Vietnam

In February, I spent two weeks in Vietnam.  As much as I love to travel, I'd never made it to Southeast Asia, and none of my past adventures prepared me for this world.  I frequently felt unequipped.  I loved it.

With the explosion of life on the sidewalks of Hanoi, markets of fresh produce laid out every

Montreal!

It's been a while.  I missed you.  We have a lot to talk about.

I spent about a week and a half in New York and Montreal, and the entire trip was a dream.  In New York, I witnessed (and sang at!) the Central Park wedding of two old friends, discovered the magic of Inwood (aka upper upper upper Manhattan), walked mile upon glorious mile every day, shared an afternoon cocktail with the delightful director of the Daily Meal's Culinary Content Network, spent lots of time with friends, and ate terribly well.  

In Montreal, homebase was an apartment in Mile-end, an area once old and modern, neighborhoody and super hip.  The area felt so comfortable to me that I found myself thinking I could live there. (Then I remembered the merciless weather nine months out of the year.  Yeah, no.)  There's so much I could say about this trip:  I watched as people breakdanced to French hip-hop in front of the Contemporary Art Museum downtown; I saw amazing street art everywhere; I trekked through green at gorgeous Parc du Mont-Royal, I had an ice cider tasting with local cheeses; I marveled at the sheer density of inviting cafes, and walked, walked, and walked some more.  Here are some more highlights: 

I should start out by mentioning Fitz & Folwell, the awesomest bike shop in the land.  They offer a culinary walking tour (we like those here) of Mile End and Little Italy, and many of the stops below are from the tour.  It's a fun way to spend a few hours, eat some good food, and walk lots.  Our guide, Danny, was a doll, and they offer various bike tours in Montreal as well.

At Alati-Caserta, a decades-old Little Italy bakery across the street from a church funded by Mussolini himself, we tried their signature cannoli, and they were perfect:  shatteringly crisp shell, and a rich ricotta filling dotted with tiny chocolate chips and a light orangey flavor, barely sweet.  Giant bags of ricotta filling sat unassumingly in the fridge in the plain sight of shoppers.

Pagaille! was my local coffee shop, and it was perfect.  They provided me with needed breakfast protein in a land of pastries, along with delicious homemade rillettes and jams.  Free wifi (through Montreal's awesome Île sans fil program) and available plugs, incredibly friendly service (oh, Canada), a few seats outside to enjoy the sun.  But the best thing about Pagaille was the petit pagaille, the café's signature espresso drink:  somewhere between a macchiatto and a cappuccino, espresso measured meticulously by weight, served in a dainty tulip glass.  Perfect.  I brought back bags of beans as a souvenir, much to the delight of the owner.

When visiting Schwartz's, the historic Jewish deli (or as the sign charmingly read, "Charcuterie Hebraique") known for its smoked meat sandwich, we went with the classic, along with addictive fries and a fine pickle.  (I bucked tradition and skipped the cherry soda.)  Before walking in, I reminded myself: this isn't pastrami, don't compare it to Langer's, appreciate it on its own merits.  And with that pep talk firmly in my brain, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Fell in love with the buildings in Old Montreal. So fun to get lost walking through the streets.

Wilensky's Light Lunch has been sitting on the same friendly corner in Mile-End since 1932.  At Wilensky's, you order the Special, you don't ask questions, and you don't make substitutions.  (Though these days, you can add cheese to your Special -- but that's a pretty new innovation, only available for the last 30 years or so.)  What you get is a flattened, fried baloney sandwich with mustard that satisfies the most little-kid part of your appetite.  And if you're lucky, Sarah Wilensky (Moe's daughter) will make you a fluorescent lemon-lime soda to wash it down.

In Little Italy, I visited Cafe Italia.  This place is a old school Italian cafe, complete with cute old men sitting with their newspaper, Barbisol sold behind the counter, and deep, rich, strong espresso drinks.  Legit.

Juliette et Chocolat.  Just ridiculous. So decadent, so delicious, and open until the wee hours of the night when absolutely no one needs to stuff more food into their body.  But, my God, that fondant au chocolat, topped with both chocolate sauce and fleur de sel caramel sauce, and served with ice cream, was from another planet.

Arts Cafe was recommended to me by my Airbnb host, and was the hippest café I've ever encountered.  Sunny patio, excellent peoplewatching, a perfect little macchiatto in a robin's egg blue cup, and a little revelation called breakfast poutine:  potatoes and other vegetables, excellent white cheddar melted over top, a poached egg, hollandaise, duck confit.  Across-the-board swooniness.

