The Law Of Inverse Expectations

Bailey's Law - "The less money you spend on an Indian meal, the higher the quality and the greater the portion"

This law, recently postulated, and still subject to proof by the established peer review journals (Saveur, Gourmet, etc), has never been more vividly illustrated than in the last few days. As we have not yet secured proper accommodation, we have been eating out in restaurants. A lot. Being a white guy, as my Serbian friend Aleks says, is "a two bladed edge". On the one hand, we are in an economic position that is the envy of 95% of the population of the world. That gives a bit of comfort, although frankly, it can be more than a little embarrassing at times. On the other hand, it also means that when asking for restaurant advice from a local, they usually assume that you want all white bread and McNuggets, smothered in the provocative Velveeta sauce that is normally associated with the culture that you come from. A local wants to make you feel comfortable, and that usually means helping you find your own version of "soul food".

As a result, we have been steered in some less than ideal directions for dining, the pinnacle of which came a couple of nights ago. When I asked the lovely chap at the desk where I could find some "real, authentic Keralan seafood", he whipped out his map and directed me to the restaurant of another hotel. Excitedly, we headed off into the night. Our little entourage is getting quite adept at avoiding death by motorized vehicle. We snaked our way through the labyrinthine alleyways and emerged on a bustling main street, the crossing of which is not for the faint of heart. Arriving at the hotel, we were directed upstairs to the restaurant by the desk man with the by now de riguer head wiggle. Upon entry, the spider sense was definitely tingling. Hmmmmm...... potted plants. Napkins... And horror of horrors. Is that CUTLERY?!?! Despite my gut reaction to flee, we were soon seated, and I was somewhat relieved to find that they actually served beer, which is a real rarity here. Opening the menu, we cruised past the fish and chips, chicken, and pasta sections, eventually arriving at a tattered "Keralan specialties" page.

So we ordered. Spicy crab fry. Keralan prawns. Eggplant Bharta. Bhindi(okra) Masala. Rice, and 4 naan bread. "Hmmmmm... maybe this won't be so bad", I thought as I tucked into my second beer. This brief moment of optimism was shattered however when the food arrived. Gluey and bland, the Eggplant was devoid of both inspiration and flavour. The version I make at home completely kicked its ass. The okra fared a little better, but the Masala sauce would have seen a better application affixing the wallpaper to the wall. The crab was most likely from a can, and tasted like.... soap. And the prawns were, to put it mildly, off. Really off. To the point where I advised everyone not to eat them. Unfortunately, the portion was so small, that everyone had eaten one by that point, and only two remained. The naan were quite good, actually. My mood went really sour I'm ashamed to say. I sulked. I called the waiter over and pointed to the prawns. "I'm afraid that the prawns are not fresh, and I'm sending them back. Please take them off the bill". Taking a page out of the Fawlty Towers playbook, he dutifully took the dish containing a mountain of glutinous sauce and two incredibly dangerous prawns back to the kitchen. Several minutes later, he returned with the same dish and placed it back on the table. He even stirred it once or twice. "But sir", he said. "You have already eaten most of them". Once again the inscrutable head wiggle. He then walked off.

At the end of the meal, the waiter delivers the bill, and as I expected, the prawns were on there. It was now time to become that most loathsome of creatures, the irate Western Tourist. I called over the head waiter, and as politely and firmly as I could, I said "There is a problem with the bill. The prawns were bad, and I refuse to pay for something that is going to poison my family". He looked a little stunned, but gamely walked off. A lengthy discussion ensued in the kitchen, and nearly ten minutes later, he reappeared and informed me that it had been taken off. I can only hope that the tipping point of the conversation was having the cook rescue a prawn from the gloopy canister of sauce and sample it himself. It was only 170 rupees (about 4 bucks), but damn. First napkins, uniformed waiters, and then cutlery, but should a man have to smile and eat poison shellfish? The bill was still 1000 rupees. I harrumphed off into the night, cursing my lack of judgement and wondering if I was destined to be worshipping at the porcelain altar for the bulk of the night.

And now the flip side of Bailey's law.

