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Oh Canada!

Posted on March 18th, 2013

When I was young, my best friend and I were inseparable. From the age of 5 we spent almost every day together, and as we grew older I was invited to practically every family vacation or event.  Seders, visiting the cousins in the woods in Virginia, grandma’s house in Indiana, Christmas parties, and then, when we were maybe 11 or 12, Canada! We had spent many hours together in the way back of her parents’ station wagon- you remember those rear-facing seats? watching the miles fly by, reading or gossiping or napping, on to the next stop. But Canada!  We were going to leave the country! This was a big deal! We would start out in Montreal and spend a few days there, and…

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Cherimoya

Posted on March 18th, 2013

Listen to the lady at the produce stand.   It’s 8am on a Saturday morning. You arrived in Maui the night before on a flight too late to be believed, drove the length of the island from north to south under a starry sky brighter than you could have imagined. Your boyfriend put the radio on reggae and rolled the windows down, because that’s what you do when you’re driving a long, straight road in the dark through fields of sugar cane that cast long, moon-lit shadows on the road and you want to be absolutely sure that this place with the palm trees is Hawaii and not some Inception-substrate dream that you’ll soon wake from to find you’re actually still in Alaska, shivering…

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Blood, Guts, And All The Rest

Posted on March 18th, 2013

“Saturday is gringo day,” our hostel owner told us. “Prices too high, too many tourists. Don’t go Saturday.” We were headed to Otavalo, Ecuador, for its famous Saturday market day. People mainly go there for that, hundreds of tourists streaming in to buy hand-knit caps shaped like cartoon characters, Technicolor alpaca sweaters, and “hand-carved” wooden replicas of Machu Picchu (yes, the one in Peru) to put on their mantles or to give to coworkers and pet-sitters. Over the years enough tourists showed up that now every day of the week the central plaza is clogged with souvenirs and mass-produced Andean tchotchkes, but Saturdays are still the big show. On Saturdays the entire town turns into a market, stalls and street vendors snaking through the streets…

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CREPES!…..Or Not

Posted on March 18th, 2013

In Old Town Quebec there is a creperie a few steps off of the tourist’s beaten path. Small and jam-packed.  Don’t be surprised if you are asked to share a table with another party to expedite things – and by expedite, I mean if you want your crepe before the next mealtime rolls around. It feels dark and old inside. The wine options are red or white, glass or carafe. The side salad served with your crepe has one dressing choice. The staff is a rotating cast of twenty-something ladies in corduroys or ankle length skirts, vintage tee-shirts, boots, and head scarves. The menu is a long list of filling items: veggies, meats, cheese, sauces – like a pizza joint – plus fruits, chocolate,…

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La Dolce Vita, Deep Fried

Posted on March 18th, 2013

I hate planes and suitcases, so I’ve never been much of an international traveler. But I did see the better part of Italy and Greece on a whirlwind Mediterranean tour back in the 1990s. When I tell people this, they usually share tales of their own travels: their honeymoon in Rome, sightseeing in Florence, a memorable walking tour of Pompeii… Of course they also talk about food: the arrabiata from a back alley trattoria, the little cafe with the flaky sfogliatelle, the beauty of a classic margherita pizza. I smile politely and nod, but I wouldn’t really know. Sadly, I went on the french fry tour of Italy. The trip was organized through my high school and run by one of those educational touring…

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Hawaii Five-D’Oh

Posted on March 18th, 2013

I’m not the best food planner. This was evident when I decided that a block of cheddar cheese was a wise grocery purchase to keep in my tent during a week of tropical camping. I rumbled into the park on my moped, the sun dipping low out of sight as the island wind rose to a ferocious peak and the sky opened up, dropping a thick blanket of warm rain over the beach. Ripping open my tent flap I threw my body under the canvas just in time to avoid sleeping in a stinking nest of damp, dirty clothing. Pleased with the success of finally having beaten the storm home, a feat I had not yet accomplished as it rained every evening and I…

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A Trip For The Almost But Not Even Remotely Famously Food Rich

Posted on March 18th, 2013

Jan 8th: Aspiring foodie adventurist/traveling hipster doofus Hawksbill “White Raisin In The Sun” Free Turtle  wikiconjures a leeward image of the local USVI food culture.   Jan 9th  am:  Lunch pail list completed:   1.Try conch, fungee, callaloo, and mauby.   2. Eat as much fresh fish as possible   3. Drink each of the following local beverages: pumpkin punch, sorrel, soursop punch, banana punch, peanut punch, bush tea and lemon tea among others.   4. If all else fails, subsist on coffee, painkillers, and Johnnycakes.   Jan 9th pm: Reads friend’s email informing him “Caribbean actually imports most of its seafood!” Notes #2 on list will take some extra panache. Uses the word panache for the first time in his notes. Notes this.  …

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Four Narrow Escapes

Posted on March 18th, 2013

A bottle of wine (so I’m told) can be an escape from the bite of late winter, from the grind of a nine-to-five job, from any of life’s little woes. The lush sun itself can burst forth when the cork pops out of the bottle.   I am not here to tell you about those wines.   A weekday evening found me in the discount wine section of a local grocery store with twelve dollars to spend on morbid curiosity. My simple mission: find and purchase several bottles of wine so unforgivably foul that the sheer thrill of tasting each would outweigh any contingent suffering. At $3.99 apiece I walked away with specimens from Chile, Italy, Spain, and what I can only assume is…

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The Night Market

Posted on March 18th, 2013

With dusk comes the feeling that this place is magic. A silent hum builds in the concrete walkways and swaths of lawn, vibrating up the legs of unsuspecting tourists. A man shows up with a folding table, then another with a large wheeled cooler; it’s beginning. Spotting the park intermittently at first, then in regular city blocks (which the narrow and winding streets of Old Stone Town are not), food vendors set up for the Night Market. People of every shade gather at the edges, gravitating towards the square as the sun sinks lower over the ocean, the small dhows anchored in the bay made sharply dark against the shimmering heat of the Indian Ocean. The light pulls back from the heavy stone walls…

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The Long Hill

Posted on March 18th, 2013

It is March and here, miles inland, gulls are circling around the barn-buckled roof of my house. I imagine my recently acquired mid-century modern swan lamp feeling some sympathetic tug towards the window, to be out. To be away. The light is slowly dialing itself down between the houses. Everything going pale gold, the clouds sporting some darker breath at the horizon. Weather in the offing. Spring has yet to fully arrive, necessitating this heavy wool cardigan, the hiking socks I have on my feet, propped on an empty wine crate beneath the desk. But—we feel it running now, in the vein. The sap’s high. Leaving a store downtown on an errand, I feel something like breath on my cheek, and turn, startled to…

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