Santa Fe, despite only having a population of 70,000-something, is a fun town to hang out in. A friend of mine from Columbia introduced me to some powerful New Mexican tequila, Navajo tacos (on fry bread instead of tacos), and the happening Santa Fe nightlife, which actually is pretty happening until it shuts down at 10 pm. Yesterday it rained all day; we managed to work in the farmer's market before the deluge began. We took in the new Jim Jarmusch movie and then decided to stay in and cook.
So I spent the evening hanging out with the resident artists of Santa Fe Art Institute, eating guacamole, buffalo burgers and key lime pie. In the process we depleted my wine reserves by approximately 1/3. An excellent time was had by all.
Today I say farewell to the Santa Fe International Hostel and head to Albuquerque, where the Utah portion of the adventure begins tomorrow. If my blogging is spotty/nonexistent next week, it's because I'm out in the canyon hinterlands with no wi-fi.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Taos, NM and Santa Fe, NM
I am amazed by how beautiful it is out here. All these years I was picturing dirt and cactus. Shows you what I know. Taos is at a high elevation, high enough for me to get a little woozy from the altitude while I walked around. It was actually chilly in the morning. The mountains encircle the entire town, 360 degrees. And while there are an awful lot of retired hippies around, and the entire town smells like incense, and I'm sure the winters there are fierce, I can definitely see the appeal of living there.
I went to the Taos Pueblos first thing this morning. The Pueblos are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and have been continuously inhabited for over 1,000 years. It felt like the roof of the world--mountains on all sides, and no other signs of human habitation. Landscape changes seem to come very suddenly here--as I was descending the mountains, I rounded a corner, and suddenly the red rocky earth of the plateaus was below me. No transition between mountain pine and red earth: it was just there. I passed through several gorgeous little mountain towns, including Chimayo, before finally arriving in Santa Fe.
Santa Fe isn't quite as gorgeous as the higher elevations, but it's still plenty high, and still beautiful. The town feels small and comfy; none of the buildings are very tall (you can only build so high with adobe) and everyone is very friendly. Still plenty of retired hippies, too. I went to the Georgia O'Keefe Museum, and then found the Chuck Jones Art Gallery. I am now the proud (but poorer) owner of "Spear and Magic Helmet," a small oil painting Chuck Jones did of one of the stills from--you guessed it--"What's Opera, Doc."
I am deliriously happy.
I went to the Taos Pueblos first thing this morning. The Pueblos are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and have been continuously inhabited for over 1,000 years. It felt like the roof of the world--mountains on all sides, and no other signs of human habitation. Landscape changes seem to come very suddenly here--as I was descending the mountains, I rounded a corner, and suddenly the red rocky earth of the plateaus was below me. No transition between mountain pine and red earth: it was just there. I passed through several gorgeous little mountain towns, including Chimayo, before finally arriving in Santa Fe.
Santa Fe isn't quite as gorgeous as the higher elevations, but it's still plenty high, and still beautiful. The town feels small and comfy; none of the buildings are very tall (you can only build so high with adobe) and everyone is very friendly. Still plenty of retired hippies, too. I went to the Georgia O'Keefe Museum, and then found the Chuck Jones Art Gallery. I am now the proud (but poorer) owner of "Spear and Magic Helmet," a small oil painting Chuck Jones did of one of the stills from--you guessed it--"What's Opera, Doc."
I am deliriously happy.
The West
The great thing about this road trip (well, one of them) is that I'm free to adjust the itinerary as I see fit. Yesterday morning I got up early and drove from Dallas to Oklahoma City, fully intending to spend the night there before heading to the Texas Panhandle.
And here are some words I'm sure you never thought you'd hear from me: Oklahoma was a lot prettier than I thought it would be. I guess I was picturing a dust bowl, you know, dirt and sky. But it reminded me of Virginia and West Virginia, in a way: very green, lots of trees, lots of rolling hills and rocky outcroppings. And it was windy. I went straight to the Oklahoma City Memorial, commemorating the bombing in 1995. It was very moving and quite tastefully done; and again, WHY do we not yet have a similar 9/11 memorial? It's time.