We took the ferry to Fort Cochin, which is about a 20 minute ride from the boat jetty that is a couple of minutes walk from the hotel. It's a pretty little place with a sleepier feel to it. Its the home of one of the original Jewish settlement in India. There's a big spice market and a flourishing fishing center. We walked all the way Dutch Palace and then to the synagogue. On the way back, we were hungry, so we ducked into a little hole in the wall restaurant. Now this is the kind of place that would make most people I know turn and run, for fear of intestinal invasion. It was a real South Indian working man's lunch spot, and the decor was, well.... not. Dirty floor, peeling paint, old pictures of saints on the wall. We ordered three veg. thalis, or rice meals, to share between the 5 of us. Now the thali comes on a stainless steel tray, and consists of a mound of rice, a couple of vegetable curries, a chili pickle, sambar (lentil gravy), rassam (or pepper water), and yoghurt. The beauty of it is that it is bottomless. When your curries are gone, a dhoti-clad gentleman of indeterminate age comes around and plops more on your plate. This game goes on until you are full. It was actually the best thali I've had so far. Real honest food with soul. We were stuffed and happy. So three thalis, a 2 liter bottle of water, and two masala teas totaled 130 Rupees. Ten times better than the previous meal, and almost 1/10 the price!

We have found evidence of this law in other places in Mexico and Hawaii. The best food was in the street stall serving grilled pork. Sure, the aroma of the sewer blew through when the wind was just right, but the food was the real deal. Our experience has been that you stand a far greater chance of food poisoning in the big hotels that cater to Westerners than you do if you eat where the locals eat.

It's all about inverting your expectations.

Breakfast Of Champions

We've been in Cochin now for a couple of days. Mostly resting and trying to get adjusted to the time zone. The boys are finding it a little bit challenging, as India does present a full frontal assault on all of one's senses. It's the polar opposite of sitting on the beach in Cabo San Lucas and ordering a series of cervezas from the pool boy. Doing the simplest thing can be very daunting, as every cultural cue that you are used to using for social or geographical navigation does not exist. It's a little like showing up for your corporate office gig topped up with a near lethal dose of hallucinogens and expecting to put in a good days work. Everyone looks at you differently and you're not sure why, and the landscape that used to be so familiar is now completely alien. New sounds. New smells. Your eye gets caught up in minute details of architectural decay. And the colours... the colours... Okay, the 60s were good to me, I admit.

Soon, one begins to adapt, and gradually it becomes more normal to traipse through rough and broken streets at dusk, looking on the unmarked streets for a distant restaurant that has been recommended, surrounded by small swooping bats, and dodging cockroaches the size of chihuahuas on what used to be the sidewalk perhaps 100 years ago. Our little entourage, now looking like the poster family for "Polygamy Today" magazine, picks their way though the constantly changing obstacle course. We move past wafting smoke from fires of unknown origin, and clouds of incense intertwined with the aroma of sewage, dodging regular assaults from the legions of tuk-tuks (auto-rickshaws) that buzz past like big noisy honking insects.

It's insane. And it's fabulous.

That said, the India we are seeing today looks a little different from the one I saw in 2000. Yes, there are still beggars and rampant poverty, but there is an emerging Indian middle class. Everyone has a cel phone, and we even see some women in jeans. That's a lot of cultural change in such a short amount of time. Also, while there is still some livestock in the streets, there does not seem to be as much before. Once again, I'm not sure how much of that is location dependent, as this is my first time in the South Traveling as a family is also quite different than the backpacking trip Laurel and I did in 2000. We can't just wake up and do as we please. Kids need to be fed and entertained, and that takes planning. We're really lucky to have Emma with us, as she is wonderful with the boys, and they are very fond of her. We must make quite an odd sight when the five of us meander down a street! The funny thing that we're discovering is that Isaac is regarded as a rock star here. When we cruise down a street, other parents smile at us and try and pat his head. Other kids point and stare in amazement at this little blond haired blue eyed stranger. People in the South are much darker than in the North, so he really stands out in stark relief to the landscape! Fortunately, he has not realized the full extent of his newfound stardom, and has not demanded an increase to his already hefty appearance fee.

