honey pie

NEW ZEALAND

2006-01-23T21:01:00.000-05:00

Below are posts from my New Zealand trip. The post below this one will be the beginning of the trip and go on from there so it will be easier to read. Sadly this is my last trip unless an unexpected windfall drops in my lap. I have some hope that I will keep doing posts at random, but knowing how things go, that probably won’t happen. If I have any major bursts of activity I will be sure to let everyone know. Read on for tales of my adventures down under, the country that sees the sunrise before anyone else.

Sunrise on the 3rd day of the Milford Trek, Fiordland National Park

Getting There is Half the Battle

2006-01-23T20:53:00.000-05:00

On November 18 I started making my way to New Zealand for a 2-week hiking trip. I drove the 45 minutes to Pikeville to pick up my dad who would drive the car home from Cincinnati. After that it was a direct flight to Los Angeles and then on to Auckland, the largest city in New Zealand boasting a population of about 1 million people. On the way to Auckland we crossed the international dateline, another first for me. It was November 20 upon arrival.

After Auckland it was a short 1-hour flight to Christchurch, the major metropolitan city on the South Island with about 300,000 people. All in all, the trip was only about 26 hours total, 18 of those in the plane. Coming home was quite a bit longer (38 hours) and more tiring, but if someone handed me a ticket today to go back I would jump on the plane.

The hiking trip was with a small group of 5 others and 2 guides. In between deviling us with slightly untrue facts about the country, the guides were a wonderful source for legends and history and identifying birdcalls and plants.

Just a few of my favorite New Zealand facts:

The country has 4 million residents
For each of those people there are 10 sheep. This number is down from 20:1 in the 1980s.
It is home to the Kea an alpine parrot considered to be one of the smartest birds in the world.
Kiwi—a fruit grown in the country, a rare bird, and what the residents of New Zealand call themselves.
The west coast of the South Island gets 6,000-8,000 millimeters of rain a year. That’s 21-26 feet.
Only 1 million people live on the whole South Island.
They hate possums but have found a new use for their fur—blending it with merino wool to make the most luxurious knitted products.
Until 1,000 years ago New Zealand was uninhabited.

A Kea parrot near Arthur’s Pass

I could go on and on, as per usual. Basically this trip I decided to do on a whim was the most exhilarating, exciting, and fun trip on the year. I didn’t do a lot of food research, since our guides cooked a lot of the meals, but I did come back with a bird call CD and loads of amazing pictures.

Christchurch

2006-01-23T18:28:00.000-05:00

As I rolled off the plane and into my hotel in Christchurch I resisted the temptation to take a nap, which wasn’t hard. It was a beautiful sunny day and after that trip I was so happy to have fresh are and more than 1 square foot to move about in! I was lucky to be staying on Cathedral Square in the heart of Christchurch and because it was a Sunday local artisans would be setting up for a craft fair. Unbeknownst to me there would be another treat later in the day.

I walked across the square, over the River Avon (above) which meanders through town, and on to the craft fair. The basics were the same—food, jewelry, wood, and woven—but the execution and materials were unique. I came home with a scarf knitted from possum yarn. For Christmas my brother got a salad tossing set made from Rimu, an ancient New Zealand hardwood tree.

On my way back to the hotel while soaking up the warm sun I started noticing a crowd. Then I started noticing Christmas decorations lining the streets. I finally saw what the crowd was gathered for—The Santa parade!! It’s been years since I’ve been to the Christmas parade and this was one of the best and most unique parades I’ve ever been to. There were no school groups or beauty pageant winners, but plenty of community groups, bands, and dancers. My favorite was a group of men in kilts all belting out Christmas songs on their bagpipes.

I watched for an hour and still didn’t see Santa, but here are some of the groups I jotted down:
Rock bands (teenagers and adults) playing in semi trailers with their sides down
Ballet and Salsa dancers, also in semis (below)

A Chinese Christian rock band
An accordion orchestra
A Lego float
Bob the Builder
A Japanese association with everyone in traditional costumes
The Russian Cultural Trust
A group of old fashioned bicycle enthusiasts many riding bikes that have 3-4 foot tall front tires
Trick BMX riders
A man in a Kiwi bird costume

It was quite a lucky start to the amazing trip that was to follow.

Punakaiki

2006-01-23T11:42:00.000-05:00

On November 20 my hiking trip started with a long drive from Christchurch over the Southern Alps to the west coast. The landscape went from agricultural plains over massive peaks to a coastline that receives about 21 feet of rain per year. Our guide said take out the ‘s’ in west and coast and you’re left with wet coat, which is what you have on the west coast.

We spent our first night in a small town called Punakaiki (pronounced Puna-ky-kee) a couple hundred feet from the Tasman Sea (above), which flanks this lush and sparsely inhabited coast. The Sea is brutal, crashing into the coast with so much force and cold water that it looks like geysers are spraying from the rock formations.

We visited the rocks after a beautiful spring day of hiking through the fern trees, mud, and sprouting ferns. It was an amazing day with a clear blue sky and warm sun.

This sprouting fern was bigger than my arm. It was HUGE.

Glaciers

2006-01-23T00:46:00.000-05:00

From Punakaiki and the Tasman Sea we drove a couple hours down the coast to Franz Josef and Fox Glacier. Franz Josef is one of the fastest moving glaciers in the world. It has been moving forward for years, bucking the trend of receding glaciers around the world.

This is the approach to Franz Josef. You walk up a wide, flat valley flanked by rocks that have been pushed and marked by the moving glaciers.

If you look in the bottom right corner of this picture you can see people climbing up the corner of the glacier. With a guide you could strap on some crampons and make your way up the face. There was also the option to take a helicopter halfway up and play around on the glacier.

The color of this glacial lake on the way to Fox Glacier never got old. It was like the ocean but you knew it was colder than cold. Most of glacial run off has this color or a slate blue color.

Mount Aspiring National Park

2006-01-22T17:35:00.000-05:00

A true day of New Zealand adventure in Mount Aspiring National Park:

A flight into the backcountry on a 4-seater plane

A river crossing

A lovely hike out to the river with a picnic in the field courtesy of our guide who brought the food via jet boat

Then a ride out on said jet boat. These boats only need a couple inches of water to go and are the invention of a New Zealand native. Skilled captains drive these boats with a vengeance, spinning them in every direction making it seem like you are on a roller coaster.

