Proving once again that the most bizarre foods and adventures are usually found right in your own back yard, I give you my whirlwind tour of my adopted home state, Minnesota. I could have shot an entire show in one day in the Twin Cities alone actually. Tongue tacos on Lake Street at Pineda Tacqueria, fish maw and spicy pig intestines at my favorite Chinese restaurant (Shuang Cheng, Little Szechuan and The Teahouse all rock these dishes), homemade head cheese at Kramarczuk's. I could go on and on.

But instead I took my father-in-law's advice. He has insisted for years that I should check out the White Earth Re-Discovery Center and do some wild rice harvesting, so we did. The Center is where tribal elders pass on traditional skills to a generation that is removed from ancestral tribal life. The White Earth people believe that the Great Spirit brought them from the North Eastern United States to the North Western corner of our state to a place where the elders told me "the food will come from the water". Zizania Palustris is a plant native to the Upper Midwest lakes region. It's actually not rice, but a water-grass seed that is highly prized around the world for its singular nutty flavor. I spent the morning on the lake gliding in a canoe through the delicate shoots, knocking the seeds into the floor of the canoe while my partner poled us along. Some things to keep in mind: the shoots can be ripped out simply by tugging on them, many a lake has been stripped of its value by ignorant boaters and the act of knocking the seeds with long wooden sticks is purposely sloppy allowing much of the harvest to fall back into the lake for reseeding the rice bed. We cured the rice by letting it air dry, parched it over an open fire in a cast iron kettle by stirring it with a wooden paddle letting the stray grasses and outermost 'skin' harmlessly burn away. The raw rice takes on a smoky quality. The rest of the rice is jigged, or threshed, by dancing on the seeds until the skin separates completely and can be winnowed away by tossing the rice in the air, allowing the lighter than air chaff to simply blow away. We ate griddled yearling deer, the baked bannock bread and the rice were a real treat, and yes we ate all of the deer, the heart, and the liver, all of it. The strangest thing we ate that day was the sucker-head soup, a bland potage made with a repulsive lake fish renowned for its fatty and cartilaginous body. The heads are the prized resident of each diners bowl, you chew, you suck, you spit out bones. No one said this job was easy.

The Minnesota State Fair offers up an environment that is rich with some of the world's strangest foods, and for me some delicious irony. The foods that I long for the most in between trips overseas are either being judged in the 4H animal buildings or born up at the Miracle of Birth complex. In Madrid, Casa Botin has built a world famous 300 year old reputation on roasting baby pigs, if I were running things there would be baby pigs, lambs and chicks coming out of wood burning ovens instead of sitting under heat lamps waiting for the unwashed hordes to snap their picture. Sounds tastier than a candy bar on a stick don't you think? I settled for an afternoon sharing corn dogs with my pal Marjorie Johnson, and sampling the good (wild game brats at Giggles, deep fried smelt), the bad (cola cheesecake, ostrich on a stick, spaghetti and meatballs on a stick) and the ugly (deep fried Spam nuggets). I have to say there seems to be a disturbing trend over the last 5 years or so to incorporate new foods to the Fair menu simply because someone can put it on a stick. Sloppy Joe on a stick was one of the worst foods I have ever eaten. Just because you can do it doesn't mean you should.

I have lived in Minnesota for 16 years, and have never tried lutefisk, and since it is an iconic food for those of us who get easily bored with everyday fare, I thought it high time I saw how the stuff was made. I stopped by Ingebrestsen's on Lake Street to see who they get their stuff from, sampled some lamb jerky, some blood sausage, some creamed cod roe and armed with a few insights I ventured out to the Olsen Fish Company factory to see how perfectly good dried cod is ruined by well intentioned Norwegians the world over. Well not really the world over since more lutefisk in consumed here than in Norway. At Olsen's they process more of the stuff than any other merchant on the planet, and they do the lion's share of their business at Christmas time. I have taken cod in about a half dozen countries and followed it through the salting and drying process and it was odd to see trucks unloading that same product onto the Olsen's back door, but there it was. The fish is re-hydrated in water and then in a water and lye solution, then finally with water again to rid the fish of the caustic acid. As the fish is exposed to the acid, its protein makeup changes and it not only swells and plumps to resemble its waterborne form but it changes its consistency, taking on its famous jelly like texture.

