Living out of a suitcase sucks....

Home sweet home. A cute little phrase-ito that I never quite understood the meaning of until just recently. I have been traveling and changing homes and crashing with people as a guest, sometimes welcome and others, not so welcome and last night, I found a home, and I can finally let out a deep sigh of relief.

Things all homes should have (in my opinion):

• bath robe
• tea pot
• fresh fruit
• a night stand next to a bed with clean sheets
• windows, and not just for show, to be opened for fresh air and natural light
• book shelves, with books and pictures on them
• couches and comfortable chairs
• love

I have a home! In Spain! I am living in Ourense, at the end of the Puente Romano (Roman Bridge) which goes over the River Miño. The river, which is very cold in the winter, has areas of thermal hot springs, in which one can bath year-round.

Not a great photo of the Puente Romano, but you get the picture...for now.

Change of scenery, España!

So after a long period away from my blog, I am going to start writing again. I guess a lot has changed since I last wrote. I am now in Spain. So my posts will concern mostly my life in Spain, the history of Galicia, where I will be living (Ourense to be exact) and my travels.

Stay tuned, I have lots to say and I know it will fall on loving ears.

Skittles

Today at the mall in La Jolla, after overindulging at my favourite local chocolatier (Chuao) and then fulfilling my stereotypical role as a young, female, consumer at my favourite clothing store (Anthropologie), I was walking out to the car, click-clicking away with my high heels on the pavement. After checking my cell phone for any new text messages, I looked up and observed a little blonde five year old walking with her father. I love to people watch, especially kids, they are so honest in all their behaviour and speech and I think we could all learn from them. Anyhow, this little girl was walking with her dad when she suddenly let out a little squeel and sharply turned around, ran, with the cutest, uncoordinated stride to a few steps back, where there lay an empty skittles bag on the ground. She bent down and grabbed it with her full palm, ran to the nearest garbage receptacle, threw it away and re-joined her father. He turned around to see if anyone had seen and saw me drop my jaw in awe. "That was amazing, you're awesome." I called out. She stared up at me and hid behind her father who chuckled and said "Good girl." As I walked passed them I told her "Keep it up."

There was so much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to talk about. I wish more people were like you, at 14, 20, 33, 46, any age. She's 4. I hope she never changes. I hope she is able to maintain these little selfless acts to keep our world beautiful. More often that not we are bogged down by the bad in the world. Killing, stealing, you name it, but I whole heartedly believe that the good in this world outweighs the bad, or else we would have already destroyed ourselves and the earth.

Traditional Spongecake with Almonds & Apricot Glaze

I was given Mastering the Art of French Cooking for my graduation. It's a kitchen essential and now my cookbook library has officially begun. French cooking has always been a reach for me. I grew up cooking but everything I made was sort of thrown together and I saw French cuisine as sophisticated, requiring precise measurements and strict abidance to many a rule I was ignorant of.

As a part of growing up, I think we make internal realizations about life and people that explain a lot of things. It's the "ah-ha" moment. My most recent "ah-ha" moment is that most people do not know what they are talking about and it's the manner in which they present themselves that convinces you. For example, people will respect you more and are more willing to listen to you if you have good posture. So now I have the means to start French Cooking all I have to have is the attitude to present it. I'm pretty sure I've got the attitude down.

So with my new cookbook in hand, I set off to make a traditional French Spongecake. Yes, it did have directions that I followed precisely but, it was so easy to make!

Butter Spongecake (from Mastering the Art of French Cooking)

4 Tbsp. butter

2/3 cup + 2 Tbsp granulated sugar (2 separate measurements)

4 eggs, separated

2 tsp vanilla extract

pinch of salt

3/4 cup cake flower

The directions are spelled out for you, word for word on page 669 of MAoFC, but I'll tell you how I did it.

Preheat the oven to 350˚ F.

Butter and flour a 10" cake pan, set aside.

Melt the butter, set aside.

With an egg beater, beat the sugar into the egg yolks, gradually. Continue to beat "until mixture is thick, pale yellow, and forms ribbons." This means that when you turn the egg beater off and lift it out of the bowl, the mixture will stick to the egg beater and then slowly fall off, forming a ribbon-like lump on the remaining mixture in the bowl. Do not overdo it.

In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites and salt together until soft peaks form. Then add the sugar and continue to beat until stiff peaks form.

The next step I believe is the most important and must be done right. Take about one fourth of the egg whites and add them to the egg yolk-sugar mixture. Sift one fourth of the flour over this and very gently fold until just partially blended. Repeat, this time adding about one third of the remaining egg whites and one third of the remaining flour. Again, gently fold until just incorporated. Repeat again, this time with half of each remaining ingredient. And one last time with the remaining egg whites, flour, plus half of the slightly cooled, melted butter. When partially blended, fold in the remaining butter, paying close attention so as to not add the milky substance at the bottom. Do not overmix! The volume of the egg whites is necessary for a fluffly, spongy texture.

Turn into the prepared pan. Bake for 30-35 minutes. "Cake is done when it has puffed, is lightly brown, and has just begun to show a faint line of shrinkage from the edges of the pan."

Allow to cool for about 10 minutes in the pan and then run a knife around the edge of the pan and turn the cake out onto a cooling rack. Allow to cool for at least an hour before frosting or glazing.

I did an apricot glaze and slivered almonds along the edges of the cake. Take apricot jam (I used homemade that I found in the fridge) and run it through a tea strainer to get rid of any chunks. Let it simmer in a small frying pan for a good 10 minutes, set aside to cool. Gently roll the outer rim of the cake in the cooled apricot glaze and then gently roll it over a plate with slivered almonds. Set on a platter and glaze the top of the cake.

Voila!

Strawberry Surprise

We bought several pounds of strawberries at a local fruit stand in Gig Harbor. We decided to make strawberry jam.

We washed, hulled and chopped pounds upon pounds of strawberries.

We then looked up several recipes, and in my typical fashion, I announced that I knew how to make strawberry jam, and no, we didn't need pectin. My mom made it all the time growing up and didn't use pectin, I'd watched her. I called her. She didn't answer. Oh well, we proceeded.

We added sugar to the hulled and chopped strawberries, brought them to a boil, and canned um up! That simple! Well, kind of. Let me tell you, that is how you make delicious Strawberry Topping, but that is NOT strawberry jam. We made about 24 1-quart jars of this Strawberry Delight as we came to call it.

Christina was a great sport and assured me she would buy pectin as soon as she got home to salvage them. We visited her grandmother and aunt the following week and popped open a can of Strawberry Delight. We had it over vanilla ice cream, and it was great, as a topping, but like I said, it certainly was not jam.

When I returned home to San Diego, I shared my Strawberry Delight with my brother. "Seriously Sally?" I get this from him a lot. It's the big brother, you're better than this tone. I like it, it keeps me on my toes.

"Don't you remember when mom used to make this when we were little? She would let it simmer all afternoon. How long did you boil it for?" brother

"Oh, yea, I just brought it to a boil and then poured it." me

"Here, we'll fix it." He poured one of the jars out onto a large frying pan and let it simmer for about half an hour until it was the perfect jam consistency! It was like magic. Or common kitchen sense, you choose.

So I have it for you now:

Pectin-Free, Simple Strawberry Jam

3 cups granulated sugar

2 pounds hulled strawberries

a squeeze of fresh lemon juice

In a large bowl mash up the strawberries to your desired consistency. I prefer leaving big chunks but it's personal preference, really.

In a big saucepan add all the ingredients over low heat, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Now simmer for a long time. I've read in some recipes that they measure their jam and once it gets to 220˚ F then it's done, but I say just keep simmering and stirring, simmering and stirring until it reaches jam like consistency.

