Friday food porn

We are all home.  Michael and Barb enjoyed Man of La Mancha & we had mixed reviews on King Lear.

But we went to brunch at Mercer Hall.  Not often do you see chicken and waffles on the brunch menu at a multi-$ restaurant.  Three of us ordered it.

No, not the chicken and waffles that Meg remembers served regularly in the school cafeteria.  Or that served at your local church/firehouse fund-raiser.

We will be back at an unknown time with more.  Adieu.

Just a note

Wednesday was our only full day in Stratford.  For those of you who have never been there, Stratford reminds me of home -- without the Shakespeare Festival, it'd be just another midwestern town, maybe a bit cuter, but two intersections surrounded by cornfields.  With the Festival, there are more hotels than you can imagine, and in the six years we've been coming there's been a growth of restaurants, almost all with "she-she" menus.

Example 1: we had a "light lunch" at a restaurant that is an off-shoot of the local cheese shop, which is big on organic and/or local (they seem almost synonymous here).  I cannot recreate what was on the menu, mostly on big chalkboards on the wall, but I know we had a charcuterie (no, I am not sure what the word means) and cheese plate.  The family had quiche, which had beet root in it (pukey face), and chick pea and lentil salad.  Really?  The cheeses were all local.

For dessert, get this, their main offering was "water buffalo milk ice cream" with chocolate and/or espresso sauce and "warm chocolate chip cookies."  Discussion followed, several times, about who got to milk the water buffalo.  But, to someone's credit, it was the smoothest ice cream any of us had ever eaten.

Our matinee was King John.  For those of you who think of the lion in the Disney animated version, well, the director decided to go near that route here.  As background, they think it was written in the 1590s (i.e. "early Willie Shakes"), but there are no print editions till the first folio (for those of you who have to look it up, 1623).  It was rarely, if ever, played in the 18th century, became popular in the 19th, but has returned to little-playdom in the 20th.  It is the 5th production in Stratford's 61 years.

It was actually well done.  It is not great Shakespeare, but what you learn if you see his contemporaries -- a recent viewing of Webster's Duchess of Malfi comes to mind -- you know weak WS is better than anyone else's best.  In KJ, it is the supposed bastard of Richard the Lion-heart, Falconbridge, who steals the show -- and the actor, Graham Abbey, stole it.  Lots of pro-English talk, and anti-French/foreigner stuff.

Dinner was at Pazzo.  This is now a tradition.  It sits right on the Main Street (Ontario) on the central intersection next to the small garden that brightens town.

It is Italian.  For those of you who are familiar, I need say no more.  The highlight meal was

ciopinno.

There's your food porn.  Meg and Michael had it; I had the pork ragu fettucini, Barb had the lobster ravioli & Karen the steak.  We all left happy.

Barb, Michael & I saw Beaux' Stratagem for our evening show (K & M saw Man of LaMancha -- singing! ew!).  Stratford had not staged a Restoration comedy for almost 20 years; this one was well done.  Colm Feore (famed in the rest of the world as a minor player in Amazing Spiderman 2 & Thor) was good as the lead.  The house was only half full.  It seems Restoration comedy doesn't sell big, even with a Marvel villain in the lead, in a cow town.

Today is our last day.  It was meant to be a quick, inexpensive (ROFL) midweek trip, set up so late for the first show I couldn't get seats together, and so we could get a room (see paragraph one -- its not a big place).   Brunch, King Lear & home.  Adieu.

Canada with Mystery Wheels, Eh!

So, yes, we are back "on the road" (though not moving much) this week for a short visit to Stratford, Ontario.  This is the fifth year in the last six we have made the journey to see "Shakespeare" (ironically, the S's are seeing just one Shakespeare play in their 5 -- and TWO musicals!!!!).

But let's start with this photo.

If you are wondering why it's a photo of an innocuous (grey???!!!) Chevy Malibu in the parking lot of our hotel in Stratford, well, here's the comparable shot: pic


Yes, that's MY Cadillac!!!! Insert crying face.  If you don't recognize the components, that's the front and rear drive train ON THE FLOOR with the transmission. !!!

Why, you ask?  It went in last week for an engine miss.  They decided to be thorough in their investigation. ):  I was told they started with the 5 recall notices on it.  And here we are.  They are getting a new head from Detroit.  They say it will be done by Friday, maybe.  At least by next week, when I begin commuting to Lock Haven for the next phase of life.

Now, for Stratford.  We ate last night at the Belfry, which the Toronto Star food critic says is the place to eat if you have one meal in Stratford.  I have learned the term "food porn" from reviews of last week's A Hundred Foot Journey, so here's yours.



Megan's steak tartare.  That is a quail egg on the top.  Ooooo.  As for "best bites," Michael said "the blue cheese," Megan her lemon flan, Barb and I our chocolate pot-de-creme, & Karen's shrimp.

The play of the evening of Antony & Cleopatra.  None of us were happy with it.  The leads failed to have chemistry; the production seemed tired despite trying (consciously) to move quickly; and there's the quality of the costumes, which sometimes seemed tired, too.

Ah, well, today will be better -- even if the food might not be.

The Last Day...Bataan, Sausalito & Maybe the Best Meal

Well, faithful, imaginary reader, we have come to the last day of our journey together.  Today was spent, again, full of adventures, and even some good humor.  It is not clear that it was a good day, though it ended with a splendid meal, at a seafood restaurant (amazingly, San Fran has them) named Waterbar.

But first, there was a dinner recap of the best meals of the 11 days.  Shockingly, no one took the pizza on Shelter Cove!  Here's the list:

Barb:  Black Sea bass at Hurley's (Napa Valley)
Karen: Quail with peaches (Waterbar, SF)
Michael: "I liked a lot of them" (though in fairness, he cited the "whole cow" the second night in Seattle & tonight's meal as his favorites)
Steve: Halibut with ratatouille (Vancouver)

The Waterbar, which, amazingly, sits right on the bay front almost under the Bay Bridge, served these delights -- three of us started with the shellfish and corn bisque, Barb had the peach salad.  Then Karen had the quail; Michael had haddock with mussels in a red sauce; Barb had the salmon and I had the opah (not to be confused with the ubiquitous talk show host) over tabbouleh.  Karen's quail (poor things!) is pictured.

We decided of the three places we ate in San Fran, the Waterbar was the one we would return to.

