Fantastical fruit in Kauai

February 25, 2014 by Beth Shepherd

One of my favorite things about traveling is trying new food, especially fruit and vegetables that I’ve never seen before. So on our recent trip I was in heaven when we found ourselves surrounded by fantastical fruit in Kauai: mangosteen, longan, rambutan, jackfruit, tiny latundan (apple) bananas, and small sweet low-acid pineapple–just the tip of the tropical iceberg –of exotic fruits and vegetables to be found at farmers markets, grocery stores or simply growing by the roadside.

Jackfruit and pineapple

The flesh of the jackfruit is starchy and fibrous and is a source of dietary fiber. The flavor is comparable to a combination of apple, pineapple, mango and banana.

Mangosteen

I loved this fruit! Juicy, silky, decadent, sweet, fragrant with a flavor like strawberry, peach, vanilla ice cream. Long illegal in the U.S., due to the belief that they harbored the Asian fruit fly, mangosteens are no longer contraband. The ban was lifted in October of 2007, which I was delighted to find out.

Pearly white mangosteen sections…yum!

Pineapple and mangosteen

This pineapple was so aromatic and the fruit was sweet and very low-acid. Fabulous!

Rambutan fruit

A bit chewy (grape-like texture) with a lychee-like flavor (but not as drippy).

How could you not like this funny looking fruit?

Tangelo and apple bananas (latundan)

These bananas were the bomb. Small (many times I’ve wanted a little bit of banana which is nearly impossible given the size of bananas we typically see in the U.S.) with a tangy apple taste.

The rain in Kauai might have fooled me into thinking I was still in Seattle. But the fruit–ah, the fruit–definitely tropical paradise.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

And for more exotic eats, check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

Kilauea Fish Market

February 18, 2014 by Beth Shepherd

We just returned from two very rainy weeks on the north shore of Kauai. While there we made numerous trips to the Kilauea Fish Market, a tiny gem tucked away in Kiliauea, the town where we’ve stayed on both of our trips to this Hawaiian island. By the end our vacation we were regulars, faithfully stopping by to get an order to go, a brilliant plan because dining out with a toddler is a challenge. Plus we had a lovely, private and quiet (except for the toddler) cottage to return to.

There’s so much to like about this place: it’s convenient (if you’re staying in, or passing through, Kilauea), service was quick (it typically took about 15 minutes to prepare our meal), the little shopping center where the fish market is located (skate and surfboard shop, gift shop) is cute, you can eat outside on the patio or take your food to go, the staff is friendly. But the main reason I heart Kilauea Fish Market–the fish is outta this world!

It really didn’t matter what we ordered: Cajun Ahi fish plate, fish tacos, seaweed salad, Ahi poke, or burritos (okay, not on this trip, but the last trip before Big Papa went gluten-free)–we tried almost everything on the menu–and it was all mouth-watering delicious. Fish plates came served with a side of rice (brown or white) and your choice of green salad or potato-macaroni salad and you could order your fish to specification (seared, cooked through).

Usually we got a couple fish plates to go, but on one occasion we ordered a pound of Ono fish to take home and prepare ourselves. In Hawaiian, Ono means “sweet, very good to eat,” and another name for Ono is Wahoo! How could you not like a fish called Wahoo?

Kilauea, I don’t miss the torrential downpours we encountered during our vacation, but I sure do miss your fish!

More posts about our Kauai trip to follow–Aloha!

Take the road less traveled, Beth

And check out more yummy posts on Wanderfood Wednesday!

A nice pairing

January 9, 2014 by Beth Shepherd

The pairing of food and wine is a complex and highly inexact science. It is fraught with outmoded rules and a propensity for generalizations.

Sid Goldstein, The Wine Lover’s Cookbook

“Venison with a side of mashed potatoes and gravy,” would pair nicely with the wine in your glass, said the winery owner’s wife, looking Big Papa right in the eye.

“And with your wine, pizza,” is what she said to me.

Pizza?! I definitely hoped for more venison and less pizza in my life, in a metaphorical sense. It was January 9, 2005 and I was on my first date with Big Papa. Seattle lay under a dusting of snow, and the air was chilly, but inside the Bainbridge Island Winery we were toasty and warm as we stood side by side and sipped. We had successfully navigated a ferry ride to the island (successful in the sense that we liked each other enough not to end up on opposite sides of the boat), and had commenced to part two of our date: wine tasting.

