unlikely patriotism

I usually consider myself a mildly patriotic person. I enjoy watching fireworks sparkle in the night sky, cheering for America in the Olympics, and eating watermelon. However, arguing that America is superior to countries or proudly mouthing the pledge of allegiance has never come near the top of my priority list. I have never felt the urge to clothe myself in red, white, and blue garments and sing patriotically come the fourth of July. However, this year when the fourth arrived, dragging its multitude of cheap plastic flags and American themed attire in tow, I was ready. I felt the need to belt “I’m proud to be an American” and have a backyard barbeque, complete with all things American – meat, unhealthy side dishes, and the king of beers, Mr. Budwiser himself. This uncharacteristic behavior was the result of a 4 week stint in Panama. A wonderful country that leaves much to be desired.

The majority of my first month in Panama was exceptional – the rural countryside dotted with Brahmin cows, large trees dripping with ripe mangos, and traditional food provided ample opportunity for new experiences and photo-ops. The situations that made me long for American soil did not accost me as soon as I disembarked from the plane. I did acknowledge their presence at first, but having just arrived in a foreign country, accepted them as a novelty – a unique trait to write home about. However as the repeated annoyances increased in frequency, my patience dwindled. For four weeks, the following behaviors and characteristics of Panama bothered both Emily and I and by the end we were longing to hear flight attendants say, “Welcome to Miami.”

1) Staring: Staring in Panama, particularly those of the male persuasion, is a common practice. I acknowledge that two gringas barreling down a curvy two-lane road in a dust covered SUV merit some attention, but not a two-minute blink free period. The intensity in the gazes generated a feeling of concern – a “please blink for I feel your eyes will dry out due to the prolonged staring” feeling. It’s a problem.
2) Driving: In Panama, people drive as if there are no other vehicles on the road, ignoring lanes and other vehicles. In some cases, the lanes vanish and people continue to drive along as if the yellow lines are still there. In addition, we have come to the conclusion that Panamanians do not believe in street signs. The freeways lack exit signs and directions are given in a curly-cue manner that is a greater hindrance than help.



3) Conducting scientific research is difficult: bureaucratic mismanagement and Smithsonian miscommunication thwart all science plans. Well, they prevent legal and permitted science. It’s frustrating.
4) Et cetera – there are various other idiosyncrasies that cause fits of venting, but I feel there is enough text on this page and that if you have made it this far you deserve a patriotic recipe. (Patriotic designates the requirement of ingredients that are lacking in Panama).



Blueberry and Goat Cheese Salad

Emily and I threw together this salad on our first night back in Florida. We swooned at all the options at the grocery store and purchased ingredients we could not obtain in Panama. The salad’s flavors burst with the tang of goat cheese, sweetness of plump blueberries, and the crunch of candied walnuts. We were proud to be Americans.

½ pound spring mix (this would also be good with the sweet lettuce mix Happy Boy Farms sells at various bay area farmer’s market)
1 cup blueberries
½ large fuji apple, chopped into bite sized pieces
goat cheese (in whatever quantity strikes your mood)
½ cup candied walnuts*
balsamic dressing**

Toss spring mix, blueberries, apples in large bowl. Sprinkle with goat cheese and candied walnuts. Serve with dressing on the side.

*Candied Walnuts
½ cup chopped walnuts
¾ cup brown sugar
¼ tsp cinnamon
pinch of salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Place walnuts on baking sheet; when oven is ready bake for 6 minutes or until nuts are brown and fragrant. Pour brown sugar, cinnamon, and toasted walnuts into a skillet or other frying pan. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Heat frying pan contents over medium heat and stir continuously until the sugar begins to melt. *Beware at this step the sugar may start smoking, so it is best to turn on an overhead fan to prevent the untimely clang of a smoke alarm.* Continue stirring as the sugar begins to melt and do so until the walnuts are thoroughly coated. Remove from heat and immediately transfer to the baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Let cool. Store in airtight container. Keep in a cool dry place (if keeping for more than a week, store in the refrigerator).

