From time to time, our resident Food Gypsy Health & Wellness Advisor drops us a line on what's good for yee old bod - and why.

Dr. Kubie: Dr. Josef Kubinec (aka: Dr. Joe), BPT, CPMA – is a physiotherapist, sports medicine specialist, acupuncturist, former organic farmer and restaurateur; currently based in Clementsport, NS, Canada.  He's a busy guy but he makes time for a little Gypsy gab when he can (between sticking pins in patients). 

His acupuncture training took him to China, where he integrated an interest in herbal and Chinese medicine with his western scientific training, giving him a rather unique perspective on food as preventative medicine. 

We call this section of Food Gypsy "Food Vibe" - Oprah has Dr. Oz this Food Gypsy has Dr. Kubie.

Dr. Kubie on the waterfront in Halifax, Canada

Gypsy: So Dr. Joe what's the Food Vibe today?
Dr. Joe: Scapes!  Lots and lots of garlic scapes. 

A scape is the top part of the hard neck garlic plant, that if left in nature, will bloom and seed.  In garlic production, farmers remove the flower, driving the plant's energy into the bulb, making for bigger, juicier bulbs and that is how we get big, fat garlic. 

Not only is this lovely, curly little flower edible, it's packed with nutrition in perfect harmony with what the body needs in its season.  Nature truly is a marvel. 

"One of the biggest benefits of eating local is the seasonal fluctuations in produce and what they offer in the way of nutritional support.   

The earliest spring vegetables and herbs - rhubarb, dandelion greens, nettles, fiddleheads and asparagus - cleanse the kidney, liver, gallbladder and blood and stimulate circulation after a long winter of stagnation. 

As we move forward into late spring/early summer the garden offers us this delicate flower from the Allium family that aids in digestion, is a natural anti-fungal/antibiotic and cholesterol fighter that tastes terrific. 

Garlic is good for the heart, it can actually reverse arterial plaque, it's nature's cardiac conditioner. 

Now consider eating a growing seed; what you're consuming is the plant's effort in sustaining the species.  It puts all it's energy into expanding, so the energy and nutritional value is multiplied.   

Packed with vitamins C and A garlic scapes support the immune system but most importantly - that seed alive with energy." ~ Dr Kubie 

He's big on energy, it's what keeps us breathing.  I like breathing, it's nice. 

The delicate flower...

Garlic scapes are edible and delicious, you often see them in farmer's markets this time of year, all bright green and curly.  You can eat them raw, sliced in salads, add them to your favorite bruschetta, lightly sautee in a bit of olive oil (or butter) as a side, and (one of my favorites) tempura-ed for a crispy, tasty treat. 

Even better; take that living garlic flower use it as a fresh garlic substitute as bulb garlic gets old, soft and punky - until the fresh cop arrives at harvest time. 

Pack your food processor with whole garlic scapes, a touch of course salt (to act as a preservative), a generous drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and hit that button until you have a smooth green paste. 

From Dr. Kubie's Kitchen; Scape Puree. Sharp and tangy and packed with goodness.

Add nuts of your choice and make scape pesto or leave it fresh and use it in any recipe the same way you would use garlic.  Garlic scape paste freezes beautifully and, unlike it's bulbus brother, it leaves little garlic 'after fume' making you kissable and people friendly. 

"I like the explosiveness of the energy" says Dr. Kubie "you taste that sunshine, that brightness, in every bite. 

I take the scape paste and smear it on a nice rare rib steak. The essence of garlic, without the burn." 

Mmmmm.  Sunshine in every bite.  Now that's energy.

Dr. Kubie's Kitchen; the making of Scape Paste. On the left is another of his health marvels: Dulce Salt. A topic for another day on Food Vibe.

Moving.  An extraordinary way to come to terms with just how much stuff you have, by picking it all up and trotting it down the hall, into an elevator, out the parking garage, into a truck, down the highway, across a bridge and up a flight of stairs. 

It's heavier than you think and more than you will ever need.

My legs benefit, shorts weather is fast approaching.  This following a week of painting.  Brilliant new shape up routine. 

Now I face the kitchen, which is cobbling together quicker than I'd imagined.  Bright sunny yellow and a couple of red cocottes.  I shall be cooking, writing and shooting in no time. 

