Guadalajara: Love at First Bite

Olivia Cadaval, memories, tourism, , ,

Guadalajara, and the area within a couple of hours of the city in its state of Jalisco, is a winter vacationer’s paradise. Warm, balmy days in the mid-70s to low 80s, slightly cooler nights good for a stroll, and plenty of attractions.

I meant to start writing about our wonderful visit there much earlier, but soon after our return, I got felled by some sort of flu. (NOT the dreaded corona virus, I promise – there are still plenty of nasty old garden variety flus out there to content with.)

Now, I am looking over the photos and remembering the great time we had, and especially all the delicious meals. Instead of a lot of writing about the food, here is a photo gallery and commentary about some of our many tasty experiences.

  • Most of these food adventures were led by our friend Gaby and her dad and sometimes her mom. They never steered us wrong! Second day (I was too tired to document the first though wish I had), breakfast on the road to Lake Chapala. The cafe had a French name but the food was all local!
  • My birthday dinner – seafood on the shores of Lake Chapala, Mexico’s largest lake.
  • No, the shrimp are not from the lake…but they were very fresh. The coast is only a few hours away and seafood is very popular even inland.
  • Another lakeside resaturant (different lake, same feel) and more shrimp!
  • Tasty stand on a side street of Tonales.
  • Typical condiments at small stands which feature tacos, quesadillas and other snacks and lunch items
  • Along with your tastes of tequila on a factory tour (in Tequila of course), you get to taste roasted agave. Sort of like a very sweet and stringy pineapple.
  • Meat in its juices is a popular dish.
  • Tortillas (always corn) and condiments (limes, salsas of various heat) along with MEAT!
  • We took a cooking class; here our instructor Naomi had all the ingredients laid out in a colorful array awaiting our lesson.
  • Fish tacos, and so much more. We certainly left full to the brim.
  • Another mostly meat meal at a delicious authentic cantina (singers offering off-key serenades and all) in Zapopan. This one includes four kinds of meat, melted cheese, guacamole and salsas. I lost count of the number of tortillas I wrapped it in and gobbled down!
  • Many flavors of agua fresca to choose from in Zapopan.
  • And, last but not least, one must try the “drunken sandwich” – more meat, this time on bread.
  • And dunked in a liberal amount of hot sauce. It’s a thing that they say you have to try in all the guide books, but the locals like our friend Gaby and her parents discourage it.

OK, so for some mysterious reasons the captions (though I can see them in post editing mode) are not showing up on this post. So, here they are until I figure this problem out:

  1. Most of these food adventures were led by our friend Gaby and her dad and sometimes her mom. They never steered us wrong! Second day (I was too tired to document the first though wish I had), breakfast on the road to Lake Chapala. The cafe had a French name but the food was all local!
  2. My birthday dinner – seafood on the shores of Lake Chapala, Mexico’s largest lake.
  3. No, the shrimp are not from the lake… but they were very fresh. The coast is only a few hours away and seafood is very popular even inland.
  4. Next day, another lakeside restaurant (different lake, same feel) and more shrimp!
  5. Tasty lunch stand on a side street of Tonales, where we visited many crafts shops for souvenirs.
  6. Typical condiments at small stands which feature tacos, quesadillas and other snacks and lunch items.
  7. Along with your tastes of tequila on a factory tour (in Tequila of course), you get to taste roasted agave. Sort of like a very sweet and stringy pineapple.
  8. Meat “in its juices” is a popular dish and it is delish!
  9. Tortillas (always corn) and condiments (limes, salsas of various heat) along with MEAT!
  10. We took a cooking class; here our instructor Naomi had all the ingredients laid out in a colorful array awaiting our lesson.
  11. Fish tacos, shredded pork roast cooked in banana leaves, chorizo and potatoes… oh my, we were so full by the end of the class!
  12. Another mostly meat meal at a delicious authentic cantina (singers offering off-key serenades and all) in Zapopan. This one includes four kinds of meat, melted cheese, guacamole and salsas. I lost count of the number of tortillas I wrapped it in and gobbled down!
  13. Many flavors of agua fresca (a refreshing fruit drink) in Zapopan.
  14. And, last but not least, one must try the “drunken sandwich” – more meat, this time on bread.
  15. And dunked in a liberal amount of hot sauce. It’s a thing that they say you have to try in all the guide books, but the locals like our friend Gaby and her parents discourage it.

