Kuidaore

Recently, while watching my favorite travel show, Anthony Bourdaine: No Reservations, I was introduced to the concept of Kuidaore. Well, technically it was a concept I was familiar with, but didn't know it had a name. Mr. Tony Bourdaine was in Osaka, Japan, a city known for food, revelry and good times. Osaka is also home of Kuidaore, which translates roughly to 'ruin of oneself through extravagance in food.' Now you understand why the concept is so appealing to me. A night of Kuidaore in Osaka involves traveling from bar to bar, restaurant to restaurant, eating a little bit of what the special is and moving with a beer, before moving onto the next joint until you simply can't eat any more. I love it, and have become a devote follower.

The next day I thought I'd practice Kuidaore. Initially I had been leaning towards Sushi, or Ramen or something Japanese, but as I looked over the high brow sushi offerings, I realized that I was barking up the wrong tree. The Kuidaore I saw on TV wasn't high end food, but an Asian version of 'Diners, Drive-ins and Dives'. I couldn't get high-falutin sushi; I need a food of the people, something that sticks to your ribs and feeds the masses. I needed Southern BBQ, and thankfully 2 blocks away was a cart which could supply a lip smacking beef brisket sandwich smothered in sauce. But one sandwich can hardly cause ruin, so I needed more. I needed Waffles and Dinges.

In 2010 Zagat included NYC street carts for the first time in its history, and Waffles and Dinges is the highest rated cart. Serving up authentic Belgian style waffles (with your choice of 2 styles of dough), 'The Waffle Cart' gained fame in the Food Network's 'Throwdown with Bobby Flay', when the owners went head to head with the celebrity chef and emerged victorious with the best waffle. I chose 'The Throwdown Waffle', winner of the competition, which is an authentic style Belgian waffle topped with a magical spice spread and whip cream. I cannot describe the spread, called sperkullous, in better words, for no adjective exists in the English or any tongue of man to adequately describe the cinnamon and nutmeg flavored ambrosia. Surely I'm on my way to bringing about my ruin.

Alas, had I only known then what I know now, that BBQ and waffles barely scrape the surface of Kuidaore. The very next day, in the pretext of doing good charitable work, I volunteered to help the New York City Food Bank... by helping out at the fund raising New York City Food and Wine Event. Arriving at a quarter to 9 on a Saturday morning at the 54th Street Pier in the Chealsea section of Manhattan, I pleased to discover I would be working at 'The Grand Tasting', an event where high rollers can spend hours sampling specialty food products, fine restaurant offerings and high quality booze. Oh yes, there was a lot of booze. As a volunteer, however, I was stationed just outside the tent, out of sight and smell of the food, collecting email addresses on a clipboard for a raffle. You can't win them all. Besides, obviously volunteers couldn't just parade around with ticket buyers partaking in the same delights.

Or so I thought. After working the clipboard for an hour, an organizer who shall remain nameless gave me the golden ticket to Kuidaore. I was told, 'Take a break and enjoy some samples. And this off the record, but if you take your volunteer T-shirt off, you can enjoy the non food options.”

What more could I have wanted? Leave from my post, a tent full of food and nudge-nudge-wink-wink permission to 'sample' the assorted beverages. I raced though every table, which only took about an hour, eating everything from braised short-rib (best thing I ate all day) to tuna tar-tar wrapped in a dandelion green to grilled octopus. I enjoyed and learned there are double chocolate and coconut flavored Ferrero-Rocher, but the originals taste best. I discovered lovely mustards, and delectable dark, Mayan styled chocolates. I even had pomegranate ice cream topped with pomegranate seeds. If Hades had resembled the food tent, I scarcely know how Persephone resisted so long.

If the food hadn't ensured my ruin, the drinks did. From margaritas to cachaca raspberry prosecco to apple spiked rum, I sampled what I could, while avoiding drawing attention or drinking too much. I steered clear of the wine, because all the 'paying guests' had a wine glass draped around their necks to fill, but I had none, so I was forced to accept the little cups of mixed drinks the booths passed out. The little mini bar hop reminded me of the Chumbawumba song, and reminded me to try something other than beer and wine sometimes.

But fear not, if you thought my ruin would be brought about in any sense beyond SBS (stuffed belly syndrome). Sincerely, it was not even as bad as it was at the Vendy's, but perhaps the exhilarating feeling that I wasn't really supposed to helped contribute. I wrapped up my tasting and sauntered back to the volunteer tent, where I was assigned the important task of holding up a sign saying Trisha Yearwood would be signing her cook book at 4pm. Nobody else could hold that sign like I could. Perhaps it was because I held it knowing I had archived that nirvana-like state – Kuidaore.