Tasty memories

We don’t know about food being the way to a person’s heart, but delicious food is definitely what memories are made of. The Stuff Travel team share our favourite international food experiences.

Unforgettable meals from around the world

Food is a window to a country’s soul. Not just the meals itself, but the atmosphere, vibe and the company we keep, plays a big part in our culinary experiences when travelling. Who can instantly recall the distinct smell of a busy street market? Or the feeling of discovery after eating the best meal of your life in a hidden alley?

These are some of the Stuff Travel team’s standout food memories from around the world, which we still rave about today.

Trupti Biradar Travel editor

I ate one of the best meals of my life in a nondescript hole-in-the-wall restaurant in India – literally a hole in the wall, which you wander through, with no door and no sign signalling its existence on the outside.

In the dimly lit, cave-like interior, it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. Five rows of rickety, splintered wooden tables and chairs took up most of the space, balanced precariously on the uneven ground, which would definitely be a health and safety hazard had this been New Zealand.

There was no decor, not much lighting, no waitstaff, no menu, and no toilet.

A scruffy looking man turned up out of nowhere, reeled off a list of items they had for the day, took our order, and disappeared into the depths of the cavern. Roughly 20 minutes later, a veritable feast arrived at our our table – fresh, soft and buttery roti, delicately spiced yellow dhal, and ghee roast chicken that sets my mouth watering just at the memory. It was exceptional.

If you asked me where I went, I have no answer. I don’t know what the restaurant was called, I couldn’t find it on TripAdvisor, Google Maps or Yelp years later, and it likely no longer exists.

I don’t recall if I came away with Delhi belly that day, but the memory of that meal has never faded.

Stephen Heard Travel publishing co-ordinator

We had quietly abandoned our tour group en route to the sausage dog museum in Passau. It was a quick stopover in the ancient German village on our river cruise, so we were keen to sample as many Bavarian delights as possible.

Wandering to the pointy tip of the city where the Danube, Inn and Ilz rivers meet, we stumbled across an open-air beer festival, where locals were spread out across long wooden trestle tables and lounging in the sun on the riverbank.

I had learnt enough German to order ‘‘two beers and currywurst with chips please’’. Luckily, both were the order of the day. The tall steins, only manageable with two hands, went down all too easy with the plates of salty pommes and bratwurst drowning in curried tomato sauce.

Captivated by the weissbier and the merry atmosphere, we talked about leaving everything behind in New Zealand to move to the city. Then, realising our ship was minutes away from leaving without us, it was a 500-metre, sausage-fuelled sprint back to the vessel.

Alan Granville Travel reporter

I shouldn’t have been at this restaurant. In fact, I shouldn’t have even been in this country.

I wanted to surprise my partner at the time with a trip to somewhere that we had never been. Living in London gave me a wealth of options.

We had always wanted to go to Oslo so, late one night, I decided to book some cheap flights to the Norwegian capital.

But as I fumbled to find my credit card details, I missed out on the special offer.

The other flights available were expensive. Only one option in my budget was left – Aarhus. ‘‘Why not?,’’ I thought, as I hit ‘‘buy’’.

Two weeks later, we were in Denmark’s secondlargest city. It was a magical trip. It was a crisp winter weekend.

Everything felt comforting, and there in the middle of the city centre, we dined out at a nondescript restaurant that had the best pizza I have ever had.

It was probably the combination of things – a giant, topping-loaded homemade pizza, mixed with an unexpectedly amazing trip, plus great company and lots of Carlsberg but, for me, it’s a food, and place, memory that will always live with me.

Juliette Sivertsen Travel news director

I am sure Anthony Bourdain would be nodding in his grave when I say that Hong Kong is the best place in the world for foodies.

Walking around the gritty streets of Sham Shui Po in Kowloon, far away from the bright lights and glitzy skyscrapers of other parts of Hong Kong, I ate some of the tastiest dishes of my life.