Pour it into sterilized jars, leaving enough head space(Home Canning FAQs: What is Headspace?). And close, you can place them in a water bath to airtight seal them for long term preservation (http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art2816.asp, great info for home canning!) , or if you are going to be eating it in the near future, you can simply put it in a jar, let it cool and refrigerate it.

Can't Donate Blood, Again.

So I really like to donate blood. It may seem weird. There's something satisfying about going to the blood bank that I have been going to for years, first with my father, and then alone once I turned 16 and was able to go by myself, not only because I then had the freedom of my own set of wheels, but also because that is the age at which one can donate. At the Blood Bank I go to, The Community Hospital of the Monterey Peninsula, (CHOMP) Blood Center, the nurses are so sweet, they know the regular donors by name and always have a cheery disposition. Also, after donating, they offer you carrot cake and fruit juice. If you're a "Four Seasons Donor," meaning you donate at least 4 times a year, you get a membership card and they give you prizes at every fourth donation. Maybe a t-shirt, a license plate holder, coffee thermos, coffee mug or canvas bag. We have all of these at my house as my dad has donated 11+ gallons. In case you are not familiar with how much blood that is, or how long that took to do, each time one donates blood, he/she gives a pint. There are 8 pints in a gallon. You cannot give more than a pint of blood every 8 weeks (56 days), or, if so inclined, you can do an erythrocytapheresis, where you donate essentially double the amount of red blood cells via a filtration process (apheresis). In this process, the unused components, the white blood cells, are returned to the donor (you) and the red blood cells are taken. In this method, you can donate once every 16 weeks. Assuming you do the traditional blood donation, once every 8 weeks, that is roughly 6.5 times a year. Also, you have to take into consideration health. When you donate, they are not going to want your blood if you are some sort of infection or are taking an antibiotic to cure an infection. Remember, your blood is going to somebody who is probably in compromised health. Your blood pressure has to be healthy, this varies by sex, physical fitness, diet, etc. A normal body temperature is required, confirming you are in good health. And lastly, they check your hematocrit. This is more commonly referred to as your iron level. I have been deferred several times due to low iron levels and it is really disappointing. It does not necessarily mean that you are anemic, but I am usually borderline.

In highschool, I started coordinating the Blood Drives at my highschool. They would set up a mobile blood bank in either the library or the gym, for a couple of weeks prior to the blood drive, I would go around signing students up and even publishing articles in our school paper about the benefits of donating blood, and what foods to eat prior to the blood drive to ensure blood iron levels were high enough for donation. This tends to be a problem with vegetarians and women.

It is a problem with me. I went to donate blood two weeks ago with some friends, they both donated and I was deferred due to inadequate iron levels. I made a big effort to eat meat regularly, that is difficult for me as I am not a big fan. Especially lately as I have been road-tripping a lot and crashing on my brother's couch. Eating lots of snack food and not proper meals. I went again today, and again, inadequate iron levels. So now I am really going to make an effort. Spinach, prunes, kale, collard greens, figs and apricots here I come! Yes, I will work on chicken and eggs too, but I prefer the fruit/vegie option. Maybe I will even post up some recipes of things I make before I go back to try to donate on Friday.

Zel's Del Mar

My boyfriend and I wanted to go out for a nice dinner. I like trying new places and he suggested we just drive around until we see something we like. He's from a small town and didn't really get that I need some sort of direction before heading out in San Diego. So I narrowed it down to Del Mar. I used to live in Del Mar and had tried most of the restaurants downtown but there were still a couple I hadn't been to. We drove down Camino Del Mar and I saw Zel's, this quaint, corner restaurant with outdoor seating (always a plus) that I have been curious about for quite some time. We decided we'd look at the menu and then we would decide.

The menu was printed on a legal sized sheet of card stock. It seemed to be one of those menus that changes frequently according to the season and availability of local produce and mentioned supporting sustainable meats and fish. After a quick look at the menu, we were sold.

The scene was beautiful. We sat in a Spanish style outdoor patio with a fireplace that was lit as soon as it got a bit chilly. There were candles on the table and we were served cucumber and lemon infused water, which only added to the ambiance.

We shared the "Trust the Chef Surprise Platter" as an appetizer. That day, it consisted of: half a braised artichoke with sauteed mushrooms and onions filling the place where the heart used to be, a couple slices of what the waiter simply described as charcuterie (it was some sort of sausage similar to chorizo), arugula with seared ahi and a light, creamy mustard sauce, and two fritters (serrano ham and roasted chicken with a buttermilk sauce, breaded and fried with a slow cooked ragu sauce on top. That was just the appetizer.

I ordered the Locally Grown Vegetable Tasting. On that particular day it consisted of hummus on the bottom of the plate, topped with roasted eggplant, wilted greens, a roasted carrot, grilled shallots with a red pepper dip on the side. My boyfriend had the special that night, a center cut sirloin with gorgonzola cheese along with fried polenta and broccolini. We split a bottle of wine. It was a Cab blend from Alexander Valley Vineyards and it was great. Both entrees were wonderful. Perfectly portioned. The service was exceptional and the view breathtaking. July in southern California is (usually) unbeatable.

I highly recommend this restaurant. There happy hour seemed great too. Tuesday - Sunday 5:00-6:30 pm. They have a deal that is $10 for a burger and a beer during happy hour, among others. The people sitting next to us had the burgers and they looked very appetizing. The happy hour menu is quite affordable. However, the meal we enjoyed was medium priced, but very reasonable for what we ordered and the overall experience. We spent a good two hours and were treated very well and not rushed out after we had finished and paid, we were able to stay and continue our conversation by the fireplace. Great service!

Sourdough Starter

So I just graduated. I am looking for a job, and I have a nice enough friend and brother to let me stay with them until I figure things out. In return, and to keep myself busy and indulge in one of my favorite hobbies that I have neglected in being an undergraduate Biochemistry student, I am cooking and baking.

Today I am attempting to make a sourdough starter and Molten Chocolate Cakes, both from the Williams-Sonoma Cookbook. See my next post for the Molten Chocolate Cakes.

This is my version of their recipe. The sourdough starter requires a 48 hour standing period. Today I'll whip it together and keep posting updates about how it goes. I'll then do a post with the finished product and the loaf of bread I'll make with it. :)

Sourdough Starter

2 cups lukewarm water

1/3 cup plain yogurt

2 cups bread flour

1/4 cup dry buttermilk powder

Mix the water and yogurt in a bowl until the yogurt is completely dissolved in the water. Make sure the water is not too hot, it must be lukewarm, a good test is to stick your finger in and count to 10, if that is bearable, you are good, if you have to take your finger out because you cannot bear it, then it's too hot. The yogurt may separate a little to the bottom, this is normal, but it is really helpful to use a whisk and spin the whisk between your palms as if rubbing your hands back and forth (but with a whisk in between). Then add the flour and buttermilk powder, again, using the whisk, make sure you get all the clumps out.

The finished product will have the consistency of pancake batter. Put it in a big jar or container and cover it loosely with cheesecloth or plastic wrap. And let it sit for 48 hours.

Seattle, with pride

Christina and I ended up in Seattle.

We were staying at Gig Harbor, about a 45 minute drive away from Seattle and got directions from her aunt, with whom we were staying. It was seemingly simple, straightforward. So we drove, and drove, screaming our favorite country music songs in the car as we went along. As we approach our exit, we notice that traffic is really backed up. We were marveling at the Space Needle when Christina noticed a flag on top. It is World Cup time, and I thought it looked like a German flag. Had the German community of Seattle gotten ahold of Space Needle and put their flag on top? We got a closer...and saw that the flag was striped, like the German flag, but not 3 stripes, and not the right colors, it was...rainbow striped.

