Scratching the Travel Itch

The Jaded New Orleans Crab Boil

2011-12-03T12:28:00.001-08:00

Alligator kabob and Turtle Soup. The thought made me queasy - a strange thought considering that I have the toughest stomach - working with big ass wounds all day. I guess I'm not ready for deep cuisine dining.

After immersing myself in New Orleans cuisine for 3 days I had but one thought - there is only so much you can do to fried food - change the breading. The nuances of Cajun and Creole seasoning are totally lost on me - one restaurant's version doesn't differ much from the next and the price differences don't justly themselves.

I bemoan the lack of opportunity to sample a less touristy establishment but I guess who wants to cater to locals when you can parlay your history for a few dollars more to the traveler hungry for the experience. Disappointing the NOLA crab boil is, after Boiling Crab in the Orange Country upped the ante by offering the traditional boil with different sauces other than lemon and cocktail sauce. As for fried everything, your Chinese migrant's neighborhood fish fry is just as good.

Muffulettas at Central Grocery along Decatur St

At the end of the 3rd day munching on Cajun fried soft-shell crab, crawfish, catfish and shrimp, and a succession of gumbo, sausage, jambalaya and étouffée, all I can mutter to myself is seriously?!? The mere suggestion of following thru with bread pudding and pecan pie made me want to empty my stomach posthaste.

Beyond these mainstays - is there much to look forward to, enough to make you linger? You peruse the celebrity chef offerings as that of John Besh and Emeril and you see that their menu highlights are still continental fare, not regional cuisine. Which is perhaps why exotic cuisine is offered as a palate tickler.

Beignets and Cafe Au Lait at Cafe du Monde

There is not much to miss unless you came to sample the cuisine with it's history. This is why you have to eat the beignets with cafe au lait at Cafe du Monde. Over a million suckers, including me, have lined it's pathways to do so. And sample oysters at Acme for 14 dollars a dozen.

Oysters at ACME along Iberville St at the French Quarter

Yet beyond the falling out with the cuisine, I felt right at home, with the chance to learn first hand about the city, as a whole, not just of the French Quarter, a mistake most tourists make. It has been my group's custom to always book a city tour whenever we visit a new place. It is the fastest way of getting the essence of the whole city from it's denizens, feel their love for their place and get some pointers on how to experience their town like a new friend.

And dont forget to tip, smile and spread the love.

Coasting in the Big Easy

2011-12-02T17:16:00.001-08:00

Dateline New Orleans, LA 2nd Day

There is a 50 feet waiting line outside ACME Oyster House along Bourbon and Iverbille and there are 20 or so people before us. Nonetheless we wait, wanting to start the evening right. It was a perfect plan - start with oysters and white wine, spill out into Bourbon, have a hand grenade, meander in and out of the bars, get Charmie's stuff in the Voodoo shop, and watch one of the Marsalis jazz scions at Snug Harbor at Fauborg Marigny. Today, I asked Chef Pat at the Krystal room at LE Pavilion how come the pasta with gorgonzola sauce tasted so good and she started crooning "a lot of love".

Finally a space at the bar emptied and we sat down. Pinot Gris and fresh oysters, shooters for my 2 companions, a taste of Abita which I find too strong followed by Po boys and fried shrimp and oysters. This was bliss. What is it with local ambience that intensifies the gustatory experience. Bubba Gump would have done an equally excellent job, but somehow, this place makes you want to yell woohoo and dig deeper into the fried crawfish tails.

Meanwhile everyone around us was getting hammered. Almost back to the streets, then off to the jazz joint. After which I would look forward to the late night PB & J and hot choco at the Le Pavillion lobby.

California Southern Coastline

2011-09-18T01:56:00.001-07:00

Imprinted in my mind was an evening drive way back in 1992 from Christina's house in Costa Mesa to Laguna Beach for a pint of gelato. Melvin, Bong and I together with Alfred, would take an odd spin in the hood on most nights - rollerblade in the nearby park, hunting CDs, and driving about. There was a full moon that night, Pacific Coast was deserted, and right where the road dipped and the ocean horizon seemed to loom higher, we turned off the lights and coasted along with the moon as night light. It was beautiful. Happiness was as simple as licking spoons of Nociola gelato and going home to sleep.

It will take more than a decade before I would go back to Laguna beach again but that memory lives, together with other memorable moonlit nights in various places. The coastline is just as beautiful today. It is truly remarkable and a blessing that I would live so close to the coastline that requires a trip as short as 5 minutes and as much as an hour, before you hit pay dirt. South Bay weather is pretty much like the Mediterranean coast. There is no need to hit the South of France.