Joyously, the new digs include a large patch of dirt to play in and much to my delight signs that someone before me loved this same soil; green things are shooting above ground to be tended, admired and eaten --- including a veritable hedge of rhubarb.  

Big green leaves and red stems, now shooting up flowers, which we shall top, and a few sunny days from now, arm-fulls of rhubarb will be trotted upstairs into one receptacle or another. 

I see much delicious baking in my near future... plus the possibility of a few compotes, jams and chutneys. 

Let the pie begin.

I'm gonna' eat this!

Food is an important part of a balanced diet.
~ Fran Lebowitz

Birke Baehr is 11 years old, his simple approach to what we eat, farming practices and Genetically Modified Foods is simple and absolute.  "Why are we putting poisen on our food?" wisdom from the mouth of a babe. 

As more and more consumers wake up to the horrors behind corporate farming,  Farmer's Markets are growing by leaps and bounds as consumers look for local, fresh food grown in settings that say "good food" to them, farms where, as Birke says "pigs roll in mud". 

Farmers Markets are a $3.09 Billion dollar business in Canada alone, because now 92% of consumers say buying directly from a farmer is important to them.

(source: The National Farmers’ Market Impact Study 2009 Report, 2009. Agriculture and Agri-Food Canada http://www.farmersmarketscanada.ca/Upload/file/FMC%20FINAL%20Brochure%202009-ENG.pdf)

It's not just "local" that is important, it is "I know this food" and "I know the hands that raised it".

Birke now wants to be an organic farmer, so that he can "have a greater impact on the world" than say, being a professional football player (his words, not mine).  Teachers and farmers, they mould a nation.  Love this kid, love what he has to say and I love that he is brave enough to say to stand up for what he believes is his right: clean, natural food.

He also claims to like baked kale chips... which will make many parents suspicious when they can't get their kids to eat anything other than pizza, never mind something green.

There is very little I enjoy more than a great market.  When traveling I often source local markets just for the food porn, a couple of years ago my entire trip to Rome was centered around the Campo de Fiori Market, Rome's oldest marketplace, because I read in Bon Appetit Magazine that it was Mario Batali's favorite market.

Campo de Fiori - small truck, big pumpkins. Rome, Italy.

Last month a day trip to Montreal focused on the Jean-Telon Market and the finds there (and trip to Schwartz's Deli, post to follow).  Where I found a new (to me) odd looking vegetable which I'm still trying to identify.  Looking like the lovechild of broccoli and romaine, it has the texture of lettuce and a bitter taste, like heart of romaine multiplied.  Bought one to experiment but between taste and texture --- I find myself truly uninspired.

Oh well, can't blame a gal for trying. I also bought fresh figs and believe me, those didn't last.

Market cruising while globe-trotting is among my favorite pastimes... it exposes me to new and interesting things; new tastes and textures and above all, the culture of food.  Indeed we are what we eat.

Tasting tomatoes, the Jean-Telon Market, Montreal, Canada.

I've always found people more than willing to offer directions to their local market, some will even take you there and in many heavily touristed markets - such as Campo de Fiori and the Byward Market here in Ottawa - offer market tours that cover not just the spoils of the market itself, but a peek into a city's history though it's food culture.

A little food appreciation goes a long way and what better place to find it than at your local Farmer's Market?

Market season is just around the corner; if you're looking for a market near you, a "new to you market", or traveling and looking for some fun foodie stops here are a couple of interesting resources:

In Canada: http://www.farmersmarketscanada.ca/index.cfm
In the United States: http://www.localharvest.org/farmers-markets/

If you have a favorite market that you simply MUST share, local or global, please post a comment below or in our new Foodie Forum.  We'd love to hear from you.

And if you know what this crazy lettuce thingy is will you clue me in? It's a mystery in my fridge.

(as yet) Unidentified vegetable... I love a good mystery.

It's not just "Princess Ribcurry" alone in the kitchen anymore...

  

WELCOME TO MY KITCHEN...
... the conversation is great.  We laugh a lot.

And there’s real food.  Honest to goodness real food.  If it doesn’t have a mother or come from the ground, it’s not in my kitchen.  All the food you see on Food Gypsy is REAL, in fact directly after we took its picture... we ate it.  There's no wax or motor oil on Food Gypsy, unless we're talkin' about cars.   

