the girls, traveling

These days surprised me over and over.
My stomach turned at the thought of sitting in the airport with Joey and the girls, waiting for inevitably delayed flights, paying 3 bucks for water, packed terminals, food lines, tired and "when will we be there?" wishing I was one of those parents with a portable dvd player for my kids to watch something, anything, and by the time we are in Denver, we are done! ready to go home and done with laying toilet paper on the toilet seat and and (again inevitably) at least one child getting sick, most likely throwing up.

You might think me pessimistic, but I've done this before, and it's all come to pass.


But these days surprised me over and over. The girls with their backpacks and rolly bags, independent and looking forward to the next moving walkway so that they could break the rules and go backwards too, going back and forth until they were dizzy. Drawing and playing and watching- the girls were travelers in the very best sense. They were open and ready and adjustable in ways that made me marvel.

It was not just the girls that surprised me. It was the kind world around them. The smiles and comments from everyone. And on Tuesday, when we were surrounded by college students on their way home in their leggings and boots and big sweaters, the kindness was overwhelming. The girls, insisting on sitting together on the plane, sat next to a 15-year old boy coming home from boarding school, and he beamed at them as if they were his long lost little sisters. They talked deep into the dark airborne night, and when he, exhausted, couldn't stay awake any longer, he set them up on his laptop with a movie (only after politely asking across the aisle for parental approval from us).

After this momentous success, the girls said that they would always sit together with us in the row opposite. And so, on Saturday (after family and Denver and a turkey nearly on fire of course, but that is all another story), when all of the college students had been replaced by families, the kindness again all around us, Sadie and Rose took their seats next to Jessica, a woman in her twenties with shiny blond hair and heeled boots. The girls started to take out their books and coloring supplies but Jessica asked them about who they were, and because they are their home and their cats and their school and their family, she got all of the details. They talked all the way to Chicago, and then, learning that they would be on the plane together to Hartford as well, Jessica promised (with a pinky swear, Sadie told me), that she would save seats for them on the next plane.

As we pulled into Hartford, Sadie and Rosie were drawing our house for Jessica on a napkin. They wished Jessica and her terrier (waiting, with husband, at home) well, and Sadie gave her her prized polished rock at the baggage claim.


I can always create optimism in my little world. Traveler that I am, it is my home that feels brightest, and as much as venturing out can expand and enlighten me, I am just as prone to see the worst in things when the world (and so mundane a world as that within the Chicago Midway airport, for example) is pushing its way around me. But these masses- sitting on the floor of the airport, running through the terminals, getting up to share a table for a family who might be waiting, they shook me with their smiles and their kindness and their happiness. Couples holding hands, parents speaking so lovingly to their children, friends laughing as they found their gate. There was calm, and it shook me. They shook me with the ease in which they loved and supported my girls.

Perhaps I was watching with optimistic eyes? But I think something was different. Everyone just seemed... happy. Okay. Open. And for all the messes that we seem to be in right now in this country, I could not help but think that good things are happening, quietly.

what we eat after dark

 We walked all the way to the ferry building again, just for the coffee. And without too much searching, there was a sandwich with fresh mozzarella and hard boiled egg.

 The other night we were walking through Chinatown in search of noodles. And we stopped at a store that sold little silken shoes and shiny chopsticks, and we asked, "where can we get a good bowl of noodles around here?" The girl in charge pointed us to a little place up Clay Street called Capital Restaurant.
"I don't know if it's good. But we get every single meal there."
That seemed like enough of a recommendation. And so we hiked our way up the hill, and we walked into Capital Restaurant. Everyone turned around and looked at us, and that seemed like a pretty good sign.
We ate wonton noodle soup with barbecued pork. Every bit of it.

Then last night, we ate Burmese food at hands down the most recommended place in this city, a little clean and coconut smelling joint called Burma Superstar. We met family we haven't seem in a long time, and we played it cool and kept track of our own worth. We worked out of love, and remembered that this is our work.

On our way home, we went to Maria's pastry and we sat with a napoleon and coffee. It was dark as we made our way back.

