Oil Pulling? This is the new health craze (and I tried it)

Gargling Coconut Oil.

Gargling Coconut Oil.

I’m amazed, fascinated, disgusted, and yes, more than a little bit curious about the latest health trend. Swishing oil around your mouth is the latest in oral health!  And I tried it. Apparently the practice comes from Ayurvedic medicine and the acclaimed benefits run the gamut from teeth whitening, breath freshening, all the way to curing infection and liver problems. Lets just say that I’m in it for the sake of curiosity and possibly some whiter fangs.

How to do it:

Grab the nearest vegetable based oil. You can use coconut oil, sesame oil, or even olive oil. Put about a tablespoon in your mouth and start swirling it around. Set your timer for 20 minutes. The trick is to swish the oil around calming and in a relaxed fashion, I learned this the hard way.

At about 15 minutes my cheeks and lips began to tremble with exhaustion, I guess 1 tablespoon of delicious unrefined coconut oil was a bit too much volume for my tiny chipmunk cheeks. Also, I was a bit overzealous with the ‘pulling.’

After 20 minutes, spit the oil into the trash can – not the sink or you will clog your pipes! The idea is that this oil draws the bacteria out from your mouth, so make sure you don’t swallow it. Now go rinse your mouth with warm water and brush your teeth like you normally would.

Everyone I’ve talked to is similarly intrigued by the new concept. After reading this Jezebel article, even Zev was curious enough to try it!

Health fads are bizarre. It’s impossible to pinpoint how these sorts of things come into popular consciousness. But Oil Pulling has officially arrived as a thing. And I am always willing to try something harmless and gimicky.

I’m on my second day of oil pulling and I must admit that my teeth look a wee bit whiter (real or perceived?), my breath is fresher, and my teeth are insanely smooth. I’m hooked, and maybe you should be too?

Another health fad that I totally love: Dr. Bronner’s Soaps!

Polite Smiles and Braised Leeks

Riverside Park is quite charming in the snow.

Riverside Park really is quite charming in the snow. But the 10th snow storm of the winter is significantly less charming than the first. The novelty of this winter is dead.

Someone asked me recent how moving to Manhattan has been. The city is enormous, overwhelming, cold in all senses of the word, and intimidating. But I grew up in the South, where they always tell you ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.’ So the adjustment has been (smile). I think this politeness rule goes doubly true for the blog. So I’ve been a bit quiet recently. However, springtime has me coming out of my shell and loving trying to love my new home.

These articles really struck a cord with me. What to do if you’re falling out of love with New York. And most saliently, New York Doesn’t Love You.

Getting my engagement ring sized in the Diamond District.

Getting my engagement ring sized in the Diamond District. This sparkly strip of Manhattan really is delightful and you can easily burn an hour gawking at the windows.

Whenever I need some comfort food, I make braised leeks with vinaigrette. They are simple, hearty, and a cheerful shade of green. Transforming the humble, sandy leek into an elegant dish is the most satisfying act of alchemy of which I am capable.

Zev noticed my unusual obsession with leeks. I didn’t grow up eating them, but I have learned to love their versatility. Cheap, plentiful in the winter, and seemingly insubstantial, they are easily transformed into an impressive side dish by simmering them gently in stock for 10 to 15 minutes and smothering them in a tangy mustard vinaigrette. A perfect vinaigrette is all about the ratio of 3-1-1 (6 tablespoons olive oil, 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard, 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar). I borrowed this recipe from Nora Ephron’s impossibly witty novel Heartburn.

Learning how to prep leeks was a culinary revelation. It felt like unlocking a little secret. Trim off 1/4 inch of the short white root fibers and generously lop off the tough fibrous green end to where the stalk isn’t tough and fiberous. Preserve a delicate stalk segment ranging in color from white to pale spring green. This is the tenderest portion of the leek plant and the most delicious. Slice the leek lengthwise down the middle and rinse out the sand between the layers. Lay the leek halves cut side down in a medium saute pan, add enough stock to cover, and simmer for 15 minutes until tender.

Serve warm or cool with vinaigrette. Imagine you’re sitting at a rustic patio table in the South of France opposite Julia Child and Stanley Tucci. Warm weather is on the way!

Old Blue is ready for the warm weather!

Old Blue is ready for the warm weather!

 

Culture Shock and Cooking

Meet our beautiful Peking duck, he was a total quack up.

Meet our beautiful Peking duck, he was a total quack up.