We had just stumbled upon Seattle's Gay Pride Weekend. So parking was difficult to find, of course we got lost, and any normal priced parking was jacked up to at least $10 for the day. Oh well!

We found parking and went to walk around. In my typical fashion, I had the names and addresses of chocolate shops of the city that we had to find. Among other various landmarks that were must sees. We parked by the Space Needle, the big plaza and fountain were filled with happy people, singing and dancing, running through the fountain, and just being merry. The atmosphere was great, everybody was so friendly.

We then went in search of Theo, a well known chocolate factory that supposedly gave great tours. We walked and walked and walked. We were on a mission, we had walked at least a mile when, we stumbled across a bakery. We smelled it before we saw it. From the smell, our eyes searched until we found Macrina's Bakery on First street between Battery and Wall Sts. We detoured from our search of Theo to going to this bakery. We were first impressed by the size of the kitchen. It was about half the size of the city block and a little below ground level, so we had a perfect view of the kitchen. There were huge racks for cookie sheets and a petite woman working away in the bakery. We watched in awe. Finally we shuffled on into the bakery. Everything looked delicious. The red velvet cupcakes were plump and inviting. The prepared sandwiches looked fresh and crisp. We found the day old basket which consisted of all of the day old cookies for half off. Being recently graduated travelers, we thought this would be the best bet for us. We asked if they would bring the basket closer so we could get a better look. The

basket was placed on the counter in front of us and we oohed and aahed. We ended up choosing 4 cookies, a peanut butter cookie, a molasses/ginger cookie, a chocolate chip/espresso cookie with dried apricot, and an oatmeal cookie. After sitting down outside and beginning to nibble at each one, Christina decided we needed a glass of milk. We assured each other that we would collectively eat half of each of the cookies, adding up to a total of one cookie each, and pack the other four half eaten cookies away in our bags to take home for the following day.

That didn't happen.

We ate all four cookies, which means we ate two cookies each. These were not your "fun-sized" cookies either. That's something I never understood, what is so fun about a cookie or a candy bar being an inch big? If you ask me that's no fun. Anyways.

This is the ginger/molasses cookie. (Above) It was chewy and wonderful. I highly recommend this bakery if you are ever in Seattle. And to the right is the oatmeal cookie which had all sorts of nuts and dried fruit in it. A beautiful woman also told us that brunch there was amazing and I always take the advice of beautiful women.

We figured since we had already walked over a mile in search of a chocolate shop, that we should continue the search. So along we walked, extremely full and content with our recent cookie gluttony. We walked some more stopping in little boutiques along the way. Seattle is full of quirky boutiques. We saw several shops that advertised and sold products made of recycled goods. I was confused by the extremely expensive price tags on purses made of recycled skirts and yoga-mat bags made of old pillow cases, I will assume that the money goes to support the local artist, in which case, it's a good cause!

Finally when we saw Pike's Place Market, one of the main attractions we'd been told we could not miss in Seattle, we decided to give up our search for chocolate and settle for the fish and produce market. This would probably be better for our health anyways.

Pike's Place was awesome!!! We walked through vibrantly colored alleys of vegetable and fruit and sampled

pickled asparagus, spiced honey and thai peanut dipping oils. I felt as if I were at the covered market in Morocco, although with a much more Western feel. I tried shea butter lotions and creams guaranteed to cure my eczema. I bought a little bushel of champagne grapes and walked through the market eating the smaller-than-pea-sized morsels. I even fed the guy cleaning the ice they keep the fish on. He gave me great advice. He told me if I had a few days (which I didn't) to drive north, I should drive up on some back road, called Chuckanut for the best oysters I'll ever have in my life. If you get the chance to do so, do it! And tell me about it! Otherwise it's on my lifelong to-do list. Here to the right we have a picture of Pike's Place Market.

Next we stumbled across a cheese shop. Beecher's Cheese Shop. We bought two cheeses. A goat cheese with orange zest and pecans and Flagship, a Beecher's classic. It's "a semi-hard cow's milk cheese with a uniquely robust, nutty flavor. It is carefully aged for one year under the watchful eye of the cheesemaker to fully develop its complex flavor and ever-so-slight crumble. See http://www.beechershandmadecheese.com/index.html for more info.

Portland - Chocolate and Roses

We slept in today. Until 8:30. Again breakfast from Mama B's bottomless sack of food and hit the trail.

The first intended stop was Sahagún, a chocolate shop in Portland recommended to me by a like-minded chocolate lover. It was very disappointingly closed. I had eaten a tiny breakfast in anticipation of good hot chocolate. Oh well. On to our next destination, Portland's Rose Gardens in Washington Park. I had looked it up on the map before leaving the loft and following the theme of Portland being small and easy to navigate by foot, we had decided to walk. It turned out to be quite the uphill trek. We never found the street on which we were supposed to turn, but asked for directions and discovered we were much closer than we thought. The gardens were beautiful and well worth any hike. After marveling at hundreds of varieties of roses, we found a park bench to read in the intoxicating smell of roses. A very relaxing way to spend the Friday.

Next we headed down the hill to downtown Portland. We stumbled upon Cacao (at 414 SW 13th Ave.) a chocolate shop we had read about. We went in and were mystified by all of the chocolate. Christina bought some caramels, with which she was very pleased. And we split "A Flight of Three," which was 3 demitasse cups of drinking chocolate. One milk chocolate infused with cinnamon, one dark chocolate with cayenne pepper and ginger and the third "Rivoli" which was just a dark, 72% cacao drink. All were thick, warm and delicious. The woman who helped us had a bit of an attitude. I asked a question and was rudely corrected by her. Reflecting on her manner outside, as we drank our chocolate, we decided that she had just had a bad day. That was a more pleasant conclusion than her being an unhappy woman, angry with her life. Maybe it was the chocolate.

We decided to go to Powell's again. We looked up books on Portland for more Happy Hours and Chocolate Shops to visit. Also, Chocolate Shops in Seattle, anticipating our weekend trip tomorrow.

Next we walked around, to be completely frank, we were just killing time until Happy Hour at 4:00 pm. We went into an adorable Vintage Store, Portland seems to be full of them. We also went into Pearl Bakery (at 102 NW 9th St.), which we had read about in a book about great Portland eateries. The service here was beyond exceptional. Brittany, the young lady behind the counter was extremely friendly and after we had made our selection of a ginger cookie and a multi-grain roll, told us to pick something for her to sample out. We chose the Almond Cake. It was perfect. Just the right consistency, dense yet light. It was not overbearingly almondy and had a light orange glaze. The ginger cookie was delicious. It had a crisp rim, the middle was wonderfully chewy and the entire thing was coated in crystalline sugar. I haven't had the roll yet, that is for breakfast tomorrow morning.

We then headed back to Kenny & Zuke's Delicatessen (at 1038 SW Stark St), another place recommended by a friend. I've found that that's a great way to travel. Ask all of your friends if they've been to or lived in your destination city and what they recommend. But don't limit yourself to just recommendations and be open-minded. Back to this deli. We had passed by it a couple times and it looked fabulous but also had read in a book that it had a great Happy Hour. Being broke, it was the perfect option. We each had a beer. Christina ordered a cream ale and me an IPA. Christina's was much better than mine, it tasted like a cream soda! Christina then ordered the Reuben Sliders. I had never had a Reuben before and was very impressed! Again, the service here was wonderful and when I went to the deli to ask the different between the 2 types of lox, the woman behind the counter gave me a sample of each. We spent a good 2 hours there and were very pleased with our experience.

After "dinner," realizing that I actually only had some of Christina's Reuben, and a beer, I decided I wanted chocolate. A conclusion I often come to after a mini meal, as I'd much rather eat chocolate than most savory food. So we headed back to Cacao and I had a full order of the Rivoli dark drinking chocolate.