 I am eating with my mother. And tonight we went to Zuni Cafe. My friend, Andrew, was working the chicken station and so that's what we had. And I sat there, happy, eating, getting drunk while my mother drank bubbly water, us, watching Andrew make chicken at the wood fired oven. He is a friend who feeds my soul. And when I had sobered up with quince sorbet and coffee, he took me downstairs to see the walk-ins.
 
My mother and I walked into the night, and, unsure of what bus might take us home, we hopped on the trolley car with the late night tourists, all abuzz with meals and city walks. The road was steep, and the air was clear, and as we passed California Street, my mother said, there! That's where I lived with your father. We slept on blankets.

I was born here in this city, you know.

I have been away from the girls for nearly a week now. I'm thinking of their cheeks and their hugs, and their asking everything of me. I want to go home. I want to answer everything for them.

And Joey. He went home on Sunday morning, after our sweet friends were married, but before my mother came out so that we could do the family work we came to do. He's waiting for me at home as the snow falls. California's got nothing on an October snow. I can't believe I'm missing out on such weather. I'm ready to go home to him, too.

Tomorrow is our last day. I think we might go back to the ferry building, for coffee and cheese. And California will do it's thing, and then we will say goodbye.

beets and leeks

I'm packing.
I have that strange feeling that I get when I'm about to go on a trip. Like everything is different already, exciting and ungrounded at the same time.
I'm going to San Francisco.
First, to be honest, I'm going south of San Francisco, to Carmel, so that I can be there to watch my friends start their marriage. I'm excited for that. Joey will be with me then, and after that he flies back home and basically changes places with my mother. She meets me on Monday in San Francisco.
We'll be there for the week. We have some family business there (that's the short story), and it's been a long time since we've taken a trip together. Since I was little, really. I'm excited for that, too.
It's also been a long time since I've seen that city, and I'm ready to go back. I was born there in a little house on Willard Street, and I've gone back for long stretches a few times in my life. I've somehow felt like I've failed San Francisco in the past. I've lived there at times when I wasn't so happy, and wasn't so...well, the only way I can think to say it is, I wasn't so me, and I've blamed it on the place, on the fog, on so many things. But at the same time, I think so longingly of it, and I can't wait to be there. It's been 10 years since I've been there, and I'm very me now.

I wanted to leave you with a little something, and so we come to beets and leeks. Nice to say, isn't it?
Kind of like as if Dr. Seuss got going about his farm share. 

Years back, I had a friend, Emily, and she was in town and came to cook for us right after Sadie was born. She's an opera singer now. She made us beets and leeks, and many other wonderful things I'm sure, but those beets and leeks had lasting power for for me. I've done it so many times, and it always feels special. It's the leeks, I think. Magical.

This is a roasting the beets recipe, and I know everyone has their own method. As much as I hate using all that tin foil, this is how I do it:

Cut the greens off the beets, leaving about 1 inch of stem. Leave the tail on. Wrap each beet individually in tin foil, putting a touch of olive oil and a dash of salt and pepper on each one before sealing the foil up. Roast in a 375 degree oven for and hour or so for medium sized beets, or more or less for big or small ones. Then take them out of the foil, and let them cool for a bit so that you can touch them. Slide them right out of their skins. Your hands will turn red. But I like that.

Cut the beets in bite-sized pieces and put them into a bowl.

And then, there are the leeks. For a bunch of about 5 beets, I use 2 leeks, but one would do if that's all you have.  Cut the bottom root and the very top off the leek. Slice the whole thing in half lengthwise, and then slice both halves into 1-inch pieces.  Transfer them to a bowl, add a touch of white or apple cider vinegar, and swish them around. This will release the dirt. Lift them out of the water into a colander.

Melt a few tablespoons of butter or olive oil in a skillet.  Add the leeks and cook, stirring often, until they are just starting to brown and your house smells like heaven. Pour the leeks over the beets, and add a glug or two of the best olive oil you've got. Then salt, then lots of pepper. Then it's ready.

