A few photos from two days spent camping and enjoying Salt Creek County Park and Tongue Point Marine Life Sanctuary. Spectacular, in every way!
Eagle on the hunt
Tiny crab
Blood star and sea urchin
Octopus in a tide pool
Salt Creek County Park
Sunset at Tongue Point
Check out more Photo Friday shots at Delicious Baby!
One of my fondest food memories growing up in upstate New York is the cheese. And my favorite cheeses, even as a child, were those with a good kick. Place a sliver of sharp, aged cheddar on top of a slice of crisp Empire apple, and I’m transported to snack heaven. I like my cheese assertive, sharp enough to make my lips tingle.
Whenever I go back to visit, I try to bring home a bite from my past: cheese. During our recent trip to visit family, Big Papa and I took a side excursion to the Ithaca and the Finger Lakes. The Finger Lakes, like much of upstate New York, is home to a lot of cows, cows who provide delicious milk that’s ideal for making delicious cheese.
Bier Meck was the cheese we carried back across the country with us. It’s a gouda-styled farmstead cheese soaked in brine made from Ithaca Beer Company’s Gorges Smoked Porter Ale and then aged for at least 60 days. Bier Meck is one the cheeses made by Finger Lakes Farmstead Cheese. They make raw milk cheese from their family-owned Holstein cows in tiny Mecklenburg, New York. In fact the ‘Meck’ in Beir Meck refers to Mecklenburg, which is a located about twelve miles west of Ithaca.
All Finger Lakes Farmstead cheeses are made from raw milk that is free of growth hormones or antibiotics. Their cows are always in pasture, in season and during the winter they dine on winter forage grown on the farm. The cheeses are called “farmstead” because they are made from the milk of one farm only.
Just as Memorial Day weekend was getting started, our replacement bottle of Seneca Drums gin arrived. I mixed up a couple of gin and tonics for me and Big Papa before taking the cheese out of the fridge.
Maggie, our cat and cheese aficionada, was beside herself with ecstasy before I even got the package of cheese open. Her eyes opened wide, and her head bobbed and weaved as I sliced it up to put on crackers.
I can’t imagine a finer pairing. The creamy-in-the-mouth cheese had a touch of smoke and nut-like flavor which perfectly balanced the fresh juniper and herbal notes in the Seneca Drums gin. Let’s just say that the cheese didn’t last long.
And Miss Maggie? What a lucky kitten: a cat-sized piece of cheese was just the right accompaniment for a bite of catnip, snipped fresh off the plant on the back deck. She lay in the sunshine, purring. We sat on the bench next to her sipping and noshing, all three of us in an upstate New York state of mind, even though we were 3,000 miles away in Seattle.
Want more to put on your cracker? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!
I saw the look in Big Papa’s eyes first: disappointment, disbelief. Then I saw the box. One side was caved in like a t-boned car. Liquid seeped through the cardboard as Big Papa cradled the box from underneath. The box looked like the underarm of a sweaty t-shirt. Not a good look.
We were at Sea-Tac, Seattle’s airport, having just returned from our east coast trip. I was waiting for our luggage to come out the shoot at the baggage carousel, while Big Papa trundled off to the special baggage counter to pick up our special cargo: booze.
During our two day stay in Ithaca, we took a side trip to Cayuga and Seneca Lakes to do a bit of wine tasting. And, lucky us, we stumbled onto Finger Lakes Distilling while we were at it. In our box, were ten bottles of wine, one bottle of gin and a bottle of bourbon soaked pickles. From the looks of things, at least one of the twelve didn’t survive the journey.
In our six years as a couple we’ve gone on a number of wine tasting excursions, and have brought home a number of boxes, all intact. This was the first time we’d ever lost a passenger.
Returning home, Big Papa grabbed a kitchen knife, cut open the box. He opened the flaps and peered inside. The moment of truth: ten wine bottles safe and sound. Gin bottle smashed and pickle bottle in pieces.
All I can say is I pity the poor soul whose luggage flew 3,000 miles across country next to our box. By now they’re home, pondering why their polo shirts smell like a bar and their cashmere sweater smells like a deli.
“I was really looking forward to a gin and tonic,” said Big Papa somberly.
“Me too. Why did it have to be the gin? That amazing gin.” I pined.
Truth be told Big Papa and I aren’t big hard liquor drinkers. Weekdays he’s a beer man all the way. On weekends we drink wine. But every now and then, particularly on a sunny summer day, there’s really no substitute for a refreshing gin and tonic.
