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Cheeseburger in Paradise

After over a week and a half of nonstop Noah’s Ark-style rain, the sun finally came out to play over the weekend, and Katie and I were hellbent on soaking up every single second of it.

Our original gameplan was to take off to the beach since we hadn’t yet been despite the fact that we’ve lived here for over a month.  (And, yes, we’re well aware of how pathetic that is.  Thank you.)  However, our ride fell through at the last minute leaving us high and dry without anything to do on a beautiful Saturday, so, naturally, we decided to horn in on the guys’ plans.

Remember these knuckleheads?

Homesick for some authentic American grub, Aaron, JJ and Matt had done some internet sleuthing and found a Tex-Mex restaurant located a few towns over.  Their plan was to spend the afternoon there watching college football, talking smack, giving each other noogies and whatever else guys do when chicks aren’t around.

Fortunately, they let us tag along and after an easy 45-minute drive through scenic countryside to the town of Tilaran, we found ourselves at 5 Corners Grill, a beachy little gem of a restaurant situated on a hill overlooking sprawling Lake Arenal.  Once there, we proceeded to spend the next six hours gorging ourselves on burgers and beer and hanging out with Jason and Cindy, the amazingly cool Austin, TX, couple who owns the joint.

A candid shot of Jason.  Cindy was wily enough to dodge me.

Despite having been open for less than a year, 5 Corners has a comfortable, well-established quality and loyal following of friendly regulars, many of whom are ex-pats themselves.  From the open-air patio bar with live trees growing right through the floor…

…to the Chicken Shit Bingo (which is exactly what you’re imagining it is) board and live scorpion on display in the breezeway…

I assume they put this down your pants and make you dance around for 10 minutes if you try to leave without paying.

…to the small garden and chicken coop located out back and assortment of squirmy, wiggly, disgustingly cute puppies of varying sizes and shapes milling about the premises, there is no shortage of interests to hold your attention.

Don’t get us wrong–Katie and I have been thoroughly enjoying the Costa Rican experience, but we had to admit that the smattering of Longhorns and Dallas Cowboys paraphernalia decorating the windows and good ol’ fashioned burger and fries were a pleasantly familiar taste of home sweet home.

This burger made my toes curl.  Don’t even ask what the bananas foster for dessert did to me.

By the end of the day, we were a few colones lighter, a few pounds heavier, and a few anecdotes richer (stay tuned, more on that tomorrow).

For anyone who happens to be passing through Tilaran or visiting the Lake Arenal area, I highly–highly–recommend this place.  No need to even thank me.

Just ship me a burger.

Ninety-Nine Bottles of Sauce in a Box

Ninety-nine bottles of sauce… Take one out, pass it about…

Wait! We just put those in there.

Okay.  Many of you have probably been wondering just what the heck we’ve been doing with our time during the day here in Costa Rica.  How do we earn our keep in this beautiful place?

Well, I’ve mentioned before that we came here primarily to work for an up-and-coming, family-owned hot sauce company called Chile Town.  We knew before we arrived that there would be some office work involved, including writing press releases and blog posts for the company website.  We also knew that we would potentially be making some of the sauce itself.

What we didn’t know is what, exactly, making hot sauce entailed.

It starts with the chile peppers, most of which are grown and hand-picked right here on the property.

Without giving away too many trade secrets before the sauce gets released to the U.S., I will say that some of the hottest peppers in the world are grown and used right here.  For that reason, caution must be used even during the picking-process.  Notice the gloves.  You don’t dare touch your eyes or exposed skin after handling hot peppers.

Chile Peppers

At this point some type of magic happens and the peppers are somehow washed, seeded, and mashed up into what we call… well mash.  By the way, at Chile Town each individual hot sauce uses an individual type of chile pepper – unlike many other hot sauces, which just use an extract to bring the heat, the sauces we’re helping to make here actually use the heat and flavor that come directly from the chile variety itself.  So a mild(er) sauce like the one called La Muñeca (“The Doll”) uses a less-spicy variety of pepper (yellow scotch bonnet) than the sauce called Bandito (“The Bandit”), which uses orange habaneros.

It’s all very scientific.

And if you think habaneros are spicy, some of the Chile Town sauces get even hotter than that!

*By the way, thanks to Becs for taking most of the following photos.  My gloved and mash-covered fingers were not about to get anywhere near my beloved camera.  Or my hair, apparently, which is a mess.  Apologies.

