THE WRECKING BALL

Two weeks into demo and much progress has been made. Thumbelina has been razed. We now have a shell, literally. The tipsy floors are problematic. We will need a hydraulic jack to level a corner in the kitchen. The great bead board wall most likely not make the cut. The tongue and groove ceiling might survive. Might. The moving of thumbelina in the 30's left her seriously lopsided. It is charming, to be sure... My craftsmen do not agree. They cannot adjust cabinets and floors and new bath fixtures to accomate the charm. None of my very skilled craftsmen have looked askance nor fled. This is encouraging! My youngest very very skilled son DID shake his head... He refrained from saying we are nuts. It appears the sky must rain money or the house on Lexington Road must sell! The renovations are going to far exceed what we originally planned.... That's the way it goes in rehab.
We are taking a much needed holiday from house wrecking(me) & legal wrangling(WFS). Tonight we'll camp in West Virginia. The temperature is predicted to drop into the mid twenties. If we don't freeze tonight, we'll be sleeping in much comfort with Christopher, Audrey and Colin in Philly tomorrow night. My number one son turns 44 on Sunday. As cliched as it sounds, it seems like yesterday when he was born. And I would add, it keeps getting better and better.

THE WEEK Begins

Thumbelina is in tatters! The garden has no shape , only barren patches where English Ivy used to reside. A huge dumpster sits squarely in the middle of what will be my new pavilion and garden entrance. She doesn't look too sad, though. If houses could talk, and I believe they can, she is sighing a huge sound of relief and anticipation. Speaking strictly for me, I cannot take another work week as intense as the last. Back breaking, mind numbing work consumed me last week. English Ivy is a stubborn bitch. Our large tree in the front yard was twisted to the top of the limbs with ivy. The coiled, thick cords were choking the life from the tree. Hopefully, it can recover.
Today, a faux chimney, going nowhere, will drop from the attic in 5 gallons buckets. Handyman Mike will fill and drop the bucket to me on a thick rope. I will grab the bucket, take outside and stack the old bricks in neat rows for repurposing, later. This sounds back breaking and mind numbing....but, gratefully, it isn't that cranky English Ivy!
Inside, we are planing the new state-of- the- art HVAC with high tech insulation. We are exploring the possibilities of a spiral staircase leading to the attic and a possible small room for our grandsons. We are tearing out the old cabinets and carpet and demolishing the bathroom.
Things should start to take shape for the rebuild near the middle of December.
I am always optimistic. Stop sniggering!

Thumbelina

The past few months have been revelatory in many ways. First, I did not realize nor expect to be buckled to my knees by the death of our sweet, little puppy Chloe. Chlobel had lived with us 12 & 1/2 years. She was five weeks old when I slipped her in my sweatshirt pocket. She traveled across the US with WFS and me. I will miss her the rest of my life.
When my mother died in January, I held onto her unflinching fortitude. Her entire life journey was one of survival and resolve. I felt, in many ways, her legacy to me was to buck up. Look the devil in the eye and never blink. Weather the storm, stay the course. I honored her in death. I kept a brave countenance. I followed her roadmap. Dignity and poise. Holding my shoulders straight while walking with a book on my head. She was and still is my foundation of steel.
I reckoned all of her lessons. I did not cry at her funeral. I tried to be brave. I finally realized, my mom never taught me not to feel .. My mother told me not to cry. I honored my mother's wishes. I think my mother guided me to wail for Chloe. That is how I have reckoned my year of great loss.
Secondly, after many years of collecting a world of crap and some divinely inspired stuff, WFS and I have decided to chuck it all( or more accurately, a major portion) and live out our dream of traveling. We intend to drift about until we see all we want to see. We have purchased a lop-sided 1870's Station Master's house, moved in the 30's from the rail station on Frankfort Avenue to a knoll in Reservoir Park. Thumbelina is a "shot-gun" house measuring a compact 1125 square feet. She is completely charming and once I figure out how to resolve a two inch drop in the middle of the house, the fun of making her come to life will begin in earnest.
I have vowed to blog our adventures. I might spare you the three day marathon English Ivy removal. Except to say, it is a nasty, invasive, noxious weed and is currently clogging some nearby landfill. Horrors. As my wise son said, English Ivy is only good for an ant highway. The kid is right.

The Blind Pig

Life gets so busy that simple pleasures are swept away. One simple pleasure I love and count on is a spontaneous dinner with people I love. Especially, if the ones I love are, say, under 12 years old. Thursday evening brought AE, Sierra, WFS and I together for dinner. Sierra had just finished her dance class and AE just returned from a long tour of Asia. We had much to talk about. It had been far too long since we had family time! As Sierra's substitute Grandmother, the two of us were welded for the evening. WFS and AE discussed all those "guy" topics.
" Any new spots in Louisville?"AE asks... oh, yes, says I! Let's go to Butchertown, to The Blind Pig!
We drove into this up and coming neighborhood's lively eatery, located on a corner directly across the street from the old packing plant. Industrial, edgy & repurposed, this cool new space has a hip vibe, wildly imaginative menu that bridges a much needed addition to Louisville's dining scene.
Wine, beer and cocktails are made to excite and make one linger at the long bar. We ate at the bar on a previous visit and found dinner with the barkeeps to be rewarding & fun! On Thursday, we were seated at a booth with a great view of the entire restaurant. Sierra and I played on the iPad, so, moot point.
WFS ordered wine and AE had a goat slinger cocktail. The night was off to a good start. We ordered mussels in a garlic,fennel broth and crispy oysters served with a champagne sauce and aioli. The aioli was tart with lemon and had just the right balance of garlic. I saved a bit of the aioli for dipping my Blue Dog bread. I lapped the mussel broth, filled with crunchy fresh sauteed fennel.
Sierra ordered sausages, as did WFS. I ordered the bean chili and AE ordered the Ivory Bacon sandwich. Each bite we took was accompanied by oohs and ahhs. Sierra, world traveler and foodie, said, this is a fat wiener! She ate eleven mussels and nearly all of her sausage. AE had to eat fast to keep the other dining companions from devouring his entire serving of fresh cut French Fries! Superb!
The cabbage served with the sausages was perfect. Nothing more to say.
My soup was hearty, filled with six beans, tomatoes and tons of spice. Perfect soup for an autumn evening.
Sierra and AE had a bedtime curfew. WFS and I stayed, savored the moment, and spilt a brown butter tart.
The service was swift and professional. The price for dinner for four, a bargain.
I think we all would say: Welcome to Louisville. We hope you stay a long, long time.