After this wonderful day we drove to Queenstown for a free day and a beautiful sunset:

Birds

2006-01-22T17:31:00.000-05:00

New Zealand birds are amazing. Their names are crazy and their calls even crazier. I bought a bird CD and if there’s anyone out there that knows how, I would love to make one of the Kea calls my cell phone ring. Here are a couple I caught with my camera:

The Weka—this is a ground bird. It can’t fly and strikes me as being like our Guinea Hens. We saw baby ones and mama ones. They were all over the place. I think that the Maori and early settlers used to eat them like chickens.

The Robin—this little guy will come up to you on the trail because it thinks your shoe laces might be worms. It has a nice little chirp.

The Tui—this tufted guy sounds like r2d2 everyone thought so. The red flax bushes were in bloom when we were there and the Tui fed on those like a humming bird.

The Milford Trek

2006-01-22T17:04:00.000-05:00

After our free day in Queenstown we connected with a bigger group to begin the 33.5-mile Milford trek. In typical Laura-style I stumbled into this one. Turns out the Milford Trek is one of the most historic and famous multi-day walk in the world. People on my trip had waited for years to get to do this Great Walk. It is an iconic Kiwi trek. I had no idea, but I’m lucky to have made my way there.

British settlers Quinton McKinnon and Ernest Mitchell reached the pass in 1888 after being commissioned by the Otago Chief Surveyor to cut an east/west path up the Clinton Valley. McKinnon guided the first tourists through the trek the next year. McKinnon was the first guide and led groups through the route until he disappeared in a whale boat in 1892. The route wasn’t opened to independent walkers until 1964, which meant everyone passed through with a guide. (The Rough Guide)

The trek has been well documented over the years. All the lodges had archival photographs from the early days—women in skirts, pianos being hauled in with donkeys, men with hats and vests. The Rough Guide says the trek has in some ways, has become a victim of its own hype. Perhaps I got swept up in the history of it all or that our group was so wonderful or that I was inspired by the fact that I got to the top of McKinnon pass in under three hours, whatever the reason I couldn’t disagree with that statement more.

As a guided walker the trip is 5 days in all beginning and ending in Queenstown. I highly recommend hooking up with this guide company. The majority of New Zealand is so accessible that you don’t need a guided trip, but it made such a difference for this part of the trip. The walking is hard and the huts are at least 10 miles apart over generally rough terrain. It was nice to arrive and have a hot shower and a meal and bar waiting for you. Our evenings were spent washing clothes, eating dinner, and playing games. It was like being back at summer camp but in a good way.

The first day is more than easy—a 3 hour bus ride to Te Anau Downs where we caught a boat ride into Fiordland National Park.

We are headed to the snowy mountains.

Once we arrived at the launch we hiked about a half a mile to the Glade House, our first night’s hut. Our view was amazing.

The next day consisted of eleven miles walking up the Clinton River to the Pompolona Hut. Along the way we were able to enjoy the beauty of the river, the Keas who tried to steal our lunch, and the snow capped peaks. It was a beautiful clear day, which is rare on these trips.

We ended the day with a FREEZING cold swim out to this waterfall and our first view of McKinnon pass.

From the get go the guides are preparing you to get up McKinnon pass. They let you know every last detail about the 3-mile, 2,000 foot ascent: there are 9 switchbacks, at switchback 5 there are 3 smaller switchbacks because of a mudslide, and mile marker 15 is the halfway point. I assumed all this preparation was because the majority of the group was 60 years plus.

It was a rough climb to be sure and the guides hadn’t entirely over-hyped it, so I was surprised at how quickly I made it up.

Once we reached the top it was amazing and I vowed to do more hiking, more often. It was so exhilarating to get to the top.

What I wish the guides had told us a little more about was the hike down. After eating lunch at the top in the hut in the picture above, I started the descent. It was LONG and it was ROUGH. It was beautiful, but way harder than going up. When I made it to the hut six-hours after starting, the day wasn’t quite over because a mere 45-minute walk away was Sutherland Falls, the 5th highest fall in the world. Somehow once I made it to the falls and got soaked from going behind it, it stuck me as a good idea to run back to the hut. It was fun at the time but the next morning I was hurting!

Day three arrived and we were all moving a bit more slowly than the day before. We had thirteen miles ahead of us but they were flat as could be and as they say in New Zealand, cruisy. Luckily we had another clear day to enjoy the flowers and falls and river. After crossing the pass we were officially back on the east coast.

At the end of the thirteen miles there was another boat waiting to take us to the Milford Sound Lodge where there were no bunk beds or shared bathrooms in sight. We had a lovely celebration dinner. The next day the trip was capped off with a cruise around the sound where we saw dolphins, seals, and PENGUINS.

After the cruise it was time to head back to Queenstown. Despite the fact that we were around people the whole 5 days and had hot showers it really felt like we were going back to a noisy, crowded city even though there are only 5,000 people in Queenstown. It was an amazing 5 days and I realized that even though the scenery was beyond imagination the people in our group really made the trip what it was.

For more information on the trek and guiding company: www.ultimatehikes.co.nz

The End is Nigh

2006-01-22T16:59:00.000-05:00

After the Milford Trek the rest of the trip was a little anti-climatic. I was ready for some killer hikes at that point but everyone else in my group was a little less than excited about even going hiking again. So our hikes were pretty well the easiest and in a way boring hikes. We were supposed to go up towards Mount Cook, the highest peak on the South Island but we got rained out. So here are some pictures from the end of the trip.

Sometimes Home Cooking Doesn't Cut It

2005-10-25T16:09:00.000-04:00

Loving food is something that happens to a lot of people in a lot of different ways. My mom married into a food family and has since developed a love for fine flavors. My dad, brother, and I were born into food as were a lot of my friends, while other friends decided good food equals a good life and began nurturing their cooking skills.

