The Food Travels of a Coffee Snob

A Return to Food?

2014-08-13T15:29:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

One year ago, I retired from food blogging. My last post highlighted the sandwiches at the Herring Choker Deli that Mom and I ate as we began our journey back to Halifax from Cape Breton. When I published that story I had no intention of it being my last. More memorable meals from Halifax filled my mind and a trip to New York City seemed sure to bring in a plethora of new material. At that moment, I felt at the height of my blogging abilities. The Food Travels of a Coffee Snob had become an important part of who I was.

Yet, that post was the last one I ever wrote.

In New York, I was struck with grand experiences and flavors. My palette indulged in deli meat, bountiful beers, a gluten free Italian feast, and Pac Man Dumplings as fun to eat as the game that inspired them. To this day I still look at photos on my phone and think about the blogs I could have written.

Carnegie Deli: Friday, July 26, 2013. The first of many delicious meals in my trip to New York. Willy was just a little excited about his Reuben Sandwich. My Pastrami Sandwich hovers close by.

A year later, I sit in New York City once again. For the last seven months this collage of a city has been my home. I have enjoyed its bounties and indulged in some wondrous flavors. Indeed, in the past twelve months my food travels have been many, enough to fill an entirely new blog. From the clear skies of New Mexico, the beaches of San Diego, and the poverty-stricken hillsides of Guatemala and Honduras, I have shared meaningful meals with incredible people. None of these have been put to page, however. They exist solely in my mind and the minds of those I shared them with.

While in Santa Fe after graduation I moved from the track to the kitchen and perfected my cooking skills with the help of Mom and Yotam Ottolenghi. His cookbook Jerusalem served as our muse and from it came many delicious dinners, such as the above chicken and rice.

I also perfected my own seven-hour tomato sauce recipe. It's almost that time of year where making this behemoth will happen again.

Now, I contemplate taking up the mantle of food writer once more. It tempts me because I miss it. The Food Travels of a Coffee Snob brought me out from a self-imposed darkness and taught who I was again. It brought enthusiasm to my mind and purpose to the meals that filled my life.

Another Ottolenghi favorite. This simple yet delectable dish celebrated the return of Munir to Santa Fe last December, shortly before my move to NYC.

I left the world of food because I began to see its perversions. Who was I to say this was good and that was bad when so many people have nothing to eat? Who was I to take pictures and notes at dining tables across the world and interrupt the extreme intimacy a meal can have? Who was I to write about each meal when sometimes the two people at the table should be the only ones to remember it?

Mine and Ryan's Ommegang Fire and Blood tomato sauce with his grandmother's special meatball recipe. Oh it's good to have a kitchen.

Who was I to label myself a coffee snob when the poverty that touches each bean demands respect not elitism?

(So the question is, what am I now to call this blog?)

These thoughts filled my mind and so I put down my phone and trusty notebook and let The Food Travels of a Coffee Snob remain on the internet as it was the day I posted about the Herring Choker Deli.

I did not realize it at the time, but somehow by leaving food I also left behind my voice.

I lament losing my voice. I do not lament losing my appetite for deep fried Moon Pies at 2:00 in the morning. No sir.

I became scared of my own opinions, scared to express what I wanted to say, and scared of really knowing who I was. This is not a comfortable way to live. Now, as I try to regain the voice I began losing a year ago, perhaps an occasional return to food is part of the cure I have been looking for.

And in a city like this anything is possible.

Keep your eyes open. I cannot promise multitudinous blogs to quench your thirst, but one every now and again may find it’s way into the ever-overwhelming internet.

Adios,

Jake

Nyanza/Baddeck: The Herring Choker Deli

2013-07-24T19:37:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

Our final moments on Cape Breton were spent looking for the Herring Choker Deli, the supposed number one sandwich place in Baddeck. Once again we drove up and down the little main street looking for a sign pointing us in the right direction. Google Maps assured us Herring Choker was right under our tire tracks, but we could not find it even if we did have a conventional map. Thoroughly discouraged, we drove back to the highway and headed west back towards Halifax.
It was Saturday, and we only had two days left in Nova Scotia.

Along the highway we stopped for gas, and while Mom filled up the car I went in and asked, rather sheepishly:

"Can you tell me where the Herring Choker Deli is?"

The girl behind the register smiled and instantly responded:

"Just drive up the road about five kilometers and you'll see it."

I thanked her and walked back to the car, cursing Google Maps as I went. With our tank fully filled we began driving back along the Trans-Canada Highway 105 and three minutes later we pulled into the parking lot for the Herring Choker Deli, which was on our right.

The building looked old fashioned with its wooden slat architecture and when we walked in I could tell that this place definitely had character, that was for sure! There was not a single theme I could match to it, and the interior was a hodgepodge of different chairs, tables, and bookshelves. They even had a small used bookstore in the back!

Mom and I looked up at the menu above the counter and began to plot our breakfasts, err lunches. I ordered a smoked beef and cheese sandwich and sat down at a tiny table nearby to wait for the food. Mom wandered into the small bookstore after placing her order, and just as she disappeared into the next room a hungry horde entered the restaurant. Before this, Herring Choker had been fairly empty, but now a road tripping mixture of children and adults saturated the room and I was glad we arrived when we did.

The service was slow, but definitely excusable due to the number of employees and the sudden rush of patrons. Mom and I sat waiting for our sandwiches for a few moments before they were brought over to us.

My sandwich looked very pedestrian and I could tell right away that it was missing the cheese from its title. However being hungry and not wanting to annoy the already inundated staff, I decided to eat it as it was.

It was pretty good. Indeed, it was probably the most solid meal I ate on Cape Breton. The ingredients were fresh and clearly great care had been taken while putting together the sandwich, even if my cheese was missing. It was a very light sandwich, which surprised me. I ordered the smoked beef because I thought it was would be unique and be packed with flavor, but instead it possessed a mild smokey and peppery flavor. The rye bread was also very mild, but worked well with the equally mild meat. The lettuce on the sandwich provided great contrast in texture, and a little bit of tomato added some much needed acidity.

I finished everything on my plate and soon Mom and I were ready to leave. I am sad to announce, if you could not guess, that I do not remember what Mom ordered; it is truly a sad day.

We paid our bill at the counter, after deciding to pick up a double chocolate brownie that was delicate and light by the way, and then strode back outside into yet another slight drizzle to begin our drive back to Halifax. It was a four and a half hour drive from where we were, and I think both Mom and I hoped that we would be able to find at least one reliable radio station to entertain us along the way.

The car rumbled back onto the highway, the radio blared static, and I stared out the windows in thought as we traveled swiftly across the road towards more adventures to come.

Adios,
Jake

Cheticamp: Restaurant Acadien

2013-07-24T12:49:00.003-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

The Cabot Trail truly provides a majestic drive through nature. At nearly every bend a sightseeing point presented itself tempting us to pull the car off the road and stand in the pure awesomeness of nature. We looked out over the sea watching for whales, stopped and hiked a short distance to a reconstruction of a stone made Scottish house, and even saw a moose on the side of the road.

It was a beautiful drive as we descended from the Cape Breton Highlands and made out way towards Cheticamp, a town inhabited by Acadiens, where Restaurant Acadien and its traditional cuisine awaited us. The town itself was the largest we had passed through since beginning our drive along the Cabot Trail. Much of the town was spread out and we began to worry that we had missed Restaurant Acadien when we finally saw it on our right. We pulled the car over, opened the doors into the now familiar drizzle of rain, and made our way into its interior.

Before sitting down we browsed the gift shop, which included a hooked rug (meant for being hung on a wall) depicting the Titanic with auspiciously inaccurate American flags gracing the masts. Much of the gift shop was filled with chachkas as expected and to my delight we only spent a few minutes in there before making our way to the near empty restaurant dining room; it was four o'clock in the afternoon after all.

Immediately we were greeted by a waitress dressed in traditional Acadien costume and she handed us a couple menus to browse. I wanted to make sure I ordered something traditional and so I decided upon the Evangeline Acadien Sampler that came with both a traditional fish cake and a slice of meat pie. Mom requested the meat pie and we sat back to wait for our food.

While we waited, our waitress brought over an Acadien pre-dinner treat: white bread served with butter and molasses. Mom and I both eyed the various ingredients with interest and soon we were spreading creamy butter over the bread and drizzling sweet molasses on top. I had no idea what to expect, and when I took my first bite I was completely shocked.

It was delicious.

The molasses were sweet and tangy and gave the bread an entirely different complexion that any white bread I had ever tasted before. The butter was also indispensable as it cut the strength of the molasses and added a creamy element to the tasty treat.

Mom and I continued to enjoy our new favorite way to eat bread while we waited for the arrival of our main courses. They arrived a few minutes later and both looked delicious. The plating was not world class, but for traditional home cooked meal this was okay. More importantly, it smelled great.

The fish cake was very good with a slight tinge of potato poking through the starring Haddock, and the meat pie's compilation of chicken and pork worked masterly together to create a wonderful homey dish. The only real issue with these two Acadien traditions was the fact that they were microwaved before being served. Now, I appreciate the dishes being warm, but the microwave ruined the texture, eradicating any crispness that might have once been present. This complain aside, both dishes were flavored expertly. They were matched with a great cup of beans that really tied the meal together.

Having finished everything on our plates, aside from the seemingly requisite container of Kraft salad dressing, Mom and I were presented with the dessert menu. Immediately our eyes turned to the "Unemployment Pudding" and the supposedly legendary Butterscotch Pie. We asked our waitress why the former was called "Unemployment Pudding" and she explained that all the ingredients were inexpensive and it could be kept for a long time without going bad. She also said it was delicious. That was enough for us and we ordered both.

They arrived at our table a couple minutes later.

Again, the plating was lacking but the flavors were good. The "Unemployment Pudding" was very comforting and more like an upside down cake. It was filled with maple and vanilla flavors and was a perfectly homey dessert.

The Butterscotch Pie was also very good, but much lighter. It was easy on the palette and possessed the mildest of butterscotch flavors. While it was very good, it was not nearly the legendary dish our guidebook promised.

As Mom and I left Restaurant Acadien I could not help but think that it was a winner and definitely worth the trip along the Cabot Trail.

Our day along the trail was nearly over, and with nothing left to do on Cape Breton in the fading light we made our way back to our motel where we proceeded to watch an incredibly cheesy movie and read until darkness surrounded us.

Adios,
Jake

Neil's Harbour: The Chowder House

2013-07-20T13:47:00.000-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

We were about forty minutes into the drive when I looked down at the map and noticed we were driving along the northern most entrance to the Cabot Trail. After staring at the map for a couple of minutes I realized the impact of our course because it meant traversing the entire Cabot Trail to reach Cheticamp. Having driven all day the previous day this was not entirely enticing but Mom and I decided that we might as well finish what we started.

What this slight cartographic miscalculation did mean was that we would get to visit The Chowder House in Neil's Harbour at the tip of Cape Breton's northern highlands. Recommended in our guidebook for its delicious chowder and picturesque location, I was excited to be traversing our unanticipated route.

The drive was beautiful. At first we just drove through thick green trees. Even though rain was lightly falling, plunging the heights of the hills surrounding us in a thick fog, the greenness of Cape Breton's beauty still shone through. We began passing closer to the ocean and as we did so our car rumbled through quaint seaside villages perched on coves leading out into the Atlantic's forest of sea life.

Slowly we began climbing the daunting cliffs peering out at the Atlantic Coast. With this ascent we we soon found ourselves nearly blinded by the all encompassing fog. Yet even this dangerous natural occurrence was forged in beauty. Our car slowed to a snail's pace and we both strained to stare out into the dense white cloud before us. Michael Crichton's The Eaters of the Dead at once filled my mind with memories and I imagined what fog like this represented thousands of years ago when there were no cars to serve as prisons from fear. What would it be like to walk through the fog with no metal barrier protecting me from whatever was out there? Surely I would be filled with terror, constantly being reminded that nature rules over us no matter what technological advances give us the opposite perception.

This moment of reflection passed, however, once we emerged from the fog and continued our drive towards Cheticamp.

About an hour later, having passed through the Cape Breton Highlands National Park, we came upon Neil's Harbour. We took the left away from the Cabot Trail and meandered through the quiet grey town. Finally, after passing the small dock where fishermen unloaded their heavy catch, we came upon The Chowder House.

It lay at the back of a wide open space, a space usually filled with the cars of tourists, and as Mom and I emerged from our car we were met with the harsh power of the cold wind. Rain drizzled down on us and so we hastened our pace towards The Chowder House.

