Mexico Medical Student |

The video below was excerpted from the ABC News Video Podcast, so for those of you who subscribe to it (or watch ABC News in the States), you may have seen this:

Now, as anyone who knows me can tell you, I’m a complete foodie, so at first glance, this would seem to strike me as “Oh, cool!” Except my brain interrupts .5 seconds later and says, “Wait a minute…this is a hosptial!. Even casual visitors and occupants of hospitals can tell you right off the bat that hospitals have a certain…smell. And they have that smell for a reason, namely because the hospital is a place of sickness and disease, which in turn can create unpredictable outgushings of bodily fluids and other nasty things best left untyped.

Picture this as a nurse tends to a random patient:

“Ok, Mr. Smith, we’re here to repack the excavated tunnel created by your necrotic, purulent butt abscess. Oooh, yeah, that’s gonna hurt a bit as we take this gauze out…yeah, we have to let this heal from the inside out, but that pain you feel as the gauze scrapes your butt tunnel is a good sign–it means that you’re healing and making new tissue. Almost done…*knock knock*…and just in time! Your ‘Beef Tips in Mushroom Ragout with Saffron Rice’ just arrived! I’ll hurry up and take these wet, bloody gauze bits out of the way so you can eat while it’s still hot.”

Save the maternity ward and perhaps and some ortho, etc. patients not yet ready to go home for PT or some such non-ambulatory reasons, are there really people in the hospital who could really appreciate the gourmet meals? Because if there are, one should question why they’re still there.

And you’d still have the smells…

I’m pretty good about not getting grossed out, but today shows I clearly have a ways to go before I really consider myself jaded.  I can view surgery videos all day long, even while eating; the juxtaposition of whatever is on my plate with a close-up of an open chest/belly or a plastic surgeon hunking off chunks of abdominal fat during an abdominoplasty or panniculectomy poses no problem for me.

However, I could not, for the life of me, study pathology at all while eating lunch. Both GI and gyn path were just right out. I had a little leftover pasta from last night and made a good-sized salad to go with, so there was no correlation with the food–it’s just that pictures of ulcerations, nasty polyps, and diverticula on/in the colon was too much.  I jumped ahead and was greeted with necrotic vulva, cervical discharge, and God knows what kind of myriad ovarian/uterine malignancies. I’m sorry, there’s a limit, and I just couldn’t do it. Things were easier when it was the heart and lungs.  This is a different animal.

I closed the book, put on the Pittsburg/Cleveland game, and finished out my meal in peace.

I’m a total foodie. By that I mean I not only love food, but I love the process, the cooking, the variation, the art behind the scenes, the meticulous attention to detail that can go into a dish. I married a good cook too, so that doesn’t hurt, but as she’ll tell you, I bump her out whenever I have the chance. Having an adventerous palate also means that I’ll go to an Asian grocery and buy things without knowing exactly what they are, relying mainly on the pictures.

I prepared an udon noodle bowl that I bought at just such a market before coming down here, and I wanted to look at the ingredients. I was met with some Engrish like “wel shonion” and “sea tangle.” I had no idea what the first was, but “sea tangle” sounds like it deserves some respect lest I hurt myself, so I decided to Google it. Since I figured I was going to blog about all of this w/pictures, when I found this entry reviewing my very same noodle bowl, the project came to a halt, my thunder stolen. (on the upside, it saved me some time)

See the pinwheel seafood bits? Tasty, but not as tasty as the brown, amorphous blobs. The non-meat look about them is because they are small fried seafood cakes, made soft and squishy of course because of the boiling water. I added some sesame oil and some Sriracha sauce and chowed down. Mmmm…mmm….

If anybody knows Korean, can you please translate? Just curious to see if it says anything different than the obvious.

