Around The World In 80 Dinners Part 4

"Only one pharmacy is open in town at this hour. Do you have a rental car?" Bill tells him we don't. "In that case, I better give you some samples of the medicine to hold you until Monday. Everything closes on Sunday, the pharmacy open now isn't within walking distance, and believe it or not, buses stop running in the late afternoon, when taxis tend to disappear, too." The suggestion of samples pleases us, but not the prognosis on dinner-hour transportation.

"What else have you been taking for the colds?" Bill shows him our decongestant pills and a bottle of Australian cough syrup called Chesty Forte, a name that sounded to us in Sydney like a marketer's worst nightmare until the doctor suggests we also pick up some Mucomyst, an expectorant powder sold in sachets. For the emergency weekend house call for two patients, lasting a half hour plus travel time, the bill comes to U.S. $80, about the cost at home for a ten-minute office visit on a normal Tuesday to inquire whether a vaguely described miracle drug advertised on TV is "right for you."

For dinner, we resort to room service. Some people consider this option attractive, but it seldom appeals to us. The food always sits around longer than it should in the delivery process and you usually dine in a setting poorly designed for the enjoyment of eating. The menu in this instance looks bleak as well, featuring dishes in vogue at chain restaurants around the world. Our interest in eating local leads us to order the closest approximations possible to South Pacific specialties-tagliatelle a la carbonara, a hamburger with fries, and a bottle of wine. Much of the chow gets left on the plate, but the wine slowly disappears in full.

The next morning Bill urges Cheryl to take a walk with him. "The exercise will be good for us, and we should see more of our surroundings." She hugs her pillow in protest, but in the end goes along to check out nearby restaurants, which now sound like our only dinner possibilities. A stroll along the length of Anse Vata, the beach our hotel is on, takes us more than an hour even though it's only a mile and a half up and back. Since it's a weekend, lots of local families and couples show up to frolic or unwind in the long but narrow stretch of sand. Across the unhurried street, there's a scattering of hotels and other businesses as well as lots of open land. New Caledonia doesn't seem to be rushing into tourism, an impression reinforced during the rest of our week's stay.

Our only real meal today is Sunday brunch at the Nouvata Park's poolside restaurant, where we eat breakfast on other mornings. On the way out for our walk, Cheryl makes a reservation for noon and ends up committing a little linguistic faux pas. In her foggy state, she books pour douze pour douze instead of instead of a midi a midi and when we arrive at 12:00, the hostess escorts us to a table set for twelve. Figuring out the problem quickly, Cheryl groans out an apology and the hostess cheerfully moves us. and when we arrive at 12:00, the hostess escorts us to a table set for twelve. Figuring out the problem quickly, Cheryl groans out an apology and the hostess cheerfully moves us.

The expansive buffet provides plenty of agreeable food choices. We focus on the seafood starters, including oysters on the half sh.e.l.l, b.u.t.tery yellowfin tuna sashimi with bronchitis-busting wasabi, and poisson cru (raw fish in coconut milk, lime, and spices), known in Noumea as "Tahitian salad." For a main course, with our appet.i.tes askew, our selections tend to be side dishes, particularly haricots verts (thin green beans), French potato and vegetable gratins, and American-style deviled eggs. The dessert table offers simple sweets, such as paper-thin fresh pineapple rounds poached lightly in sugar syrup and fruit tarts that come out better than we expect in the tropical humidity.

Satisfyingly stuffed, we take a nap and then move out to the balcony in the late afternoon for a light supper of wine and olives. Even at this time of the day, when insects get the most active, no flying pests bother us in the least. A deep red sunset keeps the sky aglow until a bright quarter moon takes on the night-lighting duties. Cheryl says, "You know, everything seems to be perking up. We've got drugs to cure us and a relaxing spot perfect for our recovery."

Bill concurs. "Maybe I'm already feeling a little better." As convalescent wards go, New Caledonia ranks with the best.

That wasn't our reason for picking it as a destination, of course. The idea of the French tropics has intrigued us for many years, since our early experiences in the French West Indies researching Best Places to Stay in the Caribbean Best Places to Stay in the Caribbean. Surely, it seemed to us, islands with a similar heritage in the South Pacific would embrace the same kind of sensuous joie de vivre and enjoy a sophisticated cuisine as heady with equatorial spice as the Creole cooking of the Caribbean. Early in our planning for this trip, we made French Polynesia a priority stop, but the logistics for getting anywhere near the region proved unmanageable. Much more easily accessible, New Caledonia seemed like a reasonable subst.i.tute, a part of Melanesia instead of Polynesia but still in the vast South Pacific.

Viewed from this perspective, it disappoints us more than any other place on our itinerary. Our illnesses deserve some of the blame, to be sure. They leash us to Noumea, preventing us from exploring more of Grande Terre, the main island, and from flying to smaller, more remote isles. The congestion also undermines our appet.i.tes, sense of taste, and willingness to walk much distance for dinner, a necessity for diversity of choice given the lack of nighttime transportation. Still, even at our healthiest, we're sure New Caledonia would leave us wanting. It's not, as we had hoped, a South Seas version of Guadeloupe or St. Barthelemy, and Noumea falls far short of its self-proclaimed billing as "the Paris of the Pacific."

The city is closer in spirit to a serene, sprawling provincial French town, pleasant in all respects but not exactly exotic or exciting. Beginning on Monday, we travel around the main streets daily, starting on tourist excursion buses to get our bearings and then graduating to public buses. Our most frequent route takes us from Anse Vata around a rocky promontory to Baie des Citrons, the best beach for swimming, and then pa.s.ses a yacht harbor and the Port de Plaisance shopping and residential complex before reaching Moselle Bay, site of the munic.i.p.al market, and the adjacent downtown. Along the way, several vestiges of the American presence here during World War II pop up, from an old hospital barracks still in use as a clinic to a major memorial of appreciation, the latter conveniently located by a McDonald's.