When I went to college I loved good food thanks to my family, I also thought I knew how to cook. Once I moved to Whitesburg where there were no restaurants to speak of I realized I was mistaken about my cooking abilities. After five years and many, many potlucks later I can cook now. Whitesburg is the kind of town where if you want it you have to make it. The only take out is fast food and the grocery store will provide most of the ingredients you need but it certainly doesn’t have a fancy olive bar and the only prepared salads are either starch based or mayonnaise based or both.

I am happy and lucky to have found myself among friends who thrive in situations where you have to make things happen. It’s a different kind of world when you don’t have everything at your fingertips. The only caveat to all this is even if we could get all the ingredients we wanted at the store, you simply can’t cook everything at home.

This weekend my family of four plus Brian’s girlfriend was in New York doing what we do best together, eating and deciding where to eat next. For the most part we had food you can’t make at home either because of special equipment or ingredients or know-how. Know-how isn’t as hard to come by as I once thought thanks to the internet and the world’s obsession with global flavors, but equipment and ingredients are often more scarce in my world.

The first meal we couldn’t recreate at home the same way they made at Lechonera Sandy a Dominican place on 116th in east Harlem, was roasted pork, cuchifritos, and mofongo with pork. Cuchifrito seems to be the Dominican word for fried or not fried delicious treats. We had tongue, which was nothing like the disgusting piece of meat I remember my parents serving. It was tender and flavorful with a sauce. We had a whole sweet plantain fried and stuffed with vegetables and ground beef. The third cuchifrito was mashed yucca in the shape of a football as my dad said, stuffed with meat and fried. I feel like there was something added to the yucca mash because it was yellow and all two of the yuccas I’ve seen this week have been white. (the pictures are in order below.)

Next came the mofongo with pork and garlic sauce. The mofongo was turned out from a mold. There was a crisp outside, which I think came from baking, and crunchy bits that we thought were cracklins mixed in with the soft plantains.

Finally was the roasted pork with rice and beans. The rice was fluffy the beans were brown and soupy. The pork was roasted to perfection with a crispy skin. This pork was tasty and tender. My dad got a great picture of the roaster.

After a few hours of shopping and walking and napping it was on to our next dining experience. I’ve been anticipating this meal at Sushi of Gari for months now. I felt okay about the anticipation because I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed. My dad first took me here a few years ago because it was close to our apartment and had a high rating in his bible, more commonly known as Zagat’s. What I didn’t know until recently is that while Masa, another top sushi spot, is all about tradition, Gari is all about innovation. He came to America so he could make sashimi with foi gras. We ordered the chef’s choice and the platters of sushi just kept coming until we were full.

It was sashimi, fish over rice, with the most amazing sauces and toppins: bean curd sauce, miso vinaigrette, garlic mayonnaise, ponzu, and baked tomato. This meal did not disappoint. I felt so euphoric afterwards I had trouble talking. These are items that you could make at home if you had access to fresh fish, but this fish was so fresh and the sauces so creative that it would be hard to capture all the flavors.

The next morning we reconvened for brunch, my favorite meal. We went to another Nathan approved spot, Barney Greengrass. The food speaks for itself, house cured grav lox, homemade chopped chicken liver pate, bialys, bagels, lox, a pastrami omelet, pickles, and potato pancakes. The atmosphere is very diner-like but all Jewish male waiters, crowded, and delicious smelling. They don’t take reservations (I heard one teenage girl whine to her dad “why don’t they take bookings”) and there are certain requirements to getting a table quickly. The main one is your entire party has to be there. We saw a lot of crossed arms and rolled eyes because people meeting other people there were late. Also the family with a stroller had to wait a lot longer than if they had been stroller-free. It was quite the brunch scene. A lot of what we ate you could make at home, like the potato pancakes and even chopped liver pate, but it was better not to have to have been over the stove frying or searching out good chicken livers.

Despite the cooking ability present at our table, none of these meals would be nearly as tasty if we tried to make them at home. Even so, after so many dining experiences like these I’m ready to have at it again in my own kitchen. I won’t try to copy anything, but I may try to experiment with some new flavors.

Lechonera Sandy
2261 Second Ave at 116th St.

Sushi of Gari
402 E. 78th Between York and 1st Ave

Barney Greengrass
541 Amsterdam Ave Between 86 and 87

Holes in the Wall

2005-10-19T21:18:00.000-04:00

My friend Nathan knows all the authentically good holes in the wall to eat at in the City. On Saturday he took a bunch of us to the most fabulous Burmese restaurant, Village Mingala, in the East Village. We ordered about 8 different dishes including appetizers and every single one was delicious. Shawn described the food as a cross between Chinese and Indian flavors, which is fitting since the country is in the middle of China and India. There was a lot of ginger and mango and curries. I had ginger duck, my friend Susanne had curry pork, Nathan had some crazy rice/tofu/noodle dish that was the best thing on the table.

Today he took me Tulcingo del Valle Restaurant, a small Mexican hole in the wall in Hells Kitchen. The menu is extensive like most Mexican places, from tortas (a Mexican style sandwich) to fajitas to enchiladas to burritos making it hard to decide what to order. I finally decided to get a burrito al pastor, a roasted pork burrito. Nathan had a vegetarian torta and we both got a glass of horchata.

After we ordered at the counter we sat down and a waitress brought out our food. The burrito was huge, somewhere near 4 inches in diameter and about 6 inches long. The tortilla was filled with fluffy rice, corn, onions, carrots, and pork. The pork was crisp and sweet and delicious. The whole thing was topped with Mexican crema a runny sour cream. The burrito had all the flavors I love in Mexican food but without the dousing of cheese sauce and grease that I’m used to at El Azul Grande.

Good food is surprisingly hard to come by in New York, but not if you know where to go and who to ask. Nathan is one of those people to ask.

Village Mingala
21 E. 7th St.
Between 2nd Ave. and 3rd Ave

Tulcingo del Valle Restaurant
665 10th Ave
Between 46th and 47th Street

Lexington Candy Shop

2005-10-19T19:01:00.000-04:00

A day in the city takes a lot more work than a day at home. It is a big effort just to get out the door. Once you’re out the door there’s the walking, the dodging of people, and the carrying of multiple bags in case of rain/sun/boredom/dehydration/orientation. I have a system down pat that makes my day easier, but I still require the requisite break to recharge in the afternoon.