We returned to America earlier this month and were struck by two things; firstly, the icy blast of a polar vortex that was freezing much of the East Coast (including Manhattan, where we’re setting up home), and secondly, a jolt of culture shock. We slowly unpacked our bags, constantly expecting to wake up back in Southeast Asia on a damp mildewy mattress. But here we are, a month later, still hacking it out in snowy Manhattan.

It’s been just over a month since we came back to New York, and it’s starting to feel like home. I spent the initial two weeks driving up and down the east coast visiting friends and family, a leisurely and scenic tour up and down the East coast. I drove from New York to North Carolina and back, stopping in DC, Charlottesville, and Carborro. It was a very productive looking form of denial – denial of the culture shock I’m going through, denial of impending unemployment, and denial of being in a very inbetween place.

What better thing to do when you’re working through your culture shock than to cook? I cooked a seared juicy steak and creamed spinach for my mother, turkey pot pie for my father and sister, eggplant parmesean for my friends in Charlottesville, and even Peking duck for my soon-to-be-in-laws.

In case you’re wondering how to make Peking duck, check out this uber helpful tutorial from Serious Eats. It was a lengthy but surprisingly simple endeavor.

Links from around the interwebs:

The Reality Behind Instagram Feeds, so true!

Comfort Food for the Cold Weather: Bon App’s Cacio e Pepe

What Happens When You Live Abroad

The Hunt for the Perfect Understated Nail Polish

How to Quit Traveling in 10 Easy Steps

It's tough to walk away from these kind of sunsets.

It’s tough to walk away from these sunsets. Neil Island, Andamans

  1. Call your Parents.
  2. Tell them you’re never coming home.
  3. Listen to your mom/dad/sibling get all weepy at the thought of you extending your travel plans.
  4. Think about how cold hearted you must be to hurt your parents like this.
  5. But seriously, how cruel are you?
  6. Consider the bathtub/washing machine/mac n’ cheese/clean bed etc. waiting for you at home.
  7. When was the last time you didn’t sleep fully clothed and mummified in a sleep sack?
  8. That nagging headache, is that malaria? Dengue? Or just caffeine deficiency.
  9. Book tickets home.
  10. 10. Call parents and tell them you’re coming home. Hear them cry with joy.

MORE TEARS?!?!!?

Screw it, you need a good meal and a clean bed. It’s time to go home.

We had an amazing final two weeks of our trip traveling through India with a rambunctious group of friends from the US, and capped things off with the beautiful wedding  of our close friends in Kolkata. We’re finally home in NYC and easing ourselves back into the real world of applying for jobs, moving into an apartment, and generally being productive members of society once again. Our trip may be over, but readers fear not! We plan to continue to regale you with tales of our adventures eating, cooking, and living life in the Big Apple.

Early morning Mumbai

Early morning deserted streets. Colaba, Mumbai.

Early morning deserted streets. Colaba, Mumbai.

Mumbai is not much of an early-morning city. Morning rush hour peaks between 9 and 11am, and we’ve heard that the average work day runs from 10am to 7pm or so. Given my penchant for markets, industrial areas and other infrastructure-related attractions, I scheduled a busy morning visiting a few of the more unusual sights throughout the city. Some of these places are best seen at the crack of dawn.

The first stop, the Sassoon fish docks at 5am, was a little too early and smelly for Eliza’s taste, so I left our hotel in the Colaba neighborhood alone while it was still dark for the short walk to the docks. I quickly joined the throngs of sari-clad women carrying big empty plastic tubs on their heads. I entered the docks through an avenue of ice factories, fishing supply dealers, and tea shops into the early hours of the market.

Ladies heading to the fish market.

Ladies heading to the fish market.

Ice factory near the fish market, Mumbai.

Ice factory near the fish market, Mumbai.

Along the sides of the pier, hulking wooden trawlers were packed nose-in, 2 or 3 boats deep. Med stood on the boat decks buried ankle deep in their catch, sorting it into piles of shrimp, squid, and scaly fish of all shapes and sizes. On the pier, men and women ferried baskets of fish on their heads and on long wooden carts to stalls where they hawk their wares, organized neatly by type and size on the concrete floor.

Due to its proximity to a Naval pier, photos were prohibited so I didn’t bring a camera, but I managed to snap a few mediocre iPhone shots on the walk there. It’s always cool to see the fishing-village roots of an otherwise huge and metropolitan city. It’s a side of Mumbai that most people either don’t know about, or can’t drag themselves out of bed to see.

