The Last Hurrah

Here I sit in Las Vegas, pondering the big gamble I'm about to make. Now before you start getting worried about my thin wallet and slot machine addiction, just know that I'm referring to life changes, not going all in on number 17. Last Friday I accepted a fundraising job in San Francisco and I start a week from today. So I've taken to pondering (otherwise known as obsessive second-guessing) the large gamble that I'm about to make: namely, that choosing stability, routine and responsibility and giving up my wandering ways is what I need right now. But it's really too late for rumination; I've already got everything riding on this bet.

Partly to celebrate and partly to get all of my yah-yahs out before next week, Elly and I have embarked on another grand adventure: a week long tour of the West. We met in San Luis Obispo for a whirlwind round of visits with some friends then popped down to Orange County on the way to Las Vegas. Today we're off to Bishop, high up in the Sierras, then down to the American River in the heart of gold country, perhaps a stop in Sonoma and then back to San Francisco just in time to complete my transformation back into a young professional. In typical style, we hatched this plan on Saturday morning over coffee, writing all the possible destinations on little sheets of paper and rearranging them until the puzzle pieces formed a sufficiently ambitious and adventurous picture.

So here I sit in Las Vegas, in the midst of the adventure I'll need to keep me sated during the daily nine to five I've signed up for, hoping it will scratch my wandering itch long enough for me to settle into the new routine.

More photos, disasters and food coming soon!

Location:Las Vegas

"Staying & Eating" Doesn't Quite Have the Same Ring....

One of my former boyfriends had a painting in his living room of a cockroach and the words "MOVING, KEEPING STRONG." I think about that canvas all the time, especially since I took off last July to do a long spell of traveling.  Somehow, those words perfectly capture the sentiment that drove me on this crazy trek around the globe in the first place.  Somewhere in my DNA is a drive to go every time my sanity is threatened...a primal nomadic instinct...a strong proclivity for the "flight" side of "fight or flight"...an ear that's carefully attuned to the call of my wild self's need for escape.  Sadly, this is a characteristic that puts me solidly in the company of gypsies, vagabonds and aging hipsters with a fear of commitment, none of which are particularly romantic figures.  

When I'm not in one of my moving phases, I feel a very feminine pull to put down some roots, make a cozy home, cultivate community and stay put.  But then the wind changes direction and all those roots get pulled clean up and I'm off again.  Like clockwork, this happens every couple of years.  It is a call that I cannot deny and I never see it coming until it's there and all I know is that I need to leave, NOW.  So that's what I did for the last year, by far my longest moving phase to date.  And now I'm back in California, looking for a job in San Francisco, dreaming of my own apartment and garden, salivating over the perfect couch and my own little kitchen.  I'm having an existential crisis about this blog.  Not that there aren't lots of great food adventures to be had in northern California, but "Staying & Eating" isn't quite as glamorous.  And so, the eternal question: to blog or not to blog.

Oh My Gosh, It's Summer in Ohio

Here are a few of my favorite things about Ohio in the summertime:

lightning bugs

warm rain
heat lightning

water skiing

sweet corn

seasonal ice cream stands

coney dogs

watermelon

I came to Ohio last week to visit the family in Canton and got immersed in the soupy air and the Mid-West hospitality; welcome to the land where soda is 'pop,' a visit lasts as long as a pot of coffee and the mall is town square.  It was wonderful to sit around the table with my peeps and hear the same stories I've been hearing since I can remember, fall back into my native accent and be surrounded by the familiar laughs of my aunts, uncles and cousins.  If I had to pick two things that have always defined my family, it would be these:

1. We have legendary stories
2. We are Italian-American

And I was able to re-visit two of my favorite restaurants from my childhood.  The first is my all-time favorite ice cream parlor, Milk n' Honey.  I can remember walking in as a child and being amazed at the long shelves of chocolates and candy and the seemingly endless list of ice cream flavors.  Everything here is hand made, from the daily soups and sandwiches to the sweets and treats.  I ordered the club sandwich and a grasshopper sundae (homemade mint-chocolate-chip ice cream, hot fudge and whipped cream), both nostalgic favorites.  My mom and I sat in the back room, where hung on up on the wall is half of a red MGB; according to family lore, this exact car belonged to my father when he was in college...he sold it to a young man who completely totaled only half of the car, precisely the half not hanging on the wall.  I'm not sure that this story has ever been confirmed, but it's these kind of tales that make me feel connected to my hometown by a vast network of tiny threads.