Travel for me always leads to lessons.  My last day in Montreal was a Sunday, and I spent it walking through the streets of Mile-End.  It was truly a glorious day: the sun was shining, maybe for the very first time this year, and the streets were luminous.  Everyone was out: walking dogs, making impromptu banners for Mother's Day, crowding into café terrasses on every street corner for brunch.  Beautiful young hipsters feigned nonchalance as gaggles of Orthodox Jewish moms pushed strollers and chatted in Yiddish.  This scene felt so familiar, and so dear to me, that as I walked through, I was bubbling with happiness.  With slight differences in flavor, this could have been Williamsburg, or San Francisco, or more to the point, my own neighborhood of Los Feliz.  I felt it then, and I've tried to bring it home with me:  I am exactly where I should be.  I just need to soak in it a little more:  More walking always.  More cafe time.  Fewer items per day.  Montreal couldn't be more charming.  What's better than a trip that reminds you how good you have it at home? 

Three Items

I have some items.

The Red Car River Park, on the LA River, steps from Trystero HQ

After I posted about Trystero, Greg Thomas's Atwater Village home coffee-roasting operation, good buddy Jeff Miller, senior editor of Thrillist Los Angeles, caught wind of the story, and ask me to write up Trystero for Thrillist (!!).  I did; here's the post.  I'm happy to report that since the AKOY and Thrillist posts, Greg has gone on to quit his day job (!!!), and once he's back from a well-needed vacation, he's making Trystero his full-time gig.  Wishing him the best of luck!

rooftop view of Williamsburg

Speaking of vacation, forgive me for not posting for a bit.  I'm just back from an amazing trip to New York and Montreal (aka dreamland city of charming cafes).  I walked a lot.  I miss that.  Photos coming soon.

This.   This is an excerpt from an interview with Anthony Bourdain, in AAA's Westways magazine of all places.  We've seen Bourdain go full dick mode on Sandra Lee or Rachel Ray, but my favorite Bourdain moments are when someone's grandma makes him a meal at home, and you see this tall American television star's eyes soften as he's humbled by her warm, modest hospitality.  The sentiment expressed in this one paragraph is so important to me:  be interested, get past formalities, connect on a human level.  Just show up and be grateful.

Istanbul Eats Culinary Walks: Part 2

Guys!  I left it on that silly punch post and weepy Regina Spektor and not much else, because I'm surrounded by business right now.  A few weekends ago, I was so lucky to be a part of a truly beautiful wedding that took over the sweet old mining town of Bisbee, Arizona, then I baked two crazy awesome spiced honey bundts for Rosh Hashana that I'll want to share with you, and then Yom Kippur happened, which is kind of antithetical to food blogging by nature, no?  And, yet there's still so much from Turkey!  Aaahh!  Someone needs to come up with some cutesy portmanteau to describe the constant state of blog-overhwelmedness in which I live.

In the meantime, maybe you remember Part 1 of this story of our dreamland day with Angelis and our Istanbul Eats team; here's the rest, finally! When last we left off, we were stuffing our faces with baklava.  Naturally, next was Turkish coffee, and a sad lesson about today's Istanbul.

 We went to Mandabatmaz, a thimble of a shop that has been serving nothing but Turkish coffee for decades. This stop  highlighted something very troubling going on in Istanbul.  Step out on any evening, and you'll notice that the city is alive with sidewalk culture -- every cafe, every restaurant spills out into sidewalk tables, and in centers like Taksim Square, there's hardly room to walk between people sitting at long tables outside, eating, smoking, peoplewatching, catching up with friends.  It's beautiful and fundemental to the character of Istanbul.  However, while we were there, the government had begun cracking down on sidewalk seating.  Something about permits and licenses, but Istanbulites are all pretty convinced that it's just another step towards a conservative Turkey.  It's hard to watch it happen:  I was immediately impressed by this Muslim country that has seemed to strike the perfect balance between maintaining its religious essense and leaving room for a more liberal lifestyle.  Side streets tightly packed with people breaking bread, laughing, drinking wine or coffee, were now barren.  At Mandabatmaz, the proprietor had brought in all but a fraction of their outdoor seating, and all five of us nearly had to squeeze into the tiny shop itself.  We took a chance and sat outside, and over tiny cups of strong and richly fragrant coffee, Angelis shared with us the worry that we would keep hearing from Istanbulites:  "Istanbul is a living city... and they are killing it."

Next up was Ficcin, one of three restaurants from the same owner that take up a block off Istiklal Caddesi -- the main boulevard of Istanbul's cosmopolitan center.  Once again, we sat inside, while a couple waiters kicked a ball up and down a street that used to be crowded with tables and chairs.  Ficcin's specialty is Circassian food -- the cuisine of the Caucasus Mountains.  Here we sampled a tasty Circassian chicken spread, a strangely named but delicious sea vegetable called common glasswort, and the celebrated manti -- hand-filled ravioli-like dumplings served with a yogurt sauce, and sprinkled with powdered sumac berries and dried herbs.   Yum. 

Lunch number two: Sahin Lokantasi. The hero of Istanbul Eats is the lokantasi, humble places serving a constantly changing menu of homey Turkish favorites to the working class, and this cramped, bustling spot was a prime example.  Here we got a spread of stews, vegetables, various delicious eggplant/meat combos, and more, all totally satisfying.