But that was the end of the day.  The beginning was not a happy, pretty thing.

Over dinner last night, we decided the "smart thing" to do was to rent a car for the day, picking it up downtown around 9, with the S's, whose flight left later, returning it at the airport around 9 at night.  It was determined we could get a Nissan Altima for $65 for the day & it would hold, snugly, all of us and the luggage.

Ah, gentle reader, sometimes clever ideas are just theoretical bullshit.

Michael and I left the hotel around 9, looking for a taxi.  Even though we were on a main thoroughfare, nary a taxi flew by as they came down the hill toward us.  "Let's walk up a block or two and see if one of the cross streets yields something," Michael rightly suggested.  "Up" in San Fran is of course pretty literal -- the road rose at a 50 degree angle.  Is that possible?

Nope, no sign of a taxi, not even a full one.  A rare empty one ignored us.

So, we walked "up" a couple more blocks.  Nothing.

"How far is it?" Michael asked.  I looked at Google maps and it was 1.4 miles to walk.  Some of it straight up the steep incline.

We climbed up another hill (if you think it's physically impossible to go up all these hills, you haven't been to San Francisco).  At the cross street that was our path to the rental agent, we turned.  It went uphill!

Let me point out, I am at least 25 pounds, probably 35, overweight and have sat behind a desk for the last six years.  Cardio was what I was going to have to get out of that job.

We discussed defibrillators as we walked.  He was raving about being in good enough condition to walk there, and started ignoring taxis.  I was about to lay in the street to stop one.  And laying not on purpose, but due to cardio collapse!

Finally, oh, finally! we started downhill. In fairness, it turned out the longest stretch was straight downhill.  Michael said downhill bothered him more due to his knees; I told him I could roll down the hill.

Now, here's the thing, Google maps forgot to say "this is not a nice touristy walk."  We walked past more homeless people than...well, there were a lot.  One was nice enough to both pass out blocking the sidewalk and to leave his trousers around his knees.  I was unaware San Fran had its own "valley of the moon" but I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  And let me to tell you as a fashion statement right here -- no one should wear purple whitey tighties.  No one!

We were lucky that the last left hand turn was after the hill, so this was a flat stretch.  We were unlucky because we followed a garbage truck the last couple blocks and it was quite foul.

Ironically, in front of the Dollar rental car agency were three taxis waiting for fares.  F*****s.

Having survived our version of the Bataan death march, we entered a new hell -- rental car check-in!  We were not the only ones with the clever idea of renting a car downtown this morning.  In fact, there was a line.  Michael was not amused.

This non-amusement was exacerbated by the fact the three groups in front of us seemed incapable of checking out.  It turned out the middle one was rejecting the car they had been given and the agent had no idea what to do; I have no idea about the others.  I suspect they were on the no-drive list.

We finally got to the counter and "Mo" (it's really what his name tag said) greeted us. He looked at our order and said what he had for us was a Toyota Prius.  We pointed out we had signed on for an Altima -- a full-sized car.  He said "or similar."  We pointed out that they weren't similar.  He said he had no full-sized cars.  He had a Corolla.

Or a Kia Forte.

Or a VW Jetta.

We did not have time to do a comparison of luggage space, but I guessed the Corolla was better than the Prius.  Mo claimed the Prius was "large" (our sight comparisons later made Mo out to be f****d up), but gave us, proudly, the Corolla, which he pointed out was new (turns out it had just 500 miles on it).  We should have gotten the Jetta, but that's another story.

After a quick, abortive attempt to get out of the dungeon parking garage, we found our way to the hotel.

We looked into the trunk.  We calculated it was going to be quite the exercise in geometric puzzle solving.

And we found that our delightful Corolla did not come with remote control.  Say "BT" (basic transportation).

I got my bags down first and put my largest deep in the not very deep compartment.  When Michael arrived, he decided our largest bag was not geometrically appropriate for said position and started over.   It quickly became clear that one bag was sitting in the back seat between Statler and Waldorf.  But we got it all in, other than that -- 16 cubic feet of luggage in 13 cubic feet of space.  Here's the pic:

Then we couldn't find the 4.5 star place Yelp had for breakfast four blocks away.  Finally, we found it -- a tiny storefront, again, in not the nicest neighborhood.  We were on Lombard; a foursome of tourists (like we weren't) asked Karen and Barb about Lombard St and the famous squiggly road.  They had little English.  After some miming by Barb, they understood they were on Lombard, it was east, yes, up a great hill, and quite a ways away.  They thanked her and wondered about the trip.

The breakfast place deserved its stars.  GoLo's.  They used fresh ingredients in their huge omelets -- I had the breakfast burrito in honor of California, a mistake it turns out because their French toast, my go to, was made with their own homemade sourdough bread.

Then off to the Legion of Honor -- which was advertising an Impressionist exhibit.

Turns out there is no visual art on Monday in San Fran.  Neither the Legion, nor its more modern sister the DeYoung, is open on Monday.  So we were stuck on the side of a mountain without a plan.

So we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and went to Sausalito.  Picture here:

In the end, Karen and Barb took the ferry back to Fisherman's Wharf.  Having been warned by Mo, Michael and I took the Corolla the long way around the bay -- through Richmond & Oakland and across the Bay Bridge, where these days you can pay cash.  You can't, FYI, on the Golden Gate.  If you don't have a pre-paid system, they bill you and fine you.  Michael is looking forward to this from Avis for the Edge, as he wanted to cross the GG coming into San Fran on Saturday.  :)

From Fisherman's Wharf, and a quick view of the sea lions, we went to Coit Tower, pictured here.  I figured one last cliched touristy photo was appropriate.  Then to an early dinner and to the airport.

Thus, intrepid readers, we come to the end of our journey.  I have some notes I will post once I catch up on my sleep after the redeye, with the appropriate accompanying photos.  For those of you who enjoyed this, you will be pleased to hear the four of us enjoyed this trip so much we are planning another next year, covering the rest of California.  The early list includes DisneyLand, Yosemite, Santa Barbara County wine country, Berkeley campus and the San Diego Zoo.

With that plan in mind, I wish you all bon voyage.  Here is the link to the extra pictures, including all the food ones.

Father's Day in San Fran

Happy Father's Day!