We walked back to the Loft and I fell asleep. I woke up with enough time left in the evening to update this blog and plan our Seattle trip for the weekend.

Stay tuned!

Portland - Urban Camping

We are staying in the Pearl District of Portland, at a friend's loft. This couple is fabulous and the first thing I noticed about their loft is that there is no television!! Rather, there are books everywhere! And great artwork on the walls, Picassos, a Breakfast at Tiffany's poster but in Italian (Colazione da Tiffany) and hand woven rugs. My words can do this loft little justice. And photographs would just be cheesy. So you will have to take my word for it.

We woke up much refreshed after our 14 hour day on the road. We had breakfast from Mama B's (Christina's nickname for my mom) sack of food she had packed us and hit the road.

Since we had spent so much time in the car the first day, we decided today had to be on foot.

Our first stop was Powell's Books. The self-acclaimed "City of Books," truly is. We got lost, wondering from the Red Room to the Purple Room to the Rose Room. Any book lover, actually, anybody could find something that suits their taste. I spent over an hour perusing the recipe book section and the books on chocolate. I briefly stopped at the shelf on Careers and Soul-Searching, when I was feeling ambitious but quickly left when I remembered, I don't want a job. Not a job in the traditional sense at least, one that is constricting, or only gives me limited vacation time. I need a job that I set my own hours and am my own boss.

We were walking around when we saw a long line in a plaza downtown. Our curiosity got the best of us and we wondered over, only to discover a semi-truck with the two magical names "Ben & Jerry's" printed on the side, parked in the plaza. There were people wearing bright red t-shirts handing out free ice cream. Jack pot. We got in line. I spotted street vendors selling food. My friend, who lives in Portland had recommended them for great, affordable food. Christina stood in line while I went and got a burrito from a vendor advertising "Honkin' Huge Burritos." I ordered a vegetarian burrito (there was no other option) on a whole wheat tortilla with plain yogurt instead of sour cream and both pico de gallo and a more traditional hot sauce. When asked what kind of salsa I wanted, I asked for my options and the woman responded by pouring both salsas over a plate of tortilla chips. Smart woman, not only did she earn herself a tip, she also gained a loyal customer, who believes in word-of-mouth and word-of-blog, so if you are ever in Portland, look for Shelly's Honkin' Burritos, or Shelly's Burrito Garden. Although I had ordered a small burrito, it was huge, and enough for Christina and I to share, and follow with our (free!) scoop of Ben & Jerry's chocolate fudge brownie ice cream.

Photo worthy street sign(s)

With our bellies full, we headed for the Portland Public Library. A beautiful building with an adorable gift shop run by the Friend's of the Library. I had never seen a gift shop at a library! I love public libraries. All libraries for that matter. It was too cold in the library, and so we decided to go look for a park to read. In between napping and reading, we enjoyed the Southwest park of Portland.

We then decided to wonder around some more. We stumbled upon Benessere, an olive oil and vinegar shop at 907 SW 9th Ave. What a surprise! We sampled honey ginger balsamic vinegar, strawberry balsamic, truffle oils and many more. The shop keeper was very friendly and I highly recommend this shop for Portland visitors, food connoisseurs or anybody for that matter! All of the oils and vinegars were neatly arranged in metal barrels with spigots for pouring, on two aisles in the center of the store. We left the shop with our tongues tingling from drinking balsamic vinegar out of tiny plastic sample cups. Very worthwhile.

Next we stopped at Anthropologie, my favourite clothing store, and we bought matching shirts, again. Christina and I now have about 5 articles of matching clothing in our wardrobe, all from Anthro. :)

It was Happy Hour, so naturally, we had to find a restaurant for a drink. There are literally thousands of restaurants, pubs, bars and cafés in Portland. We stopped in a cute Latinesque restaurant called ¡Oba! Christina is acquiring a taste for beer and so she ordered a Widmer Hefeweizen, a local beer and I had a lemon drop. And then I had an Oregon Marionberry Margarita. We sat at a table on the side of the restaurant and enjoyed the afternoon sun. The service at this place was great and the drinks delicious.

We then walked to Trader Joe's to pick up dinner fixings and headed back to the Loft. Christina made sautéed chicken and vegetables with Dijon Mustard and basil dressing with wild brown rice. We spent the remainder of the evening reading and then decided to take a night stroll. Our stroll turned into circumnativating downtown Portland and picking out places to visit the following day.

We learned from our experiences today that Portland is much smaller than we expected and very easy and convenient to travel by foot.

Day 1 of Road Trip

I sit here in Myrtle Creek, Oregon, at an adorable coffee shop (Soco Coffee Co.) with great pastries and very tasteful decor. It's right off I-5 and well worth the stop. We stopped in as we needed a break and some caffeine. The original plan was to camp in Mt. Shasta. But we arrived in Mt. Shasta much before we expected to, and decided to soldier on, and make it to Portland in 1 day. Christina ordered a huge, crispy peanut butter cookie and I had a Not So New (day old) [but just as delicious!] pastry, an Orange Chocolate Explosion (if I recall correctly) which was a moist orange bundt cake with chocolate frosting.

Christina and I departed from Pacific Grove a few minutes after 6:00 am this morning. Our car was packed with camping gear, a duffle (each) of clothes, our backpacks which contained our precious computers, a cooler and sack of food packed by my Syrian mother, God forbid we get hungry. And, everybody knows that there are no places to get food from Pacific Grove, CA to Portland, OR. In her defense, she wanted to save us money, to spend on other things, like chocolate, well, she didn't say that, but I will. We drove, and drove, and drove through thick fog leaving PG, and then through hot sun in the central valley. We were in awe of Mt. Shasta, which we nicknamed Shasty baby or Shasta Bear.

Shasta Bear

We stopped in Shasta and had a little picnic. Smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwhiches along with carrots, overlooking the Lake and dam. We loaded ourselves back up in the car and were off, again, our next stop being Myrtle Creek. We listened to David Sedaris' "Me Talk Pretty One Day." If you have not already read it, I highly recommend you do so. I recommend even more that you listen to Mr. Sedaris on tape, or MP3, I guess this is the 21st century. We were listening to him as we drove into Portland, we were screaming of laughter and my eyes were so full of tears I thought I might wreck the car. Needless to say, we made it safely.

Me, taking photographs with my cell phone,

to send to our less fortunate friends,

who have things like work and responsibilities

and could not accompany us on our trip.

If one must pose for photos, and does not possess model capabilities for posing...

This is the life

"This is the life" sighed Inma, the director of the study abroad program in which I participated 2 falls ago in Cordoba, Spain. We lay on the warm sand in La Jolla, California. Although it was completely overcast, the weather was very pleasant and we were enjoying one another's company, along with another student with whom I had studied abroad with. We watched a surf competition and chatted. To her, this was a typical Sunday in Southern California, and maybe it is, although it was the first time I had ever seen a surf competition and I rarely go to the beach to lounge.

We hadn't seen each other since I left Spain in December 2008. According to all the students on the program, past and present, she is the program Mommy. She is fluent in both English and Spanish (not to mention Italian among others) and so when we were homesick or did not understand something about Spanish culture, our host families, or bureaucracy, she was there to explain it to us, in perfect, British accented English. She also knew all the best places to go in Cordoba, for tapas, wine bars, etc. She always was pleasant and helped us with contacts, or just plain giving advice. She never did anything FOR us, she just guided us, pointed us in the right direction, and let us find our own way. For her I am thankful. She is one of the most balanced people I know. She is so lively and natural. She can have a good time just about anywhere. She will get up and dance at a dinner party, or drink sangria with you in the back, she loves to make conversation and does so with everybody. She is a beautiful person and a wonderful soul, I hope you have an Inma in your life.