Kalorama by Call Box

tourism, ,

On a recent walk in DC, my husband and our young friend Gabriel and I parked the car at Woodley Park and wandered around, through Adams Morgan. We took a couple of turns and found ourselves confronted by the rarified architecture of Sheridan-Kalorama.

This historic district is home to ambassadors, politicians (and their relatives), ex-presidents, and various other rich folks. Gabriel, an avid smart phone user, gave us a running commentary as to whose house was whose, but there was another form of interpretation that, to me, was a lot more fun: repurposed call boxes.

What’s a call box? Well, according to the project’s web site, call boxes were used in the past (from “the 19th century” until the 1970s when the 911 system made them unnecessary) to call police or firemen in emergencies. You may have noticed them on city street corners – boxes of various shapes on a pole, painted red.

In 2003, the committee heading this project starting working to turn the abandoned call boxes into “mini-museums” with interpretive labels on one side, and original art work on the other. There are sixteen of them; we only saw three or four. Finding them all could make for a fun scavenger hunt/walking tour.

The “Women of Influence” box is located just inside a security fence surrounding a stately home. All along this fence is a sign that warns the viewer that you will be violating the law if you get any nearer. This turns out to be Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner’s digs. The call box is more interesting than that fact in my opinion.

  • The women of influence include Eleanor Roosevelt and Madame Chiang Kai-Shek.
  • Hard to get a good angle on this thanks to Ivanka and Jared’s fence. And leaning in might have brought on the secret police?

Another box detailed the history of a nearby house called The Lindens, which was built in Massachusetts in 1754 and moved to Washington, DC in six railway cars and reassembled in DC in 1935. Without the call box, you’d just walk past the house and probably admire it, but you’d have no idea it was so well traveled.

You can read about the rest of the Sheridan-Kalorama call box mini-museums here. There’s a map of the neighborhood so that you can embark on your own walking tour as well.

“Kalorama” means “fine view” in Latin, and the view is indeed fine there, which we found out as we walked across the bridge back to Woodley Park as the sun was setting.

Getting the Hang of It

Central Pennsylvania, McConnellsburg, Olivia Cadaval, memories, The Pulpit, travel, , ,

“Let’s go jump off a mountain!” No thanks. Standing cautiously on the very top a ramp that ends in nothingness makes me queasy. I take in the view, but step back to safety seconds later.

  • One wonders what happened to this gentleman.
  • Behold the giant thumb!

Visiting The Pulpit, a hang gliders dream launch spot near our vacation cabin above McConnellsburg, PA is a must to take in the splendors of south central Pennsylvania. The rocky promontory, located a little ways beyond the iconic biker beer joint The Mountain House, apparently got its name from a visiting preacher who expounded from the stony perch.

Up a small rock strewn slope, there are two wooden (and, to me, sort of creaky looking) ramps, one smaller than the other. If you go at sunrise, which I never do because I prefer my warm bed at that hour, you can face east and get a glorious view over the ridges. At sunset (the better option in my opinion), you get the view over the town, the farmland and to the western mountains.

One of the many interns who lived with us temporarily over the years, Anneke from Germany, came to the cabin with us one wintry weekend about ten years ago. We walked to the Pulpit and she met some intrepid hang gliders from the club that frequents the site. She fell instantly in love with the idea of learning to hang glide, or, she later decided, to paraglide.

If you think hang gliding sounds risky, paragliding is even more crazy. Instead of jumping off a ramp into nothingness strapped to some substantial wings, you jump into nothingness tethered to a wide parachute held precariously by a bunch of thin ropes. She successfully mastered this bizarre hobby, and last time I checked she was still alive and well.

The view is thrilling enough for me. Leave flying to the birds.