After stopping for a quick chai at a dockside canteen and swinging by the hotel to pick up Eliza, we caught the commuter train to the suburb of Dadar to see the tail end of the wholesale flower market. The highway underpass just next to the train station is packed with shops and stalls selling flowers, wreaths, and even full grown banana trees for temple offerings. Wandering among the baskets overflowing with bright saffron colored marigolds and sweet smelling jasmine buds was a welcome change in sight and smell from the day’s first venue.

Flower market vendors. Dadar, Mumbai.

Flower market vendors. Dadar, Mumbai.

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Roses for sale. Dadar, Mumbai.

Roses for sale. Dadar, Mumbai.

We hopped back on the train just in time to catch sunrise through the always-open doors of Mumbai’s commuter rail cars. Riding the train in Mumbai is an adventure in and of its self. During peak hours, you literally have to fight your way into the packed cars, through a wall of men (women ride in separate cars and are generally spared the worst of the chaos), and hang out the open doors to avoid the crush. The cars were mercifully empty on a Saturday at 7am, and provided a drive-by tour of the shantytowns and highrises of Mumbai in the orange dawn light.

Our third stop, Mahalaxmi Dobhi ghat, is the most famous of the city’s many clothes washing centers. Spread over a couple of acres, dobhi ghat is lined with small concrete cubicles filled knee deep with water and featuring a smooth stone slab in the center where washer men soap, scrub, and beat the clothes of the entire city. The complex is shaded by endless lines of color sorted uniforms, sheets, jeans, and dress shirts drying in the sun.

On our way out of dhobi ghat, we stumbled upon a street vendor selling pieces of a giant paratha (flaky, chewy and delightfully greasy flat breads), topped with bright orange dhal halwa, a deliciously sweet and sticky confection made of semolina, butter, sugar, and flavored with cardamom. The combination was a totally new treat for us, as was the sheer diameter of the parathas, which were sold by ripped off a handful at a time. Stumbling across unique local snacks, especially sold in the street, is my absolute favorite thing about traveling, so the experience added another awesome note to an already eventful day.

Early morning at dhobi ghat. Mahalaxmi, Mumbai.

Early morning at dhobi ghat. Mahalaxmi, Mumbai.

Paratha and halwa outside of dhobi ghat. Mahalaxmi, Mumbai.

Paratha and halwa outside of dhobi ghat. Mahalaxmi, Mumbai.

We arrived at our final and favorite destination at 8am, just as life in the city was beginning to pick up. We hoped the odor of the Buleshwar Pandrapole would help us navigate to it, but after a few minutes of fruitless sniffing we came to a grass delivery waiting in the street, and followed a man carrying a bail of hay through alleys. The Pandrapole was opened in the mid 1800′s to shelter pigs and dogs after the British instituted a policy of shooting strays in the street at night. It now houses a variety of creatures, but the majority of space is dedicated to a hundred or so of the fattest and happiest cows, calves, and bulls either Eliza or I had ever met.

We didn’t see any milking operation there, but we assume it is also used as a local dairy. However, the cause for the cows’ excessive girth is the dozens of local Hindu devotees who come each day to feed the cows as an auspicious offering. The facility sells bundles of grass and grain laddus, baseball sized lumps of yeasty smelling oats. We of course couldn’t pass up the opportunity to feed and pet some furry friends, especially the babies, and although photos aren’t allowed, I managed to sneak a quick shot of Eliza in bovine bliss on my phone.

Petting the calves. Pandrapole, Mumbai.

Petting the calves. Pandrapole, Mumbai.

Feeding the cows, Pandrapole, Mumbai.

Feeding the cows, Pandrapole, Mumbai.

We made it back to the hotel before the streets got too hot and hectic, and avoided the mid day heat by relaxing in our room. Compared to the slog and smog of sightseeing in Mumbai during the day, it was an amazingly pleasant and relaxing experience, and an itinerary I’d highly recommend to anyone with a penchant for offbeat attractions and the fortitude for the early hour and occasional strong odor.

Saying Goodbye to the Andamans

Sunset, Chitya Tapu on South Andaman

Sunset, Chitya Tapu on South Andaman

Cinque Island, Andamans

Cinque Island, Andamans

While we’re very sad to say goodbye to the islands, we are so looking forward to traveling around mainland India for the month of December and then coming back home to New York City. Beginning in January, we’ll be settling back into the pace of normal life and desperately trying not to freeze our buns off.

I realized that we haven’t properly told you guys what the heck we were doing out on the boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean and how we ended up there.

Wellllll, way back in May we finished our Divemaster course in Bali and started thinking about ways we could keep diving without killing our budget. A short but incredible diving trip in Komodo National Park helped us realize that paying for fun diving is not a feasible way to maintain our diving habit, financially speaking.