To begin today's entry, I give you Michael and I with our Father's Day present, appropriately a tie:

Yes, oh gentle reader, the centerpiece of this Sunday on the road was a) not a road (the car is probably back in Oregon -- whence its plates indicated it originated -- again) & b) at a ball PARK (word play intended).  And, before continuing, I should say that both my children sent greetings early in the day, like they loved me.  Thanks. :)

But, first, of course, there was food.  Up a mountain that is the street running next to our not-3-star-boutique hotel is a yuppy neighborhood that included La Boulange, which Starbucks has purchased and whose pasteries they now sell in mass production and vague replicas of the original. I bought two chocolate croissants there.

We took the bus to the ballpark, which took half an hour through the heart of San Fran.  Not quite the trolley, but insightful.  

AT&T Park (I don't think you are supposed to call it Candlestick anymore) is a gem.  This is NOT news, but there you have it.  First, you get views like this one from our seats (yes, that's Bay Bridge out there in the distance) -- 

And then there's the fact you can get a Ghirardelli chocolate sundae yards from your seat...who could ask for more?  And it was an excellent, if poorly played and pitched, game -- an 8-7 Rockies win over the home team, with four home runs (one by the Giants pitcher! WTF is that?!?!??).  Grand.

Dinner on the Embarcadero (on the bay front) was Peruvian.  Insert llama joke here. 

In fact, the taxi ride over was with a Nigerian, who didn't know a lot more about Peruvian cuisine than I did.  He actually laughed, TWICE! at the bar-b-qued llama joke, and, after many jokes about him working for his tip, I gave him an extra $5, which he quickly passed to Michael as his change. :)

La Mar Blah Blah Blah, at Pier 1 1/2 was fun.  See this view from our table:

I spent most of the "ordering time" looking up words on Google (who knew there were so many for unknown sauces?) -- meanwhile, Michael settled on this lovely appetizer:

Yes! for the two of you readers who've been following along, those are BEETS under his scallops.  It is at least the third version of beets he's eaten in my presence since we started.  I have eaten them maybe three times, twice under duress, in my life.  Ick! But he seems to like them.  But you know Mikey -- Mikey likes everything. :)

Next was the entree.  Mine was the most picturesque, reminiscent of Karen's last night with the shells:

The Peruvian version of paella, it seems.  Quite good, but the least spicy dish on the table.  Karen had the fish of the day in sauce (it was cod), Michael had the salmon in a red sauce with rice on the side, and Barb had skewered chicken, the menu said like the street vendors sell in Peru (next to the llamas).  Here are today's additional pictures.

We wash it all down with our own bottle of Schramsburg Blanc et Blanc, procured during Michael's annual wine lush Friday (aka "the blankity blank"), which was excellent.  One less bottle to get on the plane.  

Today's Barb was on the bus to the game.  We were talking about Father's Day and grandkids and Michael stepped on my punch line.  I said "Sometimes it's better to deliver them [punch lines] yourself."  Barb: "Delivering grandkids yourself?"  Rim shot.

Today's Dumb and Dumber was:  "I haven't seen a Chinese restaurant."  "But we took pictures of the gate to Chinatown yesterday." "But I didn't see a Chinese restaurant. I thought I saw a Mexican one, there, though."  "Imagine that...I don't think there's a Chinese one there."  Rim shot, rim shot, rim shot. 

Karen having warned us both not to say a word about Starbucks, we didn't.  We just pointed and nudged each other every time we saw one.  One time we did it simultaneously, leading to a call of "jinx" and fist bump.  Say "easily amused."  Karen just shook her head in dismay. 

Tomorrow we go home.  The H's leave at kickoff time of the USA game.  Go Red-White& Blue. 

I Left My Colon in San Francisco

Hello, three readers I'm so grateful for.  However, despite the lack of readers, WE enjoy the daily blog.  A morning dramatic reading, when the actor abuses my words (or someone else does), has become routine.

We are now in San Francisco.  I suspect today's (yesterday's) blog will turn out to be the longest (see PS, for instance), with the least done.

The day began with a "quick" visit to Duckhorn, north of St. Helena.  Duckhorn, aka Duckporn (don't ask why), is supposedly famous for their Sav Blanc.  But they only had one on the tasting menu, while offering two fucking Merlots & two Cab Savs.

While there, we realized we had to return to the hotel -- almost an hour away and in the wrong direction for SF.  I will refrain from identifying who was the culprit, having left my blazer in our first hotel, forcing us to return there (causing the famed trooper telling us to turn our lights on episode).

I suggested lunch.  Leading to this exchange:

Car: There are lots of places near the hotel.
Barb: There's even a Fuddruckers.
Michael: We could even eat at a Mexican place.
Me:  Hey, there's Chevy's.
Car: What's that?
Me: I think it says "Fresh Mex" underneath it.
Barb: Yelp says it's a hamburger place.
Me: Maybe it says "Fresh Meat."
Barb: I could use some of that.

After Michael's second demonstration of the Covey method (the 7 quadzillion ways of supposedly successful people), we ended up at Chevy's.

"Fresh" as in they made the guacamole at the table and the tortillas by hand in front of you in the restaurant.  For "casual dining" Mexican, it was quite good.

Before we even left the restaurant, I needed digestive drugs.  ): Thanks Barb.

The drive into San Fran was slow, including a three-car accident.  But we eventually saw this:

We whipped around the west end of San Fran for this:

Then, into town to the hotel and to return the car.

On the way in, Michael and I began to play our requisite game of Dumb and Dumber.  "Hey, Michael, there's a Starbucks."  "Steve, wow! I wonder if we will see one again."  Next corner, same routine.  By the time we got home from dinner, Karen made a threatening demand that there be a moratorium on the "there's a Starbucks" routine.  ):  I admitted I had said it about the same one three times :) (it was at Bush & California). LOL

As to the hotel: I think I am responsible for the worst hotel decision of the vacation.  This is by far the most expensive place -- it is nominally a boutique hotel.  I now have a new definition for what that means.  It is twice as much as any other place we stayed.  But, despite that, it has added to the Steve must's list for a quality hotel room: it has neither curtains nor a chair!  It also does NOT have glass glasses!!! All of this is highlighted by the fact it is not really in a great location (not like we can walk to anything, but we are just far enough away -- there's a funny rift about it being near Union Square [a block off Union St, instead]).  All in all, a dud.  

