Jul112021July 11, 2021June 17, 2023by Glitterchicken

CALAVERA BAR & GRILL

Posted in Culture, Food & Drink, Music, Travel
Mexican legend VICENTE FERNANDEZ photo courtesy of Sony Music

“You guys look like somebody sold you a sandwich without any meat,” the dude behind the Fox Rental Car counter at the Phoenix airport said to us. My brother Brian shook his head and laughed: “Yep, you nailed it. Exactly.” It had been that kind of day.

The start of our epic Southwestern road trip had gotten delayed by 4-5 hours because our hotel had decided to stop running its free airport shuttle due to the COVID pandemic, but had not bothered to update its blurb on Hotels.com to let the world know they were no longer running the shuttle, and so we got stranded in the hotel lobby because no taxi cabs would come and pick us up, despite the fact our hotel was only 10 mins away from the airport.[1]

After the most expensive Lyft ride in history, we finally arrived at the airport but it took us forever to find the rental car counter; we mistakenly boarded a bus headed back to the terminals and if a kind passenger had not warned us to jump off, we might have just said “Screw it,” and hopped on a plane to Mexico.

Maybe because he had only been at the job for 2 weeks and had not become jaded and cynical yet, or maybe just because he was just a righteous dude (his main job was running sound systems for raves, this was just his side gig), the rental car guy totally hooked us up by waiving the additional driver fee, and our luck started to change.

After brief pitstops in Apache Junction (Goldfield Ghost Town and Superstition Mountain Museum) and Arcosanti, we headed north on I-17 and made a left onto AZ-260, entering the Verde Valley. Although we had booked a Sedona Vortex tour[2] for 9:00 am the next morning, if you’ve ever travelled to Sedona, you’ll know that reasonably priced hotels are a rare find, so we had decided to stay in Cottonwood for the night.

Upon checking into the Lux Verde Hotel[3] ataround 9:00 pm, the front desk lady informed us that restaurants in downtown Cottonwood had already closed at 8:00 pm. On a Saturday night. My brother and I just stood there staring at each other in shocked disbelief. If she would have told us a UFO just landed in the parking lot, we would have been like, “ok, cool, thanks for letting us know,” but we could not wrap our heads around the concept of restaurants closing their doors at 8:00 pm on a Saturday night. Inconceivable! But true! Maybe it was a residual of the pandemic wreaking havoc on the restaurant industry or maybe it was just the way they did things in Cottonwood, AZ, but whatever it was, we had just gotten slapped in the face by hard cold reality for what seemed like the millionth time today. “What do we do now?” I asked, trying not to sound as dismal as I felt.

Fortunately, while I had been driving, Brian had glimpsed out the passenger door window a roadside bar called the Calavera Bar &Grill. “Maybe the kitchen will still be open,” I said, with a glimmer of hope, “because it’s a REAL bar, which would naturally respect the commandment that bars shalt not chase away hungry customers on a Saturday night.” Silently praying to the gods of weary travelers, I called (928) 634-9618, took a deep breath and asked the nice lady who answered the phone if the kitchen was still open and to my delight she said “YES!!” And it was going to remain open until the wee hour of 10:00 pm!! My prayers had been answered.

When we walked through the door, we saw hundreds of skeletons and very few living, breathing human beings. True to its name, “La Calavera” was inundated with Día de los Muertos imagery. Brightly colored smiling skulls were carved into the tall chairs, dancing skeletons swayed from the ceiling, and the walls were covered with paintings of folks wearing the distinctive sugar skull makeup traditionally worn during Day of the Dead parades.[4]  When our charming hostess appeared, we eschewed the cavernous dining area that had already emptied out except for a few lonely leftover tortilla chips, and asked to sit at a table in the bar area, which still showed signs of life.

We did not ponder the menu for long because we were famished and we knew the kitchen was closing soon. Within minutes of placing our order, we were sipping on margaritas as big as a baby’s head and wolfing down chips and salsa like there was no tomorrow.   Then our meals arrived piping hot on enormous platters. We immediately started taking pictures of everything–the drinks, the food, the décor, ourselves–out of the special kind of gratitude that can only come from a day that starts out shitty and appears to be ending on a high note. I wish I could tell you exactly what note that was on the scale, but whatever it was, we were tuned into the Universal frequency and we heard it LOUD and CLEAR! It was coming out of the impressive sound system hooked up to the enormous TV behind the bar. We stood up in our seats and craned our necks to try to see who was singing.  

He was a mustachioed man wearing a sombrero almost as enormous as the TV. He was dressed in the kind of suit and tie and cowboy boots typically worn by Mariachi musicians, but he wasn’t playing an instrument–not in his hands, anyway–this guy’s instrument was his voice! And what a uniquelygifted voice it was! He wasn’t exactly a spring chicken–he had some years on him–but he could belt out high notes with the strength and vibrato of a young operatic tenor but with the richness of tone that comes from maturity and with the lyric expressiveness of a troubadour. Knowing we were in the presence of greatness (albeit televised), we both started talking at once: “Who the hell IS this guy?” asked Brian. “He’s got to be a superstar,” I said. “Yeah, he isn’t just anybody.” “Oh no, I said, “He’s somebody alright! Who can sing like that? And at his age?” “INCREDIBLE!!”

Brian stood up. “I’m going to go find out who this dude is,” and as he walked over to ask the owner of the restaurant, I munched on the fruit that garnished my margarita and watched the crooning vaquero in stunned amazement. Brian returned to our table and excitedly informed me the dude’sname is Vicente Fernández and he’s a Mexican cultural icon. “Like the Mexican Frank Sinatra,” I said. “Exactly,” said Brian. Known affectionately as El Ídolo de Mexico and El Rey del Música Mexicana, Fernandez has won 3 Grammy awards, 8 Latin Grammy awards, 14 Lo Nuestra awards, and his records have sold over 50 million copies worldwide, making him one of the most famous Mexican artists ever. And he started out as abusker. Unbelievable! But even more unbelievable was that we had never heard of him until now.

Our meals were tasty and satisfying enough, but not nearly as extraordinary as Vicente Fernández, who by this point, had become the focal point of our attention–Brian was literally making a video of the televised concert with his phone. Some of the bar patrons must have noticed our new obsession because they would turn around in their stools every so often and tell us little facts about Fernández and his music; for example, his genre is known as ranchera, a traditional form of Mexican music originating from rural folk music that pre-dates the Mexican revolution. The most common themes of ranchera are love, nature, patriotism, and honor and a recognizable feature of many ranchera songs is the grito Mexicano, a shouting cry that punctuates the verses. Most of Fernandez’s greatest hits evoke sorrowful pining over lost love, which heexpresses with a vocal style that sounds like he’s sobbing while he’s singing.[5]

As we finished eating the last morsels of our dinner and waited for the check, we noticed that the music had changed. El Ídolo de Mexico had been replaced by two younger artists who had traded in their sombreros for cowboy hats and their mariachi suits for jeans and button-down printed shirts. Their musical style was different too. Their songs were structured more like pop tunes with verses separated by musical interludes but this was not rock music; nothing even close. This was unapologetically country music sung with a swagger. Sometimes, the musical accompaniment was sparse, consisting of an acoustic guitar, an accordion and a tuba,[6] and sometimes there was an entire horn section, but what all these songs had in common were their pared-down simplicity; they lacked electrified instruments, electronic sounds, and elaborate arrangements.Another similarity between these two young cowboy singers is that they bothplayed starring roles in melodramatic music videos with plots like telenovelas, wherein the star got into an argument with a dolled-up sexy woman (presumably his wife or girlfriend) that always involved a cell phone as well as plenty of temper tantrums, tears, boozing, and maybe some horses and cattle thrown in for effect.