But I couldn't see anything else in Oklahoma City worth staying for. And the open road was calling me. I don't know why, but I just felt like driving yesterday. So I did. I crossed Oklahoma into the Texas Panhandle, and shortly after the border, every cliche I ever heard about The West came true.
The land suddenly and dramatically flattened out, all the trees disappeared, and the sky grew exponentially. I'd always heard that the sky is bigger out west, that the first time you see the western sky it just seems enormous. I always thought, "well, that's dumb. The sky is big to begin with. How much bigger could it be?" But when the sky is completely unbroken in all directions, with no mountains or hills or buildings or trees, when the tallest thing in the landscape is the 18-wheeler in front of you...well, the sky really is ginormous. I was totally overwhelmed. I've never seen so much sky, or felt so small against it, or been able to track so many miles-tall cloud formations. Part of me wanted to stop right there and wait til nightfall, just to see how many stars would come out.
But I kept driving. Yesterday was the first really balls-out extended stretch of driving I've done; I think I spent a total of 11 or 12 hours in the car. It was strangely liberating. Maybe my driving muscles are finally kicking in, maybe it was the dramatic changes in scenery, maybe I was just properly caffeinated, but I was happy. All the minor daily worries dropped away. A lot of them have already been dropping away--it's amazing how much better life is when you don't have to wake up to an alarm, or go to a job you hate, or wear a bra, or think about your 401k--but for the first time yesterday, I really felt free. Perhaps I missed my calling. Perhaps I should have been a long-haul truck driver.
There wasn't anything worth stopping for in Amarillo, either, so I cranked up the 80s XM radio and continued. As I crossed the Texas-New Mexico border, the landscape changed dramatically once again. All the plains grass disappeared, to be replaced by some stunted shrubbery ("Shrubbery!") and the limitless horizon was now hemmed in by giant rocky plateaus. The rock and red earth was clearly visible in all directions. I felt like I'd once again crossed into The West, a different West. Lower New Mexico, so far as I can tell, is completely uninhabited. I didn't see signs of civilization, barring the occasional gas station, until I hit Las Vegas, NM. I had considered going straight into Santa Fe, but I decided instead to take the High Road into Taos, NM, instead.
Taos is a ski resort in the winter, but for some reason I'd failed to equate ski resort with elevation. The closer I got to Las Vegas, the more rocky plateaus appeared. As I headed north from there, the rocks and dirt and shrubbery changed into--well, home. Great, soaring, pointy mountains, twisty 35-mph mountain roads, rocky outcroppings, three-story-tall pine forests, and limitless vistas every time I rounded a corner. It was a long drive, but I felt a strong sense of accomplishment when I finally hit Taos.
So, to recap: Dallas to Taos. That's three states, close to 1,000 miles, one time change. I ate road food: beef jerky, dried strawberries, croissants, veggie chips, baby carrots, gummy bears. I took fifty or sixty pictures, stopped to pee seven times, and decided that Van Halen is the best music to listen through when driving through the Panhandle.
I feel freer and happier than I can remember being in a long time. I think I see an epiphany coming.
At one point I stopped at a random truck stop, and got a corn dog. I was clearly the only person in the truck stop that had showered in the past week. I walked back out to my car and realized I could drive anywhere I wanted, and do anything I wanted.
That corn dog tasted like grease, and freedom.
Best corn dog ever.
And here are some words I'm sure you never thought you'd hear from me: Oklahoma was a lot prettier than I thought it would be. I guess I was picturing a dust bowl, you know, dirt and sky. But it reminded me of Virginia and West Virginia, in a way: very green, lots of trees, lots of rolling hills and rocky outcroppings. And it was windy. I went straight to the Oklahoma City Memorial, commemorating the bombing in 1995. It was very moving and quite tastefully done; and again, WHY do we not yet have a similar 9/11 memorial? It's time.
But I couldn't see anything else in Oklahoma City worth staying for. And the open road was calling me. I don't know why, but I just felt like driving yesterday. So I did. I crossed Oklahoma into the Texas Panhandle, and shortly after the border, every cliche I ever heard about The West came true.