I don’t eat fish quite as often as I should, but today I resolved to make a nice fish dinner. I just got done eating it, and I’m rather pleased w/the result, so I’ll share my impromptu recipe (quantities are estimated since this wasn’t planned):

Ginger Garlic Sesame Fish

• filets of tilapia (or any other medium-flaky fish, such as trout)
• 2-3 Tbs olive oil or vegetable oil
• toasted sesame oil, < 2 tsp
• 1 Tbs fresh ginger, sliced thinly
• 2-4 tsp. fresh garlic, sliced
• pepper, salt, herbs
• lemon or lime, sliced in round, thin slices

Take the sesame oil and brush (or use your [washed] fingers, like I do) a thin coat onto the filets, both sides. Apply salt, pepper, herbs to both sides of filets, let rest. In a saute pan of your choice, heat olive oil (regular or light, not extra virgin as it has too strong a taste) or regular vegetable oil for a couple of minutes over a medium heat. Add the sliced ginger and garlic and saute for a good minute or two, allowing maximum extraction of flavor. Do not allow either to brown excessively. With a slotted spoon or the like, remove ginger and garlic; set aside for later.

Add fish filets by lying into the infused oil gently, then turning immediately, so the newly upturned side got a coat. Heat 3-5 minutes a side, depending on heat, perhaps a minute less on the second side. Do not overcook and dry out the fish; if in doubt, remove from heat and replace if not done (after a few minutes a side, it will almost certainly be done). Garnish the top of the filets with lemon/lime slices and optionally spoon a small amount of the garlic/ginger leftovers (depending on how done they became) on the slices so that you (and/or guest) can mix to taste  without overpowering the fish.

Don’t worry too much about the oil.  The sesame oil is very strongly flavored and is just used to coat the fish with that flavor. The olive oil is good for you, and you really are just using enough to extract/impart flavor, and coat the pan (which should be proportional in size to the amount of fish you are cooking at a time).

I had my fish with steamed chayote squash, a delicious variety I didn’t even know existed until I came to Mexico. And just to prove I’m not a snobby gourmand, the other side item I had was Kraft macaroni and cheese. It’s a childhood thing–we grew up eating it w/fish, so it makes me think of home. I hadn’t had it in forever, and besides–I put enough work into the above; I didn’t need to make anything else from scratch.

Enjoy!

(continued from previous post)

We got up in the morning, grumbling there was neither coffee nor breakfast, but I smelled coffee, so I went downstairs. There was some pan dulce (sweet bread) and coffee already brewed, so I took a piece, two cups and cheerfully presented Claudia with coffee and bread, happy to start my day with SOMETHING. As you will read later, this coffee was not for us and I was essentially in blatant violation of B&B rules.

For our first day in San Miguel de Allende (San Miguel or SM for short from now on), I really just wanted to hit all we could: museum, churches, plazas, etc. It was very clear very soon that this town is several things we wouldn’t necessarily have known:

• tiny (not a bad thing)
• mountainous hilly
• impossible to drive anywhere in an extended cab truck due to streets made in the 1700s
• absolutely chock-full of Americans and other foreigners, perhaps even outnumbering the local population
• holiday weekends are taken seriously here in terms of people and activity

We found some decent parking at the top of a large hill and planned to walk downwards, but I met some Americans who spoke of a sceneic overlook further up the hill. 10 minutes and 100 beats/min HR increase later, I found nothing but more stairs and more curves, so I cursed out loud and made my way back (in the photos, you’ll see the stairs). You have to be WAY in shape to do anything long-term in this town. Sure a cab is 20 pesos anywhere you want ($2 bucks–no joke), but everybody walks. There was an 80+-year-old man I passed along the hill (yes, I passed him, thank you very much!) who was using a walking stick and carrying pan dulce back home, but that’s probably a daily thing for him, but I was a few ectopic beats away from a needing a defibrillator, walking at a 45 degree angle up the hill.

Breakfast was at Correos Cafe, across from the Post Office (correo is “mail” in Spanish), and it was far and away some of the best cafe de olla I’ve ever had. Cafe de olla is a Mexican preparation of good, strong coffee, frothed milk, cinnamon, anise and special somethings that make for a morning drink that will cure any mood. The rest of the day was simply spent walking, looking, listening, absorbing–taking the city in, going wherever the mood struck us. I’m a huge planner, but for some reason, I just didn’t plan this trip to the ‘T’ (note our driving experience). As such, I had the slight anxiety not knowing what to do, but also experienced the rare occaision of the freedom to not have pressure to do anthying in particular since I didn’t know what it was I WASN’T going to get to do/see/etc. I have to definitely do this way again. Maybe.

We saw several impromptu parades, a driving ad for a bullfight, went to the museum (which was actually a disappointment, but they don’t charge, so I’m sure it’s limited by that), walked and walked, and hung out at the town square, people watching.