Our third lunch and final stop was at Akdenis Kokorec, which Angelis had warned us about.   Kokorec is a street treat made from lamb intestines and their surrounding fat.  It's slow-roasted on a rotisserie, then a portion is carved off and chopped up.  Chopped tomatoes and peppers are added along with spices, the whole mess is grilled again, and then scooped into a sandwich roll.  If you can get past the nature of what you're eating, it's got the texture and strong savory, salty flavor of a hash, Despite my being a little wigged out by what I was eating, I could see how this would hit the spot late at night.

And that was our last stop.  Painfully full, but still in great spirits, we ended our day of marathon eating as all good ones should: with hugs, heartfelt goodbyes, and lamb intestines.

Personal revelation digression:  Lately, I've been thinking a lot about a certain type of person. It's the type who has gotten past 'shoulds' that they've learned second-hand, who's explored their world for themselves, drawn their own conclusions, and ended up at an openness that allows them to get past the things they might judge -- be it a person's religion, or who a person chooses to love (as if it's a choice) -- and to instead see people with pure eyes.  They live their life honestly and with integrity, and build their path based on no one's rules but their own.  I feel myself more and more becoming one of these people, and every time an old 'should' is challenged and defeated, I have a moment of glowy happiness that sometimes brings me to tears.  Something similar happens when I realize I've met someone else like this.  A few moments after our tour ended, hugs, kisses, and email addresses exchanged, Ashley and I were walking down Istiklal Caddesi -- the main artery of cosmopolitan Istanbul.  Standing in the middle of the wide, carless boulevard, I remembered something Angelis had said when we asked him about coming to the United States.  He acknowledged a nagging 'should'.  "I may not be in the Land of Opportunity," he said, "but here in Istanbul, my soul is filled."  I beamed a little.

Istanbul Eats Culinary Walks: Part 1

Ahhh, where do I begin talking about our Istanbul Eats culinary walk?!  I could dutifully list each stop, exhaustively index every item we ate -- our two breakfasts, three lunches, and every stop in between.  But like so many of our experiences in Turkey, this excellent tour -- one of the very best days we spent in Istanbul -- packed in so many moments that they began to pile up, and was just as much about the food (and believe me, the food was exemplary), as it was about the people.

(But, we will itemize the food, fear not.  And there's so much that I'm splitting into two posts.  Seriously, it could be like eight.  Anyway.)

Ashley and I were wary of guided tours: we'd planned every leg of our trip ourselves, and did not want to experience Turkey with a bunch of foreigners through the windows of a giant bus.  Fortunately, this walk was entirely different.  Before we even met our guide, we knew this was going to be good.  We were to meet him in a part of the city called Cihangir, and we couldn't be happier to get lost in the stairways and hilly streets of this amazing neighborhood.  Cihangir is eminently hip:  stately art-deco apartment buildings (with amazing front doors), chic Euro cafes, tiny vintage stores, and funky record stores line the cobblestone streets, and awesome street art is everywhere.  A few minutes in, it became very clear:  if I were to ever live in Istanbul, Cihangir is where I would call home.

Our team consisted of Ashley and me, Jason and Ned -- an affable couple from Washington DC, and our fearless leader Angelis.  For a full day, we were just five people exploring Istanbul in my favorite way: walking and eating.  And Angelis' ebullient personality set the tone for the day.  A skinny gay hipster expat from Greece, he was knowledgeable, hospitable, and hilarious.  True to the style of Istanbul Eats, he led us through cosmopolitan Istanbul as a local would see it -- winding our path through small shopping centers where teenagers might buy the latest disposable trends and making sure our tour included several examples of the esnaf lokantasi, highly local eateries serving a rotating menu of comforting, homey dishes to Turkey's working class.

For our first stop, Turkish breakfast, including beloved kaymak and sucuk, plus menemen, eggs scrambled with stewed peppers.  This meal was prepared expressly for us at Özkonak, a stalwart lokantasi that predates Cihangir's gentrification by decades and is known for an unusual specialty: a dessert pudding made with shredded chicken breast.  I love the stove-to-table pans; their handles make them look like a little boy who hasn't yet grown into his ears.

Breakfast number 2:  Borek! Filo pastry in various shaped filled with various delicious things.  Fresh and flaky, eaten on the sidewalk, with a cool and perfectly not-too-sweet citrus ade.  Good times.

This unassuming shop might be the original home of the profiterole.  They were drenched in chocolate, with a sweet custard inside.  Way too rich to have more than a couple bites, but hey, we tasted history.

Our next stop was one of my favorites of the day:  fried sardines.  Perfectly fresh, lightly battered, deep fried, super crisp.  With ingredients that good, all you need is a little lemon.  I could have eaten these forever.

A restaurant whose specialty is tripe soup. (Not in the mood?  There's also brain salad.)  Not that awesome, and it was kind of a depressing place, but aren't those tile floors fabulous!?  (And that charcuterie shop behind Angelis sure looked enticing from our sidewalk vantage point as we ate stomach.)

