I just realized I was sitting on all of these photos from my trip to Nicaragua in early December. Most are iPhone shots, and admittedly not the best quality, but it was go-go-go while there and these were stolen moments, quickly captured.

In this shot I play the role of tourist, camera in hand immediately making vendors think I can be easily swindled. Too bad I know more Nica slang than they do. Tourist or not, the Mercado Popular in Masaya is full of hand-woven hamacas and other artisan products. Hammocks are what I miss the most from home—there’s no more luxurious feeling than falling asleep in its gentle rock, palm trees murmuring with the warm breeze.

There’s a short alley at the market where shoes are made and repaired. Urban legend has it that these cobblers double as dentists. Make sense…tools are similar, a snort of pega will knock you right out.

This trip was all business—my cousin Lucía is getting married in a few weeks and I’m helping with all things food-related. I’m nosy and intrusive, and of course got involved in floral arrangements and other details. Which brings us to this interesting wreath. As we sit at the flower shop, looking at bridal white blossoms and lush greenery, this monster funeral wreath receives its finishing touches. In the glass case behind, colorful teddy bears that will be perched on a less morbid array.

Weary with travel, we look for a pick-me up before heading to dinner. A frosty glass-bottled Coca-Cola, more carbonated than anything you get in the U.S., loaded with cane sugar. The slogan was “la chispa de la vida” and truly, one sip does add spark to your life.

Oh, and while you sip (bottles must be returned to the vendor so they can be collected and refilled), you can buy ice cream, a pastry, and antacid…and try on some shoes. We Nicas are so very practical.

Home at last. We are guided to the palm roofed rancho by the warm glow of a lamp. And a fully stocked bar tended by a waiter.

The next morning, we regret the last seven drinks of rón con Coca. Luckily, the antidote appears, bubbly and brisk: a michelada with iced beer, lime juice, generous dashes of salsa inglesa (Worcestershire), and hot sauce.

More to come…headed back this weekend!

“¿Me dá para mi calaverita?”

Mexico and several other Latin American countries honor the dead today by celebrating día de los muertos, Day of the Dead. Children will knock on doors and ask for money or food, families will festively decorate the graves of their loved ones, and this curious pan de muerto will be baked and shared.

Pan de muerto is a sweet, soft bread, coated with sugar and perfumed with orange blossom water. During its preparation, part of the dough is reserved and used to decorate the loaves with shapes echoing those of human bones. Different versions exist, with breads showcasing flora, fauna, and mythical creatures as décor. Even if you won’t be rapping your knuckles on stranger’s doors on behalf of your calaverita, this is a festive and beautiful bread that’s worth trying.

For the recipe, visit Serious Sweets .

My friend and photographer Ellen Callaway recently traveled to India and took a series of amazing photographs that she recently showed at a gallery. To add to the collection, Ellen and I shot some Indian dishes in her studio a couple of weeks ago. As a result, I have three very lovely images for my portfolio, and a pantry stocked with bold, colorful, and flavor-forward spices.

I am but moderately acquainted with Indian food and don’t claim to have scads of that country’s recipes in my repertoire, so the recipes that follow are rather ambiguously ethnic. There’s some curry powder, a bit of ginger, and a sprinkling of mint and cilantro. The basmati rice is adapted from Gourmet and the lamb meatballs and yogurt sauce were made with ingredients I had lurking about. It’s weeknight-easy but hopefully not weeknight-blah in the flavor department. Also, the rice is great cold the day after; just serve with a green salad and toasted naan for a lovely vegetarian entrée.

BASMATI RICE with ALMONDS and RAISINS
Serves 6

1½ tablespoons unsalted butter
½ cup slivered or sliced almonds
Salt
1½ cups basmati rice, rinsed
6 scallions, white parts minced and green parts thinly sliced
2 teaspoons mustard seeds
2½ cups water
¾ cup raisins or golden raisins

- Melt ½ tablespoon butter in medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Add almonds and cook, stirring frequently, until fragrant and golden, about 5 minutes. Transfer almonds to small plate and season with ¼ teaspoon salt.

- Melt remaining 1 tablespoon butter in now empty saucepan. Add scallion whites and mustard seeds and cook over medium-high heat until scallions are softened, 3 to 5 minutes. Add rinsed rice and cook, stirring frequently, until lightly golden, 3 to 5 minutes. Increase heat to high, add water, raisins, and 1½ teaspoons salt and bring to boil.