The land suddenly and dramatically flattened out, all the trees disappeared, and the sky grew exponentially. I'd always heard that the sky is bigger out west, that the first time you see the western sky it just seems enormous. I always thought, "well, that's dumb. The sky is big to begin with. How much bigger could it be?" But when the sky is completely unbroken in all directions, with no mountains or hills or buildings or trees, when the tallest thing in the landscape is the 18-wheeler in front of you...well, the sky really is ginormous. I was totally overwhelmed. I've never seen so much sky, or felt so small against it, or been able to track so many miles-tall cloud formations. Part of me wanted to stop right there and wait til nightfall, just to see how many stars would come out.
But I kept driving. Yesterday was the first really balls-out extended stretch of driving I've done; I think I spent a total of 11 or 12 hours in the car. It was strangely liberating. Maybe my driving muscles are finally kicking in, maybe it was the dramatic changes in scenery, maybe I was just properly caffeinated, but I was happy. All the minor daily worries dropped away. A lot of them have already been dropping away--it's amazing how much better life is when you don't have to wake up to an alarm, or go to a job you hate, or wear a bra, or think about your 401k--but for the first time yesterday, I really felt free. Perhaps I missed my calling. Perhaps I should have been a long-haul truck driver.
There wasn't anything worth stopping for in Amarillo, either, so I cranked up the 80s XM radio and continued. As I crossed the Texas-New Mexico border, the landscape changed dramatically once again. All the plains grass disappeared, to be replaced by some stunted shrubbery ("Shrubbery!") and the limitless horizon was now hemmed in by giant rocky plateaus. The rock and red earth was clearly visible in all directions. I felt like I'd once again crossed into The West, a different West. Lower New Mexico, so far as I can tell, is completely uninhabited. I didn't see signs of civilization, barring the occasional gas station, until I hit Las Vegas, NM. I had considered going straight into Santa Fe, but I decided instead to take the High Road into Taos, NM, instead.
Taos is a ski resort in the winter, but for some reason I'd failed to equate ski resort with elevation. The closer I got to Las Vegas, the more rocky plateaus appeared. As I headed north from there, the rocks and dirt and shrubbery changed into--well, home. Great, soaring, pointy mountains, twisty 35-mph mountain roads, rocky outcroppings, three-story-tall pine forests, and limitless vistas every time I rounded a corner. It was a long drive, but I felt a strong sense of accomplishment when I finally hit Taos.
So, to recap: Dallas to Taos. That's three states, close to 1,000 miles, one time change. I ate road food: beef jerky, dried strawberries, croissants, veggie chips, baby carrots, gummy bears. I took fifty or sixty pictures, stopped to pee seven times, and decided that Van Halen is the best music to listen through when driving through the Panhandle.
I feel freer and happier than I can remember being in a long time. I think I see an epiphany coming.
At one point I stopped at a random truck stop, and got a corn dog. I was clearly the only person in the truck stop that had showered in the past week. I walked back out to my car and realized I could drive anywhere I wanted, and do anything I wanted.
That corn dog tasted like grease, and freedom.
Best corn dog ever.
Dallas, TX
First: Fort Worth = Fort Worthless.
I drove through the Stockyards, and that was the biggest collection of fake cowboy/faux Western/tourist trap crap I have ever seen. It made me ashamed to be a tourist. So I decided to drive through downtown, instead. Sorry, Fort Worthians: I didn't see a single thing worth stopping for. I didn't even stay for Billy Bob's (the world's largest honky-tonk!). Dallas was classier, but very much a business center. There wasn't much atmosphere to the city.
My only real item on the Dallas itinerary was the Sixth Floor Museum--you know, in the book depository. It was a bit surreal. It was mostly parents and their small to preteen children. The parents looked stricken, grave. The kids looked bored. I kept picturing the 9/11 museum in twenty years (which, p.s., why do we not have one yet?), in which the parents are reliving that horrible day and crying, while the kids are just wandering around, looking bored and whining about the gift store.
I walked around downtown for a bit (see earlier comment about lack of atmosphere) and found myself at the Swirll winery and wine bar. I ended up chatting with the ladies there while I sampled various Texas wines (Becker Viognier = yum) and their own signature blends. I bought a bottle of German Muller-Thurgau-type white, and got a customized label put on it, commemorating the road trip. Now I have a great bottle for a special occasion.