Dinner was spent at a nice restaurant, and in spite of repeated bloody filet mignon when Claudia specifically asked for medium well (when a steak goes back because it’s twiching, moo-ing rare, perhaps returning a plate full of dark red blood less than 5 minutes later indicates you haven’t left the ‘rare’ stage quite yet) we were well taken care of by the manager to interesting conversation and a comped dessert of the best flan I’ve ever had. All in all a good day…

…Which is why the following morning was such a bust. I wake up in the morning at 8:00 and smelling coffee, went downstairs to get some. Buenos dias, I said to the B&B lady. She looks at me, “Yes?” “Um I just want some coffee,” I say eyeing the half-full pot.

“Breakfast is at 9:00,” she snapped. “OK,” I say slowly and deliberately, “I just want coffee.” I’m the one w/o coffee, and she seems to be the one who isn’t getting it.

“Breakfast will be served promptly at 9:00; coffee will be available then.” It took all my self-control not to just say “Whatever,” and walk over to pour myself a cup in defiance. I have never stayed at a m/hotel–and I’ve stayed in some bad ones–that didn’t at least have a coffeemaker in the room or some ready made stuff out in the lobby in a thermos dispenser if nothing else with little 6 oz cups. I’m not complaining about not getting Splenda or half-and-half–we’re talking total deprivation of the most basic element of hospitality. If I wanted rules and attitude, I’d go home and visit family. I’m on vacation here.

Long story short, I got my weak coffee at 9:00 with breakfast. We left shortly thereafter and headed back to Guanajuato (although we took the autopistas back!). I was looking forward to take pictures of the mines, mountains and churches, but traffic was so bad when we got there, it ate up most of our in-city time. We got info to go back, but next time we’re taking the bus: $157 dollars in gas and tolls could have bought us round trip bus tickets for both of us with plenty left over, and had the whole stress of the drive out of our hands.

I’m writing this from Diane’s apartment loft with a great view of downtown. I initialy stayed w/my cousin Raul and Kris, but the last time I was in Houston I felt bad not seeing Diane more, so I promised to stay w/her as well. We were originally going to go back on the 1st, but we just ran out of time to get everything done, so we stayed an extra day and are going back tomorrow.

It has an interesting trip emotionally in many different ways. When we drove in from Guadalajara two weeks ago to my parents’ house (10 miles from the border), I was surprised at how not excited I was to be home. I chalked it up to being on the end of a 12.5 hour trip and a stressful set of weeks dealing with finals, moving, etc. But as the days progressed, I found myself driving around feeling that being home was like an old shoe: not the prettiest or exciting, but comfortable, familiar. It was as I drove into Houston the other day that I felt my first rush of excitement to be back “home.” Houston is where I spent most of my adult life, and whether or not I live here again, it clearly will always be special. Driving around Houston–a very large city geographically–seeing all our old haunts and what has changed was also like an old shoe in a way, but a cool, kick-ass shoe.

In addition to the emotions of being back in a city I truly enjoy in a way reminds me of what I no longer have: a good, steady job providing disposal income to enjoy the things the 4th largest city in the US has to offer, freedom of schedule to enjoy those things, and a variety of cultures to experience (not just Mexican). I feel the financial pinch of being on 100% of student loans, supporting my wife also with that money, and it’s hard. In fact, one of the reasons we came here was to go shopping for our house, clothes and other important things, and in that, I am happy to say we made a killing on lots of sales. I have reached my shopping quota for the year it seems, between Christmas shopping and this trip. You just can’t beat deals in a big city, though, and I always feel good knowing we came out ahead.

Finally we come to my true “foodie” experience I’ve been waiting for. Unlike the fast-food junk that I was predominantly eating back in my home town (family home cooking being an exception, but it’s hard when you don’t really have control of the kitchen), here we finally got most of the food we really wanted and missed more than all. We ate at my favorite Greek restaurant, the hip Niko Niko’s. New Years Eve, Diane treated us to Maggiano’s; we accepted the idea heartily in spite of having Fred’s Italian Corner two nights earlier. Claudia was a good sport in tolerating Indian food for my benefit as we met my friend Bill and his wife at Shiva, also meeting for the first time their beautiful 6-month-old daugher. I would have liked to have gone to Fung’s Kitchen but there was no time. You can’t do it at once. I include all the links here and sharing in this detail for the sole reason that these are some of my favorite places in Houston and I want to make sure people go there so that they thrive and stay in business so I they’ll keep being there whenever I come back!