- Boil rice without stirring until most of the liquid has evaporated and you can see small bubbles bursting on the surface of the rice. Immediately reduce the heat to the lowest setting, cover, and cook (no peeking and no stirring!), 12 minutes.

- Remove rice from heat and fluff with chopsticks or fork. Stir in toasted almonds and scallion greens. Serve.

LAMB MEATBALLS
Serves 6

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
4 scallions, white and green parts minced
1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger
2 garlic cloves, minced
Grated zest of 1 lime
1 tablespoon curry powder
½ teaspoon cumin
1 pound ground lamb
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon olive oil

- Melt butter in large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add scallions and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in ginger, garlic, lime zest, curry powder, and cumin and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Transfer mixture to medium mixing bowl and wipe out skillet with a paper towel.

- Allow mixture to cool about 5 minutes. Add lamb and salt and mix thoroughly with hands. Using a 1 tablespoon measure, scoop out lamb mixture and quickly roll into balls between your palms.

- Heat oil in now empty skillet over medium-high heat and cook meatballs, tossing pan occasionally, until browned and cooked through, 10 to 14 minutes. Serve with rice and Herbed Yogurt Sauce.

HERBED YOGURT SAUCE

16 ounces full fat Greek yogurt
½ cup cilantro leaves, finely chopped
¼ cup mint leaves, finely chopped
Juice of 1 lime
½ garlic clove, minced
Salt and pepper to taste to taste

- Combine all ingredients in small bowl. Serve.

Room with a view: Lake Garda, as seen from my bedroom in Padenghe.

The trip was sudden. My father called from Rome to say a friend, Aída, was planning a dinner to draw attention, and hopefully, investments, in Nicaragua. The dinner would take place at Ca’ del Bosco, a winery in the Franciacorta region of Lombardy. The chef planning the dinner was Michelin-starred  Vittorio Fusari, currently  owner of Dispensa Pani e Vini, a lovely, modern restaurant with glass-walled kitchen, where local, and often, neglected, ingredients are showcased. Aída asked if I would plan the menu with Vittorio—I balked, to say the least.  “I’m not a chef,” I explained, but, she pressed and coaxed, and, a day or two later, I was packing my bags.

Padenghe  sul Garda, about a 2-hour drive from the Milan airports, is breathtaking. Lake Garda is encircled by the picturesque town, complete with terracotta-hued lakeside villas and cafés, bobbing sailboats, and snowcapped mountains in the distance. I could see the gently rolling waves from my bedroom, where I found a personalized chef’s jacket laid out on the bed.

The glint of  chef Vittorio’s Michelin stars kept me up that night. In the morning, I was driven to Torino, where Salone del Gusto was taking place. Vittorio, with an abundant mane of silver hair and matching beard, met me at the gates of Salone. We talked about traditional foods of Nicaragua, and within a few minutes, had outlined a  menu that would combine Italian and Nicaraguan ingredients and methods of preparation. Then, it was on to a tour of Salone—I must have eaten at least 5 kilos worth of regional cheeses, prosciuttos, breads, olives, and more cheeses. It was a dream version of a street fair. I love a street fair.

A brief tour of Salone…

Leave the gun, take the cannoli. I was invited to “assaggiare” these cannoli. I went back to the stall 3 times.

Sleeping beauties.

Heirloom calypso beans.

Beautiful, beautiful cheese.

The following are not for the faint of heart. Or vegetarians.

The day of the dinner, I went to Dispensa, with my father’s housekeeper, doña María del Carmen, in tow.  Chef Vittorio wanted to serve tortillas at the dinner, and doña María del Carmen came, mercifully, to help—about 200 tortillas needed to be shaped and cooked right before the dinner. At the restaurant, I was very graciously absorbed into the staff—all boys—and helped prep for the dinner. Halfway through the day, Vittorio sat me down for an incredible lunch. I’m not a food critic, but I can say that every bite tasted of the changing foliage, the earthy breeze, and the surrounding vineyards.

Ca’ del Bosco is filled with art. These blue guardian dogs were my favorites.

