Kitchen Kat

Due to a great monsoon rate at our luxurious hotel in Agra, Sean and I decided to spend three nights in this sultry city.  The extra time afforded us the rare opportunity to relax, explore a major site per day and return to the Taj Mahal and enjoy it at our leisure.

On our second day in Agra we took a nail-biting, 50 minute drive to the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Fatehpur Sikri.  Fans of the writer Salman Rushdie may remember Fatehpur Sikri as the setting for his 2008 novel “The Enchantress of Florence.”  Others may know it as the Mughal emperor Akbar’s “ghost city.”  Due to a water shortage the settlement was abandoned in 1585, only 14 years after its construction and shortly after the death of Akbar. For being uninhabited for over four centuries Fatehpur Sikri remained in spectacular shape.

The Jama Masjid (Dargah Mosque), which we visited first, was completed in 1571.  Inside its courtyard rested the marble tomb of Shaikh Salim Chisti, the saint whom the Emperor Akbar had consulted throughout his reign.  Childless women now visit the mausoleum and tie colorful strings to the marble lattice screens.  Each thread represents a request for the saint to grant children to these women.

From the mosque we walked uphill to the palace complex.  There we saw the large and ornate Palace of Jodh Bai, the emperor’s favorite wife and the smaller palaces of his Christian wife Mariam and another unnamed spouse.  Other spectacular sandstone structures included the five-story Panch Mahal, a pavilion used by the court ladies, the Hall of Private Audience, the Hall of Public Audience and the 21-meter high Hiran Minar tower.  Decorated with stone replicas of elephant tusks, the tower supposedly marked the final resting place of Akbar’s favorite elephant.

Back in Agra we tromped around another Akbar-inspired site, the 16th century Agra Fort.  Unlike European forts, Indian forts invariably contained elaborate palaces, gardens, meeting halls and courtyards.  They were cities within cities.  Agra Fort proved to be no different.

Akbar’s grandson, Shah Jahan, oversaw the completion of the fort.  As a result, it displayed an abundance of white marble buildings, decorated in a fashion similar to his masterpiece, the Taj Mahal.   It also possessed both Hindu and Moghul architectural influences.

Thanks to his zealous, hardliner son Aurangzeb, Shah Jahan spent his last eight years under house arrest at the fort.  From his window he could gaze out at the Taj Mahal on the opposite bank of the Yamuna River.  Not much of a consolation for him but it makes a good story for the rest of us.

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You — or at least I — cannot travel to India without seeing the majestic Taj Mahal.  One of the seven wonders of the world,  this mausoleum was built by the emperor Shah Jahan for his second wife and the love of his life, Mumtaz.  She died giving birth to his 14th child in 1631.  From the Indian marble mausoleum and red sandstone gates to sandstone and marble mosque and guesthouse the site took 22 years to complete.   Time and effort paid off for the Taj is truly an architectural and aesthetic marvel.  Believe me, I’ll be dreaming of this jaw-dropping monument for decades.

Since so much has been written and said about the Taj Mahal, I’d like instead to offer tips for visiting this site.  This will save me from having to think of something beyond my initial and lingering reaction of “Wow!  Wow!  Wow!”  Plus, it also may provide fellow travelers with a few useful tidbits.

Guides:  Your hotel concierge and the hordes of men lining the initial entrance to the Taj will insist that you hire a guide.   Without him (it’s always a man) to explain the site and keep the hawkers at the front gate at bay, you won’t get much from your trip to the tomb.  Truthfully, if you’ve read about the Taj in a good guidebook beforehand, you’ll have no problem navigating the well-manicured grounds.

Sean and I had the time and luxury of making two trips to the Taj, with and without guide.  We were far happier on our own.  The reason?  Without a guide we could linger for as long as we liked, take as many photos as we desired and just stand, slack-jawed, in awe of the beauty before us.   With a guide we felt pressured to keep moving and to listen to his every word, periodically missing what we were there to experience — the Taj Mahal.

More on guides and the whole aggressive, local vendor angle:  Likewise, if you are an intrepid, independent traveler — and, let’s face it, you probably are if you’re hanging out in India — you know how to handle the pushy peddlers.  In our experiences the touts have been far more hardcore in places such as Turkey, Mexico and Morocco.  Here, if you ignore their pleas of “Madame, madame.  I have something to show for you,” they leave you alone.  And did they not bother us when we had a guide?  Nope.  Men and boys alike still attempted to sell us trinkets, rickshaw rides and even tour guides for other sites.