Michael and I took the car back.  See Starbucks rift.  See variation on Seinfeld rift on "Not that there's anything wrong with that."  We ARE in San Francisco, remember? One car-wide sighting was of two young women on 3'' platform heels.  Someone pointed out the paradoxical shortness of skirts (not me).  They looked like baby giraffes making their way down the sidewalk.

For the rest of time before dinner, see title. ):  Chevy's Revenge.

Then to dinner, at Scala, not coincidentally, just off Union Square (reservation before clarification about where the hotel REALLY was).  It was excellent, deserving of the 4.5 stars on Yelp.  I will start with Barb's beef carpaccio app:

That was followed by main courses -- Michael had the orecchittete, Barb pesto spaghetti, and I had mushroom risotto with filet mignon.  Karen's was the most visual -- clams on saffron linguni:

Today's extra photo link.

And, finally, my favorite, of course, the dessert:

The far one is their take on Boston cream pie, in the middle is a chocolate pecan tart, and that's dark chocolate ice cream closest.  None was left. :)

Barb got their specialty of 8 homemade chocolates.  Each is designed after a San Francisco neighborhood (Mission, Haight-Asbury, Nob Hill, etc).  Hilariously, the Haight-Asbury one was titled "Officer it's only dried oregano." :)  Which actually had oregano in it.  Barb reported it was v good. 

Day one in San Fran down.  Two to go.  Pout.  Almost done.

PS  Maybe the funniest part of yesterday was the reading of the previous day's blog.  Michael said "that's funny that you made that up about me and the spit bucket."  I said I didn't, you really said it.  He said, c'mon.  Fortunately, Waldorf and Statler backed me up from the back seat, saying "we all heard you say it."  In an immediate shift of gears, Michael went to "I was three sheets in the wind, you know."  We pointed out that the notion was not lost on us all.  "If you'd given me a bit more, I might have done anything."  We knew.  "I think I drank more yesterday morning than in a whole year."  Thanks.  You told us that yesterday, more than once, too.  :)  So, patient reader, know that I try to report events accurately, even if the principles deny them. :)

PPS We took the car back to Avis.  In a consultative decision, we decided rather than park it in SF and try to manipulate the streets, and pay to park everywhere, we would get around without it.  Barb found an office "near Union Square" (remember, "close to the hotel"), where we dropped it off.  It had 2,200 miles on it.  Yes, that many.  As Michael said "that's why we got it, to put miles on someone else's car."  The Ford Edge actually got over 20 mpg going through lots of mountains -- not a high percentage of those miles was interstate -- and often loaded with five six full bags of luggage.  Despite its various design quirks (we had all kinds of trouble with the sync system & unlocking one back door), it was the perfect vehicle for this -- holding four adults and luggage over long haul.  

PPS 2 The H's left wine country bearing 9 bottles of wine.  There is much discussion of how to get them home -- to buy another bag and check it, or to make do with the ones we have.  BTW, acc to Dr. Google, a wine bottle weighs approx. 2.75 pounds.  

Don't Drink the Spit Bucket; or, Training (even the Liver) is Important

Hello, tired and still not accurately numbered readers.  Yes, today was Sideways.

Sort of.

You see, as Karen texted our daughter at 10 o'clock, "I expected to be in my first winery by now."  The Miles of the group.

Our first winery of the day was Schramburg.  They have caves (less on that later) and they make sparkling wine (remember! don't call it champagne...no no no!)

The tour was good, with a Pennsylvanian guiding us.  We wondered through miles of caves, lined with bottles, and were warned that it was explosion season, so not to be alarmed if we hear an explosion.  If wandering through a cave doesn't make you feel comfortable, yeah, a little glass explosion will.

Schramburg's sampling is quite good, working from their standard "blankity blank" to their upscale, we have hung onto it awhile blanc et noir.  As in Pinot Noir.

Michael, it turns out, likes sparkling wine.  Michael, in case you haven't heard, isn't big on breakfast.

One piece of this was Ilya, our guide, was from near Michael's boyhood home in suburban Philly.  He might have flirted; she might have flirted back.  His excuse is that he had sparkling wine (not champagne! on an empty stomach).  We are still pondering hers. :)

After the fourth healthy "taste," Michael started talking about how good the spit bucket was beginning to look to him -- how could you let such good stuff go to waste?  Ilya said she'd seen people drink from the spit bucket.  Michael now admitted he understood.

We got Michael lunch before he did more damage.  He rapped at lunch.  At least he called it rap.  It rhymed and he moved and made fake farting noises.  Three of us got the special of the day at the Goose & Gander, our favorite for lunch in St. Helena, which was prime rib sandwich.  See if it looks okay:

From there we went to Beringer, which isn't far from the restaurant, or Schramsburg, outside St. Helena.  Amazingly, Beringer, who sells a lot comparatively in PA, charges $20 for a taste of 3 wines, while a bottle of some of what they give to taste is only $8.  You figure it out.  Barb bought two bottles of white something that was high on the sugar content scale (3?) & we rushed to Sullivan.

Sullivan is a boutique spot -- small enough they can legally ship to PA -- and they sell this lovely looking stuff called Pink Ink:

Obviously it's a rose -- pinot and Cab Sav.  Karen is a fan; Barb enjoyed it; Michael rejected it.  Then Barb fell asleep on the sofa.

And the day was all but done.  We stopped at Robertt Mondavi -- not to taste, but for the view -- and got this shot.

There was a lot of gentle snoring on the way back to the hotel -- I was accused of putting on Miles Davis to mellow them all out.

Dinner was in Yountville, again, this time at Hurley's.  Hurley's is one of those places that says they do "American (New)" cuisine.  Barb had the special -- black sea bass over risotto (you see the veggies) with a lobster sauce.

Michael had shrimp and scallops on black spaghetti; Karen had bison ribs and I had vegetable risotto.  All were good.  See link for other pictures.

Given that Michael humored us all with first some silliness in the caves (he actually sang a few bars of what he called Phantom of the Opera (see pic)), then rapping at lunch, so Barb took a backseat.  She was busy drinking, then napping, then...well, somehow we consumed a bottle plus at dinner, too. :)

Tomorrow, the slow way to San Fran.

Day 7

Hello, oh faithful, and growing, readers.  You may be growing like I am: tonight's meal was great.  It was capped with this chocolate tart dessert, with espresso ice cream.