The second restaurant was Papa Bear's.  Again, I have been coming here for as long as I can remember.  My mother was a waitress here.  Every family celebration that I can remember has taken place at this restaurant.  I can't tell you how many time my cousins and I have posed for photos with the taxidermied bear in the lobby. As far as my taste buds are concerned, this is the ideal when it comes to spaghetti with meat sauce.  I have eaten here for so long, I can't even tell you if it's good; all I can tell you is that I like it.  My mom and I ordered our favorites: crispy pepperoni bread with marinara sauce, wedding soup with meatballs and chicken, a side of angel hair with hot Italian sausage.  This will probably always be my comfort food.  I was a little disappointed to see that they were renovating; since I can remember there has always been the same 1980's floral wallpaper with miniature nude sculptures recessed in little wall-cubbies, the same black lacquered chairs with mauve cushions, the same casino-style carpeting.  I just hope they always keep the bear.

Moving & Eating....Literally

I arrived in NYC last week and would love to report that I'm being a fabulous international playgirl....hitting all the hippest summer spots, eating exotic street food everyday, uncovering the fabulous underbelly of the city and bringing it to you in this blog as a witty gift.  But I'm tired and there's work to be done, so I've done none of that.  What I have been doing is helping my sister and Jess move into their lovely new apartment in Brooklyn and sending off tons of job applications.  And I've been able to fit in a little bit of cheap and fabulous food here and there.

I never thought I'd say this, but the day we went to IKEA was fabulous.  Not because IKEA is so special, but because it is in Red Hook.  This little neighborhood is right across from Governors Island in Brooklyn and formerly was an industrial and pretty underdeveloped place.  These days it's pretty hopping.  One of the highlights for me was the Red Hook Community Farm.  It sits on 2.5 acre concrete lot in the middle of an industrial/residential neighborhood.  They just put about a foot of dirt right on top of the concrete and started farming.  It really doesn't look like much, but they have a CSA program for the neighborhood, weekly farmers' markets and youth education programs.  They make quite a bit impact on their community with only two and a half acres of fenced concrete.

Another great part about the neighborhood is the fabulous street food by the ballpark.  Every kind of Central and South American food you could want awaits you here: elote, papusas, sopas, horchata....it was a dream come true after having (mostly happily) eaten bread and cheese for almost three months.

Some other quick food highlights include:

The great street food at the Brooklyn Flea.  Manchego fritters and kim chee hot dogs are a wonderful breakfast.

BLT Burger in the West Village.  Any time you can have Maker's Mark in your chocolate milk shake is a good one.

Jacques Torres wicked frozen hot chocolate.  I have one every day that I'm in NYC without fail.  Don't ask how it's possible to have something cold and hot at the same time.  Just drink it...you'll become obsessed.

The street hustlers on Kate's block who were trying to sell me a watermelon every time I walked out their front door.  I don't know how they wound up with a truckload of fruit, but clearly they weren't very successful at getting rid of it all.  A real shame.

I'm off to Ohio this afternoon for a quick visit and then back to California...sigh.

Versailles

If ever there were a tourist destination designed for Elly and me, it is Versailles. First, it's in Paris. Second, the entire thing is dipped in gold. Third, no matter how ridiculously we dress, we still blend in. We took our pilgrimage to the last home of Marie Antoinette very seriously, decking ourselves out in all the lace, bows, gaudy jewelry and hairspray we could muster. A nice fellow in the gift shop remarked, "Hey...you guys look like you...belong here..." How very observant, my little French friend...

We were feeling a little soggy after the hour and a half train ride from the city to the palace and then the hour and a half wait in line to enter the palace (and we'd even bought our tickets ahead of time!), but we really perked up when we saw those shiny golden gates and the huge gardens spreading out as far as you could see.

I know you can't see it, but on that building, at the entrance of the palace is the inscription "Tout la gloire de la France," or "All the glory of France."

Word.

Of course we were interested in the extravagant last queen of France, Madame Marie-Antoinette. We toured her private chambers (lavish and amazing), looked at portraits of her and the last royal family and bought some of her personal recipe perfume from the gift shop. Don't misinterpret my zeal for this ridiculous monarch...I am all about power for the people, the republic and revolution. But I think we can all agree, that woman had some fabulously lavish style and it deserves some props. Devotion to beauty is worthy of admiration. That said, I probably would have voted to chopped off her head too.

