A Culinary Atlas

Not all cuisines are created equal.  Certainly not according to the Australia voting public at least.  

Following on from "Stirring the data with an urban spoon" (an analysis of urbanspoon data), this map compares popularity of different cuisines across the globe.

Culinary Atlas

Coloured by popularity

Dark Green = best, Dark Red = worst, Everything in between = everything in between

NB: Controversial borders do not reflect the views of the author, rather an attempt at standards.  Some questionable boundaries (Islas Malvinas/Falklands Islands, Cyprus) were represented in dual colours.

Some countries (Australia, China, United States) appear to have rubella. This is because their cuisines were described multiple times. Australia came under "Modern Australia" (in orange) and "Native Australia" (a slightly darker shade of orange).

Some countries' cuisines were individually defined (Thai, French, Moroccan, Brazilian), while others came under umbrella tags, such as "Africa" or "Latin America".  

Others were missing entirely from the list (eg. New Zealand, Sri Lanka, Russia, Sweden).

Stirring the data with an urban spoon

One of life’s great tragedies is the limited opportunity for meal consumption, usually estimated at 3 per day.  The seriousness of such a condition is accentuated when travelling through cities at fast pace.

Having failed to find an adequate pizzeria on the first of a two-day fly by Napoli, the alleged birthplace of such fine cuisine, the pressure mounted on my second day.  Without the three-meal-per-day phenomenon I could have tried every pizzeria I walked past, but knowing I would only get one crack at it, the choice would define my soon-to-be memories of this wonderful city.  The three-meal standard was once again proving a major limitation on my savouring life. 

After hours of walking, pizza napoletana.

I walked up and down the Neapolitan streets in search of this fabled slice, finally giving up as the sun was setting, mostly due to hunger, anger, and my train’s imminent departure.  In a final bout of desperation I succumbed to the type of ‘cheesy’ touristy pizzeria I would otherwise arrogantly lift my nostrils at.  Not even the world’s best table red (coca cola) could help me wash down the shame and disappointment.

Back in home territory the opportunities to try the local cuisines might not be so limited (numerically speaking), but the desire to maximise every outing still holds.  Over the years I have realised that a restaurant’s reputation is not a great predictor of satisfaction.  Neither is the size of its queue. But perhaps among the masses lie some nuggets of truth for us to take away. 

Websites such as urbanspoon provide peer reviews rather than the “hat” dispersing scriptures dividing good food from evil.  Usually used to check out restaurants individually, the data held by these online voting booths can surely tell us more about our candidates.

While not including every restaurant in Australia, the 22,297 profiled in capital cities across the country appear to constitute a majority of the population.  According to a quick search in the Yellow Pages there are 31,900 “Restaurant and Cafes” across the capital cities, and an ABS publication estimates the figure at 15,423 in 2007.  While the scopes and definitions might differ slightly, the figures suggest it's a decent sample.

When looking at restaurant reviews in bulk a few things become apparent:
    Reviewers are generally positive creatures.
    Cost driven expectations are not matched by experience.
    If you love your steaks, eat at home.


Urbanspoon’s rating system is expressed as a percentage of the people who liked it vs. those who disliked it.  On average restaurants get liked 78% of the time.  This average "like score" is consistent (+/- 3%) across all capital cities*.  While almost 40% score in the 80s, less than 5% of restaurants have scores under 50%.

Surprisingly, these positive reviews are less likely for the expensive restaurants than el cheapo ones.  The elevated expectations which come with paying extra seem to lead to disappointment.  


Overall, cheap restaurants score 9 percentage points more than expensive ones, with the middle ranges falling in between.  This trend occurs not only across all capital cities*, but also across most cuisine types.  Cheap Thai beats expensive Thai, but then again cheap Thai beats pretty much everything!  


French restaurants (and to a lesser extent Japanese) seem to disturb the pattern.  Of the cuisines with large enough sample sizes, les French are one of the only cuisines not to show decreased satisfaction likelihood with increased price, keeping a steadily high level across all price ranges (80% like).  

So why pay more if we’re less likely to like it?  The difference in price is not insignificant, so if these data are anything to go by: cheap is cheerful, and pricey just makes disappointment more likely.  

Sometimes we don’t crave fancy or convoluted: forget the foam and the parfait, the cocktails and pate. Sometimes we just want a bit of steak (aged, of course, wagyu if possible).  In that case, do not head to a steakhouse.  Of all categories of restaurants on urbanspoon, steakhouses fare the worst with an approval rating of just 69%!  


How hard can it be? 