Yes, we are to the food & drink portion of our trip.  The heck with trekking up and down mountains, across gardens, and around markets: give us another flight of wine!

To begin: we spent last night in Shelter Cove, California.  If you don't know about Shelter Cove, it's in the middle of Northern-California-nowhere between Fort Bragg and Eureka.  It's also known as "Lost Cove."  Why, you may ask?  Well, because, even today, it takes an hour to get there from the nearest civilization.  There's one road in and one road out.  The road makes windy look straight -- mostly at 25 or 35 mph.  The locals roar by like it's straight.

After making it there last evening, we found the only place for dinner was a pizza place.  Didn't make the top ten meals on vacation list.  Amazingly.  This morning there was no place for breakfast -- the one coffee shop was closing at 9 A.M. for high school graduation.

Shelter Cove is beautiful.  All ocean, all the time.  A cute little community, clearly full of vacationers (the restaurants are all closed on Wednesday night??!?!?!?)

Michael loved it.  He loved sleeping with the window open (he said -- we were right on the ocean).  Karen (Waldorf? Statler?) responded "you mean the white noise?"

Once back to Hwy 101, we had breakfast at this delightful bagel place in Garberville.  We are writing positive Yelp writeups.

Then, on the road to Morocco...err...Sonoma.

Today's first wine stop was in Healdsburg at Ridge Winery.  They have flights of zinfandel that win awards.  Barb likes zinfandel (which isn't the pink stuff that gives Zin a bad name).  Both Karen and Barb bought a different bottle of Zin.

Then toward Sonoma.  We landed at Benziger, which is in Glen Ellen, in Sonoma County (btw, we learned "sonoma" is the indigenous term for the area, which is translated as "valley of the moon").

My favorite story at Benziger: back in Jack London's day, he and old man Wegner, who owned what is now Benziger's, hated each other.  Mrs. Wegner got mad at London once and awhile and made him pay for his wine and assundries with cash -- no credit.  In retribution, London bought all the land around Wegner; to this day, the London State Park almost encircles the farm.

We took the full private tour there.  Benziger is a biodynamic farm.  They have the certificates and everything.   The standard shot of the vineyard slash farm:

There wines were really good.  The Sauv Blanc was good (we bought a bottle) & all their reds were good.

By then it was 5 o'clock and we were all tired and ready to get to the hotel (a Hilton Garden Inn -- which is NOT owned by two invisible owners, unlike last night in Shelter Cove) -- then off to dinner.

We ate in Yountville at Mustard's Grill, right on 29.  It was as advertised (i.e. "a chop house").  The drink of the night was a "cappy" -- caipirinha -- a Brazilian drink (to celebrate the World Cup opening and Brasil's victory) made with Brazilian rum, lime, and sugar.  I am a big fan of cappy and had one (feel free, gentle reader, to take note of this).

I had the BBQ ribs.  Michael the Mongolian pork chop (their specialty), Barb the lamb, Karen the veal.  They were all excellent.  Kudos to Karen for the selection.  Here is the link to the pics.

For those of you reading this for Barb(s) -- it was decided at dinner no one remembered the witticisms in the hour ride out of Shelter Cove, when Barb seemed to be on the top of her game.  It was "BC."  Before Coffee.  (Michael purportedly, and agrees, has no personality before coffee -- he's a curmudgeon squared).  But, as the Boswell to Barb's Johnson (I know how wrong that is), I feel compelled to relate this exchange:

Karen:  What have you left there?
Me:  Crust.  You know I don't like crust.
Barb: But you are the crusty one.
Me: Oh, we know I'm the soft one.
Barb:  I heard that.
Karen:  Barb, you're not supposed to tell.

All Michael could do was say "oh" and "ouch" over and over.  And laugh.

Tomorrow, we try to recreate our version of those scenes in Sideways; as you may recall, the two main characters are an English teacher and an actor.  Michael finds this amusing. I will try to restrain from chugging the spit bucket somewhere in a fit of pique.  I will TRY...

Bon soir.

Kindred Curmudgeons; or Did You Bring Enough Underwear? (Day 6)

Hello, oh faithful but dwindling readers.  Today was an adventure full of pictures and quips.  Here's the link to extra pictures.

There has been some grumbling in the car today about my characterization of some of our travels and some of what has been said! Oh, who can dare think such a thing?  Of course, also heard today was "Steve is a wonderful traveling companion." :)

Also heard (from Michael), "I need to take a picture of your ass."

Because this will be "the photo" on the mobile version (my publisher insists I start considering such things), I go to today's money shot before the narrative begins (this is the shot standing just outside our hotel room tonight in Shelter Cove, CA):

The title comes from this series of unfortunate events: Michael and I were lamenting the stay at the B&B last night (name withheld to protect the innocent); then we all about stroked out as Michael went to change lanes on the four-lane highway and this massive horn blew! Turned out to be a train on the track running next to the road, but we thought we were all dead.  Insert appropriate underwear joke.

Who can remember all the other to and fro's between us, but the backseat (who may remind you of Waldorf & Statler from The Muppets) decided we are BOTH curmudgeons.   Anyone who knows us will NOT recognize that description.

Then I was driving and an Oregon state trooper pulled out behind me and hit his siren.  He blew right by but we all had that moment.

Then, we decided just across the Klamath River bridge in Redwood National Forest to take "the Coastal Trail."  Turned out to be one-lane, all gravel, and, as this picture shows, a bit tight to a big falloff into the ocean.

Michael was rapturous over the Oregon coastline.  Every mile he said "isn't that beautiful?"  I'm sure at some point it became purely rhetorical.  But, if you've never seen it, it is awesome.  The high cliffs, the beautiful water, in aquamarines, blues, greens, and the waves, and, of course, the rock formations out in the water.  You can see lots of pictures showing this, one as spectacular as the last.

Of course, I had to get in the water.  A wave jumped up and got me wet to the waist, leading to Michael's earlier line about photographing my ass.  Here's the shot, just so everyone can see it.  (and, yes, oh, yes, the water was FAR colder than at 4,000 feet at Trillium Lake yesterday. It was half an hour before I could feel my ankles and feet again -- this was almost Oregon Northern California!!!)

We finally got to the actual huge redwoods.  It was a gorgeous day -- mid 60s and sunny -- so the woods weren't too cold.  You can see all the shots.  There is, of course, the touristy shot of driving the car through the middle of a tree.