This part of Kowloon is known for its workingclass charm, full of tucked away eateries, hiding unknown culinary artists in humble settings, and Michelin-recommended meals down backstreet alleys and hole-in-the-wall restaurants.

I watched strings of tofu transform into beautiful flower art, topped with fresh ginger syrup and cane sugar for a dessert that melted in my mouth. I was mesmerised watching nai cha milk tea being strained 10 times through a giant tea strainer, so effortlessly that it looked like a dance.

My favourite dish was the most modest in appearance – rice noodle rolls. These silky smooth, handmade tubes were chopped into pieces with a pair of scissors then drenched in sweet sauce, sesame sauce and soy sauce, and eaten with skewers.

There was nothing fancy about its presentation, but simplicity is the best way to let flavours and textures shine without distraction.

Lorna Thornber Travel reporter

I’m not usually a big fan of buffets, but the one at Te Vara Nui’s evening cultural performances in Rarotonga is awesome.

Perhaps it is because I am often disappointed by the portion sizes at restaurants, particularly in terms of entrees and sides, which often end up being my favourite part of the meal.

At Te Vara Nui, by contrast, I could pile my plate with all my favourite Cook Islands dishes until it looked like a mini model of a mountain range. And then go back for seconds. And thirds.

I could have eaten a platterful of the ika mata alone. Made with freshly caught mahi mahi marinated in lemon juice and lightly spiced coconut cream, it’s a richer, fattier version of Peruvian ceviche, and all the more satisfying for the extra calories. Then there was the ruakaka (taro leaves cooked in yet more coconut cream), the supersized fillets of yellowfin tuna, and the chicken cooked in a ha¯ ngı¯-like umu.

The bits of the show I caught between stuffing my face and going back for more, were great, but the food was the real star. I would sit through the show countless times just to be able to experience it again. And again.

Brook Sabin Travel reporter

I travel a lot for my job, but it is probably more accurate to say I am a ‘‘frequent fryer’’.

From Spanish churros, karaage chicken in Japan, to arancini on the cobbled streets of Sicily, my taste buds hold gold elite status in the travel frequent fryer club.

However, there is one fry to rule them all. Let me take you to Budapest, and a food simply known as langos.

In Hungary’s capital, you will inevitably find yourself in the baroque heart of the city, wandering along the castle-lined Danube River.

There you will find the enormous Great Market Hall, full of a lifetime of different dishes to try. However, let me save you time: head up to the second floor to (deep-fried) heaven.

You won’t need directions, because you will see a queue of worshippers waiting for freshly made langos.

It is a simple concept: a deep-fried flatbread with toppings such as sour cream and cheese. It is best eaten straight out of the fryer, as the toppings are still melting.

However, this shop applies a passion and precision to the langos that is hard to find elsewhere.

I can still remember chewing through the golden outer crust to reveal a gooey centre, with the flavours of sour cream and cheese hitting a second later. Speaking of seconds, one is never enough.

Siobhan Downes Senior travel reporter

The highlight of my trip to Petra, Jordan, wasn’t watching the sun rise over the ancient city, turning the cliff faces into a vivid rose-red, but sitting outside a bakery late at night in the nearby town of Wadi Musa, tucking into a Middle Eastern dessert called kunafa.

Kunafa is unlike any dessert I had ever tried. I suppose it could be compared to a cheesecake, as it consists of a cheesy base. That base is covered with shredded pastry, and the whole thing is soaked in a syrup flavoured with lemon and rosewater, before being topped with pistachios.

At that bakery, the kunafa was cooked on a charcoal grill, until the cheese melted into a gooey mound, and the pastry crisped into a golden shell. I sat at a little table and, for a moment, all that mattered was putting my fork into that dish, the cheese stretching languorously towards my mouth, and savouring every bite.

The following morning I would get up at 6am to see Petra’s iconic Treasury, but it is that edible wonder that I remember most clearly.