Baklava!  A million variations, so much to taste, so delicious.  (Admitted baklava bias:  Persian baklava has saffron and rosewater, so any other doesn't come close as far as I'm concerned.  Nevertheless, trying to be balanced here.) We also tried a special Ramadan treat called güllaç, a comforting milky pudding with leaves of pastry soaked inside, decorated beautifully with pomegranate seeds and bright green ground pistachios.

Let's end Round 1 here, on a sweet note.  It looks like an exhausting amount of food, but it was really well-paced.  Go have some tea, and stay tuned for three lunches, Turkish coffee, controversial local politics, and more innards!

On getting your gratitude back

I was having a conversation in my head last night, that I planned to have with my traveling companion -- an old good friend -- when I saw her: "what do you hope to get out of this trip?"  As soon as the thought came, I turned it around on myself.

This post is more for me than you.  These thoughts were so good, I didn't want them to just fly away.  I'm putting it in writing to hold myself accountable.  I want this trip to be about getting my gratitude back.  

In 2003, I traveled to Greece, and to this day I still think it's my favorite place I've ever been to.  Our days were simple and amazing.  After breakfast in our modest hotel room of market-bought bread, jam, and the most amazing apple juice I've ever had, we'd spend most mornings on a bus to a beach -- one day a red-sand one we'd have to hike down to, the next day a quiet white-sand shore with warm water and perfect waves.  We'd spend the day at the beach, then bus it back to Mykonos town in the afternoon.  I remember on one bus ride back through empty, rural parts of the island, I found myself ignoring the conversations going on around me, and staring out the window.  As I quietly looked out at the small, sleepy towns, the simple but beautiful white and blue buildings, I realized how lucky I was.  As I wrote in my travel journal on that day, "I am so grateful for my amazing life."

These days, I've been spinning.  Between the ups and downs of work and the ups and downs of life, not to mention an ever-present internet that manages to fill every spare moment with the addictive anticipation that comes with refresh-refresh-refresh, sometimes those thoughts of gratitude -- even though I know deep down they are true -- don't quite stick.  I love being the grateful, amazed version of me, though. 

I'm excited to be going to a place where I really don't know what to expect.  I'm excited to be pulled out of a world whose daily details I have totally mastered, and be thrown into the polar opposite of that stagnancy:  new streets, new language, new everything.  I do think that our accommodations and plans will lead to encounters with a broad set of people, and this I have the highest hopes for:  nothing really gets me buzzing like that first conversational connection with someone interesting.

So, that's my hope, the raw ingredients are there, but I don't think I can force it.  My plan is to be as open as I can be -- eyes, heart, and mind -- take everything in, and make sure I have some quiet time to let it all sink in and do its magic.  When I come back, who knows, maybe I'll be a changed person.  More likely though, I'll be the 'me' I've been all along, grateful for my amazing life.

San Francisco Highlights: The Snozzberries Taste Like Snozzberries!

i love the sf muni logo

[more about panama in a bit. today though, san francisco.]

San Francisco is one of my favorite LA-getaway destinations. I have a few good friends who live in the bay area, and we always have a good time. Catching up on all the time we miss each other, eating and drinking really well (and really, a lot) never fails. This trip was no exception. In town for Jana's baby shower (bebe is a girl! welcome Amalia!), our Bay Area weekend seemed to focus on real flavors: simple preparations of exellent ingredients. Nothing flashy, nothing overdone, just snozzberries tasting like snozzberries.

In a world of grande half-caf low-fat double macchiattos -- two pumps and room for cream -- there I was standing in line, about half an hour, for a simple cup of drip coffee. Ample time to notice that the sign at the produce stall next door described one of their heirloom tomato varieties as 'tomatoey'. Really all we want from a tomato, right? So I guess that's why I was waiting in line -- for the most, well, coffee-y coffee I know: Blue Bottle. It's a humble stall, and there's nothing fancy about their paper cups or the brown bags in which they sell their beans, but the laser focus is on the coffee itself. And what makes coffee-y coffee? Well, organic shade-grown beans, ground and brewed, or sold, within 48 hours of roasting.

I feel like I drank more coffee in a weekend in San Francisco than I do in 2 weeks at home. But there was so much good coffee everywhere, I couldn't help it! And often it was served in Heath Ceramics -- at the courtyard at SFMOMA, at Jana and Juan's cozy table (thanks bridal registry!), and again at her shower. Even the dishes at Chez Panisse (more on that below) were Heath. Once again, sturdy, classic designs and nothing fussy.

salsicca pie

The same was true at Pizzeria Delfina (Oh sweet Pizzeria Delfina, with your 4 tiny tables and red Italian tile bathroom, how I love you!).

panna pie

The pizza that has recently gotten the most attention there is the panna pie, so pared down that it even eschews cheese, opting instead for a decadent pour of heavy cream before going in the oven (balanced with a bit of shaved parmesan once it's out). But when all you've got is cream, excellent crust, and a simple tomato sauce, you can taste freshness. Turns out freshness tastes pretty good.