In terms of sheer vocal talent, no one could beat Vicente Fernández, but these tunes were so catchy and the videos were so wildly entertaining, Brian and I remained transfixed to the TV after we had paid the bill. We looked up the names of the two young cowboys, who both wore full beards to mask their baby faces so they could appear more macho. The one with the dramatic tenor voice and the roaring lion logo was Carin Léon, or just “Léon” for short.[7] The one with the booming baritone with a penchant for leather jackets went by the stage name El Fantasma, or “The Ghost.[8]”  Their genre, known as Regional Mexican music, is broader than ranchera, although it is rooted in traditional folk music and incorporates ranchera elements, it also includes the corrido–anarrative tale about history, oppression, criminal lifestyles, or other pertinent social issues that first became popular during the Mexican Revolution and remain popular today.[9] Both Léon and El Fantasma have achieved pop star status due to the widespread semination of their music on social media outlets.

Begrudgingly, Brian and I started mumbling about how we should really get going so that the server could clear our table, but neither of us got up. We simply did not want to leave; we were having too damn good of a time. Suddenly, one of the bar patrons swiveled around on his stool and invited us to sit next to him. “Come on, the party’s just getting started,” he said as he waved us over. Judging from his shirt, he looked like he worked for a landscaping company. Brian and I looked at each other incredulously, not just because this random landscaping dude had just read our minds like a psychic, but also because it was well after 11:00 pm. “Whynot?” I shrugged and Brian agreed. We sidled up to the bar and ordered Pacifica beers, curious as hell to see what was going to happen next. A few more guys entered from a side room that I didn’t even know existed, sat down at the bar and ordered a pitcher of beer. I noticed one of them was carrying a microphone. I nudged Brian. “I think there’s going to be some audience participation here soon.”

Occasionally, instead of videos, song lyrics would appear on the TV screen and the microphone would get passed around from one brave and/or borracho[10] soul to another, including the adorable girl tending the bar, whom everyone applauded vigorously.  Nowhere near as egocentric and annoying as karaoke, this practice felt like it was bonding all of us seated around the circular bar together in our shared appreciation ofthe music, rather than providing a stage for individuals to compete forattention. I felt like a participant in an ancient ritual that pre-datedChristianity, like Native America was rising up from the red earth and embracing us.[11]

If we didn’t believe things could possibly get better, they wouldn’t have. Because nobody got up to leave, our hosts interjected some energetic dance music into the video show to keep the fiesta going into the morning. Highlights included Mi Matamoros Querido by Rigo Tovar, a cumbia with an infectious rhythm and a good old early-70’s organ sound reminiscent of The Doors,[12] and the dance mix by Banda El Mexicano, the spunkiest old geezers you’ve ever seen wearing sparkly space suits, busting out riffs that hook you and beats that make it impossible for you to sit still in your chair.[13]

But the all-time favorite video with the Calavera crowd that they played no less than 3 times during our visit was the song Yo Ya No Vuelvo Contigo by El Grupo Firme. Set in a large wooden pavilion, 4 vocalists passed the microphone to one another (not unlike our buddies at the bar) while a large band of musicians (accordion, guitars, horns, woodwinds, and percussion) backed them up and mouthed the lyrics. When not singing or playing, they ate tacos and drank copious amounts of beer and tequila straight from the bottle. The guy sitting next to me explained that this musical style is called Banda, which means “band” in English. Banda is yet another form of Mexican Regional music characterized by the large size of the group (generally 10 to 20 members) and the breadth of the repertoire, which can include dance music such as cumbias, boleros, bachatas, salsas, sambas, polkas, and waltzes, as well as rancheras and corridos. Often bandas have more than 1 vocalist and often employ 3-part harmonies as well as the ubiquitous grito Mexicano.[14]

Our buddy at the bar explained that El Grupo Firme is not your traditional run of the mill banda group. They emerged out of the midst of the COVID pandemic via social media to become one of the hottest acts out of Mexico and are now immensely popular among Mexicans and Mexican-Americans living in the U.S. Upon further research, we learned that El Grupo Firme is smaller than typical banda groups and as they hail from Tijuana, the instrumentation they employ and their resulting sound is closer to the norteño genre from Northern Mexico, that relies heavily on the accordion and the rhythm of the polka.[15]

Perhaps the most accurate way to characterize El Grupo Firme’s repertoire is to say that they’re expertly crafted drinking songs and while they may lack the melodic grace of Irish drinking songs, El Grupo Firme makes up for it in the raw, unbridled emotion they convey as they pour the tequila into their mouths and they pour their hearts out of their mouths, like an inhale and an exhale. This is Zen, Mexican style. And their fans, many of them laborers separated from their loved ones back in Mexico, can relate wholeheartedly. Finally, someone is speaking directly to them and creating art out of their everyday experiences and this undoubtedly has an empowering effect.

The good times rolled on until we closed down the place, paid our tab, said our goodbyes to our new friends, and sauntered back to our rental car under the light of the full Worm Moon.[16]

“What happened back there? What was THAT?” we asked ourselves, shaking our heads, trying to process it all as we drove back to our hotel. THAT was a situation that would not have occurred if things had gone according to plan. THAT was a situation that occurred organically precisely because things did NOT go according to plan.  Instead of letting ourselves get thrown off course by the bumps in the road, we opened ourselves up to what the Universe might have in store for us instead of what we had envisioned, which brought us to the right place at the right time with the right people.

We learned more about Mexican music that Saturday night at the Calavera Bar & Grill than we had ever learned from multiple visits to Mexico. Had we taken a college course on Mexican Regional music, we wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun. And we didn’t have to pass an exam to prove our knowledge. Our only requirements were observant awareness of our surroundings, appreciative engagement with our fellow humans, and active participation in the present moment that was unfolding. These are theonly essential items you need to bring with you when you travel. You can always buy water and sunscreen when you get there.

[1] We think the reason for the dearth of taxis in Tempe is that they all went to Scottsdale because hundreds of tourists had just arrived for MBA spring training and the cab drivers figured it would be more lucrative, but this is just speculation.

[2] Read our Trip Advisor review of Dynamic Journey Tours at https://en.tripadvisor.com.hk/ShowUserReviews-g31352-d21504638-r794278514-Dynamic_Journey_Tours-Sedona_Arizona.html

[3]The Lux Verde was a totally decent play to stay at a good value in a convenient location. There are flat screen TVs, microwaves, and refrigerators in every room as well as free breakfast and a nice outdoor pool and hot tub that we did not get a chance to enjoy due to our hectic travel schedule. https://www.booking.com/hotel/us/hotel-w-sr-a-cottonwood.html

[4] Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) is a 2-day holiday celebrated in Mexico and many regions of the U.S. with vibrant Mexican American communities, such as San Francisco, San Antonio, and Alberquerque, on Nov. 1st and 2ndto honor deceased family members by making altars called ofrendas and sharing their favorite foods that they would have enjoyed in life. The ofrendas, typically placed on the gravesites, are decorated with marigolds (Flor de Muerto) that are believed to attract the souls of the departed to join the party and smiling sugar skulls (calaveras) that not only mock death but remind the living that death is the great equalizer. Candlelight processions of peopledressed in colorful attire wearing calavera face paint is another traditional feature of the holiday that has its roots in Aztec culture. https://dayofthedead.holiday/  For some of the largest Day of the Dead celebrations in the U.S., see https://www.afar.com/magazine/the-most-spirited-day-of-the-dead-celebrations-in-the-united-states

[5] I hope you take the time to listen to the songs, but even if don’t, you’ve got to click on this link just to see thepix of Fernandez dressed in red, holding a red rose, with rose petals falling down from the sky. VICENTE FERNANDEZ LO MEJOR DE LO MEJOR SUS GRANDES CANCIONES - YouTube For more about Vicente Fernandez and the ranchera as a Mexican National symbol, see https://www.panoramas.pitt.edu/art-and-culture/ranchera-music-mexican-national-symbol

[6] Yes, that’s right, a tuba. The quintessential instrument that supplies the bass in Mexican music. And in New Orleans Second Line music too, for that matter. https://www.frenchquarter.com/secondline/ Have you ever heard of a rock band with a tuba player in it? If so, please write to us. Seriously.