Some fun facts about Versailles:

1. There are 800 hectares of gardens. That's over 3 square miles of perfectly manicured vegetation.
2. The Grand Canal runs from the back of the palace through the length of the garden and was used for yacht parties for the kings and their courts.
3. The city of Versailles and the palace grounds are bigger than the entire island of Manhattan.
4. The palace itself has 700 rooms, 2000 windows and 1250 fireplaces and can house 5000 people.
5. Marie-Antoinette was wearing purple shoes when she was executed.

My absolute favorite part of the tour was the hamlet at the Petit Trianon. Versailles is so big that there is a train you can take to the outlying buildings on the grounds. There of course is the huge palace, but there are also two "country houses:" the Grand Trianon (residence of Queen Marie-Therese) and the Petit Trianon (residence of Marie-Antoinette). This last queen had a real flair for the theatrical and so she decided to build her own little rustic village (le Hameau) just off her country villa. The story is that she was tired of all the fluff and formality of being queen so she built a place where she could pretend to be a milkmaid. It has little canals, tiny backyard gardens, sheep, chickens, miniature bridges and cottages. It feels like Disneyland's version of the French countryside and I LOVED it. It was so cute, I could hardly contain myself from skipping around.

After all that walking and ooohing and aaaahing at the palace, we came back into Paris for dinner and decided to spend my last night in France at the Eiffel Tower. We sat right at the base, watching the elevators go up and down, the people wandering around, the vendors selling their miniature Eiffel Towers. Much to my delight, the tower lit up at midnight like a psychedelic Christmas tree and I did a little dance in honor of France. The next morning I shipped out for the States; it was a perfectly fitting way to end my French adventure.

Guest Blog!!!!

Just wanted to put in a quick note that yours truly has been asked to guest blog for the fantastic site OneTravel.com (which has great deals on cheap tickets). I wrote a brief article about a driving tour of the Big Island. Check it out! There are lots of good articles about fantastic things to see and do all over this big, wide world.

Paris in a Day

What is the best way to see Paris?

On a bike.

With lots of chocolate.

Darling sister had just been to Paris and recommended that I check out some of the chocolate shops there. She and Jess are perpetually more prepared than myself and Elly, so I took advantage of their organization and copied their chocolate route (with a few monumental additions). Paris is a surprisingly small city and most of the major sites are clustered in a few square kilometers around the Seine. So I took the liberty of planning the ultimate Paris-in-a-day tour....and now I will share my genius with all of you!

Elly and I biked down from our hotel in the Marais, across the pretty little bridge and over to the island in the Seine where Notre Dame sits. We knew we would be crunched for time, so we didn't go to the top of the tower, but just walked around and looking at those crazy gargoyles, scenes of temptation and torture...quite a way to kick off the day.

I think the cathedral must have really put the fear of the Lord into Elly, because right as we were riding away she crashed her bike...for no reason. We were chatting and biking...one minute I look back and there she is right behind me, the next minute, she's lying on the pavement. My eye quickly scanned for a pot hole, an opened car door, a gargoyle, an arch-angel...nothing. I don't know how, but Elly managed to have an immaculate collision. (Don't worry, Cherie, it was just a tiny scrape...) I promise that I won't turn that into a life metaphor, but I was thinking about it.

After we'd cleaned Elly up a bit, we cruised back over the Seine, past the Louvre and its huge gardens. Just one block north of the Tuileries on Rue St. Honore, the chocolatier Michel Cluizel sits in a totally fab shopping district with hip record stores, lingerie shops and independent clothing designers. We almost got sucked into spending the entire day on that street...it was seriously tempting. The chocolate shop itself was a wonder: a huge chocolate fountain at the entrance, beautiful truffles with gold leaf letters, delicious macarons, candied everything. The real winner was a chocolate champignon (don't worry there were no actual mushrooms involved). It had a buttery, chewy caramel center peppered with crunchy toffee, shaped like a cute little mushroom and covered in swirls of white and dark chocolate. Right down the street another amazing chocolatier, Jean-Paul Hevin. At this little gem of a shop we tried the most wonderful macarons I've ever had; Elly and I sampled a beautifully floral chocolate-bergamot, a spicy orange-ginger-chocolate and (my favorite) mango-coriander.

From there we cruised down the Avenue Champs de Elysees, through the plazas and parks, past the big, beautiful Louis Vuitton store with its four-story high windows and up to the Arc de Triomphe. It was a beautiful, breezy day and as we rolled down the streets in our sundresses, life was sweet. It was even sweeter when we found the theatrical chocolatier Patrick Roger. The shop was unlike any other I'd been in. No gold decorations, no little plates piled high with truffles. The long refrigerated cases were sleek, the bites and morsels each perfectly spaced in neat rows. On the counters were modernist chocolate sculptures. Even the chocolates themselves were presented in perfect, glossy simplicity. Elly and I tried a concoction that looked exactly like a green marble in a Tiffany's jewelry box. I felt a little strange about eating it. Until I ate it. Inside the smooth sugar shell was a layer of milk chocolate and then a perfect lime-caramel-cream. I was surprised that anything in this world could taste so perfect.