**Balsamic Dressing
¼ cup olive oil
3 tbsp balsamic vinegar
Salt and pepper to taste

Mix all ingredients thoroughly. Store in refrigerator. Reserve excess dressing for future salad endeavors. You will not regret this decision.

running with the cows

Another odd experience while adventuring around Panama. When we were on the pacific side (before a cold struck me down and snot flowed out of my nose in epic proportions), I decided to go on a run because that is who I am. I obsessively run, but that is not a little known detail; it's simply a fact of life. On previous forays in exercise, I would leave Tanager Tourism and turn left to run up a hill (with this strategic planning I end my run on a downhill, which is quite lovely and almost necessary when the surrounding atmosphere makes me drip with sweat when I merely step outside). This day, I turned to the right and headed down the road because I knew that I would be able to run through the small town of Malena and running the same route over and over again gets boring.
So I went off, running along and enjoying the small breeze that rustled through the trees and overcast weather that made the air much cooler. Per usual, there were very few vehicles on the road and my only companions were cows and chickens that foraged in the pastures on the hillsides.



I ran by a few small houses (houses are simply buildings made out of painted cement blocks with a thatched or tin roof, not structurally sound or really desirable in any aspect). After a few minutes, I reached the minuscule town of Malena, so small in fact that it takes 2 minutes to run (not drive) through. While running, I managed the obligatory wave to passersby and hola/buenas (the customary greetings) that is expected when passing the locals. I waved at a few people, but was focused more on reaching the top of a massive hill than fulfilling the normal social conventions. Thus, I panted onward. I originally thought the only odd occurrence on my run was that an old man harboring a machete started to run next to me for about 10 seconds. Weird, but not too unexpected in el campo (what they call the rural region of panama). I managed to reach the top of the hill, turned around and headed back to a shower and dinner.



The next day a Peace Corp volunteer who lives in Malena came to have dinner with us at the inn. Loes (the owner) cooks dinner for us each night and then we eat family style all together, so this night we just had one more person. We were talking and she said, "oh, I saw you running yesterday." And I responded with the usual chitchat. Later, I commented to Emily that she had seen me running to which the Peace Corp girl responded, "yeah, everyone saw you running. I think you made some of the men's weeks. Maybe even their months." We laughed, but I didn't think anything of it until the next day we were at a small restaurant in Torio (another small town near Palmilla, where we were staying) and this woman walks in. The first thing she said to me was, "those men are just waiting for you to come back and run by. You caused quite a stir." (Written, it sounds kind of creepy, but it wasn't it was just weird).
After hearing these stories, Emily and I tried to figure out why they would be so interested in a foreigner running down the road, covered in sweat and struggling to breathe. I concluded it is because I am white. Also, I am very tall. I feel my conclusions would be backed up with scientific evidence if a study were ever completed. I guess it is good to know that some people enjoyed my presence, even though I was unaware that they had even seen me.

the lone patrons

For the past 6 weeks, I have been gallivanting across Panama, studying mangroves with various members of the Sousa Lab. This experience occurred a few weeks ago, but due to the delay in starting this blog, it is being released at a later date. It does not revolve around food, but due to their eccentricity, the events of my morning need to be relayed to you. It was one of the weirdest days of the trip. Emily and I still shake our heads in wonderment at the events that transpired.
We stayed at a very nice hotel on the outskirts of Panama City because Emily stumbled upon a good deal on hotels.com. It is the rainy season in Panama and their "winter" (even though they are in the northern hemisphere, but our winter vacation is the summer vacation for students). Thus, most hotels we stay in have very few guests - this one was no exception. We arrived in the late afternoon, wandered around the hotel, made gin and tonics to drink before dinner, and then went to dinner and drank more sangria. It appears that I am an alcoholic. Don’t worry mom, I’m not. But I digress. We then ate and drank until we were the last ones in the restaurant, which was not difficult because a total of 6 other people were dining at the same time - 5 of which were in the same party. That evening was fairly uneventful, but the scene needed to be set.


(Panama City is in a constant state of renovation, construction ebbs and flows depending on the state of the economy).