Inside it was dark. A few tables were filled and after looking around the room Mom and I sat down and looked over the menu. I did not want to order anything too substantial and so after waiting a few too many minutes for the waitress to arrive I ordered the Seafood Chowder and Mom ordered the Corn Chowder.

The view from inside The Chowder House.

Our meals arrived only a couple minutes later, clearly just sitting in a continuously warmed pot, and they looked less than inspiring. Of course, chowder itself is a bland looking dish and so I reserved judgment until tasting a spoonful. When I did, the cream and potatoes immediately shined through, while the seafood took a less prominent position. The crab, shrimp, and scallops in the dish were accompanied by a slight metallic flavor and I yearned for bold spices to jump out at me. Unfortunately they did not and I contented myself to finish the cup and move on to the biscuit nearby. I enjoyed the biscuit, even though it was microwaved, and it was soft and very buttery.

Mom and I finished our cups, paid the modest bill, and headed back to the car. We took a moment on the point to look out at the surrounding Atlantic town. As we did so I noticed a fishing boat just off the coast. It struggled in the rough waters and I realized how different life out here was than life at home. Mom and I talked about this as we reentered the car, drove back past the busy fishermen on the dock, and back through the quiet town.

We both agreed that we lucked out on the weather. No, it was not a sunny beautiful day but the grey sky and falling rain meant most of the frequent tourists were gone and we almost had the road to ourselves.

This thought comforted us as we arrived back at the Cabot Trail and began our long trek towards Cheticamp and Restaurant Acadien.

Adios,
Jake

Baddeck: The High Wheeler Cafe

2013-07-19T15:41:00.002-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

Mom and I entered The High Wheeler Cafe ready for breakfast. It was Thursday and we were not quite sure what our plans were for the day. The sky poured down rain as we ran from the car to the restaurant, meaning a day of hiking the beautiful green hills of Cape Breton would have been filled with wet discomfort.

Instead, both of pondered what to do with the day as we stood in front of a case of baked goods and stared up to breakfast menu hanging above the counter. The room itself was cute and homey. It was a little large, yet it had a certain charm that came through as soon as we began talking to the staff behind the counter.

Our guidebook noted that The High Wheeler had the best coffee in town but I did not really want to give it a shot. Instead I opted for a bottle of water, to take with me in the car, and a blueberry and raspberry scone served with a bowl of fresh fruit. Mom ordered the grilled raisin bread with apples and cheese. We sat down at a table along one of the walls and began to go over our options for the day.

There were a few key interests on the very touristy Cape Breton: Restaurant Acadien in Cheticamp, Fort Louisbourg in, well, Louisbourg, the Cabot Trail, and the Alexander Graham Bell museum in Baddeck were the main options. The fort was just a little too far away, the Cabot Trail was a 300km trek, and we could visit the museum the next day, so we decided that we would head towards Cheticamp once finishing breakfast.

I had brought my scone and fruit cup over to the table with me when we sat down and now I eyed it hungrily. I unwrapped the plastic wrap covering the top of the fruit cup and stuck a fork into the juicy fruits. I wholly expected the fruit to be soggy from sitting around, and so I was pleasantly surprised when it tasted full of freshness; the cantaloupe was particularly good.

Having finished the fruit cup I turned to the scone. It was a very solid breakfast item. The exterior was hard and crunchy in contrast to the soft, delicate, and slightly crumbly interior. The berries were the true stars, however, and they provided sweetness and flavor to the otherwise fairly bland pastry.

Mom's grilled raisin bread, cheese, and apple sandwich arrived while I was finished up the fruit cup (she insisted I begin eating) and it was certainly an odd combination. Nevertheless it was good and filling, and soon we were running through the pouring rain back to our car to begin the journey.

Restaurant Acadien awaited us one hundred kilometers away and as Mom stepped on the gas and we headed back towards the highway neither of us anticipated the sights we would see that day.

Adios,
Jake

Baddeck: The Yellow Cello Cafe

2013-07-11T16:08:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

When Mom and I walked into The Yellow Cello Cafe in Baddeck it was mostly empty. We had been driving most of the day, aside from a momentary stop at the Joggins Fossil Cliffs, and were both starving. I had not eaten since Darcy made me bacon and eggs for breakfast and I was ready for some serious grub.

The view from our motel room at the head of the Cabot Trail.

We were led to a table by an elderly waitress who was filled with smiles and sweetness. She cared about what she was doing and even replaced a dirty glass before we noticed: a rare feat at most restaurants. When we asked what was good on the menu she said that everything was made from scratch and was wonderful. The guidebooks recommended the calzones and so both Mom and I ordered a calzone and a small house salad. I am not normally much of a calzone lover but at this point I could eat just about everything.

"Ya, there's a hole in the ceiling and the workers said it won't be fixed for a few days."

The screeching sound of the voice penetrated the air. It undulated and was high pitched. I turned around to see a teenage boy sitting with his parents. He was on the phone. His screeching voice filled the restaurant and he did not excuse himself from the table but rather continued filling the air with an ear piercing squeel that I tried to pretend did not exist. He had black hair and a wispy mustache that desperately needed shaving: about twelve hairs poked out above his upper lip.

His screeching continued as he explained the work being done on his basement and how he had been bitten earlier that day by some paralyzed creature. His parents sat on either side of him in mute silence as they waited for their food. Luckily when it arrived a few minutes later the boy clapped his phone shut and the room filled with a more pleasurable silence.

Our food arrived shortly thereafter and our waitress produced a basket of Kraft Salad Dressings for our salads; so much for everything being made from scratch. I looked at my calzone hungrily and cut it in half. I ordered a Pizza Calzone and inside was cheese, a tiny bit of tomato sauce, and pepperoni. Two crisped slices of pepperoni also lay atop the calzone. It was pedestrian but I was famished and devoured it swiftly. It was not without flavor, but also not packed with it. Additionally the dough itself was perhaps a little undercooked.

I was underwhelmed with the meal and questioned the "from scratch" nature of everything because of the mass-produced salad dressings present on the table. The enthusiasm of the waitress was inspiring, but the skills of the chef were questionable. Why did The Yellow Cello not specialize in something unique to the region? Why produce pizza and calzones if it was not going to be...

    "'What is your favorite dish, grandad?'
    'All of them, my son. It's a great sin to say that this is good and that is bad.'
    'Why? Can't we make a choice?'
    'No, of course we can't."
    'Why not?'
    'Because there are people who are hungry.'
    I was silent, ashamed. My heart had never been able to reach that height of nobility."

I wish I had written these words. I wish I myself could realize this inherently every day I am on Earth. I wish we all could hold this nobility in our hearts and choose not to judge the food before us.

For the old man the narrator of Zorba the Greek encountered while walking to the Convent of the Holy Virgin was filled with wisdom. At The Yellow Cello Mom and I had food before us, we were able to purchase it without feeling the sting of the bill, and yet we looked at it as if it somehow unworthy.

Zorba, right, would undoubtedly agree with the old man. Courtesy of Google Images.

It certainly brings forward the question of what is food. Is it simply sustenance? Or is it an art form? Is it an expression of one's life and loves? Or is it a burden because it may not be there one day to the next? Indeed, how does the knowledge of the old man's words impact a blog devoted to explaining the merits of food?

I do love food. I love how it reflects upon those creating it. I love how it creates memories and can elicit decade old thoughts. Yet often I eat and find myself disparaging that 100% effort, or more, did not seem to be put into the creation of such a basic human enjoyment. I think of restaurants that have menus the length of War and Peace and I cringe a little knowing that not a single dish can be perfected because so many must be practiced.

Are these thoughts fair?

The old man on the goat track would say no. He would not insult my view of food but humbly note that people are hungry. People are hungry.

People are hungry.

Perhaps remembering this will remind me to enjoy each meal I eat not because of its culinary expertise or abounding flavors but because I am eating it, I am filling my stomach, and I am bringing power to my limbs.

I am not hungry.

I will keep the old man's words in my heart. Will you?

Adios,
Jake

Cape d'Or: The Light Keeper's Kitchen

2013-07-09T15:18:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

From the moment we glimpsed Cape d'Or from the perilous cliff it was beautiful. White and red buildings cast amongst green grass overlooking the grey and brown rocks of the well beaten shore lay firmly in the earth as if they were almost meant to be there. It was quiet, and in the silence all we could hear was the pure sound of nature. The buildings were empty when we arrived, casting a eery stillness to the place in addition to the permeating natural silence.

We had sat out on the rocks overlooking the ominously grey Bay of Fundy. The deadly waters crashed against the smooth rocks and attempted to cross the threshold onto their victims' less worn brethren. Or indeed were those rocks that escaped the seeming punishment of the sea the victims? Did they miss the cool embrace of Poseidon as he crashed against the land, trying desperately to bring more of our domain into his kingdom?

I felt at peace in this place. The world was gone. There was no wi-fi for me to check my email or wait for a text message from some far off friend. There was only the world around us: the small building where our cool quarters lay, John Williams' Augustus in my hands, and the sound of the surf beating against primordial rock. That one night in paradise, after dinner at Wild Caraway, was not interrupted by the perpetually annoying presence of t.v. commercials, sirens in the night, or cars running along endless roads of concrete. We were the only ones in the Light Keeper's Inn and I slept soundly after failing to fall asleep in this new and completely unfamiliar environment. The coffee running through Mom's veins, from a pit stop at Tim Horton's earlier in the day, left her awake all night, just waiting for the sound of my alarm at 7:50am and the call for breakfast at 8:30.

Only I walked through the cool morning air and the light dew on the green grass to the Light Keeper's Kitchen a few minutes before the breakfast bell. Mom still tried to sleep, making sure to rest up before a long drive to Cape Breton later that day. I walked down the small grassy slope that led to the wooden steps leading to the kitchen less than thirty meters away. I looked briefly out to sea as I climbed the steps embracing the exactness of this place and the moment. Then I opened the door.

I truly did not know what to expect within the Light Keeper's Kitchen. Was it to be kitschy or as equally beautiful as the serenity surrounding us? I was met with a simple room. Tables were placed carefully around it and pictures of Cape d'Or in all its beauty lay flat against the walls, staring down at the emptiness

I was not alone, however. Instead the smiling face of a man greeted me. He was tall, looking exactly like the semi-professional hockey player he had been. His hair, while jet on top, was greying at the temples. He had a smile fit to his face: warm, unlike the cool interior of the restaurant. We immediately got to talking and he introduced himself as Darcy. I apologized for Mom's absence, insisting that it was the coffee not the beds that had been the issue.

He led me to a table in the corner looking out at the ocean and the little red and white lighthouse on the promontory. We continued to talk as he filled my cup with steaming coffee that I was sure would taste like Peirce but would also provide a much needed warmth to fill the cool morning. We talked for a bit more as I explained my recent graduation from Kenyon, our residing in Santa Fe, and my major in history. Before he left to prepare breakfast I asked him one question: how did he end up out here?

    "This place," was his simple and astute answer. Then he continued along a different more culinary path. "What would you like for breakfast?"
    "What do you have?" was my response.
    "Are bacon and eggs okay?"
    "Certainly!"
"How do you like your eggs cooked?"
"Over-medium," I responded and he furrowed his brows.
"Over-medium?" he said questioningly, "I haven't heard of that one before."
I tried to explain over-medium as the perfect middle between over-easy and over-hard where the eggs ooze instead of drain. He said he would give it a shot and then, pointing to the coffee machine, said that if I wanted more I could help myself.
    "You can also go outside and sit on the point if you want," he proposed before beginning to cook. I was tempted but I also knew how cold it was outside and while it was only a few degrees warmer inside I opted for that.

As Darcy cooked I looked around the room and out the windows while sipping on my coffee. It was surprisingly decent. It did not have the complexities of a cup of slow pour or a mirco-lot but it also lacked the harsh acidity of Peirce. I went back for a second cup a few minutes later to help keep my insides from chattering.

The views were breathtaking and I took pictures as I waited. My food journal lay on the table in front of me waiting for the simple meal that was coming my way. I heard pots and pans clink in the kitchen, and the sound of oil frying in a pan. It was hard to tell what Darcy was doing and a few times I wondered whether he was trying repeatedly to perfect my difficult choice of eggs. I hoped not, and I regretted ordering them for a second, thinking that if I had just ordered scrambled I would not have sounded so, I dunno, snobby.

Darcy emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later bearing a plate of beauty. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, whole wheat toast, and watermelon and an orange slice lay on the plate and looked every bit as perfect as last night. Darcy asked if I wanted any orange juice, which I did, and came back a few seconds later with a bright cup and a jar of Gooseberry jam for the bread. Then he returned to the kitchen to clean up while I turned to my plate in anticipation.