Later that afternoon we moved the operation to the Ca’ del Bosco kitchens and started readying for service. Among the appetizers were beef tartare polpettini dusted with pinol, a blend of ground toasted corn kernels, cacao, and spices normally used as a beverage base or as a coating for fried fish.  A first course of risotto with black beans paid homage to Nicaragua’s gallopinto while seared filet of beef was served with a delicately spiced cream sauce that also had pinol. It was inspiring to see how our humble pinol can be made to sing (expect to see a version of the recipe here soon). The hectic pace of plating course after course for 100+ guests was nerve-wracking, but I think I slipped into the groove easily and…dare I say it? Did I experience a tinge of nostalgia? Did I suddenly want to be a line cook?

Chef Vittorio Fusari and I toast the evening.

In all, the visit was dreamy. My gracious hostess Aída plied me with local fare and fabulous sparkling wine, chef Vittorio and his staff welcomed me into his kitchen, and the Ca’ del Bosco folks Ivo and Alfonso let me roam around the vineyard and winery. Grazie mille a tutti!

Fresh pasta with briny tuna, capers, dill, and parsley.

Shrimp in from a seafood stew I ate so voraciously it earned me a reputation for being a “mangiona”— i.e. glutton.

I snapped this photo and couldn’t bear to throw it out, so I drank it. With a bendy straw—just to make sure I got all the hot sauce at the bottom.

Hangover cures? I’ve heard it all: Sleep. Avoid caffeine. Drink water. Or pickle juice. Vitamin C. The Onion suggests taking a shower, in case you vomit, so you’ll have less cleaning up to do (eeewwww!). Travel + Leisure did an article on international hangover cures.  If you have foreign roots read it and find out how your great-great-great grandpa treated his delirium tremens.

Back home, you can go to a beach-front bar and have sopa levantamuertos—a seafood soup that raises the dead. If inland, head to a seedy bar, such as El Munich and order the same. Or just keep on truckin’—hair of the dog is probably the most universal cure.

I assume many of you will be toasting Benito’s first tussle with the French tonight and may be in need of a refreshment tomorrow morning. My suggestion: have a chilled michelada. You can have one tonight, too, natch—it’s the perfect warm weather drink.

MICHELADA
Makes 1
There are countless recipes for micheladas, with common ingredients being beer, lime juice, and ice. My version is below.

1 bottle ice cold beer, such as Pacífico
Ice
Kosher salt and black pepper
3 tablespoons lime juice
Worcestershire sauce
Hot sauce, such as Tabasco or my favorite, Valentina
Clamato or V8, optional

Rub the edge of a chilled glass with a lime, then dip it in salt. Fill the glass half to ¾ of the way with ice. Add the lime juice, ¼ teaspoon pepper, and Worcestershire and hot sauces to taste (and a splash of Clamato or V8 if desired) Pour in beer. ¡Salud!

Iglesia Guadalupe in Granada, the city where I was born.

Though the Aeropuerto Internacional Augusto César Sandino has boasted jet bridges for several years now, I still expect to descend directly from the airplane onto the tarmac. In the 80s, excited family and friends would crowd together mosh pit-style on a terrace that overlooked the landing strip, everyone calling out and waving signs like crazed fans awaiting a celebrity’s arrival on the red carpet. But they were just waiting for their exiled own, coming home for the holidays.

Granada by coche, a horse-drawn carriage.

My trips to Nicaragua are bittersweet, especially during Christmas. My passport still marks me a citizen, and I do call it “home” whenever I refer to it, but Nicaragua hasn’t really been home for a very long time. I’ve moved on, but that first sighting of dusty olive green land from the scratched acrylic windows makes my heart cramp. Memories of trips when my family lived in the U.S. and Mexico during the 80s jumble with those from college breaks and the more recent perfunctory visits.  The childhood jaunts were all fun and adventure; I was mesmerized by ox-pulled carts on the main roads and street vendors pouring sodas into plastic bags—mini-udders that dispensed Coca-Cola. But even in the haze of little-kid wonderment, I knew everything was broken, and it made me deeply sad. It’s sadder today. But, there are uniquely beautiful and wow-worthy people and scenes to be found, and I appreciate them all the more.

San Juan del Sur, the beach town I grew up going to—and now a must-see on tourists’ itineraries.

The new spear fishing technique. We’d gone to the dock and  carefully packed our catch of the day in a large cooler when we spotted these kids. They were much hipper than us.

Red snapper, the catch of the day: $2/lb.

