Eating “Live” Octopus
A couple of weeks ago, I ventured up to New York City’s second “Korean Town” (arguably, the more authentic version) in Flushing, Queens, with Julie and her friends. We had seen Anthony Bourdain (and David Chang of Momofuku fame) eat “live” octopus on the Travel Channel show “No Reservations” at a restaurant there called Sik Gaek, and so we naturally thought: “Yes! We have to try that.”
So, ahem, this is what’s it’s like to eat really, really fresh octopus. Now don’t worry, the octopus is dead — the moving tentacles are an involuntary contraction of the muscles, or something like that.
PETA would not be amused. And you may not be amused either. Do NOT watch this video if you’re faint of heart and don’t want to see people eat something that is squirming around on a plate.
Oh, and how does it taste? Pretty good. Not too bad. It’s more of a novelty, though: I’m not going to be ordering this dish very often.
Burnin’ Up in the Virgin Islands
(click on photo to enlarge to its full glory)
To say it’s about 90 degrees (falling only to 80 at night) doesn’t even begin to describe just how hot it is here in St. Thomas, heart of the U.S. Virgin Islands. Heck, I lived in New Orleans for six years, but I wasn’t prepared for the ponderous blanket of humidity that hugged us today as Lucy and Florent exchanged vows outside. Despite the heat, their late-morning ceremony was quite cool: simple and heartfelt. Julie took note of how even the minister snapped a few quick photos of the bride and groom at the gazebo overlooking the Caribbean Sea. It’s hard not to get carried away when you’re surrounded by such natural beauty.
Yesterday the lot of us (family and friends of the newlyweds totaling 14) took a chartered boat to the British Virgin Islands. Virgin Gorda features “the Baths,” imposing natural rock formations with caves and pools. We saw granite boulders jutting out of the earth that were shaped like a skull, a whale, a roaring lion and an elephant’s butt. Meanwhile, Jost Van Dyke, once a pirates’ haven, is now the party isle of the British Virgins, featuring the Soggy Dollar Bar. We also did a little snorkeling in the warm, turquoise waters.
(Photo by Julie Kim; top photo by Dave Baker)
After the wedding, Julie and I took an “open air” safari bus (OK, the back of a pickup truck) to Magens Bay, St. Thomas’s most famous beach, once ranked one of the world’s top 10 by National Geographic. It’s a gorgeous strip of white sand, yes, but I’m not entirely sure you can go wrong with any beach in this area.
And now — well, it’s nap time.
Next Trip: Virgin Islands
We’re back from Mexico! Now we’re looking ahead to the U.S. Virgin Islands. One week from now. That’s right, back-to-back destination weddings.
The bulk of the five-day stay will be on St. Thomas. Snorkeling trip on tap. Much lounging on beach expected.
Come for the Guacamole, Stay for the View
(Photo by Julie Kim, copyright 2009)
Before Julie and I left for a quick trip to Central Mexico, our friend Rosa implored us, “You have to go to Guanajuato!” — describing how she broke out in tears upon seeing the rainbow of houses draped upon the mountainside. So we added an overnight stop to Guanajuato, the last on our five-day mini-tour. I can say without hesitation that the city has not disappointed. The panoramic view is phenomenal (“far and away, the most beautiful” in the whole country, one travel writer has put it), and it’s all accessible to Julie and me simply by opening the double doors to our small third-floor balcony. (The “Suite José Marti” at El Mesón de los Poetas downtown is well worth the 80 bucks or so a night.)
Guanajuato was a colonial mining center, which may help to explain the complicated series of underground traffic tunnels and the tangle of impossibly narrow streets. There are carved wooden doors, Spanish archways, courtyards, aging monuments to mining legends and revolutionary heroes. The main square is alive with mariachi musicians, assorted tourists, children playing, men hawking panchos, church bells clanging wildly, dogs curled up on the ground in the afternoon shade.
We could get lost here — I mean really lost. But still, it’s exciting to explore the hidden alleys with their stairs and slopes leading higher and higher up the hill, looping around old buildings (crumbling, but a controlled sort of crumbling) pocked with graffiti. We keep following the path as raindrops begin to patter on our shoulders, and the path twists again, veering just out of sight around more houses. I look at Julie — “Should we keep going?” “Yeah,” she replies with a smile and a tinge of adventure in her voice, “just a little farther up.”
Montauk, NY
(Photo by Julie Kim)
Flying a kite along a crowded beach, even on a fairly windy day, isn’t as easy as you’d think. I could say that the trick is releasing as much of the string as quickly as you can — just set that sucker way up into the wild blue yonder before the fickle wind closer to the ground sends your poor kite thundering back down to the sand dunes. I could say that, but I’d be bullshitting you. Truth is, I really don’t know the secret to keeping a kite aloft. But I do firmly believe that if you’re gonna soar, soar high.
I’m in Montauk, on the easternmost tip (the South Fork) of New York’s fabled Long Island. This unseasonably warm and beautiful weekend just happens to include my birthday (April 25), and the trip comes courtesy of my girlfriend, Julie, who knows the secret to sending my heart newly aflutter is getting away from the jackhammers and jackasses of The Big City.