[7] Carin Léon is the multi-talented singer,songwriter, musician and leader of the charting Mexican Regional band GrupoArranke. https://www.allmusic.com/artist/carin-leon-mn0003902290/biography Here’s our favorite Léon video they played for us at la Calavarera. Carin Leon - ME LA AVENTE (Video Oficial) - YouTube

[8] Known affectionately as “The King of the Underground,” the mystery surrounding El Fantasma’s identity is part of his allure. Believe it or not, this chart-topping artist for the Afinarte label is in reality a humble gardener named Alexander Garcia. See http://elfantasma.tm-g.org/bio/ We watched his video for the song Palabra de Hombre at the Calavera. And we loved it. You absolutely must watch it! You will love it too. But beware – this song will get stuck in your head! El Fantasma - Palabra DeHombre (Video Oficial) - YouTube

[9] Derived from the romance (a literary genre popular in medieval Europe), the structure of the corrido consists of thegreeting, the prologue, the plot of the narrative, and then closes with themoral and the farewell. In terms of subject matter and poetic lyricism, it can be compared with the blues and rap/hip-hop/spoken word in the U.S. although it is altogether different melodically and rhythmically due to its lack of African origins.

[10] Spanish for drunk, inebriated, shit-faced, however you want to call it.

[11] It was an unusual feeling to feel so comfortable in a place where I had never set foot before. While I’ve often felt like a foreigner in the cities where I’ve lived, worked, and paid taxes, I felt right at home on that barstool with the smiling skull carved into it, clapping for each singer. While it was the first time I felt this way in Arizona, it would not be the last. It has everything to do with how genuinely welcoming and inclusive people are, so that the distinction between “you” and “me” and “us” and “them” ceases to exist.

[12] The cumbia is a form of popular dancemusic that originated in Colombia and spread to Peru, Mexico, and other Latin American countries. This excellent NPR article includes some wonderful audio selections of cumbia music and explains why it can thought of as the backbone of Latin American culture. https://www.npr.org/sections/altlatino/2013/09/30/227834004/cumbia-the-musical-backbone-of-latin-america Maybe it was Ray Manzarek’s brother from a Mexican mother playing the organ on this track. MATAMOROS QUERIDO - YouTube

[13] After watching this video at the Calavera, Brian and I wanted to catch the next plane to Mazatlan. This is honestly the happiest music I’ve ever heard and most fun video I’ve ever watched.  MIX BANDA EL MEXICANO PARA BAILAR 2021 - YouTube You’ll note the young dude who doesn’t play an instrument and doesn’t sing and whose sole purpose is to dance; that’s the band leader’s son. If you’re unhappy after watching this video, you need antidepressants. Unless you’re unhappy because you’re not the band leader’s son. Then you’re totally fine.

[14] Banda music started in the middle ofthe 19th century when villagers, trying to imitate military bands, formed their own brass bands to entertain their communities. German and Czech immigrants to Mexico had a profound influence on banda music, with polka music interlapping with Mexican dance music. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banda_music

[15]  For more about the phenomenon that is El Grupo Firme, see https://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/latin/9529898/grupo-firme-strategy-regional-mexican-group/ and for more about the norteño genre,see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norte%C3%B1o_(music). Here’s the video of the Calaveracrowd’s favorite song: Yo Ya No Vuelvo Contigo -(Video Oficial) - Lenin Ramirez ft. Grupo Firme - YouTube. Andhere’s my favorite El Grup Firme video: Grupo Firme - La Estoy Pasando Mal - (Official Music Video) - YouTube Similar in its narrative style to the Léon and El Fantasma videos, it’s much more polished and culturally refined, including a visit to a beautiful art museum at the center of the melodrama between the band leader, Eduin Caz, and his mamacita.  

[16] The full moon in March was so named byNative Americans because it coincides with the time earthworms come wriggling out of the ground because the frost has thawed and the earth is softening to make way for the Spring plants to shoot up. For more about the Worm moon and other Native American names for the full moons in other months, see Full moon in March 2021: When to seethe 'Worm' moon - CNN


Jan262020January 26, 2020June 19, 2023by Glitterchicken

THE BRUCE

Posted in Food & Drink, Nature, Sports & Leisure, Travel

Like most kids, I loved games of make-believe. One of my favorites was playing spy. Whether it was lying prostrate in the back of my parents’ station wagon imagining myself being chased by Russians (seatbelts were optional then), jotting down quirky observations ofpeople in a little green notebook, hiding at the top of the stairs to eavesdrop on the grown-ups, or donning my mom’s dresses and heels to form a disguise, I was always pretending. Commonplace events took a sinister turn. No one was who they seemed, and every thing was a mystery I was determined to solve. In other words, I wanted to be Nancy Drew!

For those of you who their cut their teeth on those books, you’ll remember the girl detective was adept at managing watercraft and many of the stories took place near lakes or involved water sports. Nancy Drew would have been right at home in a place I visited last June - the Bruce Peninsula.[1]

In every good mystery story the setting, whether it be exotic or mundane, is as important as the protagonists. So let’s start with the basics of the Bruce Peninsula - location. “The Bruce,” as it’s known in local vernacular, juts out like an index finger into the crystal cool waters of Lake Huron, approximately 250 km northwest of Toronto. It’s part of Bruce County, Ontario and hosts two national parks; Bruce Peninsula NP and Fathom Five National Marine Park. Some of what makes the area geologically unique is that is contains part of the Niagara Escarpment[2] on the east side along the Georgian Bay. This contributes to an unusual phenomenon botanists find interesting in that the hardiness zones on the peninsula change from east to west rather than north to south as in most places, with the cooler side being on the east as elevations rise. (More about plants later).

The Bruce is an important part of the migratory bird flyway and a unique natural area, being home to the largest remaining untouched forest in Southern Ontario, otherwise known as a “mega-woodland” where you can find some of the oldest trees in North America and many other plant and animal species like black bear and Eastern Massasauga rattlesnake. While there may be plenty of wild creatures, there isn’t much on the Bruce in terms of creature comforts. That’s part of its allure, but it also means you need to go prepared. (Nancy was always infinitely prepared, you’ll recall.)

As you head north from Toronto, you’ll find quaint little towns like Orangeville and Owen Sound where the activity is centered along main streets flanked by funky shops and restaurants. Eventually this gives way to the more sparsely populated Highway 6, an evergreen-lined, two-lane road which transects The Bruce vertically from northto south. Along it, you’ll find a few hardware stores, the ubiquitous Tim Horton’s, a grocery store, and a few mom-and-pop fish ‘n chips stands, where you can gear up and have a snack.

