Desperation at the Fancy Food Show
Desperation at the Fancy Food Show
By Joe Bob Briggs
July 11, 2002
The first fancy thing I ate at the Fancy Food Show at the Jacob Javits Convention Center was a piece of bread soaked in Ruby Pomegranate Vinegar from the Golden Whisk Company of South San Francisco.
I would tell you what it tasted like, but you'll see in a minute why I can't remember.
After the Ruby Pomegranate Vinegar sample, I proceeded to consume in about 10 minutes time:
A Bloody Mary Biscuit. (No, it didn't taste like a Bloody Mary.) A Margarita Biscuit. (Yes, it tasted like a Margarita.) A Lavender Orange Cookie from "My Bubby's Passover Cookies." A heavy chili-type sauce from "Sauces 'n Love" of Somerville, Massachusetts. Something called Picante Caribe, hot and spicy, served by some smiling Caribbean islanders with gleaming white teeth who turned out to be from Cleveland. A mozzarella ball from the Antonio Mozzarella Factory in Springfield, New Jersey. ("Prosciutto with that?") A Key-Lime Meringue Cookie from Bakehouse Foods of Carlsbad, California. ("Seven calories and it's fat free!") A cup of Barritts Apple Ginger Beer from Westport, Connecticut. ("You wanna try apple?" "Why not?") Darjeeling tea from the Tea Board of India. And a piece of Agro- On brand Baby Corn in Vinegar dished up by a Thai businessman named Anoma Thongrob, whose business card says "Think Babycorn. Think Agro-On."
And then, realizing that I had only progressed about 30 feet down one of the aisles in what appeared to be a trade show that had a THOUSAND aisles, I decided to make a plan. I would dart around the crowds and seek out the lonely, the neglected, the unnoticed Fancy Foods of the world.
Luckily, at that very moment, looming up before me, was the food industry of Bulgaria! I was the only person drawn to the Bulgarian booth, because it was mostly shelves filled with honey jars and drab sterilized vegetables. Fortunately the ebullient Kiro Kirov of the Bulgaria Trade Center knows how to PUSH those sterilized vegetables. "How you like it? You can have the fried pepper or the peeled pepper! Traditional Bulgarian dish, goes with vodka."
"Can you eat it without vodka?" (He looks at me quizzically.) "I mean, is the pepper supposed to cut the vodka, or the vodka supposed to cut the pepper?"
"You try it. Very traditional." I went for the peeled pepper, and it was, truly, an amazingly virile pepper. I was liking this international aspect of the Fancy Food Show.
Since no vodka was available, I decided to cut the taste of the peeled Bulgarian pepper with a bag of Gummy Bear Cookies, and in the process I spotted Mike Kelley ladeling out spoonfuls of caviar at the Kelley's Katch Caviar booth. Mike turned out to be an affable guy who harvests the eggs from paddlefish in Tennessee rivers, and he has newspaper articles proving that his caviar is "very comparable to Sevruga." I would have been willing to vouch for his claim--it WAS mighty tasty--except I kept trying to picture a paddlefish in my mind. Shouldn't they call it a caviarfish or something, just for marketing purposes? It sounds like a beaver with gills.
Of course, nothing follows paddlefish caviar like a tangy Praline Mustard Glaze from Savannah, Georgia, which I was assured by "Dr. Peters" representatives is especially fine with brie. To tell you the truth, though, I could still taste the Bulgarian pepper.
That all changed when I met Vijay Gupta, the enthusiastic proprietor of Jyoti Cuisine India of Philadelphia, who presides over a veritable delicatessen of canned salads, spinach-based meals, and bean delicacies, all served in vintage 1950s Ralph Kramden-style cans. "All of British Airways vegetarian meals are ours," he assured me as I wolfed down a medley of greens and hot red things. "Also U.S. Airways, but they don't have much food on U.S. Airways."
I need to move faster. As I pop a Chocolate and Yogurt Espresso Bean from Mocha Magic into my mouth, I spot the Dave's Insanity Sauce booth and know I'm in danger. A friend of mine had to go to the emergency room once because of an overdose of Dave's Insanity Sauce--so, of course, I slathered some on a cracker and went Yowza!
That was it, though. No more salsas, dips, marinades, vinegars or sauces. Life is too short. I cleaned out my palate with a Pesto Dipping Cracker from Cuisine Perel of San Rafael, California, skirted around the crowd admiring the jams of Clearbrook Farms (Sharonville, Ohio), and made a beeline for the Bourbon Praline Pecans sold by Wheelers of Indianola, Mississippi. A Bourbon Praline Pecan is truly an amazingly satisfying thing.
