Global Cuisine

My kitchen is overflowing. My freezer is so full I can barely close it. I sometimes hear the crash of bottles, jars and tins falling off my pantry shelves and onto the floor. I seriously think I could cook and eat without going out of the house for a month. Ok, I might get bored of tuna and beans and pasta, but then again, maybe not. I have no idea what causes me to hoard food, but I sometimes imagine I must have been a starving Italian casalinga in another lifetime.

The other day I was thinking about using the short grain Valencia rice I had languishing in the cupboard to make paella. I was going to buy some shrimp but as I perused various recipes it became clear to me that you can make paella with just about any combination of vegetables, seafood or meat. There is no one paella. I figured I might as well use what I have on hand. In my pantry I had a jar of artichokes and a can of green olives, and in the freezer I had pearl onions, peas and a single sausage. Those ingredients were what I used on top of the paella rice. I tweaked the technique I found in a Mark Bittman recipe Tomato Paella to make the rice.

Being creative in cooking sometimes means breaking the rules or borrowing a sauce from a traditional dish and using it in a non-traditional way.

When a diner is served the popular Vietnamese soup called pho, a basket of fresh green vegetables and bean sprouts accompanies a giant soup bowl filled to the brim with meat and noodles. For seasoning, a dipping sauce is also provided. As a matter of personal taste, I prefer the lighter pho ga, made with chicken, to its deeper flavored, beefy cousins. After years of eating pho ga I realized that part of my craving for the soup was because I loved the dipping sauce called nuoc cham gung.

In the sauce, finely minced ginger and garlic mingle with flecks of dried Szechuan peppers in a vinegary-salty-sweet sauce, accentuated with lime-citrus notes.

With one of those wonderful epiphanies that happen to foodies who think about food a bit too much, I realized that nuoc cham gung would make a good marinade and glaze for my favorite appetizer—chicken wings.

Chicken Paprikash, one of Hungary’s signature comfort food dishes, is made with the country’s quintessential ingredient - paprika. Perhaps not as famous as the better known Goulash, it is still found on nearly every menu and is a common recipe in most Hungarian homes. I was in Budapest for the first time a few months ago and loved the city, in fact I’m already planning a return trip.

Condé Nast Traveler recently published its annual Readers' Choice Awards and the "30 best cities in the world" list, which named Budapest, Hungary, as the second-best city in the world, right below Florence, Italy. It’s no wonder – a thriving vibrant city, rich in culture, a complex history, world renowned spas, and gorgeous architecture – there’s something for everyone in Budapest. Although it helped to have some friends who live in Hungary, I found the city easy to navigate and fun to explore, and I recommend it to anyone looking for a new travel destination.

After researching a few hotels, I opted for the relatively new Aria Hotel Budapest, a stately 19th century bank building transformed into a luxurious boutique hotel centrally located just down from St. Stephen's Basilica. After settling into my spacious and modern music themed “Leonard Bernstein” room, I headed downstairs to Aria’s Satchmo's Bar (which offers both lunch and dinner served either inside or outside on the terrace) to meet with Balázs Váradi-Szabó and learn about the hotel’s cuisine. Balázs, their incredibly knowledgeable food and beverage manager, explained that the current menu in many ways reflects the hotel itself – “classic Hungarian with a modern twist.” Patrons hoping to sample the famed Paprikash can expect a deconstructed version which can be found on their inspired menu as a warm appetizer - the “Hortobágyi éclair” features tender paprika chicken wrapped in a soft crepe-like pastry.

Josh Ruxin did not write a book about food, although his story takes place against a backdrop of heart-wrenching hunger and Eden-esque abundance, tracing a journey from famine to feast.

He did not write a book about restaurants, although he tells how two American ex-pats created one of the hippest dining establishments in Africa.

He did not set out to write about good and evil, but his book describes one of the most horrific genocides in human history, and the astonishing efforts of both the victims and their persecutors to find forgiveness and redemption.

He didn't even write a love story, although A Thousand Hills to Heaven centers on two people who are very much in love—young Americans you might meet at a party, endowed with the same hearts, brains, and DNA as you or I—but who found the strength to work a thousand miracles in a land God forgot.

And he certainly didn't write a cookbook, but he concludes his story with six recipes that will make you want to head for your kitchen and light your grill to try them.

What he did write is one of the most extraordinary narratives of hope I have read in decades—a book that, just for reading it, makes you aspire to be a better person.