During the war, many of the millions of Americans involved in the Pacific campaign spent time in New Caledonia, one of the main military staging bases for counterattacking the j.a.panese forces that had overrun much of the region. The central square downtown today, the Place des Cocotiers, named for its palm trees, used to be the army's vegetable garden, and the navy made the port, a mile farther away, one of the busiest in the world for a brief period. Apparently, judging from the reactions of residents, we're some of the first Americans to venture here since then. Almost all visitors come from Australia, New Zealand, j.a.pan, or France.

The downtown doesn't offer much except small-town shopping and it closes for all practical purposes at dusk at the same time as the stores. Clothing and lingerie boutiques compete with electronics warehouses and tabac/presse businesses, much like in any French burg. The bookstore on Place des Cocotiers brims with bandes dessinees, bandes dessinees, the distinctive hardcover French cartoon-character stories, and an adjacent cookware shop features Provencal table fabrics. For dining and drinking, for biking or playing boules, everyone goes to the sh.o.r.e. the distinctive hardcover French cartoon-character stories, and an adjacent cookware shop features Provencal table fabrics. For dining and drinking, for biking or playing boules, everyone goes to the sh.o.r.e.

The produce and seafood market on Moselle Bay-in a half dozen interconnected, airy pavilions with bright blue tile roofs-opens at 5:00 A.M. A.M. each day and becomes the busiest place in the city within a couple of hours. The community living room, where neighbors come to chat as well as buy, it's also the only place where we see much mingling between people of European and Melanesian descent. The ethnic interaction seems normal on our first visit on Monday, but by our return at the end of the week, it's clear how rare it is in Noumea. each day and becomes the busiest place in the city within a couple of hours. The community living room, where neighbors come to chat as well as buy, it's also the only place where we see much mingling between people of European and Melanesian descent. The ethnic interaction seems normal on our first visit on Monday, but by our return at the end of the week, it's clear how rare it is in Noumea.

The fruit and vegetable sections lack variety in this spring season, but tubers abound, from taro to the yamlike igname, igname, and fruits as well. Two adjoining stalls must carry every variety of papaya on earth, along with bananas of all sizes and colors. Other produce includes limes, pineapples, oranges, scallions, small local shallots, eggplants, vanilla beans, mint, and basil. French and Asian selections often sit side by side, frisee with Chinese greens, for example, or in the prepared-food cases, Vietnamese pastries next to croissants, and quiche Lorraine surrounded by Indian samosas (fried turnovers) and Philippine lumpia (egg rolls). and fruits as well. Two adjoining stalls must carry every variety of papaya on earth, along with bananas of all sizes and colors. Other produce includes limes, pineapples, oranges, scallions, small local shallots, eggplants, vanilla beans, mint, and basil. French and Asian selections often sit side by side, frisee with Chinese greens, for example, or in the prepared-food cases, Vietnamese pastries next to croissants, and quiche Lorraine surrounded by Indian samosas (fried turnovers) and Philippine lumpia (egg rolls).

The greatest diversity in stock shows up in the fish and seafood sheds, filled with mahimahi, tuna, salmon, marlin, rouget, oysters, calamari, shrimp, and langouste cigale langouste cigale. "These seafood salads look luscious," Cheryl says, surveying a display of chilled "Tahitian" and other similar salads accented with spices and little bits of vegetables. Bill is more fascinated with the fish treated like meat, such as rillettes au thon maison, rillettes au thon maison, shrimp-stuffed vol-au-vent, and tuna sausages. shrimp-stuffed vol-au-vent, and tuna sausages.

Street markets pop up occasionally as well. On our last night in town, we happen on a music and food version near our hotel. A local group called Mahalo stages a hulalike dance show, and home cooks sell prepared take-out dishes, including the Melanesian specialty known as bougna, bougna, a combination of chicken and seafood steamed in banana leaves with yams, sweet potatoes, and coconut milk. Other stands boast a range of snacks and sweets, from cotton candy to West Indian salt-cod accras, so unfamiliar here that the Caribbean entrepreneur labels them "samosas." a combination of chicken and seafood steamed in banana leaves with yams, sweet potatoes, and coconut milk. Other stands boast a range of snacks and sweets, from cotton candy to West Indian salt-cod accras, so unfamiliar here that the Caribbean entrepreneur labels them "samosas."

As in the French homeland, supermarkets flourish as well. A large one in the Port de Plaisance mall carries a good range of wines for our evenings on the balcony and also stocks robust quant.i.ties of both French and Asian foods. There's mousse de canard, Strasbourg terrine, pate Breton, lardons lardons (bacon), Toulouse sausage for ca.s.soulet, and foie gras. As you would expect from an island with lots of cattle ranches, the meat cases hold plenty of local beef, often in steak cuts such as (bacon), Toulouse sausage for ca.s.soulet, and foie gras. As you would expect from an island with lots of cattle ranches, the meat cases hold plenty of local beef, often in steak cuts such as onglet onglet and and bavette, bavette, along with rotisserie chicken, along with rotisserie chicken, pintade pintade (guinea hen), rabbit, pigeon, and (guinea hen), rabbit, pigeon, and andouillette andouillette (tripe sausage). Down other aisles, shoppers get a choice of five varieties of rice paper for spring rolls, a dozen kinds of Asian noodles, and multiple variations on coconut milk, curries, soys, and fish and chile sauces. (tripe sausage). Down other aisles, shoppers get a choice of five varieties of rice paper for spring rolls, a dozen kinds of Asian noodles, and multiple variations on coconut milk, curries, soys, and fish and chile sauces.

The strengths in these market selections don't always carry over to restaurant menus. In many French colonies, such as Vietnam and the West Indies, a distinctive cuisine emerged from the interaction of European and local culinary traditions, but that didn't happen here, largely because of ethnic enmity. The dominant cuisine in Noumea remains continental French, whether it fits the hot climate or not. The few restaurants with haute pretensions flaunt this disposition, making concessions to the weather only through an emphasis on cool, raw sashimi, tartare, and carpaccio preparations. Many smaller establishments, curiously, seek to disguise the French essence in their cooking by professing to offer a different kind of specialization, a conceit that seldom convinces.

The haute restaurants don't appeal to us, but we do check out the menus, always posted by the front door. At one place, Cheryl says, "What an odd selection of appetizers. The lobster carpaccio or the smoked swordfish spring rolls might tempt me here, but can you imagine starting with a lentil soup featuring foie gras and veal sweetbreads?"