So what we end up with is this mash.

chile pepper mash

Appetizing, no?

Of course, the color/consistency vary depending on the type of pepper we’re using.  These are smoked jalapeños for the smoky Don Fuego (“Fire Boss”) sauce.

The first part of this entire process is really just basic cooking – we mix all the ingredients according to Aaron’s (aka “The Mayor’s”) top secret recipes and stick ’em on the stove to simmer.

Simmering Chile Town Hot Sauce

Here’s where it gets tricky.  Once all the ingredients are partying together in the pot and the sauce starts to thicken up, it’s time to blend.  This ensures a smoother, even consistency and that all of the flavors are truly melded to perfection.

The problem?  An industrial-sized blender, Aaron owns not.

So we use the small one.  Again, and again.  And again.

Blending Chile Town Hot Sauce

I’ll admit that this is probably the scariest part of the process for me.  I mean – you have this substance that is 2 kinds of hot – temperature and spicy – so if the blender decides to say… I don’t know… blow up in your face, you’re seriously burned.  Heat burned and heat burned.  Not pretty.  I’ve caught a splatter or two to know.

So we try to use the utmost precaution, especially during this phase of sauce production.

Blending Chile Town Hot Sauce

Once everything is blended, it goes back in the pot and back on the heat.  This time it needs to get to a certain (extremely hot) temperature before it can be bottled.  The goal is to have everything nice and evenly cooked to the desired level of thickness.

Don Fuego Chile Town Hot Sauce

Aaron’s stove takes a beating.

While the sauce is cooking, we need to wash bottles.  Lots and lots of bottles.

Hot Sauce Bottles

And of course, since no one wants to buy empty hot sauce bottles, we need to fill ’em.

Bottling Chile Town Hot Sauce

This step is a tid bit precarious, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.

Boxing Hot Sauce

We are sauce-making machines.

No thanks to this punk, who didn’t even bother to watch.

Stella Dog

Once they cool a bit, we add the seals and labels.  Eventually, they look like this:

Chile Town Hot Sauce

Pretty groovy, huh?

Ironically, the most stressful part of the process is after all the sauce is made and we’re cleaning out the pots.  When the cold water hits the warm hot sauce remnants, the noxious chile fumes somehow get set off and I’m thrown into an ugly, hacking and sneezing fit.  It ain’t pretty.

And while Erin’s superior writing/editing skills have since earned her a place back in the air-conditioned office, I really don’t mind toiling over a steaming hot chile pepper concoction several days a week.  A true sense of accomplishment accompanies every seal of every lid; and while I dread the potential day when Aaron opens a bottle of sauce I made from one of his recipes and, God forbid, something just doesn’t taste quite right, I will at least savor the experience until that time.

Even though all of the bottles that eventually get sold in the U.S. will have been made to exact specifications in a factory by qualified professionals, I know I will smile every time I see one because I am now a first-hand witness to just some of the frustration, sweat, and determination that goes into creating a product.

A livelihood.

A passion.

And it’s pretty damn sweet.  And spicy.

The Fruits Of Our Labor

See this?

What is this?

Pinto, a world-travelling intern from Spain who’s been working here for approximately the past 5 years, always brings strange and wonderful fruits to work and offers to let us try them.

Meet Pinto.

Pinto is a wandering engineer who doesn’t believe in marriage and somehow always manages to get his food before anyone else when we go to our most frequented restaurant here in Bagaces.

And, like I said, Pinto is generous with fruit – fruit he buys from the local street vendors – fruit I’m always eager to try.

But I’ll admit – when I saw this sitting on my desk, I was a little skeptical.  I mean – it looks more like a toy I’d buy for my dogs than something edible.

I had to look inside.

Oooh!  What’s that?  Some type of gummy, gooey, gelatinous substance.  Like something out of Alien…

Costa Ricans call this a mamón chino, otherwise known as a rambutan (according to Wikipedia).  This is the edible “meat” inside.  Should I eat it?

Hells yeah I should.  It was good. Tangy, sweet, and a really cool texture.  The only thing I did not enjoy was the woody seed I managed to splinter in my mouth with my teeth – the seed I’m just now reading on Wikipedia is “mildly poisonous” when eaten raw.

Oops.

My mistake.  This time. But next time?  Next time I’ll be ready.

The Not-So-Musical Fruit

So we had an interesting dinner experience the other night.

In an effort to save a little moolah and live more like the locals, we attempted to make rice and beans.

