A ‘food souvenir’ is my favourite thing to bring home when I travel | Canada Voices

I like to consider myself food-fearless when I travel, eager to try local dishes and step outside the tastebud box. As a result of all the variety, I always find something from my culinary escapades to bring back to my own kitchen – a flavour or an ingredient, a recipe or a method of preparation – something that will remind me of my trip. This approach gives my cooking an international edge and helps the memories of my trip last longer. It also makes my “food souvenir” more genuine: Rather than buying a mass-market trinket made in a factory somewhere, I have an authentic and sustainable memento drawn directly from the destination itself.

I start by hunting online for a recipe of the dish I’ve enjoyed abroad, then seek out the ingredients. I usually find what I’m looking for in the international aisle at the grocery store or by searching online to have it delivered.

But the spark of the idea always comes during a trip. While oohing and ahhing over a plate of schnitzel in a Viennese restaurant garden, I fell hard for the silky potato salad that accompanies it, thinking: “I should make this myself.” Austrian-style erdapfelsalat is flavoured with onion, vinegar and mustard, done up with a light sauce of chicken stock and olive oil. As it has no mayonnaise, it’s a bit healthier than a creamy version and practically melts in your mouth.

Another restaurant patio – this one on the Ashford Avenue strip in San Juan, Puerto Rico – introduced me to mofongo – fried green plantains mashed with garlic, olive oil and bacon, plus a meat or seafood. The first time I tried it, I almost wanted to crawl into the bowl. I sauté shrimp to blend into mine, creating a quick and inexpensive weeknight meal. And knowledge gained from a morning with Spice Food Tours in San Juan had me searching for sofrito recipes back home. This is a mixture of onions, peppers, garlic and herbs that serves as a foundation for sauces, beans, stews and rice.

I’ve also discovered that simple breakfast staples from another country can jazz up my brunch menu. A home-cooked feast in Charlotteville, Tobago, added pigeon peas to this list. The island is very much like the Caribbean of the 1960s, unspoiled and under the radar, the people in the small fishing villages eager to share the tastes of their region. I buy pigeon peas tinned or whole – often under other names such as congo pea, gungo or gunga pea – then stew them with coconut milk, tomatoes, onions, herbs and brown sugar. This makes a great protein dish for the vegetarians while the rest of us eat bacon.

At an all-inclusive resort with my family in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, I brought home the taste for chilaquiles from the breakfast buffet, essentially leftover corn tortilla chips from the day before, simmered in a tomato and jalapeno sauce. And thanks to Costa Rica, there’s always a bottle of Linzano in the pantry, a spicy cumin and black pepper condiment that we throw onto omelettes.

Further afield, a wine tasting on the Canary Island of Tenerife was also a cooking class, with participants making red and green Canarian mojo sauces with a mortar and pestle. Looking out over the waters of the North Atlantic, glass of wine in hand, we watched the restaurant chef pound the ingredients together. In the Canaries, mojos are often served with papas arrugadas or “wrinkly potatoes,” which taste better than they sound, mostly thanks to the salt. At home, I just use a small food processor to whir together red or green peppers, parsley, garlic, hot peppers, vinegar and olive oil, to use as a condiment for meat or fish.

After a road trip through southern Spain, I decided that we couldn’t live without Spanish omelettes at home. This simple skillet of crispy potatoes, eggs and onions was on every tapas menu, a welcome afternoon snack. And a tour through the Scottish Highlands has landed the iconic neeps and tatties in my recipe binder, a hearty cool-weather wonder, the starchy duo taking me right back to the moors.

Potatoes also have a starring role in my Portuguese cod fritters, my epiphany coming in a lunchtime café in central Porto, where I ordered far too much food, yet devoured most of it. My fritters begin by boiling potatoes in water with salt, onions, carrots, a few tablespoons of whole black peppercorns, and – of all things, white wine. When added to the sautéed salt cod (soaked well overnight first), the mashed potatoes lend a bright, spicy flavour. I then freeze my fritters in batches, hauling them out for a quick air fry when I’m feeling European, opening a tin of mackerel or sardines to go with it. If there’s any salt cod left, I mix it with eggs and fried onions on the weekend.

I have also managed to make culinary heritage discoveries in places other than their origin. Case in point, the Australian-Sri Lankan roots of chef Peter Kuruvita led to my proficiency in all things curried, after procuring a spice box set at his restaurant in Noosa, Queensland. I now make beet, cauliflower and shrimp curries, and by setting up my deep fryer, I can also produce curried eggs, a South Asian brunch dish.

Speaking of Australia, my visit there coincided with Anzac Day, a national day of remembrance of Australians and New Zealanders killed in conflict. Out came Anzac cookies – a simple, buttery confection of oats and coconut. I make these and pop them in the freezer, bringing them out to crisp up a dish of ice cream.

Recipes aside, physical culinary souvenirs can also be reminders of fun holiday time. They also make great gifts for people, while helping to support regional farmers, sustainable growing methods and ethical Fair Trade labour practices. Organic coffee, herbal teas, artisanal chocolate, spices, olive oil, raw honey – these all promote local producers and biodiversity. Visits to the seaside yield flavoured sea salt, a favourite of mine, blood pressure be damned.

All told, by resisting the modern impulse to buy a fridge magnet or a keychain, I take home something more valuable instead, perfect for sharing. Filling my friends’ stomachs with delicious foods they may know nothing about makes everyone happy. My travel tchotchkes? In my belly.

Special to The Globe and Mail