"Yeah, on a winter's eve in Paris," Bill replies. "The same for the main courses. Grilled tuna steak with mushroom risotto and bacon cream? Beef tournedos Rossini? Pork loin wrapped in Parma ham served with truffled potatoes?"

The Texas Grill presents the strangest of the specialty menus we find. Billing itself as "The National Cowboy Restaurant," it allows customers to la.s.so a herd of unlikely Lone Star starters such as beef carpaccio, an a.s.siette a.s.siette (plate) of smoked salmon, and mozzarella salad. The main-course steaks climb the scale in size to the "350 gram! Entreco te de Cowboy," by Amarillo standards a rather puny twelve ounces of meat. The desserts range from poached pears "Abilene-style" to ice creams named Rio Grande, Fort Alamo, Fort Worth, Santa Fe, and Billy the Kid. "I wouldn't even expect a menu like this," Cheryl says, "at the Paris Disneyland." (plate) of smoked salmon, and mozzarella salad. The main-course steaks climb the scale in size to the "350 gram! Entreco te de Cowboy," by Amarillo standards a rather puny twelve ounces of meat. The desserts range from poached pears "Abilene-style" to ice creams named Rio Grande, Fort Alamo, Fort Worth, Santa Fe, and Billy the Kid. "I wouldn't even expect a menu like this," Cheryl says, "at the Paris Disneyland."

A couple of the semi-ersatz places lure us in with mixed results. A cheerful Tex-Mex cafe on Baie des Citrons, La Paillotte advertises fajitas, enchiladas, tostadas, nachos, tequila sunrises, margaritas, and more. Cheryl orders a combination plate with a chicken taco and a beef burrito, both fairly credible except that the fillings are minced almost to a paste in each case. On the side, she gets a chopped tomato and avocado puree topped with creme fraiche, a fanciful French interpretation of guacamole. Bill's ceviche bears no resemblance at all to the real dish, but the strips of raw tuna and bell pepper taste good anyway. The owner stops by our table during the lunch and Bill asks, "How did you come up with the idea for the restaurant? Have you lived in Texas or Mexico?"

"No, I've never been near either place. I moved here from the south of France and opened a sandwich shop originally, but business was slow. My main cook knew a little about Mexican food so we decided to take a chance with it. It's definitely the best Tex-Mex food in New Caledonia because no one else does it."

The San Remo, near our hotel, claims in its name and a big sign to an Italian bent. Again, the proprietor is French and so is his sandwich-board pizza chef on the sidewalk, holding aloft a pie topped with a sunny-side-up egg, common in Nice but not in Naples. Whatever their nationality, the pizzas come straight from a hot oven deliciously crisp, enough so to draw us back for an encore. The salads offered on the other side of the menu, such as the warm goat cheese with lardons and greens, make no pretense at an Italian heritage, and neither do any of the wines available by the carafe or bottle.

Our best meals come at small restaurants with more faithful specializations. One is a mom-and-daughter Vietnamese operation in a strip mall around the corner from our hotel. While the middle-aged daughter handles the cooking in the kitchen, the elderly mother serves the patrons, seating us at one of the two simple tables on the sidewalk, actually more atmospheric than the brightly lit, larger tables inside. For starters, she brings us a platter of delightful fried crab spring rolls, which we wrap in lettuce leaves with pickled ginger and then dip in fish sauce. Bill moves on to a spicy fish preparation, with cubes of the day's catch stir-fried with vegetables in a piquant sauce that gets his nose running again. Cheryl opts for a vermicelli salad with grilled bits of pork and pork b.a.l.l.s, served with lettuce leaves, carrot strips, ginger, and peanuts to bundle together for eating.

L'Astrolabe, on the Baie des Citrons, reminds us of numerous seaside bistros on the French Mediterranean, in its menu as well as the alfresco setting. For our lunch, Cheryl chooses the plat du jour, a seafood carpaccio combination. Paper-thin slices of giant clams, salmon, and tuna arrive with seasoning portions of astringent green olive oil, coa.r.s.e sea salt, black pepper, and lime, all arrayed around a mound of garlicky slivered crudite salad. As terrific as this is, she really swoons over the accompanying vegetable side dish. "It's the sweetest pumpkin I've ever tasted, baked and then pureed with cream and some curry powder." Bill picks the house meat specialty, a steak tartare with frites called Le Gastrolabe. Chefs prepare it in the kitchen rather than at the table, blending local beef lusciously and richly with capers, tomatoes, onions, and gherkins, and flavoring the mixture with subdued but sound hints of parsley, chives, basil, egg yolk, brandy, olive oil, garlic, and Tabasco. The food punches out our congestion for hours.

La Fiesta Chez Alban, at the other end of the same sh.o.r.e, also packs a wallop. The theme here is Basque cooking, from both sides of the western Pyrenees border between France and Spain. The walls of the interior boast posters of d'Espelette peppers, sheepherders' flasks, and photos of Basque sports teams and heroes. On both visits, we eat outside on the street-front terrace, watching locals take their lunch break on the beach directly across from us.

The first time, our shared appetizer is San Sebastianstyle pinxchos, pinxchos, in this case slices of country bread layered with soft, strong cheeses and then smoked salmon, anchovies, red peppers, and slivers of ham. Cheryl's main course Basque salad features authentic ewe's milk cheese from the region, in this case slices of country bread layered with soft, strong cheeses and then smoked salmon, anchovies, red peppers, and slivers of ham. Cheryl's main course Basque salad features authentic ewe's milk cheese from the region, brebis, brebis, along with ham, roasted bell peppers, greens, and a garlicky dressing. Bill savors the succulent meat in the plat du jour, lamb curry-not exactly Basque but hearty and tasty. along with ham, roasted bell peppers, greens, and a garlicky dressing. Bill savors the succulent meat in the plat du jour, lamb curry-not exactly Basque but hearty and tasty.