Perhaps it's because it doesn’t come with the scent of closely mowed grass, but as simple as a steak is to serve (usually with a side of chips and mushroom sauce) steakhouses just don't cut it.  

On the other hand vegetarian restaurants score 80%, up there with Turkish, Korean, and Fish and Chips!




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* When discussing capital cities, Hobart, Darwin and Canberra are excluded due to their small sample size.

Out the back, by the clothes line

On Sunday I ate a grape, and I liked it.

I don't often eat grapes and perhaps I know why this is: grapes are one of my sacred foods.

Grapes don't do much for me in terms of flavour.  I mostly eat the small dark ones. Not necessarily muscats, but perhaps preferably so.  Grapes appear to have a very particular impact on me, and it is this impact which I don't want to dilute. That is why I don't eat them often.

As I bit into the first grape, which was my first grape in months if not close to a year, memories burst into my mind with surprising freshness.  I grew up around grapes, not in a wine making scenario, but rather household vines which were planted by my grandparents and had grown to cover the entire backyard.  These vines not only provided decent shade for weekend BBQs but also an endless supply of grapes every autumn, before dropping them all over the floors and making a mess of the entire place.  There was around a dozen varieties of grapes in those vines, and each variety occupied a different section of the yard.

I think I was the family member who least enjoyed the grapes. The vines I loved, but grapes fell on the cusp of my food spectrum, and I failed to indulge in their abundance.  I did however have my favourites.  These were the sweet muscats which grew close to the clothes lines and had none of the tartness which the paler grapes had.

My palate has certainly changed over the years, and I've grown to enjoy a number of fruits and veggies, and yet grapes still fall in the blurry edges.  What's different now is the powerful memories they conjure, the general vibe of what it felt like to grow up surrounded by family under the shade of these vineyards.

There are a few dishes which conjure these type of gustatory-inflamed memories and I am trying to manage my consumption of them to ensure their impact doesn't dissipate through over use.  I fear that indulging in these memories will make them fade quicker and I won't have them to remind me of what's gone by.

I recently made a roast chicken on rock salt (pollo a la sal) which had a similar reaction.  Even though there is nothing particularly incredible about roasting a chicken on an inch-high layer of rock salt (other than its deliciously crispy skin!) it was the closest thing I had to tradition when I was growing up. It was almost a Saturday ritual to have pollo a la sal for lunch, before being let out to destroy the world, and now this dish probably comes the closest to helping me retrieve those moments.

For whatever reason, memories helped along by either smell or taste, appear to be incredibly intensified.  Perhaps due to my life as an immigrant, nostalgia has become a powerful force.  As such, grapes, along with various other foods, have taken on a greater role and I look forward to eating them (occasionally) forever.  At least until google can recreate our reactions to them through other means.

Buen provecho!

The price of soy

What's the difference between egg noodles topped with a tomato based sauce and those swimming in soy?  In Melbourne: about $8.


In the world of comparative food pricing, geographical heritage is possibly the the leading variable.


After finding my new favourite cheap Italian in Melbourne, Macaronni Tratoria, I wondered why there is a lack of Italian or European cuisine in general, available for under $15 in a city where one can easily chow down about 12 dumplings for $7, deliciously filling pho for $8, or a tasty stir fry for under $10. 


Acknowledging that all cuisines are well represented in the higher end of the price spectrum, it is the lower end where the regional focus narrows.


The link does not appear to be based on the wealth of the country where the food originates.  East Asia cuisine is widely available cheaply, regardless of the wealth of the country of origin.  Both Singapore and Japan enjoy higher GDPs per capita than France, not to mention Italy or Spain, which are more in line with Hong Kong, yet donburis and some Singaporean dishes are widely available in single digits.

Some African cuisine appears to follow the East Asia formula, especially the delicious Ethiopian places setting up shop in Footscray.  These aren't quite as cheap as their Asian counterparts, but certainly lean towards the same end of the spectrum. Latin Americans on the other hand appear to ignore this unspoken pricing initiative.  Even prior to the current wave of Mayan idolisation with Mamasita's, the Newmarket Hotel and even Movida's Paco's Tacos all trying to make a few pesos, Mexican food wasn't as cheap as I would have expected.  A cheesy Mexican night out with a Burrito and an Enchilada (or any other combination of rice, beans and finely chopped meat you can make up) will cost you the equivalent of sponsoring a child in Guatemala for a month.  Argentinian restaurants are true to their over-inflated sense of wealth, priced equivalently to the average European restaurant, if not higher (though the sample size is relatively tiny to draw any real conclusions).


