If you’ve never read Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, “The Last
American Man”, I suggest you pick it up this Fourth for a bit of
quirky, patriotic fun. It chronicles the true story of a modern day
hero who lives in a teepee in the Appalachian Mountains, eating only
what he himself picks, raises or kills. The guy is an egomaniac and a
genius, and the writing, especially when detailing how he forages in
the woods, is funny and sensitive and page-turningly good.
The only problem with that book is the title. He’s not the last American man. My mother is.
She spends every summer, and most of every fall, wading through rivers
with a fly-fishing rod, and hiking giant, shale-covered mountains to
sleep under the stars. She’s had staring contests with bears and
cougars, weathered lightning storms under scraggly trees, and once
hiked three miles back to her truck with a broken tailbone.
A friend of mine from NYC called the other day to ask which pie bakery I preferred. He had guests from Norway stopping by that afternoon for coffee and wanted to offer them a slice of “American pie”.
We've lived in Pacific Palisades for many years, treasuring its small town qualities as a respite from the congestion of the Los Angeles megalopolis. The 4th of July brings out the best in our community. We celebrate Independence Day by getting together with our neighbors, family, and friends. The celebrations begin in the morning with the 5k/10k run, the parade down Sunset at mid-day, an early evening picnic, and conclude with the night-time fireworks at the high school.
This summer marks my thirty-first year as an attorney. But when I think back to the summer of 1978 it is not a courtroom that I see; rather I recall a brilliant sunny July day barbecuing at the base of the Seattle Space Needle on a Weber grill. About twenty of us from the country’s largest pork producing states were vying for first place in National Pork Cook-Out Contest. Truth be told though the southern states, principally North Carolina, Texas and Tennessee are known for barbecue the big boys of pork are Iowa, Missouri, Illinois, Nebraska and Kansas. They were the guys to beat.
Traditional sangrias are luscious, bold blends of fruits, wine and spirits, often
served in pitchers or punch bowls. But this wonderfully refreshing
summer drink from Spain and Portugal leaves plenty of room for
improvisation.