At our second lunch, Cheryl opts for the daily special, a brandade de thon brandade de thon that she labels "the best tuna ca.s.serole of my life," and Bill goes for the Basque omelet with piperade, served with a side of wonderful slow-cooked confit potatoes. To celebrate the success of the meal, Bill proposes toasting the chef with a that she labels "the best tuna ca.s.serole of my life," and Bill goes for the Basque omelet with piperade, served with a side of wonderful slow-cooked confit potatoes. To celebrate the success of the meal, Bill proposes toasting the chef with a ti ponch, ti ponch, our favorite rum drink from the French West Indies, made with stout rhum agricole, muddled lime, and raw sugar. "This seems an unlikely place for them, but they're on the c.o.c.ktail list." The bartender surprises us with a superb rendition. our favorite rum drink from the French West Indies, made with stout rhum agricole, muddled lime, and raw sugar. "This seems an unlikely place for them, but they're on the c.o.c.ktail list." The bartender surprises us with a superb rendition.

The most glaring omission on restaurant menus is Melanesian food, which we find only at the street market by our hotel in the take-home portions of bougna. Although many of the native dishes, such as the civet de rousette civet de rousette (bat stew), don't interest us greatly, it is disappointing to see such thorough separation between other residents and Melanesians, who call themselves Kanaks in New Caledonia. At 43 percent of the population, the Kanaks const.i.tute the largest ethnic group in the territory, but French settlers (37 percent) and their allies among Polynesian and Asian immigrants outnumber them. The racial segregation favored by the majority extends well beyond the kitchen into almost all phases of life and is deeply rooted in a history of conflict. (bat stew), don't interest us greatly, it is disappointing to see such thorough separation between other residents and Melanesians, who call themselves Kanaks in New Caledonia. At 43 percent of the population, the Kanaks const.i.tute the largest ethnic group in the territory, but French settlers (37 percent) and their allies among Polynesian and Asian immigrants outnumber them. The racial segregation favored by the majority extends well beyond the kitchen into almost all phases of life and is deeply rooted in a history of conflict.

The Kanaks, related to the Melanesians in Vanuatu and the Solomon Islands, migrated to Grande Terre several thousand years ago. Europeans first discovered the realm when Captain James Cook landed in 1774, but no one started settling in any significant numbers until Napoleon III claimed possession for France in 1853. The French envied the British use of Australia as a penal colony, and acquired New Caledonia for the same purpose, sending twenty thousand convicted criminals here in the late nineteenth century as well as four thousand political prisoners who played prominent roles in the Paris Commune uprising of 1871.

The French soon became more actively interested in Grande Terre when an engineer found large deposits of nickel. To abet mining interests, the government pushed Kanaks off their land onto "indigenous reservations" in areas without minerals or ranching potential, leading to a series of native rebellions and long guerilla wars. Following World War II, France relaxed its colonial policy and allowed Kanaks for the first time to leave their reservations without police permission. French settlers rose up in arms now, determined to thwart growing native sentiment for independence. Violence between the two groups peaked in the 1980s, bringing the territory to the brink of civil war. The Matignon Accord of 1988 calmed tensions by dividing New Caledonia into three semiautonomous provinces, two controlled by the Kanaks and the most populous one, around Noumea, in the hands of French and other residents. Still, the underlying causes of conflict remain unsettled and both sides continue to be wary of each other.

Our original plans included visits to Kanak villages or outlying islands during our stay, but our poor health prevents us from taking the long day trips necessary for that. Instead, for any introduction to Melanesian life, we have to rely on two museums, virtually the only places in Noumea that accord much recognition to Kanak culture. The traditional way of life, still widely practiced, revolves around clan membership and subsistence agriculture based on the cultivation of the yam, taro, and banana. Chiefs rule through their connections to clan ancestors, the most powerful of the many animistic spirits that influence all aspects of life.

The Museum of New Caledonia provides a historic overview of the carved-wood art that represents and propagates the status of chiefs, including prestige objects such as ceremonial axes handed down through generations and haunting, emotive masks used in funeral rites. The exhibits also cover items of everyday life from the past, including simple coiled pottery for cooking, nets and traps for fishing, wooden spades and stakes for farming, and stones in the shape of yams and bananas to bury in fields to give strength to crops. Before Europeans arrived, women wore short skirts made of coconut fibers or banyan-tree roots and men donned only a woven p.e.n.i.s shield, less from modesty in both cases apparently than to protect their reproductive organs from the evil eye and other bad spirits.

While the museum offers an anthropological perspective on Kanak traditions, the Tjibaou Cultural Center celebrates them. Named for Jean-Marie Tjibaou, the Kanak leader who helped to negotiate the Matignon Accord and was a.s.sa.s.sinated the next year for his efforts, it evolved from the 1988 agreements as a way of honoring New Caledonia's indigenous people in the province where their presence is the least respected. Architecturally, it soars majestically in a contemporary interpretation of the conical style of a chief 's house, providing facilities for research, exhibitions, and performances devoted to the Melanesian legacy.

The most impressive galleries during our stop deal with Kanak and other Oceanic artifacts as art rather than as historic relics. Dramatic masks, totems, ceremonial axes, and additional pieces-many of them on loan from the Museum of Man in Paris-show the expressive skill of Pacific carvers, a theme carried over into exhibits of contemporary work. Other rooms pay tribute to Tjibaou's life and tell the story of the Paris Commune prisoners sent to New Caledonia in exile.

Knowing the center has a restaurant and figuring that surely it must serve Kanak dishes, we time our visit to be here for lunch. No luck again. The menu offers croque-monsieurs, quiche, and even hot dogs, but nothing related to the culture being commemorated. That's the day we end up with a Tex-Mex lunch back on the Baie des Citrons, giving a nod to part of our own heritage at least in lieu of a more appropriate one.

After a week in Noumea, we're ready to bail for Singapore, where we're looking forward to real food adventures. New Caledonia treats us well in many respects, allowing us to recover from our bronchitis in a fortuitously favorable clime. Both of us leave much healthier and happier than when we arrive, which const.i.tutes a wonderful gift, but we also depart with new pangs of hunger.

THE NITTY-GRITTY.

