welcome

updated: Subscribe to my blog so that you don't need to remember to visit every day...

dear reader,

thanks for visiting my first-ever blog. this being a first for me, and very much a work in progress, I'm afraid you'll have to bear with the learning curve. as I'm sure you can imagine, it's a little weird writing to such a diverse audience--friends, acquaintances, and loved ones. hell, for all I know, this might (hopefully?) get read by people I don't even know.

in the hopes of getting you hooked by giving you something to come back to in the next few days and weeks, I've already gone ahead and posted my first few weeks worth of stories. as such, you'll have to scroll down and hit "Older Posts" if you want to see the first of them.

Anyway. I left the comments feature on for a reason--I want, and will respect, your feedback. I want to make this something you'll visit again. that said, I'll try and post more often than I have, so that it will be more interesting. in the meantime, read on, be in touch, and spread the word.

--j

cotton-mouth and all

So, after lunch, we had a most unusual vegetable for dessert... Not unusual in and of itself, but in being a) eaten raw and b) served as dessert. Secret ingredient is: artichokes. Kind of what you'd expect eating an artichoke raw (you eat the bottoms of the leaves, just like when cooked, and then the heart at the end of it all). Afterward, we had the most intense craving for a chaser--we went with oranges. The cotton-mouth feeling lingered for another hour or so. We're full of antioxidants now, though...

a day in the kitchen with mama

Mohammed's family was gracious in inviting us over for breakfast and lunch today. After breakfast we gathered round and prepped some vegetables before getting into cooking the couscous. What ensued were, quite simply, good times. The couscous was amazing, fluffy, well-seasoned; everything you could ask for. The company made it all the better. I got lots of pictures and a few videos.

poker in fez

So, hearing about a poker game over at the American school dorm ("the villa"), I just had to be there. The two guys putting on the game seemed to know their game--their noses were pressed to their computers playing online poker when I met them. 100 dirham (about $12) buy-in, 7 players, pot goes 400/200/100 to the top 3. It was a fun game, with a lot of trash talking by the half of the room that was on the drunk side. I earned the nickname Mr. Los Angeles, and walked away with 300 dirhams when the last two of us agreed to split the pot rather than drag out the game--it was late. Good times.

a cook and a farmer i will be

Spent the day setting up the roof deck w/a bunch of herbs/plants—couple of peach trees, an orange tree among them. Party on Thursday, then again on Sunday—guess who’s catering? But really, it’s fun. I’ve withdrawn all of $35 for the past three days here, and most of that is in the pantry in the form of olive oil, veggies, etc. Wish it was more summery in the market, but I’m not complaining about the citrus—we’ve got all the oranges we can eat around here: orange juice, several oranges a day, some bloods, etc. The people are friendly enough, but it reminds me of Peru, namely, in the way the locals bother you to buy, come in, where are you from, espanol?, hotel? hotel?, taxi?, etc etc etc. There are definitely different prices for locals and then for travelers who have their wits about them, and then of course the tourists (multiply local prices by 10). Nice that EB’s made some friends w/the locals (she has one in her room right now), as we get the inside deals, and save our cash for more fun projects…

snails a la ras al hanout

There was a little street vendor/trolley selling snails today. One guy pushing a cart down the road w/the live snails, and then we came upon the guy w/the snail broth-for about $2, three of us got a bowl of (salty) ras al hanout-spiced broth and a bowl of snails. It was great--no culinary magic--just good down-home cookin'.