The Bruce is a goldmine of outdoor activities. In fact, if you’re not partial to fishing, hiking, camping, kayaking, or boating, there’s little else to attract you – unless you consider pure, unadulterated nature insignificant. I wasn’t there to do any of those things, though. I was part of a convocation known as the Native Orchid Conference,[3] and the Bruce Peninsula (specifically, the town of Tobermory) was the locale for the organization’s annual symposium. In case you were wondering … the Native Orchid Conference or NOC is a non-profit group focused on the study and conservation of native, mainly terrestrial orchids of North America. Consisting of members from around the globe, the organization’s primary activity is hosting a yearly conference, where participants listen to scientific lectures before heading off into the bush to find and photograph flowers.

Tobermory is a like a shining pot of gold waiting for you at the end of Route 6. It sits at the northernmost point of the peninsula where two harbors, Big Tub and Little Tub, carve themselves into the landscape. Most of the activity centers on Little Tub Harbor and its marina. There you’ll find The Tobermory Princess, a modest, family-run hotel with restaurant. You’ll also find eclectic boutiques focused on all things nautical and outdoorsy, quaint coffee shops, and restaurants like the Tobermory Brewing Company and Grill, which serves up hefty burgers, a healthy pumpkin and sunflower seed hummus and some tasty brews. But you can’t leave the Bruce without having at least one fish n’ chips meal complete with vinegar in a spray bottle! Lee’s was touted as the place to get it, but unfortunately our limited schedule precluded us from having the full Tobermory experience. A good excuse to go back!

At the heart of Tobermory is narrow Little Tub Harbor. Here is where you can park your boat or charter one for a snorkel tour or a dive. Tobermory happens to be the “freshwater scuba diving capital” of the world with 24 shipwrecks and a unique underwater topography that divers find appealing. From Little Tub Harbor one can also get on board the MS Chi-Cheemaun (Ojibwe for “Big Canoe”), a ferry providing daily passenger/vehicle service between Tobermory and the town of South Baymouth on Manatoulin Island, the world’s largest freshwater island.  But our group of conference members were on a special mission, so we opted for the jet boat via Blue Heron Cruises[4] to take us to Flowerpot Island. Some housekeeping here: Joining the cruise takes a bit of maneuvering. The ticket office is in one location, car parking in another. A short but steep walk through town takes you to where your tickets are validated before gathering at the embarkation point.

This is where the plot, and pardon the pun, the fog thickens. Although the Great Lakes have an overall moderating effect on climate, if you’ve spent any time there, you know how mercurial the weather can be, particularly in summer. The morning we set out for Flowerpot Island was rainy and cool. As we boarded, our skipper passed out blue plastic ponchos – more to keep our bums from getting damp than to mitigate the rain and mist. We settled into our seats and off we went on the Flowerpot Express!

The unique rock formations that lend the island its name are formally known as sea stacks.[5] These formed thousands of years ago when the last glaciers retreated. Flower Pot Island is composed of dolomite, which was strong enough to survive the grinding of the glaciers. After the last ice age, when the glaciers retreated, surface water filtered through cracks in the earth and eroded “softer” rock behind the formations. Wind, rain, and wave action did the rest, resulting in the towers of rock we see today.

Remember, the objective of our visit was to observe the plethora of orchid species which occur naturally and in abundance on The Bruce. Yellow Lady’s Slippers, elusive Coral Roots, and ethereal Listera cordata with their millimeter-sized blossoms were our targets. But the gems of the Bruce are Calypso bulbosa or the Fairy Slipper orchid. Calypso are diminutive, rare, and quite beautiful, which puts them at the top of most orchid hunters’ checklists.

As in any good novel, there are plot twists to follow and problems to overcome. It was cool and wet like everywhere else in the eastern half of North America last year. Want to see a grown man cry? Tell him the bloom time of the orchids is a week or two behind schedule because of below normal temperatures. But don’t fear – orchid hunters are perennial optimists. So what if the plants aren’t in bloom? We can still look at leaves and inflorescences in spike. So what if it’s raining and the ground is saturated? We can still writhe on our bellies to find just the right angle to point our macro lenses. However, Calypso are an entirely different animal. They’re the Holy Grail, and some people will stop at nothing to find them.

With wooded trails, hidden coves, mist, and place names like Devil’s Monument, Old Woman’s River, Singing Sands, Cave Point, and Spirit Rock, The Bruce is an ideal place for nature lovers who like a little intrigue mixed in with their botanizing. And yes, orchid hunters are not immune to some minor subterfuge in order to have the plants all to themselves. Sleuths refer to them as “red herrings,” but in the orchid world it’s known as the vague direction, the slip, or failure to divulge. Some of this has merit. Unscrupulous people with heavy feet can cause damage – or even worse, dig up plants. When a few people in our group got wind of the exact location of a few Calypso, they sent the majority of us off on a wildgoose chase culminating in a dead-end trail. Said scofflaws surreptitiously went off trail, found the plants, and returned gleefully boasting to the rest of us about their “good luck.” Criminal!

Orchid hunting is a lot like spy work. There are clues given by fellow explorers. There are hazards – black flies, mosquitoes, bogs of uncertain depth, ticks, chiggers – all must be overcome to reach your goal. You sometimes have to “trespass.” You frequently rely on cryptic messages to get to the final prize. You get help on where to look fromclues like companion plants – in this case, false Solomon’s seal, trillium, and Indian cucumber root. But in the end, just as Nancy always solves the case and the bad guys get exposed and all is well with the world, the same was true for us. We found the orchids, took our photos, and reveled in nature’s mysteries and the beauty of the Bruce Peninsula. Although I’m pretty sure Nancy Drew would have gotten those fish n’ chips!

Travel Notes:

Bruce Peninsula essentials: (1) Apassport (if you’re not Canadian); (2) Rain gear; (3) Insect repellent; (4) Hiking shoes; (5) Dress in layers; (6) Camera

Other Notes:

*If you’re really adventurous you can volunteer to man oneof the Flowerpot Island Lighthouse. It’s a 3 week gig. Caretaker duties include performing light maintenance and greeting visitors. 

*Parking: The biggest mystery on The Bruce is the obsessionwith parking. In Tobermory and surrounds you’ll find parking kiosks throughout the park, even along wooded roads.

[1] The Bruce Peninsula wasnamed for James Bruce, 8th Earl of Elgin and Governor General of Canada from 1847-1854. One of his less savory claims to fame is the burning of the Old Summer Palace in Beijing during the Second Opium War while holding the position of High Commissioner and Plenipotentiary of China and the Far East.

[2] The Niagara Escarpment is essentially a steep slope running in an east/west direction from New York and Ontario through Michigan and Wisconsin into Illinois. The area holds a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve designation as it has some of the oldest forest ecosystem in North America. As its name implies, the escarpment is best known as the cliff over which Niagara Falls descends.

[3]Native Orchid Conference: https://www.nativeorchidconference.info/

[4] Blue Heron Cruises: https://www.cruisetobermory.com/

[5] Point of clarification. SeaStacks can be found on the Bruce, not Sleestaks, which are only known to exist on The Land of the Lost. See https://landofthelost.fandom.com/wiki/Sleestak


Feb282019February 28, 2019June 23, 2023by Glitterchicken

Thai Market Tour

Posted in Culture, Food & Drink, Travel

Bird watchers are a strange breed. I should know. I’m one of them. The good news is this avian hobby takes you to some far-flung, rugged, and exotic locations. The bad news is (if you travel with a group) many bird watchers (or twitchers if you’re of the British persuasion) are singular in…shall we say…focus. This is not a criticism, but rather an observation expressed in admiration for their passion. But if I’ve got to sit in a pressurized aluminum tube for 22 hours at 35,000 feet to get half-way across the globe, I want to do more than chase tiny feathered creatures flying through the forest! It was with that thought in mind, armed with a pair of binoculars, a well-stocked toiletry kit, and some drab safari clothes that I made my way to Thailand.