Lunch at El Timón, an establishment in San Juan’s “pueblo.” Fresh-caught fish (snapper, in this photo) is coated in pinol, a corn and cacao-based meal, then fried and served with a tomato and onion sauce (salsa criolla), white rice, and plantain tostones.

To market, to market…

Ripe papayas and watermelons.

Melocotones y limones (star fruit and limes).La asunción de la Santísima Vírgen María. The Virgin Mary is a religious and cultural symbol. This image of the assumption is found everywhere, even in markets.

“La quema del viejo” — a local tradition.  These life-size dolls sit on people’s stoops or front yards, awaiting the new year. “El viejo” is stuffed with gunpowder and will be set on fire at midnight to blow out the old year and ring in the new.

Sunset over the bay of Nacascolo.

As if that title really needed a question mark.

Lately, I’ve grown rather fond of starting my weekends on Thursdays.  A cocktail with friends or dinner al fresco is the perfect way to start undoing that painful knot that steadily builds up under my right shoulder blade during the week.

This summer, I’ve rediscovered sangría. The concept of sangría has always appealed to me: it’s fruity, refreshing, and, well, it’s got booze. But for the most part, what’s poured at restaurants is watered down and tasteless.

I’ve made a few modifications. ¡Salud!

SANGRIA
Serves 4

Rather than diluting sangría with regular ice, I like to add tropical fruit ice cubes.  I love Goya varieties, like guava and passion fruit, but orange juice, white grape juice, or tropical punch are acceptable substitutes.

- Make ahead: 2 (12-ounce) cans Goya nectars (such as pineapple-passion fruit or tropical fruit punch)

- Shake juice cans well.  Pour into 2 12-cube ice trays and freeze.

1 (750mL) bottle red wine, chilled
1 ½ cups orange juice, chilled
¾ cup Triple sec
1 apple, cored, seeded and cut into ¼ inch pieces
1 plum, pitted and cut into ¼ inch pieces
1 peach, pitted and cut into ¼ inch pieces
1 ½ cups club soda, chilled

- In a large pitcher, combine wine, orange juice, triple sec, and fruit.  Stir in club soda and ice cubes right before serving.

I’m very hesitant to post this recipe. I “heart” Korean barbecue, but other than liking it, I know nothing about it. I found a KBBQ beef recipe on Gourmet, made some changes, and basically took the “BBQ” aspect of it by making it in the oven. It was tasty, I swear. Maybe we can have some of the legit stuff next time I’m in LA?  xoxo

KOREAN BBQ BEEF with CRISP GREEN SALAD
Serves 2

For the Salad
3 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
1 tablespoon light brown sugar
½ head iceberg lettuce, cored and shredded
1 small cucumber, ends trimmed, halved lengthwise, seeded, and sliced  ¼” -thick
½ cup whole cilantro leaves
4 scallions, white and pale green parts thinly sliced(reserve these for beef), green tops thinly sliced

- Whisk soy sauce, vinegar, oil, and brown sugar together in small bowl.

- Toss lettuce, cucumber, cilantro, and scallion greens (tops only — see beef ingredients) together in large bowl.

- Continue with beef portion of recipe.

For the Beef
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
1 garlic clove, minced
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
1 teaspoon Sriracha
1 tablespoon black sesame seeds
2 strip steaks (1 to ½ pounds total), thinly sliced

- Place a rimmed baking sheet on oven rack in upper third of oven and preheat to broil.

- Whisk first 7 ingredients and reserved scallions (see salad ingredients) together in medium bowl. Add meat and toss to coat evenly. Let sit for 10 to 15 minutes.

- Open oven and carefully place preheated baking sheet on cooling rack. Spread beef out in single layer and immediately return to oven. Broil until beef is caramelized and lightly charred, 6 to 8 minutes.

-Toss salad with vinaigrette and serve with beef.

I love eggs. To quote Dr. Seuss, “So I will eat them in a box. And I will eat them with a fox. And I will eat them in a house. And I will them with a mouse. And I will them here and there. Say! I will eat them ANYWHERE!” Scrambled, poached, fried, hard boiled…I will eat them – just not spoiled.