Big Papa and I found each other on an online dating site and, for our first date, I asked him to think of something more creative than going out for coffee (the gold standard for first dates with online suitors). He said “ferry ride” and I said “great idea.” I suggested Bainbridge Island as our destination and wine tasting as our island adventure. We were two people who had never met, taking a ferry to an island across Puget Sound, to drink wine and then ride the ferry back to the city, easily a 3-4 hour date as opposed to a 30 minute coffee chat. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out, nothing went wrong. Our first date was awesome. We left the winery and drove to Faye Bainbridge State Park, where we sat at a picnic table near the water as the sky grew dark (I must mention again how cold it was). I brought out the cheese, crackers and chocolates I’d carried along with me in my backpack. We quickly found out that the chocolates (and some of the cheese) were frozen when Big Papa tried to cut a chocolate truffle in half and it sailed off into the evening sky. I’m not sure how much time passed as we sat there together, sharing stories and getting to know one another, but I do remember that my fingers were numb from the cold by the time we decided to head back to the car.

In a flash of brilliance (and attempt to be the female equivalent of gallant), I grabbed the fleece “emergency blanket” stored in the trunk of my car (which, by the way, I still have) to throw over our legs on the drive back to the ferry. And throw it I did. As Big Papa got into the front passenger seat, I tossed the blanket (which is tightly wrapped into a fabric envelope, like a pillow) in his direction.

“OW!”

“Are you okay?”

“You hit me in the face.”

“Oh wow. Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“You nailed my cheek.”

I started to laugh. I couldn’t help myself, the hilarity of it all (though I will say I breathed a silent sigh of relief the moment he started to laugh too). We were having a good time together, inadvertent attempts to cause my date bodily harm notwithstanding.

On the ferry back to Seattle, he suggested we continue our date and go out to dinner. We headed to Coastal Kitchen. After dinner, wine, and dessert–eight hours after I’d picked Big Papa up and said hello for the first time–I dropped him off at his house and headed home to my apartment.

Since that first date, nine years ago, we’ve continued to taste wine–and share adventures–together: in Oregon’s Willamette Valley and the Walla Walla wine region in Washington State, in New York, Pennsylvania, California, Canada, Mexico, France, and Armenia. Wine at restaurants, tasting bars, wineries and–most of all–at home, where we enjoy wine collected from our travels.

And you know what? The two of us are still a nice pairing.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Oola Distillery: Hand-crafted Seattle spirits

December 3, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

What do winter wheat, white oak, and a German Shepherd have in common? At Oola Distillery–a lot.

A few weeks ago, while out for a neighborhood stroll, we decided to stop in for a tasting at Oola, a craft distillery located in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood, and one of many micro-distilleries popping up all over the northwest. In fact, in Washington State alone (at this writing), there are more than 27 micro-distilleries.

However, Oola has the distinction of being located six blocks from our house. I’ve wanted to check out their spirits ever since the building, which formerly housed La Panzanella Bakery, was renovated and Oola took over the space. When I read that several of Oola’s products won gold medals in a spirits competitions, I decided the time to taste was now.

Tours are offered at 3:00 p.m. on Saturday, or by appointment. I sent an email Kirby Kallas-Lewis, Oola’s owner and distiller, and made arrangements for a visit.

Oola puts the neighborhood in neighborhood distillery—from the ground up. The building remodel was designed by Capitol Hill architects, Graham Baba. Oola’s retail space is inviting, swathed—literally—floor to ceiling with warm wood. And lining the walls of the Oola’s production space, you’ll see wood in another form—casks—specifically American white oak casks. These are the casks where Oola’s bourbon and barrel finished gin are aged to smooth drinking perfection.

Oola’s spirits are relatively local as well, with organic white winter wheat sourced from Washington State. And many of the herbs used to imbue Oola’s spirits, with their to-die-for flavors, are grown right in Kallas-Lewis’s Capitol Hill backyard, like Tuscan Rosemary and Lemon Verbena. Oola is grain to glass, a Washington State progeny.

After learning a bit about how Oola spirits are made, we got down to the business of tasting. Here’s the line-up: OOLA Gin, Barrel Finished Gin, Waitsburg Bourbon Whiskey, OOLA Vodka, OOLA Citrus Vodka, OOLA Rosemary Vodka and OOLA Chili Pepper Vodka.

Waitsburg Bourbon was smooth, spicy, and buttery with a touch of sweetness–perfect for a winter warming Manhattan. Barrel Finished Gin tasted of juniper and other botanicals with a vanilla finish. All the vodkas were crisp and clean, the flavored vodkas highlighted by distinctive herbal notes.

Waitsburg Bourbon Whiskey (winner of the San Francisco World Spirits Competition Gold Medal) and the Barrel Finished Gin both made their way home with us. I was also quite fond of the Rosemary Vodka. Our tasting companions purchased a bottle of OOLA Chili Pepper Vodka and OOLA Citrus Vodka. There was something for everyone.