Emissaries from the Past

childhood; stuff; family, History, Holidays

I recently pawed through years of print photos to find “historic” moments in Christmas cookie decorating for a work blog. While searching, I found some fun photos from the past, including with one I will not post because it features me as a child sitting on our camp toilet…nuff said.

The others prompted me to send texts to family and friends bringing back memories, moods and attitudes of times past. These images are not just records of our past exploits and moments caught by chance (or by posing for the camera). They are messages from our past selves, from moments when we were taken over by pure joy, or skepticism, or bonhomie.

Yes, that was really us. And we are still the same people. A little older, but ready to go bravely into yet another year, the turn of a decade. Still ready for experience and adventure. Happy New Year, everyone!

  • Marjorie and I show off our badass Festival attitudes during the 150th anniversary of the Smithsonian in 1996.
  • M.E. comments, “That was back when I could cross dimensions.”
  • Diana and I have a fun moment on a WORK TRIP to Bermuda.
  • Bev, Eliot and M.E. at one of the many Last Dinner on the Titanic parties.

Transition Time

Northern Virginia, November,

Suspended somewhere between autumn and winter. That’s Northern Virginia in late November. Late roses and confused azaleas bloom fitfully, while even the stalwart marigolds hang limp on sad brown stems. Patches of green grass struggle to poke through a thick scatter of crisp red and gold leaves. Hardy perennial rosemary and sage stay strong while their more delicate annual cousin, basil, has surrendered to the cold.

Meanwhile, on some porches pumpkins and fall decorations are still piled up artfully (in what my friend Peggy and I used to call “squash medleys”) while a few others already sport their holiday lights.

The morning after Thanksgiving, I took a walk around our neighborhood. A small boy half-heartedly raked some leaves. Two small dogs sat motionless on the side stoop of their house. Otherwise, there was little sign of life. Everything seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the next move, suspended somewhere between autumn and winter.

  • Azaleas thought it was spring and bloomed despite their fall foliage.
  • Fall planted arugula is still going strong in our garden.
  • Burning bush displays holiday colors of red and green.

Living, in the past: Fort Frederick

Maryland, History, Fort Frederick, , ,

Fort Frederick is a National Park Service historic site in Big Pool, Maryland. Which is really not close to Frederick, Maryland. The fort was constructed way back in the years of the French and Indian Wars, predating the Revolution by some twenty years. It was also used during the Revolution though as well as during the Civil War.

Look hard and you can see a volunteer in costume in the shadows of the fort entrance.

After that, it was a farm for awhile, and then, just a pile of increasingly crumbling rocks in the middle of a field… until the good lads working for the Civilian Conservation Corps rebuilt the walls in the 1930s. At some point the barracks were also rebuilt.

The buildings on one side depict the typical living quarters of the men (and a few women) who inhabited the fort in the 1750s. On the other side, the doctor and higher ups. On the day we visited, a couple of interpreters in period costume were present to explain life in the cramped and dank digs. (Mercifully, they did not do so in first person. Because that is annoying.)

Eight men lived in each section of the barracks, two to a bunk bed in what was about the size of a twin bed today. Cozy, to say the least. A fireplace served as the heating and cooking source. Which probably kept the men closest to it overheated and the ones further away close to frozen in the bracing western Maryland winters. And everyone half roasted in the steamy summers.

The few women, who did the laundry, the mending, and other sundry things for the men, lived together in one small room. (Apparently, even those who were married to one of the soldiers…making “hanky panky” pretty tricky?) They had to adhere to all military rules and regulations. But they wore corsets, skirts and blouses instead of uniforms (and whatever the men wore under them, if anything).

On a bright and only slightly chilly October day, with doors open and breezes wafting, it didn’t seem like such a bad place. But still, it was not hard to imagine long, dark nights, seldom-washed bodies, smoky wood fires, and less than appetizing rations.

As the interpreters explained, we judge the inconveniences of living in the 1750s by current standards. But it made me appreciate a king-sized bed, a daily shower and fresh food that much more.

