Terrorist themed restaurant in Lebanon

by Abha Malpani on

Who said terrorism and violence couldn’t be laughed at, or to that matter, even eaten!? Fast food restaurant “Buns and Guns” in Beirut allows you to do both.

In a space decorated as if a military post (with weapons, ammunition and camouflage netting hanging from the ceiling), this eatery serves “rocket propelled grenade” (chicken on a skewer), “terrorist bread” and other dishes called Kalashnikov, Dragunov, Viper and B52.

This concept is unique and the owner says that it’s successful as people laugh before they ask any questions. I guess the second meaning of “buns” is out of context for people who speak English as a second language, so with that in mind, the name is smart and the motto is even smarter: “A sandwich can kill you”. The image is the menu. Apparently, people eat to the sound of guns rather than elevator music — perhaps the only disturbing element of the diner.

When I lived in Dubai, I worked with and encountered many Lebanese people and one thing that stood out about most of them was their great sense of humor. When such a war torn country can take a serious issue and knock some giggles into it tastefully (in this case, literally!), it’s refreshing.

China renaming menu items to make them less bizarre

by Iva Skoch on

Sometimes not knowing the language of the country you are visiting is a good thing.

How else could you possibly justify ordering a local dish called “Husband and wife’s lung slice” or possibly “Chicken without sexual life” in Mandarin? This way, you simply believe something must have gone awfully wrong with the translation.

Chances are, it is an accurate translation.

China is known for a wide variety of the most bizarre food names. Some of them are so bizarre, in fact, they make foreigners turn elsewhere. So, with the Olympics a few short weeks away, China is not taking any chances and giving its cuisine a linguistic makeover, CNN reports.

It is proposing that restaurants change the names of exotic, but bizarrely named, delicacies to make them more delectable for the estimated 50,000 visitors arriving in August for the Summer Games. The government has put down more than 2,000 proposed names in a 170-page book that it has offered to Beijing hotels.

The appetizer “Husband and wife’s lung slice” is taking on the more appetizing “Beef and ox tripe in chili sauce.” “Chicken without sexual life” has been transformed into “Steamed pullet.”

The Chinese say the names of their dishes focus more on appearance than taste or smell. But Westerners are more accustomed to names that describe the ingredients and how they are cooked — such as pot roast.
OK, I get that. I’m all about appearance. But, honestly, how do you focus on appearance and come out with a name like “Chicken without sexual life,” that’s beyond me.

[Thanks, Noelle, for the tip.]

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Galley Gossip: Sandvich Girl

by Heather Poole on

I’ve been called many things in my life – good and bad (mostly good) – but the other day I was called something that made me stop dead in my scuffed up Mary Janes on the nappy blue carpet, something that made me, for a split second, take a step back and wonder, what the heck have I done with my life? And then I quickly shook myself out of it, because my life, to put it quite simply, is pretty darn great, and so I continued down the aisle.

What was it that actually made me examine my life at 35,000 feet? It wasn’t much. Just two little words. That’s it. But they were two oh so innocent, yet very shocking, little words.

I mean there I was, rolling down the aisle behind the snack cart. It was a nice day. My crew was good and the passengers were great. What more could a flight attendant ask for? I think we were probably somewhere over Illinois when I asked, over and over and over, “Would you care to purchase a snack?” That’s when I heard a scratchy voice located somewhere not too far behind me say something I could not believe.

“Sandvich girl! Oh sandvich girl!”

At first I laughed, and then I turned around. That’s when I realized it was me that the petite frail one wearing black wrap around glasses had called sandvich girl. ME! I was sandvich girl. Dear god, I remember thinking, how did this happen? As I handed the woman a turkey and cheese sandwich and collected a five dollar bill.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, and quickly moved the cart.

Like most flight attendants, I have a college degree. I’ve done the whole nine to five thing. Guess what, I really did not enjoy waking up every morning at the same time and going to the same job where I worked with the same people every single day. Oh no, that was just not for me. Even though I had the kind of job many people would kill for: I designed clothes. (Okay, so they were western clothes, so what! They were clothes nonetheless, and I designed them.) Then I designed watches for a well known watch company. I probably designed a watch you even wore. (Thirteen years ago.) The jobs were great, but I had this strange feeling that something was missing in my life, and that something wasn’t a new car or a new outfit or whatever the money I made could purchase. It was something more. What, I did not know. Not at the time. So I got up at eight in the morning each and every day, jumped into the Ford Probe, drove fifteen minutes to the building where I sat at the same cubicle and worked on, basically, the same thing, until I ate lunch at the same places with the same people, and so on, until it was time to go home. I did this until one fateful day, and that was the day I did not receive the raise I thought I deserved. Of course at the time it felt like the worst thing in the world. Little did I know that not getting that raise turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. What did I do? I quit. And then a few days later I answered an ad in the newspaper. A no frills airline was looking for flight attendants. Why not, I remember thinking.