the counter at teeny pizzeria delfina

As does their albacore tuna conserva, served over watercress with white beans. Take your first bite, and the taste of great extra virgin olive oil steals the show. It's all about the basics, kids.

the wood-burning oven at Chez Panisse

And then was there Chez Panisse* (I tell you, we go large in San Fran). Nothing showy about this place (so much so that part of me still feels like it was Aidan's parents' house in My Big Fat Greek Wedding -- boring white people food), but still there were some very special flavors going on here: the duck confit's simple presentation belied its flavors: perfectly browned duck skin around tender dark meat, with a fresh kumquat relish, tart and bright, to cut its richness. Same goes for the wild nettle pizza and rhubarb tart. A few ingredients at their freshest (whether tomatoes, coffee, or snozzberries) and solid culinary know-how go a long way.

* Chez Panisse, whose website has gone from homespun to oddly fancy and French in the time between my coming home from San Francisco and right now.

Panama City, I like you

Since I started writing this little blog many years ago, something big has changed. It's called Facebook. That thing is the blog to end all blogs. You post pictures and thoughts and musings and curses with the click of a button. It takes zero effort! So, by the time I get around to posting here about things, like say a trip to Panama, I've kind of already gotten it out of my system.

Lucky for you though, I am endlessly verbose. I'll find a way -- 112 photos, 1 video, and countless status messages, comments, likes, and super-pokes later -- to make it fresh. Besides, I haven't told Facebook a single word about what I ate in Panama. That's all for you, baby.

Now then. I can tell you what I didn't eat: Panamanian food. Oddly enough, my trip -- 4 wonderful nights spent between Panama City's romantically retro Casco Viejo area and a barely-walled hut on a Carribbean island that's a forty-minute boat ride out from the nearest town -- included more cases of gourmet European takes on the local bounty of seafood and produce than anything traditionally Panamanian. That tells a story of modern Panama though: laid carefully over the country's own rich heritage, international prospectors and expats are taking Panama in new directions (as in, shopping malls and bennigans. yikes.).

Let's start in the city. Here's the deal with Casco Viejo: beautiful colonial buildings now in ruins. Colorful, grand buildings, many are which are roofless, windowless, completely gutted, and overgrown with moss and grass (sad, but wonderful for an afternoon's exploring). In the last few years, though, the artists have figured out the area's potential, and cropping up among the ruins are stately restorations housing art spaces, jazz clubs, wine bars, and more.

the insane view from kevin's apartment

We had the luckiest hookup in history, and stayed with friend-of-a-friend (and our new best friend) Kevin, a Chicagoan with a top-story apartment in the heart of Casco Viejo: rooftop balcony, midcentury furnishings, art and books strewn everywhere, a baby grand in the window (!), and air conditioning to boot. Kevin is in the process of restoring a delapidated 3-story building into an art space: gallery, studios, cafe, bar. Basically, Kevin is the coolest person in Panama. No, seriously.

cow's tongue carpaccio and grilled shrimp with tamarind sauce at Manolo Caracol

Our first night there, we went to Manolo Caracol. Ten-course tasting menu, Andalusian owners (and thus, delicious Spanish house wine, of which we partook generously), focus on local, seasonal ingredients and lots of fresh seafood. Highlights: tiradito de dorado (freshness incarnate), shrimp with tamarind sauce, Kevin's velociraptor impression.

our guitarrista in Plaza Bolivar

Then, we had a mojito in Plaza Bolivar. Plazas might be the best thing ever. Walk a couple blocks to a grassy public square, sit at one of the surrounding tables served by Ego Y Narciso restaurant, sip some minty goodness, enjoy a serenade by a sweet gentleman wandering among the tables with his guitar, take in the balmy summer night surrounded by others doing the same. We liked it so much we came back on our last night in the city -- for sangría at Casablanca restaurant on the other side of the plaza.

La Casona

And then, we went to la Casona. La Casona de las Brujas is yet another building dedicated to art, music, culture, youth. We went to the bar. Dark and gritty, with weird things dangling from the super-high ceilings and strange images projected on one wall. Brought Kevin's friend Rafa home with us, stayed up until 4am on the balcony drinking wine and talking crazy (6am flight to Bocas the next morning notwithstanding. I'm not smart.).
A few days before leaving for this trip, I ran into Tai (owner of Scoops) at Golden State and mentioned to him that I was going to Panama. He told me to look out for a particular ice cream shop there: apparently one of Scoops' rotating art exhibits -- a set of photos of an impressive array of ice cream scoops -- was taken there. I remember these photos -- they really were great -- but no way was I going to search the country for this place. But lo and behold, seeking reprieve from a sudden thunderstorm, Rachel and I ducked right into it! Turns out it's a fancy French ice cream shop in Casco Viejo called Granclement, and the back wall is lined with a million ice cream scoops. Try the coconut sorbet (and avoid the fresh basil ice cream; it tastes like pizza).