ACROSS THE UNIVERSE

Internet connections have been sporadic, that's a good thing. Seeing the wonders of the west have been thrilling, to say the least. We have yet to experience temps above 70 degrees! Nights have been brisk and the warmth of our sleeping bags have been very welcoming. We have eaten only one meal not made campside and/or some scenic overlook as we passed through four states. I love cooking on an open fire. Our tiny little stove provides instant( almost) boiling abilities., so, clean-up for WFS is a snap. "How," he asks, " can you cook like this making barely a mess, but, blow up half the state of KY when you cook in your home kitchen?" I have no explanation. None. We've had utterly delicious fare, buying our supplies at local farmer's markets and the best organic store, ever, in Trinidad, CA. Situated conveniently five miles from our most amazing high perch over the Pacific.
After following the Trinity River as it winds through the mountains of California, we reached the best National or State Park we've ever stayed in. Ever. The views were stunning. The hikes, treacherous and breathtaking. The beach, tranquil. I think we might have stayed a month, but, the coast of Oregon was just up the way, so.......
I might have mentioned I love the thought of no sales tax and no pumping gas, and views that never end. However, the best thing in Oregon is: coffee on every corner! Espresso, Latte, hot, dark and oh, so good to sip just before you step out into the ocean breeze, that for a southern girl, is downright cold!
Portland and Cathy tomorrow....Ann, Linda, Katherine and spouses. Doesn't get much better than this.

A DAY AND NIGHT IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

Leaving Pyramid Lake, we headed into California. WFS had ripped out( before we left) CA and OR from our old atlas. I, the NAGivator, consulted the old fashion road map. No GPS, no iPad , no nothing, just the roadmap in my lap. A fuzzy old friend. We decided to go through Plumas and the Sierra Nevada range to Lassen Volcanic National Park. We found an irresistible little ice cream and burger stand, The Polka Dot, nestled by a creek. I love old signs and milkshakes. !bingo! Fueled for the day, we ambled toward the imposing peak of Lassen. 10,457. Cold too! The road was closed about two thirds of the way up,so, we drove the road as far and high as we could. 'tWas amazing. We scurried down Lassen and headed toward a higher peak, Mt Shasta, 14,162.
While talking with Jaxon on the phone about Lassen and Shasta, he asked the last time it erupted. 1921(Lassen), and the time before that, he asked.... Don't know, said I,to which he replied, if you get that information, I can tell you when it will blow again and you'll have time to get out of there!
Nothing blew, so we camped on the deep forest floor with bear roaming about. We didn't SEE a single bear but they do poop in the woods. I swear.
We could see Castle Crag and Mt Shasta from the vista near camp. Plus, the divine Sacramento Riverr rapids were a mere mile and a half away by the bear trail.
We had a coin toss, head for Crater Lake or Redwoods National Park and the sea~ we cheated a little. The Pacific was singing a compelling song. Camping by the sea tonight.

PAUITE, PYRAMID LAKE

Shore birds and water gently lapping brought my senses to alert in pre-dawn light. From deep inside my warm cocoon I could sense the morning light. I missed the starry skies, time changes and two days of extreme travel left me road weary. After our dinner, a walk and clean-up, I got my reading light, book and magic pillow and crawled into the tent.
Winds are fierce around Pyramid Lake, it is very lunar and desolate. The ranger advised us to camp on Windless Beach. A slightly protected cove, that loosely meant one could stake down the tent and not be
blown away. She said the winds would die down in the night but roar in like a tornado in the early morning. The winds did roar,
but, our little tent did not quiver. Yeah Mountain Hardgear! The azure water against the granite mountains are a brilliant contrast. The stillness juxtaposed with lashing winds were the very essence of primal. This lovely lovely country speaks to my soul. This crazy nomadic travel isn't for everyone.... But, for WFS & me, it is paradise.
These two seasoned travelers forgot to buy camp stove fuel, so, we made a beeline to Reno REI! California, here we come!

The Great Salt Lake

Comparing our plane flight to the misery of the Mormons struggling with lunacy and adversity, makes whining about air travel rather trivial... But, when you are our age, and must run at full gallop across the Denver terminal and are asked to pay! Yes, pay! For peanuts, m&m's... You either laugh( we did) or curse the airline industry( we did). We touched down in Salt Lake City 7:45 local time. Rental car agency had a small compact instead of Tahoe, gas guzzling camping SUV we had reserved. This was all sorted out by 11:00p local time. Early morning for the KY immigrants. We pitched our tent on a grassy, rose laden spot with snowy mountains and clear, cool night air enveloping our weary souls. Sleep came quickly.
Morning brought bright blue skies and a great coffee shop. We found Whole Foods, State Liquor and ice... We have provisions galore. We drove west to the Bonneville Salt Flats. A sight to behold! We'll be in far western Nevada on the Pauite Indian Reservation tonight. Pyramid Lake. I suspect we'll be cold, cold tonight. We have chili for dinner and a bottle of wine and each other. Guess that will be enough.