Good food starts with good ingredients. I wouldn’t dream of serving you anything less. It’s the same with great conversations. A measure of respect, a big handful of humour and a bottle of wine never hurt.  Food Gypsy is an ever expanding conversation and we are... expanding.    

First and foremost we have a new publishing schedule (please commit this to memory) now posting Fresh Food Gypsy Tuesdays, Thursdays and sometimes on Sunday.    

Every second Sunday you can look forward to posts on my favorite subject: BACON.  How I've held back for so long is beyond me, but the floodgates are now open.   

We also have a couple of new characters in the kitchen, stirring the pot, so let's make some introductions:

Astrid: Astrid DesLandes (aka: The French Girl) is our Food Gypsy Editor and best-est Gypsy friend. Originally from Marseille, France, currently residing in Calgary, AB Canada, she is the source for fashion advice and Gluten Free cooking.  We look forward to her posts on all things yummy and... 'sans gluten'.   

Astrid also makes a wicked tapenade and endorses the use of cream and butter because... well... she's French.  She also makes a lot of stuff with cheese and those things are often accompanied by wine.   

As a dyslexic wanderer, I am grateful for spell-check and ubersmart BFF’s.  Please, don't get her started on shoes.   

Ben: Chef Benoit Gelinotte, Chef Instructor at Le Cordon Bleu, Ottawa (aka: The French Dude and 'the man in my life') also acts as the Food Gypsy Technical Advisor (which means I call and ask him stupid questions, and he sometimes hijacks my plating).   

Originally from Dijon, France, Chef Benoit received his B.E.P - B.P. - B.T.S in culinary arts in 1991, relocating to Canada in 1992. He's worked in several acclaimed kitchens in both countries, and has a great love - of butter and salt.  (He knows a thing or two about wine too.)  

This weekend, making Beignets for a Mardi Gras post (coming this Thursday) brought back fond memories of his Grandmother, Chef Georgette, and the mountains of food and many hours he was gladly pressed into service in her kitchen.   

Hmmm... interesting that the Food Gypsy support team is French.  I'm sure there's a lingerie commercial in there somewhere.  Please, don't get him started on shoes.   

Magnus: (aka: Mags, Magzie) My furry companion, currently residing with my mother in Nova Scotia, soon to join me in Ottawa. He has no opposable thumbs but plenty of opinions.  Opinion # 1: there should be a special tap in the kitchen for gravy.  Opinion # 2: Broccoli, yuck.  He’s not fat… he’s a bulldog.   

I miss him. He's not French.   

Sandi: Sandi Harrison (aka: Miss Sandi Joy) - BA Ed, MA, is originally from Terrace, BC Canada and currently residing in Dalian, China teaching English to teenage boys.  Sandi is also a talented writer working on her first novel, avid traveler and our very first Food Gypsy Correspondent.   

What are the odds of two Gypsies in the same family? Miss Sandi Joy is my cousin... go ahead, cry nepotism. (As an only child I have to really reach for relatives). When you read her you'll find a similar wit but a unique voice backed by solid photography skills.   

Hoping to hear regularly from Sandi, to answer such questions as: is there American take-out in China?   

Sandi recently returned from a journey to India and the tale of her adventure with Indian Street Food runs next week, followed by some spicy recipes from the Gypsy Kitchen. (Nothing like Indian spice mid-winter to really WARM you up.)   

Next week is Bollywood week in the Gyspy Kitchen - in my alternate reality my life is a Bollywood Musical - there is high drama, sparkly bracelets and lots of eye liner.   

Dr. Kubie: Dr. Josef Kubinec (aka: Dr. Joe), BPT, CPMA –physiotherapist, sports medicine specialist, acupuncturist, former organic farmer and restaurateur; currently based in Clementsport, NS, Canada.  Well traveled, particularly in the far east, having studied acupuncture in China, he brings a whole different skill set to the kitchen.   

Dr. Kubie's a busy guy but he’s promised to drop by on a regular basis and feed us some great food stuff to keep us healthy - between sticking pins in patients.   

Did you know some of your favorite stuff is GOOD for you? Fiddleheads, huge in anti-oxidants; and cheese: good brain food. Can’t wait to hear about bacon.   

Oprah has Dr. Oz. This Food Gypsy has Dr. Kubie.   

And then there's... YOU.  We're delighted to launch our new Foodie Forum on Food Gypsy this week. (No idea how it works... but how hard can it be? I'll figure it out.)   