Many of my favorite meals (especially those I fashion from leftovers) are topped with an egg. Steak. Black bean soup. Grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Hamburger. Quesadilla. Breakfast, brunch, lunch, or dinner, eggs are incredibly versatile. It should come as no surprise then that pasta alla carbonara is one of my favorite dishes. It’s rich, creamy, and incorporates eggs very delicately and deliciously. Plus, it’s quick to make and can easily be pulled together with ingredients you (should) have on hand.

The following is my version of carbonara. I use cappellini instead of the usual spaghetti to cut down on cooking time and use bacon and pancetta interchangeably. Also, if you don’t have white wine on hand, I’ve found a nice lager or ale acceptable substitutions.
For vegetarians: in place of pancetta, sauté 8 ounces chopped mushrooms of your choice in 2 tablespoons olive oil until browned.

SPAGHETTI ALLA CARBONARA

3 large eggs
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper
4 ounces pancetta, cut into ¼” cubes (or 6 slices bacon, chopped)
8 ounces cappellini pasta
3 garlic cloves, minced
¼ cup white wine

- Set 4 quarts water to boil in medium pot.

- Whisk eggs in large bowl. Whisk in ¼ teaspoon salt, ½ teaspoon pepper, and parmesan.

- Cook pancetta (or bacon) in a large skillet over medium heat until golden and some of the fat has rendered (if using bacon, transfer it to a paper towel-lined plate and reserve), 4 to 5 minutes.

-Meanwhile, add 1 tablespoon salt and cappellini to water and cook until al dente, about 3 minutes. Reserve ¼ cup pasta water and drain. Return to pot.

- Add garlic to skillet and cook, stirring, until lightly golden and fragrant, about 30 seconds. Stir in wine and remove from heat.

- Add cappellini to bowl with eggs and very quickly, using tongs or two large forks, toss to coat evenly. Stir in pancetta-wine mix (if using, stir in reserved bacon bits). If pasta looks a bit dry, add some of the reserved pasta water. Serve immediately.

I was in LA for a few days, and, despite the fact that I spent my nights sleeping in my brother’s bachelor pad from hell – sorry, Charlie, but it’s true: the place was a wreck, a combination opossum refuge and crack den – it was a good time. I absolutely love LA, especially the heretofore unexplored food scene. In the span of a week I had Thai, Korean, Spanish, Mexican, French, Italian, and good ol’ American – a veritable “It’s a Small World” for gluttons. I’m no food critic, but some of my eat-outs must be described.

At the top of my list: Honey Pig Korean BBQ. Up until my journey to Koreatown, my experience with Korean cuisine had been limited to the Momofuku Ssäm and Noodle Bars in New York. Don’t misread – the Momofukus happen to be among my favorite NY spots, but Honey Pig is a whole other animal, and I was completely unprepared for what I encountered there.

Like a beacon in the night…

We asked to be seated, at which point the waiter whirled around our appointed table like a dervish-meets-Chinese-plate-balancing-act, dropping little plates and saucers and bowls and then more plates and saucers and bowls with sauces and oils and lettuces (oh my!) all around, till there is not an inch of tabletop visible. In the middle, rising like cupola from a crowded city center, The Inverted Wok Thing. Our awed foursome sat, giggling and gawking as the waiter zeroed in on a tiny dial in the tabletop (Gadzooks! You yourself can control the heat!) and started throwing kimchi-covered cabbage and bean sprouts on the base of Wok Thing.

Wok Thing.

The accoutrements…

We stared, stupidly, not knowing at all what to do with the food. Were we supposed to eat it? How long did we have to wait for it to cook? Were we allowed to touch it? Desperately, we looked around at the other tables attempting to discern the how-tos of KBBQ. I try to make eye contact with any of the passing waiters, but my silent SOS went unnoticed. I flailed my arms and a harried-looking man finally come over. “Uh, I’m sorry, excuse me,” I muttered, unintelligibly and in near-whisper, “Umm, we’re, like, new to this whole BBQ thing,” nervous giggle, “umm, uhh, how do we order?” More vexed looks from the waiter who instructed in a few terse fragments to order four portions of pork belly and one of beef. Now, novice though I was, I thought four portions of pork belly sounded a bit piggish, so I ordered two and one sliced beef. The waiter scurried away.