“I’ll do it for a few months, just for fun, until I find another job,” I remember telling my friends .

At the time I was determined not to jump into just any job. I wanted to take my time and find a good job. One that paid well. And while I went on several interviews looking for that perfect job, I served blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies back and forth between Ft Lauderdale, Newark, Long Beach, and Dallas for just $99 a flight at night. Life was good.

Well one month turned into two, and two turned into three, and after I realized I wasn’t going anywhere, that this was it, I applied to another airline, a major carrier, where before I knew it one year had somehow turned into thirteen. And I still love the job. Actually, what I love, is the lifestyle. The flexibility. The freedom. The excitement of not knowing what the day will bring. And leaving that day behind when I step off the airplane. I love knowing I can go anywhere anytime as long as there’s an airport nearby. Believe it or not, I even like wearing the flammable polyester navy blue uniform. (Please don’t tell anyone.) Oh sure, I wish things were different in the airline industry. Who doesn’t? I mean who doesn’t wish things were just better in the world in general? Hey, that’s life. And my life, I have to say, is good, real good. Even if I am sandvich girl.

In Mexico City, forget the nachos. Eat the street tacos.

by Grant Martin on

Several dishes come to mind when most Americans think of Mexican food: tacos, burritos, quesadillas, nachos, what have you. It’s fairly simple, delicious food that many, including myself, have grown to love, and when I left the Midwest for Mexico City last weekend I was looking forward to trying some authentic Mexican food that wasn’t in a wrapper with a name on it and wasn’t eaten for “fourth meal”.

What I was told on the way south was that Mexico City was the capital of street taco stands. That yes, eating at them was a little risky, but the reward was delicious and cheap. I must have had a dozen street tacos around the Zocalo while I was tooling around the battered city streets, my favorite filling a combination of some sort of steak, grilled peppers and onions, all for a mere 40 cents per taco.

What I was not told is that Mexico City is not the capital of nachos. My only attempt at ordering the delicious snack resulted in a sad pile of corn chips with some sort of Velveeta cheese sloshed over the top. No meat, lettuce or salsa. I saw another couple at the next restaurant looking dejectedly at theirs as well.

As it turns out, nachos are more of a Tex-Mex entity and I imagine as you get closer to the border the nachos become more voluminous (fun story on how the nacho was created on Wikipedia). I had no idea.

So take my advice when you go to Mexico: avoid your common American beliefs on what a taco, nacho or any other Mexican food should be as soon as you touch the ground. The nachos are crummy and the tacos are amazing. Just be careful what stand you go to and pick the popular one that everyone is milling around — that’s probably going to be the cleanest one.

Fresh fruit, Costa Rican style

by Jeremy Kressmann on

One of my most vivid travel memories was the first time I tasted fruit in Costa Rica. I was staying with a host family, and upon arrival they served me a plate of pineapple as a welcome snack. Nothing could prepare me for that first bite. It was sweet and tangy beyond belief, like a piece of sour candy that had just been plucked straight off the plant. I certainly did not lack for fresh produce growing up in the snowy climes of the Midwest, but your average pineapple in Chicago has traveled thousands of miles to reach the basket sitting on my kitchen counter. Not exactly ideal conditions for ripening and flavor.

After pineapple, I sampled several other interesting produce items like the tamarind, which is often consumed in liquid form and has a flavor I found similar to apple juice. But my favorite fruit snack during my visit was the Costa Rican mango. Other Gadling bloggers like Karen have sung the praises of mangoes before, and I have to agree. The great thing about many Central American countries like Costa Rica is they like to add an extra “kick” to their mango snack. After cutting the fruit into slices, they throw it in a plastic bag and add in a mixture of lime juice, salt and chili powder. The sweet, the sour, the savory and the spicy all rolled into one; there’s no other flavor like it.

Lucky for us North Americans, this delicious mango snack is sold by street vendors in many major urban areas – I recently discovered it for sale here in New York. Or you can make your own – I can’t promise it will taste as good as eating it in the tropics, but I’m sure it’s still delicious.