I also got to thinking, human interactions are really beautiful. I never understood why there was such a stigma about people spending time with people outside of their age group. I have always had friends who are much older and younger than myself. I love it. I feel like I learn so much from them and when I talk about things that I think are "normal" or "outrageous" I hear their perspective. It's a wonderful thing. My 12 year old problems were quite silly when I explained them to a friend going through a divorce, or another friend who had just lost a loved one cancer. I guess this was something I always yearned for as all of my family, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc. lived halfway across the world from me. So I adopted my family. All of the neighbors growing up on my block became my aunts and uncles, I won't say grandparents, so as to not offend anybody, but I had a hefty lot of aunts and uncles. I spent my weekends traveling from one house to the next, enjoying a cup of tea with Sally from down the street and cookies at Chris and Jeff's. I would accompany Margaret to the post office and we'd stop at the cafe downtown for a brownie, and occasionally she'd slip a "bad word" when somebody cut her off. Tony next door had me help with the yard and Joel even employed me in his living room lab. All that I'm trying to get out of all of this is that we can learn so much from all of the people in our lives, even if we just have a conversation with them. We often times find ourselves so caught up in our to do lists, run this errand, and that errand, go to this store and call that person and forget where we are, that there are other humans around us from whom we can learn so much and brighten our days.

Only the Rich are Beautiful

I work at a high end Chocolate shop in an upscale "mall" in Del Mar. Del Mar is what my peers and I would refer to as bougie. What that word means, to me, is extravagant, excessive, and refers to the unnecessary displays of wealth of the upper class. My friend came to work with me the other day, she had some studying to do and would accompany me at work, not to mention enjoy the perks of my working at a chocolate shop, coffee, tea and chocolates, the perfect study aids.

We people watched the entire time. Although this is one of my favorite pass-times, it was different here. On this particular day, the sun was out, so laser-removed hairless legs were fully exposed by white Michael Kors sun-dresses. Sun glasses took up half the faces of the women, rested on the perfectly defined cheekbones, and reflected the shiny lip gloss. Everybody had beautifully glowing skin. They were all thin and radiant. Lounging at the Starbucks next door, or venturing into the Chocolate Shop for gelato. Nobody in a hurry or stressed. Clean hair shone in the sun. Clothes fit tightly, neatly, cleanly. Everything was pressed and went together. My friend commented, "Everybody in Del Mar is beautiful." I got to thinking about it and came to the conclusion that the wealthy are an attractive bunch. They probably have good genes as they been financially successful, they had to make some cognitive decisions in their lives, and did so well. With money, comes luxury, clean food, a good night's rest, the time to workout, shower regularly and groom oneself properly. They have the money to have regular doctor's visits, catch any health problems that may arise at an early stage, and practice preventative medicine, in their sleeping, eating and exercise habits. Furthermore, the wealthy hardly marry outside of their circles, so then we have good genes mating with more good genes, producing offspring with good genes who will be taught to take care of themselves, and be successful, in addition to inheriting the estates of their successful parents. Now the beauty of this country is this is achievable. One is able to get a loan and get an education, get a job, pay off the loan and if they are smart about it, make their own small fortune and live comfortably.

It's sad though that good clean food, and good health are, for the most part, limited to those with money.

I look at myself and I do not consider myself poor, I often times may find myself broke, but I am by no means poor. Currently I think I am in the worst health of my life. I have not been sleeping regularly, my eating habits have been poor, even though I know better, my exercise is sporadic, I am constantly stressed, and taking on much more than I can handle. In response, my body is angry with me. Despite the obvious weight-gain that accompanies poor eating and lack of exercise, my skin is completely broken out, not only in pimples on my face, but I have bags under my eyes, constantly, and my eczema is completely flaring on my hands and arms. This is just another lesson, or reiteration of what I already know, of the importance of taking care of myself. I don't need to have a lot of money to get a good night's sleep on a daily basis. To eat balanced meals, regularly. To get outside and just go for a walk, or use the swimming pool in my apartment complex. And also, to not commit to more than I can handle.

Although I think it's easier for the wealthy to take care of themselves, as more often than not they lack stressing over money, I think what is more important is education and common sense. There should be a push to educate young parents on how to raise their children, feeding them properly and making sure they are active. I have hope for our country. Although we are not in the best health of our history, I think we possess many potential leaders, not only political, I mean social. I believe we are currently in the midst of a food revolution. More and more people are becoming aware of the importance of eating quality over quantity. The amount of literature available about food and how to eat is reassuring and should be supported. One of the pioneers in this field, as far as I know is Michael Pollan, his book Omnivore's Dilemma was assigned for reading in a seminar class I took on nutrition and was fascinating and extremely educational. I suggest it to everyone.

American Idol

I went to a recording of American Idol today. My thoughts were: how much does this cost to put on and keep up? This includes all of the employees, the security guards, the people checking in my cell phone, the people on lights, the woman that counts 10,9,8,...to signal to Ryan Seacrest that he's on the air, the lights themselves, the 3 huge screens magnifying what's going on on stage to the whole crowd, the air conditioning it takes to keep a room on that size "comfortable.," the list goes on and on. I told my friend who I went with, "there are people all over the world who have never even seen a TV. Imagine how many people you could feed if you used 1/100th of the money used to produce this show."

I know it sounds so cliché, "there are starving kids in Africa." But the truth is there are starving people everywhere.

I guess it depends on how you define less fortunate. There are various stages of "fortune." There are people who are alive, they're fortunate, they have their lives. There are people who are alive and ill, what does that make them? There are those that have everything in the world, but I wouldn't consider them fortunate. All I'm trying to say is I wish people would not be so selfish and self-centered. I mean, maybe it's human nature to be selfish? I personally think it's human nature to want to help others, and see the joy we can give other people. Why then have we evolved to be such a greedy species?

Thoughts??

Focus on What You Have

I have recently been consumed by the incessant thoughts of a failed friendship. The subject comes up in all of my conversations and when I am idly sitting in class, at work, in bed, on the bus, etc. my thoughts linger to this friendship that will not seem to work no matter how hard I try to force it. So therein lies the problem. I am trying to force it. I have learned through many experiences in my short life that you cannot force anything. If something is meant to happen, it will force itself upon you, no matter how hard you try to avoid it. And the same is true for the converse, if something is not supposed to happen, no matter how hard you try to make it work, nature will not allow it.

My aunt was visiting me this past weekend, and we had an amazing time together (as always). She gave me advice that I really should apply to my life. She said she's tired of people focusing on things that they don't have, rather than what they do. Rather than obsessing over this friendship that I cannot seem to make work, why don't I focus on the wonderful people I do have in my life? The friends that listen to me rant and rave about this failing friendship. The friends that are always there, a phone call away, to listen to me cry, or tell me they love me and are happy when I am, who would do just about anything for me.

So that's what I will do, I will love my friends and family and give them the attention and respect they deserve, and you should to :).

Bread & Cie.

I was meeting a friend for brunch at Bread & Cie. today in Hillcrest. I'd heard about it before and in fact I read a review about it just yesterday. I met this particular friend at Chuao, the chocolate shop at which I work. We immediately bonded over our love for chocolate and we later discovered (and are still finding) that our lifestyles are also very similar.

While waiting for her, I surveyed the restaurant, it was pleasantly crowded, the demographic not what I'm used to over by UCSD, there were more families, couples of all ages, and groups of middle aged people who have the time and money to enjoy an elegant Saturday brunch. I read and re-read the menu. I examined the pastry selection. I was politely asked if I needed help just enough times to make me feel very welcome. I then did what I do at every restaurant/cafe/bakery I go to. I asked one of the people working behind the counter what her favorite pastry was, prefacing her response with a confession of it needing to be chocolate. She was very sweet and described all of the chocolate pastries for me. I then asked the same question, to a different person, regarding the bread. When Susi arrived, she introduced me to Freddy, who I'm assuming is the owner and welcomed me time and time again.

