I 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.
I have a horny wanderlust, always insatiable, perpetually unrequited. Oh sure, I’ve had my trips on locations: from the gentler parallel reality of Canada to the third world intensity of Jamaica. And vacations to the usual European locales — Italy, Ireland, Scotland, England, France for business and pleasure. But I want moooore! Although currently landlocked until the dollar heals, business prospers, travel improves, and fuel cheapens, I can best trip out by visiting friends from other cultures.
We knew nothing about Fado other than that our friend, Mark Miller, who had lived in Lisbon for a year and basically planned our recent trip to the city, said it is "a must". He promised great food from a host and hostess who will treat us as family and sing traditional Fado songs. "It will be a long night," he warned, "but still you must go to Sr. Fado." He then added, with a touch of a smile, that he should make the reservations. Sr. Fado is hard to get into but over Mark's year living in Lisbon, he and the owners had become close. He called. We were in.
Living in a city with 6,000+ restaurants, why would you ever drive 150
miles to eat in a city with a population of 1,500? For me, it’s a kind
of a Hillary Clinton type thing. She was right, it does take a village
to raise a child. Unfortunately for my wife and I, parents of a 16
month old boy who believes soil is a basic food group, we left the
village back in our home state of Michigan when we moved to Chicago. So
when we need a break from the exhaustive process of keeping our son’s
mouth free of dirt and other things you find on the average floor, we
gotta go to the village.
Like my ancestors before me and their great ancestors before them, I like love food. The members of the Santiago clan aren’t known for being particularly picky about their cuisine. Eat first, ask later (or ask while eating). But eating anything in China is like a blindfolded taste test. The labels are written in Chinese, so I sit and I poke and I prod.