It was probably one of the best breakfasts of my life. The eggs were cooked perfectly. I do not know how Darcy managed that on his first attempt at over-medium eggs, but these chicken creations possessed an oozing and creamy yolk that was utterly delicious. The bacon was crispy and tasty, just the way bacon should be. The potatoes, oh my. Darcy had cooked them up with onions and mushrooms into a flavor filled creation that I could have devoured for eternity. As it was I ate slowly. I have been trying to take Mr. Culinary Leisure to heart in his absence and eat slower to enjoy the food more. I picked up a piece of watermelon. It was sweet, juicy, and perfectly ripe. Then I turned to the toast. I spread Gooseberry jam over it and took a careful bite. A tangy sweetness met with the rusticity of the bread in otherworldly harmony. Alongside the bacon, eggs, and potatoes the bread presented a sweet, almost desert-like, addition.

I sipped my third cup of coffee as I finished off breakfast and then gathered up my plates and brought them to Darcy. I filled up my cup a third of the way and sat back down to make my notes. Having finished off the fantastic breakfast in this picturesque location I did not want to leave. I savored my cup of coffee and when it was done I brought it up to the front.

Darcy met me and we began talking again.

Every person has a story to tell. Every single human being on this earth. Some are of grand adventures, others of miserable failures, and a few of inspirational thematics. I am sure that there is not a single boring tale on this planet, perhaps only an increased concentration on minutia thanks to an ever-developing technological world that each day looks to reduce the amount of words we use to tell a tale: a few sentences in a Facebook post, 240 characters on twitter, repetitive movie plots in Hollywood.

Darcy had a story to tell, and in this place so far removed from modernity's concentration on quick-and-easy tales his was a story filled with passion.

"I've been reading a lot recently," I said to Darcy after some time. "I haven't had much else to do at home. Recently I reread Zorba The Greek. I read it once in high school but didn't understand it at all. This time I understood. It made me want to get out, to actually live instead of exist within all these books."
He looked at me and a smile came to his face.
"When I went to Greece I slept with it under my pillow." His words came through his smile and I was a bit shocked. I had come to expect no one to have heard of Zorba The Greek anymore. My friends at school have never read his wisdom, until now at least. Darcy continued:
"I was with my wife and we were on this island in the Cyclades. We had rented scooters and were driving around looking for a beach to go to. A beach that looks so similar to the one on your business card, that's why asked where it was." I had given him my business card with the picture of Atheras Bay a few minutes earlier and he'd asked where it was. "We came upon this construction sight and had to go around it. And as we did we stumbled upon an ancient theater. It was crumbling but you tell it used to sit thousands of people. My wife and I turned off our bikes and walked into the long deserted theater. We climbed the steps and sat down. We just sat there. I could feel the history around me, the people that had once sat where I was now sitting, the plays they had once watched. It was like stepping back in time. I took a piece of marble from that place. I still have it."

I sat there and a smile came to my face. All I could think was that if I had left the kitchen before that last cup of coffee I would never have heard this story. I would never have heard the other ones either. The one about living in Las Vegas and decided to leave for Arizona but not having a car. He bought one on Craigslist, bought a license plate at an antique store, and drove to Phoenix. Something about it seemed so free. He lived his life as he wanted to. He came to this place removed from civilization because it called to him. We continued to talk for a bit but soon I knew I had to get back to Mom and so we said our farewells.

As I walked down the staircase back into the frigid coolness of summer in Nova Scotia I was even more convinced than before that everyone has a story and that I want to know them. We live in our own worlds so much of the time that we miss out on the stories people have to tell. Something within me yearns to sit around a fire and listen to stories, to hear the ancient ones tell of their past, and to feel as if I am connected to that past through the words flowing around me.

Is it too late for this? Has mankind become too feeble to look for the stories that surround us? Or, indeed, can we manage to respect others enough to hear their stories instead of wanting only to share our own?

These thoughts lived with me as I left Cape d'Or, ascending once again the perilous drive with Mom and our suitcases. At the top we looked down, down to this serene place, and I knew that I wanted to return. I wanted to return for more than a night, and to share the entirety of the place with an imperfect and foggy image in my mind.

Adios,
Jake

Advocate Harbor: Wild Caraway

2013-07-08T13:52:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

The drive from beautiful Cape D'Or to Wild Caraway in Advocate Harbor took all of five minutes. The trip included ascending a perilous gravel road leading to the hills above the lighthouse, descending an equally perilous road that made us grateful we switched our rental car to a four-wheel drive, and finally a picturesque drive through the greenery of Nova Scotia.

We arrived before Wild Caraway opened, our reservation was for five, and so drove down the road to see the rest of Advocate. We ended up standing on a black sand beach looking out into the Bay of Fundy and feeling the rough wind scream against us. It was chilly, and a light drizzle fell around us. Our detour complete we returned to the car and headed back towards the only real restaurant in town.

Housed in an old home, Wild Caraway is beautiful. The building is painted in blues and greys and it oozes hospitality. We parked the car in the back parking lot and walked up to the entrance. As we walked through the door it became apparent that we were the only ones in the restaurant. Of course, having dinner at five in the evening usually lends itself to this. At first the emptiness was uncomfortable but as I began looking around the room from our picturesque table located in a small alcove looking out into the harbor it felt wonderful to have the restaurant to ourselves.

The room was filled with paintings and it felt more like a home than a restaurant. As we sat observing the room I also began to take a peak at the menu. First I looked at the drink menu and decided on the homemade ginger beer and a glass of water.

Then I turned to the dinner menu, a menu that changes almost daily depending on what is fresh at the local markets. Every item was unique, reasonably priced, and sounded like an explosion of flavor. I knew it was going to be a difficult decision, but after some time I decided to order the Terrine and the Halibut; Mom chose the Local Fish Sampler and the Flounder.

Moments after placing our order the first course arrived.

It was not the first course we had just ordered.

Instead, the chef had sent out a small spinach soup and bread combo to delight our palettes. Mom cannot eat spinach so I took the task of finishing both small glasses of soup. Light with a touch of cream and a hint of lavender the soup was perfect. The bread paired along with it also exuded perfection as it was crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, and possessed the smallest flavor of anise courtesy of generously present seeds.

From the start Wild Caraway took my heart. The flavor and love put into the dishes was ever-present and as I set down my second glass of soup other patrons began entering the premises. Twenty minutes later, when the terrine and seafood platter arrived, the restaurant was packed.

Both appetizers that arrived looked beautiful. The careful precision with with each item was placed on each dish was superb. It immediately reminded Mom and I of Step Up to the Plate, the story of Michel Bras' restaurant in France. For Wild Caraway, the dining experience was not just about tasting the flavors but feeling the ocean, the beauty, and the love of the people of Advocate Harbor.

And I had not even taken a bite of the Terrine yet.

It was a cacophony of excellence. The smoked and fried oyster was warm, delicious, and exploded in flavor when I broke the careful fried exterior. The shucked oyster tasted of the ocean and was slightly sweet. The leek mold was complicated and difficult to eat, but balanced the rich flavors on the rest of the dish perfectly. And the crispy prosciutto was god's child. As recommended I ate the prosciutto with the oyster leaf and the combination balanced the richness of the pork with the lightness of the vegetable.

Mom's Local Fish Sampler was a behemoth that we could have easily split and been completely satisfied. With a multitude of different fishes, each one smoked or brined, it was like Poseidon's Garden. The fish were fresh, perfectly flavored, and enlightening. There were so many different flavors on the plate it is impossible to describe each one. You are just going to have to taste for yourself.

By the time our appetizers were complete we were both feeling a little full. Luckily there was a break in the action and our stomachs regained some of their depleted strength. We talked with our waitress about the restaurant and about growing up near Advocate. We were approached by the owner who gave us tips on how to each each dish and put us in touch with Darcy, the man who operated the lighthouse on Cape D'Or where we were staying. And we overheard the group of women next to us discussing giving emotional aid to caregivers who needed it.

"Wild Caraway is filled with community," I thought...and then our main courses arrived.

I did not think anything could be more beautiful than the appetizers, but I was wrong.

My Halibut sat on a bed of gnocchi and peas. It looked majestic on its perch and I could not wait to take a bite. When I did my world was filled with the flavors of the delicate halibut and robust gnocchi and sauce. The halibut, while perhaps a tad overcooked, was light, flavorful, and clearly fresh. The gnocchi was sublime. It was tender, tasty, and mixed perfectly with the rich combination of peas and home smoked ham. I ate with vigor and enthusiasm for this picture of perfection on the plate in front of me.

Mom's Flounder looked equally magnificent. Laying across local fresh picked greens and delicate pasta, it was filled with a buttery richness that I found mesmerizing.

We were both full when we set aside our plates. I did not think I could consume any more culinary masterpieces even if they were unlike anything I had ever tasted before. Yet, when the dessert menu faced us we could not lay silent and soon the creme brulee and the chocolate cake were being prepared in the kitchen.

Both were, like everything else we had tasted, filled with flavor and love.

The creme brulee was wholly unique. A light rose flavor permeated the delicate custard that sat beneath an expertly caramelized top that was broken with a satisfying crunch.

The chocolate cake was the best candy bar I have ever tasted. It was dense but held such flavor to make it extraordinary. Paired with the fresh mint ice cream, which was the best ice cream I have ever tasted because the real mint gave it a fresh and natural flavor, the chocolate cake was a culinary masterpiece.

We set aside out forks in triumph at the end of the meal. What a meal it had been! Filled with personal care, love, and devotion to creating beautiful culinary creations, Wild Caraway was an oasis in a culinary wasteland.

As we left the restaurant, filled with thanks, the parking lot was overflowing with cars. It was only seven o'clock and this meal that was delicious fueled our return to Cape D'Or and a night of reading and restless sleep ahead.

Adios,
Jake

Halifax: Cambridge Suites Hotel Restaurant

2013-07-05T12:19:00.002-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

Wednesday dawned cloudy and overcast. Nova Scotia's traditional weather of rain, rain, rain, and more rain was on its way as Mom and I prepared to set out for Cape D'Or, the next stop on our whirlwind tour of all things Nova Scotian. Before leaving the urban confines of Halifax, however, we required sustenance. Luckily the hotel where we were staying, the Cambridge Suites Hotel, had a restaurant right next to the lobby.

I mostly avoid hotel restaurants. Their proximity usually implies raised prices, lower quality food, and a lack of ambiance. However, when Mom and I sat down at the booth and took a peak at the menu I began to give this hotel-restaurant the benefit of the doubt.

The items on the menu were priced reasonably, looked unique, and were named with passion. My eyes immediately glided to the "Angry Eggs," a dish with eggs poached in spicy tomato sauce and served upon cornbread surrounded by hash browns. The spiciness drew me to the eggs and set aside my temptation for the "Peanut Butter Waffles," which sounded delicious but overly heavy.

Our waitress, a cute blonde with shoulder length hair, took our order within minutes of our arrival and then we sat back to plan our exit from Halifax. We wanted to stop at the Fairview Lawn Cemetery on the outskirts of Halifax where one-hundred and twenty-one men, women, and children who perished in the Titanic disaster lie buried. Halifax led the charge to recover the dead from the site of the sinking and Titanic artifacts are scattered across the province. Of course with no GPS we needed to find the cemetery the old fashioned way and so as we waited for our breakfast we studied maps and guidebooks to find our course.

Before we could totally figure out our cross-town route the food arrived. Both dishes, my "Angry Eggs" and Mom's "Healthy Habits," looked tasty. I was a little disappointed that the "hash browns" were actually just squared potatoes but until I tasted them I was not ready to write this dish off as a failure.

Healthy Habits: Greek yogurt, house made peanut butter, granola, and fresh fruit.

Indeed, it was anything but a failure. This play on eggs with hot sauce was a sure winner. Spicy and hearty, I really enjoyed the combination of perfectly poached silky eggs, the surprisingly spicy tomato sauce, and the light cornbread. I hesitate to claim the cornbread was from scratch, but it still tasted good. The potatoes were crispy and provided a nice change in texture from the succulent eggs and crumbly cornbread.

After finishing up our surprisingly good and inexpensive breakfast Mom and I got in the car and took off through the streets of Halifax. The Fairview Lawn Cemetery was a few miles distant and the directions were not entirely clear. Nevertheless we found the ancient burial ground and soon wandered through its green grounds as rain began to fall around us.

This is truly a site you must visit in Halifax. The people long lying in the ground are no longer just numbers written in text books but names with a physical location. The disastrous sinking of the Titanic no longer exists in the world of stories but in reality. There is a connection in Halifax to the disaster not found elsewhere. People came from the houses in the city to bring back the dead: they were the ones who embalmed the bodies, they identified the victims. So standing amongst the long dead in a place to intimately connected with the "unsinkable" White Star flag ship was unlike anything I had ever experienced in regards to the Titanic before. It is a trip certainly worth making.