Generally I grab a quick juice or coffee, but when Shawn was here over the weekend we went for some sugar after a long day of going to the Guggenheim, a doctors appointment, and a lot of walking. I spotted the Lexington Candy Shop across the street, it had Shawn’s name written all over it and I have seen it for years but never ventured in.

The inside looked like any diner you’ve ever seen. It wasn’t fixed up to seem kitschy, the décor looks as though it has been that way for decades. The menu was your standard diner/grill items plus a page of sundaes, sodas, and malts. I went straight for a vanilla coke, my favorite. There was also a chocolate coke, which is something I’ve never seen. Who can guess what Shawn ordered between the two? Shawn also asked the waitress which sundae was the best and she said the black and white.

The cokes came out quickly. The vanilla coke was perfect. I don’t know what it is about the combination of vanilla and coke, but when it comes to having a cold refreshing beverage it doesn’t get much better than this. The caramel of the coke and the imitation vanilla syrup and sweetness of both just fit together like a puzzle.

The chocolate coke was also surprisingly perfect. We think they used cocoa powder because the fizz of the soda had an almost float like quality. The chocolate also complimented the coke flavor although in a much richer way. In a way that would make this drink good on a cold day even though it is cold. The sundae came out shortly after the cokes and was made with real vanilla ice cream and topped with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. It was the perfect break for a warm fall day.

Lexington Candy Shop
Southeast corner of Lexington Ave. and 83rd St.

A Taste of Chinatown

2005-10-16T16:36:00.000-04:00

Saturday the storm system that had been stuck over New York for 8 days finally broke up and the sun came out. The sky was blue and the air crisp as I left the apartment and headed downtown to a little slice of heaven—A Taste of Chinatown. About 30 Chinatown restaurants were setting up tables and serving $1 tasting plates of their specialties. Mott Street was closed to cars and packed with people happy to be out and dry.

For the most part I’m not sure what I ate yesterday. Most of it was pretty standard as far as flavors, nothing compared to the Vietnamese food on Friday, but the atmosphere cinched the deal. There wasn’t a lot of English and a lot of the signs were written in other languages. The best spots had lines that literally stretched around the block. Below are pictures from the day with what little information I had.

This was a flaky, almost phyllo dough, egg roll with vegetables.

I have no idea what this was, but I didn't like it. It was a solid fried meat ball but it tasted like shrimp and had a weird texture. When I first saw it I thought it would be a skewer of mini-buns.

Two little dim sum bites packed with flavor, one was pork with shiitake mushroom and the other just pork. I had a cup of ginger-lemon cider that was amazing, spicy and sweet and tart all at the same time.

There was a delicious scallion pancake in this bag.

Malaysian fried nooldes with chicken. This is the first noodle dish I've had in long time that wasn't greasy. The noodles were light and airy.

Good Food Day

2005-10-16T14:36:00.000-04:00

Friday morning I got up early to go for a run in Central Park, the only way I was letting myself out of it was if it was poring, since I love any excuse not to run, my chances were good. Much to my surprise it was barely drizzling, so off I went. After the week of rain I took this as a good sign for the rest of the day and started thinking about what I might want to do. However, by about 10:00 a.m. the rain was back and for the rest of the day the City was inundated with rain and low clouds.

I was pretty well over schlepping around in the rain so I headed to our favorite neighborhood pizza spot for a slice to take back to the apartment. New York pizza has been written about extensively (check out Peter Reinhart and Ed Levine’s latest books) and as far as I can tell each New Yorker has an opinion about what makes a good pie and where to get said pie. Earlier in the week I passed by Lombardi’s in Little Italy, they claim to be the first pizza joint in America. It is still a lot of New Yorker’s favorite pizza.

It doesn’t take much to make me happy in the way of pizza since my normal choice is between Pizza Hut, a doctored frozen pizza, or homemade. Homemade is fine if you want a think crust or have an oven that gets up to 500 degrees, but I love a good thin crust. The spot I usually head to when I want a slice here in the city is Famous Ray Bono Pizza. It is right around the corner from the apartment and they always have my favorite kind of pie—roasted garlic, fresh tomato slices, and parsley. I may need to go out and get a slice to make sure my research is accurate…I’m sure my New York friends will write with their opine about Famous Ray’s.

Once home, I devoured the pizza and washed it down with a cherry soda. After a nap I left to meet my friend Mckendree at Wollman Rink in Central Park. Just a short weather update, it was still raining steadily the clouds were circling around the skyscrapers. We were headed to a performance art piece called “A Journey that Wasn’t”. There are three parts to the piece, first, the artist Pierre Huyghe took a trip to Antarctica in February in search of the elusive albino penguin. Second, he recreated the Antarctica landscape at Wollman Rink with a 42-piece orchestra playing music inspired by the journey. The third will be a movie about the whole experience and is part of the Whitney Biennial. The New York Times has a great article about it all: An Antarctica Sighting in Central Park

We sat on bleachers in provided ponchos made for people with much smaller heads than mine. It was so fun though, there was a lot of dry ice blowing which mixed in with the actual clouds. The artist must have been excited about this because he explores the line between reality and reconstruction. Afterwards I was pretty well soaked to the bone, but happy. By the time I got back up to the Upper East Side the rain seemed to have stopped so instead of my original take out plan I sat myself down at a table at Miss Saigon, the neighborhood Vietnamese place.

The food was superb. I had duck spring rolls with a spicy peanut sauce and mustard greens with three mushrooms. What stuck in my mind were the intricacy of the sauces. In the manner of bringing out chips and salsa at the start of a Mexican meal, at Miss Saigon they brought out puffy rice chips and a sweet peanut sauce. It was so delicious I wanted to try it on everything. It didn’t work though. The flavors weren’t as neutral as salsa, but also the other food had more nuanced flavors. When I put it on the duck roll it just didn’t fit. The spicy sauce was exactly what the spring rolls needed to make the flavors of the roll stand out. When I dipped the mushrooms in the sweet peanut sauce the garlic flavors dominated and you could barely taste the peanut sauce.

One of my favorite elements of Asian food are the sauces. I tend to think more along the lines of one sauce fits all but now I want to go back and experiment and research these different flavors.