So what is impacting these menus? 


Presumably the Melbourne City Council is not subsidising restaurants' rent according to their cultural heritage.  Produce is available in the open market and doesn't include tariffs depending on the purchaser; and industrial relations laws, much like justice, is allegedly blind (at least until proven otherwise).  These three variables (rent, staff and produce) take care of the largest percentages of a restaurant's outgoings, so why the large discrepancy when it comes to costs?


Why is one empanada worth three samosas, one ravioli = two gyoza, and one croquette = four fufu?!
(Ok, the empanadas I completely understand: they're the reason tastebuds evolved.)


Eating out in Australia is relatively expensive. This is probably in part due to our equitable standards of living, with minimum wage being set much higher than in most other similarly wealthy countries, at $15.50 per hour.  In fact, I couldn't find any country with a higher legislated minimum wage, with Luxembourg probably coming the closest ($13.20), while most other countries being a distance behind*.  These, in combination with the current high rental prices, probably prop up our dining costs, but somehow East Asian cuisine manages to break the mold. 


It'll be interesting to see how this changes as Australia's demographics change, and what impact it has on our eating habits, but for now, I'm happy to enjoy what is on offer.


Ita daki mas!!




* For wealth and culturally similar comparisons: Canada's minimum wage is around $9.30 /hour (depending on province); UK's $8.95; USA $6.80...  (all in AU$)

Dumplings stakeholder consultation

A few weeks back, in an impatient and self-absorbed move, I ordered dinner for myself and two colleagues as soon as we entered the dumpling bar of choice, without consultation.

Having drunk our way through the evening I was now too hungry to wait to eat, colleague #1 was too bladdery to wait to go to the toilet, and colleague #2 too out-of-focus to read the menu. Being a regular at the restaurant I knew the dishes well and so proceeded to chose a selection of pork and shrimp dumplings (steamed and pan fried for diversity), as well as some fantastic hand-made noodles with pork in a soy-based sauce. Having decisively shouldered the responsibilities as required, and taken care of the unpleasantries, I felt we could now move to more important matters (as soon as #1 returned from the loo that is). What I had not taken into account was that both of my dining companions were vegetarians.

Merde!

This lack of stakeholder consultation (the importance of which I should have learned through my various public servant roles) led to a good belly laugh at my expense and an interesting social situation when I offered to offload a fresh plate of dumplings to the neighbouring table of young HK girls (results: pan fried pork 0 - steamed prawn delicacies 6), but also my wondering whether vegetarianism in Australia had spread so far as to infect public servants. Surely NGOs had that market cornered.

Census fail

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any conclusive evidence of the changing demography of the vegetarian community to satisfy my curiousity. In fact, I couldn't even find much data on whether vegetarianism was spreading. However, the trend of meat consumption in Australia is of more interest to me. After all, for moral and environmental reasons, that the total amount of meat consumed is of more importance than the disparity of its consumption. In other words, I think it a better tactic that everyone decrease their meat consumption, even with a stable level of vegetarians, than increasing the number of vegetarians without decreasing consumption in the non-veggo community.  

How has Australia's meat consumption changed over the last decade or so?

My assumption was that due to the growing awareness of issues such as health (red meat and colons), moral (queue a variety of docos on animal rights and current animal mistreatment), and environmental (beef and dairy being one of the biggest contributors to domestic-consumption carbon emissions), consumption of meat in Australian households would have decreased slightly over the past decade. This was also backed up by my anecdotal evidence of being surrounded by vegetarians at dinner tables (even though I hang around a lot less bleeding hearts than I used to!).

Superbite me

From the late 1970s up until 1998 we had a great publication called Apparent Consumption of Selected Foodstuffs (by the ABS), but it's no longer produced. So, to see the change over the past decade, I did some fairly rudimentary analysis. Based on Household Expenditure figures deflated by CPI (ie: inflation), I tried to work out the change in consumption of different food groups for Australians and found the following:

Consumption of "meats" has increased by about 7% per capita. This includes all meats (beef, octopus, spam, kangaroo, barramundi, brains, chooks, bacon, lamb, etc etc etc) which were consumed at home..

We also eat 7% more veggies, 11% more fruits and nuts and 15% more eggs! On the other hand we eat 6% less dairy products and 10% less carbs. Sounds to me like Atkins won!

"Meats" tell a story unto themselves. 

Red meats (beef, veal, lamb and mutton) are taking a battering, decreasing by almost 20%, while fish and seafood increased by 19%.  The story of the day, however, is the original white meat. Chicken consumption per capita has increased by 60% in the last decade, and that doesn't even include Nandos.