We split the Cranberry & Goat Cheese Salad. It was excellent. Baby greens tossed in a tangy and sweet dressing, sprinkled with dried cranberries, candied walnuts and a mini ice-cream scoop's worth of a fabulously creamy goat cheese. The goat cheese had a balsamic reduction drizzled on it which gave the tart cheese taste a very subtle sweetness, accented by the similarly tart taste of the vinegar. We also split the Marzipan. This exceeded both of our expectations. It was a 2.5 inch log of seemingly whipped marzipan, filled with some sort of chocolate ganache/marzipan center, and either end was dipped in chocolate. It was light and fluffy with just the perfect taste of bitter almond, characteristic of marzipan. Naturally we had to try the Flourless Chocolate Cake, it was light and melted in my mouth. It was topped with the perfect amount of chocolate ganache topping, which was cold in contrast to the cake. It also melted in my mouth but at a much slower rate than the cake, leaving a sweet, dark chocolate chunk of frosting to chew after the cake had dissolved. We also had the Blood Orange tea which was served with a small tea cookie, which was excellent, crisp, sweet, but not too sweet and a perfect companion to our tangy tea.

While getting a cup of water, I noticed someone had left their macaroon, neatly folded in it's bag on the condiments counter. I went to return it to one of the cashiers, and she told me to just keep it. Delightful.

Overall, I was thoroughly impressed with my experience at Bread & Cie. The food is delicious, the service exceptional and the staff warm, friendly and human.

Sand Bagger

My cross country coach in high school used to call the students who would sprint the last quarter mile of the course, the part where all of your friends/teammates/family members were standing cheering you on, Sand Baggers. He said if you had all of that energy left in the end you didn't try hard enough throughout the rest of the course. Ya, he's probably right.

I think my college career has been of Sand Bagging nature. I started off great, excited, everything sounded so scholarly and I didn't actually believe that it was happening to me. Biochemistry? No, I'm just taking classes, like high school. What does it matter if I like this or not. You just take classes, begrudgingly study, and then you graduate with a degree, right? Well there I was living in the library, moving from class to class as though I were a zombie, programmed to move from Center Hall 206 at 10:00 am to Peterson 108 at 11:00 am. I took notes, you know, wrote down what seemed to be important. I used highlighters, that means you work hard. I answered the questions the TAs would ask, only by reading off the notes I had taken, they usually asked questions with answers that I had highlighted, so it made it easy, or maybe not easy, but logical. People thought I had it together. I fooled them because I got dressed in the morning. Rather than come to class in my pajamas and UGG boots, I wore pants and sweaters, button up tops and scarves. This is partly how I was raised and partly because I am self-conscious of my body and if I look put together, I think I can mask my flaws. Furthermore I talk a lot, if I talk enough I'm bound to say something right, especially when I'm reading off of my "notes." So I did this, miserably, I would break down during finals every quarter, that is 12 times in my college career. (11 actually, I still have one more round of tear-filled torture, accompanied by excessive amounts of caffeine and angry phone calls to my Mom). I would break down, and fight with myself and my family about changing my major. We would decide that college was just stressful and you have to do something hard to get ahead in life. (What "get ahead in life" means I'm not so sure, but it sounded convincing, especially when spoken to me in Arabic by a mother whose voice could put out a forest fire).

Now I am in my last quarter in college. I am realizing that I have hated this all along. I have been miserable and it has stopped me from doing things I love. I have kindly declined hanging out with friends or attending events I would have enjoyed for the incessant feeling of needing to study. But I have also realized that I need this education to get to my next step. Which I think is grad school. No matter what it is I just need to get through, and I might as well give it my all, as I'm here, and I like to give things my all, if I commit to them, they deserve my 100%.

I received an e-mail from my brother yesterday. He is out of the country on a volunteer mission doing medical and dental relief. He ended his long e-mail with "How is school and life going for you? You have less than a month left, you better be working your ass off you sand-bagger, this is the final sprint!" He's so right.

Happy Mother's Day.

I often think of who I would be without the guidance of my mom. I would not be 1/100th the person I am today. To start from the most basic, washing my hands, using the restroom (pardon the vulgarity), eating, grooming myself, to even the most complex of situations, being able to handle situations such as consoling a friend in need, for example. I have learned so much from her in both direct and indirect ways. Watching her interactions with people and seeing her handle life with grace and beauty. I aspire to be half the woman she is.

Mama and Me, Summer 2009

In honor of my mother, and all mother's in the world:

The most beautiful word on the lips of mankind is the word “Mother,” and the most beautiful call is the call of “My mother.” it is a word full of hope and love, a sweet and kind word coming from the depths of the heart. The mother is every thing – she is our consolation in sorrow, our hope in misery, and our strength in weakness. She is the source of love, mercy, sympathy, and forgiveness. He who loses his mother loses a pure soul who blesses and guards him constantly.


Every thing in nature bespeaks the mother. The sun is the mother of earth and gives it its nourishment of hear; it never leaves the universe at night until it has put the earth to sleep to the song of the sea and the hymn of birds and brooks. And this earth is the mother of trees and flowers. It produces them, nurses them, and weans them. The trees and flowers become kind mothers of their great fruits and seeds. And the mother, the prototype of all existence, is the eternal spirit, full of beauty and love.

Gibran Kahlil Gibran

Etiquette

It seems as if etiquette is no longer "in." I guess by in I mean no longer taught, encouraged or practiced in many parts of the world. I am not much of an expert on etiquette all over the world so I will stick with what I know. I was raised in California, by Syrian Catholic parents. Etiquette in Syrian society is very important. You always stand when a person walks in the room to greet them. You never put your feet on the table. You always have to have cookies or cake available in case somebody drops in for a visit, which accompany tea, coffee or juice and water. Furthermore, coffee is always served (if Turkish) in demitasse cups on saucers, if American, in coffee cups on saucers. They are always served on a tray, usually covered with a doily or some embroidered handkerchief. The coffee is always served with a class of water, also presented on a saucer. Once cannot drink the water immediately after drinking the coffee or else it tells the host that the coffee was not good. When serving the tray of coffee, which is always done by the maid (if in an upper-class home), the daughter, or the housewife, you must bend the tray down almost near the lap of the guest to accommodate their reach. The cookies/cake are served on a separate plate, and always followed by napkins. When asked about your work or school, you never say anything negative, even if the situation may call for that response, you always act thankfully. Complaining is not a public affair. You don't chew your gum too loudly. Or blow bubbles. No picking your nose. No touching your feet. When asked by a host if you'd like something to eat, you reject the offer, politely. When asked again, you reject again, if asked a third time, you must oblige unless you really really do not want anything, which even then may be rude to reject. When a family member dies, the women wear black for 40 days. This also entails no make up, which is very noticeable in Middle-Eastern women because they are always done up. If the person was very close to the woman, say her husband, she will typically wear black for the year following his death, often longer. Modesty is highly revered. When complimented about one's looks, it is typical to respond with a phrase such as "your eyes are the pretty ones" (which can be roughly translated to "beauty is in the eye of the beholder"). The first time you visit someone's house, you bring something, a plant, flowers, a box of chocolates, etc. When a friend has a child, you bring a gift and visit the baby. Most actions are guided by social etiquette. For example, returning phone calls. You don't want to seem like you are chasing after someone, so if you call them once and they do not return your phone call, you do not call again, you did your part, now you don't want to seem desperate. Of course there are exceptions, and not just to this "rule" but to all of these social "rules." I could go on and on and in fact one could write a whole book on the etiquette of the Middle East, which would be quite fascinating as it varies by region and religion and has been influenced by several outside sources such as various countries (colonization). I just found this interesting because my mom and her friends today were talking about their students (Americans) who behave in a certain way that they cannot even begin to fathom. They don't understand how some of the girls take off their shoes during class to air out their feet, this would be unheard of in say, Syria or Lebanon. I wanted to post because it's fascinating and maybe you could learn a thing or two. And I definitely could too.

