LOST SOULS & STAYCATION

The Incomparable La Chouffe

Sweet Grass Dairy Holly Springs, Pecan Chevre, & Hopeful Tomme

We’ve had a couple weeks of ownership shifts and relaxation. To start, my iPod was stolen from our car. Now, we have two other iPods, but mine was a 60-gig. I have a strong instinct to narrate nearly every instant of my life with the exact song at an exact time. There is, of course, a moment when only Dylan’s Frankie & Albert will do (and another when only Taj Mahal’s will). In my life, there are many of these moments necessary to my creative stimulation and overall mental health, and only a big-gig Pod will meet these musical demands. Right now, I’m having severe Felice Brothers withdrawal, “My baby told me, Darling, if you don’t get a pardon better get a parole.” And I truly want to believe that some little brat is going to get a serious slap on the hand for stealing my muse.

Second to that in my lost-and-found theme, a puppy. Down-and-out-dogs are kind of our thing, as you may have gathered. Needless to say, our parents held their collective breath, for our newly-found-on-the-street Adelle (hard A, A-dell, as in “Put your titty up, Adelle,” Brad Pitt in Kalifornia) was possibly the cutest puppy ever: a brindle American-bulldog/pit/boxer mix. Our Gracie loved her; Stella abhored her; Jed was indifferent; and Chris and I were semi-smitten. But our little bungalow is simply too small for four big-wilds. Thankfully, a good forever-home presented itself with a fun dad and a Chihuahua named Whitten. And we were able to send her onward.

We spent last week on a cobbled together staycation (a vacation for the financially-challenged): camping at a kayak-in site on a North Carolina lake; two nights in Decatur, Georgia at one of our favorite bars; and lots of laughing and partying with our friend Mike in the interim. Which brings me to food.

Our days in the forest with freeze-dried dinners and instant oatmeal were a bit surreal. Chris assured me that Mountain House meals were the best on the market (synonymous, it turns out, with the only edible on the market), but, amid a torrential downpour in a 15-year-old tent and bear-proofing, a girl wants something not just substantial but substantially comforting and tasty and fresh. Rest assured, I am now terribly taken with the idea of homemade, pack-in camp food: light, compact, but fortifiably domestic and delicious.

Following the woods, we hit Atlanta, a jarring not unlike our transition from Death Valley to Vegas in 2002. Our mecca was Decatur’s Brick Store Pub—no neon; beautiful punk and Kings of Leon-looking staff; and an all-Belgium bar atop. Plus toothsome, vinegar-drenched fish and chips with house-made remoulade. Plus Sweet Grass Dairy cheese boards and warm baguette. As if that’s not enough, at the Brick Store, each beer is served in its own brewery-issued glass. Perfection.

When we needed a (brief) break from the rich Belgiums, we ventured outward for dinner at Cakes & Ale. Chris ordered the Cakes & Ale Burger with Fries. He often goes burger in upscale joints and judged this brisket-and-pork-belly version to be “good,” though not so good as our own St. John's Meeting Place kobe burger. My meal, however, was excellent: Sliced Wagyu Roast Beef with New Crop Potato Salad, Tomatoes, Horseradish Sauce, & Greens. The beef, at a ¼” thickness, was pink, soft, and buttery. The potatoes and lettuce were tender as only the freshest, small-garden vegetables are, and the horseradish sauce melted airily but distinctly with each element. I loved the meal and would order it again this evening. And tomorrow evening as well.

Following that, we enjoyed three courses at The Chocolate Bar across the street: Goat Cheese Mousse with Raisin Toast and Grape Confit, Chocolate Banana Ganache with Olive Oil Crumble and Banana Sorbet, and Chocolate Pot de Crème. Though I was stuffed and hesitant to lemming-along with the course idea at first, I loved the progression—light to rich, savory to intensely sweet, a patchwork of complexities—and scratched at each serving dish with my little spoon for sticky remnants.

One last note, a found staycation souvenir and something I’ve been searching for: a purse-sized pepper grinder. Yep, I’m an extremist, but I simply can’t endure the stale, tasteless pepper offered in restaurants and bars. Now, I won’t have to. And if you’d like to avoid the same torture, you can find the three-inch GSI Outdoors lexan beauty here (http://www.gsioutdoors.com/detail.aspx?s=7&c2=3&p=73490&lu=%2flist.aspx%3fs%3d7%26c2%3d3&).

Feasting

The Lovely Beach of Umami-Land

I am feasting: right now, by myself, in front of the computer. When my husband’s out of town—which he is, hiking the Georgia section of the Appalachian Trail—I indulge in my favorites. Tonight, it’s spinach salad with pine nuts, artichoke hearts, and lemon; sautéed mushrooms; and brie cheese with flat bread. I’m drifting off to umami-land even as I type.

This follows an absolutely delicious weekend of food prepared by my sister, Maria, and her husband, John. In Chris’s absence, I met my parents at Maria and John’s West Virginia home and was treated to a weekend of perfectly perfect meals: summery enough for the screen porch, filling enough for my father.

To start, Maria made a luscious banana cream cake with buttery-salty pecans atop; a great breakfast, as the cream soaked into the layers, the cake somehow became richer, denser, and even more delightful. For Saturday’s dinner, John made vinegar-boiled shrimp with creamy cocktail sauce to accompany Maria’s stuffed portabellas and chopped salad. I don’t generally like cold shrimp, but, as Maria predicted, I loved John’s which were piled hot on ice just before serving and steamed their spicy-briny fragrance.

Then, on Memorial Day at Audra State Park, we picnicked with potato salad; perfect, light fruit mix with dressing; and two-handful meatloaf sandwiches with herbed mayo. Ideal picnic fare, even without plates! As I drove home Tuesday, I realized that the delight of food is its life-affirming quality—as you eat, you know you’re alive, and, inherent in food, there’s a promise that life will continue. With family, friends, or alone, food promises not only substistence but some measure of bliss.

I considered my early grad school days, when I was painfully broke—$1000/month stipend, $550/rent—and a grocery bill of $40 caught my breathe. My new puppy was terribly ill and, as the vet instructed, ate the leanest ground beef with rice twice a day as I was left to the bargain of meatlessness. I’ve never enjoyed pasta greatly, but I found a good, affordable jarred marinara to pair with $.99 spaghetti noodles. In need of greater substance, I melted a slice of domestic Swiss over my sauce and noodles—piekna, as my Polish grandfather would say! My favorite grad school dinner was born! And my puppy and I feasted in our hand-me-down-rich apartment, enjoying our delicacies and all the life they promised.