  • Reproduction of a period salt and pepper shaker. I liked the scrimshaw detail.
  • Corset sitting on a chair just like one of the fort ladies might have left it after a hard day of scrubbing dirty shirts.
  • Decidedly nicer dining room of the higher ups.
  • Bottles of medicine – wait, where’s the #ginseng ?
  • Doctor’s desk.
  • One of the interpreters showed how to load and shoot a musket. It took lots of practice not to blow one’s head off apparently.

Some Things Fishy

#crabcakes, Baltimore, tourism, , ,

I’ve been on the road a lot the past few weeks, eating well on all trips: in Murfreesboro, Tennessee; Wausau, Wisconsin; Asheville, North Carolina and Baltimore, Maryland. Two traditions stood out during these trips: the Friday night fish fry in Wisconsin and the search for the best crab cake in Baltimore.

Soon after arriving in Wisconsin to check out the cultivated ginseng scene as part of our larger American ginseng project (reported here earlier), my partner in crime Arlene and I started hearing about Friday night fish fries. It seemed that, no matter what sort of restaurant we ate at, fish fry was listed on the menu as the Friday special. This tradition seems to be rank right up there with that other Wisconsin culinary habit – smothering just about everything in cheese. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.

I stayed through Friday and experienced my fish fry at one of the recommended locations: Nueske’s at Gulliver’s Landing just outside of Wausau. This classic nautically themed, informal establishment was packed on a Friday night. I had a good 40 minute wait to take in the scenery (shelves of model ships and other maritime curios) and the multi-generational families who make up the clientele, many greeted by first names upon arriving. Clearly, this was a local favorite and I eagerly looked forward to my fish fry experience.

I was rewarded with two generous pieces of hand-breaded haddock, something called a “twice baked potato” (which, not surprisingly, was smothered in cheese), cole slaw and a large slab of rye bread. All that, and live music at the bar – two older gentleman playing Johnny Cash and John Denver tunes.

  • Side view of exterior
  • Fish fry menu options
  • Gulliver’s front entrance.

A couple of weeks later, I was in Baltimore at the American Folklore Society conference, a yearly ritual for all folklorists. Though I really should have grabbed a quick lunch and attended a section meeting, instead I set out at a brisk pace on the Saturday of the conference, with some co-conspirators from our Inner Harbor hotel to Lexington Market to try out Faidley’s, which makes it to many “best crab cake” lists. And, indeed, in no uncertain terms (via several large signs) proclaims itself as serving Baltimore’s Best Crab Cake.

The market has been in existence since 1782, and Faidley’s since 1886. It’s hard to argue with that depth of history. Our crab cakes were huge and delicious, tasting subtly of the bay and of Old Bay, and though one of them cost twice as much as my entire Wisconsin fish fry, it was worth it.

They say fish is brain food, and I feel smarter if not thinner for having indulged in finny wonders from the Great Lakes to the Chesapeake Bay.

  • Bliss.
  • No frills counter service.
  • Nice neon.
  • The lunch scene on a Saturday.

Pawpaws to the People!

Olivia Cadaval, memories, tourism, travel

It’s pawpaw season, and festivals celebrating this regional native fruit are popping up all over. Visiting one of these seemed like the folkloric thing to do, and in fact I couldn’t believe that I had somehow reached my advanced age and had not done so already.

The Pawpaw Festival in Albany, Ohio (near Athens, and also near the United Plant Savers sanctuary which my adventurous colleague and partner in crime, Arlene, and I were visiting this week) is, I would dare say, one of the biggest in the country. We spent a couple of hours there experiencing All Things Pawpaw.

First, the taste. Upon arrival, we sought out the free sample tent where we could set the mood. Volunteers sliced us a big hunk and explained that you just squeeze the soft, yellowish pulp out of the rind, and swirl the big dark pits around in your mouth to get all the good stuff off them. (Then throw them out because they are poisonous if chewed and consumed, apparently.)

Next we found the craft beer tent, where for a few bucks you could try a variety of pawpaw brews (and take the glass home to boot). We listened to a band that defied genre classification, and then made our way to the food court. We sampled an Indonesian satay with pawpaw peanut sauce, and later tried Thai mango sticky rice with pawpaw mousse.