First stop, Bangkok. Most people who go to Bangkok are lured by tales of the colorful commercial traffic on the khlongs (narrow canals), where vendors paddle along selling their wares from sampans (long, low, wooden boats). Commonly known as floating markets, they’re a “must-see” stop on every tourist itinerary.[1] I like to think I’m not a typical commercial traveler. I eschew tacky souvenir shops full of key chains and cheap t-shirts, but I am a sucker for cultural experiences, regardless of how trite. Fortunately, our guide who went simply by “Wat,” had pre-arranged that prior to the “birdy” part of our trip, we would spend a day along the Mae Klong River approximately 90 kilometers outside of Bangkok at the touristy but better known Damnoen Saduak floating market in Ratchaburi Province and the more authentic Amphawa floating market and nearby Maeklong Railway Market in Samut Sonkhram Province.

Many localities are characterized by their street food to the point where it becomes caricature. Think cheese steaks and soft pretzels in Philadelphia or poutine in Montreal; there are better things to eat in those places in my opinion. Bangkok, on the other hand, is defined by its street food and for good reason. The iconic Thai dishes that you read about before you visit turn out to be really, really good once you actually get to try them! Case in point - bamboo rice (more on this later). Thai chefs, as a general rule, are particular about their cuisine and fastidious in their kitchens. They’re careful to wash fruits and vegetables in filtered water and wear gloves during food prep. I’m not recommending that you eat mayonaisy salads (which are few and far between) or undercooked seafood (also rare, pardon the pun) to your stomach’s content, but if you use a little discretion, your digestive system will be safe.

Existing literally on the river and so close to the Gulf of Thailand, it came as no surprise that seafood was the menu item du jour on the floating markets, but I was struck by the enormous quantities and wide varieties of critters available. It would be impossible to inventory all the treats available in the floating markets because as they say: “One night in Bangkok and the world’s your oyster.” The MTV Generation will recognize this line from Murray Head’s one-hit wonder.[2] Sadly, as a teen growing up in a sheltered corner of rural southeastern Pennsylvania, my only mental image of Bangkok came from that song. Inevitably, it became an earworm as I travelled around Thailand, but truth be told, the lyric was on point. Any visit to a Thai market will prove that the world is not only your oyster - it’s your dried shrimp, crab, red snapper, green mussels, and prawns! prawns! prawns! Whole, shelled, steamed, or stir-fried, prawns are arguably the quintessential food of Thailand, more ubiquitous than pad thai or green curry.

Besides seafood, staples of the Thai kitchen abound at the Damnoen Saduak market. Chilies, kaffir limes, rice, banana leaves for steaming, fish sauce, noodles, rose apples (fruits that look like malformed Red Delicious apples but have a mildly floral taste and the texture of under-ripe pears), garlic, mangoes, and coconut in all forms overflow from stalls along the canal banks and from baskets in the sampans. And there are other things you can buy besides food, such as Thai elephant pants, which are all the rage and can be purchased for as little as 100 baht ($3 US). These unisex harem pants with elephant print or paisley designs come in all colors and are styled either with banded cuffs or hanging loose like pajama bottoms. Grungy hitchhikers, groups of school high school kids, and gray-haired pensioners were all sporting elephant pants after visiting the markets.

Next came the harrowing experience when our group tumbled into a boat that Wat had hired. As our small vessel began pushing its way onto the crowded canal, our fingers were in danger of being crushed between neighboring sampans with long propellers of their improvised outdoor motors jabbing at us right and left. After a sharp right turn onto an adjoining khlong, the busy boat traffic at the heart of the market soon gave way to wooden houses on stilts and then an alley of “shops” reminiscent of a carnival midway where we were confronted with what I feared most - cheap souvenirs probably made in China. Peddlers displayed everything from collapsible bamboo hats, stuffed animals, and wooden figurines to tarantulas and scorpions mounted under glass. Before long, all of their goods looked identical and indistinguishable, which did not go unnoticed by the merchants who had invented clever ways to attract our attention, like the ingenious woman who had fashioned a long, wooden pole into a hook and deftly snagged our boat to pull us in just like a fisherman hauls in his catch. There was no pressure to buy, however. With a wave of the hand or a shake of the head, we easily brushed off the vendors who seemed quite used to being declined and took it in stride.

Back to the food. To our delight, Wat had surreptitiously purchased snacks for our cruise. We were treated to small plastic sacks filled with semi-sweet bananas, fried to a golden brown and coated in sesame seeds, and little trays of meticulously peeled pomelo slices. Pomelo, the large grapefruit-like citrus, are plentiful throughout Thailand and are far larger, less acidic and less juicy, and much better than those I’ve tasted in the U.S.

It soon became apparent that our guide had a hidden agenda. After disembarking from our vessel, Wat made a beeline for a certain set of sampans whose inhabitants were furiously packing plastic take-out containers with mango slices and pastel blue, green, and pink rice. Aaahh! There it was - that fabled Thai dessert - Mango and Sticky Rice! The glutinous rice is colored naturally with various plant extracts and is served with ripe yellow mango topped with a creamy, sweet coconut syrup. It’s a feast for both the eyes and the palate. But that was not all Wat had up his sleeve. With some haste, he whisked us to our next destination, but not before stopping for a brief and much-welcomed sip of coconut water. After a short drive, we found ourselves packed into the tight quarters of the Maeklong Railway Market. Located in Samut Songkhram Province at the mouth of the Mae Klong River where it empties into the Gulf of Thailand, this market sits about 60 km south of Bangkok (an area which also happens to be the birthplace of Chang and Eng, the famous Siamese twins). The phoneticized name of the market is Talat Rom Hup which translates to “umbrella pull down market,” and we would soon learn why.

At Wat’s urgent insistence, we wormed our way to the vendor stalls, back to back or belly to belly with local shoppers and a smattering of fellow tourists (mostly British or Italian), involuntarily pushed along at the whims of the crowd to an uncertain destination. Suddenly, we were thrust into a constricted opening with train tracks at our feet, and that’s when it struck me: “Watch the tram car, please. Please, watch the tram car.” For those of you who spent any time at the Jersey Shore, that’s a familiar refrain, which is also kind of a joke, because with the combination of the wide boardwalk and glacial speed of the tram, it’s hardly likely that anyone walking the boards would be in jeopardy of being of being run down by the bright yellow, rambling train. But Talat Rom Hup is no joke.

After a few curt blasts of warning and a disembodied voice announcing its arrival, we caught sight of the train. After that, it was too late for us to do anything but scramble to either side of the narrow rails. While we were in a state of mild panic, juggling between getting out our cameras and jostling for space, the merchants were calmly pulling in their dusty blue canopies overhanging the tracks and covering their wares with cloths and broad sheets of paper. Although it didn’t move any faster than the Jersey Shore tram, the Maeklong train snaked through the market with mere inches to spare. We saw the side body of the train sticking out past the wheels and go gliding right over top of the fish and produce for sale! The passengers on the train were waving and taking pictures; we waved back and took pictures of them. And then, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened, the vendors pulled down their canopies (hence the name “umbrella pull down market”), uncovered their goods, and continued business as usual. Wat delighted in our expressed surprise.