And so our desires in Halifax fulfilled we returned the car, I took our the maps, and we began the long drive to the Bay of Fundy, Cape D'Or, and the lighthouse where we would be staying that night.

Adios
Jake

Halifax: The Bicycle Thief

2013-07-03T12:51:00.000-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

Described as "exud[ing] a relaxed, come-as-you-are feel, in an atmosphere that blends Old School style with New School attitude" The Bicycle Thief sounded like the perfect restaurant after a day of exploring poutine present, maritime past, and Maxwell's Plum's multitudinous selection of beers. Situated right on the waterfront, the restaurant was bustling when we arrived.

Picaroon's "Man's Best Friend" at Maxwell's Plum. This beer was dark with a small creamy vanilla colored head. It was smokey with a little vanilla sweetness and just a touch of bitterness at the end. It tasted almost like the experience of smoking a cigar.

Without a reservation I feared we would be waiting hours before being seated, and after Mom and I were led to the bar I fulled anticipated living on that stool for an extended period of time. In expectation of this layover I ordered a local amber ale and Mom decided upon an innovative lichee berry Bellini...

Miraculously within seconds of my beer appearing in a very tall and narrow glass the host stood behind us and asked us to follow him to a table outside. Being pleasantly surprised, Mom and I vacated our short-lived lease at the bar and walked through the chic interior to the cool refreshing ocean air. It was beautiful. People walked by with their dogs, sail boats tied up at the dock bringing more patrons to The Bicycle Thief, and the smell of Italian Soul Food filled our nostrils.

It also filled out sights on the menu. Labeled "First Gear," "Second Gear," and "High Gear" everything on the menu looked to be filled with flavor and completely original. Mom and I decided to order two "First Gears" and two "Second Gears" to share instead of splurging on a feast of all three bicycular treats.

We had our eyes on a few different options but asked our waiter, who was excellent, to recommend a few others. In the end we decided upon jumbo shrimp, a puff pastry tart, an arugula shrimp salad, and spaghetti al limone. It was to be a light meal shared in the cool atmosphere of early evening.

The jumbo shrimp and puff pastry arrived together.

The jumbo shrimp, which was sautéed with garlic, cognac, charred grape tomatoes, and a splash of cream looked delicious. It tasted even better. The shrimp were cooked perfectly, except for one Mom thought was a little soft, and paired exceptionally with the light and creamy sauce. The roasted tomato served along with the shrimp was the most flavorful item on the dish. It simply exploded with a deep roasted flavor and I would have loved to have seen more scattered on the plate.

The puff pastry tart with brown sugar blazed butternut squash, slow roasted Vidalia onions, fresh ricotta, mascarpone, balsamic drizzle, and crispy sage looked like a beautiful appetizer to be served at Thanksgiving. It was comfort food at its best. The squash was rich and creamy and paired perfectly with the delicate pastry. The other ingredients were lost in the dish but certainly contributed to its delicate profile.

Another beer and Bellini later our entrees arrived. They also looked beautiful in the evening light and continued the trend of providing comfort food excellence.

The arugula salad with poached cold Jumbo shrimp, avocado, mango, fennel, papaya, and lemon lime vinaigrette looked light and healthy. The shrimp sat perched atop the mountain of arugula and upon taking a bite my taste buds lit up with the light tartness of the salad. The arugula was fresh and flavorful, the mango and avocado that lay strewn amongst it added a nice sweetness, and the shrimp, while not the star of the plate, added much needed protein to the salad.

The Spaghettini al Limone with sundried tomatoes, Meyer lemon, cream, mascarpone, and garlic toasted breadcrumbs was not exactly what I imagined. I anticipated a light lemon sauce instead of a comforting tomato sauce, but the pasta was still tasty. The flavor of the cheese really cut through the entirety of the entree, but each bite with sundried tomato was filled with an indescribably rich acidity. The breadcrumbs added a nice texture to the dish, but I felt that the pasta really needed some other element to mix up the flavor profile.

Of course no dinner is complete without an accompanying dessert, and even though Mom and I were both full we opted for our waiter's suggestion of the "life changing" butterscotch cake. This cake was a sweet guilty pleasure. Light in texture, rich in flavor, and utterly delicious the cake was excellent. The butterscotch was the star here. Its flavor was prevalent throughout, mixing perfectly with the bite of the cream cheese frosting and the earthy nuttiness of the pecans.

Our unanticipated truly spectacular meal was completed. But the surprises were not over, for as our bill arrived our waiter whispered to us "I've got the drinks" and sneakily walked away to take care of other hungry patrons. And indeed he had covered two of our drinks! It was a pleasant surprise and continued the trend of friendliness we would experience for the entire trip.

Day one in Nova Scotia was over, but many more adventures and delicate cuisines lay ahead of us.

Adios,
Jake

Halifax: Smoke's Poutinerie

2013-07-02T12:58:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

The ocean breeze blew against us as we sat looking out into Halifax Harbor. The sun shone down above us, small children ran around eating chocolate covered bacon, and sitting on the table staring up at us was the richest looking Canadian culinary creation known to mankind: poutine.

Mom and I eyed our small box of poutine with eager and worried eyes. Piled high with pulled pork, bacon, and cheese curds this potato fry fiasco looked glorious. Top is off with a generous serving of gravy and sriracha and it appeared to be a feast fit only for the French Canadian Gods of old...

We had not planned for poutine to be our inaugural meal upon arriving in beautiful Nova Scotia. Of course, we planned little for our getaway from the States beside our destinations in Canada's Ocean Playground. I did not even research a multitude of restaurants to patronize, and so when we walked along the beauteous Halifax boardwalk, passing a multitude of food stands, we filled out hearts with courage and approached Smoke's Poutinerie.

Its bright red exterior was attractive and after saddling up the window we asked which poutine was most recommended. Unsurprisingly the young woman working the cash register recommended the double pork: a behemoth of bacon and pulled pork.

And that is how we found ourselves looking out at the blue water of the harbor staring down into the mass of potatoes, pork, and cheese that seductively stared right back.

Our resistance to this cataclysmic caloric creation could only last so long and soon the plentiful flavors of the poutine filled our mouths.

It was filled with flavor. The fries were fresh, crispy, and starchy. The gravy that saturated many of them and simply lay upon others was very rich and created a heavenly combination with the tender and delicious pulled pork. The cheese curds melted into the monstrosity and added a creaminess to the starch and meat of the poutine. Unfortunately, the bacon which also integrated itself with the fries, curds, and pulled pork was a weak link and I certainly would have settled for single pork poutine.

What made the dish spectacular, however, was the sriracha. It added a tangy spiciness to the poutine and laced each bite with a sweet heat that brought an additional layer of flavor to the otherwise heavy dish. Unfortunately we did not add enough sriracha and by the time we hit the bottom of the dish there was no more spicy sweetness to accompany the richness of the poutine.

I must say, my first experience with poutine was a hit. It began a Nova Scotian adventure filled with food, fun, and friendliness. For even as we sat looking out at the Atlantic waters in front of us we were joined by an elderly English couple with whom we soon began conversing. They had just traveled all around Nova Scotia and were on their way to Montreal the following day. They had been to Cape Breton, where we were traveling in a couple days, and highly recommended Restaurant Acadien, a restaurant that actually was on our list to visit.

We smiled, laughed, and shared stories. It was as if the ego-centrism of the United States was gone and all of sudden each person around us mattered as much as we did. They had stories to tell, histories to remember, and most of all wisdom to impart.

Soon the couple departed and Mom and I were left to finish up our poutine before heading into the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic full to the gills and ready for another adventure.

Adios,
Jake

Jinja Asian Bistro

2013-06-18T13:04:00.002-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

Located towards the end of Guadalupe street in Santa Fe, Jinja presents up-scale Asian cuisine with a very clear Americanized lean. Feeling more like a fancy steakhouse than an Asian Bistro, especially with the addition of Steak Frites to the menu, the restaurant could easily serve a variety of cuisines. Asian decor does dot the restaurant, setting the scene more so than the mood lighting or pop music playing in the background, but when sitting in the cool interior you really could be anywhere...

I hadn't been to Jinja in about six years and the menu has changed substantially since then. While much reduced, it was clear that Jinja still catered less than authentic Asian cuisine with a clear aim at selling to the American audience. Of course, this is not necesarilly a negative choice especially considering the food is still packed with flavor and there isn't much of an Asian population out here in Santa Fe to sell too.

Due to the Americanized feel of the menu I opted for the Singapore Noodles thinking that a noodle dish would be the closest to resembling authentic Asian cuisine. Arriving shortly after we returned two cracked water glasses (likely due to adding ice to them too soon after exiting the dish washer), the dish looked beautiful. Different colors dotted the plate as scallions, cilantro, and red peppers infiltrated through the monochrome brown of the noodles. It did look gorgeous. Digging in, my mouth immediately exploded with spice. Definitely filled with chile powder and cumin, the noodles were drenched in spicy sauce and filled with flavor.

However, this spice permeated every bit of the dish and only bites involving cilantro or scallions really altered the flavor. Bites with those components gave the Singapore Noodles real depth, but they were the only ingredients to do so. The dry and tasteless chicken...errr BBQ pork in the dish added essentially nothing besides a rough texture and much needed protein. The fact that I thought it was chicken until being reminded it was pork says a lot about its preparation.

It seemed to me that the dish was a combination of many adequate ingredients put together to create a tasty plate, and I did enjoy eating it. It was filling, satisfying, and generally flavorful. Indeed the spice lingered in the back of my throat long after I set down my fork (they didn't give us chopsticks).

For $10.95 the Singapore Noodles are a pretty good deal and I definitely recommend them at Jinja. Maybe you should get the tofu though, it probably has about as much flavor as the pork.

Adios,
Jake

We Made it to California: The Final Day

2013-06-17T17:14:00.000-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

My last day in California was a sad one. Mostly filled with relaxation at Laura's apartment complex, the day began as Mr. Culinary Leisure walked down the hallway and back to Ohio where this trip all began.

Preparing for a momentous move to Minneapolis, Andrew is on his way to biology greatness...although I supremely hope that a brewery lies somewhere in his future.

Jackson and I sat mostly in silence after dropping Andrew off at LAX. We tried to make it to Venice Beach but couldn't really find parking. The parking we did end up finding was a lot closer to Santa Monica and we ended up walking around for a while looking for a bite of breakfast. A map called us to a donut shop, but it was all boarded up...

Instead we opened up The Gastronomy Blog to look a the donut power rankings and were soon on our way to Stan's Donuts, right near the In-N-Out we'd been eaten at just two days before. Finding parking was again a miserable experience but after driving around the block a few times we stood in the cramped interior of the ancient eatery and were attended to by the surly cashier.

We opted for twelve donuts: six gourmet and six regular. They looked spectacular and so we hauled the heavy box back to Pasadena where set sat down on the couch, turned on the television, and began eating donuts. The peanut butter-chocolate donut was out of this world good and soon just about a third of the box was empty. For the rest of the day, between trips to the pool in the courtyard and trying to watched the new Star Trek movie on my computer, we continued snacking on the sickly sweet treats.

Fourth Row: peanut butter-banana, two peanut butter-chocolate. Third Row: cinnamon roll pretzel, eclair. Second Row: chocolate glazed, maple nut, coconut, apple fritter. First Row: cinnamon sugar, original, Simpsons themed.

Our day passed mostly in silence. Perhaps we were reflecting on the end of the trip, or maybe we were both just exhausted. Regardless, time moved swiftly and soon we were met with the conundrum of figuring out dinner. Neither of us had much energy and so at 5:30 we walked out of the apartment complex, turned right, and headed towards the Pasadena location of Umami Burger.

I'd been craving Umami Burger since seeing it highlighted on the Food Network show "The Best Thing I Ever Ate." My dad ate there once and said it was heavenly, so I would have been remiss if I didn't make it to Umami Burger when it was less than a mile away.

Sleek, white schemed, and very ritzy, Umami Burger felt slightly sterile. We were seated at a table along the wall and quickly began scanning the menu. I thought about ordering a beer but with Heineken costing $5 I opted for a ginger beer instead. More importantly I ordered the truffle burger: a monstrous richly decadent creation that was sure to send my taste buds to paradise with its house-made truffle cheese and truffle glaze for a cool $12.

Umami is supposedly the fifth flavor, a sort of elegant super-flavor that exhibits qualities totally out of this world. When I took my first bite of the truffle burger the taste of Umami was everywhere.

Yet, this was not the best burger I have ever eaten.