Unfortunately, I followed that up with a combination of Fudge Truffle Chocolate Cake from Bodega, a Wild Boar Pate with Hazelnut from Bec Fin Charcuterie Francaise of Linden, New Jersey, and--this is the one that did me in--three Guava Snack Bars from Venezuela. As I chawed on the squishy gooey substance-- one was Guava Caramel, one was Pineapple, and I forget the third one--I started to get light-headed as I browsed the brochure of La Andina candy company: "In the heart of Venezuelan andes a sweet tradition is born . . ."
There was now an unsweet tradition forming in my stomach, and it wasn't helped by Hearts of Palm from another Venezuelan booth, or the olives stuffed with hot peppers, combined with a raisin-and-chestnut dip, being offered by Proensa of Peru. I needed HEARTY food, I was telling myself--but I was wrong. That wasn't what I needed at all.
What I needed was Zhumir. "That looks alcoholic," I said stupidly to Raul Enriquez, a VERY friendly bartender at the Zhumir booth. "It's the national drink of Ecuador!" he said brightly. And then he explained the difference between Zhumir, Zhumir Seco and Zhumir Limon. They all looked like vodka bottles to me, so I said "Which one has the highest proof? I just had some Venezuelan candy."
He told me that this one--the plain Zhumir--is 86 proof and "for shots only." Magic words. I had a shot of Zhumir. "Damn that's good," I told him, and he beamed with pride. "It is a very special drink. Made 100 per cent from sugar cane."
Suddenly I was fascinated with the production, marketing, labeling and distillation of Zhumir--not least because I was angling for a second shot. "Do they sell this in New York?"
"Now they do!" he told me, still beaming. I got my second shot, then thought, what the hell, I need to compare that Zhumir to the Zhumir Seco and the Zhumir Limon. This stuff was nirvana after a meal of praline pecans and sterilized East European peppers and Indian vegetarian airline food. But eventually I ran out of reasons to take additional shots of Zhumir and had to move on.
The Benne Wafer, sold since 1919 by Olde Colony Bakery in Charleston, South Carolina, is a traditional food brought over by the slaves--I THINK I got that right after five Zhumir shots--but the Colony Coco Crisp was better. Oddly enough, I had my appetite back.
My Copper River Sockeye Smoked Salmon from Sea Bear Smokehouse of Anacortes, Washington, was washed down with a British mystery fruit drink called "Vimto" that was sparkling and had a black currant bite. I wolfed a Caesar salad made with "Perfect Croutons." ("At the bottom of the salad bowl, they don't disintegrate," said Virginia, of Live A Little Gourmet Foods in Oakland.) Then four Turkish guys got me to drink a Uludag, "the most popular carbonated drink in Turkey," followed by an herbal aphrodisiac "dietary supplement" called "Love in a Bottle" which will be called either Niagara or Nexcite when it hits the market. (Legal fisticuffs going on.) Should we really all be drinking this stuff in a group?
This is where it starts to get hazy. I know I talked to some Texans who sell jars of olives stuffed with blue cheese under the "Epicurean's Delight" brand, because I ate those right before the Pickled Mitki and Wild Cucumber and Makdous, which is a small eggplant stuffed with garlic and nuts, all of which come from Beirut. In my now vast Fancy Food Show experience, I could attest that the farther east you travel--Bulgaria, Lebanon, Turkey--the better the food, but that didn't stop me from chugging some Maple Sap Water offered by a nervous guy at Vermont Sweetwater who kept explaining the difference between Maple Sap Water and Maple Syrup Water. (I forget.)
I spotted another caviar booth--Royal Caviar Inc. of Glendale, California--but it turned out to be made out of SOY! You see what I mean about travelling EAST? Fortunately the importer of Yinpu Black Rice Beer from China was just across the way, and I quaffed one of those. Outstanding! "It's really big in Ohio," he told me.
Then I spotted some Bulgarian wines, and since I now had an affection for the whole nation of Bulgaria, I sidled up and asked the woman in charge which was their best one. "ALL of our wines are good!" she snapped at me. I started to tell her I was a personal friend of Kiro Kirov, but in the meantime she had started to pour some Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon for me--Villa Armira, 2001--and I had a good strong belt. Bulgarian wines, like Bulgarian pickled vegetables, are NOT subtle.