Today, Laurel is doing some business remotely for her new Naked Soapworks store that opens next week on Bowen Island. Thank Vishnu for the internet! My task is to find a voltage converter to replace the made-in-China one that blew up instantly the first time I plugged it in when we were in Singapore. Curiously, the fuse was the only thing that survived the incident. I really thought that the Chinese had a better handle on quality control. Tomorrow, we begin the search in earnest to see if we can locate a house to live in. This is the last link in the chain for us before we can get down to work planning our filming. That should be an adventure!

For the last couple of mornings, we've been going to the Indian Coffee House for breakfast. It's just down the block from the hotel. It's part of a chain operated by a workers co-op. This is a Communist state, after all! They do awesome fresh grape and pineapple juices for 10 rupees. Wonderful parathas, puris, and chappatis. Great masala dosa. There are two things that are new to me. One is the "Egg Roast", which is a hard boiled egg sitting in a very spicy sauce with caramelized onions and tomato. It's spiced with clove, cinnamon, cardamom, chile, and a hint of fennel. Its quite excellent, and highly addictive. The other is "Bombay Toast", which is kind of like french toast. That one has proven very popular with the boys, despite the complete absence of maple syrup. The masala dosa comes with a nice coconut chutney, and great sambar (a kind of spicy lentil gravy). The filling has tomato, onions, spices, and potatoes that actually taste like potatoes! Breakfast for the five of us with a dish, breads, coffee, and fresh juice comes in at around 175 rupees. About four dollars Canadian! Laurel already makes a pretty good dosa batter, and I do a decent masala potato filling. I really want to perfect my sambar recipe before we return. Right now, that seems pretty far away...

24 Hours In A "War Zone"

Up at 4 AM yesterday to get to the airport to catch out flight to Mumbai.  We were led to believe from reports in the news that the whole city was locked down, with machine gun turrets placed on strategic corners manned by vigilant mustache-heavy elite troops.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

We waltzed through immigration with nary a hiccup, and when we approached the secondary bag screening station, we actually got pulled from the line and told to just walk on through.  I guess it was because we were white people, and weren't even on the terrorist radar.  It was a  little disconcerting.  Fortunately, our guy was waiting for us with a crude "Laurel Bailey" sign, and after having our carts hijacked by a couple of airport porters/extortionists, we piled into a deluxe AC taxi.   At least that was how it was billed. 

The boys fell asleep immediately, and on the way in, all the memories of the India I knew came back in spades.  The dense traffic, where use of the horn is the rule as opposed to the exception.  The painted lines that provide the merest hint of lane organization.  The diverse mix of Mercedes and ox carts.   The casual public pissing.   And the smell...

We arrived at the hotel after an hour, and basically hunkered down.   The streets were busy, and from what I could tell, it was business as usual for the people of Mumbai.  We took a brief and somewhat hallucinogenic walk around the neighborhood, but we were in such a sleep-deprived blood sugar crisis zone, we basically went back to the hotel and had something to eat in the hotel restaurant, thereby violating every rule of international travel.  

Around 5 PM, Emma showed up at our door to our great delight.  We just basically crashed after that, and tried our best to get enough sleep to take us through this day's flight to Cochin.  Enough time zone changes already!  We just want to hunker down and chill after this.  We're all really tired of being constantly on the move.  Hopefully next week, we'll be able to find a proper place to live.

And set up a kitchen so we can cook again!

We Came Here To Eat

After another amazing vegetarian breakfast of faux char siu bao, char kway teow, fried rice and taro cake, we were off to do a little shopping, Singapore style. Rob had his heart set on picking up a terabyte hard drive to back up all our photos so we headed a few blocks away to a 7-storey building devoted to electronics and all things computer-geekery. Imagine entering a mall that sold only shoes - store after store of shoes. Almost all the same kind of shoes. How do you pick out the one that contains the shoes you seek at the price you want? Each floor of this mega-electronic-mall easily had over a dozen stores. We got to the 5th floor before we found one that had the right kind of hard drive. On the one hand, this is a great way to shop - you go to the neighbourhood that sells the one thing you are looking for, instead of driving all over town. On the other hand, you get a lot of hard-sell as you walk buy since everyone is offering the same items at almost the same prices. Crazy-hard way to make a buck.

