts of chilli and chilli powder to dishes, and have even come round to the Chinese way of considering green chilli as essentially a vegetable. Much as Van has been known to stay behind in the kitchen to dollop a fat blob of Vietnamese fish sauce on her fajitas, I wouldn't be altogether surprised on my return to Blighty to find myself surreptitiously adding chilli powder to the strangest of dishes.

Goulash - In Outer Mongolia?

I’d like you to think, for a moment, of Ulaanbaatar’s restaurant scene. If you are conjuring up images of stringy pieces of mutton served on a bed of mouldy yak’s milk, then you’re about where I was before I visited. Two weeks ago, if someone had asked me to guess where outside of Central Europe one might happen upon a Czech restaurant, Ulanbaatar would not, it is fair to say, have been my first pick. In fact, it would probably have ranked near Kisii in my internal probability stakes, which as those of you who have suffered me going on about Kenya will understand, is equivalent to ‘absolutely no way in god-forsaken hell.’ But then, what should we spy about two minutes from our hostel in UB but this:



Of course, we had to go. Whilst I wanted to find out quite why there was a Czech restaurant in the middle of UB – with the menu outside rendered in Mongolian, English and Czech -, sadly none of the (Mongolian) waiters or waitresses spoke sufficient English for any progress to be made in solving this mystery. We did, however, have a pretty authentic Czech goulash with bread dumplings, which was, frankly, heaven after two weeks of noodles and frozen pelmenny………………..

Cake

And so to the post about cake, because cake, not money, indeed makes the world go round. This is fortunate given that a cursory look at the Guardian website indicates that the UK banking system is once again facing into impending doom. Admittedly, this development is itself unfortunate as it may precipitate further falls in the pound that will make it more difficult for me to buy cake, but I remain confident that a cake-centred philosophy will enable me to overcome any difficulty that comes my way.

Anyway, I have been delighted to find that my preconceptions about central European cities being hotbeds of baked delights are indeed true, for cake in Prague is delicious, and despite the continuing slide of my fair nation into financial decrepitude, remains comparatively cheap.

In particular, I have found myself rather taken by 'Cafe Louvre,' which is an elegant turn of the century Art Nouveau cafe that was once the favourite haunt of luminaries such as Einstein and Kafka. Although its history was, as the.....'dramatically interrupted' by the Communist takeover in 1948 (i.e. they threw all the furniture out of the window and closed the place down), it is now back and is once again serving an array of delights. So far, I have sampled the Black Forest Gateau, the Honey Cake, the Sachertorte and a delicious Poppy Seed and Plum Strudel. I originally intended to take a photo of each of these and have 'cake updates,' but have been forgetful, and so I only have a photo of the first for you to slobber at, as well as this picture of a group of us at Cafe Louvre.



Just know, indeed, that there is cake, and it is good.