For me, the best part of the entire experience was the bamboo rice. It’s probably one of the most unusual things I’ve eaten. Although comprised of the most common ingredients - rice, sweet coconut milk, and red mung beans - what makes it so unique and fun is the way it’s prepared and eaten. Away from the train track, outside of the market on the street side, stood a handful of vendors with umbrella-covered metal carts like you’d see in any city. Piled on top of one another in neat little rows were roasted bamboo tubes about 18 inches long that looked troublingly like pipe bombs. Having read about the bamboo rice, I begged to try one on the spot. The seller hacked open one of the bamboo canes and Wat, ever-prepared, carefully sliced the “log” of rice into tidy bite-size pieces with his pocket knife. The closest comparison to bamboo rice is solid rice pudding with bits of sweetness from the mung beans. The tastiest part is where the coconut milk condenses at the top. (Make sure you get that bit!)

While touring the fascinating markets of Thailand, I felt like a kid being led through a carnival wonderland. At every turn, there was a new and unusual sight or smell that filled me with astonishment. Every step stopped me in my tracks to ask childlike questions such as: “What is that?” “How is it made?” “Can we try some?” “Can we buy some?” And finally, “Point your bins this way, twitchers! See what you’re missing!”

If you go:

Thailand is often called the “Land of Smiles.” The people are genuinely friendly, but how they maintain their cheery demeanor while navigating Bangkok traffic should be the subject of scientific study. Due to the congestion, give yourself about 2 hours to make the 90 km drive. Taxis are readily available and reasonably inexpensive. Larger hotels will often make arrangements for you. Public transportation is also available.

Bangkok is HOT and humid, even in winter. Carry plenty of sunscreen, a hat, and water. Once you arrive at the markets, be sure to hydrate with fresh coconut water straight from the source.

And don’t forget your baht - you simply can’t go home without a pair or two of those elephant pants!

[1] The other 2 “must-see” stops on the typical tourist trip to Bangkok are the Grand Palace and the Temple of the Emerald Buddha (Wat Phra Kaew), which are easy enough to accomplish because the Temple is situated on the Grand Palace grounds. See https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g293916-d311044-r554346306-Temple_of_the_Emerald_Buddha_Wat_Phra_Kaew-Bangkok.html

[2] Little known fact: in 1985, the song was banned from a Thai Government-run radio station and TV channel because it was believed that the lyrics alluding to prostitution would "cause misunderstanding about Thai society and show disrespect towards Buddhism." See https://www.apnews.com/451e4f90b173c58f64cb70e9ed432af6


Nov302018November 30, 2018July 9, 2023by Glitterchicken

Bruges Christmas Market

Posted in Culture, Food & Drink, Travel

Sweet and spicy aromas emanate from the dainty little huts shaped like gingerbread houses festooned with seemingly endless strings of twinkling lights. Ice skaters glide past couples sipping hot chocolate. Cheerful music fills the air. Did you step inside a snow globe? Are you starring in a Hallmark movie? No, you’re at the Christmas market in Bruges, Belgium.[1]

Although it looks like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves might live in these huts, they are actually temporary shops set up by vendors offering a wide selection of tasty treats and holiday gift items.  You can find Christmas decorations, handmade figurines, hats and scarves and other accessories next to local produce. Food and beverage options are plentiful. Burgers, smoked wurst, and fried coconut are big sellers as well as the stuff Belgians are famous for - waffles, beer and chocolate! You can’t miss the vendor huts surrounding the spectacular ice rink in the Grote Markt (known as Market Square in English) but don’t forget that there are more huts in Simon Stevinplein.  This is also where you will find the restaurant Poules Moules, which consistently serves up the best mussels in town.[2]  It’s traditional to eat them straight out of the pot with a side of frites, known to Americans as French fries although the Belgians claim to have invented them.[3]

Christmas markets are not uniquely Belgian though. They can be found all over Europe and even in the U.S., but they originated in Germany, the country that pretty much invented Christmas as we know it back in the 1300s.[4]  The Holy Roman Empire, which included the eastern borders of France, quickly got into the spirit. Christmas markets were traditionally set up at the start of advent and lasted for the duration of the 4 weeks of advent to bring some much-needed cheer to villagers laboring through the long dark winter nights.[5] They evolved into gift shops after Martin Luther suggested that children should receive presents from “The Christ Child” or Christkindl. That’s why Christmas markets are called Christkindlmarkt.[6]

While most of the Austrian and German Christmas markets still close a day or two before Christmas, the Bruges Christmas market lasts from November 23, 2018 all the way through January 1, 2019, which is an ideal time span for American tourists. It’s a popular pastime among European tourists to check out Christmas Markets in other nations and compare them to their own with everyone competing for the unofficial title of best market.[7]

What’s so special about the Bruges Christmas market? Certainly not its size or the quality of its items, which are average, not remarkable. Definitely not its prices, which are high. The magic is in the location – Bruge’s cobblestone streets and picturesque medieval architecture with the towering belfry at its southern tip looks like something straight out of the pages of a fairy tale. The exuberant Flemish culture is a lesser known delight. When evening rolls around, the Christmas market transforms into an outdoor party scene, with DJ’s spinning tunes and locals and tourists mingling and dancing up a storm. When we visited, local young people were playing a drinking game called Nallen that involves hammering nails into a tree stump.[8]  They took a break to form a conga line when they discovered a British couple was celebrating a birthday, snaking through the tables scattered around the square close to the food trucks serving beer, hot chocolate, and my personal favorite – Glühwein!!

The Romans were the first people in recorded history to heat up red wine and add spices. As the legions traveled across Europe conquering and trading, they brought their viticulture and recipes with them so now every European country has its own version of this winter warmer that's sold outdoors in the colder months and has become a staple in Christmas markets around the world. In Germany, it's called glühwein. In France, it's vin chaud. It’s gløgg in Norwegian and Danish, glögg in Swedish and Icelandic, and glögi in Finnish and Estonian. In the U.K., it's simply known as mulled wine. Each version uses a slightly different combination of spices but the most commonly used ones are orange peel, lemon peel, cinnamon, nutmeg, star anise, cloves, cardamom, and ginger. In some countries, they boil the combined spices in a sugar syrup before red wine is added and heated.  Sometimes orange slices are thrown in before the heating occurs or the drink is served with orange slices as a garnish. Variations include the addition of brandy or ginger wine. Mulled wine is traditionally served in small porcelain or glass mugs. At the Bruges Christmas market, they serve glühwein in little souvenir mugs. For an extra 2 euro, you can keep the mug. I highly recommend that you do this. Mine says “Brugge Christmas Market” along with a drawing of Santa’s sleigh guided by swans instead of reindeer.[9] Every time I cozy up by the fire with mulled wine in this little mug, I’m transported back to this glorious place. I guarantee you’ll feel the same way too.[10]

[1] Locals call the town by its Flemish name Brugge but the French name Bruges is more widely known.

[2] Poules Moules literally means “Hens and Mussels.” Check out the glowing reviews from locals and tourists alike at https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g188671-d1058117-r147104881-Poules_Moules-Bruges_West_Flanders_Province.html

[3] The Belgians take this claim so seriously that they have petitioned UNESCO to endorse the fry as an icon of Belgian cultural heritage. https://nypost.com/2018/08/06/france-belgium-argue-over-who-really-invented-french-fries/

[4] For more about the Germanic origins of our Christmas traditions, see https://www.irishtimes.com/news/world/europe/santa-claus-is-real-and-he-s-as-german-as-christmas-itself-1.2476673

[5] The precursor to Christmas Markets was Vienna’s Dezembermarkt dating from 1296 when Emperor Albrecht I allowed shopkeepers the right to set up open-air markets so that villagers could stock up on supplies to last them through the bitter cold months but it is widely believed that Dresden’s Strietzelmarkt was the first real Christmas Market, dating from 1434. Although Dresden was reduced to rubble when the Allies bombed it during WWII, it boasts a lovely Christmas market once again. See http://www.dresden.de/en/tourism/attractions/events/dresden-christmas-markets.php

[6] If you’ve ever wondered where the tradition of giving gifts to children at Christmas comes from, look now you know). https://christkindlmarktleavenworth.com/about/

[7] Condé Nast published this list of the best Christmas Markets in Europe https://www.cntraveler.com/gallery/best-christmas-markets-in-europe  but it does not include the market in the city of Bath, England, which ranks high on most lists. See  https://bathchristmasmarket.co.uk/

[8] I’m not sure if its spelled Nallen, Naalen, or Nahellen. I tried looking it up but can’t find it anywhere. I did discover that a similar game called Hammerschlagen is played in Germany, which is called Stump in the U.S., where it's popular among college students in rural areas like Penn State. I won't insert a link telling you how to play it because I wouldn’t want to encourage you to do something so ridiculously dangerously idiotic. But I must admit it did look fun.