After yesterday's successful nosh at the Albert Food Centre, we decided that a return trip was in order. We started with a little BBQ pork on rice, followed by the Singapore speciality, Oyster Omelette. The omelette was a treat, nestled in the many folds of the omelette were plump little oysters - simple but satisfying. We followed the omelette with popiah and carrot cake (hold the cream cheese frosting! Singapore carrot cake is an entirely different beast), also Singapore specialties. "Carrot" cake is made with daikon, which looks like a white carrot, and also is an egg-based dish. Daikon, eggs, chillies and a sweet soy sauce are scrambled together for a truly tasty treat. Popiah is a thin crepe-like pancake on which is sprinkled peanuts, cucumber, bean sprouts, grated carrot and stir-fried turnip or jicama and a little drizzle of sweet soy or hoisin. The whole thing is then rolled up and sliced into pieces. It reminded me a little of a Vietnamese Salad Roll. We washed it all down with some amazing fresh fruit juices. These fruit stalls are dotted all over SIngapore and are a great way to deal with the high heat and humidity. For about Singapore $1(Canadian $.85?), you get about 350 ml of beautiful fresh juice - basically, fruit blended up, occasionally sugar (for lemon or kalamansi) or water needs to be added. You can choose from watermelon, papaya, dragon fruit, carrot (the orange one this time), beet root, pineapple, sugar cane, kalamansi (my personal favourite!), sour sop and more. You can also buy chunks of the fruit, peeled, cut and ready to eat. Rob and I couldn't help but comment on how different fast food is in this part of the world. Fast food back home is nasty, unhealthy and cheap. Fast food Singapore-style is (mostly) healthy and still manages to be really affordable. A good sized plate of "carrot" cake is S$2!

While we were polishing off some of the goodies we had bought, the heavens opened and an tropical-style deluge commenced. What a downpour! I had forgotten what the rainy season is like here. All us Pacific North Coasters think we know rain, we know a really gentle version! A tropical downpour can drench you through in 10 seconds flat. Inside the relative comfort of the Albert Centre with its metal roof, we waited out the bulk of the thunder and rain for about 25 minutes. Miles commented that it was so loud he could only hear himself speak - personally, I think this is a common issue for Miles, regardless of torrential rains...;-) ! We passed the time listening to both the storm and getting to know our fruit stall vendor. A nice fellow who works, on average, 14 hours/day, 7 days a week. He was smitten with Isaac - handing the boys free fruit jellies (like jello, made with agar agar) and bits of nori. The storrn gave him a bit of a break from the usually hectic pace of his day. And he was intrigued by Canada, but felt we should move to Singapore.

We had planned to take the boys to the Botanical Garden this afternoon but the deluge put a damper on those plans. We leave very early tomorrow morning for Mumbai (one night only there, where we meet up with the lovely Emma Condé, our soon-to-be-Nanny) and the beginning of the Indian leg of this venture. I was feeling bad about not showing the boys more of SIngapore but as Rob reminded me - we said from the beginning that we came here to eat.

Memory Is A Funny Thing.

Walking around in Little India, the smells evoked a surprisingly emotional response, as little details of the previous trip there bubbled up from the dim recesses of what few brain cells are left functioning. Incense wafting out of shops and restaurants, mixing with garlic and masala. I had forgotten about the continuous construction and destruction that is always going on, no matter where you are. It's as if Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva all joined forces, donned hard hats, and went at it 24/7. Something is always being torn down, drilled, tiled, or riveted. Invariably, the compressor that drives this cosmic hardware is parked just outside your hotel room window. Then there are the open sewers on either side of the street, posing a constant threat to your balance. At least the ones in Singapore are fairly dry...

We took a cab to the Seafood Center for what we hoped would be a fabulous revisiting of the crab dinners we had enjoyed nearly a decade before. We got there a little early, so we spent some time on the beach. The boys made sand castles and dodged the medical waste that peppered the high water mark until we went to eat. Instantly, my senses told me that something was not quite right. Every restaurant had a well groomed menu-waving tout in front of it, and walking across the strip between the restaurant fronts and the beach was like running the gauntlet, as we were politely harassed by someone from each establishment. Sort of like cruising the midway at a state fair. We settled on one place, "Jumbo", and were seated outside. It was here that I discovered the disconnect between the Singaporean chair design and my decidedly Caucasian ass. Juuuuuuuust a little to narrow for a comfy sit down dinner.