Roughing It Out

2011-09-10T09:17:00.001-07:00

Here I am, deep in the Cobb Mountain elevation 2000 feet, probably traipsing on private property. I finally turned off my iPod and the seeming silence is saturated with forest noise that is so subtle and yet so distinct. Birds chirping, insects making a distinct and constant creaking sound, even the wind creating a whooshing sound that moves and rustles the blades of grass. A family of five emerge from the clump of trees making a ruckus. I say Hi. Have you seen the lake yet? I ask. Oh there's a lake? When you reach the end of this road and you turn back, take the other fork - it leads right to the small lake. Sometimes you see deer coming down for a drink. Earlier, I snag some bird feather by the roadside and kept them, thinking I wanted to experiment on using it as a pen with ink I have at home that has been forgotten since I abandoned calligraphy as a hobby. Boy those crickets are incessant. They get louder everytime a breeze comes up. This is actually bliss, being able to experience silence as nature has designed it. A symphony of sounds. I feel blessed to get such an opportunity. Though going with the girls would have been fun, this is rare and I have already been to San Diego. The family is back. So there is indeed another way around from the closed gates. I would definitely go with Medic again for next year's camping.

Coastline Solo

2009-04-30T00:51:00.000-07:00

Monterey Bay

The bus slowly inched away from the curve and I heave a sigh of relief. I slowly unfolded my arm clutching the purse with every intention of spilling over to the empty seat beside me all the way to Monterey and Carmel. Then it halted. Another solo tourist came up the bus – a last minute addition. Shit. I betcha she’s gonna get the empty seat next to me.

The broad stopped beside me and waited for me to retreat to my space, plopped down her heavy ass and said Hi. I mumbled Hello in return. She was from New York. And in not so many words, she managed to tell me that she was planning to ditch the bus later and go all the way to Yosemite. Huh? Isnt that the other way? Smoothly closing the pleasantries aside I started to fiddle with my camera hoping she’ll take the hint and go about her own business. I am cruel. And probably biased. Had it been a good looking guy, I would have been panting like a dog in summer, and he would have been waving me away.

Going on a solo trip today wasn’t my idea – I had 2 tickets in my hand when I told Jeff I was crashing in his flat for the next 3 days while I was in San Francisco. But he wouldn’t budge from his schedule, said he had promised Henrik to help with a project that just came in for the printing press. So off I go as I always do – the lonesome tourist.

Not that I was fishing on this expedition – it was just a clean break after a hectic and stressful 3 months of tango at work. And hopping on a tour bus is perhaps just as useless as checking out the late night organic store down by the Alamo square. At 10PM, the hot guys are probably in bed with other girls, or down by the pub, checking out other girls. Besides, are there any hot, available straight guys in San Francisco? All taken, I tell ya. Your option is to fan out to the suburbs where the nerdy, but definitely sexed up techie guys, some with stock options, are probably lurking. And then again, they’re probably on craigslist checking out the bargains alongside the personals, or making the chat lines sizzle all the way to Asia. Yellow fever is alive and well in suburbia.

At any rate, a return trip to Carmel and Monterey after a 12 year hiatus somehow refreshes the palate. Jeff says he had his wild days in Santa Cruz, with a hip restaurant, a slew of friends deep into the 70’s trend of sex, drugs and rock and roll, and a house by the boardwalk. Meanwhile SCO-UNIX was probably percolating in some kid’s garage. Cool, I say. I would have joined if I wasn’t barely out of my nappies then.

It was a looong drive but the natural coastline, free from commercial exploits, stretching for miles, makes you appreciate the length at which Northern Californians go through to preserve and protect this environment. This rabid environmentalism, albeit too hippie for some, is perhaps why the gay capital and its environs continue to be saved from biblical wrath that puritans wish upon them. Responsible stewardship of the earth is a saving grace.

My seatmate did ditch the bus at Carmel By The Sea, where we had a final and lengthy stop. As I strolled by the galleries, rummaged the quaint shops, dipped into my cache for a French perfume, and fiddled with my digital camera for the perfect shot, I couldn’t help but flash back to past trips where I had a notebook and pen ready, sometimes a laptop. Always inspired, alone, yet not lonesome, tinkering or scribbling away, wherever it hit me. By the corner of a near empty airport, a bench by a train station, a tree trunk at a park, and lolling away at a nearby beach. At the Hog’s Breath, I was led to a tiny table with a great view of the sidewalk for early dinner. I reached out for the thick napkin, and fished out a pen from the bottom of my purse as I was served a glass of wine. A silent toast to Dirty Harry and I was lost in my own world while I waited for the prime rib to be served.