I took another cooking class at Central Market, as well. As before, the chefs weren't as entertaining or informative as I would have liked, but the menu was much more interesting. We had fried okra salad, watermelon gazpacho with blackened shrimp, a balsamic glazed quail with jalapeno pesto on corn-tomato-cilantro quinoa, seared bison flank with green beans on beet mashed potatoes, and a canteloupe granita. Yum. The beet mashed potatoes were lovely--a deep, vibrant shade of pink, almost fuschia, but they didn't taste like beets at all. Fun with food.
I drove through the Stockyards, and that was the biggest collection of fake cowboy/faux Western/tourist trap crap I have ever seen. It made me ashamed to be a tourist. So I decided to drive through downtown, instead. Sorry, Fort Worthians: I didn't see a single thing worth stopping for. I didn't even stay for Billy Bob's (the world's largest honky-tonk!). Dallas was classier, but very much a business center. There wasn't much atmosphere to the city.
My only real item on the Dallas itinerary was the Sixth Floor Museum--you know, in the book depository. It was a bit surreal. It was mostly parents and their small to preteen children. The parents looked stricken, grave. The kids looked bored. I kept picturing the 9/11 museum in twenty years (which, p.s., why do we not have one yet?), in which the parents are reliving that horrible day and crying, while the kids are just wandering around, looking bored and whining about the gift store.
I walked around downtown for a bit (see earlier comment about lack of atmosphere) and found myself at the Swirll winery and wine bar. I ended up chatting with the ladies there while I sampled various Texas wines (Becker Viognier = yum) and their own signature blends. I bought a bottle of German Muller-Thurgau-type white, and got a customized label put on it, commemorating the road trip. Now I have a great bottle for a special occasion.
I took another cooking class at Central Market, as well. As before, the chefs weren't as entertaining or informative as I would have liked, but the menu was much more interesting. We had fried okra salad, watermelon gazpacho with blackened shrimp, a balsamic glazed quail with jalapeno pesto on corn-tomato-cilantro quinoa, seared bison flank with green beans on beet mashed potatoes, and a canteloupe granita. Yum. The beet mashed potatoes were lovely--a deep, vibrant shade of pink, almost fuschia, but they didn't taste like beets at all. Fun with food.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Austin, TX
Update: Texas is still hot. And even with the twice-daily slathering of SPF 45 and a great big hat, I haven't gotten so much sun in years. Each day my sightseeing has had to be cut short about 3 pm so that I could get in a cold shower and a nap before tackling the nightlife.
Day 1: En route from Houston to Austin, I passed through the little town of Luling, TX. My grandmother is from there, so I stopped to take a couple of pictures. So far as I can tell, it hasn't changed since my grandmother was there.
First, brunch at Z's, and some really great huevos rancheros. I went to UT Austin, walked around campus a bit, and made it as far as the Texas State History Museum. Not something I would usually go into, but hey, it was air-conditioned. UT Austin (besides being way cool) is most famous for its bell tower--Charles Whitman climbed up there in 1966 and opened fire on the campus, thereby originating the term "tower killer." I meant to explore downtown and the shops and bars, but I was hot. A cold shower/nap awaited. My host, and friend from Columbia, took me out for burritos and margaritas. First, though, we stopped off at Cork & Co, where I had a lovely 2006 Joullian Chardonnay, and then took in the nightly bat show at Congress Avenue bridge. The bats have become a symbol of Austin; there's a huge colony that nests under the bridge, and they exit each night around dusk. The whole bridge was lined with people waiting to see them. It wasn't quite the mass exodus I had expected--more like a steady stream of bats--but it was still cool. Even though bats smell. Yuck.
Day 2: San Antonio. It's about an hour's drive from Austin, so I headed down first thing in the morning to check it out. I have to say there wasn't much to recommend it. It was flat, hot, and dusty, and I couldn't see any signs of culture or nightlife, besides a few signs for the Spurs. I saw the Alamo, of course; I thought what everyone thinks, which is, "I thought it would be bigger." I also couldn't help thinking about Ozzy Osbourne's "incident" there in 1982; he got liquored up after a concert, wandered down to the Alamo in his wife's clothing, and pissed all over the side. Texans hold the Alamo as a shrine, so naturally they didn't take kindly to Ozzy expectorating on it. He got kicked out of the state of Texas and had to pay a big fine. Now there's a group of religious nuts on the internet that claim that ever since that incident, the numbers 666 have been slowly appearing on the side wall of the Alamo.
