It's not a common occurrence for me to be hit with something that rocks the fabric of my gastronomical universe so unbelievably hard that I'm forced to reassess all that I believed to know about food and my own taste buds. Quietly hiding in the heart of Ohio, I had come upon what I can only call a culinary A-bomb, and it came in the form of a deceivingly plain post dinner pie. Encased by a simple crust, peaches purchased from Amish neighbors lay nestled in gooey fruitiness, cold vanilla seeping in from the sides. It looked harmless enough.
The first bite stops time. Holy smokes! Where has this been all my life? Had I really been eating pie before? As I continued to devour bite after bite I realized the entire goodness of this pie lay in the fact that the peaches, perhaps the best I'd ever had, were fresh, locally grown and home baked. I was beginning to question the origins of everything I've eaten before. Where had it been coming from and why hadn't I ever tasted ingredients that were this good?
After growing up in Western Massachusetts, it didn’t take me long to
become spoiled living in Los Angeles. Not only do we constantly have
fresh produce from around the world, but delicacies from every nation
are well-represented. Mexican food didn’t reach my hometown until I
was in college and even then it was either Chi-Chi’s or Taco Bell,
neither of which is very authentic or culinary genius. Regardless of
quality, the food was something completely new and I was immediately
hooked on guacamole, chips, salsa and greasy crispy tacos. Once I
landed here – and got a taste of the real thing – there was no
stopping my cravings for all things “South of the Border.“ L.A. is the
crossroads of the world when it comes to food and I never realized how
lucky I was to live here until I went to Europe for a month.
Do you remember Mrs. Gooch’s health food stores? Opened in West Los
Angeles in 1977, Sandy Gooch’s markets served Southern California
hazard-free food until Whole Foods acquired it in 1993. If you remember
it fondly, you’re ripe for the picking. And let’s face it, if you’re
reading this you know its time for an escape. Religious experience or
not, the desert is dialing your exhausted and stressed number. Life can
take its toll, especially for those who spend a great portion of their
day trudging through traffic under the constant sun of Los Angeles,
California. It’s only human to reconnect with nature by departing the
idiosyncratic superficialities that surround you: billboards demanding
you lose weight, drink specific liquor, or watch the latest blockbuster
that diminishes your intelligence. Let a Midwesterner tell you weeks of
nothing but vitamin D infused blue skies can cause disenchantment!
Last weekend I did one of those things that’s really not fair to do to
your boyfriend. I told him I wanted to do something extra fun and that
I wanted him to plan it. I do this to him a lot and we often end up
happily watching a movie and eating take-out instead, so I didn’t think
anything of it when I canceled on him last-minute. He waited until I
got home from dinner to tell me that he had actually come up with a
plan, “What is it??” “It’s no big deal.” “What is it??” “We can do it
another night.” “What is it?!” So he told me that he was going to ask
me if I didn’t mind not sleeping at either of our houses. Where would
we have slept?…A fancy hotel in Santa Barbara? …His parents’ beach
house in Ventura? …Paris??,
One of London’s most elegant hotels is