I'll keep you with me in my travels, if that's good with you. I've got my camera, and I'll be looking for new things. New things! Aren't they wonderful? I'll let you know what I find.

away

Yesterday, we packed up the car and we drove away.
10 minutes into our trip, we stopped in our neighboring town of Stockbridge to gas up the car and get some money from the ATM. Joey and the girls waited for me as I walked the block from the car to the bank, and as I made my way through all the tourists who had come to see Norman Rockwell's very own Main Street, the whole town looked different to me. Because with the slam of the trunk that contained our bathing suits and books to read for the week, I became one who is on vacation. And even being in Stockbridge, the town that I drive through most days to pick up the girls from school, I felt different, like I could wander down the 2 or 3 alleys that the town has to offer, like I could discover something and then have an ice cream cone. Vacation, it seems, is all about a certain way of thinking about it all.

And today we are in Maine, on our favorite island of Peaks, just 20 minutes off my favorite city of Portland.  The girls have planned out their ice cream flavors, and they have brought special sea glass collecting bags. Happy Monday, friends. I hope there is some part of your day today that feels at least a bit like a vacation.

saturday

It is so late, I must admit that it is no longer Saturday over here. But I can't go to sleep without just telling you a little bit about today's theme. Come to think of it, I might just need to show you. I'm too bleary for words. And I'm too full.


This is where we began, with one of the best tarts I have had in my life. I'm going to tell you more about this one later.

Then there were artichokes.


And after much adventurous in another country cooking, there was dinner.


Iyi Aksamlar, Bon nuit, and good night, friends.

thursday

All day, we have been lost.

It seems that it would be hard to get lost with absolutely every step in a day. I would imagine that a day filled with lost would necessarily be peppered long stretches of absolute confidence in one's path and position.

Not in Istanbul. At least, not for me.

It feels like there is water on all sides of the city. I keep looking at maps and saying, "we just need to walk away from the water, and then we'll be in the right place." Then we walk away from the water, and we arrive at another shore. Then we start over.
Luckily, we take breaks to eat. Dates that taste like maple sugar. Cheese that is some cross between cream cheese and perfect feta. Black olives. Green olives. cucumbers.
I am okay being lost as long as I am not hungry.


In all of the corner stores, there are fresh eggs outside on large flats with sticks and the random feather stuck to them. There are men who shout up and down the streets, and we lower the basket from Molly and Aurel's 8th floor apartment with money. The shouting men take the money, and they send up simits in the basket, which are Turkish bagels covered in perfectly browned sesame seeds.

I am here with my friend Lissa. She's quite a bit wiser than me, and a good one to be stuck in a bind with, but she's just as lost as I am. After we got quite lost on our way to dinner, we gave up on finding the place we were looking for, and we went to a bar. I ordered a draft beer and she ordered beer in a bottle. She said that she never orders draft beer, that she thinks a bottle is more reliable. I laughed, and pointed to the smallest size draft on the menu when the waiter arrived.
She is, as I said, a bit wiser than me.
I guess I was pointing in the wrong language. He brought me a mug which I am pretty sure contained a liter of beer. I had a hard time lifting it.
See what I mean? Lost at every turn.
So my travel lesson of the day?
When traveling, order beer in a bottle. It is indeed more reliable.

Ah well. Till tomorrow then.

meat and the city

Well, we've been squeezing into tiny bathrooms again.

That can only mean one thing. The country mice have been back to the city. And we have had some very good sandwiches.


This week is a bit of a New England tornado around here. We are driving here and there, celebrating this and that, and not doing very much eating from the ground up. But I would never forgive myself if I didn't tell you about this roast beef sandwich I had in Cambridge the other day. In fact, if you are with 300 miles of Cambridge, MA, I think you should get one for lunch, now. And you can pick me up one too.