A few weeks later we serendipitously stumbled across an old college friend and former roommate of Zev’s who mentioned that someone was starting the first scuba diving liveaboard to be based out of India. We took one look at their website and were sold. A few emails and one Skype conversation later, we had tickets booked to the Andaman Islands.

Since the first week in October, we’ve been on the boat assisting with scuba diving courses and completing a few certifications ourselves.

The ambient noises of a constantly running kitchen, engine room, and dive operation became the sounds of home to us. The pressure cooker whistles and looping 15-song playlist of Bollywood hits emanating from the kitchen alerted us to upcoming meals, and the faint but constant rumble of the engines and generators soothed us to sleep each night. Keeping the boat clean and running and its inhabitants fed and entertained kept life onboard always humming with activity. The crew made the (not so) little ship feel like home. They kept the boat in tip top shape and were a hysterical hard working bunch. Spending time with them was one of the highlights of our time on the boat.

Our cruise director, an affable retired businessman with a booming voice and a silver ponytail coiling down his back, led the guests with gusto through early morning dive briefings, mid-afternoon naps on the sun deck, and evening cocktails and carousing. The head divemaster was the quiet but imminently wise and experienced Yoda of the dive team; when he spoke, we listened. Two local guys from the Andamans were our surface support while diving. The first, who gained the nickname “chotu” (Hindi for “shorty”) was the youngest and greenest guy on the boat and became notorious for hiding from the harsh sun under an umbrella. The other had spent his whole life fishing and swimming around the Andamans. When we weren’t on trips with guests, he would send us diving at his favorite local snorkeling spots provided we take photos of what we saw.

From the chef who was also a welder and artist, to the captain who had killer Michael Jackson dance moves, the crew was really a hoot.  They became our family for our two months on the boat, and they will certainly be what we miss the most.

The guests brought an infusion of excitement to the boat and made the hard work worthwhile. The divers ranged from students whose nervous hands I held through the first dive jitters, to professional divers with elaborate photography set-ups that resembled something straight out of the NASA Mars Rover expedition. One raucous trip consisted entirely of people in the film industry who showed up to every dive, dinner, and cocktail hour with a camera (or 6) in hand, ready to get the perfect shot at a moment’s notice. Another group arrived onboard with suitcases full of nuts, Indian snacks, and even chorizos out of fear the boat wouldn’t have their particular brand of post-dive munchy. Yet another memorable voyage found us scheduling dives between breaks in the gale force winds and pouring rain of a passing cyclone.

We’ve left the Andamans for good and are heading for the west coast of India. Our first stop is Mumbai, a city that I fell in love with when I visited as a gap year student way back in 2005. It beats with the frenetic pace of a metropolis but retains a tremendous amount of history and charm.

Neil Island, Andamans

Neil Island, Andamans

Most of the gang.

Most of the gang.

The Liveaboard Life

Sunset from the dive deck.

Sunset from the dive deck.

This week I thought I had nothing to say; we are resting up after a trip. By all accounts it was another routine week of diving on the boat, albeit a pretty busy trip. But pouring over the photos I quickly remembered that being on a live aboard means there is no such thing as an ordinary day. The diving is nonstop and every day presents new challenges and adventures.

The handful of photos I managed to take between diving, filling tanks, and organizing the dive schedule remind me how lucky we are to be leading such an exciting and unusual life. Some days we wake up at sea with our first dive scheduled for 5am and the fourth and last dive getting in the water at 4pm, and other days we are anchored in port waiting for the next group to arrive, anticipating the fun and insanity that will ensue.

This past trip was filled with beautiful sunsets off the dive deck, coconuts on the dock, deliriously fun dives, and divers that kept us laughing and partying late into the night.

Can you spot the crab?

Can you spot the crab?

Feeding the local goats on Havelock. They are serious coconut fiends.

Feeding the local goats on Havelock. They are serious coconut fiends.

Fishermen heading to market in Havelock.

Fishermen heading to market in Havelock.

Lovely little shrimps at 'Vivek's Wreck,' just outside Port Blair

Lovely little shrimps at ‘Vivek’s Wreck,’ just outside Port Blair

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On the ferry out to Neil Island to find some new dive sites.

On the ferry out to Neil Island to find some new dive sites.

A beautiful pufferfish with some big ole chompers.

A beautiful pufferfish with some big ole chompers.

Sunset dive at Vivek's Wreck, Port Blair.

Sunset dive at Vivek’s Wreck, Port Blair.

Many hours were spent filling tanks on the dive deck.

Many hours were spent filling tanks on the dive deck.