Backpacks, bags, paper of any kind:  Leave them in your room or car.  Otherwise, you’ll wait in the long security line only to be told that you can’t enter the site without first checking your bag.   Our “Happy Holidays” sign, used in our annual holiday card, ended up in the trash because I couldn’t bear the thought of queuing up again.

Water bottles and cameras:  Both are allowed on the site.  Absolutely bring both.  Combined, Sean and I took close to 400 photos on our two trips to the Taj.  As for the water, I drank a liter each time.  It truly is that hot and parching in India.

When to visit:  Early morning or an hour before dusk.  The crowds are lighter.  The temperature is slightly lower (mid to upper 90s).   And, perhaps most importantly for us, the lighting is stunning.  At night the marble glows in the sunset.  Just breathtaking!

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One city.  Countless facets.  It’s the land of government, commerce, religion, modernity, antiquity, wealth, poverty, lush gardens, dusty streets.  Just when you think that you have Delhi pigeon holed, it changes yet again.

Such diversity spawns a wide range of sites and activities.  Along with visiting mosques, temples and gardens, Sean and I sweated it out with an afternoon trip to Qutub Minar.  An impressive monument from the period of Islamic rule in India, the Minar was constructed in 1193.  Today it is surrounded by the remains of Mughal summer palaces.

We also wandered around the grounds of the 16th century Humayun’s Tomb and 18th century Safdarjang’s Tomb.   Emperor Humayun’s grand burial site was initiated by his wife, who camped out and oversaw its construction until its completion.  Viceroy Safdarjang’s son prompted the creation of his father’s majestic tomb.  It is one of the most recent examples of Mughal architecture in India.

A contemporary site that drew in throngs was the memorial for Mahatma Gandhi.  Here the brick platform on which his funeral pyre had been built was encased in marble for all to see.   An elegant yet understated tribute to the father of modern India.

Although shopping never plays a huge role in our journeys, we did make a stop at the Khan Market.  How could we not?  It was right next to our hotel.  Our driver, Sher-Singh, had described it as a ‘rich person’s place to shop.’  From the buildings’ faded exteriors we wouldn’t have guessed this.  However, at Khan Market we found a well-stocked cookware shop, Nike, Reebok and Apple stores, beautiful handcrafted silver jewelry, several bookstores, an upscale pet shop and countless little restaurants.

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Many thought that Sean and I had lost our minds when we announced that we’d be spending much of August in India.  Scorching heat.  Monsoons.  Not to mention all the wonderful diseases, such as Dengue fever, malaria, typhoid and polio, that we could contract.  However, by day four we’re both alive, well and, beyond being drenched in sweat, dry each day.

Our sultry journey began in New Delhi, the bustling capital of this exotic land.   On our first morning here we strolled over to Lodi Gardens where women in colorful saris and white running shoes jogged alongside men in shorts and T-shirts.  As with all of Delhi, Lodi Gardens was dotted with ruins from the region’s Mughal period.  Lodi was beautiful but, at 8 a.m., already quite a warm place to be — 90 degrees and climbing.

Following in the footsteps of locals and tourists alike, we rented not a car but a car and driver to take us around the city.  Smart move.   As in Turkey and Morocco, where Sean drove and I nervously navigated, the traffic is constant and chaotic. Unlike in the aforementioned countries, it’s comprised not only of cars and trucks but overloaded rickshaws, motorbikes, cyclists, pedestrians, 3-wheeled tuk tuks and the rare donkey, horse and elephant.

Our driver, Sher-Singh, carried us in air conditioned comfort to Old Delhi and the country’s largest mosque, Jama Masjid, where the courtyard alone holds 25,000 devotees.  Tucked at the end of a lane teeming with people and traffic, the mosque was constructed under the ruler Shah Jahan.  It is one of many mosques serving the large Muslim population in Northern India.

Along with mosques we also had the privilege of seeing Jain, Sikh and Hindu temples and, oddly enough, a huge Methodist church.  One of the more unusual religious centers was the Akshar Dham Temple.  Over 15,000 artisans and volunteers worked on this elaborate Hindu complex.  Opened in 2005, Akshar Dham featured “boat” tours on the man-made canals around the temple, movies and an extensive food court.

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Ah, beignets and funnel cakes.  I can’t think of two more delectable, fried, sugar-coated snacks.  After years of gorging on beignets each time that I visit New Orleans and of living next to Apple Frankie, the undisputed “funnel cake king,” I consider myself somewhat of an expert on the two.  So, with a nod to the aforementioned A. Frankie, I shall attempt to determine, once and for all, which is truly the best greasy sweet. 