Tell us about yourself and your foodie frolics in our new Foodie Forum. We'll post a topic and you can ask questions, tell us where you’ve been, what you’re cooking. Then once a month a reader submission will be featured on Food Gypsy Under 'Gypsy Kitchen'.  Always happy to let someone do a little cooking in my kitchen.   

So whether you're a fanatical foodie, a culinary student, a passionate traveler, cookin' for friends and family, or are the King/Queen of dining out, if you have a story to share --- we want to hear from you.

Food is our greatest common denominator, what better way to get acquainted?   

Come on in.  Join the party.  Let's open a bottle of wine and... we'll chat.   

Life is supposed to be FUN.

The dog kissing the lobster, the Maritime version of 'kosher'.

Inspiration is something that often comes in fleeting glimpses and yet, the right inspired thought, work or action can sustain us for a week, a day, a year, and knowing where that well of inspiration is, going back to it time after time is key to our evolution... as professionals and as people. 

Among my Food Heroes is Australia's Peter Gilmore whose book 'Quay' is among the most beautiful, sensual food experiences in paper form. 

His cuisine is elegance and colour, the bridge from the garden to the kitchen, with a heavy emphasis on heirloom varieties of produce, grown specifically for his Sydney restaurant 'Quay'.   It makes me long to touch, smell and taste what he plates. 

I am particularly fond of Peter's use of blossoms and floral elements,  pure genius.

We all need a little inspiration in our day... this is mine for this fine Friday. More to follow.   

Have a wonderful weekend Foodie Gypsies!

Crankin' pasta... just like in Italy...

It traveled from Valdagno Italy, in the province of Vincenza to Ottawa, Canada in the 50's.  It's handle was turned by her mother and her mother before her, so when my neighbour Paola asked me to help her make pasta in her heirloom family pasta maker my immediate response was "Hell ya!"

How often do you get to tiptoe into in a family tradition with a mild sense of expertise and a gigantic sense of curiosity?

It is a beautiful machine; cast iron and brass, on a wooden slab that was once the step that led to the family home. 'Solid' might be the best word to describe this piece of family history.   It is designed to last; to turn hundreds of pounds of pasta, perfectly (every single time) attached to a wooden bench, to great ergonomic effect... it's easy on the back and a great upper body workout.

This is not my first pasta.  It's my fifth!  (Ha, take that!)  I have a reasonable level of confidence now as it has been consistent and smooth every time. 

Paola and I gathered our resources and began in the afternoon, reviewing recipes (which are all quite similar), having a glass of wine and a bit of cheese, to come to the conclusion that "winging it" might be our best approach (the wine may have helped).

A little Chilean inspiration... among my favorite Malbecs...

Pasta is really quite simple...

2 Cups Flour

2 Eggs

1/2 Teaspoon Salt

1 Tablespoon of Olive Oil

2 Teaspoons of Water

Method:

1. Mix flour and salt in a mound on your counter top.
2. In a small bowl mix eggs, oil & water.
3. Create a well in the center of the dry ingredients, add half the egg mixture.  Mix liquid into flour with fingers or dough knife, from the centre out.  Add remainder of egg mixture and mix well in the same manner until mixed well. 
4. After the wet and dry ingredients have been combined, bring the mixture together with your hands to form a ball. If the dough seems to dry, add a little more water. If the mixture is too wet and sticks to your fingers, rub your hands with flour and form the dough into a ball.
5. Kneed lightly until smooth and shiny.
6. Form into a flat ball, wrap in plastic wrap and place in the fridge to rest for 30 minutes.
7. Then roll (with your favorite rolling pin) or shape and pass through your favorite machine. 

Pasta is a quick dough without a levening agent, in general, try to work it as little as possible as kneading makes it tough.  That half hour rest period helps the gluten to relax and keeps the dough tender.  (Many cooks skip this step and charge forward  with the process... nothing wrong with that, I simply prefer a more tender finished product.)

Usually I roll pasta flat into a large, thin sheet (thin enough to see the counter through), flour and fold and cut it into joyfully flat fettuccine --- but not today. Today we cut and shape it like a bagette, place it in the cylinder and crank the handle down.

"It has to be a very dry pasta" says Paola "or it sticks." 