Canyon View

She stood with her toes at the edge of the pool. The skin of her feet was soft and her shiny red toes cast a glare from the midday sun. She transferred the weight off her left foot and onto the right foot. Her back was straight and strong. Her lightly bronzed skin served as the perfect canvas for her lime green bikini. Her unruly hair fell on her shoulders, if it fell at all. She slowly looked left and right, surveying the swimmers, her mouth was open just enough to reveal her ivory teeth, the freckles on her face served as testament to her sun-devotion. Her dark eyes squinted out the sun making her plump cheeks crumple under her dark eyes. Her nose twitched as she inhaled deeply through her unsymmetrical nostrils, as she did so her rib cage expanded, causing the bear claw tattoo to peak out from under the buckle of her bikini top, in between her breasts. As her lungs reached their capacity, she bent her knees, while simultaneously raising her arms over her head and dove into the water - her fingertips penetrating the glass-like water of the pool. The rest of her body followed, entering the water in the same location that her hands had marked as target. Her curls flattened out from the rush of water around her head.. Her head emerged at the other end of the pool, like the otters she watched on the river. She was at peace here, in the water, nobody to talk to and nobody watching her. Unlike the otters she observed, who, upon poking their head out of the water every which way with jerky motions, she was not curious here, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She allowed her arms to float up next to her and she let out a soft exhalation.

What is Salad?

People often poke fun of their friends for ordering or having "just a salad" when eating together. However, I have noticed this trend is going out of style with the greater awareness of health and nutrition in our society. Anyhow, salads exist all over the world, in every culture, salad is just a mixture of vegetables and fruit, legumes, nuts, stale bread or upgraded fried bread, some herbs for seasoning and a little oil, sour cream, vinegar, mustard, even cheese, meat, eggs, I guess I've named a food from every food group, so why can't a salad suffice for a meal?

One of my favorite salads of all times is quite simple:

Cucumber Salad

2 small cucumbers (Mediterranean or Persian cucumbers)

1 tomato (any variety, this is roma)

5-6 kalamata olives

feta cheese, cut up in 1/2 inch cubes

olive oil

juice of one lemon

salt

Slice cucumbers and dice tomatoes, toss with cheese, olives, lemon juice, oil and salt.

Enjoy

Dimples

"Is that all oil?!" This man's eyes were twice their normal size now as he pointed into the tupperware of his colleague who did not seem to mind that his friend was mortified by the amount of "oil" there was in front of him.

"Yaaaaaaaa-p" He drew out as he inserted the plastic fork into his mouth, his lips hugging the fork slightly before it slid out of his mouth with graceful ease. Being coated in oil, it would slip right out along the flesh of his lips. He responded with a grin on his face. He held his plastic fork in his right hand and plastic knife in the left. Unusual.

"What is that?" The first man asked, he sounded almost irritated that his colleague was not phased by his disgust of his appeared oil consumption.

"Fish" he responded. He had now strategically placed a piece of white fish meat on the fork and was allowing the fork to lay in the pool of olive oil. He had tilted the tupperware slightly and repositioned the fork, to ensure maximal oil coverage. He returned the tupperware flat on the table and lifted the fork to chest height, keeping it over the tupperware, he then proceeded to clean the knife off onto the fork for any remaining fish remnants, in a back and forth, knife sharpening motion. The fork was then brought up the full height to his face, his whole body leaned forward and consumed the masterpiece that had assembled on the fork.

The man could tell he was not going to get a reaction out of his Italian colleague, so, disappointed, he moved on. "Are we going camping this weekend?"

"Ya, sounds good to me" the Italian had a slight accent which was heard when he spoke the word 'sound' it sounded as though he said sou-, like sour without the r and the sharp -nd. He jiggled his legs back and forth from the knees with glee, it was not a nervous movement, rather a juvenile expression of happiness. He wore brown leather slip ons that reminded me of my father and exposed his grey socks, his cargo khakis looked a size too big for his thin body and his turquoise sweater lit him up like the enigma he was. When he smiled, his whole face smiled. The creases extended out from his mouth like thunder bolts, in every which direction. His smile was captivating and I found my self awe-struck just staring.

Dijon Mustarded Salmon

I made that recipe name up and to be completely honest, I just threw some things together one day.

My brother lives in the same city as I. He was going out of town for Easter and had bought a pound of salmon, and had it marinating in olive oil and lemon juice for a few days. He called me, not knowing what to do with the fish, insisting I take it. We were raised with the mentality that you never ever waste food. Even when bread got stale, we'd throw it out for the birds or feed the ducks. When trips approached, my mom would make dishes that involved the produce remaining in the fridge so nothing would go bad when we left, she would also stop grocery shopping to ensure nothing would go bad.

I thought everybody was raised this way but found, much to my horror, that they were not. I discovered this upon my moving to college.

Anyhow, on his drive north, my brother dropped off the salmon so that I would get use out of it.

Dijon Mustarded Salmon

salmon

soy sauce

olive oil

spicy dijon mustard

garlic

(Note, I do not list measurements as I do not really measure things, I like my food spicy so I probably use more mustard and garlic than would another person, so I say, eye ball it, taste it, and it'll be fine. This is probably terrifying to first time cooks, but I'm presuming most people are not first time cooks)

Preheat oven to 350˚F.

Mix the soy sauce, olive oil, mustard and pressed garlic in a bowl.

Place salmon on a piece of aluminum foil at least 3 times longer than the piece of salmon itself. Completely coat with mustard mixture. Fold up the edges of the foil and pinch over to create a sort of pyramid encasing the salmon, this ensures the salmon doesn't dry out upon cooking.

Place in oven and bake for about 30 minutes, depending on the size of your fish.

It can be served along side potatoes, and roasted vegetables, or rice and vegetables, or I had it atop a big bowl of mixed greens.

Devil's Food Cake

I am a student at UCSD. I get my hair cut in La Jolla. How does that work? I'm supposed to be a starving student and La Jolla is home to many a manicured housewives with husbands who finance their monthly hair style changes, nail polish, Range Rover (if children are in the scene) or BMW convertible (if rugrats are not present), etc. I live in Del Mar, again, not fitting for the broke college student.

Let me explain, I live with 4 other roommates in a 2 bedroom house. We live a block from the beach, but the 2 bedroom beach shack, as I've come to call it, is inhabited by 5 people. I'd say it is unbearable if I wanted to be over dramatic, but it's not. It is bearable enough. Yes, there is sand all over the front door walkway, there are ALWAYS dishes in the sink, we did have rats over the winter, the house flooded in January and there is limited fridge space. Beyond that, it's quite cozy. There is always someone to talk to. It's saving grace is that it's temporary. I can get through the filthy kitchen and unswept linoleum "wood" floors knowing that it is temporary. Furthermore, I've had drilled into me that I must live in some sort of uncomfortable situation in my early twenties so that later when I actually have a "good job" and a "nice place" I'll appreciate it.

That's a bit of a problem, because as a freshman at UCSD, I lived in a 3 year old dorm, with an ocean view veranda, we had a house keeper, or maid, whatever you choose to call it, once a week. The walls were stark white, the carpets impeccably clean. We would joke that we would never again live in a place that nice. What is sad is that it's true.