I wanted to try lutefisk in its territory, which meant traveling to Cyrus, to the Cozy Café, a neighborhood diner that doubles as a senior center and puts on phenomenal suppers on weekends in the fall, with lutefisk as the star of the show. There are only about 200 residents in Cyrus, but about 400 turned out for the meal on the night we were there, and we stuffed ourselves on potato dumplings, Swedish meatballs, and all those amazing Norwegian sweets handmade by dozens of farm country grandmas. The lutefisk is poached, then served with butter or cream sauce, paired with plenty of rutabagas and potatoes, nary a fresh herb in sight and the food we ate at the Cozy Café has not changed much in the 150 years since Scandinavians ventured to the upper Midwest thanks to the states Homestead Acts of the mid nineteenth century. I can tell you that the stuff is way more palatable than its reputation suggests, but the slimy jello-ish texture is frightful when it's in your mouth. Anyone looking to enjoy great home cooked fare and take in a real slice of small town life should head to the Cozy Café and visit with Jean Anderson.

We ate wild boar balls and all, at Lenny Russo's renowned Heartland restaurant, hunted for ruffed grouse with Shawn Perich on the shores of Lake Superior, headed out on the lake with Harley Tofte and netted herring for a shore lunch, and attended a meat raffle at a local bar. You get the picture... this is one of the shows that I most proud of. There’s no place like home.

Posted by Andrew Zimmern at 12:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (37)

My first day in Russia was a disaster. We landed at the airport at 5-ish, and checked into our hotel, hit the sack and got up early only to find that the night before the Stones had played in the town’s main square and we could have bought general admission tix for a few dollars each. I was crushed, that would have been a hot show to catch. But it was all downhill from that point on…

Everything you need to know about St. Petersburg you can learn at The Grand Hotel Europe. Almost ancient by today’s standards, the hotel has been serving royalty and movie stars, presidents and potentates for nearly 150 years. Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky played on the stage in the dining room, caviar is still served with breakfast. The hotel has a cigar bar, a chocolate shop, a caviar bar, a ballroom, real art (and I do mean real, as in 19th century museum real) in the hallways and rooms, security as tight as Buckingham Palace and oh yes, did I mention real Russian gangsters in the bar at night? Hands down this is my favorite hotel in the world and I would rather spend a night, or 10, here than in any other. Every moment of every day is spent with your jaw in your lap, either the stunning opulence gets you slack mouthed and drooling or it’s the history lessons from the people you meet.

The hotel, like the city, is both a throwback to the old Russia (The Hermitage, Catherine’s Palace and so on), the good ol’ USSR (check out the graying apartment blocks that stretch for miles) and the new Russia (Mercedes, Chanel, sushi bars and a middle class). Check out the prices at the hotel…Beef Stroganov costs a fortune, but it is no longer the most popular dish at the hotel. Tuna sushi at one of the hotels 5 restaurants is. And it is consumed in massive portions by happy customers sitting streetside, watching tall skinny supermodels wheel in and out of the trendy boutiques across the street. In some respects SP is not really like Venice, thecity it is often compared to because of the canals. These days SP is more like Paris!

The hotel takes up an entire city block, massive and solid like you imagine a Russian hotel would be, but the Euro-opulence is everywhere. You are greeted by a squadron of liveried doormen and security men so beefy and Slavic they have no necks at all, just heads planted on massive shoulders. Inside, a phalanx of gorgeous 20-somethings line up to present caviar and foie gras along with a flute of champagne as you stand to check in. You are escorted by one of the lovely lasses to your room, which reminds me of the bedrooms at Versailles, there is no other way to describe it, except that flat screen TVs rise at the touch of a button, retro fitted inside 200 year old artisanal cabinetry.

The Lobby Bar at night is where all the action is. Sitting outside of the bar in the ‘on deck’ circle are several of SP’s finest courtesans. They are not part of the hotels list of amenities but they service the clientele and the hotel feigns ignorance. For a thousand euros the ladies will have a drink with you in your room and the entire week we were there we watched spellbound as international titans of industry, Asian crime lords and famous faces all took advantage of their amenities. Russia has changed, but the freewheeling wild west vibe is still alive and kicking in SP.

One of local experts was a history teacher at a high school, his wife also works 9-5, and he still needs to hold down a second job just to make ends meet. Viktor nearly cried when he took me to the meat counter at the Kuznechny market, recalling misty eyed the days of rationed canned ham. We met local art students and film costumers who ate in restaurants and danced in clubs til the wee hours, waiters in humble eateries who had visited Minnesota (my home these days), young entrepreneurs who took us to their family lake homes for wild boar barbecues, Swiss hoteliers who have taken the town by storm…there is a lot of money in Russia these days and lots of upward mobility…everyone wants their piece of the pie.

So make your way past the call girls, sidle up to the bar, order yourself a beverage and look around the room. Count the bodyguards, sip your drink, listen to the world class jazz band playing improvisations on Cole Porter standards, imagine what the conversations are like at the 30 some odd tables scattered across the parquet floors. Tip Andrei well, and he might have you escorted up to the windowless Pool Room, where there is no longer a pool table, replaced long ago by the huge conference table where Premiers, Prime Minister and Presidents have met in secret for decades. Go back down to the bar, and toast the good old days marveling at the enigma, wrapped inside a puzzle inside a conundrum that is still Russia.