Taste of Derby

When the Kentucky Derby Festival added the Taste of Derby to the festivities the already unique line-up of steamboat races and waiter races, we really hit the superfecta. What took so long to come up with this concept? We've got a starting gate full of America's elite in the small city of Louisville that holds its own in cuisine with all other cities, so why not showcase our love and understanding of all things culinary?



When I heard who all was coming to the Taste of Derby I knew this would be an event that I could not miss. As I pulled up to the parking lot, by-passing the red carpet valet line, I started to feel the excitement in the air. The Mellwood Arts Center was a perfect venue for the event, and as I walked in to where most of the revelry was taking place, there were house appetizers like a cucumber slice with a pocket shaved out and filled with barbecued bison. what an inventive bight that set the tone for the upcoming tastes. Flowing deeper into the event I was given a nice piece of glass stemware from the vineyard in Chile that was sponsoring the event. What else to do except fill it with some chardonnay to arouse the taste buds. My dad is friends with Michelle Bernstein and since she was the biggest star chef there, I went straight to her booth. We chatted for a few minutes about Miami cuisine and the restaurant business, as she is the authority on that subject. What an extremely nice person to be given such a successful run. The way the event was set up was: Give 12-15 regional and national chefs a large booth to hand out one or two bight dishes to the glamorous crowd as they promote their restaurant and the progression of food in general. Each booth had an LCD flatscreen flashing between the chef on display, and the dish they were preparing. Michelle had a medium sized gulf coast shrimp, de-veined and relief cut to make it lay flat, with heat provided by a mexican pepper and garnished with three pieces of a semi-sweet popcorn; popcorn shrimp reborn. My first taste of Michelle's culinary creation solidified my pre-conceived notion of her talent. The shrimp were excellent.



As we rounded the corner, we came to the New York City representation, Tribeca Grill of the Myriad Group was handing out their dishes with smiles and hearty welcomes. The Commanders' Palace was in the courtyard handing out turtle soup and Ouita Michel of Kentucky's own Holly Hill Inn was producing a burgoo ensemble. Anthony Lamas of Seviche had prepared a seviche bight on a wooden spoon and was very fresh. Sullivan University had a station in the courtyard that was a run-off between two students to receive tickets to the derby. Both were very good dishes, especially the cornbread and brisket. Chef Allen Akmon does wonders with this university and his students all have great things to say about him. I did not have any bights that I did not like and as I was leaving to meet friends at Fourth Street for the Luke Bryan concert I was very glad I decided to attend the first annual Taste of Derby and vowed next year to make it the main event instead of a precursor on the night.

Cumberland Island

Perhaps it was the sun filtering through the live oaks. The dappled, dancing shadows on the dusty, sandy roads. Perhaps it was the stillness of noon, barely a sound in the thick woods. Perhaps it was the smell of a fire, burning the last remnants of winter's scorn. Perhaps and most significantly, it was the puttering sound of a small tractor that made me think of home. All the memories of my childhood ricochet around me. On this remote island, amongst the ruins of a sophisticated, wealthy world, I paused, prodding myself to look deeply into my imagination. Did a little girl live in that huge house? Did she pretend she was a wild and free Indian princess riding bareback to the sea? As I walked through the ruins, the wild horses wandered in to take fresh water collected in a pool on the south side of the ruins beneath a small flowering tree. .My reverie was interrupted by a gaggle of women on a guided tour. Time to go deeper in the hammock toward the cemetery, slave quaters, barns and the 1 and 1/2 mile beach trail. My imagination switches, I now feel like Lawrence of Arabia, crossing the dunes in blazing sunlight. We marched through perfect white sand dunes for almost a mile. The sea, from the dunes, was exhilarating, magical, glorious. We both made a mad dash to cool our hot feet in the cool surf. We did not see another soul until we returned to Greyfield Inn for a glass of sweet tea, sitting on the veranda, relaxing on the porch swing.
After a five mile bike ride, a four mile walk and a picnic by the sea, this seemed like the perfect ending to a manificent day on Cumberland Island.

Sunny Sunday

Yawn. Stretch. WFS brings my coffee to my sea watching spot. We both stare into the sparkling sun dancing on the low tide until WFS's belly began to growl. Our Sunday brunch was bagels, lox and cream cheese. Traveling in a vintage airstream garners lots of attention. Fellow campers wander in, how long you had it? Where did you get it? Are you from New Mexico?(front bumper) Are you from KY?( back bumper)... Then, where you been? Where you going? Time drifts away. I am eager to walk to the lighthouse, which can only be reached from the beach in lowtide.. The lighthouse is about a 3/4 mile trek along the shore. I repeat, only in lowtide. We have to get moving.
This very wild beach is Gullah country and for the most part, has been left to the natural wildness of the sea. Other than bird and turtle hatching protected areas, the park service isn't intrusive, at all. Several warnings say: Give alligators a wide berth. Thus, stick to the sea! We made it out to the lighthouse along the shore, climbed the 238 steps up
to the catwalk for a stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean, Harbor River and Fripp Island. The day was bright and sunny with views extending forty miles.
We walked through the hammock back to the seashore, where we found the most rewarding ice cream hut. A Ben & Jerry's ice cream sandwich eaten while the sun warms your back and the sea breeze cools your face..well, as the saying goes, priceless. You have to grab the moment, no?
While the tide was low, we hiked as far as we could go to the very edge of the river and the sea. Stop. Breathe deeply. Do not move.
Now, continue.
We decided to drive 16 miles into the historic town of Beaufort, SC. This is a lovely southern town and also very lively on Sunday afternoon. Perversely, I was seeking a Sunday NYTimes. Unsuccessfully. We did treat ourselves to fried grouper cheeks and Palmetto ale. You get good and greasy and wash it all away with beer. Oh, by the way, in the south, you lick your fingers!
We found Beaufort very southern and, hospitable. Do stop in, if you are ever lost between Charleston, SC and Savannah, GA.
A footnote:
the sunset over the marsh would take a small book to adequately describe. When I write my memoirs, I will include that indescribable sunset

