Way way waaaaaay back when I was slightly control-freakish, I used to plan any and all vacations as delicately and intricately as a State Dinner. Even days off had the organizational subtext of a royal wedding. Details were not left out. Time lines were established, and I treated my entire family like a group of haphazard caterers that don't know the difference between pate' and liverwurst.
Basically what I'm trying to say is that traveling with me was one big stressful clusterfuck, where the "stops for family fun opportunities" paled in comparison to the number of times the three other members of our family attempted to plan a coup, thereby relieving me of my vacation-planning duties. I had planned for that, as well, and I never allowed all three to be alone longer than a few seconds. Because the most important part of being a good dictator is not allowing the huddled masses to find out there are others that agree with you, there are others with an alternate plan.
So a couple years ago, we (I) planned a trip to the Pacific Northwest. It was right after Christmas and our children had an extra week off, so most kids would be back in school. The PERFECT time to travel! Add this to the real possibility we would get stuck in some massive snow-storm going through the Cascades, or the Sierras, or whatever other mountain range we had to go through, and we had a vacation made for a control freak. Not.
We headed towards Portland, where we had in-laws and cousins to spend time with. Luckily for everyone, I had planned out all the things we would see in 2.5 days, as well as all the meals we would eat.
How did I come up with the meals? Well, I had been watching Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives with Guy Fiery. He spends time in crazy food joints all over towns, highlighting the best of the best.
But there is no index out there. No way to find these places by location. So I went onto the website and cross-referenced each episode with the locations, all neatly put into a spreadsheet. Then, I watched each YouTube clip to see which items I wanted to try, and which items Sky King would have to order so I could try that one, too. I would make notes about each menu item, as well. Yes, seriously.
Don't laugh, I have been asked for this document before, from people traveling to the same area. I'm almost positive the document will not be used against me in a court of law. Almost.
Anyways-back to the trip.
We stopped in Redding to stay with family. This was our "chill day"-leave late, drive for 3 hours, spend the night, leave in the morning towards Portland. Easy-peasy.
We took off the next day with a ton of snacks to reduce the number of stops. Pretty soon we were in Medford, Oregon, looking for a meal. Yelp must have been smoking crack that day, because we ended up at some place that claimed to have the best BBQ in the state.
Apparently they do not have an independent BBQ judging system in place, because the food was awful. Unremarkable, bland. Yuck.
I was getting irritated. And we had 7 more hours to go.
Portland was filled with tons of things I HAD TO SEE/DO/EAT, and all would be better.
Stay tuned...
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Tortilla, Naan, and Pita, Oh My!
Today, I made a ground-breaking observation.
American food (burgers, dogs, sketti, grilled cheese, shit like that) is completely lacking in one distinct way.
American food is missing a shovel. An edible shovel.
Think: rice and beans, tikka masala, couscous. All these things get spread all over the plate. And if you are NOT Sky King, you can't seem to manage getting away with using your thumb to shove it all onto a fork. Or directly to the edge of the plate then into your face, like some crazed pubescent growing boy. Not that I know anything about that.
Many cultures have invented edible shovels. Sometimes it's something firm like a chip, or pliable like a tortilla. Either way, it is a distinctly sophisticated way to get food into your piehole.
American food doesn't have that. unless you count garlic bread, which never makes it to the end of the small bits, so it totally doesn't count. In fact, I think a "back-up garlic bread" situation is in order, to sop up remaining noodles and sauce the next time I'm at Buca di Beppo. (Is that a chain, everywhere? I really can't do Macaroni Grill, or Olive Garden, sorry.) It would be like after-dinner mints, but in garlic-bread form.
Chinese food is like this, too. But I'm not here to pick on China. They have enough problems, what with the communism and crimes against humanity. So I won't pick on them for their fried rice. This time.
There's plenty of American food that could use some assistance: Rice-a-Roni, rice. Well, Rice-a-Roni doesn't really count. Especially the way I make it-it tends to glop together so it's fairly fork-able. And I will give you that rice is more Asian than American.
Now that I think about it, most American food does not require little bits being savored.
Hmmm.
Most pasta is Italian. Burgers, dogs, and sammies all come in edible wrappers. Which in itself is pretty genius.
I guess what I'm saying is, I love food with edible shovels.
Thank you, India.
Thank you, Greece.
Thank you, Turkey.
Thank you, Mexico.
What am I, an Alanis Morrisette song?
American food (burgers, dogs, sketti, grilled cheese, shit like that) is completely lacking in one distinct way.
American food is missing a shovel. An edible shovel.
Think: rice and beans, tikka masala, couscous. All these things get spread all over the plate. And if you are NOT Sky King, you can't seem to manage getting away with using your thumb to shove it all onto a fork. Or directly to the edge of the plate then into your face, like some crazed pubescent growing boy. Not that I know anything about that.
Many cultures have invented edible shovels. Sometimes it's something firm like a chip, or pliable like a tortilla. Either way, it is a distinctly sophisticated way to get food into your piehole.