Although I flew back from New Orleans over a month ago, beignets linger on my palate and mind.  Blanketed with powdered sugar, these pillows of dough are served hot and as a trio at the Crescent City landmark Cafe du Monde.  Light and oh-so sweet, they are a heavenly treat.  To balance out the avalanche of sugar hitting my bloodstream and clothes, I pair beignets with a decaf, chicory-laced cafe au lait and plenty of napkins.  

While I associate beignets with New Orleans, they actually originated in France.  Made from the delicate, spongy pâte à choux, these airy, square pastries are found throughout the country.  They likewise pop up in such French-influenced regions as Quebec and, of course, New Orleans. 

Because of their lightness and semblance to a doughnut, I may eat beignets for breakfast or as a late night bite.  I would not do this, though, with a funnel cake.  Heartier and bigger than a beignet, this golden latticework of deep-fried batter seems better suited for dessert, if not for a decadent dinner. 

*Note that the dough must be prepared in advance and refrigerated overnight.  If you don’t wish to make the beignets right away, the dough will keep for 1 week in the refrigerator.

1 1/2 cup warm water
1 package active dry yeast
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
1 cup undiluted canned evaporated milk
7 cups flour
1/4 vegetable shortening
oil for deep frying
confectioner’s sugar

Put the warm water in a large bowl, add the dry yeast and stir until thoroughly dissolved.  Add the sugar, salt, eggs and evaporated milk.  Slowly stir in 4 cups of flour.  Beat with a wooden spoon until smooth and well combined.  Beat in the shortening then add the remaining flour, about 1/3 cup at a time.  Stir until it becomes too stiff to do so and then work the dough with your fingers.  Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

On a clean, floured surface roll out the dough to a thickness of 1/8-inch.  Using a sharp knife, cut the dough into rectangles measuring 2 1/2 inches by 3 1/2 inches.

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees Fahrenheit.  Preheat the oil in a deep fryer to 360 degrees Fahreheit. 

Fry 3 or 4 beignets at a time until they are puffed and golden brown on both sides, about 2 to 3 minutes per batch.  Using tongs, turn them over once or twice so that they are evenly browned.  Drain each batch on a wire cooling rack.  Place them on a platter covered with paper towels and put the platter in the oven to keep warm.  Repeat with the remaining beignets.

Liberally cover the beignets with powdered sugar and serve hot.   Yum! 

Tags: Food Musings, Travel Tales by Kitchen Kat
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Returning to a holiday spot does have its perks.  Since Sean and I had hit most of the major sites — Newgrange, Cliffs of Moher, Dingle Peninsula, Ring of Kerry, Blarney Castle and Belfast, Dunluce Castle and the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland — previously, we opted to explore the less visited but no less beautiful attractions of the Republic’s west coast.  Smart move!  This region has it all — majestic mountain ranges, crystal clear lakes, loads of grazing sheep, quaint villages, good restaurants and a wealth of historic sites.

Portumna Castle – Built in the 16th century, Portumna Castle was left in ruins after an 1826 fire.  Restoration work began 30 years ago and continues to this day.  Beautiful setting.  Bad camera karma.  Here my latest Nikon, the D200, breathed its last breath.  What is it about Ireland and my cameras?

Galway — Possessing few historic sites, this medieval, coastal, Gaelic-speaking city may not be the most obvious destination.  However, fresh seafood, excellent pubs and a vibrant downtown scene make Galway a perfect stopping point.  You can also catch a ferry to the Aran Islands from here.

Aughnanure Castle — Built along the Drimneen River and supported by natural archways, much of this 13th century castle tumbled into the water centuries ago.   The human inhabitants may be long gone but hundreds of bats now reside in the tower house roof.  Impressive tower.  Cool atmosphere.

Kylemore Abbey — This 19th century castle sits beside a lake at the base of Duchruach Hill.  Quite a dramatic setting for what is now a Benedictine girls’ boarding school.  For 13 Euros (about $17) you can visit three rooms in Kylemore Abbey or you can just snap photos from outside for free.

The Aran Islands a/k/a Inishmore, Inishmaan and Inisheer — You’ve read the story.  You’ve seen the pictures.  For more information, check out the Aran Islands website.

Connemara — A vast region of land west of Galway city, Connemara is a jumble of coastlines, mountain ranges, fjords, bogs, fields and beaches.  It’s also a spectacular area to hike, photograph or stop for a picnic.

Grey Herons –Think of them as the pigeons of Ireland’s west coast; they are everywhere!  Their huge nests dot the tree tops, sometimes with as many as five per tree.  Look for them near lakes, rivers and streams and, if you are as lucky as we were, outside your hotel room.