We did make a quick stop in Cafe Coca Cola, purportedly the oldest cafe in the city. It's as close as we got to actual Panamanian food, not to mention cute old men in hats that looked like Buena Vista Social Club. All I had was a cafe con leche, but it was solid.

OK. That's enough for tonight. Island roundup to come in a subsequent post. In the the meantime, from my vantage point, Panama was incredibly picturesque, and I managed some gorgeous photos. Check them out.

A Quiet Wintry Magic

My friend Chelsea has a quiet magic in the kitchen. While everyone else is babbling, or performing (among our friends, there is a lot of performing), or just cracking up, you'll often find her standing at the counter, stirring a bowl with great concentration. She'll stop, think to herself for a second, scurry to the pantry and grab some jar, confidently sprinkle a little into her bowl, then it's back to stirring. No recipe, and no artifice. At the end of it, she'll calmly walk out with a grin and a big plate of something delicious, making the rest of us shut up just long enough to applaud, stuff it in our mouths, then applaud some more.


Somehow she can intuit exactly what satisfies, and it seems like she throws it together just as intuitively. (This culinary sixth sense may be related whatever it is that allows her to give the kind of tarot card readings whose eerie accuracy may actually make you cry.) Last weekend, Chelsea, myself, and seven other friends, new and old, drove up to Mammoth for a few days of cozy, wintry goodness. I'm not much of a cold-weather girl -- I'll opt for 100-plus temperatures over snow any day -- but, I can certainly get behind cozy. As Kit, one of the nine on the trip put it, what I wanted was "aprés ski without the ski". And I got it.

Home base was a condo made up of three tiny stories stacked on top of each other, with a little fireplace in the living room. Out the balcony window, we could see snow falling on evergreens and wood cabins. We played Pictionary at the kitchen table, we read magazines as Geordie strummed his guitar -- with Kit all snug in her Snuggie all the while, we played Taboo and Celebrity by the fireplace, and in general just enjoyed each other's company. Of course, we didn't stay in the house the whole time: Kit and I got there a day later than everyone else, so we missed the ski day (darn), but we did weather a hail storm in our snow shoes, took a gondola to the lodge for spiked coffee drinks, had the surreal experience of throwing snow balls while in the hot tub (really, you should try it sometime), then managed to squeeze the whole party into the sauna, where we belted out Nelson, Extreme, and Mr. Big as we warmed up to the bone.

And throughout the weekend, we cooked, we ate, we drank. There were a few times on this trip where I thought to myself gratefully, this is why these people are my friends (the hair band sauna sing-along for one). It's a really good feeling to know you've found your people. I missed the feast of tacos and nachos with homemade salsa and guacamole the first night, but was the official egg-cracker for French toast Saturday morning: constant pot of coffee brewing, real maple syrup, big bowl of tangerines that Jeni brought from her tree at home (how we managed to leave the condo without stealing that awesome bowl remains a mystery), and strawberry butter that Chelsea threw together. The next morning we'd go large on breakfast again: homemade biscuits, a giant veggie scramble compliments of Rachel, and slapdash cinnamon rolls -- Bisquick dough, honey, cinnamon sugar we found in the pantry, lots of butter, homemade glaze, and some other magic I can't even begin to fathom -- thrown together, unhesitatingly, by Chelsea.

Saturday night, as we played games and drank toddy, Chelsea and Ashley stepped out of the kitchen with their hands full once again. This time, they'd improvised a sweet snack. They'd slathered leftover flour tortillas with strawberry butter from the fridge and sprinkled them with cinnamon sugar, slapped them together and browned them in a pan. It turns out that ad lib strawberry quesedillas are the perfect fireside treat. But Chelsea already knew that.

Puerto Vallarta: Fish Tacos in Paradise

Oh friends, when I started writing this post early this morning, I felt a little longing to go back to the paradise dreamworld that is Puerto Vallarta, if only to escape my life here for a little bit longer. But now, back from a coffee then brunch with a steady stream of awesome laughter over stupid/amazing jokes on a perfect sunny-in-November LA day where all the friends seemed especially ebullient, I feel completely satisfied where I am (more on that later).

But that doesn't take away from the deliciousness of the trip. You see, whenever I'm asked the question "if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you choose?" I always have the same response: somewhere beachy and Spanish-speaking.

I think I found it.

In the depths of crazy overtime and 6-day work weeks, I sneaked away for five days, with some of my favorite cousins, to Mexico. Our hotel pool was 4 steps away from its own beach, the water was turqoise and clear, warm like a bathtub, with mellow waves that might rock you to sleep. I indulged on my own airy and bright room, and lying in that crisp white bed, lulled to sleep by waves hitting the shore outside my window, was more relaxation that I could have asked for.