Since I could only entertain myself with Ozzy and the devil for so long, I then drove through the Texas Hill Country, famous for its wineries. The Hill Country is aptly named; I hadn't seen any sort of natural elevation since I left Georgia, and it's surprisingly green. But even the bright greens get washed out in the intense, 100-degree, no-clouds sun. It was a pretty drive, and I ended up in Fredericksburg, de facto capitol of the Hill Country. The main drag of the town is lined with cute little shops, food stores, beer gardens, and restaurants, and even a couple of wineries, but there were far too many old, slow tourists buying ticky-tacky crap on the sidewalks for my taste. Why people find it necessary to travel all that way to buy a pressed-tin belt buckle that says, "My grandpa went to Texas and all I got was this lousy belt buckle," is beyond me. I managed to find a good bottle of merlot at the Fredericksburg Winery, got a fresh peach milkshake at a sidewalk stand (despite the old people counting the M&Ms on their sundaes to make sure they got the "right" amount), and headed back to Austin for my daily cold shower/nap. That night we headed to Malaga for tapas and a drink called the Barton Springs, which is like a mojito, only with cilantro and gin. We met up with one of her friends, and then two other people she knew showed up and joined our table. Tapas all around! Good times.
Day 3: Rest. I spent most of yesterday being decidedly non-productive. My rental car was due for an oil change, so I swapped it out for a happily bigger and better model. Did some laundry, watched some TV. Relaxed. We then took in a movie at the Alamo Drafthouse, the greatest movie theatre in the history of the world. You can drink beer during the movie. Not only that, but you can get real food (salads, burgers, tacos, etc.), and get it delivered right to your seat while you watch the movie. They have quote-alongs, and sing-alongs, and Kung Fu Fridays, and...well, it made me want to move to Austin just to hang out there. I saw "Land of the Lost"; it was exactly what you'd expect from a Will Ferrell movie, but the best part was instead of playing boring movie theatre commercials before the movie, they ran old Will Ferrell "Saturday Night Live" clips and bits of old episodes of the original "Land of the Lost." Then we went to the Broken Spoke, a real live Texas honky-tonk, and drank Lone Star beer and discussed how hot it was.
Today: on to Dallas! Though Dallas is going to have to work hard to beat the coolness of Austin.
Day 1: En route from Houston to Austin, I passed through the little town of Luling, TX. My grandmother is from there, so I stopped to take a couple of pictures. So far as I can tell, it hasn't changed since my grandmother was there.
First, brunch at Z's, and some really great huevos rancheros. I went to UT Austin, walked around campus a bit, and made it as far as the Texas State History Museum. Not something I would usually go into, but hey, it was air-conditioned. UT Austin (besides being way cool) is most famous for its bell tower--Charles Whitman climbed up there in 1966 and opened fire on the campus, thereby originating the term "tower killer." I meant to explore downtown and the shops and bars, but I was hot. A cold shower/nap awaited. My host, and friend from Columbia, took me out for burritos and margaritas. First, though, we stopped off at Cork & Co, where I had a lovely 2006 Joullian Chardonnay, and then took in the nightly bat show at Congress Avenue bridge. The bats have become a symbol of Austin; there's a huge colony that nests under the bridge, and they exit each night around dusk. The whole bridge was lined with people waiting to see them. It wasn't quite the mass exodus I had expected--more like a steady stream of bats--but it was still cool. Even though bats smell. Yuck.