It is not the best burger because I cannot rightfully label Umami Burger a burger. It tasted like eating the purest steak imaginable. Rich, tender, and filled with flavor, every bite of the burger was a trip to flavor heaven. The truffle burger was legendary, but it was not a burger. In a burger I look to find the taste of the grill, the crunch of the charred outside and the roughness of the medium cooked interior. Umami Burger was smooth all around. Each bite was like eating the finest cut of Filet Mignon or perhaps the most tender part of a porterhouse steak. It was delicious, but it lacked the almost necessary roughness of what I look for in a burger. The Juicy Nookie Burger, now that was a real burger. Did it have as much flavor as Umami Burger? Was it as delicate, smooth, or perfectly cooked? It was none of these things. But it was a real burger.

I did enjoy Umami Burger. I thought it was an experience unlike any other. It is a burger that is meant to be enjoyed, to be devoured even slower than Mr. Culinary Leisure eats, to be analyzed as it is being lovingly consumed. Umami Burger is not a place to chow down, it is not Thurman Cafe or The Nook. It almost felt like elite eating to the max because the entire meal, the entire restaurant, was about the burger sitting on the plate before me.

Jackson and I were both stuffed when we walked back to the apartment after this completely extravagant meal. When we arrived we plopped ourselves down on the couch, opened up our computers, and began looking at fantasy baseball.

Then inspiration hit me and I turned on Kangaroo Jack.

It was the perfect way to end the road trip of a lifetime.

Adios,
Jake

We Made it to California: In the Footsteps of the Gastronomer

2013-06-15T15:07:00.000-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

A cornucopia of food surrounded us as we sat in the heart of Elite Restaurant. Shrimp, duck, and pork whirled around us as we sipped on tea, practiced with our chopsticks, and savored the sublime dim sum.

Recommended by the Gastronomer herself, who unfortunately wallowed beneath a pile of work and was unable to meet up with us, Elite was Chinese food perfection. Located in the San Gabriel Valley, or "Chinese Food Paradise" as the Gastronomer calls it, Elite was everything we ever wanted for a tasty, quick, and inexpensive lunch...

Lotus Buns

Pork Shu-Mai

Crystal Shrimp Har Gow

Shrimp with Asparagus Rice

Crispy Rice Noodle

Steamed Barbecue Pork Bun

House Roasted Duck

Organized more rigidly than many dim sum restaurants, which are characterized by the shuffling presence of waiters and waitresses moving around the room with carts filled with food, at Elite the waitress gave us a simple paper card with all the food options and we were left to our own devices to choose what to eat. Choosing mostly at random we assembled a meal that was splendid and cost only $30 total. By the time we left Elite we were full and ready to explore the Ghetti museum before heading to Studio City to see Jackson's new house and eat dinner with Laura.

Our day, however, had not always been so grand. We began by venturing to Marston's, the restaurant my Google researching said was the best breakfast place in Pasadena (Food Network Magazine voted it best in California. What were they thinking?). Unfortunately this quaint cottage did not serve up the beast breakfast in Pasadena. My tomato and basil omelet, while certainly tasty, was a behemoth and could have fed three or so people. By the time I was three-quarters of the way through, my taste buds were sufficiently sick of the taste. The famous potatoes on the side were out of this world good, and I would have been more than happy with just a plate of those instead of the heavy omelet I was saddled with.

Tomato and Basil Omelet

Perhaps we should have checked what the Gastronomer had to say about Marston's before blinding entering the expensive premises (breakfast came out to about $17 a piece) as she is not a fan either.

Our magnificent lunch made up for whatever breakfast lacked and while we strolled around the beautiful Ghetti Museum I couldn't help but desire a short nap to recharge my food-overwhelmed batteries. The Ghetti is one of the more amazing museums in the world and so holding it together I managed to maintain at least some degree of alertness during our hour and a half stroll of the exhibits before closing time.

The view from The Ghetti.

It was five o'clock and we still had another hour and a half before meeting up with Laura in Studio City. That was when Jackson had an amazing idea: Urth Caffe. We ran to the car and began the perilous drive to Urth's Beverly Hill's location. After driving around aimlessly trying to find a parking spot we finally snagged one a block from the bustling hub of coffee and soon sat in the cool interior of what Dad calls the "shi-shi, foo-foo" location. The atmosphere was still splendid and as I sat and enjoyed my Italian cappuccino, which is a mix between a latte and an American cappuccino, I was in heaven.

Is that an alien on my Italian cappuccino?

Does this day sound like it was long or what?

After our brief pit stop at Urth we hopped onto Mulholland Drive and scooted over to Studio City where we toured Jackson's new home and then headed over to The Village for dinner. M. Night Shyamalan was not our server unfortunately.

Dusk in Studio City.

The restaurant was, as Andrew noted, a strange mix of hip and rustic. With dimmed lights and loud music it almost felt like a club, but water was served in wine bottles like many more rustic Italian restaurants. Regardless, the food was spectacular: especially the scallops which our very cute waitress suggested.

Crispy Cauliflower: Incredibly crispy while still maintaining a cauliflower flavor.

Truffle Jalapeno Mac and Cheese: smokey and spicy, this earthy treat is delicious.

Scallops: delicate, buttery and creamy, these scallops were awesome.

Mushroom Ravioli: smooth, earthy, and rich interior surrounded by perfectly al dente pasta.

Bread Pudding: the chocolate bread added depth to this warm and moist treat.

But alas Jackson was once again hit with the misery of the dark side of food, although the more we thought about it the more it seemed that it was the dark side of dairy that got to him. Damn it lactose, why do you only operate in absolutes?

Adios,
Jake

We Made it to California: Europane, Intelligentsia, In-N-Out, Bobby'sPlace

2013-06-10T17:52:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

In Los Angeles we had a plan, a set schedule if you will, of places to go, sites to see, and foods to eat. The list was vast and luckily Disney Land was emerged in black-out dates and we couldn't get in for free. Instead, we went forth to conquer the culinary world of LA...

We began in Pasadena, eating baked goods at the streamlined Europane Bakery just a few blocks from the apartment. Modern and sleek, this bakery was tasty but did not approach the awesomeness of Rustica in Minneapolis. My favorite pasty was by far the chocolate scone that was light, brittle, and altogether chocolatey. The giant English muffin was Europane's specialty, and while its sourdough complexion differed from any other English muffin it was, in the end, less of an innovative English muffin and more of a toned down piece of bread.

The inside of Europane, which Laura recommended. This long wooden community table made out of seemingly a single tree was a great central component to the bakery.

A mixture of strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries atop a shortbread cake and my favorite chocolate scone. The fruit mixed perfectly with the short bread to create a delicate a sweet treat; it just wasn't as good as the scone even if it was more aesthetically pleasing.

The giant sourdough English muffin. This creation was great, it really was, it just is hard to call it an English muffin. It seems to be more along the lines of some totally new creation. Also, the jam was amazing.

Jackson ordered a croissant, a chocolate croissant, and a cinnamon roll. I only tried the cinnamon roll, which was very good and looked sort of like a dormant volcano.

Andrew ordered a doughnut (the thing that has spirals), banana bread, and pear in puff pastry. The doughnut was very good and its novel shape made it fun to eat. The banana bread was filled with a very strong banana flavor, which was good if not a little one-dimensional. The pear in puff pastry was light with the pear slices in the middle going perfectly with the browned puff pastry. It was just a little hard to eat and, as the Gastronomer pointed out, not filled with all that much flavor.

We swiftly moved on to Intelligentsia, one of the best coffee shops in the world. Known for its scientific approach to brewing, I walked into the cafe expecting a space devoid of atmosphere. Instead, we entered a bustling arena with character, pizazz, and wonderful coffee. I ordered a cup of Los Delirios from Nicaragua and Jackson ordered a cup of Los Inmortales from El Salvador. Andrew contented himself with a craft soda while we waited for our coffee to be slowly poured by the highly trained barista.

Intelligentsia!

Did I mention that Intelligentsia also serves wine and beer? They even had Three Philosophers!

While costing a pretty penny at $5 a cup, Intelligentsia serves enough coffee for two cups and so both Jackson and I got to have a cup of each carefully prepared drink. Los Delirios tasted very traditional but had elevated caramel notes that made it a wonderful cup. Los Inmortales was unlike any coffee I'd consumed before and its hints of fruit made it a unique and terrific experience. By far the best drip coffee we'd consumed on our cross-country quest, Intelligentsia is a must visit coffee shop on any tour of the greater Los Angeles area; luckily they have a few locations.

Los Delirios. The serving style is unique and certainly gives you your money's worth.

Our day only in its infancy we proceeded to Santa Monica beach where Andrew and I frolicked in the water while Jackson sat brooding upon the sandy hill researching whether he could get Staph Infection from the cool ocean water. Through ridiculing yelps from Andrew and myself, Jackson remained aboard the land and refused entry into the refreshing and hypnotizing ocean. Luckily, he did partake in the creation of a sand-castle, er, retaining wall meant to keep out the ocean from an intended sand castle; we failed.

Can you believe this was the first time I'd been to the ocean is nearly four years?

Following our failed architectural achievement we headed towards Chavez Ravine to catch a Dodgers' game. First we made the requisite stop at In-N-Out for a quick dinner and this fast-food Los Angeles landmark did not disappoint. Quick, inexpensive, and tasty, In-N-Out does fast-food burgers they way they should be done. Each is cooked to order, the fries are make from freshly skinned potatoes, and the veggies atop are light and crispy. You won't have an enlightening experience consuming this upscale fast-food burger, but it does taste like eating real meat and not some salt-infused plastic substitute.

You have to get the Double-Double with onions at In-N-Out. I've heard something about "animal style" where they put everything imaginable on it, but I didn't brave that territory mostly because I didn't know about it at the time.

With our bellies filled, we headed to the place where Coach Gomez met Sandy Koufax and soon we sat in the left field bleachers of Dodger Stadium behind a group of very drunk girls. Between cheers from our left screaming "Tu estas listo Yasiel!," the giggling and laughing to our front, and the lameness of the game (between the Dodgers and the San Diego Padres), we left in the sixth inning and headed back on a stressful highway to Pasadena where we promptly sat down on the couch instead of venturing out to try gastropub after gastropub.

Our seats at Dodger Stadium. While the game may not have been all that great we can always say we saw Yasiel Puig's first major league hit. That was pretty cool.

Exhausted and ready for bed. Andrew was most definitely looking at Reddit.

This was where Laura found us and insisted we make the short trip over to Bobby's Place for some late night tacos. Pulling ourselves from our stupor we did just that and twenty minutes later we were back in the apartment chowing down on crispy taco shells, marinated crumbled beef, and veggies. While perhaps more suited for the "munchy" driven youths of Pasadena, Bobby's tacos were a perfect cap to a day of eating and adventure.

Ok, so the picture is pretty bad. The taco, however, was pretty good.

And this was only day one.

Adios,
Jake

California Here We Come: Dewey to Pasadena

2013-06-08T18:09:00.002-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

As we sat atop Cafe Santorini in downtown Pasadena the weight of our accomplishment began to sit in. We'd covered more than 3,500 miles in a little over two weeks, eaten at countless restaurants, and of course made it through four years at Kenyon. We enjoyed finally sitting in the California sun as we sat atop the balcony with Jackson's mom Laura and we looked forward to spending the next few days exploring California's iconic city.

The view from our drive earlier in the day.

The drive that day had been long. We'd traversed perilous cliffs outside of Dewey while descending onto the desert plain, crossed the waterless desert devoid of almost any other automobile, and stood in the hot sun outside of Palm Springs where I spent countless hours as a child...

A view from the back seat as Jackson chows down on a breakfast sandwich.

Like the day before, we ate little on the road. A few very tasty sandwiches that Andrew's aunt Kathryn made were put away swiftly on the road and after that we consumed little other than water as we sped ahead to complete our final haul across America's broad back.

Andrew got some first hand driving lessons as he traversed the perilous switch backs down to the desert floor below. He accomplished the feat with the bravery and precision of a, uh, master driver.

Unsurprisingly, by the time we arrived at the apartment in Pasadena we were most hungry. We unpacked what few belongings we had, were shown the ropes by Laura, and then within an hour headed out the door on a short tour of Pasadena before arriving at the picturesque Cafe Santorini situated on a lovely balcony in a back alley of Old Town.

Cafe Santorini sits on the balcony above. The rustic brick architecture was perfect. Laura is in the foreground and she walked ahead to show us the way.