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After renting a spiffy black Corsa, Sean and I set off for the Republic of Ireland’s west coast and the Aran Islands.   There we caught a stomach churning, 50-minute ferry to Inishmore, the largest of the three islands.  Home to those lovely Irish, wool, knitted sweaters and to such movies as “Man of Aran,” Inishmore is likewise renowned for its rugged landscape, blustery winds and rocks, rocks and more rocks.

While most tourists opt to take a tour bus, hop a ride on a horse cart or rent a bike to see the island, we decided to hike.  Little did I know that the hike would be ALL uphill.   Huff.  Puff.  Huff. Puff.  Why is it that I never can find a taxi when I need one?

Our destination was Dun Aenghus, a semi-circular, prehistoric fort perched precariously on the edge of a 90-meter cliff.  This was only one of several prehistoric sites on Inishmore but, as the others were even further away, Dun Aenghus was where we went.  Fortunately, Dun Aenghus is reputed to be the best site on the island so my laziness didn’t impinge upon our activities too much.

Along the way to Dun Aenghus we stopped to have a picnic of white cheddar cheese, buttermilk wheat scones, apples and soda on one of the many flat rocks covering the landscape.  As we ate, the wind picked up and the sky turned an ominous gray.   Miraculously, the rain never came.   That might be a first for us, Inishmore and Ireland.

Lunch finished, we trudged up the narrow, winding road, passing grazing cows and calves, sleeping baby goats, a horse and her foal, seals sunbathing in an inlet, ruins of an old church, two thatch-roofed houses, and, of course, the ever present rock walls.   We also strolled past more than a few bicyclists pushing their bikes up the hill.  Hey, at least I didn’t have to haul a bicycle — and me — across the island!

About a mile from the fort a tour bus driver stopped and asked if we’d like a lift.  Would we ever!  After over two hours of walking I was more than happy to accept that free ride.  In less than five minutes we arrived at the admissions gate and the driver set off to pick up some paying tourists.   Rats!  Here I thought that he was driving us all the way to the top of the cliff.

From the base it was a 15-minute climb up a rocky path to the summit.  There we had a breathtaking view of the island, ocean and all the poor souls struggling up to Dun Aenghus.  We also explored the three concentric, stone circles that make up the mysterious fort, mysterious because no one knows who lived there or why there were only three sides to the structure.  My guess about the latter is that part of the cliff fell away, taking the fourth side with it.  Then again, maybe not. 

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A few weeks ago Sean and I decided to revisit Ireland.  Cheap airfare and the desire to relax in friendly, familiar environs made this country the obvious vacation choice.   So, setting aside more exotic locals, we hopped a flight to Dublin on Easter Sunday and kicked off our first full-fledged holiday of 2009.

As anyone who has traveled with me can attest, no trip is complete without several nerdy and culinary activities.  In Dublin the nerdiness comes partly in the form of a pilgrimage to Ireland’s largest bookshop, Hodges Figgis on Dawson Street.  Opened in 1786, the four-story store carries over 60,000 books.  As if I need another book!  That doesn’t stop me from browsing the shelves at Hodges Figgis or at other charming, well-stocked shops such as The Winding Stair near the Haypenny Bridge or even the chain Waterstones, right across from Hodges Figgis.

The fun doesn’t end there.  Oh no.  Along with bookstores I have to check out the city’s museum offerings.  This time Sean and I revisited the National Gallery of Ireland where last year I smashed my Nikon N80, bringing an end to my film SLR days.  We said a few words in front of the portrait of Bono, where my camera met its tragic end, and then poked around the rest of the art museum. We also checked out the National Museum of Ireland where the gruesome remains of 4 “bog men” are displayed.  Nothing like looking at dessicated corpses right before lunch.

Speaking of food, I am always pleased to report that the days of boiled potatoes and tough mutton dishes are long gone.  Ireland has undergone a culinary renaissance with chefs incorporating ingredients from around the globe while staying true to the ‘buy fresh, buy local’ movement.  Sure, I can order such standards as fish and chips with a pint of stout but I can also indulge in such specialities as Cashel blue cheese tarts or udon noodles topped with squash, mushrooms and green peas.

Where to find all this great food in Dublin?  We frequent old favorites such as the Asian restaurants Cafe Mao and Wagamama and the organic, locally sourced restaurant The Farm.  Elephant and Castle likewise remains a beloved spot.  While its flagship restaurant resides on Waverly in the heart of NY’s Greenwich Village, I am partial to the Temple Bar locale.

After a tough day of wandering Dublin’s crowded streets, checking out all the fine eating, drinking, reading and artsy establishments, Sean and I head back to our spacious room at the Fitzwilliam Hotel.  Overlooking St. Stephen’s Green, the Fitzwilliam is a bit posh by usual travel standards but well worth the extra Euros.   Great location, great services and a great view.