Day 2: San Antonio. It's about an hour's drive from Austin, so I headed down first thing in the morning to check it out. I have to say there wasn't much to recommend it. It was flat, hot, and dusty, and I couldn't see any signs of culture or nightlife, besides a few signs for the Spurs. I saw the Alamo, of course; I thought what everyone thinks, which is, "I thought it would be bigger." I also couldn't help thinking about Ozzy Osbourne's "incident" there in 1982; he got liquored up after a concert, wandered down to the Alamo in his wife's clothing, and pissed all over the side. Texans hold the Alamo as a shrine, so naturally they didn't take kindly to Ozzy expectorating on it. He got kicked out of the state of Texas and had to pay a big fine. Now there's a group of religious nuts on the internet that claim that ever since that incident, the numbers 666 have been slowly appearing on the side wall of the Alamo.
Since I could only entertain myself with Ozzy and the devil for so long, I then drove through the Texas Hill Country, famous for its wineries. The Hill Country is aptly named; I hadn't seen any sort of natural elevation since I left Georgia, and it's surprisingly green. But even the bright greens get washed out in the intense, 100-degree, no-clouds sun. It was a pretty drive, and I ended up in Fredericksburg, de facto capitol of the Hill Country. The main drag of the town is lined with cute little shops, food stores, beer gardens, and restaurants, and even a couple of wineries, but there were far too many old, slow tourists buying ticky-tacky crap on the sidewalks for my taste. Why people find it necessary to travel all that way to buy a pressed-tin belt buckle that says, "My grandpa went to Texas and all I got was this lousy belt buckle," is beyond me. I managed to find a good bottle of merlot at the Fredericksburg Winery, got a fresh peach milkshake at a sidewalk stand (despite the old people counting the M&Ms on their sundaes to make sure they got the "right" amount), and headed back to Austin for my daily cold shower/nap. That night we headed to Malaga for tapas and a drink called the Barton Springs, which is like a mojito, only with cilantro and gin. We met up with one of her friends, and then two other people she knew showed up and joined our table. Tapas all around! Good times.
Day 3: Rest. I spent most of yesterday being decidedly non-productive. My rental car was due for an oil change, so I swapped it out for a happily bigger and better model. Did some laundry, watched some TV. Relaxed. We then took in a movie at the Alamo Drafthouse, the greatest movie theatre in the history of the world. You can drink beer during the movie. Not only that, but you can get real food (salads, burgers, tacos, etc.), and get it delivered right to your seat while you watch the movie. They have quote-alongs, and sing-alongs, and Kung Fu Fridays, and...well, it made me want to move to Austin just to hang out there. I saw "Land of the Lost"; it was exactly what you'd expect from a Will Ferrell movie, but the best part was instead of playing boring movie theatre commercials before the movie, they ran old Will Ferrell "Saturday Night Live" clips and bits of old episodes of the original "Land of the Lost." Then we went to the Broken Spoke, a real live Texas honky-tonk, and drank Lone Star beer and discussed how hot it was.
Today: on to Dallas! Though Dallas is going to have to work hard to beat the coolness of Austin.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Houston, TX
Phew. Texas is HOT.
And I saw my first dead armadillo by the side of the road. Perhaps those two things are related.
I drove to Houston from Gulfport early yesterday morning, and let me tell you, Texas has some crappy roads. I-10 was under construction starting at the state line, extending all the way into Houston. And Houston, P.S., has more of a sprawl problem than Atlanta, although they've managed to make their tangle of interstates look prettier against a setting sun. Just past Beaumont, I passed the clean-up of what must have been a fairly major accident; there were cops, ambulances, and fire engines on the service road beside the interstate, and a Medi-vac was helicoptering in. The chopper was landing just as I passed by, which was pretty cool, except for the fact that my little rental P.O.S. car got nearly blown off the road. As it was I think I drifted suddenly about eight feet to the left.
I had lunch at Feast, a paean to all things pork. I had the pork rillettes and the pork cheek and dandelion green salad, which blessedly was more pork than salad. I came away experiencing what I'm convinced must be the greatest feeling in the world, short of orgasm--being stuffed full of pork. I went to the art museums, wandered around a bit, went into some shops, and then--THEN--I discovered Central Market.