[image] NOUVATA P PARK H HOTEL www.newcaledoniahotelsresorts.com Anse Vata, Noumea 687-26-22-00 fax 687-26-16-77 The four-star Park Hotel wing, containing 110 deluxe rooms and 6 suites, is far superior to the other, less expensive wings.

[image] L'ASTROLABE 35 promenade R. Laroque Baie des Citrons, Noumea 687-28-44-44.

lunch and dinner

[image] LA F FIESTA C CHEZ A ALBAN 5 promenade R. Laroque Baie des Citrons, Noumea 687-26-21-33.

lunch and dinner

Poisson Cru ("Tahitian Salad") SERVES 6 6 AS AN APPETIZER AS AN APPETIZER, 4 AS A MAIN DISH AS A MAIN DISH.

1 pound very fresh high-grade ahi tuna, diced in neat -inch cubes cup fresh lime juice cup coconut milk cup diced peeled and seeded cuc.u.mber4 to 5 scallions, green and white portions, split lengthwise and minced1 fresh hot small green or red chile, seeded and minced, optionalSeveral tablespoons shredded coconut, optional teaspoon salt, or more to tasteFreshly ground black pepper1 medium tomato, seeded and squeezed to eliminate liquid, diced Combine in a medium bowl the tuna, lime juice, coconut milk, cuc.u.mber, scallions, optional chile and coconut, salt, and pepper. Refrigerate 30 minutes to 1 hour. Mix in the tomato and serve right away.

SINGAPORE.

THE APPROACH OF EVENING LURES US IRRESISTIBLY into Singapore's red-light district, discreetly hidden in residential quarters among the street-side shops of Geylang Road, a major artery. If you know the city-state's reputation for paternalistic morality, you might be surprised to learn that the s.e.x trade flourishes here. The government bans adult magazines such as into Singapore's red-light district, discreetly hidden in residential quarters among the street-side shops of Geylang Road, a major artery. If you know the city-state's reputation for paternalistic morality, you might be surprised to learn that the s.e.x trade flourishes here. The government bans adult magazines such as Playboy Playboy and even requires ones with "mature content" like and even requires ones with "mature content" like Cosmopolitan Cosmopolitan to carry a warning on the cover, but Big Brother approves of prost.i.tution, as long as it isn't merely for oral s.e.x (legal just as a prelude to conventional copulation) and doesn't involve sodomy, a heinous offense punishable by brutal and b.l.o.o.d.y caning. to carry a warning on the cover, but Big Brother approves of prost.i.tution, as long as it isn't merely for oral s.e.x (legal just as a prelude to conventional copulation) and doesn't involve sodomy, a heinous offense punishable by brutal and b.l.o.o.d.y caning.

Heedless on this sweltering night to any of these indulgences, our carnal cravings focus exclusively on crab. On September 10, 2003, about a year before we made final decisions on destinations to visit on this trip, the late R. W. "Johnny" Apple, Jr., published an article in the New York Times New York Times on Singapore's "endless supper." A renowned journalist equally esteemed for his political reporting and his discriminating gluttony, Apple claimed the crab on Singapore's "endless supper." A renowned journalist equally esteemed for his political reporting and his discriminating gluttony, Apple claimed the crab bee hoon bee hoon (a preparation with rice vermicelli) at Sin Huat Eating House on Geylang Road was "the best crab dish we tasted in a city famous for crab." He didn't describe the place or its location in any detail, but we know our l.u.s.t for the bee hoon will lead us to the door. (a preparation with rice vermicelli) at Sin Huat Eating House on Geylang Road was "the best crab dish we tasted in a city famous for crab." He didn't describe the place or its location in any detail, but we know our l.u.s.t for the bee hoon will lead us to the door.

a.s.suming it has a door, which isn't really the case. Approaching the area on foot, looking carefully for any sign of an "eating house," we finally come across an open-air sidewalk dive on a corner with a small sign announcing "Sin Huat."

"Surely, that's not our spot," Cheryl says hopefully. "Let's look a little further." Nothing about the neighborhood or premises seems promising except for rows of fish and seafood tanks, enough-after cleaning the grime off the outside-to supply a large aquarium. The tanks provide all the decor, and several dingy, rickety plastic tables on the sidewalk const.i.tute all the dining accoutrements.

"I'm afraid we've found it," Bill says. "Why don't we sit down and at least get a beer?"

He leads the way over to a couple of short plastic stools, the only seats out at the time until a wiry spark plug of a woman rushes from inside to wrestle real plastic chairs from a tall stack in a corner. Bill orders a big bottle of Tiger beer for us to share, and as Spark Plug pours us gla.s.ses, she insists, "You eat some steamed scallops, too." Not quite sure how or why to refuse the food, we shrug our agreement to the order, and she disappears into the maze of tanks. Inspecting the Tiger bottle, Cheryl hands it over to Bill, pointing to a promise that drinkers will "Live Like a Rock Star."

"Yeah, right," he says. "So Jagger's going to join us at this dump any moment now?"

While we sip the refreshingly cold brew, a cook emerges from a kitchen at the rear wearing knee-high rubber boots, sloshes along the wet floor, reaches into one of the tanks, and grabs our scallops, still alive in their sh.e.l.ls. Cheryl watches him intently. "I love the Chinese sense of fresh. None of this 'air-expressed daily' or even caught the same day. If it's dead when it reaches the kitchen, it might as well have been dead for a week."

"It's definitely a good omen."

A half of the bottle of beer later, Spark Plug delivers a big plate of scallops on the half sh.e.l.l, bathed in a rich, heady, oily sauce. "My G.o.d," Bill swears. "These are unbelievable-maybe the tastiest scallops I've ever had."

"And," Cheryl says, "I bet the menu"-which we never see, even if it exists-"doesn't blather on about diver harvesting, plumpness, provenance, or other things so common in American restaurant descriptions. You see them in the tank alive and know they're truly fresh."

After a few more bites, Bill pauses and glances around again. "You know, this place doesn't look so bad after all."

Pleasantly acclimated now, we order Chef Danny Lee's specialty, the crab bee hoon. To accompany the dish, a waitress brings us rolled-up washcloths, a welcome sight, since none of the other food vendors in Singapore so far has offered napkins or wipes of any kind. Later, when he gets the check, Bill sees the washcloths for a second time, listed as a one-dollar charge. He laughs at the fee for a service that keeps the table manageably tidy for the restaurant, but pays it happily.