This gin was a really, really good gin. In the Pacific Northwest, you can’t throw a cell phone these days without hitting a small craft distillery and most of them have gin. Hand-crafted gin (and other spirits) are popping up in Portland like dandelions in spring: Aviation, 12 Bridges, Cricket Club. Heck, there’s even a distillery five blocks from our house. Oola is slated to open any day. And I’ll bet they have gin.
The gin in our box—well, the gin that was in our box was Seneca Drums Gin from Finger Lakes Distilling in Hector, N.Y. Hector is a tiny town with less than 5,000 people, and some really good gin. In fact Seneca Drums Gin won the ‘Best New York Spirit’ award in 2010.
Seneca Drums is a London-style dry gin, distilled from local Seneca Lake grapes and blended with 11 botanicals, all from the Finger Lakes region except for the juniper which (ironically) is from the Pacific Northwest. It’s a pretty zippy gin with a bit of a kick and lovely herbal notes of citrus, cucumber, clove and anise.
A shot of Seneca Drums gin, a pour of groovy new ‘Q’ tonic water, and a squeeze of fresh lime was exactly what Big Papa and I yearned for after a long, emotionally-laden week away and a six hour flight home. It was just the ticket. Except that it wasn’t.
We both stared into that box. Then, as Big Papa cleaned up the mess of broken glass, I sat down at my computer and wrote an email to Finger Lakes Distillery with the details of the sorry end to our bottle of their finest.
The next day I heard from Brian McKenzie, one of the two McKenzie men (not related) who founded Finger Lakes Distillery. A bottle of Seneca Drums was on its way. Oh happy day!
Thanks and a shout out to Brian. I’m counting the days until our gin arrives. And just in time, as the weather forecast for Seattle, is finally trending toward sunshine. G&T here we come!
I’ll stick with gin. Champagne is just ginger ale that knows somebody.
~M*A*S*H Hawkeye, “Ceasefire,” 1973
Want a shot of more deliciousness? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!
Big Papa and I spent the past week in upstate New York. We were there visiting my mother and my sister, who is ill with cancer. I knew that it would be a tough, emotional five days. So, at the end of our stay, we sought respite for two days in Ithaca.
It’s hard not to feel at peace with the world, when one is surrounded by dramatic gorges, waterfalls, gentle rolling hills, lush green fields and an abundance of wildlife. During the years when I was an undergraduate student at Cornell University, I used to marvel at how so much beauty could be packed into a thirty mile radius. Three decades later, I still do.
Back in my college days, if the weather was warm and classes were over for the day, I’d grab my bathing suit and head to the base of Cascadilla Gorge. I still remember how idyllic it felt to descend the stone stairs cut into the side of the gorge and enter into a mythical world which existed mere minutes from where I lived.
If I was lucky enough to find a friend with a car, my options for sybaritic pleasure increased exponentially: Ithaca Falls, Buttermilk Falls State Park, Robert H. Treman State Park, and Taughannock Falls State Park were an easy fifteen-minute drive at most. Even the mind-blowing Watkins Glen State Park, lies waiting only thirty miles away.
The famous gorges and waterfalls of the Finger Lakes region, where Ithaca is located, exist as a result of the interaction between the south-to-north running river valleys, which were gouged by glaciers numerous times over the last two-million years, and streams running obliquely to the glaciers, which filled with glacial sediment.
The story of the gorges began when the Finger Lakes were river valleys with small streams flowing in from the east and west. The valleys were repeatedly filled with hundreds of feet of glacial ice that originated from glaciers advancing south out of Canada, eroding the valleys deeper.
As the ice melted and glacial sediment dammed the river valleys, deep lakes formed and streams plunged as waterfalls from the glacially steepened hills. Then over time, as the lake levels dropped, a series of steps were left on the hillsides, like at the overlook at Taughannock Falls.
Big Papa and I crammed in as many scenic spots as we could manage during our trip. The places we went to were a feast for our eyes. And our time spent in the gorges of Ithaca was, as it always is– gorgeous —in every way imaginable.
Buttermilk Falls State Park
Lucifer Falls at Robert H. Treman State Park
Taughannock Falls State Park
Watkins Glen waterfall
Watkins Glen
Big Papa has an expression he’s fond of using.” I haven’t [insert phrase here] since the high slopes of Everest. For example, “I haven’t seen this many pigeons since the high slopes of Everest,” which is a true statement since we did indeed see pigeons at Everest Base Camp.