An American gentleman in his late 20's, perhaps on his first or second business trip was dining with an Asian colleague, and the conversation we overheard was hysterical. the American guy says "I don't like fish. People tell me that salmon doesn't taste like fish, but it does. I don't like fish". His Asian colleague, looking quite crestfallen, but trying very hard to be polite, said "But you eat prawns, right?" "Yeah, I'll eat prawns. But not the ones with the heads on. I can't eat anything that looks back at me". At that point he went off about beady little eyes, and we kind of tuned out. I felt bad for the Asian guy who was obviously trying to impress and out of town client that obviously would have been much more at home at Arby's.

So we ordered deep fried baby squid as an appetizer, and some Gai Lan in garlic sauce to go with the Sri Lankan Chili Crab. Within minutes, the squid came. It was way overcooked, to the point of near incineration, and the oil that was intended to make it crispy was perhaps sourced from a Korean War surplus Jeep. Not a promising start. The waitress came by and asked "How is it?" Not being shy, I said "Disappointing. We ate it because we were hungry, but it was way overcooked, and your oil hasn't been changed in a while". She must have taken this as some sort of obscure joke, because she just tossed her head back and laughed before disappearing. The Gai Lan was quite fabulous. Then came the crab. Somewhat smaller than I remembered. And the award winning sauce was, well... pedestrian. It was a tasty crab all right, but Laurel and I looked at each other and each kind of faked a smile, knowing exactly what each other were thinking. We were about halfway through, when another waitress came up and was perhaps trying to be helpful by informing us "Ooohh, watch out. There is some hot chili in there!". I think I mumbled something like "That's what we ordered", and tried to ignore her. Perhaps she was trying to build a bridge across what she perceived to be a massive cultural divide, but it felt rather condescending from this end.

So we tallied up the bill, skipped dessert, and basically fled the premises, hoping that squid did not make a surprise reappearance at midnight. We talked about it later, and were kind of puzzled by the whole thing. Was the meal we had nearly a decade ago that much better? Or have our palates changed over the years? One thing is for sure. We both agreed that our homemade version that uses Dungeness crab was far superior. I'll post that recipe up when I return home, I promise. The Sri Lankan crabs themselves are a treat, though. You just don't see them in North America. Interestingly, this meal cost exactly ten times what the food court Laksa meal cost, and the Laksa was twice as good, and the service was friendlier and genuine. I know where we're going tomorrow!

Memory is a funny thing. And you can't go back.

Three Bowls Full

Sometimes I just don't understand white people.

Our hotel stay comes with a free breakfast. You are give a choice: either a Continental Breakfast, which consisted of instant coffee, canned orange juice, and two slices of white bread of dubious origin, along with those lovely rectangular packets of preserves that archaeologists will be digging up for centuries to come, or...... Chinese Vegetarian Buffet, which this morning was fried rice noodle with gai lan and shiitake mushrooms, cubes of taro cake, vegetable spring rolls, faux BBQ pork buns, and fried rice! All you can eat! With only a couple of exceptions, every person of caucasian persuasion opted for the Continental.

After we had eaten our fill, and were just sitting in our chairs digesting like a family of anacondas that had just consumed a small herd of deer, an older English woman sat down at the adjacent table with her Continental plate. I could not help myself. "You should check out the Vegetarian Buffet, it's pretty awesome!". In her best Sybil Fawlty voice, she replied "Oooohhh... Ah did try it once, but it was soooooo spicy!". It should be noted, that there was not a single chili appearing anywhere in the breakfast buffet, although there was a nice sambal and a pot of pickled chili peppers on every table. At this point, I'm starting to think that my whole family has some some weird genetic mutation. Are the English allergic to flavour? I just don't get it. Then an Indian gentleman, obviously visiting on business, appeared. To my absolute horror and amazement, he too ordered the Continental! The pervasive influence of a century of British rule perhaps...

