[Pink Pig Time Machine by Wilfrid: January 28, 2012]
Looking out the window on a grey, snowy city today, I guess it was a great plan to fly down to the Dominican Republic for this week, ten years ago.
Luxury accommodations too, at the Jaragua Hotel on the Malecón, Santo Domingo.
And it was straight out to the Malecón after checking in, to find a chimi-churri stand for an evening snack. As I always need to point out to someone, chimi-churri is not the name of a green sauce in the DR. It's a hot, sloppy sandwich of roast pork or hamburger, stuffed with cabbage and tomato and onion, and dripping with juice. You eat it with your knees apart, if you know what I mean.
The next day, a sunny drive to La Romana. A walk around the market, and simple pollo al carbon for lunch. That evening, dinner at Santo Domingo's best restaurant, Vesuvio. That beautiful appetizer, jamóns de lambi y pulpo -- mosaic-like terrines of octopus and conch. I usually follow with seafood, but there were veal brains, sesos, with papas fritas. There was a '98 "Opus One" on the wine-list at some uncannily low price, so we drank that. Dessert was semifreddo with Kahlua. Hmmm.
I spent the next day in my favorite part of the city, the Zona Colonial. Lunch was shrimp salad, braised guinea-hen, and rice with pigeon peas. Looking for alternatives to Vesuvio, a somewhat formal restaurant, Reina d'España had been recommended. It was okay, but further confirmation that Vesuvio was easily the best spot in the city for fine dining. Scallops were served over a cheese fondue with shiitake mushrooms. Hard to go wrong with the gran parillada de mariscos. Tropical bread pudding to finish. It seemed pointless to stray away from the Moët with which the meal began.I was left to my own devices at the hotel the next evening, and enjoyed a complete change of pace. Hamburger and fries in the Champions sports bar.
More typical was the regular trip up to Villa Mella, a very poor part of town renowned for its outdoor pig shacks. Everything but the squeak on display: you make your choice, it gets sizzled on a hot plate, then you eat, with wedges of lime, hunks of yucca, and cold beer. Longaniza, lengua, chicharrones, tripitas (intestines, not tripe). What, no morcilla?
I walked it off in the Botanical Gardens.
Dinner in the Zona Colonial, at a little restaurant called Bahia. The food was fresh and well-prepared: the amusing service was a reminder that wait-staff in the DR generally can't afford to dine out. My server presented the menu, then stood looking over my shoulder, waiting attentively for my choice.
Bastoncitos de mero (fried grouper), chillo entero al horno (baked red snapper), fries, dulce de higas, and a white Marqués de Cáceres.
Do I really have to go home?
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