So we make it drier than I might like.  It still sticks just a little as it emerges in long, pale yellow strands from the machine, we dredge with cornmeal to dry separate and dry before cutting it away from the machine to drop into the bowl. 

Paola sits on the floor, separating strands of smooth round bigoli pasta, slightly thicker than spaghetti, as it passes through the spout.  "This was my job as a kid" she says, beaming, and conversation turns to family and learning to cook at the knees of our mothers and grandmothers. 

Those that grow up in a culture of food learn to love it from an early age, they respect the process and the kitchen.  They learn fractions and multiplication tables and motor skills.  But most of all they learn about connection... to one another.  To the earth and to the culture we come from.  Cooking builds empathy, compassion, community and GREAT COOKS!

As I sit on that bench, feeling muscles work as I crank dough; I am reminded how fortunate I am to have had a good cook in my mother and both grandmothers who embraced me in their kitchen at an early age.  I am reminded of why I cook... that 'need to feed' that is a desire to share a simple pleasure with others. 

Paola and I spread the pasta on a clean towel to allow it to air dry as we prepare the rest of the meal...

Seared Nova Scotia scallops in a garlic, rose cream sauce to start.  Bigoli pasta tossed with garlic, onion, olive oil and anchovy.  A light green salad in a herb vinaigrette, and for dessert chopped fruit with whole, fresh walnuts marinaded in brandy (all afternoon) finished with a sweetened mascarpone cream.

Creamy.  Salty.  Sharp.  Sweet.

Our neighbour, Daname, joins us from across the hall as she returns from a day at the office and together with Paola's husband Ron we share a meal and talk about our day... sharing our lives and a bottle of wine. 

The pasta is fresh and (nearly) perfect (we had some breakage while boiling).  Our "wing it" approach pays off, Paola makes notes for her next pasta.  We pat ourselves on the back... something tells me that Ron may be eating a great deal more pasta in his future.  Lucky devil. 

This is a good life.  Saluté!

A beautiful meal with friends... chin chin!

Every morning, no matter where you are, the sun comes up.   

I haven’t always been a morning person; I have the Dragonfly Inn to thank for that.   In my time as an Innkeeper, the early morning hours were precious.  No distractions, a quiet house.  It became “me” time...  a meditation... a cup of coffee... the Zen & the Zing.   

More than caffeine, coffee is a morning ritual for me.  The smell of it, the way it fills the room with a warm, heavy aroma.  In my travels through Central America, I thrilled each morning to wake up to some truly outstanding coffee.   

Of the many, three stand out in my mind; coffee so perfect in each moment that it made my eyes roll back in my head, a little moan escape my lips...      

... all the richness you'd expect from Mr. Coppola!

ONE:  Placencia, Belize; the Turtle Inn.

The Turtle Inn was one of my most indulgent moments; I stumbled upon it years ago while researching tourism properties and marketing direction for the Dragonfly Inn as I launched my own brand of hospitality.  More than any other, the Turtle Inn website was a profound influence, a Coppola Resort property (yes, Francis Ford Coppola...) their marketing was completely personal in its approach encouraging me to do the same.  Be personal.  (At the very least, shouldn't life be... personal?!)     

It was a dream come true to spend two days in the opulence that is Turtle Inn, greatly pampered - after a week in the atolls at an eco-resort, camping on the beach - to swim in a semi-private pool and indulge in Italian food and an amazing wine list and a setting so completely perfect that even I could not approve on it.    

Coffee service is one of the many little indulgences offered guests at the Turtle Inn.  Brewed fresh and brought to your door with raw sugar and steamed milk; the coffee offered is nothing short of a personal note from Mr. Coppola himself.   His favorite bean.  

A dark, rich, full bodied roast from Nicaragua.    

*Eyes rolling back in head moment. * 

The balance of a slight bitterness of a big roast levelled by the extreme sweetness of the raw sugar and the slight foam of the warmed milk.    

I sat in my Turtle Inn bathrobe, watching the iguana swim in my pool and imagined a conversation with my host, were he enjoying this cup of coffee with me... “So, Francis (do you mind if I call you Francis?  No?)  Ok... so, Francis, Godfather III... just a little too long don’t you think?”    

OK... so maybe its best if we stick to the topics of food and wine... it’s only polite.   

... 5AM, come on in, the coffee's great... had WAY too much caffeine on this day...