When we're well into our second beer, Spark Plug returns with a br.i.m.m.i.n.g platter featuring a magnificent jumbo crab, broken into big pieces over a tangled pillow of vermicelli in a sticky broth flavored with oyster sauce, mushrooms, scallions, ginger, and red chiles. "Apple certainly didn't exaggerate," Cheryl says. "How could crab get any better?" Taking turns with the metal cracker, we shatter sh.e.l.ls much of the evening, probably even in our sleep later. Our goal is to direct the juices into the noodles, enriching them further with briny sweetness, but the sh.e.l.ls go in every direction-including, as she discovers the next day, into Cheryl's purse. She doesn't keep the mementoes, but we certainly remember the night and its delight. Rock stars got no glory on us.

Johnny Apple's article convinced us to go to Singapore on our trip, despite many misgivings about the political climate and the antiseptic, Western style of the city. The clique of autocrats who govern every aspect of life seem a little silly at times-banning the sale of chewing gum for many years, for instance-but they are deadly serious about their mult.i.tude of rules. Amnesty International condemns the country for one of the highest execution rates in the world (usually for possession of drugs, including marijuana) and also for its cruel and degrading use of caning as a common punishment.

The courts sentence more than one thousand men a year to a varying number of lashes for many different offenses ranging from overstaying a visa (at least three strokes) to vandalism (up to eight smacks) and robbery (a minimum of six blows for an act committed before 7:00 P.M. P.M. and twelve for a later offense). The caning crew straps a fellow to a metal frame with his bare b.u.t.t exposed and whips him hard enough with a rattan stick to leave permanent scars. To increase the pain inflicted, officials soak the rattan overnight in water. It makes you wonder what these guys do for entertainment after work. and twelve for a later offense). The caning crew straps a fellow to a metal frame with his bare b.u.t.t exposed and whips him hard enough with a rattan stick to leave permanent scars. To increase the pain inflicted, officials soak the rattan overnight in water. It makes you wonder what these guys do for entertainment after work.

Just saying that probably gets this book censored in Singapore, which puts it in pretty good company, alongside the Asian Wall Street Journal Asian Wall Street Journal and the and the Far Eastern Economic Review Far Eastern Economic Review. Reporters Without Borders ranks the nation 140th out of 167 countries in its 2005 index of press freedom. The People's Action Party (PAP), which has dominated the nominally democratic government for forty years, takes harsh action against political rivals, from denying them almost any opportunity for public visibility to jailing them without trial as threats to national security. The government controls all local radio and television programming, and the Media Development Authority rigorously monitors the Internet to block Web sites deemed a danger to PAP or public morality. Unless you're trying to summon the police, forget about private satellite dishes, peaceful demonstrations, strikes, and hanging out on the streets in groups of more than six, which is regarded as riotous behavior.

Some citizens poke fun at all the regulations. A widely sold T-shirt proclaims "Singapore is a fine city," and displays cross-slashed images of various actions punished by substantial fines, which include eating or drinking on the subway, jaywalking, littering, spitting, failing to buckle your seat belt in a taxi, and not flushing a public toilet. PAP runs costly public education campaigns about these behavioral norms, trying to instill them as private disciplines by making deviants pay heavily. The T-shirt protests the paternalism, but more amazing than that, the censorship-driven government tolerates the implied disdain, most likely on the theory that any publicity is good publicity, hoping that the shirt's message reinforces its own efforts to advertise the officially sanctioned code of conduct. You can bet they're not chuckling at the pop humor.

The authorities are easing up on the strictness, however. Among other changes, gum chewers can now buy their treat at pharmacies if they're willing to produce identification and sign a register. The government appears to be making small concessions to appease both citizens and world opinion, but PAP isn't likely to head down a path that will gradually loosen its tight grip on power and public policy.

Many will say that's a good thing. Unlike most cases where autocrats control affairs firmly and thoroughly, the leaders of PAP seem satisfied with their clout alone. They don't raid the treasury, abide any corruption, dream of territorial conquest, or otherwise act like self-aggrandizing tyrants. Probably, they truly care about the economic strength of their city and sincerely want to keep it clean, safe, orderly, and running on time. If you judge them by these results instead of their tactics and obsessions, they make a Bill Gates success story look as simplistic as a game of Monopoly.

Singapore works in almost all respects. It's clean to the point of pristine, as spick-and-span as a Disney theme park even without hundreds of sweepers constantly collecting the trash. People actually take pride in their public restrooms, invariably spotless and in good operating order. The crime rate ranks as one of the lowest in the world, a blessing for locals and travelers alike and a major inducement to foreign investment. PAP places a high priority on labor productivity, which translates to high-level attention to education and health. Public transportation covers every corner of the city and does it efficiently. The Housing and Development Board creates livable high-rise residential estates and new towns-home to 80 percent of the inhabitants-with easy access to schools, shopping, and employment opportunities.

Most impressive of all, Singapore stands out as a monument to multiculturalism. The British colonial roots remain entrenched in many ways-such as the use of English as the primary language of the realm-but the population is diversely Asian. Though Chinese descendants predominate, they come originally from a number of different provinces and still speak dissimilar dialects. Malays and Indians const.i.tute significant minorities, and they, too, derive from various ethnic and linguistic backgrounds. In addition to English, the law recognizes Mandarin, Malay, and Tamil as official languages, and the major religions include Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, Confucianism, and Taoism. The government stalwartly maintains respectful tolerance of these differences and clamps down forcefully on anyone breeding ill-will.

The city means business, in virtually every way that you can interpret the point. Founded as an Asian trading post in 1819 by Sir Stamford Raffles of the English East India Company, it grew into one of the British Empire's great entrepo ts. It remains an international market center, but government-guided development has also created powerful financial and industrial sectors, resulting in the most advanced economy in Southeast Asia. Everything PAP does ultimately focuses on success in this sphere: even the ban on chewing gum began largely because of incidents where discarded gum clogged the doors of subway trains, impeding the transportation system of the worker bees.