I was brought back to my days in Greece, and as we were led to the table and I began to look over the menu the memories just flooded back. There on the beer list was Mythos, which I remember so clearly being held in Raven and Kristen's hands all those years ago during our first night out in Athens with Traveling Academy. My nostalgia tempted me to order the drink, but my palette argued otherwise and I decided to try the Pyramid Hefeweizen offered on the menu instead; I figured it was more likely to have greater flavor.

My cloudy and disappointing hefeweizen. It really was just too dark to be a good hefeweizen. Damn Americans couldn't make the beer right.

But it was the menu that brought me back to the Greece the most, for there in the pasta section was Yuvetsi, the amazing lamb dish I ordered time and time again the first time I visited Greece but was unable to find with Traveling Academy. I hadn't tasted Yuvetsi since 2006 and the moment I saw it I decided I had to order it.

We ordered hummus and spanikopita for the table and these appetizers emerged shortly after we cheered our drinks together. My beer was dark, cloudy, and served with an orange that I thought was overkill. It had a mild taste and maybe I would have been better off with the Mythos for its reminiscent characteristic. Luckily the appetizers were very good, with the hummus leading the way. A tiny bit spicy, the only thing missing from the dish were a few more pieces of pita bread.

The hummus. Nutty and a little spicy, this hummus was very good. The olive oil atop it gave it a great additional flavor and worked perfectly with the few pieces of pita bread given to us.

The spanikopita was very solid. The pastry itself was great, while the interior filling was light and earthy.

We recounted our encounter with the dark side of food very briefly in between consuming the appetizers and the arrival of our giant entrees. When these monstrosities did the arrive they looked amazing. Jackson had a lamb leg the size of a Hydra's neck on his plate, Mr. Culinary leisure had a bowl filled with an ocean of sea life, Laura's plate ringed with the most beautiful looking shrimp, and my Yuvektsi brought back as much nostalgia as ever.

Yuvetsi! I gotta say, this was pretty much as good as it was in Greece, but the Greeks got the portion sizes right.

The flavor was a perfect reminder of days gone past in Greece. With a rich lamb flavor throughout cut deeply by the rustic acidity of the tomato sauce, the Yuvetsi tasted like memories. The only real issue was that the portion size was huge and it was impossible for me to finish the entire plate; perhaps sharing would have been a better plan for all of us.

Following our picturesque dinner we continued our walk around Pasadena, passing restaurants and bars I definitely wanted to patronize before leaving in a couple days. Half way through our walking adventure we stopped at Rocket Fizz, an old fashioned candy store filled with every type of candy imaginable. Each of us settled on an artisan root beer, two candy bars, and a bag filled with a variety of taffy.

The Rocket Fizz was amazing. Not only were the candies out of this world but the walls were decorated with signs that would have looked glorious of our undecorated walls in Morgan 5. Witty and funny, the signs made the place awesome to be in.

Our day was ending in splendor and certainly made up for the lack of culinary delights along the hot and rather straight road. Yet, this night was just a temptation of the adventures we were to have in the following days. Los Angeles awaited us and there was nothing holding us back.

Adios,
Jake

Dishes of the Day: Well, I think you can figure this out from the body of the blog.

California Here We Come: Santa Fe to Dewey

2013-06-05T16:03:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

As we arrived in beautiful Dewey, AZ and the home and Andrew's aunt and uncle, our bellies were not filled with tasty delights. We'd been driving for hours along the flat highway with the tortilla chips in the car and the remnants of yet another great breakfast at The Pantry in Santa Fe being the only sustenance in our bodies...

The open road. How the landscape has changed since we set out from green Ohio.

The beautiful view from Tim and Kathryn's home in Dewey.

But memories of that delicious breakfast burrito were mostly gone as the sun was setting. Luckily Andrew's aunt and uncle prepared a bonafide feast for us filled with fresh salad, barbecued chicken, corn on the cob, and baked beans. We sat in the cool evening darkness, observed the beautiful skies above, and reveled in Tim's stories about ranching.

Jackson playing with Winston the dog.

How this short stopover was so much grander than any hotel could have ever been.

Adios,
Jake

Dishes of the Day:

The Pantry:

Rich, spicy, and starchy, this breakfast burrito is the best you'll find in Santa Fe. It is a requisite that you order it with green chile and not red. Oh, and get bacon in it.

The Return of the Foodies: Santa Fe

2013-06-04T15:55:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

Santa Fe was filled with adventure, both foodie filled and otherwise. Like any great food filled adventure it began with a bowl of plain pasta and ended with a slice of pizza. Wait, that just doesn't sound right. Plain pasta to slice of pizza? Hmmm. There must be a reason for this madness! And where was all the other food consumed on this gastronomic stopover on our casual 3,500 mile trip across the country?

Well, the food we ate in Santa Fe surrounded the events we attended. For we did not stop in Santa Fe just for a comfortable place to rest, but rather to attend the momentous graduation of my brother Adam from Santa Fe Prep. Following our own graduation less than two weeks before we weren't quite out of the graduation spirit, but the dark side of food prevented us from experiencing a second senior week while resting at the base of the beautiful Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

No visit to Santa Fe is complete without a thorough inhalation of wild fire smoke.

We set out in Santa Fe with a list of restaurants to get to, The Pantry, Jambo, Kakawa, and Harry's Road House were just a few, but the dark side had other plans for us as it refused to leave Jackson's body, courtesy of a ginormous BLT during our first real meal back from the dead...

Right near my former place of work, Big 5, Dr. Field Goods inhabits the building where I used to eat lunch frequently. It was an empty but awesome little New Mexican restaurant back then. I think Dr. Field Goods is going to be more successful.

Along with Adam, the three of us hungry voyagers headed to recently opened Dr. Field Goods Kitchen to cut the ribbon on a new lease for our stomachs. The restaurant put a new spin on New Mexican favorites and traditional specials inside of a hip and bustling interior. We sat at the bar and could observe much of the cooking going on beneath our very noses. The menu was amazing and soon bountiful dishes sat in front of us. I ordered a steak au poive sandwich that was peppery and delicious, but it was Jackson's BLT that had the most disastrous effects. This was not your normally lame BLT, but rather a monstrosity built around a bacon burger: a burger made entirely out of groudn up bacon. On a sensitive stomach, this delicious piece of food artwork was just too much and it sent Jackson along the path of slow recovery, much to our disappointment.

For you see many meals lay in our future. The first of which, a magnificent dinner at the Inn of the Anasazi in downtown Santa Fe saw us consume delicious heirloom tomatoes and elk loin in the beautiful hotel along with Charlie, Erica, Nana, and Mom and Dad. The graduation events were beginning and food was certainly a big aspect of the celebration.

After our stop at Dr. Field Goods we stopped by my Dad's office for some coffee. This was the perfect cappuccino we had there. Absolute perfection.

The following day, after Jackson slept little the night before, we decided not to go on any adventures. The treasure of Fenn Forrester called to us, but with Jackson and Andrew glued to Skyrim and a dentist appointment laying my future there was little time to explore. Instead we contented ourselves to playing Halo and Circus Maximus. The restful day allowed us to recuperate from our numerous days on the road and prepare ourselves for yet another Baccalaureate.

Andrew could not take his eyes off of Skyrim. It's a good thing we didn't have an Xbox at Kenyon.

While Jackson lay passed out at the house, Andrew and I headed to the St. Francis Auditorium along with the rest of my family to watch the annual Santa Fe Prep talent show...err Baccalaureate. Professor Shutt luckily didn't show up to give another lengthy and rambling speech, and instead we got to listen to my brother as he played a beautiful self-written song about being free.

At Baccalaureate following what is certainly the beginning of a very fruitful musical career.

Following a lengthy reception where I caught up with Victoria, a friend from high school and my senior prom date, our family headed over to the amazing Jambo Cafe to feast on West African and Caribbean cuisine. It was tasty as always and when we returned to the house we found Jackson once again lost somewhere in the world of Skyrim fighting dragons and ice wolves.

Victoria and I. With all the pictures being taken it felt like prom all over again.

The next day dawned with the promise of graduation, and followed the ceremony at Prep, where Anna Gunn of Breaking Bad gave the graduation address in a slightly more applicable way than Michael Bloomberg, we headed over to La Casa Sena for a beautiful lunch in the garden. The food itself was good, though dramatically overpriced, but the company was great and the garden a gorgeous spot to enjoy a celebratory meal.

The graduate himself. Off from Prep and headed to Seattle and bigger and better things.

La Casa Sena and our lunch in the garden. It really was beautiful...and there was a pretty good margarita to go along with it. Just not as good as the one at at the Inn of the Anasazi.

The day drawing to a close after a nap and hours of Star Wars Battlefront, we settled cozily around the dinner table with the rest of the family, boxes of pizza, and bottles of beer and laughed and smiled as the darkness of night shone through at last. Perhaps our days in Santa Fe were not filled with the adventures we dreamed of, but it was a wonderful few days and I don't think any of us, but maybe Jackson, would have changed them for anything.

Adios,
Jake

Dishes of the Week:

Dr. Field Goods Kitchen:

My steak au poive sandwich. Peppery and perfectly cooked, this sandwich with a bed of broccoli was delicious. The bread was soft but didn't get soggy and the peppercorn sauce was rich and smokey. The onion rings on the side were perfectly fried, bold, and light.

If and when you go to Dr. Field Goods you have to get the homemade ginger ale. Fresh made to order, this beverage combined sweet and sour to perfection with just a hint of heat. Refreshing a light, I wish I could drink this every day.

Inn of the Anazasi:

The heirloom tomato salad was glorious. With avocado on the side that was nutty and delicious, this artful masterpiece was a delight to my eyes and taste buds. The small tomato orbs that looked like salmon roe were sweet and light, and combined with the magnificent heirloom tomatoes and arugula, this salad was an amazing appetizer.

The elk loin was just beautiful. Cooked medium, though it should have been medium rare, this dish still tasted great. It was not gamey at all, and the beets and beet puree laid down on the plate added an earthy sweetness to the dish. The veggies added crunch, but seemed mostly superfluous to the delicious elk.

Jambo Cafe:

I ordered the coconut and pecan crusted chicken breast with sticky black rice as my entree at Jambo. This special was very good and looked beautiful. However, the coconut and pecan were largely lost on the plate as the sweetness of the sauce overpowered them. It was still delicious, but I recommend the Jerk Chicken or Coconut Chicken Curry before any specials that might be available.

La Casa Sena:

The tortilla shrimp at La Casa Sena. Originally served as six shrimp, the order was split in half as I shared it with Mr. Culinary Leisure. Sweet and spicy, this dish was very light. The shrimp were breaded well but lacked true flavor. The mango salsa, on the other hand, was great. Mixed along with the shrimp, the appetizer itself was light and very good. I ordered the chicken fajita special as an entree, and while solid it was not a dish I would normally pay $15 for.

The Food Strikes Back: Buena Vista

2013-05-30T14:19:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

There is nothing like food poisoning. It is debilitating, leaving you unwilling to move, uninterested in eating, and constantly holding onto a trash can. Unfortunately, this is the exact state the three of us found ourselves in as we lay in the Best Western in Buena Vista. The television played in endless streams of awful shows and movies as we lay writhing in fear of nausea. Saltine Crackers became our ambrosia and Gatorade our lifeblood. Each time a commercial for food shown from the television ahead of us we hid from looking at the gastronomic sights. Just thinking about the food we had consumed days previously brought sweat to our brows and fear to our stomachs.

How I wish this pain on no man or woman. Food was striking back at us for consuming it with such vigor, and for the night and day we lay in bed in Buena Vista food had its revenge upon on us. In the words of Adam Richman, food won.

But with each passing moment we grew stronger and more able to consume the all important nourishment of life. Saltines became chewy bars, chewy bars became bagels, and soon real food showed itself on the horizon coinciding with our arrival in Santa Fe. One step at the time we fought back against the evil that food can be and found ourselves at the doorstep of a return to past glories.

The specter of food, however, remained ominous behind our shoulders, forever making us question whether this victory simply won the battle or the war.

Adios,
Jake

California Here We Come: Boulder to Buena Vista

2013-05-29T12:57:00.002-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

The day we left Boulder began normally enough. We woke up, took our showers, packed up the room, said goodbye to Terry and Jenny, and hopped in the car to meet Sam, a good friend from high school, in Denver for breakfast. We picked up gas along the way, drove through some mild traffic, and found Jelly easily enough near Denver University's campus. All signs pointed to this being a completely normal day. The three of us were tired but that was to be expected after spending a week on the road.

Jelly Cafe. I really wished I tried a few other things on the menu. It looked pretty glorious.