Now for the real story. The next morning we wanted to go swimming because a) it is always hot in Panama and swimming is refreshing and b) we could delude ourselves into thinking we were exercising and we were are a hotel with multiple pools, so it was practically begging us to jump in. We knew that there were two pools, one of which had slides and was obviously the top candidate, but that one did not open until 10, so we decided to stop by the first one before trekking to the second one. The first pool turned out to be a small bathtub sized rectangle (ok, it may have been slightly bigger, but still) with both leaves and dead bugs floating in it. Needless to say, the murky water did not beckon as we had hoped. We decided to wait it out and walked down to the next pool, which turned out to be a water park with many slides, a lazy river, a wave pool, and concession stands. Not to mention cages with monkeys, peacocks, and other exotic animals. WEIRD. A water park with a zoo. In a hotel. Who would have thought. The one kink in the plan was that the park was not supposed to open for another half and hour. But when we asked a worker if the park was open, he said yes and we walked in to find a tons of lifeguards, people cleaning and no other patrons. It was so empty. We thought we were in for an amazing experience, you know, the whole "because you've been so good your dad has rented out the entire waterpark for you and a friend" situation. Well, not so much. Upon closer inspection the slides were slightly dilapidated and there was no water running down them (think painful metal-skin contact) and even when we tried to get in the lazy river, a group of workers after watching us struggle to obtain 2 intertubes and perch ourselves on the floating cheerios, then felt it was appropriate to shout that a man was still cleaning and we were not permitted to get in the water yet. How friendly.
We then decided to wait it out because, uh duh, wouldn't you wait to have a water park all to yourself even if it appeared to be built in 1980? I feel that question does not even merit asking. We situated ourselves and started reading our books when a man, the same man in fact who had told us the park was indeed open, ambled over to us, stuck out his hand to shake it and promptly sat down. And spoke, in Spanish of course, about how his favorite team from the US is the Atlanta Braves and blah blah blah. So forward and Panamanian. Finally, after much sitting around and an awkward trip to the bathroom where two ladies were still cleaning and I was taller than the door of the bathroom stall (because I am taller than 95% of the Panamanian population) we were allowed to float on the river. It moved slowly and we were gawked at by an inordinate amount of pool workers, but in all we were laughing so hard about the situation that it really did not matter that we were inching along at a rate of a snail who is taking valium.
Then we got up, waved goodbye to our new friend who loves the Braves and retreated to our giant room for a shower and packing. It was such a weird morning. The most ironic thing is that the hotel advertisements portray people enjoying themselves immensely at the hotel, including on water slides. Maybe it just needs to be the dry season and the place fills with people. Who the eff knows.

adaptive baking

The allure of a loaf of banana bread baking in the oven cannot be resisted. The scent of bananas that have been mashed with tenacity and then stirred gently into a lumpy batter, coupled with hints of cinnamon and coffee draws people from their desks and far off rooms into the kitchen. People slowly drift in armed with an array of well rehearsed nonchalant comments such as wow, that smells good and ooh what’s that – words heavy with the drop-a-hint tone. In the search for what to make, I ambled into the kitchen of the Smithsonian laboratory at Galeta in Panama. I took the sight of three black bananas slightly oozing on the as a not so subtle signal from the baking deities. I accepted the challenge and began mashing the bananas, an easy task since they were almost to the point where a straw could be inserted into the banana and the mushy fruit sucked out – a disgusting texture, one questionably loved by my father, yet still edible.

Once I removed the bread from the oven, the trickle of people wandering through the kitchen increased – guards, scientists, and Smithsonian employees made their presence known. I like to think my superb baking skills attracted the many people, but I know the truth. It is programmed into the genes of every person to follow their nose to a probable food source in the hopes that they will be rewarded. They were. Some people were even given, albeit grudgingly, two slices.


Banana Bread ala Panama
Barely modified from Orangette

This is not my favorite banana bread recipe, but it is astoundingly simple and requires few ingredients - a necessary attribute when traveling, for no one wants to cart around half a bottle of nutmeg or unused sticks of butter. I like to call it adaptive baking - assess what is available and then use it to create deliciousness. My favorite recipe can be found in Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg, but in the mean time, if you are adventuring around the globe or have a severely depleted pantry, this recipe will more than satisfy the desire for a delicious slice of banana bread.

3 very ripe bananas
2 large eggs
1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1-2tsp. instant coffee powder (or, if necessary, 1 tbsp of strong coffee)
1 cup semisweet chocolate chopped or chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter a standard loaf pan or muffin tins.

In a medium mixing bowl, mash the bananas well with a fork. Add the eggs and stir to combine. Add the flour, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, and vanilla and stir to mix. Add ¾ cup of the chocolate chips, and stir briefly. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Sprinkle remaining chocolate on top of batter.


Bake for 35-40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Let cool in the pan on a wire rack for at least 15 minutes before serving or dig into it right away. Sometimes waiting is overrated.