My review in a nutshell: OOLA-la! And this brings me back to the German Shepherd. When I asked Kirby where he got the inspiration for Oola’s moniker, he replied: From my dog, Oola, one awesome German Shepherd.

‘Tis the season to imbibe, so if you find yourself in the Seattle area, drop by for a visit. The sales room is open noon-8 p.m. Thursday through Saturday. And give them a like on Facebook!

Oola Distillery, 1314 East Union Street, phone: 206-709-7909, email: info@ooladistillery.com

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Check out more seasonal delights on Wanderfood Wednesday!

Dishes for a song

November 13, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

Back in May 2007, when Big Papa and I moved my dad from Florida to Seattle, we had to make decisions about his belongings–what to jettison and what to keep and ship west. One of the keepers was a set of dishes. Not because we needed any more dishes—anyone who has been to our home knows we are well stocked in that department: vintage pink floral dishes from my college days, jade green Fire-King that I collected for many years, Christmas dinner plates from Big Papa’s family, and a set of lovely cream and gold filigree Lenox dishes from my grandmother.

However, this set of dishes was sturdy Pfaltzgraff, in a simple floral pattern Pfaltzgraff had retired years ago: Windsong. I figured they might come in handy one day and, if not, I could sell them. I didn’t have a big emotional attachment to them, they weren’t the dishes I grew up with but rather a set my father must have purchased when my parents split-up.

The dishes have been sitting in our [dirt-floor circa 1898] basement for 6-1/2 years and occasionally I thought about selling them. But I never got around to it. So when Big Papa’s cousin, Lauren, told us she was moving into her own apartment, I mentioned we had a few things we’d be happy to donate to the cause: a chair and a set of dishes.

I went with Lauren down to the basement, opened the boxes and showed her the set. Her eyes grew as big as saucers. These dishes—my dad’s Pfaltzgraff Windsong dishes—were the exact same dishes that she’d grown up with!

What are the odds of that happening (one of my well-worn phrases)? Pfaltzgraff has manufactured hundreds of patterns since the company was founded in 1811. But there you have it. Dad’s dishes and the dishes Lauren grew up with: identical.

Parting with dad’s dishes suddenly became much easier. Not only were they going to a good home, they were staying in the family. As Cousin Wendy, Lauren’s mom, said:

I guess we were meant to be relatives.

Take the road less traveled,

Beth

For more dishy posts check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

Mr. Eyes Spoon

October 23, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

I was born with a plastic spoon in my mouth.

~Pete Townshend

Every morning Big Papa, Baby Bird and I sit down at our kitchen table to eat breakfast together. Nothing fancy: he has a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee; I have a cup of coffee too, and a bowl of yogurt sprinkled with berries, cinnamon and flax seed; Baby Bird typically has a smaller version of mama’s breakfast (minus the coffee). But what really takes it up a notch, is Mr. Eyes Spoon.

Yes, you read that right, a spoon (and a plastic spoon at that) is the star at our table. He is quite the character, Mr. Eyes. One day he’s sprinting across the table like an Olympic athlete, hurdling over candles and bowls, and the next he’s playing hide and seek behind a pitcher filled with flowers. You might find him taking in a whiff of freshly brewed coffee, grunting as he shows his superior strength hoisting a heap of yogurt topped with a humungous blackberry, or just chillin’ on the sidelines checking out the gummy vitamins.

In addition to his amusing table-side behavior and physical prowess, Mr. Eyes Spoon is an excellent emotions coach. He’ll readily express sadness if his hard-earned efforts to aid in breakfast consumption are ignored. He gets excited when a bowl of yogurt is devoured, so much so that he might skate a few laps around the inside of the empty bowl, whooping and hollering with delight.

At breakfast, Mr. Eyes is usually assisted by his ever-so-lovely, funny and ingenious sidekick….Mama. At dinner time, or when Mama is busy (read: behind the camera), Big Papa steps in. Of course, neither of us can hold a candle to Mr. Eyes whose antics elicit squeals of glee from Baby Bird. She never seems to tire of Mr. Eyes, her honored guest.

I know that one day, garden-variety flatware will take the place of Mr. Eyes Spoon. Baby Bird will learn to feed herself and she’ll lose interest in our table-time silliness. But for now, I revel in the land of make-believe, where spoons can talk and imaginations soar.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Check out more spoonfuls of deliciousness on Wanderfood Wednesday!