Our food choices on the trip were fairly simple. We spent the majority of our trip splayed out by the pool, so we ate many 'meals' at the bar, sitting on the tile stools inside the pool. Big fresh tortilla chips and ample mounds of creamy guacamole (simple and perfect: avocado, sweet onion, lime, salt. the end.) were our daily bread. I had my share of margaritas -- really the drink that makes me happiest in the world -- but I mixed it up now and then with a michelada, a Mexican specialty that makes beer into what I can only describe as a savory beer-garita.

To make a michelada, they salt the rim of a beer stein, then squeeze in lime juice, and add Worcestershire and Maggi seasoning. Add ice, pour in beer, stick in a straw. A little odd, but cool and satisfying in a somewhat bloody-mary sort of way.

Hmm, what else can I tell you about the food? Well, breakfast was amazing: mild, delicious coffee with cream that's actually cream-colored, a plate of fresh cut fruit, granola, luscious yogurt, and on good days, a basket filled with a variety of pan dulce. The first day I was there, a Sunday, I got a special treat: a sweet bread specked with whole cloves, baked special for the Day of the Dead, the Mexican holiday when people celebrate the lives of loved ones they've lost.

I was in Mexico, and I was on the coast, so of course there were fish tacos and ceviche. Both were made with what Guillermo, the bar guy, called 'blanco de basa', which he translated as mahi-mahi (though I have my doubts). Both were delicious. The tacos weren't the deep-fried, cabbagy baja monstrosities we see here, but rather big cubes of fish lightly sauteed with onions and peppers over corn tortillas, served of course, with copious amounts of guacamole. The ceviche tasted fresh and citrusy -- which is to say, just right.

We did manage to venture into town for a short stint: my cousin Sam and I left the others to bronze all day and hopped on the bright green Mismaloya bus. Between admiring the awesome public art every few steps down the malecon -- Puerto Vallarta's beach boardwalk -- and freaking out over extremely perilous street performances involving swinging upside-down on a rope hanging from a spinning pole hundreds of feet high and precariously close to a stone wall, while playing a tiny flute and drum at the same time, we encountered marvels like the McDonald's 'pay de queso': take your familiar apple pie and swap out the filling with sweet creamy cheese. Globalization-licious! We also stopped at a street cart for some heavily-pierced kid to sell us a giant coconut macaroon. He had two varieties: one was the the pale color we're used to here, but we opted for the one that a much darker brown, I'm guessing due either to caramelizing the sugar, or using piloncillo, or something along those lines. It had a deep burnt-sugar flavor, and as soon as we inhaled the thing, we regretted not getting two.

There was probably much more of the city we could have explored, foodwise and otherwise, but this particular trip was all about blissful vegetating. And besides, knowing how much more there is to see just means I'll have revisit Puerto Vallarta, my own little 'somewhere beachy and Spanish-speaking'. Sadly, said revisit can not happen tomorrow. Que lástima.

The House Banana

I knew something was odd when the driver had us get out of the van to disinfect our shoes. We were en route from La Fortuna, a town in Costa Rica's central highlands, to Tortuguero, a tiny village on the Caribbean coast built on a soggy strip of land between a river and the sea, and accessible only by boat. We'd planned to take a private bus to a town called Siquirres, then catch the boat there. But the guy at our hotel offered to book us a bus/boat package that would afford us a hefty discount (I should note here that the 'guy at the hotel' is the driving force behind Costa Rica's burgeoning tourism industry: the constant planning, machinations, instant translations, phone calls that they put in -- well, we'd have gotten nowhere without them). The price was right, so without asking questions, we'd agreed.

So here we were, standing before a gate, pressing the soles of our shoes into an odd orange square that was saturated in a white liquid. Had we paid closer attention to our surroundings, we'd have realized that we passed the main port several miles ago. Instead, we were entering a banana plantation. Uniform rows of banana trees surrounded us, with their giant flat leaves and heavy clusters of fruit wrapped in blue plastic bags. Ominous signs with warnings to stay out during aerial pesticide drops alternated with signs prohibiting all photography.

The driver dropped us off at a rickety wood hutch on the riverbank and told us to wait an hour for the boat. The whole thing was quite odd, but what could we do? We trusted that everything would be fine, and we waited. In the meantime, I pulled out my trusty Lonely Planet -- maybe it knew about this odd La Fortuna to Tortuguero via banana plantation route? It didn't, but I happened on an article about the costs of Costa Rica's banana industry. Evidently, for the last century, bananas have been the country's second-largest industry (after tourism), but between noxious pesticides and poor working conditions, there's lots of room for improvement. These ubitiquous blue bags hold a chemical compound designed to protect the bananas from pests (after all, as all farmed bananas are clones, they are highly susceptible to infestation). One chemical pesticide, DBCP, has a particularly dastardly past: it's manufactured in the US by Dow Chemicals, and while it was banned domestically in 1977 for being linked to birth defects, sterility, and tissue damage, it was still sent to Costa Rica until 1990. It was distressing to learn that a fruit that is so integral to the country's economy, not to mention delicious to eat at home, was mired in so much trouble.