Tags: Food Musings, Travel Tales by Kitchen Kat
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No matter how many times I travel to New Orleans, I remain as in love with this city as I was the very first time.  So many beautiful sites.  So much wonderful food, music and drink.  Is it any wonder why I return again and again to the Crescent City?

Every trip there is different.   One time I might roam around the museums, taking in the Cabildo, Ogden Museum of Southern Art or New Orleans Museum of Art.   Another time it might be a trip to the Audubon Zoo, a plantation tour or boat ride through the swamps.  Then there are the seasonal events such as Mardi Gras, the St. Patrick’s Day Parade and Jazz Fest.  All good stuff.   

On the most recent journey I had the luxury of hanging out with a New Orleanian, my husband’s cousin Mike.  Thanks to him, I could experience life as a local as well as revisit some favorite tourist spots. 

Beignets from Cafe du Monde – They’re a New Orleans institution and a must-have on any trip here.  Soft, warm and blanketed in powdered sugar, these French delicacies hooked me at first bite.  A word of warning:  Wear black and you’ll look as though you’ve had a massive dandruff attack.  The sugar flies everywhere!

The Kerry Irish Pub — Located on Decatur Street in the heart of the French Quarter, the Kerry Irish Pub was recently voted the best place to spend St. Patrick’s Day by USA Today.  Perhaps I’m a tad biased but I think that the Kerry is the best place to while away any day.  Warm atmosphere.  Friendly patrons and staff.   Cold drinks.  Free, live music.  I couldn’t ask for anything more.       

St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 — Live below sea level in a city with strong French ties and you end up burying your dead above ground.  An unexpected outcome is that you attract not only mourners but also tourists to your grave sites.  The oldest and most famous, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, has been drawing crowds since 1789.  The cemetery houses both the famous and infamous.  This includes the city’s first African-American mayor, Ernest “Dutch” Morial” and voodoo queen Marie Laveau.  You decide which is which.    

Delectable dining — With world renowned restaurants from Emeril Lagasse and Paul Prudhomme and local hot spots such as the French-Italian Irene’s Cuisine and the Spanish-Mediterranean Lola’s, I never go hungry in New Orleans.  After this trip I have two new favorites to add to my list, Coop’s Place and Cafe Envie, both on Decatur Street in the French Quarter.  Fresh, wholesome food, New Orleans style.      

Sazeracs at Tujagues — It wasn’t our drink of choice but a Sazerac from Tujagues is another New Orleans original.  As the bartender stated, it’s ‘alcohol, alcohol, alcohol’ and a tiny bit of sugar.  Made from rye whiskey, bitters, herbsaint, a sugar cube and lemon peel, it packs one huge punch.  Once again, as the bartender said, instruct your friends to sip it; tell your enemies that it’s a shot. 

Live music on every corner — In New York it seems as though almost every other person is an actor.  In New Orleans it’s musicians who reign.  As a result, whether in a club or bar, on a street corner or in a square, you’re bound to hear incredible blues, jazz, rock or even folk.  Great music.  Great fun.      

Tags: Food Musings, Travel Tales by Kitchen Kat
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For heathens (or hedonists) like me, Sunday consists not of rest and religious services but of food and flea markets.   At Isabella’s on Columbus and W. 77th I worship the concept of brunch, that wonderful meal offering me the options of both breakfast and lunch.  As an added bonus, Isabella’s brunch comes with a complimentary Bloody Mary, Bellini, Campari, mimosa or glass of champagne and a basket of raisin-fennel and carrot breads.   Is it any wonder why I bound out of bed?   

Suffering from a terrible sweet tooth, I usually order the carmelized banana-stuffed French toast.  Topped with strawberries macerated in Grand Marnier sauce, it’s both decadent and ever so slightly good for me.  (Just remember, whether sauteed in sugar and butter or soaked in orange liqueur, it’s still fruit.  Or so I keep telling myself.)  On mornings when I’m hankering a cholesterol boost, I opt for Isabella’s smoked salmon Benedict on a buttermilk biscuit with a side of home fries.  And, on those rare Sundays when I’m feeling a tad health conscious, I order the seasonal fruit plate.      

After brunch it’s across the street to the temple of quirky consumption, GreenFlea.  Looking for bronze Buddha, 19th century doorknob, pint of half sours or a sweater from Ecuador?  Greenflea’s got them all and so much more.  With proceeds going to the local school I can splurge on that vintage Clash t-shirt and still head home feeling relatively guilt-free.        

Tags: Food Musings, Travel Tales by Kitchen Kat
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