Many visitors come to Singapore on business, a better reason than pleasure travel in most respects. The authorities want to encourage conventional tourism, and have tried to do it with enormous investments in a great airport, large international hotels, and colossal contemporary shopping centers. Apparently, they hope your main interest in a destination is duty-free buying and seeing the beauty of efficient air transportation.

The other tourist attractions-described of course in glowing terms in guidebooks and travel magazine articles-just don't add up to much. The historic colonial area sounds impressive on paper, but basically it's full of intentionally intimidating, blocky nineteenth-century buildings. Visitors often end up spending much of their time on the "miracle mile" of Orchard Road, an orgy of a shopping strip featuring absolutely nothing distinctive. Our trip to the area lasts less than thirty minutes before we flee the ma.s.sive malls in dismay.

The extensive Chinatown is the only area we enjoy for sightseeing. Despite considerable urban renewal, it retains a fair measure of traditional character. The Chinatown Heritage Centre ill.u.s.trates both the changes and the constants. Political turmoil, natural disasters, and famine drove many thousands of Chinese settlers here in the late nineteenth century, all risking their lives on a monthlong boat journey in horribly overcrowded conditions to reach what they called Nanyang, a place of escape. Most planned to return home at some point, but few ever did, sometimes succ.u.mbing to the ready availability of opium, alcohol, and gambling. They lived generally in two-and three-story shop-houses, with businesses on the ground floor and a dozen or more tiny residential cubicles upstairs, barely bigger than the beds they held, as the Centre doc.u.ments in replicas; forty inhabitants might share one toilet, bath, and kitchen, as well as some s.p.a.ce on the street outside as their common living room.

j.a.panese occupation of Singapore during World War II brought the local economy to a standstill, forcing many people to create makeshift jobs for themselves. Large numbers set up street-food stalls, cooking and selling one or a few specialties from their region of China, India, or Malaysia. These small "hawker" stands continued to flourish after the war, when Chinatown entered something of a golden age in vibrancy and liveliness. Important elements of that spirit remain today, though the government in recent decades has moved the street-food entrepreneurs into market buildings and hawker centers, the very places that have enticed us to Singapore.

Apple's story in the Times Times grabbed our attention not for its comments on Sin Huat, one of many places mentioned, but because the journalist talks at length about K. F. Seetoh and his guidebook to hawker street food. Neither of us could track down the version of the book Apple cites, but Bill soon found and ordered a revised edition, named grabbed our attention not for its comments on Sin Huat, one of many places mentioned, but because the journalist talks at length about K. F. Seetoh and his guidebook to hawker street food. Neither of us could track down the version of the book Apple cites, but Bill soon found and ordered a revised edition, named die, die, must try!, die, die, must try!, at an online Singapore bookstore. Don't be put off by the strange t.i.tle if you're planning a visit. You should die, die to buy it. The tome sucks in many respects, particularly the design and the maps, but it's one of the most extraordinary eating guides ever written. at an online Singapore bookstore. Don't be put off by the strange t.i.tle if you're planning a visit. You should die, die to buy it. The tome sucks in many respects, particularly the design and the maps, but it's one of the most extraordinary eating guides ever written.

The city enjoys a worldwide reputation, at least in culinary circles, for its wealth of tasty street food. The possibilities appealed to us strongly, but how would we find our way among the roughly twelve thousand food stalls scattered around Chinatown and all the other neighborhoods of the city? The book provides the answer. Seetoh's publishing and broadcasting company, Makansutra (from the Malay word for "eat" and the Sanskrit word for "lesson"), sends out about thirty-five undercover "Makanmatas" ("food police") to locate and rate the best cooking in the one-hundred-plus hawker centers and markets. Their research, tidily packaged in die, die, must try!, die, die, must try!, convinced us that we could pig out grandly in Singapore even on a short stop, now knowing the right food centers to visit, the dishes we want to try, the stands that offer premier examples of the fare, and the open days and hours of our chosen vendors. Between bites, we can check out tourist attractions, but our mission is to revel in Asian street food. convinced us that we could pig out grandly in Singapore even on a short stop, now knowing the right food centers to visit, the dishes we want to try, the stands that offer premier examples of the fare, and the open days and hours of our chosen vendors. Between bites, we can check out tourist attractions, but our mission is to revel in Asian street food.

Ironically, we have to thank the tight-a.s.sed rulers for this wonderful opportunity. Their obsession with cleanliness guarantees sanitary cooking conditions everywhere, unlike in many cities, and their subway system zips us effortlessly between different hawker areas. The government even played a role in providing us a good place to stay, the Albert Court Hotel, a block of former shop-houses renovated into a boutique business hotel under a public program. Bill picked it in part because of a bargain Internet rate on a large executive room, but mainly because of its location between major stations on two of the princ.i.p.al subway lines. The plan is to stay on the move most of the time, munching as we go, except, of course, on the fine subway trains.

After a late-Sat.u.r.day-night arrival, we're up and off early on Sunday morning for our first day of progressive grazing. Most of the hawker centers don't open until later, so our first stop is one that runs around the clock, just like McDonald's local McDelivery service ("for orders of any size," the ubiquitous posters say). Makansutra recommends nothing at the Lau Pa Sat Festival Market, but all the standard guidebooks mention it as a nonthreatening place for visitors to check out the street-food scene. It sounds to us worth a look, at least to get a touchstone for what to avoid.

It's easy to see why Lau Pa Sat appeals to tourists. It occupies a faux Victorian open-air pavilion full of gingerbread accents, whirling ceiling fans, and comfortable modern tables. Like spokes on a wheel, wide aisles radiate from the hub in a half dozen directions, leading to pods of attractive stalls with names such as "Fantastic Handmade Noodle," "Smoking Duck," and "Wonderful Vegetable Mixed Rice." Bill says on the way out, "This would make a perfect base for McDelivery."

