Like many people, we're taking an end of summer trip. This time of year
makes us appreciate those things that fill us with joy. Spending time
with friends and family, having leisurely meals, taking long walks on
the beach, and, special to this summer, watching the Olympics and
following the political campaigns.
More than usual, the fall will bring big changes to our household because
our son, Michael, is preparing to leave for his freshman year at
college. So it was important to find time to take a trip to New Jersey
to visit with Michelle's parents.
With few exceptions,
Michelle's extended family has stayed on the East Coast. A few years
ago they had a family reunion at a nearby resort and 75 aunts, uncles,
and cousins came for the weekend. Sunday at Helen and Warren's means
brunch for 20, setting up a table in the living room, bringing out the
folding chairs, and sharing platters of bagels, lox, coffee cake, cold
cuts, cheese, egg salad, tuna salad, fresh fruit, and lots of Helen's
special iced coffee.
Travel
Travel
Surf n Turf n Sand n Surf
Lots of winters, I’ve been lucky enough to join in the migration unique to a certain subspecies of Los Angeles native where flocks of family units pick up and move five hours by oversold mechanized bird west to an abbreviated hyphen of sand in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. But I don’t mean to sound dispassionate or cynical or something, because the nagging concerns of existential meaning1 that the previous sentence might appear to have summoned kind of just slink away when that first warm blanket of air wraps you up in the middle of December, when the roars of leaf-blowers and the 101 have been traded for the soft lapping of the sea, when you first pull up to the shining white sprawl of a resort where everything from the photocopied New York Times crossword puzzles waiting at breakfast to the pool waterslide helps aid in the dissolution of whatever negative thoughts might be careening around between your ears.
Never mind that the concept of vacation as escape is turned into this sort of farce due to the feeling that all inhabitants of Southern California who travel to Hawaii during the holidays end up staying at one of three hotels within half a mile of each other on the western shore of Maui and hyper-image-conscious businesspeople/kids/vague acquaintances bump into their peers all week long, except that all the judging here goes on while everybody is half-naked. Never mind all of that; it’s totally possible to ignore the Dark Side of this scene and just chill out.
Food Factory Miyake
Hey, it’s raw. But that doesn’t make it simple.
It’s a commonplace that sushi is a culinary style that comes very close
to offering food in it’s natural state. So we expect it to be
ridiculously fresh, clean and manipulated only for presentation.
There’s a new-ish sushi place here in Portland, its tiny space
appropriately described by many as a jewel. Portland Maine you say?
Japanese cuisine in Maine? Then you don’t know just how much of what
starts out here in Maine ends up Tokyo’s Tsukiji market – the greatest
fish market in the world and a mecca for sushi chefs and other seafood
nuts. Ah, but I digress…
The Perfect Paella
A couple of summer months filled with many beachside lunches of paella so good and so long ago that I am still chasing the memories of a perfect paella. My sister and I were in the Catalonian village of Arenys de Mar for a good part of the summer. On the wide, white beach surrounded by rugged hills were a handful of rustic 'restaurants' that made only paella over wood fires. They were makeshift structures covered with bright pieces of miss-matched canvas tacked down to keep the strong Spanish sun and ocean breeze at bay. These little makeshift restaurants were always busy for lunch, the only meal that they served and I had my favorite one.
The beach side paella restaurateurs were waiting like gulls as the little boats motored back to port around 10 o’clock in the morning. Each boat filled with the fresh caught fish and shellfish still moving violently seeking to be set free. There was fish to fillet and chunk, stock to make, onions and peppers to chop and most importantly the wood-fire had to be started, time was of the essence.
My favorite restaurant had a round stone fire pit built on the sand. A variety of wood collected from the beach was piled into the pit covering yesterday's scrunched up newspaper which was barely visible in the center. A wooden match was struck and the day's cooking commenced. When the flames burned down, the cook balanced a grill on top of the stone pit.
Fireworks in Paradise
Cecilia was a ‘10’ on a scale of one to two. She had unmitigated primal passion. Her sexual appetite was unparalleled and horizontal. It was vertical and diagonal. When I suggested to Cecilia that we spend the Fourth of July in Hawaii, she responded by giving me a fireworks show in the bedroom that went on till daybreak.
After Cecilia made my night, I made travel plans. We would first go to Hanalei Bay on the North Shore of Kauai. Then to Maui – Kaanapali Beach and Hana.
As I was packing for the trip, the phone rang. It was Cecilia. She stammered and fumfered and did everything audibly possible without actually forming words.
“What’re you trying to tell me?” I asked repeatedly.
“I can’t go,” she finally said.
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