TWO:  Havana, Cuba; the Plaza Hotel

To be honest, the only thing good that I have to say about the Plaza Hotel in the heart of Old Havana is the fact that you can get an espresso, freshly pressed at 4AM.    

Horrid hotel.  Smelled like cheese.  I refused to sleep on the sheets.  The windows wouldn’t close and noise and lack of security kept me awake most of the night.  No sense lying there jumping with every honk of the horn outside my window.   Instead I found myself in the once glorious lobby(that smells less like cheese) watching Spanish music videos drinking Cuban coffee.    

Mmm... Cuban.    

Medium roast, mellow and even.  I’m a light and hot kind of gal.  If the roast is smooth I don’t need sugar... I’m sweet enough already.    

Cuban may be some of my favourite coffee.  It was readily available to take home in bean form and well as fresh ground.   I imported ten pounds of it.  It made my already heavy luggage even heavier and it was worth every penny!  As I write; I can see that big bag of ‘Cubanita, Cafe Arabico en Grano” just sitting there ---tempting me.    

But for the moment, I am occupied by the Honduran.   

... an evening coffee that became a morning friend... the Honduran... *sigh*

THREE:  Roatan, Honduras; the Vintage Pearl

After a big meal, some of the richest food I’d eaten in months on a journey that featured great food... the coffee at the Vintage Pearl Restaurant & Wine Bar was pure Honduran pleasure.  The aroma caught me before I had a chance to reconsider, as another diner enjoyed a coffee with dessert.    

Perhaps one of the greatest surprises in Honduras was its coffee.  Bold without bitterness.  Subtle but not shy. For my month in Roatan it was my daily intoxication.    

Heady.  Full.  A roast that I describe as “serene” in its intensity.   

Oddly, I found it hard to get Honduran coffee in whole bean form and trust me, I looked.  So I had to settle for ground. ‘Buenos Dias, la Muralla Mountain’ coffee is grown and roasted in Roatan.  The five pound bag I brought home is being carefully metered out every morning and when it’s gone I will miss it, terribly.    

It is the comfort of a friend who saw me through tears in paradise and came back home, to see me smile again.    

If there were four cups of coffee the fourth would be... this one... the Honduran, early, light and hot.  Just me and my pink fluffy bathrobe and a blank page. 

Here’s to ritual.  To mornings made tolerable by a warm brew.  To baristas the world over who handover our steaming addiction with a smile.    

May your cup runneth over, may it make your eyes roll back, may a sigh escape you...  

Never underestimate the power of a truly GREAT cup of coffee.

... a little Chez Gypsy coffee moment... HONDURAN!

On this little “life from scratch” journey Mexico was... rest.  Belize was... recreation.  And Cuba?  Rebellion?  Revolution?  Nope.  Resolution. 

Resolved... to find the food that fuels its lovely people, the food that sustains its pulsating beat, I was determined to find... FOOD!       

By day three in Havana I had to ask “Where do people shop?”  Translation: "I’m just a nice girl from Canada, please direct me to your grocery store."        

I’m used to stumbling into them, food in the streets and fruit on every corner and fish at the local dock... like every other corner of the Caribbean... but food was much harder to find on the streets of Havana.  Like everything else in Cuba, food is highly regulated.  There are limitations and regulations on everything from how many seats a restaurant can have to how much any one farmer is allowed to sell and... where.          

Restaurants were hit and miss.  Street food was limited - sandwiches mostly but on beautiful Cuban bread.  Cuban bread reminds me of European bread, light and flavourful with great body and a thin, crisp crust.  Turns hard as a rock after a day or two.    There's pizza... ever have a tuna pizza, with mayo? No?  Hmmm.  Think tuna melt... had to try it, right?!       

One of my best finds was this amazing little bakery about five blocks from La Floridita on Calle Obispo, the pastry was light and sweet with a heavy Spanish influence.    And everywhere there is flavoured ice... and rum.  There is always plenty of rum.  Good rum, no GREAT rum.  At the "Revolution Museum" you can have a drink at the bar... what could be more appropriate than a Cuba Libre?!  Yup... had to.       

Where were we?   Right.  Take me to your food... woman can only live on rum for so long.  People fish over the seawall, but were is the fish?       

This... is what taxi drivers are for!  “Take me to your market!”  Ernesto obliges!        