And, if you’d like your own Mr. Eyes Spoon, here he is:

Remlinger Farms

October 16, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

Carousel, ferris wheel, hay maze, animals to pet…and a birthday party with LOTS of sugar. That’s how Baby Bird and I spent this past Saturday during our visit to Remlinger Farms in Carnation, Washington.

I knew Remlinger Farms as a U-Pick haven: strawberries, blueberries and raspberries in the summer and pumpkins in the fall. What I didn’t know is that their Country Fair Fun Park has over 25 rides and attractions geared especially for children.

Here’s what little ones can choose from:

Swing Carousel: painted ponies go round and round
Hay Maze: get lost and jump in bales of hay
Ferris Wheel: kid-sized carts go around in a circle
Farm Theater with Eric Ode: songwriter, author, and poet
Farm Theater with Cyndi Soup: singer, songwriter, story teller and puppeteer
Flying Pumpkin Rides: flying pumpkins with bob up and down
Canoe River: kids float their own canoes on the river
Barrel Ride: each barrel spins, while all the barrels go round and round
Pedal Cars: pedal car track, with twists and turns, and a bridge high above the track
Tolt River Railroad Steam Train Ride: a half-sized steam train that takes you along the Tolt River and around Remlinger Farms property and past 4-H animal enclosures
Remlinger Farms Roller Coaster: a deluxe kid size roller coaster
4-H Animal Barnyard: goats, horses, piggies, cows, alpaca, sheep, bunnies, donkeys
Farm Pony Trail Ride: little ones can be led through the scenic pony “trail ride” area
Antique Car & Country Driving Adventure: kids drive real miniature Ford Model T cars (circa 1900 and created for the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair) antique cars around a safe, railed track

And if that’s not enough to fill up a day (or an entire weekend!), there are also private rooms that can be rented for parties and events, which is why we were there in the first place–to celebrate the birthday of one of Baby Bird’s favorite toddler partners in crime. Pizza, party cake, ice cream, soft drinks, balloons, party favor bags, hats…all of it was included for a gaggle of excited kids.

As a mom to a child who doesn’t get a lot of sugary snacks, let me just say that shortly after the cake and [two!] cups of ice cream were consumed–well, that’s when the party really got started. This was my first experience with a room full of children hopped-up on sugar. Stand back! The rest of our time at Remlinger Farms was high-octane.

We raced around from activity to activity until we [the parents at least] were ready to crash. And then, with a belly full of food and memories of a fun morning spent at Remlinger Farms, we headed home.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

The Fish Guys

October 9, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

“The Fish Guys are up in the fan,” Baby Bird stated matter-of-factly a month or so ago, at dinner.

“What?!”

“The Fish Guys are up in the fan. Look,” she said again pointing to our kitchen ceiling.

Ah, the minds of children. Since that evening, it seems that The Fish Guys have taken up residence in our ceiling fan, because she mentions them a least once a day. Not that this is a surprise. Baby Bird loves The Fish Guys. She gets really excited when we head to our neighborhood farmers market for a visit.

Dave, Tim and Gene have become Baby Bird’s best buddies. Each and every Friday afternoon during the summer, I make a pilgrimage with my daughter to the Madrona Farmers Market, where she hits The Fish Guys up for free smoked salmon samples at Wilson’s Fish stand (along with free beans to munch on from Rand at One Leaf Farm).

After she’s chowed down as much salmon as they’ll allow her to take (yes, she frequently cleans out the Tupperware container), we move on to the ice holding portion of the visit. This is where she takes out a large chunk of ice from the cooler, licks it and then watches it melt in her hand (or mine when she hands it to me to “take home to Dada”). She’ll exclaim “BRR! Cold,” while holding shaking her fists like she’s freezing (or very excited).

The Fish Guys laugh and play along, joking and laughing with her. I always have a smile on my face because I love knowing my daughter is forming happy memories of being at the farmers market, just like I did as a child. She gets to eat veggies and fruit straight off the farm, and get to know the growers (and fishermen) who make it possible for us to enjoy delicious fresh food.

Seeing The Fish Guys is the high point in our week, which is why I was sad that our neighborhood farmers market season came to a close. How could I explain to Baby Bird that we might not see The Fish Guys for several months, at least at the Madrona Farmers Market. I told her that we could make occasional treks to the Sunday Ballard Farmers Market for a special visit, but they wouldn’t be blocks away from where we live. At least until next May. Minutes, hours and days are a big concept for a two year old, much less months and seasons.

On this last visit, we brought The Fish Guys a thank you fish card, and I purchased my “usual,” a pound of fresh salmon to grill, along with wine and maple smoked salmon which we sprinkle on salads and toss in omelets. We never cease to be amazed at the deliciousness of their fish. It is the freshest, tastiest, melt-in-your-mouth fish I’ve ever had, absolutely worth the couple extra dollars per pound I might save if I bough fish at my neighborhood grocery store. It truly is that good.