Asheville, North Carolina

WFS is a nimble driver. No doubt about it. He's also a relentless one. Miles upon miles, never relinquishing the wheel. I will also add he will stop a zillion times, for no better reason than allowing me to dip my feet in the French Broad River. We followed the French Broad as we snaked through the lush mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina. The very, very slow route, to be sure. We took this senic and splendid route to avoid the rock slide on I40. We didn't see the Smokies but we did see America, the beautiful and America, the kitchy!
Camping last night was bliss. I was sleeping soundly by 9:45!
We've left the mountains behind and we'll see the Atlantic Ocean soon. Tonight our little TinCan will be nestled by the sea. We have cherry wood and bison burgers.. What more could two vagabonds want?

Eastern Kentucky

As I travel through the magnificent mountains near Pineville, Kentucky, two things are very clear to me:
1. It is breathtakingly beautiful.
2. It is devastatingly poor.
I wonder if we will ever reconcile these glaring contrasts.
As a child in a one room school, I was graced by the Save the Children Federation. I only knew beauty, I did not understand the concept of poverty. I thought we were priviledged. I still do. Later in life, and noted by my oldest son, I became vocal, perhaps militant on the stereotypical portrayal of the undereducated. I
must admit, it is hard not be protective of the people from this incredible landscape. It only takes a few guffaws or pointed grammatical corrections to set me aflame. I wear my heritage with enormous pride. I am looking out the windshield into a deep hardwood forest, morels are there waiting to be dry land fish for supper. Wildflowers are dotting the south banks of creekbeds. Trees in the distance are pale green, red and gray. Birds are nesting. Someplace in a hollow, a baby's foot is touching green grass for the very first time. The timeless ritual of life in the mountains on a spring day is humming to my soul.
I honor the past, I am hopeful for the future of this remarkable corner of the world.

Gardens, Yew Dell and Sarah Belle

The soft rains came yesterday, Nothing blustery. Just a billowy wind and rain. The good ground soaking kind. The rain was much needed. Though my seedlings had popped through the ground, they seemed to be patiently waiting for the final element for success, rainwater. Somehow, watering with a garden hose never brings the results of a good, steady, spring rain.
Last night, I drifted off to sleep listening to the rhythmic sound of water splashing on the earth. I went out on the pavilion around 10:00pm to take a deep breath of the rain soaked air. The smell of the earth receiving the rain is one I dearly love. One must take time to smell, not only the roses, but the wonderful smell of the earth as it inhales and exhales in the still night air.

Recent Dining

Well I have been hitting the dining trail quite hard in the last month and have some nice additions to the dining dossier and some nice re-assurements to some seasoned restaurants. Just from time to time I like to remind our readers how lucky we are to live in a city with such high marks for good restaurants and a standard of appreciation amongst the diners of Louisville. Having first hand knowledge of all major markets in the US, there are not more than five cities which exceed the river city's quality.

I will start with the new Zapata's on Shelbyville Rd where the old (real old) Mazoni's was. One of the few "institution" restaurants had left a void in our landscape, but that story was posted a while back. So I must say Zapata's breaks the mold that nearly all mexican restaurants in America hold. They bill their fare as authentic, and I somewhat agree, but the food is excellent regardless. The very colorful dining room, in which the servers wear VERY traditional small town garb, is sure to awaken your senses. The chorizo fundido was excellent, but the coctal de camarones was hands down off the chart. The quesadilla was huge and wonderful, the carne azada skirt steak was large and tender, and the Tacos of steak were served in excellent corn tortillas served in a festive sombrero. This place will find a devout following quickly! *** 1/2

I had eaten brunch at Rivue a year or so back, but had never been for dinner. My brother works for the Schneider Co, who owns both the Galt House and the Crowne Plaza, and he had repeatedly requested I fit the revolving restaurant into my rounds. On a Thursday night in April the time came, and we took the express elevator to our perch over the Ohio, looking out at the new arena as it takes its shape and the wall of glass facing the river is installed. Tim played very soothing music on the piano as we walked past the small bar to the hostess stand. We were shown to our table in the eastern revolving room and were greeted by our server Andre. While I touched on the attributes of diners in Louisville, I must not overlook the high standard of servers in this city either. Within 10 minutes I had already rated Andre to be in the top ten of Louisville. He was concise in his knowledge of the restaurant, the menu, what accentuated each dish and was excellent at conversing in general, as my brother loves to talk to everyone. We started with glasses of Cambria chardonnay ($14), that although slightly overpriced were served chilled perfectly tableside from the bottle. We enjoyed the white full bodied wine as the river became our scenery. Our first course we were to split, and we decided on the trio of sea scallpos. One was served atop red tomato sauce, one atop yellow tomato sauce, and the final atop an asparagus sauce. The yellow tomato, topped off with crunchies, was the only disappointment. The flavors did not meld in harmony, hiding the natural excellence of the plump scallop. The bread was good, but the butter should be commended. One accutrement this city has not mastered is the importance of butter quality. For our main courses I had the filet with a potato gnocchi-like seared pasta. These were a welcome respite from the usual servings of starch found around town. The filet was very tender and flavorful, but I could not keep from thinking about my recent steak experience and this was simply playing second fiddle. Rivue gets the review, ***1/2