First stop, in New Havana a market for the locals... fresh meat... fresh fruit... fresh veg... fresh herbs and flowers.  The market is a frame with a roof, and a small side building - all the vendors huddle in the shade on this particular 30* day.  Open from 7A to 1P... get it while it’s fresh before the flies do.        

Meat is kept on ice, in coolers.  Fruit and vegetable are picked in season and ripe... eat it, cook it... now.  In Cuba (and most Caribbean countries), the food is cooked to death, so I had no issue with eating anything, once I found it.        

Next stop... Old Havana.  An old warehouse, and Farmer’s Market.  The roof is half blown away and the walls look like they may collapse at many minute but inside you can get what you need.        

Stacks of papaya and pineapple.  Bags of beans and rice.  Herbs for cooking and for medicine.  Right next door... the meat.  Still running around.  Now that’s fresh!        

Cuba made me realize, like never before, just how spoiled I am.  Spoiled by choice and selection.  Spoiled by convenience in a consumer driven economy.  We are so very, very spoiled.       

Gypsy confession: I don’t want to kill my own chicken.  Don’t get me wrong, I grew up on a farm.  I’ve done that stuff... pulled calves, plucked chickens, ate stakes that had a name on them... all part of life.  My grandmother always said "if you give something a good life it passes that life on to you."        

I am grateful to the pig... for bacon, but I like that bacon in a brown wrapper.       

Thank you... for bacon.

In Cuba, there is no such thing as a MacDonald’s or Wendy’s or a jar of pasta sauce or a frozen pizza .  You have two choices:  slow food or no food.  I'm down with that, but think about it...  how many different kinds of frozen pizza are there are your local super market?  Did a little recognisance on this, popped out in the middle of writing this (back in my comfortable life) to the local grocery store and counted.        

Seven different brands and...  78 different frozen pizzas to choose from.         

Feeling... spoiled yet?        

The markets, a colourful day of Cuban resolution.  Seeing, smelling, tasting... FRESH Cuba!      

Ernesto... our guide for a week in Havana, old and new... thank you!

Chef in Profile: Executive Chef, Silvano Cruz - the soul of Sol Cayo Largo, Cuba. 

On the shores of Cuba’s Cayo Largo de Sur - a tiny island in the Caribbean off the south west coast of Cuba - stretch miles of sandy white beaches. A haven to tourists; I was warned, “if you‘re offended by nudity, this is not a place for you”.         

Good news. I’m not offended by nudity. Let freedom reign. Get your knickers off and jump in the ocean, lie in the sun and be one with nature.  Which way to the beach?         

In need of 'ease' after a few potholes in the road between Mexico and Cuba, I found myself doing something I don’t usually do... an all inclusive resort.         

Sol Cayo Largo – a four star resort spreads over several acres, centering around two large saline pools with winding pathways linking dozens of two story units, that look like wooden sided buildings but in reality are made of solid concrete.  It's safe to say that hurricanes hammer this little strip of land with regularity.         

Land crabs scurry as you walk, followed by feral cats and the occasional tiny lizard. Black humming birds dart among the hibiscus, salt fills the air and sticks to the skin on windy days as the surf pounds against the shore.         

We arrive via Russian prop plane from Havana, it’s loud, bumpy and dark, I'm grateful a short trip. Forty-five minutes start to finish and we arrive, to tropical heat, Cuban music and dancers in skin tight pants.         

Herded on to buses it’s minutes to the resort and... I’m staved.  Up at 4AM running only on Cuban coffee... this is a gypsy who needs snacks. We check in and make our way to the main buffet for breakfast and suddenly... I’m impressed.         

Tables of steaming chafing dishes filled with everything from bacon and sausage to French toast, cold trays lined with cheese and meats, cereals and yogurt, platters of fresh fruit, a table mounded with bread, another brimming with pastries and along the back wall, hot stations serving omelette's made to order and crapes - fresh and fast and fresh.  Coffee and juices served table-side and in minutes I'm fed and happy.          

This is home for four days. Eat. Drink. Lay in the sun. Swim if you want. Watch World Cup Soccer at the bar. Have a nap in the shade. Then do it all over again.         

We came for the SCUBA but never made it in the water due to high seas and heavy weather, we made due instead sipping rum at the swim up bar and indulging in a bit of people watching.         