The joint is the All Star Sandwich Bar, another prize of roadfood.com. But unlike Teo's, this one was very worth the drive. We sat at the counter and people-watched out the window while our bellies growled. Three hours in the car, forty minutes trying to find a parking spot, and we were hung-a-ry. The girls filled up on lemonade and took it all in stride.
Like the equally American Duck Fat in Portland, the All American Sandwich Bar takes a stab at poutine, the sidewalk treat that is second only to universal healthcare in terms of the good things that Canada has to offer. Fries, soft cheese curds, and gravy. Turn your nose up if you will, but you know you'd love it, or at least I know you would. All American Sandwiches puts scallions on their poutine, a touch that complimented the mozzarella curds brilliantly. We finished the whole plate, and then my sandwich arrived.

This is called the "Beef on Weck". Apparently a Buffalo specialty, this sandwich is layered, perfectly cooked roast beef. That's all. Flanking the sandwich are two dainty sides, one of spicy horseradish, one of real au jus from the roast beef. The bun is light and brioch-y, and it is covered with a little snowfall of sea salt crystals. The sides go on the sandwich, the eyes close, the mind is blown. Done.
There are so many lovely looking sandwiches coming out of the friendly, shouting kitchen, but I don't know if I could ever bring myself to order anything other than this, the perfect roast beef sandwich.

We're home now for a day or two, and the fridge is a bit naked and sad. I'm going to go make some pb and j's for lunch, and I'm hoping if I close my eyes I'll be able to imagine a little bit of that perfect sandwich, all the way across the state. I have a pretty good imagination, but I don't think even I can turn peanut butter into perfect roast beef. But I will certainly try.

mackworth island

I promise I'll flood you with recipes soon, but this morning, a little recommendation. There is a place a few miles north of Portland, an island that is connected to the mainland by a little bridge. If you have little ones, or if you are a particularly whimsical grown-up, get yourself to Mackworth Island. The other day we met friends for a morning walk, and walked on the woody cliffy beach trail until we reached the city of fairy houses. Definitely up in the more magical experiences of my life, and the girls could have built fairy houses all day.

Home Again, part 2

So I must follow up on this stolen lemons business that I mentioned earlier. This little journey takes place on the final day of my trip to LA. Here is the background:
After several days in Southern California, I had worked my way into a very sick and slightly pessimistic mood. My voice was gone, I was feverish, and I was done with Southern California as a whole. After all, there is only so much one can take of this:

Did you know that every palm tree in LA was planted in some way? I mean, this place was molded out of clay.
So here I am, sick and ready to go home, and I am staying with my very dear friend in South Pasadena by this point. Not only has she not seen me at all over the course of this visit, but she has also driven me around and folded the bed down for me every night so that I can drop into it with my clothes on. Luckily I could muster the energy to take off my red LA heels. Ouch. So here we are, my cell phone keeps ringing but I say to her, "Let's walk- I want to see your little town and feel like I've been somewhere on this trip!" And she looks at me dubiously, doubting that I'm up for it. But me fever is low enough to just give me a healthy flush, and I say, "We are taking a walk, and I am seeing South Pasadena." (South Pasadena fact: did you know that this is the town that the RNC used to show Main Street, USA?)
So we're walking, and I'm sweating, and my cell phone keeps ringing, and I answer it and think about what a good friend that I have that won't just leave me on the street because I'm talking on my phone while talking a walk that I made her take with me. But then, two really great things happen. The first is that she takes me to her favorite gourmet food store. This is not just any gourmet food store. There is a culinary school in South Pasadena, and this is it's supply store. I am now not only sweating, but also drooling. And I am so happy. Look at their spices.


I find lime oil, and gavottes, and chestnut puree, which I have been looking for so that I can make this. I am so happy. And I buy my excellent friend some pastry cups because she says she finds them intimidating, and sometimes I can be a bit mean about pushing my friends toward their fears.

And as we make our way back to her house, I confess that the only reason I would ever want to live in Southern California is for the lemon trees. And my desire for fresh wonderful lemons is so unreasonably strong, that sometimes I do think about moving to Southern California for only this reason. And my friend, my wonderful friend, you know what she does? She hops up on someone's funny little yard, and she steals four lemons for me. Can you believe her? I hope that you all have a friend this good.

So that's the end of my LA adventures. Snow and Ice and all, I like it more here. Does anyone know how to grow lemons in New England?