So this past Friday as we sat having lunch at Tom Douglas’ new restaurant, Ting Momo, Big Papa said, “I haven’t had yak like this since the high slopes of Everest.” And why wouldn’t he say that? Because the last time we had yak was on the high slopes of Everest.
Sitting in a Seattle café, cute as it was tucked into an historic brick building in Seattle’s gentrified South Lake Union business zone, is not like being in Tibet. And yak from the high slopes of Colorado, while tasty, didn’t hold a yak-butter candle to the real deal.
Maybe it was the fact that instead of sitting at a cozy table cradling a warm cup of aromatic Chai while waiting for a server, we had to belly up to the counter and place our order while an impatient blond staff member behind the register said snarkily, “What do you want?”
Or maybe it’s just the hard, cold reality that Tibetan food in Seattle is not the next best thing to being there. I know both Big Papa and I long to return to that magical place, but for the moment city yak is all we’ve got.
We each ordered momos, Tibetan steamed dumplings and a cup of Thukpa soup. Big Papa chose a can of Tibetan tea (made in Bellevue, Washington no less!) and I asked for a glass of warm Chai.
The thukpa was made with hand-pulled noodles, red pepper, shitake mushrooms and coconut milk. It was spicy with a lovely kick and tasty though I don’t remember thukpa like this when we traveled in Tibet.
I ordered the momo combo with two yak momos and two shrimp momos. Big Papa went yak momo all the way. The yak momos, in my opinion, were by far the better treat. Golden Colorado yak (yep, yak are trekking in the hills of the U.S.) were spiced with star anise, bay leaf and a cranberry on top. Cranberry? That seemed a bit odd to me. Tibetan fusion food, I guess.
My momos were middling. If this is as close to Tibet as I can get, I’ll visit Ting Momo again though I wish the Chai had been richer, the momos lighter and crispier, the staff friendlier. For $35, I hoped for a bit more enlightenment.
As I walked toward our car, all I could see were modern high rise buildings–there were no pilgrims circumambulating in prayer around me. Car exhaust replaced the sweet scent of burning sage hanging in the air. And sadly, very sadly, melt in your mouth momos and the high peaks of Everest were just a distant memory.
Want more to yak about? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!
“It came right out of his butt,” Nate said, his voice filled with awe.
He held out his hand and extended a forefinger in our direction.
“It’s still warm. And soft!”
There is was: an eraser-sized blob of brown, gooey squirrel poop, fresh from the squirrel perched on the branch of the tree forty feet over Nate’s head.
For the past fifteen minutes, while he jumped and flipped on the outdoor trampoline, Nate had been telling us it was raining squirrel poop. Here was proof.
Big Papa and I took a closer look at the poop as we sat nursing a glass of red wine. Warm sun hit our cheeks and sparkled on the fields of wheat growing off in the distance. We were visiting Walla Walla for three days, a much needed respite from the stress in our lives: a weekend of beautiful vistas, wine tasting, traffic free roads, and mornings where someone else makes the coffee.
That and time with close friends. Nate’s parents, Ben and Julie go back decades with Big Papa, back to the days when they all shared an apartment during college, back when Big Papa subsisted on beans and noodles and Nate wasn’t even a speck on the horizon.
During the six years I’ve been a part of Big Papa’s life, we’ve made four trips to Walla Walla together. On each trip we make sure to spend time with Ben, Julie and Nate. We might not see them frequently, but each time we visit, I am reminded of the role good friends have in our lives, particularly good friends who have a history together, who know things about each other that go without saying.
Big Papa wandered off for a bit to watch Ben dig a ditch on his day off for the new irrigation system to water their garden beds. Nate entertained all of us with his back flip prowess and Julie served wine and cheese while listening to our stories: an adoption gone awry, one sister with a serious illness, one mother with progressive Alzheimer’s, our seemingly endless litany of recent woes.
Then we all took off for a short walk across the fields behind their house to see how high the creek had risen. We poked around in an old barn and looked at owl pellets. We watched Tip, the dog, frolic and run.
Before we knew it, the sunshine began to fade and the chill in the air picked up steam. Red and orange lined the horizon and dusky blue crept into the edges of the sky. We headed inside.