I’d forgotten to order drinks, so once again, I started casting frantic looks at the wait staff while they continued to ignore me. I began to feel unwelcome, out of place. I hung my head, pouting, and that’s when I realized I was not being ignored; I was just not following protocol: there was a doorbell on my table, hidden under a tiny bowl of pungent red sauce. One is meant to press down on it if and when one needs service. I pushed down, and, wouldn’t you know it, my finger was still on the button when someone materialized at my side. Mercifully, this lady was kind and took pity on us lost sheep. She started snipping the cabbage into bite-size pieces with the aid of slender tongs and shears, and piled them up on the highest part of the dome. “OOOhhhhh,” we mouthed. Next, she lay the pork belly on the wok and it started to sizzle. Once cooked, she, with a deft hand, natch, picked up a piece with a pair of shiny metal chopsticks and quickly dipped it in one of the small bowls, this one containing sesame oil, salt and pepper. The now-seasoned belly, some cabbage, bean sprouts, and thinly sliced green onion were piled on a large and crisp lettuce leaf, which she wrapped. We understood! We got it! We could finally eat!

We were congratulating ourselves on our powers of international comprehension until we started trying to imitate her maneuvers. Turns out metal chopsticks are not for neophytes– they’re slippery and food kept dropping on the way to the plate. We longed for forks, but were too embarrassed to ask. We would eat with slippery sticks even if it took us hours. Someone spotted wooden ones though, and once we had those in hand, things went rather smoothly.

We’d eaten through most of our pork belly and were feeling pretty full when a waiter ran by and without even glancing at us tossed an octopus tentacle on Wok Thing. “We didn’t ask for this!” we yelped, but he only said, “It’s free!” and continued on his way. Meanwhile, another waiter restocked our cabbage and sprouts. We began to get nervous every time someone neared the table, worried more food would appear unannounced. Besides, we still had a mound of thinly sliced beef waiting to be cooked.

Random tentacle.

After the deliciousness of pork belly, I worried the beef would be a letdown. But it was actually my favorite. Our kindly waitress plopped it on the heat and said, “Very delicious with rice.” I just nodded, defeated, and heaved a deep sigh. I would just have to create more space for the rice. It was orange, and in a bowl, mixed with bits of lettuce and seaweed. She plopped it on top of the beef and started raking up the remaining cabbage and sprouts, mixing it all together. It was my favorite part of the meal. Everything had just enough spice and salt, and at the base of it all, a gentle sweetness that gently played with the underlying heat. I’ve added Korean BBQ to the list of foods I crave, and wish I could install a Wok Thing at my table – it’s one-pot cooking at its best.

Very delicious with rice.

Next up: BACON-WRAPPED HOT DOGS. Months ago, New York Magazine wrote about Crif Dogs, an East Village spot selling deep-fired wieners. Apparently, some genius there decided to give David Chang (creator/chef of the above-mentioned Momofukus) a namesake dog and thus came about the bacon-wrapped-deep-fried-kimchi-topped-hot-dog. I haven’t had the chance to sample this delightful monstrosity, but have spent ample time drooling over its photo. How happy was I then to learn that you can get a bacon-wrapped hot dog in LA? Naturally, I had to have one. Little brother and cute girlfriend took me downtown where we walked through blocks of knock-off bags and tight, neon-colored clothes looking for a… let’s say artisanal hot dog cart. Cute GF instructed us to bypass brick-and-mortar stands because what we wanted was true-blue street food. For a while it looked like it wasn’t going to happen for us and that all we were going to get out of this trip were some snazzy $4 “designer” shades, when we saw (and smelled!) it: a teeny vehicle, no bigger than a golf cart, equipped with a glassed-in flattop and Coleman cooler stocked with Jarritos – Mexican soda pop – and a bowl of coarsely chopped avocado and pico de gallo.

The bacon dogs sizzled alongside sliced onions, green peppers, and jalapeños. I’m sorry Gray’s Papaya, but you’ve been dethroned! The vendor tucked the sausage into a bun and drizzled it with yellow mustard, ketchup, and mayo (!), then topped it with everything in his reach, including the chunky guacamole. It was absolute bliss, and 100% worth the gut-wrenching heartburn that followed.

On a sad note, it seems bacon-wrapped hot dog purveyors are being persecuted by the health department. It’s an outrage! Check out Drew Carey’s inspired report on Reason.tv. Potentially harmful food? Puh-lease. Let’s not get started on the Golden Arches, et al.

Save the dogs!

More mouth-watering to come,

HH&F