Now let me introduce you to the peppadew. The peppadew is a new fruit--discovered by accident six years ago on the South African resort of Johann Steenkoman--and it's only been in the states for 40 days. It comes from only one place--Tzaneen, South Africa--and it looks and tastes sort of like a sweet red pepper, but with some roughness. It's NOT a pepper, however, as the spokesman for Peppadew International told me. "It's a perennial." I have no idea what he's talking about, but he had displays of the peppadew on salads, as a garnish, as a pizza topping, and I chomped every one he would let me get close to.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Italians. At this point I've made my way through about 10 per cent of the show, and I realize that I haven't even been to Italy yet! Don't half the gourmet foods in the world come from Italy? I make a quick decision: Italy is gonna be a speed run.
But it turns out to be impossible. First I sample some organic wines from La Cantina Pizzolato, which is from Villorba. (No idea.) The cabernet "base wine" is so good I have to try the "riserva" as well. Then I spot the Monini Originale booth, with the rather extravagant claim of having "the best selling olive oil in Italy." What are there, 97,000 BRANDS of olive oil in Italy? So I scarfed some bruschetta and it was indeed spectacular.
But now I'm in big trouble. Stretching out before me are DOZENS of guys in Italian designer suits with big smiles on their faces, offering wines. An elegant man named Teseo Mucci serves me a Montepulciano d'Abruzzo from his ancestral vineyard, then a Le Morge. There's a whole zip code of wines from Sardinia, because, I take it, Sardinia is "breaking out" as a wine region.
"No earthquakes!" explains Tattanu Pira, owner of the Cantina Sociale Dorgali estate, in an effort to tell me why Sardinian wine is so great. "You mean, like, Sicily has earthquakes and you don't, so the wine is better?" And he actually WINCES when I say the name "Sicily." "Never an earthquake in Sardinia!" he repeats. "This name Viniola came from the Romans, from Sardinia. Years ago we gave grapes to France, to Tuscany. Not anymore!"
All this time I'm savoring a glass of Cannonau di Sardegna from his 2000 vintage, and so I'm not following the geological survey in its entirety, but suffice it to say, the Sardinians have landed!
I can't really tell you all the Sardinian wines I tried, though, because in the middle of my Mediterranean bacchanal I was waylaid by Antonette Catani, a freckled girl who looks too young to drink, but was generously pouring a wicked lineup of distilled spirits in pretty bottles that were offered by Branca Products importers and, well, uh--I know one of them was Fernet-Branca, an 80-proof after-dinner "digestif" with "magical powers" (uh-huh), and another was MOR Vodka from Estonia (yes), and then there was the AGWA herbal liqueur ("Taste the Power of the Amazon!"), and there was a grappa, an orange liqueur, and--my notes are a little shaky at this point, but I think it says "Carpano Punt-e-Mes," which is one of those Italian things that have God knows how many herbs in them.
Some wicked wicked person put the Jewel of Russia vodka booth ten paces from the Branca Products booth. And because the beautiful bottle is entirely in English, I make the mistake of asking "So is this bottled in the U.S.?" The two shocked Russians behind the counter shout "No!" in unison, because Jewel of Russia is made in Chernogolovka, 40 miles from Moscow, and they're extremely proud that they use the most ancient of Russian distilling processes. They make two kinds--a smooth extra- filtered blend for the American market, and the traditional "bites like a bulldog" stuff for the Russians. I requested the bulldog and everything started to run together.
I don't remember Greece at all, except the wine bottles were short and squat, like Museum of Modern Art flower vases. I vaguely remember some black licorice liqueurs from Limbadi, Calabria, and a grappa drink with a giant red pepper inside the bottle. At some point I ate Virginia Peanuts from the Peanut Patch, a Watermelon-Strawberry carbonated energy drink called "The Switch," a Pecan Crickle from Georgia, a "Vita Muffin" served by actors dressed like Adam and Eve and wearing only fig leaves, a Cajun-style Andouille Gourmet Chicken Sausage, rice pilaf from another Indian guy, an all-butter cake called a "Dresden Stollen" that weighed about 67 pounds and felt like more in the stomach, a Dagoba Organic Chocolate candy, shredded coconut and roasted brazil nuts from Brasilia, and duck-liver peppercorn pate while carrying on a long rambling conversation with a man named Joe Macri about how Americans like pork pate better than the greasy duck pate popular in Montreal, where his company Tour Eiffel is based. "Americans like a smooth texture," he said. "Americans with pate are like they were with brie 20 years ago." At the time it was all very fascinating.
Why am I staring at Farmhous Pancake and Waffle Mix offered by Stonewall Kitchen? Focus!