So I guess the introduction for the best steak in Louisville has already been written. Now the question is which spot is going to knock Pat's off their perch? Is it the ultra sexy Jeff Ruby's, where the bar scene is the place to be seen on the weekend downtown?? As excellent as they are, especially to get fresh stone crab back in December this far from South Florida, that is not the answer. The answer lies atop one of my favorite buildings anywhere. That building would be the Kaden Tower. The Frank Lloyd Wright designed building creates as air of specialness to me as I enter the elevator past his portrait. As we leave the cold lobby after a UL basketball game, we are greeted with the warm wood, carpet, and overall decor of a steak worshipper's home. As we sat at the bar to watch more basketball, we ordered a shrimp remoulade. The four jumbo shrimp were great, but the remoulade was just a tweak off. Although Ruth Fertel originated this well-run chain in New Orleans, the recipe for this sauce must have gotten lost in the move. Not bad, just not where it could be. But redemption was on the way. Oh sweet redemption, when it comes in the form of a 9 oz. sizzling filet mignon on a plate that could fry an egg. The perfectly bloody center mixed with the bernaise sauce in a harmony that made my mouth smile and my eyelids slightly close as if to say- wow. Me picking a chain as the best steak in Louisville means it already overcame a large hurdle. But however many there are in the country does not matter to me at this point. The flavor of that meat served scalding hot and the well-executed cooking does. On another trip shortly after the first left our cravings unfinished, we started with a crab cake, and I would order that in lieu of the shrimp remoulade on subsequent trips. Ruth's Chris is where it has been for some time now, it just took me a few years to allow a chain to receive such high status from me. They have paid their dues ****

Recent musings also included a wonderful foie gras hand delivered by Kathy Cary at Lilly's. The chef knows how to do foie gras. All renditions here are excellent, and paired with unique tart or sweet flavors. The service here was good and the restaurant looks to be doing well in the downturned economy. Also on a Friday night we went with friends to the Come Back Inn. After trying a few of the pastas and leaving with a grin and not a smile, I found what I needed to bring me back to the genial spot tucked away between Bardstown Road and downtown. An entree that would keep me coming back with a dish in mind, instead of a warm spot for a cool evening. The pizza rocks at the Come Back Inn, but don't tell everybody, because you can't hardly get into the no-reservations dining room easily even if you are life long friends with the owner's dad. Geena can flip a table with speed and talk about the daily grind with a no-nonsense style that is genuine and makes a diner happy to know their money is going to the propreitor who is bussing tables and expediting orders. The final restaurant I recently dined at was El Toro on Shelbyville Rd. I was introduced to a new drink, consisting of beer, tabasco, worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, and some fruit drink. called an enchilada. There was a hispanic contingency that had the tall bartender rocking out the enchiladas. The quesadillas were great, but the tacos carne asada were less than desirable. Probably won't go back to this spot.

So get out there and enjoy the dining this city has to offer! Your favorite restaurant is probably having trouble in the hard times. Go have a nice dinner and support the local owners in their businesses. Or you may not be able to when you start craving that dish you love.

AE

TREES

Today at 7:00am I began my day. A huge truck delivered a gigantic mound of dirt. I love a pile of dirt. This was especially good dirt. Compost and earth, nothing better! We started moving dirt to my new raised bed and to my herb garden. After 4 back breaking hours, the dirt was where it needed to be and the new lacy bark elms were in the ground. I have decided to name the trees Lacy & Lucy. After a certain stylish cat I know! I am too tired to bring more news, except, the lettuce is planted and I will be able to cover my bed if/when freezing temperatures arrive. That is a given in the Ohio Valley!

DEATH OF A MOTHER

A dear friend's mother died early this morning in LA. We have shared our experiences with the decline and loss of our mothers.
These words literally fell out this morning. I think it is Dan and I in the last moments. However, it is for Stephanie Shane Parkin, daughter of Betty Shane.

Death of a Mother

Silence takes a moment
it's there
you wait and still,
still is the calm.
A flutter takes you
to all the times,
fraught and final.
The hand relaxed,
the jaw set
it is the moment
the silence
it is death.

Home

Home has its own sweetness. I spent the day reorganizing and cleaning. to most, this is drudgery, to me, exhilarating. By late afternoon, I had things orderly. Dinner.I made polenta, baked golden crispy with a very creamy center and topped with black beans, red onion and roasted red peppers...a little finish of cilantro and a warm fire made for a great ending to the day~~
The photo was made at Fort Clinch, Fernandina Beach, Florida. WFS was walking ahead on our only rainy day and this shot presented itself. We started out with low clouds through the hammock, by the time we reached the beach it was a downpour. Walking in the rain was such fun.
We made it to the old fort, as my mom would say, looking like water soaked rats. We stepped inside the old bakery and found a lovely fire in the fireplace and a long row of nice wood. WFS stoked the fire, and we warmed our wet bones. One of the more perfect adventures of Sally and Bill.

CHLOE & WFS

EARLY MORNING HIKE, OUTBACK FLORIDA

Fare Thee Well

Tempatures dipped to 34 last night. We had a roaring fire in one of the most serene settings we've ever camped in. Barely a sound except the rustle of palmetto and the night bird calls. We had a great dinner of leftover white chili, toasted jack cheese, avocado and green chili sandwiches. I finished with hot tea and a chocolate. WFS had a hot shower and I washed the dishes. By the time we got inside, we were both grateful for our cozy little bed & a very warm TinCan.
Yesterday we explored a radius of fifty miles. We hiked two state parks and one federal preserve. Rivers, marshes and estuaries, deep hammocks and golden sandy beaches. This was the land of native people and so pristine. We relived their lives in every hammock and midden. The Timucuan were decimated not by war, but by disease. We stood on the banks of the Tomoka River, just before it flowed into the sea, imagining a world of peace and content under the huge live oak trees.
Our next park was an old sugar plantation. This hidden jewel was so far off the grid we were fearful we were heading to no man's land. After 10 miles on sand roads we found the old ruin. Deep in the hammock, forgotten by time, we walked through the ruins knowing this whole world succeeded on the backs of slaves. A sobering moment in a beautiful setting. As we drove back through the wooded lane, we spoke of how little the world has changed.
Fortunately, we can speak out, reach out and hope.