Food?  One complaint was about the morning breakfast frittata -- it was Southwest.  Too many olives for Karen, too much breakfast for Michael, and I wasn't sure what a frittata was.

And, for those of you who are "Barb fans" (double entrende), I will give you multiple "hits" today:

• When I pointed out that we all needed to continue to get along because I didn't want to change sleeping partners, Barb quickly pointed out that if she were to be mad at Michael "what makes you think I'd sleep with you?  I'd rather have Karen."  My only response was "that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid." 
• In a discussion about last night's accommodations, a B&B, and tonight's, an inn run by a family, I wondered the real difference between a B&B & an inn, Barb shot "An inn you don't get breakfast."  Rim shot.
• As we passed a group of goats, we wondered what sound they made and she made a perfect goat bleet.  When I said so, she responded, "Just kidding."  (the pun of the day)
• At certain times, Barb reminds us all that my nickname earned on this trip is Chief Fast-as-Turtle.  I think Ken's irony sign might be important here.

Tomorrow we drive into the Sonoma Valley, then to the Napa Valley, with multiple wine stops on the way.  Good morrow, faithful readers.  

Upriver like the Salmon (to Mt Hood)

Hello, intrepid readers. I notice from the blog stats that "views" are down. 😒 my publisher insists on my getting those numbers up. I promise to "sex this up." !!

Today began w a gourmet breakfast. The place was Gracie's in southwest Portland.

 

This is Michael's German pancake, with which Amy may be familiar. He rolled it w lemon & powdered sugar. It was good.

My bread pudding French toast was mundane by comparison. It was also a disappointment. Karen had the even more mundane eggs Benedict, which were excellent. Barb was having a crappy day & just had a croissant.

We ate there to be near the International Rose Test a Gardens. Started during WWI in case England was bombed out of roses, it's 5 acres of scenic & nasal beauty.  It was reported by one of the keepers that we were there at the best time - every variety was in bloom! Having been in Regent's Park in London in prime time, I can say this is the best rose garden I've ever seen. I insert just one pictorial example:

Then it was east towards Mt. Hood, which, unlike Mt. Rainier, seems to stand still just fine. 

Due to a fortunate event, I found the National Geographic webpage for "Road to Mt. Hood."  This turned out to be wonderful, as NG's directions took us not only along the path of the early settlers, but to various other wonders, too.  There are too many pictures -- here's a weblink to an album of all of them I shot or collected (clearly, I could not take them all): https://picasaweb.google.com/105397618648885302074/Day5Extras?authkey=Gv1sRgCO6gqMb92e2RXg&noredirect=1

The first big highlight was the Columbia River Gorge.  It is gorgeous, pun intended.  Here's my shot of it east from the highest point on the Historic Columbia River Highway (HCRH) --

The HCRH includes multiple waterfalls.  I convinced the car (I was driving so convincing was easy) not to stop at ALL of them, as we wanted to make Mt. Hood sometime in the light.  The tallest and most spectacular is at Multnomah.  The falls here are 569 feet -- Niagara (acc to a quick Google search) is by comparison 167.

From Multnomah Falls, NG sent us to Bonneville Dam.  See link for pics.  The thrilling thing there was the fish hatchery.  The thing is -- they are all swimming upstream, dying (pun intended) to spawn.  Including a few salmon.  There is video.  Outside from the roof you could look down into the locks and see them jump up the levels -- it was amazing, beautiful and something you may never see again.  Michael's quip was "all that just to get laid."  All that?!?!?!

The next stop was Mt. Hood winery.  Karen was the only taster in a quick stop, purchasing a single bottle of Oregon Grenache.  Their wine was pretty good AND the view of Hood, and an unknown snow-covered mountain to the north (Mt. Defiance, OR?) were amazing.

As you can see from the link, we had many shots of Hood.  It is amazing you can get so close and see so much, much on quality four lane highway.  NG again steered us perfectly -- putting us on Trillium Lake with this money shot:

It was 55 & the water was actually pretty warm.  There was a bald eagle circling overhead.

Then the five hour trek across state, with Michael doing a superb job at the wheel in the dark through the windy valleys of central Oregon.  It was a late night.  And the B&B Karen chose for the night immediately failed the Steve test -- it has no heat!

The Barb of the day takes setup.  It starts with my daughter saying she thinks she's being "trolled" about my having gotten a tatoo (it appears in some of the photos).  Which led to us having to see Urban Dictionary for a definition, which I read aloud:  "Anyone who fails to recognize a troll and responds to it with anger or annoyance is said to have been "trolled". Being trolled often results in large quantities of butthurt." To which Barb, who was having gastric issues, said "My butt hurts."  We laughed, in part in sympathy. 

Wednesday is coastal day to the Redwood forest.  Wish us good weather and safe winding.  

Sightseeing interruptus

Hello, courageous readers.

One of the caveat's of this trip was "we aren't going to plan too much; we'll go where we decide we want to go and go there."

Today was one of those days.  We wanted to go to Mt. Rainier (first picture) and we did.  

Let's start with getting lost at least once on the way out of Vancouver.  Hey, everyone needs to see the Air Canada freight hanger at the airport once in their lifetime!  

Then there was the line of traffic back from the Fraser River Tunnel.  They turned the closed lane to green as we passed.  Like "Michael, you aren't supposed to move through here quickly."

Today's visit to the border guard, which was supposed to take 38 minutes (according to the sign), took 27.  Michael's answer to "where are you from" was "Pennsylvania" and to "why were you in Canada?" "vacation" and the guard said "have a nice trip." :)

Then all the time to Mt. Rainier.  For those who don't know, even though sometimes Rainier seems to dominate the Seattle skyline, it is not close by, at least in driving time.

One story we heard was about Rainier, which a local Native tribe called "the walking mountain."  According to one of these myths, Rainier is the mother of mountains & Mt. Baker (150 miles farther north) is the father; mom has left dad to "walk" -- leaving seven smaller mountains (children) with Dad.  Michael particularly likes this story because Rainier seems to loom over the landscape, but it seems to disappear frequently.  Part of that is angles -- behind a hill, behind a tree -- and then there are the 275 days a year of clouds.  The fact we had trouble today finding the mountain just fit with its indigenous myth. 