Famous Ray Bono Pizza
1215 Lexington Ave
Between 82 and 83

Miss Saigon
1425 3rd Ave
Between 80 and 81

Yummy Noodle

2005-10-13T22:59:00.000-04:00

After a mere 13 days, October is New York City’s wettest month since April 1983. This is the 3 wettest October and it isn’t going to take much to move up that list according to the fear-inducing weatherman. It is still raining as I write this. Before experiencing torrential downpours in a city I wondered who, besides British farmers ever really wore galoshes. Now I know and now I wish I had a pair.

Wet and cold doesn’t really begin to describe the weather this week, but after drying my pants in the dryer twice yesterday and a hearty dinner of chicken parmesan, I decided it was time to look on the bright side. It’s great weather for movie watching and museum going. There is a sense of camaraderie among people passing each other on the sidewalk because we’re all in this together. Most importantly, with weather like this soup, coffee, and hot chocolate are necessary for survival, or at least warming up.

For me, yesterday was the wettest; I left the apartment in khakis that were soaked through by the time I got to Spanish class. After class the rain was coming down horizontally due to the gusts of wind, I looked at each pair of galoshes with palpable envy from my umbrella that wasn’t keeping much dry.

It was a rough start to recover from, in a faint effort to revive myself I went to Eli’s, a branch of Zabar’s. I picked up a cream of asparagus soup to reheat and some roasted vegetables. Passing through the deli section I noticed a bank of hot soups. I practically dropped the asparagus soup and went straight to the Jewish chicken soup, which was essentially chicken noodle soup sans noodles and with potatos. It did the job on warmth, but lacked in flavor.

Today it was still raining, but I was better prepared. Word of advice to those who don’t know any better (me): don’t wear cotton in the rain. It is cold when it gets wet and it doesn’t dry. After talking to my brother who has an infinite amount of knowledge on what fabrics to wear in what weather situations, turns out wool is better. So today I left in wool pants and a wool shirt. I was ready.

In an effort to remedy the not so great, yet expensive soup from Eli’s I headed to Yummy Noodle. I needed my noodle soup fix (see Paris post on comfort food) and how can you pass up a place with that name. Yummy Noodle is a part of a “mall” that isn’t really a mall. It is hard to describe, but it is like someone cut a walkway through the first floor of a building. There are 3 restaurants on one side and a beauty supply store on the other. Yummy Noodle is first when entering from Bowery, then a Malaysian place, then another Chinese place.

Yummy Noodle, like many restaurants in Chinatown has beautiful roast duck, pork and other meats hanging in the window. There were quite a few tables and an open kitchen with many clay pots going. Instead of contemplating the menu I decided to ask my waiter what to order. The cynics reading this are thinking she’s crazy, he’s going to suggest an expensive Americanized dish. I was willing to take my chances. He suggested Roast Duck Noodles Soup. It was $3.75 and a specialty of the house. Some others: Pig’s Blood with Chive, Sweet and Sour Chicken Feet, and Beef Tripe with Ginger and Scallion.

I love duck and I love noodles. What’s not to love? Throw them together in a rich soup and you’ve got a winner. The soup was served with a duck breast, bone on, cut in half. It was roasted to perfection, falling off the bone with chopsticks. The soup broth had a ginger flavor mixed with other unidentifiable flavors. There were scallions and cabbage floating amongst the duck and noodles. The noodles were thinner and somehow tougher than angel hair pasta. I didn’t love these noodles because I’m used to a soft udon or ramen noodle. It didn’t matter because the broth and duck had so much flavor they were pretty close to perfect. (apologies for the not so great photo of this soup...)

This place is a keeper, I want to go back with a group of people to sample the other 100 dishes on the menu that look like they too would be pretty close to perfect.

Yummy Noodle
44 Bowery (just south of Canal)
Minimum delivery: $10 (you’d have to be feeding about 20 people to reach this minimum)

$2

2005-10-11T16:22:00.000-04:00

Fall is not usually a time I like to leave the mountains. When I worked I tried to limit my travel during the month in order to watch the trees change bit by bit every day. Early on in the summer I started thinking about spending some time in New York City. It didn’t take long to realize better to be hot with a swimming hole nearby than hot with miles of asphalt and concrete all around you. So here I am spending most of the month of October in New York.

There is a traffic jam outside my building as we speak and no trees in sight. This is okay though because of the perks all rural dwellers know come with city visits. I won’t torture you with the list, this much I know too. The guise I used to get here: brushing up on my Spanish. My class however is done at noon on the dot. Afterwards the city is my oyster.

Much like my other trips it is taking a few days to figure out how I want my days to go. In some ways it is harder because of my familiarity with the city and my love of habit. I tend to always go the same places when I’m here, but that’s also because I don’t usually have time to explore. In order to bust myself out of the box I bought a couple books about New York food. One, Nosh New York, is a series of walks in the boroughs and another, Slow Food New York, highlights different slow food spots.

The Nosh New York book has already done its job. Yesterday after speaking Spanish for 3 hours, I took the International Express, otherwise known as the 7 train to Flushing, Queens. From Grand Central you go under the water and come out in another world. The train is elevated almost the entire time, so I was able to see beautiful graffiti and signs for neighborhood businesses in any language imaginable.

This other world is right in front of me as I leave the subway, the signs are in Korean and Chinese and English. I saw about 5 white people the whole time I was strolling around and there is no English being spoken except to me. I’m amazed only took 30 minutes to get here.

I started walking towards one of the Nosh New York recommendations. Unfortunately, the book was published in 2003, which means it was written well before that. Once I get to where I wanted to go, it is a different place. I go in anyway and have some pork buns and scallion pancakes, which are delicious albeit a bit greasy. The lovely texture of the yeast pork buns is new to me and these don’t disappoint. After lunch I strolled around gawking at the herb shops, markets, and bookstores. While the food didn’t blow me away the neighborhood did—I’ve never been to an immigrant community like this. It is amazing to think about New York when each neighborhood was like this.