Jelly, which Sam promised would be the best breakfast we ever had, was busy when we arrived. We put in our name and waited the twenty minutes before being seated. Sam arrived a few minutes after we were seated in a booth inside the brightly colored interior of the restaurant and soon we were talking like old times and looking over the menu. Almost everything looked awesome. Frosted Flake pancakes, scrambles that sounded out of this world, and eggs benedicts that were unlike any I'd seen before. We decided to order a series of doughnut holes for the table and I ordered the Northwest Scramble, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, goat cheese, chives, and sourdough bead, for my main breakfast entree.

It was nice sitting in the restaurant and catching up. We talked of many things. Andrew and Jackson explained their new jobs for about the hundredth time, Sam talked about her determination to enter the business world, and I, well, I discussed my exciting but unknown future. The doughnuts arrived hot out of the fryer and we chowed down. Soft and delicious, they were filled with the most delicious fillings. They satisfied my sweet tooth prior to the savory scramble I looked forward too. When this arrived it also looked awesome. While the scramble itself was tasty, it was the potatoes that stole the show. Starchy, tasty, and filling, the potatoes shone far above everything else on the dish.

Having finished up breakfast we drove Sam back to her apartment just a few blocks away and went up to the balcony to look out over Denver. It was a beautiful sight. The mountains were in the background and the eclectic Denver architecture lay beneath it in perfect harmoy. Sadly we could not stay for long as the open road called to us again, so after taking a few pictures we set out from Sam's apartment and our memories in Denver for Buena Vista and the mountain passes that awaited us.

Sam and I standing on the balcony with the beautiful view behind us. It's hard to believe we've known each other for ten years. How things have changed since then.

But we were soon to find out that all was not well. Andrew was the first to be hit by food's revenge. It was in the backseat as we drove down the first mountain pass and forced us to retreat off the highway for water, plastic bags, and rest. Jackson and I, both of us feeling tired and a bit out of sorts, knocked on wood that we too would not be attacked by the evil that is food poisoning. We prayed that altitude changes were the cause of Andrew's misfortune.

We would not be so lucky.

By the time we arrived in Buena Vista we were exhausted. A short stop in Leadville at 10,000 feet had left us panting and out of breath as we simply walked along the two-hundred meter long downtown. Now as Andrew lay in bed and Jackson and I ventured to the City Market to get provisions things were not looking good. We were supposed to drive to Santa Fe the next day, but food's evil side had other plans as it took revenge on us for so decimating its compatriots.

We continued to feel worse as the night progressed, and as we watched Mermaids on Animal Planet the nausea emerged no longer as a distant fear but as a reality. Yet, the night was young and the worst of it was yet to come.

Food had finally come to defeat us. Would we ever recover to eat once more?

Adios,
Jake

Dishes of the Day:

Jelly:

The warm, delicious, and filling filled doughnuts. They varied from chocolate and raspberry to bacon and maple syrup. Truly a tantalizing part of a complete breakfast.

The Northwest Scramble. Very light and tasty, as I wrote above the potatoes were the star of the dish. The salmon was very good, but was easily overpowered by the goat cheese in the dish.

California Here We Come: Boulder and Denver

2013-05-29T00:48:00.000-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

May 25th was a beautiful day. Warm, clear, and full of promise, the day greeted us three weary travelers as we drove through downtown Boulder towards The Buff Restaurant. Home of some of the best food we'd eaten on our first road trip, The Buff was an absolute must today. After a twenty minute wait we were seated at a booth and quickly looked over the menu before us. I decided on the Matterhorn skillet: a basket of potatoes, ham, mushrooms, Swiss cheese, two fried eggs, and an English muffin. It was glorious as it emerged from the kitchen, and the super cute waitress taking care of us certainly helped make this meal a perfect beginning to our day (though sadly I did not give her my business card as Andrew insisted I should. Maybe if we were in Boulder for more than one day? And no, that is not a euphemism).

At The Buff two years ago: young, naive, and unlearned in the way of food blogging.

We followed up The Buff with a trip to Ozo Coffee in the heart of Boulder. Clean, busy, and filled with music, Ozo also made a great cup of coffee. Though served a little too hot, this cafe produced coffee close to that at Rustica Bakery and the dose of caffeine we needed to power us through a beer tasting in Denver with Max, another fellow Steele Intern and a great friend...

The inside of Ozo Coffee. Definitely a little clean cut for a coffee house but the product was good and it had its own character: see the community charging port that Jackson used to charge his IPhone.

Unfortunately a trip to Denver necessitated the use of a motor vehicle and so I took it upon myself to be the designated driver and drink only two beers over five hours. Yes, this may seem like little to some of you drinking titans but at mile-high elevation those two beers were plenty. We met up with Max at Denver Beer Company, an open air tap house whose atmosphere was relaxed, fun, and refreshing. We saddled up the bar and I ordered a Ticklish Zwickle, kindly paid for by Max as a birthday present, while Andrew and Jackson both ordered flights ($1 per beer!). We sat at the bar catching up on the past ten months, reminiscing about the Hall of Fame, and of course sipping our beers in the hot Denver air.

Looking cool outside of the Great Divide.

Soon, however, we set off from Denver Beer Co. and headed towards the Great Divide Tap House. This venue, arguably home of some of the best beer around, had a remarkably different atmosphere than our first destination. Home of the legendary Yeti (which none of us partook in this day), Great Divide combines the bustle of a bar with the relaxed atmosphere of a separate seating area. We chose this location and soon reverted to laughter as we told stories of friends and foes alike (well, not too many foes...). The Hoss Barley Lager I drank was tasty and certainly made me high in spirits as we sat amongst other imbibing patrons.

Yes, those are llamas walking down the street. We also witnessed a music festival and a protest against Monsanto.

Having finished off our beers we headed to our final beer destination of the day: Freshcraft. After passing a few leashed goats and llamas on our walk to the bar we found ourselves in the mood lighted atmosphere of the restaurant. Seated in a booth we soon got to looking over the menu in order to fill our bodies with nutrients and dim the effects of the alcohol. Both Jackson and I abstained from ordering barley-pops while Max and Andrew decided to try some of the local fair. Freshcraft was fantastic. The menu was varied and the prices reasonable. I decided upon berry glazed lamb ribs served with green beans and corn bread. The food was better than any bar food I'd eaten before and as we sat in the dim interior of the restaurant it was clear that we had experienced a great day.

Proof that we actually met up with Max! Notice the Denver Beer Co. t-shirt and the Rockies hat.

Having sobered up completely we said our "see you laters" to Max and headed back to Boulder with no plans for the rest of the day. No plans, of course, can turn into the greatest plans and soon we looked out at the city of Boulder from the side of a mountain as the sun set. We picnicked on remnants from the previous night's dinner and some strawberries that would have grave consequences. Nevertheless, the night was glorious, the view buttiful (and no, that is not a typo. Go check out Lewis and Clark's log), and our spirits high.

The view from our perch on the mountain. What a beautiful view to watch the colors of the sunset reflect upon the city of Boulder. Jackson even tried to kill a deer...he was unsuccessful and so he pretended to be a Muok.

This road trip was just filled with adventure

Adios,
Jake

Dishes of the Day:

The Buff:

The Pecan Caramel Quesadilla. This savory sweet masterpiece combined the crunch of candied pecans with the sweetness of the caramel to create a tasty creation. The candied pecans left an almost smokey aftertaste in my mouth that made the dish. Served with a pecan and yogurt dipping sauce that perfectly cut the sweetness of the food, this was a great pre-breakfast treat.

The Matterhorn Skillet. A ham and cheese sandwich on steroids, this dish maybe would have served better as a lunch item than a breakfast item. Nevertheless it was rich, intricate, and mutli-flavored as the mushrooms truly made the dish spectacular. The fresh strawberry jam paired with the lightly toasted English muffin was just amazing. However, I would definitely recommend the Ole if you are ever to go to The Buff. This chorizo and green chile masterpiece that I ordered last time is to the die for.

Freshcraft:

The Berry Glazed Lamb Ribs. Now this is truly great bar food. The lamb was tender and mild. I'd never eaten lamb ribs before and these were spectacular. The green beans were run of the mill, but the corn bread covered in butter and cheddar cheese was out of this world. The corn bread crumbled perfectly and mixed with the creaminess of the melted cheese to create a flavor profile truly unlike anything I'd ever tasted before. I highly recommend this dish!

California Here We Come: Rapid City to Boulder

2013-05-26T18:56:00.002-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

We stood on the side of the road looking out across the plain. The wind howled past us, presenting me, at least, with a song of sadness. Before us a red metal sign told the story of the past, telling of the blood, the sadness, and the confusion. I wanted to stand alone upon this plain, alone to ruminate in its majesty and its power. Yet we were not alone. Before us groups of men and women sat, offering information on Wounded Knee and disturbing the silence I wanted to experience. For me this was not a site that needed social interaction. This site, much like the lonely hill at Thermopylae, seemed to deserve silence and an escape from modernity or commercialism. Jackson, Andrew, and I crossed the road to the common grave of the dead and on this hill the sadness of the place overcame me. The air was sad. The wind howled a sad song. And the people before us, trying desperately to make the most of their existence, were sad. The whole place, so defined by the actions of American men, stood a sad reminder of the horrors mankind can perpetrate. And while I may have desired to stand in absolute stillness, the truth of Wounded Knee, the place that we experienced, is more telling of its impact than an empty hill, forgotten except in mythical dramatizations and a lonely stone plaque laid in the ground...

The seductive lonely road.

This day, my birthday, was different from the other days. We did not eat like gourmands but instead traveled the seductive highway. It called to me, asking questions without giving me answers, pulling me closer to the realization that I was now entering an uncertain future. As I received texts, calls, and Facebook messages wishing me "happy birthday" we hurtled along the road. After leaving Rapid City, and a breakfast at the Comfort Suites, Andrew drove us to Mount Rushmore. Commercialized and filled with tourists, Mount Rushmore did not rise in the wilderness as homage to America’s past but rather an attraction as much as Disney Land or Niagra Falls. I yearned for the feeling of emerging from the back country to view the massive sculpture like an explorer stumbling out of the wilderness. Yet this place, this American icon, disappointed me. It was cool to be there, just not as powerful as I imagined or desired.

Andrew and Jackson in front of Mount Rushmore.

Leaving the less than grand Mount Rushmore we began the journey east towards Wounded Knee. The landscape was beautiful and variant. Plains, mountains, and forests met our eyes as we traveled across the landscape. The road was empty and driving alone on the road was freeing. We could see for miles. The dips and valleys of the earth excited us and as we continue to drive, away from Wounded Knee, through Nebraska, and finally into Wyoming and Colorado the earth was more than beautiful. I think every few moments we exclaimed at the beauty of the world and our gratefulness for choosing this route across the nation.

Sunset as we drove into Boulder. The sun against the mountains was simply amazing to look at. I was lucky enough to be in the passenger seat to be able to snap a few pictures of this glorious natural occurrence.

Finally, after hours of driving across gorgeous America, we arrived in Boulder. Before we headed to our place of rest, our friends Terry and Jenny's home, we decided to stop at Whole Food to grab some grub. The market was vast, but luckily within the first few minutes we decided what to get. Sandwich supplies and beer. Twenty minutes later we walked out of Whole Foods with turkey, sopresseta, three year aged smoked cheddar cheese, Dijon mustard, two tomatoes, sourdough bread, and three bottles of beer.

The food we made was certainly the best of the day and as we settled into the carriage house above the garage after chatting with Terry and Jenny I knew it had been a good birthday. We may not have eaten a meal like that at o ya a year before, but I had as much fun on the road as in a small back alley restaurant in Boston.

Adios,

Jake

Dishes of the Day:

Home Cooked Meal:

Ok, so it's a little half eaten, but hey it was really good. The tomatoes were the star of the dish while the two meats and the cheese were a little overshadowed. Individually, however, every item was delicious. And paired with Ommegang Hennepin and Maredsous Tripel made this dinner a delicious late night special

California Here We Come: Minneapolis to Rapid City

2013-05-26T17:54:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

We stood beneath the lights of downtown Rapid City reflecting on the serenity of this quiet mountain town. The air was cool and no noise filtered through its purity. We were looking for Firehouse Brewing Company, which was purported to have only decent food but excellent beer. It was a combination that we could not pass up.

Firehouse! Once we found it that is.

The day began similarly to the day before, with a trip to Rustica Bakery for pastries and coffee. Pat came along with us and the four of us sat mostly in silence as we ate our pastries and sipped our coffee. We were tired. Luckily the coffee woke us up, for the open road called to us and Rapid City lay somewhere in our future...