Julie rummaged through the kitchen, looking for something to feed five for dinner. I felt guilty because we’d shown up without much warning and our impromptu visit had stretched on for hours.
“I’m sorry. Nothing’s here” she said as she offered up a plate of veggies to nosh on before we sat down at the table. Pasta and sauce followed for dinner.
Nothing here, I thought to myself. Why there’s everything here Big Papa and I need.
We spent the better part of an afternoon and evening laughing, trading stories and opening our hearts. We wiled away the hours in each other’s company. And now here we were sharing a meal with the best of friends. Hands down, that’s four stars in my book.
Friendships like this don’t fall from trees. They take years of careful cultivation, being there for each other through the ups and downs of life, listening to the stories of family members who’ve been sick or passed on, relationships, marriages, infertility, loss, wild toddler years, hopes, passions and dreams. A day like this day and friendships like this friendship are the exclamation point in life, the crème de la crème. Hot poop.
Sun, sand, surf and sunsets: Kauai and her beaches.
A girl and her dog at Anini Beach
Beach toes (mine!) and board shorts
Orange sunset at Ke’e Beach
Waves and sand at Tunnels Beach
Na Pali beach sunset reflections
Big Papa and I went to Hawaii to GET AWAY from it all! Sure the sun and surf was a draw, but what we really needed was a big ‘ole break. We picked Kauai, and the north shore where we stayed, because it was purported to be beautiful and remote. We planned on snorkeling, hiking, catching some rays, warming up our Seattle frozen selves and leaving behind as much of our daily reality as we possible could.
Of course, I’d heard about the fresh seafood, but hey…we live in Seattle, right? People mentioned the ‘shave ice’ (like a snow cone but oh-so-much better) and of course we figured we’d knock back a Mai-Tai or something similar. But, we didn’t go to Hawaii for the food.
So it was coconut icing on the shave ice, that the food was just SO DARN GOOD. We only went out to one “restaurant” (e.g. nice sort of sit down place) to eat (Postcards in Hanalei…thank you Beth Whitman), we had one “fast food” dinner (Shrimp Station in Waimea…again, thank you Beth). Because who needs all that when the most divine fresh seafood awaits at the local fish market!
Here are a few pictures of some of our favorite treats on Kauai.
Dolphin Fish market take out Hanalei, Kauai: sushi, ahi poke, seaweed salad, ginger beer, taro chips
Ahi burrito Kilauea Fish Market, Kauai: I was SO stuffed but ate every last bite because it was SO yummy!
Waimea Kauai Shrimp Station:
Okay it was so good and I was SO hungry that I forgot to take a picture until there were only two shrimp left!
Last but “ono-so-not-least”…Ono Ono Shave ice Kapa’a Kauai
Just so you don’t think we’re all about “healthy” we ate shave ice with ice cream EVERY day. We thought this place was the best (of those we tried) and not just because they super-size their shave ice. We both thought the coconut ice cream and macadamia nut ice cream was the bomb, but how can you possibly go wrong with all that sweet goodness in one cute flowery cup?!
Want to indulge in more treats, tropical or otherwise? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!
Kauai was eye candy for the soul, pure and simple. In every direction beauty reached out to greet us.
Tree in fog in Waimea Canyon
Hanalei valley and taro fields
Tree bark (Eucalyptus family)
Pink Plumeria
Bananas and banana flower
Teepee tree roots
Helaconia
One of the things Big Papa and enjoyed the most during our trip to Kauai, was the beauty of the vistas, the flora and the fauna – both wild and domestic. Here are a few picture of animals we saw (and loved).
Kauai rooster and chicken – they were EVERYWHERE (as Big Papa put it “You can’t throw a cell phone without hitting an rooster”)
Kauai turtle: okay, not the big Sea Turtle (Honu) but a smaller land-going variety which we nearly ran over with our car. He was being bothered by a rooster and we intervened and found him safer ground.
Kauai Red-crested Cardinal: so cute and check out the ‘do’!
Kauai spinner dolphin: we were fortunate enough to be out on the water and saw an entire pod, leaping and playing in the water.
Kilauea Kauai red horse: we watched this beautiful horse, the color of the soil on Kauai, graze at sunset.
William of Kauai: Last, but definitely not least, one of the cats at our B&B. I was completely smitten with William and even started plotting a way to adopt him and bring him to the mainland. He was a love of a cat and spent every morning sitting on my lap at breakfast and every evening in the same spot watching the stars.