We rode down to the Eiffel Tower for a quick peak. It was stunning to see in person, and we decided to come back at night for the light show.

Next we biked through the pretty little neighborhood of Saint-Germain-des-Pres for the final stop of the epic chocolate tour, the uber-famous Michel Chaudun. We were delighted by the window full of tiny chocolate figurines: the Statue of Liberty, the Eiffel Tower, babies, trees, pigs, deer...just to name a few. We went inside to try the specialty of the store, pave. These little morsels are cream truffles, one the simplest and best of all chocolate creations: cocoa powder, sugar and heavy cream. They are kept cold, so you get a little cool, silky bite of chocolate that spreads slowly through your mouth like a Southern woman sauntering into a room. Heavenly.

Later that evening when the sun was going down over the city we strolled down to the Tuileries Gardens again and rode the huge ferris wheel as the lights were all starting to twinkle on over city. Just as we reached the top the Eiffel Tower exploded in sparkling movement like a huge Christmas tree. I think I actually screamed in delight. I could see the Seine, the Opera House, the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, the hill of Montmartre, the lights of Notre Dame, like points on a Lite-Brite against the dark, warm night.

City of Light Brights

I just arrived in Paris and am already getting really excited about all there is to see. I went first to the Louvres hoping they'd let me in during the last half hour, but no. Still, the glass pyramids were phenomenal! It is so huge inside, like a whole miniature city underground.


I walked around the Tuileries Gardens on the Seine and was delighted to find a little amusement park sitting right next to the Louvre and the big palace, complete with water rides, a giant automated King Kong and carnival food. France never ceases to amaze me.

Location:Rue de Turbigo,Paris,France

It's Quiet Here

I came back to Chateau Brandeau as my last farm for my last days in France. Elly isn't here. Neither is Phil or Eddie of Ana, my new friends since I've arrived. In fact, it's a little too quiet, and as always there is lots of time in the vines...which means lots of time for contemplation. But contemplation makes it sound serene, meditative even. Sometimes it's that, but the most honest description would be a daily a panic attack.

I came to France for a lot of reasons, but if I were going to psycho-analyze myself, I'd say the main reason was that I still felt par-baked after my return from Hawaii. Like whatever had been forming there was close to done, but not quite there. I tried to come back to California and put it all together again last winter, but nothing was quite forming up inside of me and I had to admit that it just wasn't time yet. So I came to France for another adventure, thinking that this time I'd be ready to go back when it was all over. Only now I feel even less confident than before....I'm returning with an even skimpier game plan.

I wish that I could wrap it all up in a neat and tidy arc, or end with some witty and clever thought, but I can't. All I know is that today I leave for Paris for three days and then I fly to New York. After that I have no schedule, no job, no house and no fucking clue.

Saint-Emilion

Because we simply had not yet exhausted our thirst for wine yet, Jess, Kate and I decided to do a little more wine adventuring around Bordeaux. On the way to their friends' wedding we took leisurely drive through the country and stopped at a tasting room in Graves on the way. We learned a little bit about the white wines from Aquitane and gawked at the hugest bottle of wine I've ever seen. I have no idea how huge it was, but it must have been at least twice the size of a magnum. I can't believe I haven't seen one in the states--it was totally supersized.

The next day I picked up the girls again after a long night of French-style partying (a five hour dinner followed by dancing til 6 am) and we took an hour's drive to the picturesque town of Saint-Emilion. The city evolved from the lonley hermitage of a monk, to a community of small religious community and lately to one of the most expensive wine regions in France. The grand cru vineyards that surround the stone village are perfectly manicured and pristine. We started with a tour of the old hermitage and moved on to the catacombs and finally the underground cathedral. According to our guide, the massive underground chapel was originally a natural cave, but thanks to the thousands of years of use as a stone quarry for the village, the space eventually became so vast that it was appropriated for religious use. It was might impressive. Especially when you returned above ground to see that sitting right on top of this massive hole in the ground is an equally massive bell tower made from a monolith...that's right, a steeple made from one giant hunk of stone, sitting on top of a huge underground dome. I tried not to think about it too hard, otherwise I might have started hyperventillating about the amount of time I had spent down there.