[9] Bruges is pretty much overrun by swans, so the birds have become symbolic of the town. Better than pigeons, I guess.

[10] This recipe for mulled wine comes from an enthusiastic American who is instantly transported back to the Christmas market in France where she had her first sip of vin chaud. https://www.wellplated.com/spiced-wine/. No need to go through all that trouble, though. You can purchase a lovely blend of mulling spices from a trusted source such as Halladay’s Harvest Barn in Vermont. See https://www.halladays.com/cider-mulling-263/

 


Jan312018January 31, 2018January 31, 2018by Glitterchicken

Wink

Posted in Food & Drink

When people think of Amsterdam, lots of things come to mind. For the hedonistically inclined, it’s the red light district and the “coffeeshops.”[1] For the artistically inclined, it’s the Rijks and Van Gogh museums. For the horticulturally inclined, it’s the tulip gardens. Would you think of delectable cuisine crafted from seasonal ingredients served up with panache? No? Neither did I, until I stumbled upon a restaurant called “Wink” serendipitously after taking an afternoon stroll through the Albert Cuyp market, which is conveniently located a stone’s throw away.[2]

I thought it was a private residence until I noticed a Zagat sign in the window. Instantly curious, I opened the door, tossed back a dark curtain, and was suddenly standing in a small dining room with maybe 10 unadorned wooden tables. A petite but sturdy woman wearing a head scarf emerged quietly from the kitchen and introduced herself as Natasja Postma, chef and co-owner. She shook my hand warmly and succinctly answered my question about her restaurant’s theme, which was “Mediterranean, but not what you would expect.” Her menu varied nightly depending upon what’s in season and she pointed to the chalkboard next to me. As if on cue, a tall, thin man carrying a box stuffed full of ingredients for tonight’s dinner swooshed through the curtain like a jet plane heading straight for the kitchen. “You can’t get any fresher than that!” I thought.

Fortunately, because it was a weekday and I was a party of one, Natasja offered to reserve me a table for dinner that night, which I gratefully accepted.[3] Fortune smiled upon me again when I returned to Wink later that evening and was seated right in front of the window by none other than the speedy delivery man, who turned out to be Wink’s other co-owner and Natasja’s husband, Jan Paul de Haas. The couple took a big risk by buying the building that houses Wink, which opened in the spring of 2013, but their investment appears to be paying off now that the restaurant has earned a reputation as a neighborhood sweet spot. In my humble opinion, the key to Wink’s success is the hard work and genuine authenticity of these two individuals who work together like Yin and Yang.

Let’s start with the Yang. A former advertising executive who had “given it all up to do what he truly loved to do,” Jan Paul played the multiple roles of maître d, server, and sommelier with infectious enthusiasm. Laughter, not loud music, filled the air, as Jan Paul flitted from table to table, charming every diner (myself included) with his vibrant sense of humor, joie de vivre, and consummate knowledge of the food and beverages on the menu.

Now, let’s talk about the Yin. Natasja Postma is an artist of the highest caliber. Her dishes —not unlike Rembrandt’s paintings of everyday people in his neighborhood—feature commonplace earthy elements, that when skillfully combined and served raw or cooked at the proper temperature for just the right amount of time, they produce an intriguing result that is nothing short of magical.

Despite the short list of menu items, I couldn’t decide what to order because Jan Paul’s tantalizing descriptions made me want everything. My indecision prompted Natasja to come to my table, but instead of treating me like her problem child, she seemed to enjoy the opportunity to communicate directly with a new guest. After asking me a few pointed questions about my dining preferences, Natasja walked back to the kitchen with confidence, as if she had read my thoughts through mental telepathy. Jan Paul explained that they were going to serve me a customized tasting menu. Impressive personalized service, right?!

My meal arrived one dish at a time, as follows: (1) amuse-bouche of Nicoise olives, crusty bread, and olive oil; (2) salad of shredded cabbage, watercress, chives, toasted mustard seeds, and crispy little balls made from ground chestnuts, dressed with olive oil and citrus; (3) puttanesca of fresh heirloom and cherry tomatoes, basil oil, fresh basil, calamari tentacles, deep fried anchovies, and what I suspected to be lemon. There may have even been some capers in there; (4) hummus made of butternut squash, tahini, falafel (tiny balls again), red and yellow beets, cilantro, mint, flash-fried bulgur wheat and pomegranate seeds; (5) sliced pork belly, sweet potato puree and savoy cabbage, sprinkled with fried pork skins; and (6) panna cotta topped with a vivid red wild berry coulis.

The first thing that struck me about Natasja’s cuisine was its uniqueness. Although she appears to borrow bits and pieces from French, Italian, Lebanese, and Californian culinary traditions, her finished product is entirely original. But it’s not just Natasja’s inventiveness that makes her dishes succeed; it’s the meticulous execution of her vision that elevates her creations from the level of “interesting” to “outstanding.”

My check arrived with a farewell token of appreciation that I’ll never forget. Bite-sized chocolate squares, denser than cake with a finer texture than brownies but with the same non-crumbly properties. Rich in complexity but not overly sweet, they are pure perfection on a plate. Manically, I said to Jan Paul: “I don’t know what you call these things, but whatever they are, I’m in love! Can I marry them?” With a twinkle in his eye, he replied: “In Holland, you can.”

[1] In case you haven’t heard, the term “coffeeshop” in Amsterdam is used to describe a store where people gather to buy and/or smoke marijuana. For more information from a trusted source, see https://www.ricksteves.com/watch-read-listen/read/articles/amsterdams-coffeeshops

[2] If you haven’t been to “The Cuyp,” you’re missing out! All the locals from hotel staff to housewives shop at this oversized outdoor market in the hipster haven known as the “De Pijp” District. See   https://www.amsterdamlogue.com/albert-cuyp-market-where-amsterdam-locals-shop.html

[3] Here’s how the reservation worked. The table was mine all night, meaning I could show up any time after the kitchen opened and stay as long as I wanted. Really.


Oct292017October 29, 2017July 10, 2023by Glitterchicken

Great Machipongo Clam Shack

Posted in Food & Drink

If you drive down the Delmarva Peninsula[1] on U.S. Highway 13 and you pass through Nassawadox, Virginia, about 26 miles north of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, you can’t help noticing the big signs with red letters advertising the Great Machipongo Clam Shack. You may wonder if it’s a local gem or just another tourist trap. I’m pleased to tell you that you can stop wondering - it’s a gem! And oh, what a gem it is!

At first, I was confused by the McDonald’s parking signs in the lot and the abandoned drive-through, but then I discovered that the building was an empty McDonald’s that the owners Roger and Jean Mariner (no kidding) converted into a restaurant/bar and market specializing in seafood and international delicacies.  Now, that’s what I call recycling!! [2] The Mariners got their start in the Alaskan fishing industry and then decided to try farming clams on Virginia’s Eastern Shore nearby the Biosphere Reserve, which is known for its pure water quality that provides habitat for crabs, fish, shrimp, and turtles.