After breakfast, we went back up to the room in an effort to train the boys in the intestinal ways of the sub-continent. This involves eating a healthy breakfast and retreating to one's room until there is a confirmed movement of one's bowels. At least one. We learned the hard way on our last visit that one does not want to get caught out when an extreme urge to find a toilet hits. At home, one can go "Hmmmm... note to self. Find toilet in the next hour or so". In India, your bowels, which were once a staunch ally in the processing of yummy things, have the potential to turn on you and betray you faster than Stephen Harper can don a sweater. A savage 30 foot snake of coiled intestine hisses "Find a toilet...NOWWWW!!!!!!!!!". Nevermind....

Since yesterday, Miles has been wanting a Laksa, so after cruising around LIttle India for an hour or so, we went to the Albert Street Food Center, which is one of those massive buildings filled with hawker stands. The stands all specialize in one or two dishes, and some of them are second and third generation. There could be a few lifetimes of experience in that bowl of soup you order. We ordered three bowls of laksa, and I got clams as an extra in mine. This cost us the princely sum of 6 Singapore dollars, or about 5 Canadian or 4 US. It was simply fabulous. And fabulously simple.

We're thinking of splurging tonight and going by cab to the Seafood Centre, which is right on the beach on the way to the airport. This is a huge complex of open air seafood restaurants, and our goal is the elusive Singapore Chili Crab. Or shall we have Black Pepper Crab? Hmmmmm... perhaps both. These are two amazing Singaporean dishes that feature huge Sri Lankan crabs the size of Volkswagens. The females are the tastiest, as they are packed with roe. It's messy and sloppy, and damn shiok man!

We Lose A Day. Miles Loses His Lunch.

So here we are in Singapore. It's 4:30 AM. We're all up.

We arrived yesterday after a gruelling 20 hour+ trip that saw us fly to Hong Kong, wait an hour and then go on to Singapore. Along the way, we discovered something previously unkown about Miles.

He gets airsick. A lot.

The poor guy just could not keep anything down, and he had his face in a series of barf bags for the entire trip. We all felt really bad for him, as there was nothing we could do for him. Pretty much just dry heaves by the end of the trip, but hey, its good training for university. Laurel and I managed to get a couple of cat naps lasting 15 minutes or so each, but that nice refreshing REM thing remained elusive. All told we were up for about 36 hours. Isaac was fine. Slept well. Played video games. Tucked into several trays of food. I, on the other hand, arrived moderately delirious, and when I went to go freshen up a bit in the washroom, my eyes were so bloodshot, I looked like I had been on the tail end of a 48 hour crack binge.

We got into the hotel, which is basic, but nice. A little shower... A little brushing of the teeth... Good enough for a walkabout. We walked out into 89 degrees and 85% humidity. We grabbed abowl of noodles and a soup, exchanged some cash, and wandered about for a bit. Around 3 PM, we decided to "have a little lie down". I vaguely remember being prodded around 6 PM, but the long and the short of it is this: its the middle of the night, we slept for 12 hours, and now we're all up.

I opened my laptop and did a wireless network search, and after trying a few, I found one unsecured network, but I could only get a connection by standing on the bed and extending my arms fully. But we have a connection! Woo hoo! We got emails from our tenant on Bowen, who has just moved in, appears to be enjoying herself immensely. Another email from Krishnagopal, our friend in Cochin, saying that he thinks he has found a house for us. Furnished. Overlooking the sea in Fort Cochin. It belongs to a friend of his, and more details are forthcoming. Another email from Emma, who says that she got a room in the hotel that we are staying in in Mumbai, and she is on track to meet us there on December 5th. Could it be that all our plans are actually coming together?

So we made quite a sight. Laurel and I checking our with our matching laptops, completely naked, perched on the headboard ledge above our beds. Everytime we want to send or recieve anything, we have to raise our arms fully above our heads, as if praying to the gods of the internet. The fact there is a very large mirror across from us did not help...

So we'll wander about today to try to get used to the heat. Eat some good food. We found an awesome food court in our walk yesterday that we plan to revisit today. I promise to take my camera and get some good photos to post up.