Anyway, here’s wishing everyone a healthy and happy new year. 2005 was a very bittersweet year for me but it also had the promise of being the start of good things to come…in that sense, I have hope for 2006. I hope this new year brings good things to all of us.

Earlier this year, I wrote a negative nutritional opinion about Burger King’s Enormous Omelete Sandwich. Well, Burger King listened, and they decided that two eggs, two slices of cheese, a sausage patty and two slices of bacon on a bun was just not enough breakfast without adding a couple of slices of ham. At almost 800 calories and two days worth of saturated fat in one meal, I don’t see why they just didn’t throw in a nice galette of hashbrowns and gravy (you know, to help make it go down nice and smooth) to make it an even 1000. Silly me, I forgot…you don’t have to get this by itself, you can have a combo with a large breakfast tater tots and a 44oz Coke to wash this manly meal down with, all on your way to work/school/back to your house because you didn’t feel like cooking.

Now anyone who knows me knows for sure that 1) I am no health nut, 2) I have more than just baby fat on me, and 3) I don’t discriminate against hardly any kind of food, fast or slow. However, as I said in my post from earlier in the year, if I’m going to consume that many calories in a meal (which is a bad idea to begin with, but we all indulge ourselves in different ways…at least it’s not a crack pipe), I’m going to be 1) sitting down, 2) have a paid professional attend to my meal (or be the handiwork of a loved one or my own damn self), and 3) take the time to enjoy it. I sure as hell won’t waste it at Burger King.

Having said that (and proving the first sentence in the 2nd paragraph above), I love cinnamon rolls. I really don’t care for the outside part, though; it’s usually hard or too high a bread:flavor ratio. I bite the outside just enough to hollow out the middle where the flavor is packed in, leaving a moon-shaped carcass of a roll, shamelessly eviscerated. Chik-Fil-A released an item that was made just for me (and probably thousands of others, but I prefer to think of me first): a package of just cinnamon-roll middles. This is the cinnamon roll equivalent of muffin tops, only muffin tops are dumb and these are cool.

All this at 1:30 in the morning, as I study for a biochemistry exam tomorrow on (and I kid you not): dietary lipid metabolism (chylomicrons, [VL,L,H]DLs; cholesterol, fatty acid and triglyceride synthesis), gluconeogenesis, glycogenolysis/glycogenesis, hormonal regulation/effects in the fed/starved state, etc. I think, just writing about all this, “Just how much bile salts, CCK, lipases, and insulin would have to be mobilized to take care of all the above if I were to eat it?” Ha!

This seems really silly, but it takes a natural disaster (and in the case of Rita, soon-to-be disaster) to make me miss home. 750 miles from the border seems long, but let me tell you, Mexico is another country, so it seems way longer, but 750 miles to a Texan won’t get you out of the state, so you pick! I have been going to class, doing my thing, etc. and of course I miss friends and family, but I haven’t felt homesick until these last few days, especially now, seeing all the views of Houston and all other Texas cities that I’ve visited or lived all of my life. I want to go home. Obviously, I’d wait a bit before traveling to the Houston area, but there’s one each of a Vietnamese, Chinese, Thai, Indian, and Greek restaurant with a table with my name on it and I can’t wait to visit.

Speaking of food, there’s NOTHING in the way of any authentic “foreign” food, and by “authentic” I mean the way you know it’s made in country because the people that made it (back in the US) haven’t even acclimated to speaking English and menus are in the native language with small, bad English for the non-regulars. I can’t get decent sweet and sour chicken–a dish I’d never order in the States–much less anything “exotic” like, oh I don’t know, plain old chicken in black bean/garlic sauce, a dish I’d normally get as the “boring/safe” option. The idea of my sitting in a nice restaurant waiting for the dim sum cart to come by with my next round of delicacies is like an Eskimo imagining himself swimming in the water naked and sunburned–it just seems impossible.

I better stop, because as a person who loves to cook and explore flavors, combinations, etc. (yes, I know, I haven’t finished the “about me” section on the site), I could be here all day. It’s not about the food, of course, but few things make you feel “home” more fundamentally. I just miss everything right now.