THE REAL FLORIDA

Clouds were white and billowy as we left sweet Fernandina, Cumberland Island. As we packed our gear, some folks from upstate NY stopped for a chat, then a sweet man from Frankfort, Ky said he had to stop and ask, where in Ky? And why did we have Ky plates on the rear and New Mexico plates on the front.. At that same moment, he spied our duckies and seemed( in a friendly way) to get it! We are kitschy! Finally, we pulled out, stopping briefly for provisions and a Starbucks. We headed down the coastal highway A1A toward a State Park that heralds: The Real Florida. Clouds were thickening as we drove, at a snail's pace, down the coast. We drove off the main road across sand roads and a washed out bridge to soaring long leaf pines and the uncluttered quiet of the hammocks. As WFS set up camp, I quickly made white chili for dinner. It was very, very good about two hours later.
We donned our rain gear, as big raindrops plopped on the sand. We headed into the dense hammocks where the Timucuan Indians dwelled( many, many years ago)along the marshes. We had been hiking about 45 minutes in the rain, when I heard a rustle up ahead. A small herd of young, feral pigs dashed in front of us, scurrying into the palmetto. We could hear the sow calling them in the distance. They were incredibly fat for feral pigs, with rough graphite colored hides. We stood in the drizzle, amazed. We walked on to the salt marshes. It was still, except for birds calling and the rustle of palmetto. We soaked up the feeling of being in a very undisturbed corner of the world. Yes, it does exist, even in overrun Florida.
This morning brought high, blue skies and classical music. We ate our croissants and tupelo honey for breakfast. Between sips of coffee, we planned our wilderness day.
Shall I say, it will be an adventure? Stay tuned.

Cumberland Island

WFS & I boarded the boat around 5:00, Cap't Dave( A REAL SEA GUY)navigated past the Fernandina shrimping fleet, up the St. Mary's River. WFS found Cap't Dave very good company. He guided us through the Narrows, pass Fort Clinch( near our campsite) and around the point. Then, we turned west toward Cumberland Island, just as the sun slipped over the horizon. To say this was magnificent would be an understatement. Cap't Dave took us to the point of
Cumberland Island where the wild horses roam. He explained it isn't often you can SEE them, but he had a good feeling...We hovered the shoreline watching birds wading along the shore, the sun casting unearthly colors against the shore and sky.
suddenly, our captain said, in a near whisper, look, look...just over the dune to your left. Behold, the herd ambled into our view...slowly they ascended the dune and we gasped! Time to break out our split of champagne! We sipped our champagne, wrapped ourselves in polar fleece blankets and moved out far enough to watch the dolphins, gracefully off the prow~
Every picture tells a story, but I am not sure the photos or my words can do this evening justice.

AMELIA ISLAND

We are ensconced in our lovely camping spot under a live oak. WFS can hear the boats passing by. The sunset was absolutely amazing last night. we walked through the live oaks to the river side of the campground, just in time to watch the last shreds of light fill the sky. We stayed out as long as we could...
After dinner we watched a Japanese film, Departures, about a young cellist returning to his rural home in Japan to learn the art of preparing the dead for the last journey( a very beautiful art)...a truly compelling film.
Today is a bit overcast and we were caught in a rain shower walking to Fort Clinch...We took shelter under a canopy of trees... giggling about being caught in the rain without any rain gear..Duckie Express is filled of rain gear. A Very lazy day for WFS and I....

The Joy of Camping

Yesterday we drove into Savannah. We planned our day around brunch. Meriwether McClorey, a recent Savannah School of Design graduate, sent me her insider guide to Savannah. Our brunch at the Firefly Cafe was so good. Offbeat and funky....fresh, original food. Yummy.
We drove out to Tybee Island to find the freshest seafood available. I found grouper, light pink flesh and smelling of the salty sea. We were excited about returning to our camp, building a big roaring fire and sharing the bottle of champagne Robert gave WFS for his birthday. I should insert here, I love to gather wood. Skidaway Island was a bonanza for wood gathering! WFS protested, I have enough wood for tonight...nonetheless, I wandered off to gather wood~~~the sun was setting, the birds were gathering in the trees and the air soft and warm. How bad can that be? As the fire sparked, WFS poured a tiny plastic glass of champagne. Umum. Good. Just at that moment, a couple meandered into our campsite. John and Mary, from Milford, Connecticut, were camping nearby in their indentical airstream, Tumbleweed! WFS hastened to find two more plastic glasses and find our extra campstools. We exchanged camping and airstream tales. They checked ours out, we checked out theirs. After the champagne was consumed, they left with a promise to meet for coffee the next morning.
Hastily, I started roasting fingerling potatoes and young vidalia onions purchased at the farmer's market. While they roasted over the hot coals, I made a salad of butter lettuce and cukes. I prepared the fish for grilling, including, fresh dill butter for finishing. This meal, I must say, was a perfect example of fresh, simple food bursting with flavor. We cleaned up by the last flickers of the fire. Our warm beds were going to feel so good. And, they did.
WFS was up quite early, and in 7x11 space,,that translates to me being up quite early, as well. I bury under the covers as long as possible,
but, after WFS walks with Chloe, showers and fumbles to find coffee filters, I reluctantly greet the day. I walked down for my shower in blissfully warm morning air..
When I returned, Mary and John were walking toward our picnic table carrying hot, whole wheat pancakes and Vermont maple syrup. We had the hot coffee.
Camping is about the best of the best.... When morning brings handmade pancakes and new friends, I would speculate, it doesn't get much better.