 Leaving Rainier, heading south toward Portland, we had this view:

This shot answers the question "what IS a waterfall" as I insisted (charmingly, I'm sure) that what we saw running down the mountains was not "waterfall" but runoff.  I was asked for a definition and made one up.    Then I saw this and said "THAT's a real waterfall."  All agreed.

We decided to go from Rainier to Mt. St. Helen's.  This is not an easy trip (when it says "next gas 54 miles" on the middle of a mountain, you pay attention) and we wound our way to the base of St. Helen's park, where we found a sign like this: 

We didn't believe it.  So, we drove up 22 miles to find two gates stopping us from going farther.  Stubborn jerks.

Then we decided to head south to Mt. Hood.  We weren't five miles before confronting another orange sign saying the road was closed.

It was then I coined the title term.  Sigh.

We had already cancelled our reservations at the highly recommended Peruvian restaurant in Portland.

A long day on the road, with some disappointments, but we really enjoyed the majestic natural scenery of the Cascades -- huge pine trees, snow in June, huge mountains, "run off" everywhere.

And then there was the fun (I have been told I undersold yesterday's fun).

Here are the witty highlights:

Today's "Barb", to end a discussion on whether or not to eat mayonnaise, "it's bland; it's merely a lubricant to make your food go down."  Wow.

To which, Michael added "said the archbishop to the actress." :)

Although the actress-archbishop line has been much used in our first four days plus, this one struck us all as very funny, and very apropos.  Props to Michael.

My day was made by my daughter, on learning I had gotten a tattoo, telling her mother she had to get one because "my father can't be cooler than I am."  Her mother, as a good mother should, assured her that there was "no way your father is cooler than you."  Since this conversation took place in the car, we all heard it and got great humor out of it.  No one has ever (accurately) accused me of being cool AND whose daughter ever has?!?!?!!?

And, for a final bon mot, the sign in the bar and grill in Packwood where we had lunner (lunch + dinner), which reminds us all of the 2nd thing to go:

Who Said Border Guards Aren't Loads of Fun? (Day 3)

Sometimes, you know no matter what you say, you can't top something.  In this case, no matter what I write today will not compare with the news from our friend Mark (& Suzie) that they have their first grandchild!  Congratulations.

May the bluebird of happiness always be with him.

Morning "Barb" as Michael drove away from three of us standing, reaching for the car in the parking lot: "Paleface need to find shade."

WTF did he mean? At one point Michael said to me, "I want you to know I'm not really playing with you."  Geez, we have 8 more days in the car together!

Today was "Vancouver day."  After breakfast in downtown Seattle (ordinary enough breakfast fare of eggs benedict, corned beef hash, biscuits and gravy) we made the 2-3 hour trip across the border to Vancouver.

2-3 hours is a loose number because part of the trick is getting across the border.  The sign said "15 minute wait" and we pulled up.  It took us 23 minutes, because Michael has a gift for picking the wrong line.

& the guard at the turnstile was...let us say "fastidious" since we have to get back across the border tomorrow.  "Where are you from?"  Michael, having handed them 4 US passports, goes with "the States."  Then, errr..."Pennsylvania"...then "errr...we're from western Pennsylvania and they are from further east..."  OMG!

Then he asks "why are you coming into Canada?"  I think Michael worked the word "vacation" in somewhere in the 3rd sentence...:)

Then, "you have a place to stay in Vancouver?"  This should have been simple "Yes.  X hotel."  Well, Michael twists this into to about 4 sentences and another question.

"Do you have any weapons?"  Michael almost yells "no" but at least he gets it out quickly.  Finally, the guard says "have a nice day"  and he drove us into Canada.

Will we ever get out?

Vancouver is a lovely city.  I will not attempt anything new here (despite having heard the lecture on words and ideas from last night's movie, Words and Pictures) but say that it is an interesting mix of high rises -- not big ones like NYC, but still a lot of them -- many of which seem to be living units and natural beauty.  There's also a lot of water, more like Seattle, even wetter.  We are in the main part of the city, within two blocks of a bridge to the south, and the bridge across to the north is only about 20 blocks away.

The other characteristic is the mountains -- they really come down close to the water on several sides, making you feel enclosed.  And those mountains have snow visible on them, in case you were feeling summer warmth (it was 70 F in town today).  There are mountains near Seattle, but they don't push down to the water like this; it reminds me somewhat of Zihuatanejo, with evergreens and grass.

Clearly our highlight here today (for sightseeing purposes) was Stanley Park.  As a fan of things Native, I found this exhibit in the park truly impressive:

We suspect it's the largest exhibit of totems anywhere.  One website says it's the number one tourist attraction here (making this cliche tourist photo #3 in a row), and rightly so.  But I'm not sure that's well known.

We also visited the Sun Yat-Sen Chinese Garden.  Saw three turtles, one frog, one koi, one heron.  Failed to meditate appropriately.  Who knew?

Now, for dinner.  The best meal so far, as all agreed.  Friday night's "phenomenal" was true of tonight.  The place was the Blue Water, which one site said is the best seafood restaurant in Vancouver.  Not sure if that's true (tough life if you got to try the competitors to find out), but it's got to be right up there.  Tonight's special was halibut (pictured) which were told came off the boat about an hour and a half  before we ate it.  The chimi sauce was great & the ratatouille was excellent.  Go there if you are in Vancouver.  (here's my pic after having taken a bite -- as there was no lunch we were all starving).

There was no movie tonight.  Fatigue has set in some and we have a big day, with the longest driving journey (here to Portland) with a stop at Rainier (if it stands still long enough for us to visit it) on the way & predictions of some rain.  I hear it rains in the northwest, though this isn't the season.  Knock wood (for Beth) we've seen none in four days.

Apologies for the lack of comic relief here -- I hear even the big guy took an off day on Sunday.  Just imagine if I'd tried to use this proffered tag line: "there's a scout badge for that" (seen on a sign for the Canadian Boy Scouts as we entered Canada).  I'm sure there's comic potential, but...eh.
#

Walk a (Yelp) Mile in Dorothy's (Lamour's) Shoes (Day 2)

Today's "Barb" (for Allan): "You know, the hearing is the third thing to go."

Advice from the pourer at a winery, echoed immediately by the not-yet-intoxicated woman next to us: "Don't dilute the alcohol!"