Now we get to the $2, which gave me the food I was hoping for but not so much the impressive locale. Yesterdays lunch with tip was about $6, which is what a craptastic lunch costs in Whitesburg. I felt pretty good. Today though, I headed to Fried Dumpling, one of the many places in Manhattan’s Chinatown that sells 5 dumplings for $1 (there are others throughout the city.) I was too nervous to get a picture of the menu, but nothing you could eat in the restaurant (and I use this word loosely as there were 3 itty bitty tables and a 6” wide, 3’ long counter to stand at) was over $2. If you want to splurge, $5 will get you a bag of 30 frozen dumplings to take home.

Anyone who says a dollar isn’t worth anything anymore has never been to Fried Dumpling. The dumplings were fried to dumpling-perfection and the pork filling was loaded with scallions. Dumplings are a simple food item, flour and water for the dough; pork, scallions and some seasoning for the inside. As we all know simple items are often the hardest to master.

In addition to dumplings I had a complex wonton soup for $1. The lady behind the counter spooned out the stock from a big bowl and then someone in the back put the wontons in the stock. The beef stock was rich with flavors of ginger and garlic, scallions and seaweed were floating around with 4 or 5 meat filled wontons. The wontons were made with a soft noodle wrapper around what I think was pork.

In 2 days I had 2 very different experiences, I expect nothing less from the city.

Chen and Chan Restaurant
135-20 40 Road
Flushing

Fried Dumpling Shan Dong
99 Allen St.(Between Broome and Delancy)
Manhattan

Pyramids and Panuchos

2005-06-21T11:51:00.001-04:00

Panuchos:
A Yucateco taco made from a corn tortilla filled with a thin layer of black refried beans and deep-fried. Once fried the tortilla is topped with a piece of lettuce, shredded chicken cooked in Achiote, a slice of tomato, and either an avocado slice or a bit of guacamole.

The goodness of panuchos is hard to understand until you’ve sampled your way through the Yucatan. This is the most specifically regional food that I know of. I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere else in the world. Go to Azul Grande, nothing comes close, in Oaxaca, Mexico, they have incredible mole but no panuchos. It’s not even in my Oxford Spanish/English dictionary.

Last week I had the opportunity to eat panuchos at least once a day when I was in Merida, Mexico with my 84 year old guapo grandfather and mom. We were on a mission to take grandpa to the Mayan ruins he has long read about. My ulterior motive was to eat as many panuchos as possible. I ate them at the tourist restaurant, at the fancy Mexican place, on the street, and at the ice cream café. However, the absolute best, best panuchos came from the market, which is no surprise.

After a long day at Chichen-Itza we decided to have a rest day in Merida. Our plan was to go to the market and shop and then my mom and grandpa were heading to the archeological museum. I knew it was the morning to skip breakfast. After haggling and wondering through the wares it was time for a break so we walked up to the food stalls. As soon as our feet hit the top step the ladies from the four stalls started calling to us—“Hay Panuchos, fruta, jugos…”

We sat down at one of the white tiled tables with matching benches, my grandpa ordered a coke, my mom a water and me the panuchos you see above and an horchata to drink. The panuchos were perfect—they were by far the freshest, I was able to watch the woman slice open the tortilla and fill it with beans, the onions were grilled after being lightly pickled, and the avocado was perfectly ripe.

The horchata arrived in a large plastic cup and was refreshing as always. Follow the link below for a recipe for this rice/almond/cinnamon drink. According to the history this drink is a good hangover cure—perhaps we should add this to our summer drink list!
http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/horchata.htm

The next morning we were rested and ready to head to Uxmal, which according to our group was the ultimate ruin site. Unlike Chichen there were more bugs than people…

SUMMER

2005-06-17T17:11:00.000-04:00

I’m not sure if it’s because summer is such a distinct season here in Kentucky or if it is because I arrived directly after college, so I was in the habit of having real summers, either way summer is a big deal for us. We remember summers as a unit—the summer that sucked because it was cold and rainy, the summer we made a fun list and checked everything off. We also remember summers by the drink—there was the mojito summer and the summer we totally scooped New York when watermelon martinis were all the rage. Generally three things should happen in the summer, but above all fun should be had by all and this summer we are well on our way:

1. Swimming with or without clothes (Swimming is a must when it’s really hot. Already we made it up to our local swimming hole and it wasn’t even hot. There was some skinny-dipping involved and a pontoon boat.)
2. Parties that include some kind of grilling (Lots of parties have been happening, and always it seems we're grilling some form of pork…)
3. Developing a summer drink (Sometimes we come up with a drink, sometimes we don’t. Most of the fun is in experimenting with concepts.)

The glory of Whitesburg, due to the ebb and flow of people is that things change. This summer has been declared an actual theme—the summer of food challenges—by one of our new friends. It all started with a challenge to eat 12 hotdog buns in 10 minutes. That same night Shawn was challenged to eat 5 large blizzards in 1 hour. He made it through almost 3 in 30 minutes and then threw up. Each blizzard was a different flavor, I think if he had it do all over again he would have chosen his flavors differently.

*****
note the heating pad that shawn stuck up his sweater to keep warm

Another take on the food challenge was the egg toss that we had last week. This was in response to my brother saying that he “is an egg toss champion.” Apparently when you spend your summers working at summer camps this is one of the many reallife skills you gain. He was more proud of this fact than one might imagine, unless you know my brother and then you have no problem imagining him being proud of such a fact.

I’m hoping that this summer will also include some picnics, like the one my family had on mother’s day:

And that we’ll get a good drink figured out—it is nice to take the guess work out of what to make yourself and gin and tonics are a little dull. So far, and we realize this sounds gross, the best thing we’ve come up with is vodka and some splashes of triple sec and tonic mixed with a small spoonful of cherry jam. It was good, I promise:

So here’s to the summer!!

Home Sweet Home

2005-04-26T16:00:00.000-04:00

On Thursday at about 9:30 a.m. I pulled out of Sintra to drive to the Lisbon airport. I was on my way home and I was excited to say the least. The plan was to fly to Amsterdam from Lisbon, spend the night in Amsterdam, then Friday morning fly to Atlanta and on into Tri-Cities. I was happy because this was a much more civilized route than my original route home.