Chattanooga

Warm night air and brilliant stars on Lookout Mountain last night. We drove into Chattanooga to meet a dear friend, Mia...she suggested a lovely Italian restaurant near the museums, overlooking the Tennessee River. We had enough time to take the river walk before dinner. Tony's was a very efficient, cozy family style restaurant. Mia brought Clyde, her ten year old and his best buddy, Ethan. Mia is an artist and a fun spirit. We hadn't seen each other in years. I ordered homemade pasta with marinara. Simple but just the way I like fresh made pasta. Mia had ravioli with gorgonzola sauce. WFS chose spinach fettucine with Italian sausage. Little guys went with penne and butter. Winners, all.
We made a short evening of it, needing to be back in the cozy nest of the TinCan.
We've traveled in dappled sunlight in shirt sleeves. Savannah is on the horizon..
Firelight, the sea and stars.

Flyte, Nashville

Getting out of Louisville yesterday was an exciting! We finally turned south and left the snow behind around Bowling Green. Nashville is chilly but a fine 15 degrees warmer than our frigid tempatures.
After a spin through Target and Toys r Us with Jaxon, a big box of legos and a cuddle, we were off to WFS's birthday dinner at Flyte. Flyte is all the buzz in Nashville. Industrial, hip and warm, all in one package. Perfectly appointed tables and the cozy, pillowed, corner banquette made a great first impression. We ordered a fantastic inexpensive South African white wine. I decided to go to the small bites portion of the menu. I really wanted to sample the flytes.
I started with a pork belly, prawn, sweet potato and mole appetizer. Generous enough to make a full course and every bite exquisite. My next course was the soup flyte. Three small tureens were a little hit and miss. The parsnip soup was silky, flavorful and left me wanting more. The wild mushroom was tepid and uninspired. The celery root silken soup burst my taste buds into a full swoon. Each soup would have benefited from heat. Note: on chilly evenings, warm those bowls and bring the soup hot!!! My final course was a salad of arugula and beets with borscht in a small tureen. This was beyond fabulous. The borscht was pure beet with undertones of a lovely homecooked beef stock. Lovely. WFS had an Asian inspired Steelhead trout, cooked to a perfect medium rare. A small pot of dashi was drizzled over the trout tableside. Jason had poussin with fresh veggies. A success of pure natural flavors standing alone.
We passed on desserts... Something about avocado pudding did not appeal to me~~
The service was impeccable and the tab was in keeping with the attention to detail and natural, organic ingredients.
If you are in Naahville, near the old red light district on Division St., fly in.

Looking for the Sun

After a long absence, I have returned to blogging our adventures. We are a chilly 25 degrees and snow is banked around the Tin Can. We will make Nashville tonight and celebrate WFS's birthday with family...We are going to a new, hip restaurant. Tomorrow, I will review the results of our dinner.
The past few months haven't been easy for me to write but I am going to dust of my keyboard and fire up my synapsis

The Three Tendedors

When I think about different foods, a location usually comes to mind, like pasta and Italy, or foie gras and the Hudson Valley, or truffles and France. When I think of meat I think of Argentina- and that vast swath of the chlorophyll filled pampas- the grassy plains in the interior of the country that provide the flavor to beef that has the rest of the world looking on in envy. Don't get me wrong, USDA beef is spectacular and is a very close second, but let's recognize Argentine beef for what it is- the best on earth. So being that I am a big fan of beef, I was drawn to Buenos Aires and the legendary steakhouses, or parillas, that pleasure the local portenos. I had only two nights, and there were three establishments that I wanted to dine in, so lunch was going to have to suffice for one spot. The three were in reverse chronological order were: La Estancia, La Brigada, and Cabana Las Lilas. I put them in this order, because I figured I knew which one I was going to like best, and made sure to go there first in case we were not able to be go to all of them.

La Estancia is a very large, one room parilla on a street named Lavalle, which is a pedestrian only street (most of the time) in the heart of Buenos Aires. From the street one can see the many cuts of meats grilling on a pit or a grill, and as I opened the doors I was consumed by the smell of burning wood and greeted by a very old door man that was enlightened by my daughter's smile. We were shown to a table in the rear of the restaurant, and took our seats. This was the day we were flying home and was going to be our last meal in South America. We started with a large Quilmes beer, which is served in a bucket of ice like a fine wine would be. I must say I really wanted to compare the three restaurants apple for apple, so I ordered the same three items at each of the stops, and tried bites of my family's plates for any variety I needed. The three items were chorizo sausage, sweetbreads, and lomo- or filet mignon to the northern latitude dwellers. Except for this spot, where I finished off with a skirt steak. The sweetbreads here were very large, about the size of a hamburger at McDonalds, but thicker. The waiter showered the treats with a lemon and we served ourself off of the grill that had been placed on the table. the texture provided enough resistance so that my fork alone would not quite penetrate the piece. The flavor was well-rounded and a house-made chimichurri was spicy hot, but not up to what I was hoping for. deeming lemon enough for the rest that I ate. The chorizo sausages were very nice, loosely ground and seared perfectly to seal in the natural juices. the flavor was excellent. The table ordered a mixed grill of chicken, pork, and beef, and the skirt steak was only decent, which proved to make this the number 3 spot in BA. It was tied together in a circle and was dry and tasted like roast from Applebee's. No juice or flavor. But the decor of the restaurant made it look like we were outside in those pampas with tree-like pillars and murals on the wall of cattle and clouds. **1/2

On the second night in BA, we tried La Brigada, which is in the San Telmo district. This place is famous as being a hang out of the Argentina National Football team, and the walls are adorned with jerseys of the game's legends and has the feel of a very masculine place. There are three stories and a large wine cellar in the basement which can be seen through an acrylic floor by the piano. Servers wait for you at the door and escort you to your table like one would escort wedding guest. Once seated we were presented with menus bound in cow hides and ordered some white wine to start with. An article I had read suggested the tail of sirloin, but to keep with comparing I ordered the lomo which proved to be a slight miscue. The rest of the table ordered the tail of sirloin and they proved to be cut-with-a-spoon tender. My filet was good, and the sweetbreads and chorizo were very very good. La Brigada ***