So, if there are more vegetarians amongst us, they are getting lost in the battery hens. But as far as environmental impact is concerned it appears we're (very) slowly turning in the right direction. Even though we are consuming more of most things (bad), we seem to be consuming more of the less bad things (veggies, fruit, seafood and chicken), and less of the more bad things (red meats and dairy). 


It seems to me that, ironically, the plummeting price of chicken, which probably occurred due to their terrible conditions, has had a much larger impact on our domestic emissions than any keep-cup/green-bag/car-pooling initiative out there.

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Big thanks to the ABS for their continuously supporting free access to information:

CPI: 

http://www.abs.gov.au/AUSSTATS/abs@.nsf/Lookup/6401.0Main+Features1Sep%202011?OpenDocument

HES 1998-99: 

http://www.abs.gov.au/AUSSTATS/abs@.nsf/DetailsPage/6535.01998-99?OpenDocument

HES 2009-10: 

http://www.abs.gov.au/AUSSTATS/abs@.nsf/productsbyCatalogue/45244540252D2FDDCA25710800769AD8?OpenDocument

Country fusion

Unlike many modern things (eg. cars, women and rock'n'roll), food does not appear to fare badly when compared to its previous models. Rarely, if ever, have I heard the phrase “they just don't make burgers like they used to!”. Not that I believe that when used to describe the golden era of any other commodity, that phrase holds much ground. I would much rather drive the cheapest car on the market today (a Kia, a Proton or whatever Great Wall cars recently released) than a 1950's Chevrolet (actually, the Chevys were pretty cool, but their non-existent safety features, lack of aircon, AM only radio and lacklustre steering just don't cut it any more... neither does Elvis). So, seeing as most of the food we consume today was available to previous generations, why doesn't it bear the brunt that only time and wisdom can provide?


It is true that individual ingredients appear to get singled out as deteriorating products: namely tomatoes no longer tasting like tomatoes, and pale egg yolks; but by and large most dishes appear to be enjoyed and praised in a manner suggesting satisfaction, not diminishing standards.


A great example of this was experienced on a recent Sunday drive out country. (The Chevy would've come in handy then, with its bench seating and cruisin' nature, one sure could enjoy music in those cars... sides A and B.) Determined to enjoy a good old-style country-pub lunch, a few of us settled in for a couple of beers at the Healesville Hotel. Unfortunately, a late breakfast had quenched most of our hanger. I, however, was not going to miss out on traditional fare, and as such, we ordered the Shepherds' Pie and Fish 'n' Chips. Not exactly testing, nor showy meals, but old school tucker was the order of the day.


Here, amongst the hordes of city dwellers looking for some country wisdom, lied the perfect opportunity to utter the phrase suggesting previous versions of these meals far outperformed any pleasure currently being felt. But then I savoured one hell of a pie. Nothing fancy, hardly even that memorable (in fact, I'm probably reliving this with a hint of nostalgic inaccuracy) but that slightly modernised version of a shepherds' pie, which one could almost call Modern Country-City Fusion, was spot on.


Sure, I hardly got to enjoy much of it, as my company who exhibited symptoms of 'with-child', quickly devoured it before most of us got a fork in. But I got enough of a taste to tick a box I'd driven 18 gallons for: country food, as good as it ever was.

Putting the x in espresso

My suburb has recently sprouted a new coffee shop. I have seen it every day for the past week, as I make my way up the ramp to my train station. There it stands, less than 50 metres from the platform I patiently wait at every morning, quietly craving away. And yet, I'm still to try it. I put this down to two main points: 

* Metro's (Melbourne's public transport train operators) roulette style time-tabling;
* My monocafenous relationship with Troy, my barista.


Seeing as my train line is known to be punctual only about 65% of the times (and my anecdotal evidence suggests the punctuality rate is way lower at peak hour) it is hard to predict when the train will come. Add to this my own inherent punctuality issues (I blame both nature and nurture for this one), sneaking in for a quick take-away cup is an adventure best left to the audacious ones amongst us.


A different story altogether would be had the café opened up on the train platform itself. What would they have to lose? I can't imagine that in my middle-class suburban haven there would be much of a café society outside of the commuter community. And being located right in front of the train station, their views don't add much to the atmosphere, at least for the less train-ly aroused among us. So why not take the product to the people, avoid the ridiculous rent prices we're currently experiencing across Australia, and crack a deal with Metro to wheel out a cafe-cart. Perhaps even giving the clientele something to do whilst they wait for then next delayed service. (Attention Platform Two: might as well make it a Large, you've got plenty of time!)