Blue-white Russian tourists burn the first day, it takes two days for them to emerge again. I practice my bad French and my worse Spanish as staff speaks Spanish, French and Italian before speaking English it’s a decidedly European atmosphere.         

Lunch is an option of 'Las Dunas', the snack bar by the pool 'Lindarena' at the beach I choose beach, every time. The large, open air thatch building looks over a rocky shore lined by a strip of sand like icing sugar. A cold buffet, salads, pickles, fresh breads meats and cheese a choice of soups and a light, tight menu from the busy grill – grilled whole snapper, a burger, a rotating meat choice often another fish and a lovely fresh calamari; crisp, gently seasoned, perfectly battered then deep fried.         

Naps. Beach. Drinks. Calamari.  Salad. I could get used to this.         

Dinner. Les Trinas, Sol Cayo Largo's la cart restaurant requires reservations - the Food Gypsy in me opts  instead for the main dining hall and buffet, where those same steaming dishes brim with curries, rice, fish, savoury meats, a perfectly roasted hip of beef/pork or grilled salmon and trays of vegetables.         

Cold trays of cheese and deli re emerge, platters of fresh tropical fruits watermelon, papaya, cantaloupe, pineapple, a dozed varieties of fresh breads, cakes, pies, tarts, trifles and puddings.  Drawn again to the back wall I find three hot stations with fresh pastas, stir-frys and seafood. I wait and dig into giant shrimp doused in garlic and lime.            

It’s easy to eat... everything!            

So when I met the charming Silvano Cruz, Executive Chef along the path one bright day I could not help but ask what it takes to feed this small army of people without a care in the world, wandering from pool to beach from meal to bar on this little barren piece of limestone rock.            

Something you just don’t think about on vacation... the people working.            

Chef Cruz is a Mexican Chef working in Cuba. Originally from Acapulco, cooking is in the blood, growing up in both his mother’s kitchen and... his father’s. Silvano followed his father’s footsteps into the kitchen and never looked back.            

Educated in California, Cruz has worked resorts throughout the US and Mexico and now finds himself and his young family on the Caribbean, where his great indulgence, his solace from the heat and hurry of the line - is his garden.            

Growing under black protective sunscreens you find fresh herbs; basil and thyme and row upon row of mint... for the hundreds of Mohitos served every day.  He is currently replanting, loads of manure at the ready and young plants, peppers and tomatoes just waiting to be loved.  He examines tender leaves, turns over the soil in his hand, the gentle hand of a gardener.            

This is his favourite place, where he does his thinking, his breathing, his talking to nature.  All great cooks talk to nature.                    

Chef Cruz smiles as he tours me through a labyrinth gleaming white hallways; huge locked pantries stacked to the roof with supplies and guarded day and night, cold freezers and meat cutting rooms, rows of stainless steel counters and scrubbed stations that are the inner workings of this gigantic kitchen.              

Everyday forty-six chefs report to work baking, cutting, filleting, chopping, stewing, braising, roasting, saucing. Every day this team feeds up to a thousand people, both gusts and staff -  three meals a day - and anything in between.              

Every day there is a new meal plan and every day there are challenges to be met in a place where there are no stores, very little is gown and everything arrives by container by sea.              

Fruit, vegetables, pork and seafood from Central America, beef from Argentina, salmon, bacon and yes, maple syrup from Canada.              

Weekly shipments arrive with every possible necessity... sometimes. Therein lies the challenge – what replaces ginger when the meal plan calls for Ginger Beef - and no ginger arrives. Nothing is sure.              

"That is my greatest challenge [here], how to stay creative working with what we have."  He shrugs, and smiles. “We always think of something.”              

We all do.              

“It breaks my heart when we try so hard and guests are upset” he says looking away with that familiar pain behind his eyes, smiles and looks back. “I know what you mean” I say, and I do.  That is a look I know well; it is the look of one who lives to feed, who pours his heart into every meal. It shows, the adaptable menu, the freshness, the lean to satisfy every taste.              

“It’s all about the guests, we do it all for them.”              

Sun. Salt. Sand. Afternoons by the pool. An all over tan.              

My memories of Sol Cayo Largo are fond... thank you Chef Cruz for making it... all about me. I loved every bite!              

http://www.solwayscuba.com/hotels/cayo-largo/hotel-sol-cayo-largo/?gclid=CJLLmMW3yaMCFZxo5Qod9QMmug              

Good to the very last... bite