After easily returning my rental car, finding out that I could check my bags all the way to Atlanta, and getting all of my boarding passes I should have known that things were moving along a bit too smoothly. I traveled along this smooth and easy projectory until about 10 minutes before we were set to land in Atlanta. I noticed we were circling, not an uncommon event at the Atlanta airport. After a bit of time, it is hard to say how long because the flight was already running at close to 10 hours, the pilot came on and said there was no way to land in Atlanta, they closed the airport. We were going to Charlotte, NC to see what our fate would be.

At this point we were only about 30 minutes from Charlotte and I was excited because I figured I could get to Tri-Cities faster from Charlotte than Atlanta, in my mind landing ni Charlotte, meant we would be de-planing there was well. After landing the plane ended up in a part of the airport that you knew wasn’t made for big commercial planes—out the window all I could see were private planes and helicopters.

After about an hour or so the pilot came back on and said no one was getting off here and we were on our way to a gate to re-fuel and go BACK to Atlanta—just as soon as the helicopter to our left got out of the way.

Three hours later we’re back in the air. As we climbed out of Charlotte the turbulence was so bad I really thought we might crash—I put my book away and made sure my shoes were on. I usually like a little turbulence, but this was insane. After a few minutes it smoothed out.

The pilot came on again and said that it might take us a while to land because of all the traffic, but if we were lucky we would get preference because we were an international flight. It turns out we landed without having to circle around. At this point we had been on this one plane for 14 hours. It was also about 6:15 and my flight to Tri-Cities was due to take off in 15 minutes.

After clearing customs I went to the ticket counter and asked the woman how I could get home. The next Tri-Cities flight was full so I re-routed to Lexington. I got on standby for an 8:00 flight and got a seat on the 9:05. Not too bad considering, I would still make it home at a reasonable hour. I told the woman why all these people from the Amsterdam flight were coming to the counter and she felt sorry enough for me to say she’d try and get my luggage re-routed as well.

After waiting until about 8:35 for the 8:00 flight to take off—the Atlanta storm had moved due north and so now flights weren’t landing in Lex—I decided to throw caution to the wind and hold out for a flight on which I had an actual seat. At this point I’m still in a pretty jovial mood—people are chatting to each other, most of us are getting a good laugh out of what’s happening.

So I get to B34 the gate monitor says Charleston, SC and that the next flight was Houston, TX. I sat here for a while I went up to a counter with no line, at this point my carryons weigh about 3 times as much as when I started, and asked where the Lex flight was taking off. She said B34, I said in a distressed tone, but there it isn’t on the sign. She could see I was about to loose it and so her response was—The flight isn’t scheduled to take off till 9:45, just sit in the gate area until they call your zone and then hand them your ticket. Had she been from eastern Kentucky she would have dropped “honey” in there a few times. After this I went to the bathroom and sat in a stall and cried for about 10 minutes.

Once I got back to B34 I saw some of my new friends from the 8:00 flight. So I started talking to a really nice guy who just graduated from EKU. I felt even better after I started talking to him, so he became my new best friend, I totally latched onto him.

At a certain point I called my mom and dad who were waiting for me in Lexington, in a moment of optimism, earlier in the evening, I told them to head on to Lexington because no matter what flight I got on I would beat them there, it was only a 45 minute flight. This statement of course came back to bite me in the butt. As I was talking to my dad I saw this line flash on the LED screen—Flight 331 has moved to B5. Then it was gone—poof. That was our flight, there was no announcement or even a person behind the desk at this point. So we all hoofed it down to B5.

We got there and it still said 9:45, we looked up the next minute and it said 10:35. Somehow it seemed promising though. Then they started boarding! It seemed like a miracle. As soon as I got on the plane I called my dad and said we’d be there in about an hour. This was about 10:15.

At 10:45 they came on the intercom and said that we didn’t have any pilots. That they wouldn’t have boarded the flight but they were told the pilots were walking to the gate when in fact their airplane hadn’t landed. Shortly there after a pilot walked on board and everyone started clapping. He took a seat and waited with the rest of us, he was just trying to get home too. When the real pilots got on no one clapped.

Eventually we taxi from the gate. I try to sleep but can’t, I need to know we are in the air before I can do that. Finally the pilots tell us that we are at least an hour before we reach the runway because of all the traffic. The good news he said was that planes were taking off. I’m fuzzy on the details at this point, but basically it took us close to 4 hours to get to Lexington, from the time I got on board to the time we landed. Just to refresh your memory, the flight is only a 45-minute flight.

When we landed everyone bounded out of their seats. Some of these people were actually trying to get to Louisville. After 5 minutes or so the flight attendant told us that they were having some problems with the jetway. The whole plane, which was full, moaned collectively. This last problem didn’t take too long, but it was the principle of the thing.
At 2:00 a.m. I finally saw my parents. My bags didn’t make it, but I could care less. After a 14-hour flight that was only supposed to be 9 hours and after taking 9 hours to get from Atlanta to Lexington, I was just happy to be at a point in the trip where I was in control whether the car went forward or not.

My saintly parents drove me to Whitesburg so I could wake up in my own bed. We pulled into my driveway at 5:00 in the morning. It is Tuesday now and I am starting to feel like I’ve recovered…

Going Back the Way You Came

2005-04-20T07:32:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I drove back from the ocean the way I came. Today I walked 4km out the road I took to the ocean. I came back to Sintra. I often go back the way I came and return to places. It never fails that you see things differently, especially when you’re traveling in a place like Portugal. Even though tomorrow is my last day, I am ready to come back. In this way I am just like my dad. At the end of every trip he always asks when we’re coming back and my mom always rolls her eyes.

Today I walked out to Monserrate Park. I’ve never walked anywhere that reminded me so much of the road that takes you to the Narrows, my grandparents’ house in Oregon. It is a walk that we often did with my grandpa while visiting. This road was as green, the trees were as old, and the smells as rich. It was a very satisfying walk. I have been so lucky to experience spring in Portugal—today between the eucalyptus trees and wisteria I was in heaven. There were flowers blooming everywhere.

I was also able to see three different villas. When I drove by I was only able to see the gates and actually I was only able to see them from the vista on the walk back to town. I am pretty sure that these are private homes—I want one, but none were for sale.