This could happen in most train stations, or other places with high levels of foot traffic, in particular where there is a waiting element in place. A large percentage of coffees consumed today (he says using qualitative statements to hide the obvious lack of research) are of the take away variety. And as much as part of the $3 - $4.50 we hand over the counter for 30mls of caffeine and some frothy milk goes towards the décor, music, and the general vibe of the joint, most of that is lost the moment you walk out with your styrofoam/cardboard container full of heart-pumping goodness. Why lead a horse to water, when you can install an Neverfail water cooler in the stable!


Similar concepts are available at almost every market across the country: from the multicultural beauty of the Mindil Night markets in Darwin, to the Anglo havens of the Prahran Markets in Melbourne, you can't escape the expressos; either from the back of a van, or from beautiful bespoke structures complete with patio furniture. There they are, converting beans to means. Why limit these to special events? Everyday people need coffee too.


My second concern, cheating on my barista, would still be an issue. Oh Troy, from TeeRoy Browns on Flinders St (or Banana Alley as it is colloquially known) with whom I've built a strong relationship; having gotten past the awkward first dates, reminding him of how I liked it; through the initial Q&A get-to-know-you sessions; to our now comfortable and fulfilling routine. It would take a special cuppa to steal me away. Especially because Troy makes one of the most consistently awesomest coffees in town! (http://teeroybrowns.com/)


Still, if Troy were to lose the walls, and set-up shop on the side-walk, I wouldn't judge, because it's what's inside the cup that really counts.

Sans salad

As much as food these days is somewhat of a social lubricant, or in my case, an opportunity for others to speak while the food interrupts me, it hasn't always been such an enhancer of my social life.


Argentinians are known to be a carnivorous bunch, having only recently relinquished a long held mantel of highest beef consumption per capita to Uruguay. But even in such good company, I stood out for my disdain towards fruit and vegetables, and in particular, the common salad. This side dish mostly made up of lettuce, tomato and onion, with a light dressing, has long tormented me and has impacted on my personality and quality of life far more than desirable.


As a young lad, I hesitated and desisted from going to my friends' houses for dinner and sleep-overs, as invariably "it" would be served at the table, and the shame I felt at having to ask for a dish with meat or pasta, but no salad, made the rest of the evening an exercise in self castigation. These became some of my earliest memories of anxiety, a feeling I still get every time I eat in public.


Unfortunately, my condition was not very well accepted by the community in the 80s, and there were certainly no support groups for it, so I suffered alone. The social isolation which ensued still lingers in my psyche. I can still smell the balsamic dressing in my nightmares. While the other children laughed and played, and happily rejoiced on the wonderful memory-making moments that slumber parties, school camps and outdoor picnics presented them, I was putting a down payment on my first box of Aropax.


As I grew older, I somewhat made peace with my eating disorder. I also vastly enlarged my range of consumables, but the social anxiety persists. Catered work lunches are a particular occasion when the cold sweats and enlarged pupils occur. No doubt in an attempt to justify the prices, caterers ensure that every sandwich on the table has at least three colours within the slices, and such artistry can only mean pain, suffering or starvation for the rest of my afternoon. Under such circumstances, which usually find one holding a sandwich with nothing but a napkin or a slight paper plate, not even Houdini could make the salad disappear without destroying the meal, or making a scene. Especially as one is usually simultaneously conversing, or 'networking', in close proximity with those who one is trying to impress, or in the very least, not disgust. And so, the torturous salad is once again consumed... bite by bite. Or more predictably, end up discarded untouched and hidden, amongst the rest of the over-catering, which no doubt occurred.


The backyard bbq provides the social equivalent to the work morning tea, with the added bonus that these events are not catered but rather a physical manifestation of your friends' effort, love and affection for each other. And so, as the makers of said salads mingle nearby, their leering so intense it could re-heat the fried onion, (which I certainly do partake in), the salad avoidance dance is taken to almost professional levels.


By my late twenties I had become a lot more adept at dealing with such situations, carefully avoiding the wrong queue at a buffet, purposely ensuring to be last serving oneself in order for the portions to have run out, or filling the plate with enough bread so the lack of salad doesn't raise much curios inquisition, but occasionally, when you least expect it, in a moment of distraction, someone selflessly hands you a plate with a whole side of it. And as I look down unto such a plate, almost with a balsamic-drowned resignation, I curse, "Oh salad, why hast thou forsaken me!"