While Kay Verney is serving me a slice of tea bread from New Salem Tea Bread Company and explaining how her breads became popular eight years ago when she had a restaurant in New Salem, Massachusetts, and how they're made with no preservatives and lots of lemons, I hear a woman nearby say, "Well, I don't drink, but they made me drink some yesterday and now I really like it."
I'm there! It's Limoncello di Sorrento. Salvatore Vuolo pours it for me, served in a green chocolate cup.
Espresso. I need it. I find some, at Italian Products USA, which is next door to Tommy's Naked Soda, where I may or may not have taken a sample of the drink that's "popular on Cape Cod and in Vermont," but I know that at some point--in search of caffeine--I found a Penguin Caffeinated Peppermint ("Three of these equals one Coke") and then, on the "soak it up" theory, ate one of Blackbeard's Caribbean Rum Cakes. At the Costa Rican display of Arabica-bean coffees, I said simply, "Which one's the strongest?" Tarrazu was the strongest. I drank it, and then an XL Energy Drink from Poland, which they assured me was full of both caffeine and Vitamin B.
While downing some Grapefruit Mineral Water at the Sangemini Group display--I'd decided to become healthy--I suddenly realize: only 30 minutes till closing time, and there are two entire levels of the convention center I haven't even SEEN.
I run upstairs and see a convention floor even bigger than the one I've almost gone through. I'm panicked. I stride briskly through Morocco and Tunisia, which seems to be a shrine to the pitted date. A woman collars me at the Jelly Belly booth and asks me if I I've ever wondered what grass tastes like.
What would YOU say? I'm not one to pass up a grass-flavored jelly bean. And, wonder of wonders, it DOES taste like grass!
"How about some dirt?" she says.
"What IS this?" I say.
"Harry Potter. It's all the flavors in the Harry Potter books."
Not being a Harry Potter fan, I don't know what she's talking about, but the whole idea has a certain bizarre punk attraction for me. I chew the dirty jelly bean, and it tastes . . . like dirt!
"Want some Earwax?" she asks.
What the hell, I'm too far gone. I try the Earwax, then the Sardine, the Spinach, and the Black Pepper. Why am I doing this?
"Are you ready for a Booger?"
Yes, she has a booger-flavored jelly bean. With trepidation I swallow it. Not bad.
"Only one more," she says. "Vomit."
This hasn't been so bad. I say, "Sure, why not, gimme the Vomit."
I eat the Vomit-flavored jelly bean, and it tastes . . . like VOMIT! I mean, like REAL vomit. I mean, the kind of strong taste that makes you want to VOMIT. The jelly bean woman set me up!
I'm striding down the aisles at breakneck pace now, looking for coffee or strong Bulgarian vegetables, whichever comes first. I find the Neighbors Coffee booth out of Oklahoma City.
"Would you like Snickerdoodles, Holiday Cheer or Mocha Java?"
I don't have time for this. "The STRONGEST one!"
That would be the Mocha Java. That kills about half the taste, but now I'm virtually RUNNING--through the Caribbean, through Slovenia--when I see what I need. What I must have. Turkish cheese! It's eastern, it's pungent, it's got "overwhelming" written all over it. It's called Tek Sut cheese, and as soon as I bite into it, I know I've made a terrible terrible mistake. It's dry, it's strong, and it's NASTY.
Now, with the taste of Turkish cheese candy vomit in my mouth, I have very few options. Ten minutes till the doors close.
Of course, only one thing will do.
I speak, of course, of the national drink of Ecuador.
I race back downstairs, hoping that Raul Enriquez hasn't packed up his bottles. He's not only still pouring--he remembers me! But how to explain--other than that I'm an out and out alcoholic--that I'm back for another shot?
I tell him that I've been to every booth in the Fancy Food Fair, that I've tasted the cuisines of six continents, and there is nothing--NOTHING--that compared in the remotest degree to Zhukir--I mean, Zhumir! Would he do me the honor of pouring one last drink for the day, so that I can leave with the taste of Zhukir lingering in my memory? (I really did say something to this effect.)
He buys it! He tips the bottle into the glass--the 86-proof, of course--and as it courses down my throat, the Vomit-flavored Jelly Belly vanishes, the Turkish cheese vanishes, and I think for a moment my knowledge of the multiplication tables vanishes.
But I'm a satisfied man. I stride out onto 11th Avenue and soak up the steaming late afternoon sun. I feel, if I may say so, fancy-free.
Joe Bob Briggs writes a number of columns for UPI and may be contacted at joebob@upi.com or through his website at www.joebobbriggs.com. Snail mail: P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221.
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