So this leaves us with one restaurant to redeem Argentina as THE spot for carne. In 2006 I read an article in the New York Times food section titled: Meals worth the price of a plane ticket, and after El Bulli in Spain the writer listed Cabana Las Lilas. in his very short list of 6 restaurants. I was intrigued, what could be done to beef differently to make an overnight flight to BA worthwhile. I wanted to find out what was so special about this place in the Puerto Madera district, sitting right on the water way near the Puenta de la mujer. Upon arrival I checked in with the hostess and stated I had made a reservation some time back to dine there (8 months to be exact). As I waited for the second cab to deliver my fellow diners I saw a tour bus pull up and unload a mass of tourists in very non-South American garb. I started to shutter and wonder what I had gotten into. surely they were not about to dine in the glorious Cabana Las Lilas dressed as they were. Sure enough they were herded into the restaurant, which my eyes that had not yet seen the expansive dining rooms that enveloped the entrance, and I wondered where they were going to put them. A few moments later another bus pulled up, same result. I was starting to wonder if I was either in the wrong spot or if I had made a mistake. When the remainder of my party arrived, I stepped back to the hostess and told her we were ready to be seated. Past the grill, through the first dining room, through the second large dining room with doors open to the fast approaching night, and into the third very large dining room that must have seated 110 people. There must have been 250 people dining at the restaurant as we were seated. The waiters were clad in tuxedos and brought out two platters for the table before our waters were even filled. They consisted of roasted peppers, spanish ham, mushrooms, and a semi-hard cheese. We later learned this was part of the 8 peso seating charge applied to each adult diner. As we settled in for our first dinner in BA, I read over the wine list and ordered a nice pinot noir for the table. I know what I was going to dine on, but looked over the menu to get a feel for the choices of such a large churrascaria. They had all the bases covered as far as meat goes. there were cuts that I knew, some I had forgotten, and some I had not run across before. As the head waiter came to our table (we had a wait staff of 4 for our 8 top table) we started to give our preferences. when my mother ordered her steak well-done the waiter said "we might have a problem there, the chef is quite picky and may not cook to that temperature." I did not know whether to say congratulations to the chef or what the hell is he thinking. After a quick trip to the kitchen and apparently an approval from the chef, the order was confirmed and we all followed with our orders of steaks medio-crudo, or medium rare. I also ordered the sweetbreads and chorizo bonbones as they were billed. An appetizer here is assumed to be for the table when ordered, so these two dishes were brought first to my place setting and served with two forks in the ultra-classy manner, and then offered to the rest of the settings, although there were only two takers on the sweetbreads and 1 on the chorizos since there were so few. The chorizos were succulent and made my mouth sing in joy of the wonderfully juicy array of flavor that had been presented to my taste buds. just enough spice with the excellent red chimichurri to put a bead of sweat on my forehead, the way I like it. And then the sweetbreads, ohhh the sweetbreads. I have liked sweetbreads for some time now, but in Louisville the only spot that always has them on the menu is Palermo Viejo, and they keep my cravings in check when I am at my home base. So I have not seen them prepared too many ways. When I put the fork, or tendedor, to the first bite, I heard it crunch and saw it split. I was taken back as I was not expecting a crunchy sweetbread. I rushed the bite to my lips and was awarded with pure heaven. There are but a few things that can make me smile in utter amazement from years of exploring this great earth. And at times the most simple things can accomplish this feat, such as a crunchy sweetbread served in Beunos Aires, Argentina. The full flavored morsels had been charred to the point where there was no black grill marks, but the outer edges were crispy and the middle was semi-tough in a good way. this is what that gent at the new york times was talking about. After the starters, the main courses were hand delivered to the table by the chef himself, who seemed to have demigod status amongst the waiters as they hurried to set up his easel to place his masterpieces upon. He placed the tray on the stand and looked at our table, smiled and vanished back to the kitchen. The head waiter then passed out our steaks and baked potatoes. Before I go any further, let me tell you abot the service. My water glass was never empty, one of the waiters seemed to be on guard at all times as we dined, and when I would place an empty bottle or dish near the edge of the table, it was whisked away within 30 seconds. As I cut into my steak my lip turned up a bit. it was medium, not medium rare. I asked the opinion of the third waiter in command and he conversed with the second in command and seemed to be very hesitant in agreeing with my claim of an overcooked steak. As we were inspecting the steak, out of nowhere the head waiter came up from behind me and as if he had been in on the whole conversation scooped the meat up and said that steak is medium. within 20 seconds, that's right. 20 seconds I had a perfectly cooked steak in front of me. the master server asked me to cut into the steak and check its heat. ahhh, perfection. The steak was as flavorful as anticipated, the owner serves only beef from his personal ranch in the pampas. A slighlty different flavor than US beef, the Argentine beef seems a bit more complex than the US counterpart. A baked potato which had been requested with sour cream on the side showed up sans sour cream, and when I asked the waiter for a side of crema, he brought a new potato with sour cream slathered all over it in 15 seconds. Now as busy as this place was it was impossible to leave the room in 15 seconds, much less go to the kitchen, get a potato, and apply butter, sour cream, and chives. where did the potato come from, under the waiter's hat?, from another diner's table? I had never seen two mistakes corrected with more speed. I was amazed at the level of service and professionalism being displayed. For dessert I had a cream brulee which was very good, although I swear I almost ordered sweetbreads for dessert. And so it goes.... Cabana Las Lilas ***** worth every penny of that plane ticket!

AE