There were also vendors selling pawpaw bread, official paw paw festival t-shirts with designs dating several years back, and pawpaw plants. (As well as a lot of non-paw paw-related stuff.) We were saddened to have missed the pawpaw cook-off.

A full harvest moon rose over the festival grounds, as we finally admitted paw paw overload. Still, I insisted on stopping by the free sample tent one more time to leave with the sweet custardy taste still lingering on my taste buds.

  • Kombucha in various pawpaw flavors (still tastes I assume like vinegar)
  • Pawpaw peanut sauce is a winner in my mind.
  • This is what a pawpaw tree looks like.
  • There were no pawpaws in the coffee thank goodness.

Monumental Moments

Central Pennsylvania, travel,

A visit to Gettysburg is certainly sobering. The main attraction of this small city in south central Pennsylvania (no matter what the tourist literature says about “fun activities for the whole family”) is following crawling traffic through a bucolic countryside to gawk at an endless series of soaring monuments commemorating men killing each other.

That is cynical, I realize. But realistic. The artwork and craftsmanship that went into these monuments is impressive. Standing among the tortured angels and stalwart fallen soldiers and officers on horseback, you are all too aware that thousands upon thousands of men (and some women too I suppose) died horrible deaths all around you.

War is hell, that is clear, and the Civil War battles fought in Gettysburg on July 1 – 3, 1863 were among the most hellish. Fifty thousand dead. Fifty thousand – dead.

It’s difficult to know what to feel. Proud of those who fought? In despair of so much loss of life? Glad that the Union was victorious in the end, and the States united once again? All – or none – of the above?

When we got to the towering Pennsylvania Monument, despite the number of people ambling around the fields and climbing the stairs to view the vista, it was relatively quiet. Until a thundering boom resounded through the staircase; a cannon fired by a park interpreter. Just one boom, but it shook the building, and the psyche of the assembled visitors. For one awful moment, pride, despair and victory seemed irrelevant. Survival seemed foremost.

Maybe, in the end, that is the lesson we take away from a visit to Gettysburg. The deep, basic struggle for survival, and empathy for those who didn’t.

Tasteful Ginseng Adventures

#ginseng, Olivia Cadaval, memories, summer, ,

My latest excuse for not posting for awhile is having been off in “undisclosable locations” within several Appalachian states learning more about the ever fascinating American ginseng. My trusty colleague Arlene has been my companion on these trips. We were sworn by our hosts to secrecy…we dutifully un-geo-located our photos. I will not speak of those adventures here.

I found that ginseng can be found closer to home, however, though the roots may have traveled a bit to get here. In Northern Virginia you can buy fresh ginseng in the local Korean grocery store, HMart. This is not be the same sort of ginseng which grows wild (or “wild simulated”) in the mountainous woods, but its pale, fat, cultivated cousin. Hmart’s ginseng is of unknown provenance, but it is probably from Wisconsin, Ontario, or… who knows, maybe it came all the way from Korea where they also cultivate ginseng. Then it would be Asian ginseng, another related species. But that is a whole other story.

I invited my summer interns over to dinner, and procured some of this $39.99/pound version. (This may sound expensive but the same weight in wild ginseng would cost several hundred dollars.) I threw a liberal amount of slices into a pot with some chicken breasts along with some onions, ginger, dried hot peppers, and salt. This concoction simmered for about an hour, and viola – my own version of a Korean staple, ginseng chicken soup.

We used slices of the chicken as the protein in some Vietnamese-inspired summer rolls. But not before I made the interns all slurp up some of the ginseng chicken broth and give their opinions on the taste. After all, they had just spent the better part of the summer researching and writing about ginseng, but they had not tasted any except in candies.

“Not bad,” was the verdict on the broth, and the chicken had a nice, slightly bitter, slightly sweet flavor that complemented the crunchy veggies and soft noodles in the rolls. (Not to take anything away from the ginseng experience, but the spicy peanut dipping sauce was the real star of the show.)

Everyone left that evening a little wiser, a little healthier, and having completed their ginseng education for the summer. As for Arlene and me, our ginseng adventures will continue. Stay tuned.