Well.  I’m sure this is something that turns out absolutely delicious for those who eat it regularly and have actual… you know… seasonings in their kitchens.  But I’ll spoil the ending to this little story by telling you that ours ended up tasting a little more like… um… how should I put this?  Paper.

Our very first problem was that I felt it was imperative that I took a nap immediately when we got home.  The “nap” turned into 3 hours, and I woke up at 5:00.  So what?  Even if it takes a couple of hours to cook, no big deal, right?

Wrong.

I first consulted Judy, our gracious host and excellent cook about how we should get started.  She explained how she puts the whole onion inside the rice cooker (it actually roasts while the rice cooks so you can just squeeze the onion out of its outer layers of skin when it’s done), along with some diced pepper, garlic, and “other things” – other things we most certainly did not have.  She was generous enough to give us several cloves of garlic and some celery leaves to throw on in, and luckily we already had an onion and red pepper.

She showed me how to sort through the beans and pick out anything that had split or any pieces of rock or cement that might have found its way into the bag during processing.  (Which I’m told is pretty standard.  You know, like bugs in your pasta.  Oh we haven’t told you about that?  It’s dee-lish.)  Luckily, we had a pretty good bag.  She then explained that they needed to sit in a pot of water for 2-3 hours to soften up prior to cooking.

Wha?!

That’s right, she informed my dumbfounded expression.  2-3 hours should do the trick. Ok, so that’s still not terrible – then maybe 20 minutes to cook and we can eat around 8:30, right?

Wrong again.

When I googled “how to cook dry black beans,” I learned that not only do you need to soak them for 2-3 hours, but the best way to cook them is at a low simmer for another 2 hours!

WTF.  It’s beans.  And rice.  But apparently it takes longer than Coq au Vin to make without the delicious indulgence of all the fat and calories.

So I went back to Judy, tail between my legs.  Um… may I please borrow your pressure cooker?

Sigh.  She had to come back over and show us how to use it without burning our faces off, but this drastically reduced the cooking time and eliminated the need for soaking them.  Just throw all our stuff in the pot, and a little while later, poof! Beans are cooked.

Meanwhile, the rice concoction smelled delicious.

By this point we were starving, so we threw it all into a bowl and hoped for the best.

And it actually looked halfway decent…

Rice 'n Beans

But the taste… Oh, the taste.  How do I say this?

There wasn’t one.

In a true moment of ingenuity, Erin suggested we sprinkle it with our salty plantain chips, which proved to be a VAST improvement.

Platanos

Next time (har-har) we will be investing in some seasonings.  And I don’t think I ever want to try Judy’s rice and beans.  I would probably cry.

I spent the next morning walking around the yard reassessing this whole “budget” situation and trying to figure out whether we could afford to live off of boxes of macaroni and cheese for the next two months.

When I realized there’s no possible way, I felt frustrated for a second.

But only a second.

Because it’s really difficult to stay frustrated on a morning when – even with bland beans still percolating in my stomach – the world outside my bedroom looks like this:

Costa Rica Sunrise

And this.

Rice and beans?  What rice and beans?

A Good Thing Gone Bad

In the midst of all the packing and airline melodrama Katie and I had going on last week, my body decided that it, too, would capitalize on this opportune time to start actin’ a fool.  And act a fool, it did.

I could easily ramble on for the next five paragraphs about the symptoms I had and what all led up to the final diagnosis — and I did in the first draft, before remembering that long-winded monologues detailing your every pathological idiosyncrasy generally make people want to chew their legs off or jump in front of moving vehicles to make it stop.

So, instead, let’s just say the good news is: I’m not dying.  Can I get a what-what?!

However, the bad news is… I can no longer drink wine.

Delicious, stress-reducing, body-tingling, confidence-boosting, life-affirming wine.

Why not just stop feeling while I’m at it?

While there’s no way to test for it — since, technically, it’s not even an actual allergy — recent events seem to indicate that I’ve developed an intolerance to the sulfites in wine.

For those of you who’ve had no reason to ever learn about sulfites — because, why would you? — they’re preservatives added to extend the shelf life of processed foods such as baked goods, soup mixes, pickled foods, dried fruit, potatoes and potato chips, trail mix, jams, maraschino cherries, condiments, juice, molasses, guacamole, etc.

Dang.  There goes my world-famous Molasses Pickled Prune Bread with Guacamole Marmalade recipe.  The PTA Council will just have to find another Refreshment Coordinator for the monthly meetings.