In a lot of ways this trip was a challenge. I’ve never traveled in a country by myself like I have on this trip—driving and touring from place to place—and as far as I can tell this is a country not used to women traveling alone. In Paris I had Bob, Andy and Andre, last winter when I went to Venice I stayed with a friend. It is satisfying when you get to the end of a challenge, but I’ll be happy to get home.

Next on the agenda is packing and making sure I have sufficient presents for everyone! Tomorrow morning I drive to the airport in Lisbon, which I am totally and completely nervous about, and start my journey home.

What a Day

2005-04-19T16:55:00.000-04:00

I saw a lot today—sandy beaches, wooded roads, eucalyptus forests, rocky outcrops, tumultuous waves, beautiful flowers, a 16th century convent with walls covered in cork—and I only drove about 50 kilometers, round trip. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I’ll spare you the thousand words:

In the midst of all this I did work up an appetite. I stopped at a roadside restaurant that looked perfect—tables and a big grill outside.

The bow-tied waiter recommended grouper, I happily obliged.

The fish was so delicious. It tasted as fresh as any cooked fish could taste. The batter didn’t quite fit the fish—it was too big for the meat that was actually in there, so I mainly ate around it. The pinto beans and rice had been cooked together and could have used a little salt pork in them, but because they were cooked together it was more like one item. There were also two little garnishes—one was a pickled red cabbage and the other was a mixture of carrots, greens, and white cabbage with lemon juice. It was the perfect seaside meal.

Technical Difficulties

2005-04-18T18:05:00.000-04:00

I'm having trouble with the program that uploads my pictures. I know they are missing, I'm on it. Hopefully in the morning it will feel like working. Sorry.

Mountains and Castles

2005-04-18T17:29:00.000-04:00

Porto was dripping wet this morning. It rained so much last night that the even the clouds washed away and left a beautiful blue sky. After lying in bed listening to the jack-hammer making way for the new metro system, I rolled out of bed, ate my breakfast and hit the road. I was heading all the way south to Sintra—about 330km. I took the A-1 which is the main route heading south. It has about 6 lanes most of the way and is a toll road. I could have been anywhere, but I was interested in making time and I wanted to stop at one of the service station centers because they sell wine in juice boxes. I saw them on my way home from Barcelos and I wanted some for a souvenir.

After about 300 kilometers I got onto the N-8 still heading south but going from 6 wide lanes and 130 kilometers an hour to some eastern Kentucky style roads—I’m talking highway 7 out to Blakey kind of roads. I immediately wondered why I was so interested in making time, but I was excited to get back to Sintra.

I started to look at the map after taking this picture, but decided against it. Portugal is the only country I’ve ever driven in where looking at the map gets you in trouble. If I’ve learned nothing in the past 2 weeks, it’s follow the signs, they are more up to date, or rather out of date and so correct, than the map which is a up to date in a futuristic kind of way—a lot of the roads have yet to be built.

I wrote about Sintra early on, it was my first stop after Lisbon and I was charmed by the town. After struggling with new hotels every other night I decided that I would have a better go of things if I stayed put a bit more and if I went back to a place I liked. Hence four days in Porto and now 3 days here in Sintra.

As I drove into to town I knew I made a good choice—like they say you can take the girl out of the mountains but you can’t take the mountains out of the girl. It is so nice to feel be able to look up at the crisp green hills and hear dogs barking. It feels a little like home, except for the castle on top of the hill in one direction and the ocean in the other.

The town seemed a lot more alive than the first time I was here, there were loads of tourists and school kids. After finding my hotel and getting parked, I set out for some lunch. I settled on a pizza place. At first I sat outside, which I should know better by now—I had to move inside because this old Portuguese guy kept bugging me. This has been the norm at almost every meal.

My pizza arrived—thin crust with local sausage and roasted red peppers. I went over to the counter to get some salt and pepper and noticed this:

I asked the waiter what it was and he said a sweet with cinnamon. I saved room.

What it was, was a flaky puff pastry, sprinkled with sugar, and filled with the ovos moles—the egg yolks and sugar concoction. This was a bit smoother than what I had in Coimbra and less sweet. There wasn’t much cinnamon flavor, but with a little espresso it was a delicious dessert. I was fortified and ready to walk around town.

Tiles Part Duex

2005-04-18T16:48:00.000-04:00

Azulejos is the Portuguese word for tiles and tiles dominate the facades of buildings from north to south and from city to village. Tiles came to Portugal via the Moors, hence the dominance of geometric patterns in my first tile post. However, around the middle of the 16th century the Portuguese began painting figures on their tiles. I snapped the designs below while strolling around Sintra this afternoon.

Manueline Architecture

2005-04-17T16:16:00.000-04:00

From Porto to Sintra and from monuments to menus I am reminded that this country was the leader of the world during the 1500s. Wondering the streets of Porto this morning I started to think that globalization is such a new phenomenon.

Like any great world power, Portugal had it’s own style of architecture. I’ve seen a few examples of this style—it is ornate, often the stone work looks like vines wrapping around the various symbols. According to the Rough Guide, this late gothic style was named after King Manuel I (1495-1521). “…Characterized by a rich and, often, fantastical use of ornatmentation. Doors, windows and arcades are encrusted by elaborately carved stonework in which the imagery of the sea is freely combined with both symbols of Christianity and of the newly discovered lands.”

The Igreja de Santa Cruz, above, is in Coimbra. The Manueline masters, Joao de Castilho and Diogo de Boitaca had a hand in some of the many renovations of this church. The double entrance is especially elaborate and a good representation of the Manueline style.

These other shots are from the Convento dos Carmelitos a herimtage in the middle of the Bucao forest. Besides being an incredible example of Manueline architecture, when I was out driving through the forest I had no idea that there was a hermitage in the forest. The forest was thick with old growth cedar and blooming azaleas as I wound the Njoy up the coble stone road, at the top of the hill was this incredible structure. It was quite a sight. The grounds were incredible, there were wysteria vines that were easily twelve inches in diameter.

The style didn’t last long after King Manuel’s reign, but I’ve seen examples of it in most of the major cities. Not surprisingly Lisbon has one of the most “unified” examples of the style with the Jeronimos monastery that was supposedly built in honor of Vasco de Gama’s successful voyages. It now houses a couple of museums.