Travel

paris.schedule.jpgParis is one of those cities that gets into your system and stays with you. There is something magical. Magical about the lifestyle, the fashion, the ease of movement, and the food.  The food is simple, perfectly crafted, and delicious. I ate my share of eclairs, croissants, baguettes, steak-frites, souffles, crepes, ice cream, and croque monsieur’s. I ate whatever I wanted, when ever I wanted. Boulangeries are in abundance and sneaking in for an eclair or a mille-feuilles is a temptation I wasn’t about to pass up.

I went to Paris, research in hand, and a small, green journal filled with places I didn’t want to miss. I vowed I would conquer all corners of the city and find these little treasures, pastry shops, chocolate shops, and cafes. My list was long, too long. So, each night, before I went to bed, I prioritized, plotted and planned which part of the city I was going to attack. I was on a mission. I was able to cover almost everything: Pierre Herme, La Maison du Chocolat, Le Grande Epicerie, Cuisine de Bar, Laduree, Berthillon Ice Cream, Luxembourg Gardens, Musee d/Orsay, and E.Dehlerrin, but my expectations were too grand. However, what I did see, do, taste, and experience was perfect.

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wci_history_1.jpgYesterday I opened a “letter” from my mother; a perfect example of her eccentric idea of correspondence.  Bereft of card, signature, or, God forbid, “Dear Daughter”, the envelope contained 3 newspaper clippings – each annotated with her inimitable, looping script.  To the first clipping, a review cautioning that a new kid’s hardback called “The Graveyard Book” may be too dark for sensitive children, my mother had added “This sounds good!”  A study exploring the effects of the color red on both attention span and anxiety prompted this commentary: “You know I made all red things for your cradle and crib!  How to create an obsessive compulsive?”  And of course my personal favorite, an interview in which Nadya Suleman, the recent mother of octuplets, asserts that she wanted a family to help combat depression.  In this article the words “children” “cure” and “depression” have all been manically underlined.  Radiating a giant arrow, the newspaper’s indent points to my mother’s own thickly inked phrase: “What an idiot!”  She may not write much, but it sure reads loud and clear.

My mother’s attitude towards children and their rearing being what it is, she often chose the Wolf Creek Inn as the ultimate destination on the many and extensive road trips we took together.  Touted as “the oldest continuously operated hotel in the Pacific Northwest” by the State of Oregon’s recreation department, the Inn boasts perfectly articulated period décor, both a ball and dining room, and a magical, perfumed orchard.  It is also remote, haunted, and almost entirely unfit for children (read: no television).

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vanityfaircover.jpgI grew up on a farm in south Georgia. I had no appreciation for the fact that we grew our own crops; I never once had a meal from a can. Everything we ate came straight from the farm to the table. We even had a pond and stocked fresh trout and other fish.

Who knew that would become the hip and trendy way to eat?

I remember being a little bit embarrassed that I grew up on a farm. My Mom subscribed to magazines such as Vanity Fair and Town and County. I loved the photos, especially the 'society' photos of all the pretty women dressed in colorful frocks in high heeled shoes.

I could relate because my Mom got the Sears catalog and I dreamt of the day that I was old enough to order those high heeled Espadrilles in all sorts of colors. I remember seeing a piece in Town and Country of Jackie-O on a yacht in Monaco, wearing those shoes. 

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palm_beach_life_postcard.jpgThere are strict rules to live by in Palm Beach according to the Shiny Sheet (our local newspaper). Rule Six, for example, is - No socks. Ever. If your feet tend to become cold easily, consider purchasing a pair of Stubbs & Wootton slippers, but Rule Number One - the one broken that could destroy one's standing at Club Collette is the following:

"One does not travel over a bridge.  In the event of a hurricane evacuation or a gala benefit at the Norton Museum, this rule can be waived, but only under those circumstances." In other words do not be caught dead in West Palm! Bill and I, however, gladly risk our rep to eat at Sushi Jo's - a storefront, plate glass dive in the middle of a strip mall in West Palm Beach Florida, proclaiming itself "sushi for sexy people", whose chef is named Jo Clark - Can it get any better than that!

Sushi Jo's chef, Joseph Clark's first "joint" was at the Ritz-Carlton in Manalapan, after having apprenticed at Yama in Lake Worth. This chef is Occidental, L*O*C*A*L and Unashamed!

"Fresh" also comes to mind! Everything at Sushi Jo's is deliciously fresh including the sexy wait-staff, and it is always fun waiting to see if you actually get what you order.

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sacher_torte1.jpgI’ve always been an icing on the cake kind’a’gal.  You know us: we devour frosting, flee crumbling cake remains.  And desserts with powdered sugar and oozing jellies that all fall down inevitably on clothes never seem worth the lbs. or the dry cleaning $$.  So, when I recently found myself headed to Austria to cover the Salzburg Global Seminar: Cultural Institutions Without Walls, the last thing on my mind was leaky pastries: culinary institutions without walls….that is, until I was asked by Amy Ephron to, if I was in fact going to Austria, write about the infamous Sacher Torte.

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