the long trip down

The trip down was pretty uneventful, though long. The overnight bus was actually 50+ seats, not 30 as I had somehow thought (I was IN seat 30...). I got myself a seat w/a barrier in front of it--great not to have a guy lean into my face, not so great to not be able to move my legs under the seat in front of me. I tried to recline, and got a tap tap from the guy in back of me. Alas, the sleeping pill got me 6 hours. Got on the slow ferry, and finally to Tangiers where there were lots of taxi drivers waiting to ask me if I needed a taxi. All I wanted was to get some cash out and hit the road for the train station. Finally found the ATM, had a couple of arguments w/a taxi driver--he wanted 6 euros for a 10 minute ride. I got one down to 2, but I think that was still on the high side (probably should have been around 1 in retrospect). I talked to a couple of Americans (see below for the simple version), and they somehow paid their driver 20 euros for the 5 minute ride from hotel to train station. Alas. Was nice that the 1st class (see 2nd class Amtrak for details) train ticket was all of $20. Finally got to Fez where EB was waiting, showered, ate, rested, ate, slept... etc etc.

finally, sleep in a real bunkbed

By now it was quite windy and spitty in Dublin, and our flight was understandably delayed a bit. Not really knowing where I’d sleep the night in Madrid was a bit of a mistake on my part. I should have sucked it up and booked something from the airport—I just hate the surprise of not knowing what it is you’re getting yourself into. Instead I dealt with the surprise of where it was I’d be getting myself into. I tooled dragged me and my 75lbs worth of backpacks around looking for the right spot. I was without luck and ended up visiting a friend’s ex-girlfriend (longer story than I care to get into) to see if she could offer any advice. Fortune smiled and I was pointed the way of a cheap backpackers’ hostel. Shower, eat, sleep. Actually, I went with a couple of my Canadian hostel roommates, which reminds me of the question that went through my head that night—is it wrong to knowingly withhold information about a foodstuff if it’s to the betterment of one’s enjoyment of said foodstuff? Case in point: morcilla. When asked about it, I played dumb, “some kind of sausage, I think,” knowing that they’d give it a chance and like it (they did—the blood sausage was actually quite good).

Dublin, Ireland, land of beers aplenty

Next thing I know I’m in Dublin. Several hours to play around, I head for Temple Bar to find a pub or two to lay my worries to rest.

Passing the Saturday market on the way, I can’t resist stopping to grab some cheese and bread to add to my already stinking collection.

I end up having some great beer at the Porterhouse, one of Dublin’s microbreweries. An awesome old-fashioned hand-pumped red ale with lots of great flavor and next to no carbonation. I’d be drinking this all the time if I could get my hands on it stateside. The eponymous Porterhouse Red and a taste of the “An Brain Blasta” followed.

Soon I was moving on to tuck into a Kilkenney (my real reason for the stopover in Dublin). One for me and one for an Irish gal back home, I was buzzed and back on my way to the airport.

leaving, on a jet plane

Saying goodbye, to New York, to my apartment, to the close friends I’ve made over the past year, was the hardest part. Dealing with the delays and the weather in Chicago was easy. It always seems so easy to jet set. Aside from the logistics of finding sublettors and trying to do way too much with my last days (including a food-laden two day trip up to Montreal and back, and a day trip (yes, just a day) up to Boston and back to visit Formaggio Kitchen, Chinatown, Christina’s, Bukowski, and of course Craigie Street Bistrot (all in a day?!!!). I was imaginably frazzled and worn down by the end, and the 9am departure out of LaGuardia was anything but painless. Shannon accompanied me to the airport after I spent the morning packing away the rest of my belongings. I was frazzled (so much so that I left my beautiful cheese and ham purchases in the fridge), and we were both rather heartbroken. And so I took off.

Chicago was a bit of a disappointment. I had hoped to eat at a few places during my several-hour layover. Frontera Grill was on my to-do list, as was Lula Café and a visit to my friend BK’s sushi bar at the Fairmont. Instead, I spent a couple of hours booking Madrid restaurants and so only had an opportunity for a bite at Lula, as that’s all the timing ended up allowing. Back at the airport I had just enough time to squeeze in a shower before being the second-to-last guy on the plane. Not such a bad thing, as I was able to spot a row of 3 empty seats about halfway down the plane. With the least of hesitation I was in that middle seat, staking out the row. About ten minutes later the engines were revving and I had already popped my Ambien and laid down to sleep for the night.