Even then, sulfites and I would be cool if that were all but, for whatever reason, they had to go and “naturally occur” in grapes.  And then wine had to go and “be made out of” grapes.  And then I had to go and “be sensitive” to grape sulfites.  Really, there’s a lot of blame to throw around here.

By the way, I couldn’t find any pictures, but here’s what I’m guessing a sulfite looks like:

Sulfites are characterized by douche-y smirks, Ray-Bans and circa-early ’90s soul patches.  Also, they’re known to lurk around local high school hang-outs, wear button-down flannel shirts with the sleeves ripped off, and drive beater Camaros they claim to be “restoring”.

It’s no wonder my body decided to wisen up and lay the smackdown on these suckers.

The cause for sulfite sensitivity is unknown, but apparently it’s pretty common for people to randomly develop it later in life, and the only “cure” is to avoid foods that trigger a reaction.  Which is a pretty lame cure if you ask me.

Never in a million years would I have suspected such an utter betrayal by my internal organs but, apparently, developing new allergies is one of the many sadistic tools your body has at its disposal to destroy your will to live as you get older, thus paving the way for your bitter-ass retirement years.

Fortunately, my sensitivity seems to pertain specifically to wine and certain juices (Orange, I’m looking at you), so I guess I should be thankful that my culinary habits don’t require a major overhaul.  Plus, some friends have put me onto certain low-sulfite wine brands to try and I can still drink beer like a champ (or at least as well as I was able to before, which was actually not at all like a champ).

Normally, this would be the part where I indulge in a little righteous self-pity but, during my exhaustive Google research over the past week, I’ve come across a number of blogs written by people with sensitivities to all sulfites, and it definitely puts things into perspective.  Considering they’re as much a staple of the American diet as flour and eggs, this means every grocery shopping trip, restaurant, social gathering, buffet, snack tray and baked good made by a well-meaning neighbor is a minefield of potential toxins for them.  And you don’t hear them whining.

One blog I especially loved was Wine NOT!, written by a spunky, hilarious lady who’s adapting hilariously to her new lifestyle.  Seriously, cannot emphasize the hilariousness enough.

Hilariosity?  Hilariality?  Hilaritude?

Whatever, just go read her blog.

(Ed. Note: Ok, I actually just clicked on her blog and today’s post is about scooping a growth out of her neck with a melon baller.  So if you’re not into that sort of thing, maybe wait until tomorrow to start reading.)

Anyhoo, what I’m trying to say is, in the Grand Scheme of Things, considering all the potentially horrible diagnoses I could’ve been handed, I got off easy like Lindsay Lohan on a drug charge.

I’ll drink to that!

Well, Hello There.

I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.  Looking lonely.

Want a little company?  Don’t worry, I don’t bite.  Ha-ha.

Sooo, what brings a sweet little thing like you to a place like this? 

Really?  That’s fascinating. 

Tell me more…

I have to say, you’re amazing and I dig getting to know you and all…. 

But you look a little tense. 

Confined, even.

Maybe you should try to loosen up a bit…?

There.  Now doesn’t that feel better?

Yeah, that’s more like it…

Man, you’re really coming out of your shell, aren’t you?  Wild thing!

So, uh… yeah.  (cough)

Well, (checks watch) I guess I’d better get going. 

Got a busy day ahead of me.  And whatnot. 

You know how it is. 

Um, look, you’re sweet and all. 

I’m just not really looking for anything long-term right now.  You know?

Plus, you’re candy.  I’m a girl.  It’d never last between us.

But you’ll remain in my heart (and teeth) for a long time to come.

You stay classy, you hear?

Guilty Pleasure

One of my all-time favorite foods is the avocado.

Case-in-point.  Here’s the DELICIOUS avocado salad I ordered at a sushi restaurant in Frederick, MD a few weeks ago:

Avocado Salad

If I can eat – and love – a “salad” comprised almost entirely of avocado, you know I love ’em.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that it was followed by this:

Sushi

(Sorry, took the sushi photo with my phone.)

And this:

Cocktail

But anyway.  You wanna make me happy?  Don’t bring me flowers.  Don’t bring me jewelry.  Bring me a couple of ripe avocados.

(Or a can of black olives.)

But today, I’m talkin’ about the avocado.  A luscious, buttery, and green (happens to be my favorite color) fruit that tastes great plain, but even better when adorning a BLT, salmon, or whipped up into a dip for chips.