American food doesn't have that. unless you count garlic bread, which never makes it to the end of the small bits, so it totally doesn't count. In fact, I think a "back-up garlic bread" situation is in order, to sop up remaining noodles and sauce the next time I'm at Buca di Beppo. (Is that a chain, everywhere? I really can't do Macaroni Grill, or Olive Garden, sorry.) It would be like after-dinner mints, but in garlic-bread form.
Chinese food is like this, too. But I'm not here to pick on China. They have enough problems, what with the communism and crimes against humanity. So I won't pick on them for their fried rice. This time.
There's plenty of American food that could use some assistance: Rice-a-Roni, rice. Well, Rice-a-Roni doesn't really count. Especially the way I make it-it tends to glop together so it's fairly fork-able. And I will give you that rice is more Asian than American.
Now that I think about it, most American food does not require little bits being savored.
Hmmm.
Most pasta is Italian. Burgers, dogs, and sammies all come in edible wrappers. Which in itself is pretty genius.
I guess what I'm saying is, I love food with edible shovels.
Thank you, India.
Thank you, Greece.
Thank you, Turkey.
Thank you, Mexico.
What am I, an Alanis Morrisette song?
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
My Latest First World Problem
I know, I'm pissing and moaning about something petty to people that are desperately trying to feed their families. I get it. It still doesn't make my pool any warmer.
Recently, we had to move away from our awesome-floor-plan-party-pad-with-a-'70s-porn-shower* to a new place, to get away from the mold.
How do we know there was mold? Well, we almost did a $300 mold kit test. But we are renters, and we knew the owners would not fix the problem. I wouldn't either, because the heating ducts went through the concrete slab, and filled with water during heavy rains. So much so, we could hear sloshing when the heat was on. And the heat did not blow with a steady flow, more of a Jumanji-whah-whah-whah that scared the bejeesus out of Princess. She's frighteningly easy to alarm.
So, we found a bigger, prettier, deckier, poolier, hot-tubbier place, on a quieter street. We didn't think it was possible, but we did.
But the pool leaked, and was scheduled for re-surfacing. (Along with all the other things wrong, which could take up several more blog posts...)
So the dudes came out, and Sky King had the opportunity to chat them up, in a my-psycho-wife-wants-this-shit-done-STAT kinda way.
They said it would take a day. This seemed a bit far-reaching, but what the hell do I know about pool resurfacing?
What they meant was, "it will take a day--which is 24 hours, spread over several months".
I should have clarified. Right before I was going to call and make up some bullshit story about my atrophied knees and the need for the pool to be done, they showed up. Now it is filling with water, and we seem to be about a week away from Opening Day at the Walker Ranch Water Park.
I know, boo-fucking-hoo. Be nice, or you can't come to Opening Day.
*What is a "porn shower", you ask? It is a shower that is quite open, tiled, and happens to be missing a wall to the outside, having been replaced with a clear sliding glass door. Fortunately for our neighbors, there was a small private courtyard overgrown with bamboo surrounding this door. Each shower was like a trip to the rain forest, minus the sweat and bugs. It took me about a month to get used to it.
Recently, we had to move away from our awesome-floor-plan-party-pad-with-a-'70s-porn-shower* to a new place, to get away from the mold.
How do we know there was mold? Well, we almost did a $300 mold kit test. But we are renters, and we knew the owners would not fix the problem. I wouldn't either, because the heating ducts went through the concrete slab, and filled with water during heavy rains. So much so, we could hear sloshing when the heat was on. And the heat did not blow with a steady flow, more of a Jumanji-whah-whah-whah that scared the bejeesus out of Princess. She's frighteningly easy to alarm.
So, we found a bigger, prettier, deckier, poolier, hot-tubbier place, on a quieter street. We didn't think it was possible, but we did.
But the pool leaked, and was scheduled for re-surfacing. (Along with all the other things wrong, which could take up several more blog posts...)
So the dudes came out, and Sky King had the opportunity to chat them up, in a my-psycho-wife-wants-this-shit-done-STAT kinda way.
They said it would take a day. This seemed a bit far-reaching, but what the hell do I know about pool resurfacing?
What they meant was, "it will take a day--which is 24 hours, spread over several months".
I should have clarified. Right before I was going to call and make up some bullshit story about my atrophied knees and the need for the pool to be done, they showed up. Now it is filling with water, and we seem to be about a week away from Opening Day at the Walker Ranch Water Park.
I know, boo-fucking-hoo. Be nice, or you can't come to Opening Day.
*What is a "porn shower", you ask? It is a shower that is quite open, tiled, and happens to be missing a wall to the outside, having been replaced with a clear sliding glass door. Fortunately for our neighbors, there was a small private courtyard overgrown with bamboo surrounding this door. Each shower was like a trip to the rain forest, minus the sweat and bugs. It took me about a month to get used to it.
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