So here I am, sitting in my front living room. In the beach shack we had 2 living rooms, until Matt moved in. He didn't want to share a room with a girl, or anyone for that matter, so he converted the back living room into his quarters. So now we have 1 living room, in the front of the house. The lighting in here is great and in the winter it was perfect because the heater is in here, we would turn it on and curl up to read, study, eat, or just hang out. I sit here now, drinking my jasmine iced tea, spiked with amaretto, I'm waiting for my hair appointment.

Devil's Food Cake.

This recipe is for a baby cake. I made it as a gift and did not want to make a huge cake. I had a glass pyrex tupperware that I used to bake it in and it was perfect.

for cake:

1/4 cup unsalted butter

2 oz unsweetened chocolate

1 egg

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup warm water

1 cup + 2 tbsp. all purpose flour

3/4 tsp baking soda

1/8 tsp salt

2 tbsp. milk

1/2 tsp. white vinegar

for frosting

1/4 cup unsalted butter

3 tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder

1 1/4 cup powdered sugar

3 tbsp milk

5 oz. bittersweet chocolate

Preheat oven to 350˚F. Grease and flour a cake tin, either one 9" tin or a deeper pyrex glass bowl will do.

Melt butter and chocolate in a saucepan together, until just melted. Be careful so as to not burn the chocolate or butter. Remove from heat and let cool completely.

Meanwhile, beat egg and sugar together until light in color and a slightly fluffy, so it's aerated. Add cooled chocolate mixture to the egg mixture. Mix well. Add warm water. It is important not to add the chocolate mixture while it's hot or the water too hot as this will cook the raw egg and result in an eggy taste in your cake, which is undesirable.

In a separate bowl mix flour, baking soda and salt together. Add to the chocolate mixture and incorporate well.

Mix the milk and vinegar in a cup and then add to the mixture.

Once the batter is ready, pour into prepared pan. Bake for 30 mins if in a shallow pan or up to 45 minutes or until inserted toothpick comes out clean in a deeper pan.

While cake bakes, make frosting.

Melt butter in a small saucepan, add cocoa powder to melted butter and mix well until smooth. Add powdered sugar and milk alternating between the two.

Melt the chocolate in a double boiler and add to the powdered sugar mixture.

Frost cake as desired, either just on top and sides or cut in half, horizontally and frost. It is much cleaner to do a crumb coat, that is one thin coat with a butter knife, that is different knife than the one you will use for the top coat so as to not have cake crumbs visible in the top coat of frosting of the cake.

Russian River

So I come up to my aunt’s late husbands ex-sister-in-laws cabin about once a year.

We, my aunt and I, usually come up in the summer. The sun sets late, we sleep on the deck, under the stars and usually fall asleep at about 9:00. This is after a long hard day of doing nothing. Nothing on the cabin means waking up as soon as the sky is that blue-creamy-white with light. Our hair is cold and wet with the night’s perspiration and it takes some convincing to pry ourselves out of our sleeping bags. It ends up being equal, some nights my aunt is up first, and has the water on to boil for tea. Sometimes it’s me who will endure the cold for a hot cup of tea and a warm flax pillow, heated in the microwave for heat at the bottom of my sleeping bag.We always end up curled in our sleeping bags in chairs and with a big soup bowl mug of tea. I can never recall how the tea was made or how I ended up in a chair and no longer on my mat, but nevertheless, there I am, warm and happy. We proceed to talk for hours and watch the river wake up. The deck faces west and overlooks the river, so it usually takes a little while for the sun to make its way over the redwoods and the cabin onto the deck and the river. As soon as it does, we again, find the will power to get into our bathing suits and over-sized sweaters and before we know it, we’re paddling up the river in the river kayaks. We learned our lesson the hard way one summer. We could either soar down the river and paddle our way up on an empty stomach; or we could paddle our way up the river and float in the sun back home for lunch. Our decision is made for us. So we set off, awaiting whatever river creatures we may find along the way. Actually it's more accurate to say they find us. We have seen schools of salmon, cows (not in the river, but on it's banks), ducks floating down the river wiggling their tail feathers self-righteously and river otters chomping away at breakfast. After exhausting our arm muscles paddling up stream, we hop out of the kayaks at a swimming hole to cool off, or not. We then turn the kayaks around, by this point we’ve stripped down to our bikinis, sun hats and sunglasses and have thrown our legs onto the front end of the kayak. The paddle is strategically inserted into the side of the kayak so as to not produce a shadow that might block the sun or cause a tan line. This is one of the 5742 times a year I stock up on vitamin D; it’s necessary for my health. We find ourselves back at the cabin. The petite dock welcomes us and the now sun-light patio beckons. We fix lunch. At this point, chilled white wine must be had. By the time we complete lunch, we are ready for a nap in the sun. The afternoon is a flurry of reading, napping, sun bathing and sweet jasmine iced tea. The blackberry bushes summon our inner bear and we pick berries from the backyard down the road to the campground and all the way down to the general store. Our sun-kissed skin is stained with blackberry juice. Our arms scraped by the thorns of the bushes. A small price to pay for blackberries. For every one berry deposited in the tupperwares and pails we’ve lugged with us, we eat about 7 or 8. How could you not? A warm, blackberry, exploding with juice from the suns rays. It’s only fair. We make our way home, light a fire in the barbeque, grill up some chicken or just feast on berries, cheese and red wine.By now the sun is setting. In the distance there are vultures circling, ducks quacking and Cutie and Sweetie, snorting and barking, they are the neighbors’ obese pugs.

This past summer I was unable to make it to the river. It was in my head the whole winter. I decided to try to make it to the cabin before the next summer. In the fall, I had moved in with a classmate from highschool who had transferred to my university. We had a great deal in common despite coming from completely different backgrounds. I had told her about my aunt and the cabin, both of which define a great deal of my personality.Once I had secured plans with my aunt to make it to the cabin, I decided to invite her along. I figured she’d appreciate it. She’s one of those people who definitely lives in the moment. When she likes something or someone, she verbalizes it. She never forgets a word you say, although she often appears to be spacing out or not paying attention, she always is. She’d remembered the cake I’d told her about, the Olive Oil Meyer Lemon cake with Lemon Curd and Honey Lavender whipped cream, my aunt had made it two Easters ago and the taste had lingered on my palette. It came as no surprise when she told me she’d be making it for our stay at the cabin.

We left home at 5 in the morning and drove up to the cabin. The sun rose as we raced with traffic, knowing that tranquility, good company and delicious food awaited us. Upon our arrival, Chris was cooking. She had already made the lemon curd and it was a deep yellow color. She had used duck eggs. We drank tea with a side of Egyptian Fig bread from a local bakery and baklava that my mom had sent with me. My brother had requested it and like a Middle Eastern mother, she could not have the request of her son go unanswered. She made a tray and there were leftovers, so she sent them with me, along with a Tupperware of cooked lamb and some fruit.

After our tea party, over which we discussed the current health care issue, inaccurate borders created post-WWI and Jane Austen, we embarked on the journey that was making the cake with cabin utensils.

In a cracked white plastic salad bowl, I began to beat duck egg whites using a slotted serving spoon. This proved to be quite the workout. The flour was sifted through a tea strainer and a paper bakery bag was used in place of parchment paper.

These are the duck egg yolks. The size of the eggs made it so that we could have used one less than the recipe had called for, but then again, it was imperfectly perfect just the way it was.

For lunch we had farmer’s lettuce picked from a friend’s garden tossed with the accompanying flower petals and Girard’s Champagne dressing, one of the few bottled dressings I enjoy. We had this along with radishes and herbed butter. The radish greens served as a bed for the lamb, which had been made with mushrooms, garlic and potatoes.

To make herbed butter, simply take room temperature unsalted butter and knead in any herb of your liking, we usedHerbs de Provence, but basil alone would work just fine, or oregano, which would give it an Italian twist, and now that I’m running through my herbs and spices I think curried butter might be nice, I will have to try it next time.