I make avocado dip all the time in the summer.  It’s my favorite weekend snack, especially when the hubs is out of town.  It’s not exactly a healthy treat, but a girl’s gotta have some guilty pleasures, right?  Right?!

I’m sure you’re all familiar with guacamole, which is made from avocados mixed with various seasonings, tomatoes, and onion.

The dip I make is quite a bit simpler because it’s really just all about the garlic.  And I usually have all of the ingredients on-hand (besides the avocados).  I play with the proportions all the time – you’ll notice the amounts in my photos don’t exactly match the amounts below, but below tends to be the proportions I stick with the most and should give you a good base to adjust according to your tastes.

What you need:

  • 3 ripe avocados
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced (or more if you love garlic like me – less if you plan on making out with someone who didn’t eat this with you)
  • 6 Tbsp. sour cream
  • 1 1/2 Tbsp. lemon juice
  • Salt
  • Pepper

1.  Start by dicing up your garlic.  Mmmm…. garlic.  They say garlic smell starts coming out of your pours when you eat it.  I say, why is that a bad thing?  There are worse things to smell like than garlic.

minced garlic

2.  Then slice your avocados length-wise (you’ll have to circle around the seed), chop your knife into the seed, twist, then pop it out.  Use a spoon to scoop the delicious avocado innards into a bowl.

avocado

3.  Add the minced garlic to the bowl.

avocado dip

4.  Then add the sour cream and lemon juice.

avocado dip

The lemon juice helps keep your avocado from turning brown.

avocado dip

5.  Mix everything together with a fork.  (You can also do this in a food processor if your avocados are still slightly hard, but usually mashing it up with a fork works pretty well.)

avocado dip

Okay I realize this doesn’t exactly look appetizing, but trust me.  It’s yummy.

6.  Season to taste with salt and pepper, dip in a chip, and enjoy!

avocado dip

Pancakes with a Side of Kidney

Monday night we decided to give my aunt and uncle a break and head out to Waikiki with my cousin Leah and her husband Scott.  It was a nice change from the low-key days of drinking coffee out on the lanai, lolling around the beaches and perusing shops along the North Shore.

And the great thing about being on an island – albeit a different part of the island – is that there’s still a beach.

Waikiki Beach

There’s always a beach.

And an ocean.

Waikiki Beach

The evening was fun, with a couple bar hops and a delectable sushi dinner at Sansei.

It was breakfast the next morning, however, that proved to be the highlight of our over-nighter in Waikiki.

Mac 24-7

We’d heard about a restaurant called Mac 24-7 from that disgusting show on the Food Network (Man V. Food) where the guy travels around stuffing his face with as much food as he can find.  It’s so gross, we can’t help but watch it.  One of his challenges was to finish a stack of 3, 14-inch pancakes at Mac’s.  Do that, and you earn yourself a spot on the Wall of Fame.  Easier said than done.

Mac 24-7

Anyway, the 4 of us thoroughly enjoyed indulging in our various delicacies of choice:

Eggs Benedict Royale for me…

Eggs Benedict Royale

Mac Attack (with pancakes topped with pineapple, macadamia nuts and toasted coconut with coconut syrup) for the hubs…

Mac Attack

Toasted buttermilk waffle with strawberries and whipped cream for Leah…

Toasted Buttermilk Waffle

And the infamous 14-inch Mac Daddy pancakes for Scott (“The Elvis”, topped with bacon, bananas, and a peanut butter syrup-type substance).

The Elvis Mac Daddy Pancakes

Between heaping mouthfuls of pure goodness, we chatted with our server a bit about the area.  He was an extremely friendly man named Jose.

Turns out Jose has worked at Mac’s since 1980!

And he had the most interesting story to share.

In 2002, Jose had a regular customer – a rather brusque man who always seemed to be in a hurry.  When the customer came in to eat after neglecting to show up for his regular meal for a few weeks, Jose asked him where he’d been.  The man told him he was very sick and had just been put on the list to receive a kidney donation.

Long story short, Jose learned he was a match as a doner and actually donated his own kidney to the man.  Talk about superior customer service.

This is the type of person I’m always grateful to meet – warm, cheerful, and automatically puts those around him at ease.  Even though I only knew him for an hour, Jose is someone I’ll never forget.

And he makes a mean latte.

You can read Jose’s story here.

And in case you’re wondering, Scott did not earn a spot on the Wall of Fame.

Mac Daddy

Nice try, Scott.  Nice try.

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