After all, bananas (and plantains) were everywhere on my trip. Most meals came with a pile of salty patacones: slices of savory plantain flattened into discs and fried. Our hotel in the Caribbean beach town of Cahuita offered unlimited bananas and coffee to its guests. A cheery batido of banana, coconut, orange, and pineapple led us back to Ingrid's restaurant more than once. And it was a banana daiquiri (ok, maybe two) that did me in one particularly boisterous night of our journey.

But the major winner was the House Banana -- a dessert whose name we couldn't resist at the Coral Reef restaurant in Cahuita. It was quite a number: a banana sliced in half, browned in butter and redolent of dark rum, served warm with chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, and a big scoop of ice cream. I wanted to recreate it at home, but there were pangs: after reading about the banana issues, and spending a weird moment at the very site where the troubles go down, could I in good conscience purchase and eat a conventional banana?

Today at Trader Joe's I discovered organic Dole bananas. Then at home, I discovered Dole Organic's website, and was fascinated. Granted, Dole is not producing organic bananas in Costa Rica, but they are doing so in 5 other countries, and -- this is the cool part -- there is a 3-digit code on each banana label that links you, on the website, to photos and information about the specific farm on which your banana was raised. Check out the blog: there's an adorable email exchange between a US consumer and a smattering of workers from her banana's farm. This pleases me immensely.

After an hour of anxious waiting, a tiny blue boat arrived. The curly-haired punk steering the thing didn't do much to quell my anxiety, but when a local man wearing a guayabero shirt and a semi-toothless smile walked confidently to the back of the boat, whistling a carefree tune all the while, I immediately felt silly for worrying. Our young captain got us safely to Tortuguero, and as Guayabero disembarked, he turned to me with a quiet "Buen viaje, reina" and went on his way.

You try snapping a pic of this stuff before it turns into an oddly suggestive mess!

The House Banana

This dessert is very sweet, and with ice cream, quite rich. One serving is plenty for two people, and a cup of strong Costa Rican coffee served alongside hits the spot. Go dark here: dark rum, a well-browned caramel sauce, and good dark brown sugar (molasses sugar is my favorite) will really deepen the dessert's flavor.

1 tsp unsalted butter
dark brown sugar
1 ripe banana (not too ripe though -- you don't want it to fall apart in the pan), peeled and halved lengthwise
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
about 2 shots dark rum
1 Tbs chocolate sauce of your choice
1 scoop vanilla ice cream
1 Tbs caramel sauce of your choice

Melt butter in medium saucepan over medium heat. When butter is melted, sprinkle with brown sugar, and cook one minute. Place bananas halves in pan, cut side down. Sprinkle bananas with more brown sugar. Add vanilla to melted butter in pan. After about 2 minutes of cooking, when the bottoms of the halves are well-browned, carefully flip them, and cook for 1 minute longer. Meanwhile, spread chocolate sauce decoratively on the bottom of serving plate. Pour rum over bananas and allow to heat. Ignite carefully by pooling rum in one 'corner' of pan, and bringing a long lit match close to the rum. Swish the flaming rum around the bananas in the pan. When the flames subside, carefully remove the banana halves and place them in the plate, cut side down. Pour remaining sauce over top. Place a scoop of ice cream between the two halves, and drizzle the whole lot with caramel sauce. Serve immediately.

[Thanks brandonwilhite for the banana plantation photo.]

Back from the Rica

soon after this shot, we hiked down to the bottom of this waterfall for a swim...

Forty-three mosquito bites and about as many cups of cafe con leche later, I'm back in the states. In the last 10 days, I've seen an active volcano, hiked to two waterfalls, visited three national parks -- one via 5 am canoe ride, zipped across the cloud forest on a cable 150 feet off the ground, encountered countless fascinating characters, laid on beaches of both white sand and black, dipped my toes in both the Pacific and the Caribbean. I've seen iguanas, sloths, monkeys, toucans, turtles, porcupines, sloths, tarantulas, frogs, lizards, geckos, chickens, cows, bats, river otters, caimans, parrots, hummingbirds, coatis, and agoutis (real life ROUSes!). I witnessed my traveling companion getting bitten by a monkey, then helped him track down the requisite inoculations in a tiny Caribbean beach town. I've learned a lot about Costa Rica: a magical country where national priorities lean towards peace and the concerted effort to protect the nation's lush environment; where the lack of a military force opens up funds for education, and where the life expectancy surpasses our in here in the states.

fishmongermobile

I've eaten rice and beans laced with coconut milk and seafood bathed in luscious coconut sauce, drank cocktails out of coconuts, laid in the shade of coconut trees, and awoke abruptly to the roof of my cabina being pelted with coconuts knocked off the tree on a windy, rainy night. Savored bananas soaked in rum, creamy guanabana straight from the tree, swoony strawberry-pineapple pie, luscious batidos that seduce you into going for seconds, and fried plantains effortless bridging the gap between sweet and savory.

frutas del caribe

Costa Rica was a trip. There are many stories, and even a recipe or two to share. Be sure to check back for more!