I am in love with Central Market. It's like Trader Joe's, Fairway, and Whole Foods all rolled into one, only better, because Central Market sells wine, and Abita beer, and okra chips, and it's cheaper. AND it offers cooking classes, one of which I took. It almost makes me want to move to Texas, just so I can shop there. I know you're thinking, "Why are you so excited over a big box grocery store, Jenny?" Let's just remember I've been shopping in New York for the past ten years. The average grocery store in New York would fit into the cheese section in Central Market. You can find pretty much everything you want in NYC, but it's never all in one place. I buy wine at the wine store, and meat at the butcher store, and produce at the farmer's market, and...well, you get the idea. And everything's expensive. Where large, varied grocery stores do exist (Trader Joe's, Fairway, Whole Foods), shopping at them is invariably a clusterfuck.
So I wandered through Central Market in a daze, purchasing such heretofore unobtainable (in NYC) products as okra chips, liquid smoke, blue grits, and dried guajillo peppers. The class featured a sort of postmodern chuckwagon cuisine. It wasn't as interesting or informative as the class I took in Charleston, but the instructors were both wearing cowboy hats, and one had a handlebar moustache. Unfortunately they did not allow me to take pictures. Boo. But I learned how to make goat cheese-buttermilk ranch dressing, ribs with a black coffee-guajillo pepper barbecue sauce, dried apple and guajillo pepper grits, and a dutch oven strawberry cobbler.
And I saw my first dead armadillo by the side of the road. Perhaps those two things are related.
I drove to Houston from Gulfport early yesterday morning, and let me tell you, Texas has some crappy roads. I-10 was under construction starting at the state line, extending all the way into Houston. And Houston, P.S., has more of a sprawl problem than Atlanta, although they've managed to make their tangle of interstates look prettier against a setting sun. Just past Beaumont, I passed the clean-up of what must have been a fairly major accident; there were cops, ambulances, and fire engines on the service road beside the interstate, and a Medi-vac was helicoptering in. The chopper was landing just as I passed by, which was pretty cool, except for the fact that my little rental P.O.S. car got nearly blown off the road. As it was I think I drifted suddenly about eight feet to the left.
I had lunch at Feast, a paean to all things pork. I had the pork rillettes and the pork cheek and dandelion green salad, which blessedly was more pork than salad. I came away experiencing what I'm convinced must be the greatest feeling in the world, short of orgasm--being stuffed full of pork. I went to the art museums, wandered around a bit, went into some shops, and then--THEN--I discovered Central Market.
I am in love with Central Market. It's like Trader Joe's, Fairway, and Whole Foods all rolled into one, only better, because Central Market sells wine, and Abita beer, and okra chips, and it's cheaper. AND it offers cooking classes, one of which I took. It almost makes me want to move to Texas, just so I can shop there. I know you're thinking, "Why are you so excited over a big box grocery store, Jenny?" Let's just remember I've been shopping in New York for the past ten years. The average grocery store in New York would fit into the cheese section in Central Market. You can find pretty much everything you want in NYC, but it's never all in one place. I buy wine at the wine store, and meat at the butcher store, and produce at the farmer's market, and...well, you get the idea. And everything's expensive. Where large, varied grocery stores do exist (Trader Joe's, Fairway, Whole Foods), shopping at them is invariably a clusterfuck.
So I wandered through Central Market in a daze, purchasing such heretofore unobtainable (in NYC) products as okra chips, liquid smoke, blue grits, and dried guajillo peppers. The class featured a sort of postmodern chuckwagon cuisine. It wasn't as interesting or informative as the class I took in Charleston, but the instructors were both wearing cowboy hats, and one had a handlebar moustache. Unfortunately they did not allow me to take pictures. Boo. But I learned how to make goat cheese-buttermilk ranch dressing, ribs with a black coffee-guajillo pepper barbecue sauce, dried apple and guajillo pepper grits, and a dutch oven strawberry cobbler.
Friday, June 12, 2009
New Orleans, LA
Despite my deep and abiding love for New Orleans, I tried to stay out of the city as much as possible--I am on a budget, after all. And a girl who loves food and wine and Abita beer cannot remain on a budget in NOLA. Speaking of which, I went on the Abita brewery tour on Wednesday. The tour was boring, but the beer was great. The best part about going to Abita Springs, LA, is that all the businesses start with Abita. Heh. I stopped into the nearby Abita Brew Pub for lunch, and afterwards I loaded up the car with several different kinds. It's hard finding Abita beer outside Louisiana--they seriously need a better distributor.