Posted by Andrew Zimmern at 4:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (18)

I fell in love with Iceland last summer. Here are a few of the reasons why….

Amphetamine Effect…long days and short nights (2 hours) mean plenty of time to get things done. After 17 hours of daylight, you don’t even feel tired, you eat dinner, grab a steam and a schvitz in a public bath and shazam, you are ready to hit the hot spots all night, I mean twi-light, long. I have never had as much energy as I did during my week in Iceland.

Fish…the best seafood I have tasted in years has been the local catch from the docks in and around the Icelandic sea coast. But then again the lambs eat the freshest grass, the cows drink the cleanest water, the fish swim in the purest seas…Icelandic food tastes better because it is. Simple idea really.

Eat Out…Vox, Siggi Hall, The Sea Baron… from high brow dining to street food gluttony; there are more good restaurants in Rekyavik than in many American cities 5 times the size. The local chefs cook with verve, a respect for tradition and an amazing lack of self consciousness. And the food is killer almost anywhere you go. Even the Rekyavik bus depot serves good food.
Dairy…the cream, the milk, the fresh handmade Icelandic skyr sweetened with local honey is something I will never forget. Not yogurt, but really a cheese, eaten fresh, whipped until silky smooth. There is no replicating it, you can make a great version yourself, and many local dairy farmers all over the country have similar farmhouse recipes, but there is no getting around the simple fact that skyr stands alone in the Dairyland Valhalla.

Fermented Foods…from pickled herring to cured salmon, from dried fish to hakarl, the national dishes of Iceland are predominantly cured, salted, fermented or putrified seafood. You gotta love that! The drive out to Bjarnhofn takes only a few hours but is dominated by ancient lava fields, miles of wildflower beds, waterfall speckled hillsides, cascading mountain fed streams, breathtaking ocean vistas…the usual. You wish the ride took 10 hours not 3. At the end of the line is a 5th generation rotten shark merchant who knows a thing or two about hakarl, and his dad will treat you to a piece of dried cod dipped in seal oil if you ask nicely.

Natural Wonders… Iceland is called the Land of Fire and Ice for a reason. Glacial splendor, world class geysers, raging rapids, active lava flow, black sand beaches, it’s the inverse of Hawaii. Take a horse back camping trip, it’s a local excursion that is very popular and the best way to see the backcountry. I am still thinking of the day I spent in the saddle. We trotted across verdant valleys, through tidal estuaries stretching to the horizon, across canyons and along mile high ice fields…all in one day.

Puffin…but still, the best thing about Iceland is the Westmann Islands. Volcanic, remote, grass topped cliffs, killer whales, seals, and billions of little birds that taste great on the grill. My kind of place.

Posted by Andrew Zimmern at 10:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

I love China … the crowds, the smog, the food, the scenesters, the temples, the Forbidden City, the shopping, the growth, the confusion, the serenity, the people ... I love China.
Ten years ago, check that, even 5 years ago on my second visit there, I only saw the tourists China, but mostly that was because that’s all there was to see. Not that there was only a tourists China that was extant, but because the real China was hard to access in Beijing. Today, with an explosively developed middle class, there are stores and hotels, restaurants and nightclubs, young scenesters in the parks and business men on lunch breaks. Beijing is a happening baby.

Red Capitol Club and the Flying Red Flag restaurant are 2 great eateries embracing the kitsch of the Cultural Revolution. These are popular eatertainment venues that real Chinese go to for food and a fond nostalgic look back at Mao’s China. The food is better at The RCC than the FRF. The RCC is also a great place to catch government ministers out on the town with their mistresses and bodyguards don’t miss it.

Guo Li Zhuang is the world’s first restaurant specializing in the male anatomy of over 30 different creatures. Business men go here to eat for sport and they sit in private rooms munching away on seal penis soup, which you can also try for 300$ a bowl. I go for the cheaper donkey or yak penis. Tastier and cheaper. Speaking of donkey, head out of the city to the Chaoyang district, site of the 2008 Olympics and check out the donkey restaurants there … it’s the other red meat. And it’s really good.

But save your appetite for the Donghuamen night market. If you want some serious street eats, this is the place. Simmering beef balls, hand rolled fungus and roast pork pancakes, grilled squid skewers, sea urchins on the half shell…its all here. I could eat on this street every night of the week, and it’s the perfect diversion before a night out on the town and you must go to Philippe Starck’s LAN club. Starck designed the place but the food is amazing, the crowd is A list and the bars, music and hostesses are off the hook. A night at LAN makes you feel like you are in Paris or London, and that speaks volumes about Beijing and where it’s at these days.

See you at the Olympics!

Posted by Andrew Zimmern at 11:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (56)