Getting to-go drinks of mixed mango and kiwi juice, we wander a few blocks over to the heart of Chinatown. The walk takes us along South Bridge Road, the neighborhood's main street and the site of the Sri Mariamman Hindu Temple. Dating back to 1827, before heavy Chinese settlement of the area, it features an arresting sculpted gopuram gopuram (tower) rising high above the entrance, flanked by statues of Shiva and Vishnu. Just days in advance of our arrival, the temple hosted an annual fire-walking ceremony, when scores of the faithful lined up on South Bridge to prove their spiritual strength by striding across a bed of hot coals. Today is also busy, leading up to tomorrow's inauguration of the preparations for Hindu Diwali, the Festival of Lights, called Deepawali in Singapore. Staring at piles of footwear on the sidewalk by the door into the temple, Cheryl is perplexed. "There must be several hundred pair of sandals and shoes in those stacks. How would you ever find your own again?" (tower) rising high above the entrance, flanked by statues of Shiva and Vishnu. Just days in advance of our arrival, the temple hosted an annual fire-walking ceremony, when scores of the faithful lined up on South Bridge to prove their spiritual strength by striding across a bed of hot coals. Today is also busy, leading up to tomorrow's inauguration of the preparations for Hindu Diwali, the Festival of Lights, called Deepawali in Singapore. Staring at piles of footwear on the sidewalk by the door into the temple, Cheryl is perplexed. "There must be several hundred pair of sandals and shoes in those stacks. How would you ever find your own again?"

Side streets off of Bridge offer other diversions. Along PaG.o.da on the way to the Chinatown Heritage Centre, pedestrians get a good view of the temple grounds, where today prostrate men dressed in simple loincloths roll themselves around the property. Sago Street once brimmed with death houses, which provided rudimentary care for the infirm elderly who didn't want to risk bad luck for their family by dying at home. Attached funeral parlors prepared the deceased for last rites, including the burning of paper replicas of their favorite possessions and also plenty of simulated money for them to spend in heaven or h.e.l.l. Shops on Banda sell similar contemporary items for incineration, such as cardboard credit cards, pa.s.sports, computers, and cell phones, each presumed to be useful in the afterlife. "So, what do you want to take with you?" Cheryl asks Bill.

"The only thing that tempts me is the dim sum, but I'd prefer to have the real deal alive rather than a facsimile in my coffin."

On that note, we enter one of the most famous of the hawker operations, the Maxwell Food Centre at the end of South Bridge. The travel guides that tout Lau Pa Sat sometimes mention Maxwell as well, usually preceded with an adjective like "drab" or "old-fashioned." Nonsense, it's just functional, not dressed up for a social outing. The open-air concrete pavilion with a corrugated roof holds more than one hundred stalls, each about ten square feet and jam-packed with cooking equipment, ingredients, and one or more proprietors. The booths line both sides of three broad, tiled aisles occupied by basic tables and chairs. As in other centers, you order at a stand that specializes in one or a few dishes, take a seat, and when the food is prepared-it never sits out under a warming light-the chef-owner or an a.s.sistant brings it over, locating you among the mult.i.tudes by some kind of mysterious radar. Low walls at the stalls allow you to watch everything going on inside from your table. When you finish eating, you leave trays, plates, and utensils on the table-stacking or clearing them can violate religious taboos-and someone picks them up shortly for cleaning.

Our top priority at Maxwell is Tian Tian Hainanese Chicken Rice, a stall that Foo Kui Lian took over from her brother forty years ago. Makansutra's Web site ranks it as one of fifteen 2005 "Hawker Legends," the best in the city, the group says, for chicken rice, itself a Singapore legend created by immigrants from Hainan Island in the South China Sea. The booth proves easy to find from the vendor number listed in die, die, must try!, die, die, must try!, a relief to us given the crowded conditions and large number of stands. Waiting for the business to open at 11:00, we kill a little time looking at other stalls across the aisle. When we turn around again, a minute or so before the appointed hour, suddenly two dozen customers have jumped ahead of us into a line, which moves quickly because Foo rents an adjoining stall for prep work and employs a staff of five-both unusual signs of success in this field. a relief to us given the crowded conditions and large number of stands. Waiting for the business to open at 11:00, we kill a little time looking at other stalls across the aisle. When we turn around again, a minute or so before the appointed hour, suddenly two dozen customers have jumped ahead of us into a line, which moves quickly because Foo rents an adjoining stall for prep work and employs a staff of five-both unusual signs of success in this field.

Chicken rice may sound a little dull-it's just steamed versions of the two basic components-but it abounds with flavor at Tian Tian. The order taker asks us, "You want skin?" and both of us nod "Yes." Otherwise everyone gets exactly the same thing, a big mound of high-quality rice topped with rich chicken gravy, several thick slices of b.u.t.tery white meat, a bowl of broth fragrant with stock, vinegar-bathed cukes, sweet soy, and a fittingly fiery red-chile sauce seasoned with ginger and a bit of orange. Each plate costs about U.S. $2, the average for hawker food anywhere in the city.

Another Maxwell favorite, Lim Kee Banana Fritters, also attracts us, largely because of its top Makansutra rating for the stall's specialty, goreng pisang goreng pisang (batter-fried bananas). The owners grow the fruit on their own plantation in Malaysia, using only the prime Raja variety, and work with a special batter they created themselves. The plump bananas come out of the oil as sweet as honey, with a tempuralike coating that's crackly crisp. While the cook prepares them, we watch a young woman at another stand making fresh sugarcane juice, wrestling short stalks through a press that mangles the cane and releases its liquid. Intrigued, both of us get a gla.s.s. "I feared it would be cloyingly sweet," Bill says, and Cheryl finishes his thought, "But it's really light and refreshing. I love the green-fruit flavor." (batter-fried bananas). The owners grow the fruit on their own plantation in Malaysia, using only the prime Raja variety, and work with a special batter they created themselves. The plump bananas come out of the oil as sweet as honey, with a tempuralike coating that's crackly crisp. While the cook prepares them, we watch a young woman at another stand making fresh sugarcane juice, wrestling short stalks through a press that mangles the cane and releases its liquid. Intrigued, both of us get a gla.s.s. "I feared it would be cloyingly sweet," Bill says, and Cheryl finishes his thought, "But it's really light and refreshing. I love the green-fruit flavor."