Atlantica - 01.09.2007, Síða 21

AnimAl Wonders
If you’ve ever thought you’d do well on Survivor,
there’s no shortage of rodent or insect nibbles
available grilled to perfection by roadside vendors
around the globe. Munching on one of Cambodia’s
famous deep fried spiders—hairy legs and all—can
earn you major points in the bragging stakes. Equally
popular with fearless gourmands are brochettes of
grilled insects in China, black and white mopane
worms from southern Africa, guinea pigs from Peru,
or a fat, juicy rat-on-a-stick in Laos.
The bravest of all? Balut, the near bite-sized
snack of the Philippines and Vietnam that is a boiled
embryonic duck egg. Consider yourself warned.
nAtionAl treAsures
Some countries are inevitably associated with
an unofficial national dish. Think of France and
images are instantly conjured of chic women dripping
Nutella over their hands as they dig into a freshly
cooked crêpe. Talk of Hong Kong and you can almost
smell the pungent aroma of stinky tofu wafting
from the street corner stands in the markets of Wan
Chai. Even Iceland gets in on the act with their hot
dogs, made with mostly lamb meat and stuffed with
precisely ordered condiments, including fried onions
and remoulade.
In Russia and other former Soviet countries like
Belarus, the unofficial street food of choice is not blinis
or borscht. It’s ice cream, sold in cardboard-like bread
cones from kiosks year-round, even during the frigid
winter months. “The ice cream will be frozen solid and
the air temperature minus 30 Celsius” recalls author
Andrew Evans, “but the people still buy cones on the
street and chew the ice cream in fierce bites.”
And to drink…?
The American dream starts early. Most youngsters
who grew up in the United States recall their first
foray into capitalism as the ubiquitous lemonade
stand. An old table is dragged out to the roadside,
a hastily painted sign with “lemonade: 25 cents”
scrawled in irresistible childlike text is fixed to a
nearby tree, and waxy paper cups are stacked up.
Patrons, inevitably in vehicles rather than on foot,
roll up to the curbside, slap down their quarter, and
bravely smile through the tears as they realize that,
yet again, the pint-sized entrepreneurs forgot to add
the sugar to their freshly squeezed lemon juice.
On the other side of the world, locals in Zimbabwe
and Botswana quench thirst with “the beer of good
cheer”. Chibuku is sold in huge plastic jugs or two-
liter milk cartons which, since it’s unfiltered, is full of
chunky extras like hops and barley. Much more potent
than the sour milk whose aroma it shares, Chibuku not
only gives a buzz, but fills you up.
lAte night munchies
Stumbling around the streets after last call
requires sustenance. Those seeking street food
in the wee hours want high-fat, low-cost dishes that
will help absorb all the excess alcohol sloshing in
their stomachs. In the UK, that role is filled by the
offerings of the kebab van, parked on street corners
from Cambridge to Cardiff, and operated cheerfully
through the night. Choose more “traditional” doner
kebabs or load a crispy jacket potato with greasy
fillings. It doesn’t really matter; it will all feel heavy in
the morning.
If your Bacchanalian activities took place on the
continent, head to any of the former Yugoslavian
nations for a burek, so revered among locals that
Slovenian musician Ali En had a major hit with his
ditty of the same name. The food itself is a long
pastry stuffed with meat, cheese, or both. More
exotic versions include the pizza burek, but beware of
scalding yourself with tomato sauce. a
A T L A N T I C A 19
Atlantica suggests sampling
some of the following:
Thinking of diving in?
Suburban
entrepreneurs
in the US.
A boy with a basket
of mopane larvae,
South Africa.
Diving into the best a nation’s roadside vendors
have to offer is a good-value way of getting
a glimpse into local culture—and perhaps some
souvenir bacteria.
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