Halfway through an ear of roasted corn, I stop for a minute to pick the pieces out of my teeth.
It’s just enough time to appreciate the quiet chaos unfolding around me on this blistering June afternoon. I’m standing in the middle of a grassy lawn in a faded tank top, between two of Eastern Europe’s most famous monuments, surrounded by hundreds of tourists from all over the world. To my left is the Hagya Sophia, a cathedral-cum-mosque-cum-museum dating back to the 3rd century AD; to my right is the Blue Mosque, the largest in Istanbul and widely considered to be the last great mosque of the classical period. And here I am in the middle of it all, picking corn kernels out of my teeth and wishing I hadn’t drank so much raki last night.
When I’ve finished eating, I return to the peddler’s cart and discard my blackened cob in his metal wastebasket. The owner smiles and politely asks (in broken English) if I’d like another one. Sure, I tell him. Not because I’m hungry, because I figure the 50 cents means a lot more to him than it does to me. And because I’ve always had a certain respect for anyone selling food on the street.
Living and traveling in Europe changed my relationship with street food. In the United States it has become an über-trendy revolution, a backlash against chain restaurants and the corporatization of public eating. A revolution run by hipsters with significantly more financial capital than they deserve, wearing skinny jeans and fedoras in their tricked-out ice cream trucks. Excuse me, gastrotrucks. They post up in business parks during the lunch hour and wait for high-level executives to flock to their mobile kitchens. Completely blind to the irony of their endeavors – you’re not sticking it to the man, you’re just charging him $12 for a Kobe beef burger with truffle fries. Don’t get me wrong, though, I still dig these trucks and their hipster ways. But the food doesn’t always taste as authentic and “core” as their Twitter feeds make it out to be.
Street food in Europe is another story. The people behind the counter can’t afford fedoras and skinny jeans. They haven’t even heard of Twitter and – if the opportunity presented itself – would happily sell out for a job with McDonalds or Claim Jumper. They’re selling food on the street because they have no other choice. And as a result, their product is the most honest, heartfelt cuisine you’ve ever tasted.
Istanbul wasn’t the only place I experienced real street food while studying abroad. Moroccan immigrants line the street corners in almost every city in Spain, hawking roasted chestnuts and sweet potatoes to tourists and locals alike. And back home in San Diego, I can recall going to street fairs as a child where Mexican families would sell freshly roasted corn for a dollar. The counter was always stocked with an array of zesty sauces and spice rubs, their flavors just foreign enough to escape me.
Today’s recipe is inspired by these “chefs of the street,” as I like to call them. Not just the Mexican families, but also the Moroccan immigrants and the Turkish man who convinced me to come back for seconds. It’s a twist on the traditional Mexican recipe for elote (corn on the cob) that combines a variety of classic south-of-the-border flavors. It’s a little sweet and a little spicy. Most of all, it’s authentic.
Ingredients:
4 ears of fresh corn
1 lime
1/4 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup cotija cheese
chile powder
garlic salt
Directions: Preheat grill to medium-high. Remove the husks from the corn. Place corn in a pot of boiling water 5-10 minutes, until kernels are tender. Remove corn from water and place on grill for 5 minutes, rotating occasionally. When the kernels begin to blacken, remove from grill and set aside to cool. In a small bowl, combine mayo and lime juice. Drizzle over corn, then sprinkle the cobs with cotija cheese, chile powder, and garlic salt. Serve with a bucket of ice cold cervezas.