Although the celebrated local seafood is the draw – you can find all the Eastern Shore favorites on the menu – such as crab cakes, flounder and clam strips, served up with hush puppies - the international seafood market is the rare marvel here. A sign on the building wall boasts: “Just Seafood: All the Seafood from Around the World under One Roof.” This is no joke. The freezers are loaded with every aquatic creature you can think of: Pacific Northwest Wild Salmon, Hawai’ian Yellow Fin Tuna and Mahi-Mahi, New Zealand Green Tip Mussels, French Escargot, and our favorite – monster Alaskan crabs with enormous legs that look like they came straight out of a Deadliest Catch crab pot!

Besides selling typical tourist souvenirs such as T-shirts, mugs, and local recipe books, the market offers an unusually large and varied selection of exotic seasonings[3] and condiments, shellfish eating utensils called “du-hickeys,” and a surprisingly sizeable inventory of hemp products including dog biscuits.[4]  Beer and wine are also available for purchase.

Perhaps the best way to summarize what’s so special about the Great Machipongo Clam Shack is that it succeeds in striking the perfect balance between local flavor and international flair. The woman behind the restaurant counter smiles warmly as she assures me that the guys in the kitchen put enough “guts” in my clam chowder. Workmen on their lunch break eating fish-n-chips and drinking Bud Light joke around with the waitress, who answers a customer’s question by pointing to a dry-erase board where the names of this week's musical performers are written. But there’s also a world map you can’t read anymore because it’s completely covered with paper money tacked up by customers proudly denoting their countries of origin. The shelves are stocked with spice jars from far-away places I can’t spell. Tibetan peace flags and photos of the Dalai Lama hang over the doors. According to the proprietors: “We cherish the Dalai Lama’s smile because it shines loving kindness to all. May you leave here with a smile and come back soon – and often!”[5]  The power of that blessing worked its magic on me. I walked out the door grinning like the Cheshire cat, wishing that I lived next door to the Great Machipongo Clam Shack.

[1] The Delmarva (Delaware – Maryland – Virginia) Peninsula is a thin strip of land of land lying between the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean, running for about 150 miles from just below Wilmington, DE, to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel in Virginia. It is a sparsely populated agricultural region known for its slower pace of life and delicious seafood.

[2] Apparently, the Mariners practice what they preach about environmental sustainability. They even encourage their guests to “create an authentic gift such as a wind chime out of clamshells. For more information, see http://www.thegreatmachipongoclamshack.com/Content/5/Summary.aspx

[3] I purchased a canister of a spice blend called “Queen of Sheba’s Secret” after reading about it on a post-it note stuck to the bathroom wall. There are literally hundreds of such notes left behind by satisfied customers, so many that it looks like wallpaper.

[4] Cannabidiol, known as CBD, is a chemical compound derived from the cannabis plant that provides calming and pain-relieving sensations without the psychoactive properties of THC, the chemical compound in marijuana that produces the intoxicating or “high” effect.  CBD oils, tinctures and edibles are becoming increasingly popular treatment options for humans and pets suffering from health conditions such as anxiety, seizures, loss of appetite, and cancer pain.

[5] From “It’s a Small World After All!” on The Great Machipongo Clam Shack website, http://www.thegreatmachipongoclamshack.com/Content/5/Summary.aspx

 


Aug302017August 30, 2017July 10, 2023by Glitterchicken

Pizzas Ron

Posted in Food & Drink, Travel

 

If you ever find yourself in Sayulita, the old fishing village-turned-surfer’s hangout in Nayarit, Mexico, and you’re sick and tired of fish tacos[1] and craving a hot and tasty slice of pizza, look no further than Pizzas Ron, the locals’ favorite spot since 1995. No sad looking pies melting under a heat lamp here. At Ron's, each pizza is made to order with fresh ingredients and hefty handfuls of toppings. I highly recommend the house specialty, pizza de camarón (shrimp pizza). The Hawaiian pie is excellent too. Just to manage your expectations, you’re not going to find a thick and bready, olive-oily deep dish Chicago style pie loaded with thick tomato sauce. What you will find is a thin, crispy-crusted New York style pie that doesn’t sag at the tip when you pick up a slice to take a bite. You'll also notice the cheese has a different texture – it’s more melty and less stringy than mozzarella. That’s because Ron’s uses Mexican quesadilla cheese, which is closer to American cheese. Somehow, it works, though, trust me. You just have to keep an open mind.[2] If you prefer a picante pie, add a few squirts from the bottle of hot sauce on your table. It’s especially good on the Hawaiian pizza because the heat of the cayenne pepper balances perfectly with the sweetness of the pineapple.

In an emergency (when your butt and the couch have become inseparable), Pizzas Ron delivers! Their phone number is 01 (329) 291-3149. But if you have time, you’ve got to go check out the restaurant. It’s got such a fun quirky vibe, you could totally picture the Dude from the Big Lebowski eating there.  The address is Calle Pelicanos, 39 (Centro), which isn’t one of the main roads, but it’s easy to find if you follow these simple directions. Walk along the beach until you get to the North end that’s closest to the river and you’ll get to the pier where public restrooms and showers are located. Start walking down the street leading up to that pier, and you'll find Pizzas Ron about halfway down the block. You can't miss the bright signs and the painting of Popeye the Sailor Man on the wall above the door. (I don’t know what Popeye has to do with pizza, I thought he was more of a spinach guy, but why quibble with artistic license?)

It’s not until you step inside the door that you come face to face with the pièce de résistance  - a massive clay oven shaped like Ron's head topped with a gigantic sombrero that’s dripping with Christmas lights (I’m not making this up). Cheerful pizza chefs sling the pies onto wooden paddles, and shove them into Ron's "mouth,“ creating the optical illusion that the oven is gobbling up all the pies but if you cock your head sideways just a bit, you can see the pizzas resting on top of glowing embers deep inside the oven. Splendiferous odors fill the cozy room. You will have a tough time stopping yourself from drooling all over your placemat like a puppy dog.

If I haven’t talked you into going to this restaurant, you are probably a robot, but for all the human life forms booking flights to Sayulita now, here are some final words of advice. Pizzas Ron is only open from Wednesday through Sunday, so don't make the mistake of going there on a Monday or Tuesday, or you'll be sadly disappointed. You just might cry. Hours are from 2 pm to 10 pm, but remember - this is Mexico, where posted hours serve as approximate guidelines for what’s likely to happen, not what’s guaranteed to happen. When business is slow, proprietors sometimes close up shop to go the market, take a smoke break, or whatever. So if you knock on the door of Pizzas Ron during posted business hours and no one answers, just take a look around. Ron lives right above the restaurant. You’ll probably find him puttering around in the backyard tending to his chickens or hanging out on the pier watching the surfers. He’s always happy to open his doors for hungry customers, but it will take "una hora" for his psychedelic oven to get hot enough to bake the perfect pizza. So crack open a cerveza, sit back in your beach chair, and relax - you're on Mexican time now - and waiting never felt so wonderful.

 

[1] Yes, it is humanly possible to get sick of eating tacos, but apparently not for this guy. https://onsizzle.com/i/dont-you-ever-get-tired-of-eating-tacos-me-there-4269237.

[2] A student’s perspective on the importance of keeping an open mind when you’re traveling abroad. https://www.goabroad.com/articles/intern-abroad/don-t-forget-to-pack-your-relativism-keeping-an-open-mind-when-traveling-abroad