Plus, we get to spend a few minutes with the fish guys. And that is priceless. Now if we could just figure out what they’re doing in our fan!

Take the road less traveled, Beth

For more fish stories and other great food, check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

My daughter’s first Shirley Temple

October 1, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

A few weeks ago, Baby Bird got to be a flower girl in her cousin’s wedding. After the ceremony, guests milled around, chatting and sipping a drink before dinner. My little one showed a lot of interest in my glass of bubbly and that’s when I remembered: the Shirley Temple. I ordered one and sat her down to try it, explaining that when I was a little girl, this was one of my favorite “special” drinks.

The Shirley Temple consists of ginger ale or 7-up with a splash of grenadine, topped with a maraschino cherry. My sister and I occasionally got a second cherry, from our dad, soaked in brandy from his Manhattan, which we both thoroughly enjoyed.

Child actress Shirley Temple began her career in 1932, at the age of three. Legend has it that on her 10th birthday, a bartender at Chasen’s, a Beverly Hills restaurant, created a non-alcoholic cocktail to serve to her while she dined with her parents and older celebrities.

Of course, like most food lore, there are several claims to the origins of this drink. Waikiki’s Royal Hawaiian Hotel profess they invented the drink, since Shirley Temple was a frequent guest there. The Brown Derby in Hollywood marketed drinks with celebrity names, one of which may have been the Shirley Temple.

Shirley Temple, herself, says she actually never liked the drink, and opposes the idea that cocktails (even non-alcoholic) should be served to children. She has fought attempts to use her name in unauthorized sodas, saying “All a celebrity has is their name.”

So bottom’s up to Shirley! Cheers to the name, the drink…and my own little celebrity.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Check out more food and libations on Wanderfood Wednesday!

Du lait s’il vous plait: milk in another language

September 25, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

Du lait s’il vous plait.” Milk please,” my daughter requested at school yesterday. In French. Unprompted.

Baby Bird has been attending two half-days of French preschool. She has only been to preschool six times and is already asking milk in French. Not that I’m surprised. Language is her strong suit. She LOVES books and reading, and this is a skillset Big Papa and I encourage. Plus, Baby Bird spent the first year of her life hearing Armenian being spoken, so her brain is already wired with the capability to acquire another language quickly.

I don’t have many regrets in my life, but one is that I wish I was fluent in another language. I know a bit of French and Dutch, and a handful of Armenian words and phrases.

When I was in school, we didn’t have the option to learn a language until high school. By then, the idea that “milk” is called milk, is pretty well solidified in one’s brain. I studied French during my junior and senior years, which has helped me read menus, ask for directions, and order meals at restaurants when in France. But what I’d really like to be able to do, is have a conversation.

My junior year in college, I spent a semester in Amsterdam. In the six months I lived there, I was able to speak (and understand) more Dutch than I ever managed with French, even though I had studied it for two years. Being immersed in the culture, seeing and hearing the same words and sounds every day, fostered a much quicker acquisition of the language. This is one of the reasons why I enrolled our daughter in French school: I wanted her to have the opportunity to learn another language, and begin as soon as possible.

Baby Bird’s language immersion is also an opportunity for me to dip my toes back in the water. Her preschool also offers French language classes for parents and I plan to sign up. I know I am at a disadvantage, trying to pick up language skills later in life. And to be honest, I’m a bit envious of my daughter, being able to start at two-years-old. But, I still want to try to learn as much as I can.

The other reason why I enrolled our daughter in French language school, is that I also hope she will learn to speak Armenian, the language of her birth country. Our local Armenian church offers language classes for children (and adults), beginning at age six. I know that if her brain learns to speak and understand both English and French, that picking up Armenian will be much easier. My set-in-its-ways brain will have a much greater challenge, but I intend to give it a go.

In a world that is increasingly global and multicultural, I am still amazed (and disappointed) that here in the U.S., learning another language isn’t viewed as a necessary skill. In many countries, children learn at least one additional language, and they begin their studies at a very young age. And while more public schools in the U.S. have begun to offer a wider choice of language classes (such as Japanese or Russian), I still believe we don’t start soon enough.

I know that becoming a multilingual society isn’t going to fix all the world’s problems, but it’s one step forward. Because once we comprehend that milk isn’t always called milk outside the U.S., the greater the likelihood we’ll be able to understand the nuances behind the words, and the lives of the people that speak them.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Want to learn about du lait and more? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!