The town itself is quite charming, but definitely means business. All you can find are high end wine shops and fancy restaurants. So we went with the flow and took a self-guided tour of some extensive wine cellars and ducked into a couple of shops to taste the fancy wine.




For dinner we found a little restaurant overlooking the city and had some delicious tartine (the French version of bruschetta).

The next morning the ladies flew back to NYC and I returned to work in the vines at Brandeau. The countdown for my return to the States has begun...

An Amazing Weekend in Bordeaux

Darling sister and sister-in-law came to France last week for a wedding and stayed for a bit in Bordeaux, which gave me the perfect excuse to spend some time in the beautiful old city. It's truly gorgeous, with little narrow alleyways, a lovely old cathedrals and tons and tons of little squares, each of them with their own unique vibe...a brand new universe every few blocks.

Kate & Jess arrived just in time for the Fete le Vin on the riverfront, a huge celebration of Bordelaise wines. We walked along the water, tasted as much of the many varieties as we could handle in the heat and eventually ended up cooling off a very smart water feature in the Place de la Bourse called the miroir d’eau. It is a black granite pool with about 1/2 inch of water, making it the perfect spot to cool your toes on a hot summer day. When we were just about dying of the heat and red wine, we came upon the square just teeming with kids and parents having the greatest time in the shallowest pool I have ever seen. There were toddlers splashing, little kids chasing each other and one enthusiastic young boy on a scooter cutting a truly narley wake in the pool. Then, all of the sudden, the water drained out and the entire pool turned into a mist machine. Collectively the entire square breathed a little sigh of relief and went quiet, suddenly shrouded, walking slowly and mysteriously across the square.

Other than the wine festival, there was a lot of good food to be had. Jess and I went a little nutty in a chocolate shop and ordered every flavor of macaroon our hearts desired...rose, lavender, noisette, pistachio. The pastries reminded me of miniature candy hamburgers, but much more delicious. Kate promptly squished them to smithereens in her bag, but the crumbs were still delicate and delicious.

I also got to try my first plate of escargot. The little buggers really appealed to my well-known obsession with circles. They were served in a round ceramic dish with six tiny circular indents that perfectly fit the shells. The special utensil for grabbing the little buggers was a circular tong to hold the shell while digging out the delectible morsel inside. Mine were steamed and then topped with butter and pesto...similar in texture to a perfectly cooked mussel; I can see why they're such a delicacy here. I don't think I will ever be able to look at those garden pests again without briefly entertaining culinary daydreams. Just as we were finishing our dinner that evening, we heard some commotion on the street and knew that the fireworks were beginning for the festival. As were wandered down the plaza, we could hear the big, full orchestra music and see the pink flashes in the sky.

The next day all three of us were feeling wilted from the heat and decided to take a little road trip to the Atlantic coast to cool off. We'd heard tales of La Dune du Pila, a huge sand dune a hour away, the largest in France. Supposedly the thing just kept growing and growing over the years, swallowing trees even hotels. Finally someone put a stop to the horror movie madness and they planted a whole forest of pine trees to tame the monstrous sand dune. Now its a tourist attraction with a HUGE set of stairs to the top...you know, accessible. So we climbed and climbed to the top and when we finally arrived we saw that the dune just kept going and going off into the distance. It was like being on the set of Laurence of Arabia. And the view of the calm little harbour below was fantastic and extremely enticing.



After stumbling to the bottom for a quick swim and then heroically climbing back up to the top in the mid-day heat, we were ready to reward ourselves with some sea-side snacking. For a while we drove around the tiny villages, looking in vain for a simple meal of ocean critters, and we finally happened upon the haven that is Papa's Restaurant. In the town of Arcachon was a Basque bistro serving up both fresh oysters and plates of moule-frites. We gladly partook of both and had the pleasure of being served by the fat, red-cheeked Papa himself. In between singing, shouting at his equally jolly wife and entertaining his five-year-old grandson with the radio on his Gold Wing, Papa kept us happy with bubbly drinks and plates of tasty mollusks. We arrived back in Bordeaux that evening in time for an ice cream cone and another round of festival fireworks.

P.S. This has absolutely nothing to do with the narrative, but I loved this photo and had to share it. Kate bought yogurt for a car snack, but there were no spoons in sight. So we improvised and made our own go-gurts. Totally clever until she started slurping the last dregs...and then giggling...and then almost choking and wrecking the car. Brilliant.