The Runaway Cook

Tonight is Peter's last night in Venice and Italy for that matter. He is headed to Austria. We have yet to find a place that has given us a meal worth slobbering over the story that we tell our loved ones and we are bound and determined to find just that. After asking many locals and getting a bit lost, we have found the Trattoria Storica after talking with a man behind the front desk of a very small and beautiful hotel. He Claimed that this was one of the best places for pasta and fish.

He was right. I ordered a pasta dish with garlic, tomatoes, herbs and scampi that was luscious! The perfectly al dente pasta was coated in a rich film of peppery olive oil. Garlic hung in the air above my plate and clung to each bite I twirled around my fork. The scampi was tender and naturally sweet and rich in minerality which was complimented by the sweet and acidic cherry tomatoes. It was simple but enough to make the sound of happiness vibrate my vocal cords: MMMMMMM!

I couldn't have been more pleased with my dish. However, I could have done away with the mosquitoes that kept catching me off guard. After a few slaps our waiter brought over a bottle of bug spray and left it at the table with kind not of his head. We spared everything but the food and it seemed to help some.

We each ordered a filet of fish as well as our pasta dished. We were both excited when out waiter push a gueridon to our table and deboned the grilled creatures in front of us. Mine was gilled a little longer than my liking but was still good.

I would suggest this restaurant to you all. Venice is a beautiful Italian city, but finding a place with delicious pasta took three attempts. If only finding delicious and authentic cuisine was as easy as it is to admire the architecture.

I would have never imagined getting to a restaurant that had obnoxiously wonderful reviews on the NY Times website would be so difficult. Tonight all began when Peter and I decided that as culinarians, we wanted to splurge on some splendid Venetian fare for our dinner. I had done some research prior to leaving the states on places to go and we used my base to find what we imagined would be the perfect place. I called and made a reservation at this on-the-water experience and wrote down the address and marked it on the map. However, after a long walk and going back a forth between the only to restaurants in the area, we realized that this restaurant was so perfect, that we and no one we asked could find it.

There is a place where, when I cross the street, the hairs on my arms stand on end. It’s as if I walk through this mystical barrier and every sense is awakened by the strong difference. The moist air feels thicker and the architecture changes from big modern Asian city to putty colored arches, small awnings, and skinny sidewalks. The women here a

re in full bloom wearing vibrantly colored, sequin-covered Sarees (traditional Indian dresses) that seem to dance to the perfect playlist of twanging exotic music escaping every window. Yet, the most intoxicating stimulus of all, the smell! Flowers and fruit line the streets, steeping in the heat to make a tea of aromas. As I walk by stall after stall I am overtaken by scents of jasmine, hot Ghee-laden flatbreads (clarified butter), sweet incense escaping the Hindu temple walls, and my favorite smell: the simple yet potent nuttiness of curry leaves. Sigh little India you are captivating.

This in one of the only place here in Singapore that makes me feel like I am far from home. The stark difference in culture is refreshing. And I seem to have fallen for this place. (to the left is a photo of the Hindu temple at night)

THE CLOTHES

After just and eight block walk from the YWCA i call home now, are the beginnings of little india.

As the streets change the shops do too. Thick glass panes are the only things that separate the black street from dazzling gowns made by skilled women who fold, tie, and pin and exceptionally long piece of fabric. The Saree, my new favorite fashion, is a traditional Indian garment for women, made by rolling one's self in fabric. My jaw must have unhinged to drop that low. So many stunning fabrics and they never seemed to end. After seeing hundreds of these pretty things my friend and I wanted to take a peek and try them out for ourselves.

After some searching and some tangent jewelry gawking, we found ourselves in one of the many clothing stalls above the wet market. Nothing in this store seemed quite right so we asked about a sarees. The gentleman there told us that he didn't sells those but he knew who did. He immediately jumped up out from behind the counter and smiled as he said, "This way." The three of us sprinted down this corridor of textiles made a sharp turn to the right and found ourselves at the foot of a small shop covered in hanging fabric.

Inside this dent-in-the-wall shop stood a coffee-skinned, chubby-cheeked woman just probably in her 40s, named Jeet. Her bouncy short curls were about as live as she was. After just 20seconds or so she grabbed me, spun me up in a saree and made

me feel as though I was a princess. Which was quite a feat since I was sweating on all sides, had no make up on, and my hair looked something like a drowned tumbleweed. Needless to say we both ended up buying a saree. And as the week progressed we conned all our friends into buying them too. haha To the left are three of us ladies in our Sarees at the graduation brunch at the Ritz.

THE MARKETS

Ok. Time to move on from textiles and on to food. Little india is filled with little stalls selling anything you can imagine that might in some way be related to Indian culture. It's pretty endless. And even though there are innum

erable vegetable stalls and random coconut sellers along the street, my favorite place to shop for food was at the wet market.

The wet market here is similar to the one in Chinatown, but cleaner and filled with more foods I am apt to like. As one meanders through this maze, little wooden boxes of shops are filled with fruits and vegetables, flowers, spices and spice blends, fresh meats- with the exception of beef of course, and the largest section, seafood.

This seafood section is not anything like the fish case and lobster tank at your local supermarket. NO WAY. Here the

word fresh means mostly alive. Rows and rows of shaved ice keep blue crab, sharks, eels, and multitudes of fish alive in the tropical heat. Every time I visited this market I stopped to admire the collage of sea creatures. And every time I was there I found fish that were still breathing! In fact, sometimes they would hop right off the table.

......TO BE CONTINUED