Today's likely recurring line: "That's just a mile, we can walk it." (explanation later)

To begin: Karen selected the current hotel, where we are staying for two nights.  Karen is doing penance for this choice.  If it is a 4-star hotel, it is on a 9-star scale.  It fails the "Steve test" for hotels in these ways: plastic glasses in room; small towels; thin towels; smelly room; small bed (it can't really be a queen).  And, to confound us all, they actually have keys.  Yes! a metal thing that goes in a lock!!!  Yikes!

Their continental breakfast this morning was exquisite.  Karen ate elsewhere. :)

Kitsch photo du jour:

I do not know why the town of Georgetown has a giant cowboy hat and boots in their public park.  I am sure I don't want to know.  Let the myth making beginning.

The day was spent with the requisite trip to the top of the Space Thingy. For those of you who have missed it, there's an ad campaign, seen first at the airport, that runs: "Save your money for the Space Thingy and take the light rail into town."

Here's the cliche photo du jour:

The football and baseball stadiums are out there, center right.  Mt. Rainier, however, hasn't bothered to show up for the picture -- too damned early, Michael says.

After a quick stop at the tattoo artist, Karen chickened out on getting matching tattoos, and lunch, off we went to the north-northwest to Woodlinville and some wineries.

We hit Columbia, the oldest in the area, first.  The architecture was beautiful in their new facility, and Barb bought a bottle of Gerwurstraminer, but it the service was poor and the rest of the wine just so-so.

Across the street at Chateau Ste. Michelle, there was a huge throng.  Again, service was iffy.  They had a whole Riesling flight, which Michael & Barb tasted.  The 2013 Cross Creek was approved by all & went to dinner.

Then, Karen having made a friend who sent us to Brian Carter, which was too full, then to Novelty, where Barb bought two more bottles.  Karen was judicious & bought no wine before its time.

Dinner was at Miller's Guild,  a chop house.  Picture of said "chop" on grill:

Dessert was lemon chess pie. The highlight, IMHO.  If you've never had chess pie -- we'd never seen it on a restaurant menu -- it's pretty much flavor (sometimes chocolate), butter, eggs, and sugar.  Enter visual:

After dinner we decided, being in a city with a film selection, we'd see Words with Pictures.  Yelp said it was 1.0 miles from the restaurant.  Discussion of walking.  Nature of hills.  Midnight when getting out.  Etc.  Determined we had a car for a reason.  Wise move. :)  After missing the tricky ramp to get across a viaduct, we drove what seemed to be 10 miles to arrive.  "Glad we didn't walk" was heard  repeatedly.  And "glad we didn't walk." And, of course, "that was just a mile." [ironically, OC] :) There was a line to get in.  !!!  Turns out they were there to see Palestine Stereo.  I bought two tickets for that just to be with the in crowd.

We agreed the movie was around the B- review Michael had read, with a certain trite quality.  And a brief discussion of Clive Owen being dishy.

Today's highlight may be listening and singing to "Road to Morocco."  Attempt to copy link to it...enjoy -- we are looking forward to meeting Dorothy Lamour.  Road to Morocco

Post-dinner Brief: How to Ruin a Pair of Underwear

I was told this story was too good NOT to tell.

We went to dinner at this local Mexican place -- I could recreate the discussion of "phenomenal" versus "good" versus "pretty good" (everyone agreed it was NOT phenomenal) -- maybe six blocks from the hotel.

I was driving.  Due to an unfortunate series of events (i.e. I'm muddleheaded) we had to return to last night's hotel, 10 miles away, to retrieve the only blazer I brought for the 11 day trip (rumor has it some restaurants at which we have reservations demand such a thing -- honestly!).

So, I'm fighting my way through I-5 traffic & I can't get the turn signal to turn off on the rental car as I change lanes when the local sheriff pulls up next to me, makes some hand motions, then pulls me over -- lights and all.  See title.

He comes up on the passenger side and Michael can't figure out how to get the window down & all he said is "turn on your headlights."  Michael says it's a rental and he says "I get that, just turn them on."  What do you say?

Nice of him not to find some reason to at least ticket me.

Lovin' Seattle.

Wild times in Seattle (Day 1)

Good evening, courageous readers.  Today's title comes from the fact today we left the city via ferry (I get motion sick at the word marine) & visited Blake Island State Park -- called "pristine" by our guide.  Close enough, I guess.

Day 1 is not over -- there's Mexican food on the dinner menu -- but it's enough of a day and there are enough pictures to more than fill this blog.

The line of the day is from Barb: "If you are any kind of specialist, Michael, it's in crapology."  Even Michael, who had just finished indicating his expertise in marine biology, having already rendered expertise on geography, geology, meteorology, and mixology in 12 hours, admitted this was both accurate and funny.

Now, the shot of the day:

Those of you familiar with the area will know this is Mt. Rainier.  It is fairly ubiquitous in Seattle, IF it's "clear."  It's clear here about 90 days a year (acc to today's guide). As you can see, today was a VERY good Rainier day.  It's impressive.  Amazing.  Yes, I know this is cliche, but as we English professors tell our comp students -- there's reason things are cliches. :)

Food du jour: 

The time we didn't spend on the way to the Native site on Blake Island (whence the pic of Rainier comes) we spent in Pike Place Market.  I might like pasta.  We sent 4 lbs home.  In the upper right, that dark stuff is dark chocolate linguini!  NS!  What a thing.

Hey, trivia: did you know there's a Starbucks like on every corner here?  Who knew?

Yes, we took an hour ferry ride to Blake Island, where they dress in traditional local Native garb, did a Native performance, showed us some totems and explained them, and generally reminded us that we are not that far away from not having a Starbucks on every corner. :)  Oh, did a mention the longhouse?  Neat.

Finally, "Ed Norton" was wearing the worst hat. So, we went to Goorin Bros, which we visited in N'Orlins last year.  Ed got a new hat.  He thinks it makes him Frank Sinatra.  Feel free to tell him otherwise.  He's Dr. Crapology.

There will be better hat pics.  Of course, it'll look like shit after he sleeps in it a few nights, but...

And, for those of you who missed the afternoon tweet: 

You can now confirm which of us has Native blood and which of us is the white interloper.  On leaving Blake Island, we compared again and I was darker and he was lighter!  Dr. Crapology tried his degree in dermatology, but none of us believed his explanation. 

I promise less tomorrow.  Unless there's something good, of course.  Bon voyage!