The road was long, but where the drive from St. Louis to Boulder two years ago was daunting and dangerous (there were tornadoes in the region that year), this drive was relaxing and beautiful. We passed lake after lake in Minnesota, Coach First's new home at Gustavus Adolphus, and through the ever changing topography of South Dakota. Grasslands gave way to badlands and finally mountains. At each stop along the steppes of North America we reveled in the howling wind that rushed past our ears. It blew our clothes about and invigorated our lungs with the freshness of adventure.

The drive from Minneapolis to Rapid City was beautiful. The landscape changed dramatically as we drove west and where Kansas had been flat and boring this drive held our attention the entire time.

The outside of Nick's Gyros in Sioux Falls. Jackson did some research on the road and found this place. Definitely not a bad place to stop on the road as it was quick, cheap, and pretty good.

Along the road food was scarce, but we did not have to scavenge and hunt like those pour souls on the Oregon Trail. Instead we found sustenance at Nick's Gyros in Sioux Falls, a dive where the food was surprisingly tasty and pictures of Monemvasia called me back to Greece, and a malted milkshake at Wall Drug, the largest tourist trap in the region. But the pinnacle of road food certainly came after our arrival in the picturesque Rapid City. Driving from our hotel on the outskirts of town we soon found ourselves walking through the quiet streets until we came upon the sign announcing our arrival at Firehouse.

Wall Drug. I can't say this was a highlight of the day, but it was certainly interesting. There were signs advertising it for hundreds of miles. That's right, hundreds of miles!

The view from the parking lot of our hotel at dusk. There is so much of this country that is amazingly beautiful that can be missed so easily. The views we have seen on this journey have been astounding.

The decor was mirrored after that of, you guessed it, a firehouse, and just as wise Google promised the beer was excellent. I sampled the Centennial Cream Stout, a pitch black beer that was was smooth, light, and sweet. The food itself was German themed but certainly sub par. The Banger Ladder I ordered, a combination of sausage and mashed potatoes, lacked flavor until the beer mustard was applied; the sausages were also potentially undercooked. Nevertheless, Rapid City held our attention and as we set back for our hotel, dreams of the morrow and the seduction of the open road on our minds, we were glad we stopped in Rapid City.

Adios,
Jake

Dishes of the Day:

Rusitca Bakery:

This raisin roll at Rustica was amazing. It was sweet, crunchy, and delicious. The raisins added a delightful natural sweetness to the pastry and the center of the roll was a glorious disc of tender sweetness.

Nick's Gyros:

California Here We Come: Minneapolis

2013-05-24T00:42:00.002-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

It was cold where Chicago was hot. It was raining where Chicago was sunny. It was Minneapolis where Chicago was, well, Chicago. Yet, for all its atmospheric deficiencies Minneapolis provided just as much adventure and good food as its neighbor to the south east.

Rustica Bakery where we got an amazing breakfast. They also did slow pour coffee, which was wholly awesome. The best coffee I've had since Cartel Coffee Lab in Scottsdale, AZ.

We arrived in the Twin Cities with few plans but to visit Pat and so we set out on Wednesday to explore as much of the city as we could. We began the day as all days should begin: with a great breakfast and two equally great cups of coffee. Following the cornucopia of pastries at Rustica Bakery, all six of which were delicate, flaky, and delicious, we set out for the Minneapolis Institute of Art, which we decided upon after a lengthy deliberation. After an arduous journey trying to follow the advice of Ms. Google, we arrived at the Ionic facade of the admission free museum, and we were impressed by its regal composition. While Jackson talked to Hildy, Andrew and I entered the museum immediately faced the familiar body of the Doryphorus that I had learned so much about in Professor Kontes' Greek Archaeology Class.

The daunting entrance to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. The fact that this place is free is amazing. If you are ever in Minneapolis you have to go to the institute. You will spend hours there and still not see everything.

But this was just the entrance that museum was vast. We wandered for hours, looking at the modern art of Allen Brewer, Doug Aitken's moving video "Migration" depicting the now confined North American migratory animals within motel rooms, and a photo exhibit titled "Strangers in a Strange Land." I was not hit the penetrative stare of Elisabeth Vigee Lebrun's Vavara Ivanova Ladomirsky that I felt in the Columbus Museum of Art when I ventured there with Jenna, but the institute held my attention and certainly was mesmorizing.

"Her eyes were piercing. I felt them staring down into the depths of my soul as I stared at their brown and amber depths. My world was gone, taken up by an orange hue that engulfed the periphery of my sight while this woman and her ever-staring eyes took up the rest. I felt uncomfortable, vulnerable, and in a way violated. She could see things I myself could never know. She could look at me from within her golden frame and see me for who I truly was..." This is Lebrun's painting, and above is the beginning of what I wrote about it.

As we wandered the museum our stomachs began to growl. We wanted to go to Andrew Zimmern's AZ Canteen food cart, but it was closing in twenty-minutes, and so instead we headed back towards The U and Pat's suggestion of Punch Neapolitan Pizza. At traditional Italian pizzas running $5 and toppings at $1 a pop, we went all out, ordering three pizzas and a Nutella panini. The price was certainly not indicative of the crazy culinary flavors and as we sat in the relaxed New American interior we exclaimed at the magnificence of the food.

The tree with all the shoes! No, this is not a massive drug drop. Apparently, it is a tradition for graduating UMN seniors to throw a pair of shoes on the tree because they do so much walking around campus during their four years. Pretty cool!

Soon, however, the warmth of the pizza dissipated as we reentered the damp outside world to find directions to the building where Andrew was to meet his future PI. We ventured into the vast Alumni Center, walked to the Golden Gopher stadium, and did a quick workout while running to put more money in the parking meter. We did that about three more times as we walked back and forth, waited for Andrew to finish his meeting, met up with Pat, and observed a tree covered in shoes (aparently a U tradition according to Amanda). A couple hours after dropping Andrew off, the four of us headed back to the car to meet up with Amanda, a fellow Steele Intern, at Midtown Global Market.

Amanda, Andrew, Paaaaaat, and Jackson in Global Market. It was pretty cool to bring Cooperstown to Kenyon in Minneapolis.

Immediately we got stuck in traffic. but luckily Minneapolis was not LA and within twenty minutes we were walking into the vast interior of the Global Market alongside Amanda and began looking for delicious food to eat. Very similar to North Market in Columbus, Global Market was not as tightly packed and wide avenues allowed us to see deep into the corners of the giant room. After wandering for a few minutes, we gathered at a table with food from three different restaurants (I got food from The Left Handed Cook) and soon set out reveling in each others company, sharing laughs and stories, and chowing down on some awesome food. We concluded our dinner with some sweet mango and pear Italian Ice from Grand Italian Ice and Custard and parted ways with Amanda as we headed back to Pat's apartment to rest up before our long drive to Rapid City the next day.

Minneapolis had been a success, filled with food, friends, and memories.

Adios,
Jake

Dishes of the Day:

Rustica Bakery:

The Apricot Soleil was light, fluffy, and buttery. The apricot added a slight sweetness to the pastry and the crust itself was crunch, which was music to my...uh, tongue?

The Lemon Danish was my favorite. The custard inside was similar to that of a lemon meringue pie and was light, flavorful, and had a firm but creamy texture. The pastry, like all the pastries, was light, crispy, and crunchy and was slightly sweet.

Punch Neapolitan Pizza:

The Napoli Pizza with spicy salami. A Napoli pizza is similar to a Margherita Pizza but it substitutes oregano for basil. Honestly this difference was heavenly. The oregano added an earthy spice to the pizza and along with the back of the throat heat of the salami made this an excellent dish for lunch.

This is the sausage margherita pizza, but I think the caper pizza that Andrew ordered was truly the best (unfortunately I did not get a good picture of it). The capers added a rustic acidity to the pizza similar to what an olive oil would have done. It was also salty from the pickling process and this accentuated the flavors of the pizza making it excellent. I think a combination of this with the spicy salami with a little bit of oregano would have been awesome.

The Left Handed Cook:

The Ma Bell, a rice bowl with pork belly, a variety of veggies, and a poached egg. Oh. My. God. This was ambrosia in a bowl. It was a little unwieldy to eat but everything tasted amazing. The pork was tender, rich, and not overpowering. It complimented the strong spicy flavors in the dish perfectly. The poached egg was cooked perfectly and the yolk added great flavor to the rice, veggies, and pork.

Hildy Visits Easton, by Hildy

2013-05-22T22:19:00.001-04:00

Dear Hungry Readers,

Hi all! I’m Hildy and one of Jake’s friends at Kenyon. I was inspired by Kerry’s recent guest post and wanted one of my own! Luckily, I recently went out to eat, which I guess is the qualification for writing on this blog.

My boyfriend Jackson (heavily featured in this blog) and I took a trip to Easton mid-finals week with two goals in mind: I needed a dress and Jackson needed new dress shoes for graduation. As we pulled away from campus in my faithful 1991 Toyota Corolla, Betsy, I realized that we both probably needed a break (“our last break”, as Jackson pointed out) from Kenyon. Our school is an incredibly amazing place, but can also be a major source of stress for the 1600 students that call it “home”. Lately, all of the sentimental “lasts” have really been getting to me, and spending a few hours away can be really instrumental in developing some perspective. So overall, it was a very necessary and worthwhile trip.

When we arrived in Columbus, Jackson decided he “could wait” for lunch, so we started with some shopping. I looked around the sale racks of Gap as Jackson picked out a new bright blue v-neck t-shirt. I remarked on the difference between the snap decision he made about the t-shirt and the sort of thought process my girlfriends and I agonize over when we go shopping - is the article of clothing a good value? Will I wear it often enough to justify the purchase? Do I have anything too similar? Will I be able to wear it with other things I already own? Do I like anything else better? Jackson quickly got a taste (notice - food pun on a food blog!!! Look at me go!) of this sort of complicated decision-making when I dragged him into Forever 21. I quickly dropped him off in the scanty “Forever Men” section while I perused the rest of the overwhelming selection. I chose several dresses to try on, and Jackson graciously accompanied me to the dressing room to give me his opinions. After receiving his input, I decided I need more time to mull over my choices, and so Jackson retired to a bench outside the store to wait for me. Several minutes later, I sheepishly walked out of Forever 21 without any of the dresses, and declared that we could come back on our way out if I’d made up my mind. I’m not sure Jackson quite understood as I tried to explain my logic in not purchasing any of the options and waiting to see if I found something else I liked better, but he acquiesced and we decided to go to lunch. He picked out one of the first restaurants we had seen when we arrived, Brio Tuscan Grille.

Unfortunately, Jackson and I didn't get any food or restaurant pictures, so this was stolen from Google Images. The restaurant was fancy but inviting!

Brio Tuscan Grille had a fancy sit-down atmosphere. I saw people celebrating someone’s birthday - it was obviously a destination sort of restaurant and not as informal as Piada, the other restaurant Jackson and I had eaten at during our last Easton trip. We were seated on the patio, which had a nice indoor/outdoor feel with a large garage door open to the outside.

Jackson had not had a real meal since breakfast of the previous day, due to the Wilder Invitational he had run the previous night. Our waiter brought over a variety of bread options as we were looking at the menu. I commented on how the bread was still warm, which would have met Jake’s approval. Jackson ordered soup, which prompted me to do the same. I got the tomato soup, which was thick and creamy. I generally don’t appreciate meat dishes, so I don’t remember exactly what Jackson ordered for his meal (sorry Jackson!), but I do remember that he really liked it. I got the “Insalata Roma”, which is described on the menu as “Tricolore with candied pecans, grapes, Gorgonzola, tomatoes, grilled asparagus, roasted red peppers and a zesty balsamic vinaigrette”. Our waiter made a semi-awkward comment about me being a vegetarian and not adding chicken to my meal, but I was very happy with my decision. The salad was delicious - the grapes were really unexpected and added a sweet element. I offered Jackson some of my grapes, as they are one of his favorite fruits (and the basis for his New Year’s Eve tradition based on his Spanish heritage).

I think Jackson may have had a pasta dish of some kind, so I snagged another Google Images picture of one of their pasta meals.

Jackson and I had a wonderful lunch chatting about random topics - probably gently teasing Jake and trying to avoid discussing the impending changes in our lives. Spending time with important people in my life is one of my biggest priorities, and taking the time to do so in the middle of my last finals week at Kenyon was fun and special.

After lunch, Jackson and I continued shopping. As it turns out, I didn’t stick with any of my options from Forever 21 and opted instead for a white dress from H&M. Jackson made a quick trip to Nordstrom’s (I didn’t leave him with very much time to pick out shoes after my time-consuming decision making process), and we hurried over to Ohio State for my meeting before heading home to Kenyon, very satisfied with our trip and ready to face our last few days as Kenyon students.

The results of our Easton purchases! Jackson's shoes are not visible in this picture, but I bought the dress I'm wearing during our adventure.