I also got to drive all the way across Lake Pontchartrain. It's about a twenty-minute drive, with nothing but water as far as the eye can see. It's a little like driving between the Florida Keys. It's also a little creepy, driving so long over open water.
That night Betsy and I discovered Biker Night at one of the local marina bars. I haven't had such good people-watching in quite a while, even in New York. As you might expect, there were dozens of tricked-out Harleys, thousands of visible tattoos, and several examples of creative facial hair. Oh, plus multiple people wearing assless chaps. And drinks were 2-for-1. Good times. Several large, burly men chatted us up, and then gave us a ride on their bikes back to the car (which was all of 25 feet away). But the bikes were lovely, and made me want to learn how to drive one.
Yesterday I explored Cajun country; I drove to Lafayette, LA, then down to Houma on old 182. The interstate to Lafayette stretches for 30 miles across the Atchafalaya Swamp; more evidence of Louisiana's fascination with building bridges across vast, open stretches of water. ("Great...tracts of land!") I had crawfish enchiladas at Prejean's. Highlights of the drive down 182 included several deserted foundries, approximately nine metric tons of Spanish moss, and the "Dacquiri Drivethrough" in Jeanerette. (No, I didn't.) I had considered a swamp tour, or shrimp boat excursion, or Swim with the Alligators, or some such purportedly "Cajun" activity, but I think that will have to wait until I'm not on a budget.
Then last night came the Abita tasting dinner at Ralph's on the Park, a four-course dinner with Abita pairings. The menu:
Appetizer: terrine of wild boar with hazelnuts and black currants, served with summer peach and citrus chutney and pea shoots
Abita: Satsuma
First course: saffron-braised lamb shank with preserved lemon and golden raisins over creamy polenta
Abita: IPA
Second course: cold pecan-smoked veal flank steak served with morel mushroom saute and English peas in a red wine marrow sauce, with roasted marrow bone
Abita: Amber
Dessert: Chambord Bavarian cream bombe with root beer hard candy brittle
Abita: Purple Haze
All very lovely. Turbodog is still my favorite.
I also got to drive all the way across Lake Pontchartrain. It's about a twenty-minute drive, with nothing but water as far as the eye can see. It's a little like driving between the Florida Keys. It's also a little creepy, driving so long over open water.
That night Betsy and I discovered Biker Night at one of the local marina bars. I haven't had such good people-watching in quite a while, even in New York. As you might expect, there were dozens of tricked-out Harleys, thousands of visible tattoos, and several examples of creative facial hair. Oh, plus multiple people wearing assless chaps. And drinks were 2-for-1. Good times. Several large, burly men chatted us up, and then gave us a ride on their bikes back to the car (which was all of 25 feet away). But the bikes were lovely, and made me want to learn how to drive one.
Yesterday I explored Cajun country; I drove to Lafayette, LA, then down to Houma on old 182. The interstate to Lafayette stretches for 30 miles across the Atchafalaya Swamp; more evidence of Louisiana's fascination with building bridges across vast, open stretches of water. ("Great...tracts of land!") I had crawfish enchiladas at Prejean's. Highlights of the drive down 182 included several deserted foundries, approximately nine metric tons of Spanish moss, and the "Dacquiri Drivethrough" in Jeanerette. (No, I didn't.) I had considered a swamp tour, or shrimp boat excursion, or Swim with the Alligators, or some such purportedly "Cajun" activity, but I think that will have to wait until I'm not on a budget.
Then last night came the Abita tasting dinner at Ralph's on the Park, a four-course dinner with Abita pairings. The menu:
Appetizer: terrine of wild boar with hazelnuts and black currants, served with summer peach and citrus chutney and pea shoots
Abita: Satsuma
First course: saffron-braised lamb shank with preserved lemon and golden raisins over creamy polenta
Abita: IPA
Second course: cold pecan-smoked veal flank steak served with morel mushroom saute and English peas in a red wine marrow sauce, with roasted marrow bone
Abita: Amber
Dessert: Chambord Bavarian cream bombe with root beer hard candy brittle
Abita: Purple Haze
All very lovely. Turbodog is still my favorite.
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