On Duck Hunting and Travel

On an overcast Friday afternoon, overlooking the Chesapeake, I watched an old friend attempt to eat his way through a mountain of steamed Maryland crab. He alternated between quiet concentration, picking out the meat with his fat fingers, and purposely riling me up, telling me where his EpiPen was located, so that I could stab him because wouldn't you know it, he's allergic to crab...

... Such an asshole. But it's now been 12 years of friendship. Few people who knew the awkward angry girl in high school know the awksome woman-child that I am today, and of those few who stayed, I want to keep them here. The downside is he knows my buttons and doesn't let me get away with my crap. Makes it hard to convincingly lie to myself when your friend is smirking at you across the way, eyebrows raised.

Harris Crab House, Grasonville, MD

It was a goodbye meal. Or at least goodbye for now. We hadn't seen each other since high school when we ended up living within 100 miles from each other this past year. Keeping in touch the last decade was always sporadic and short, yet familiar and easy, with no pretense. Some conversations were musings of what might've been, what could happen, or a favorite: how to fall off the grid completely. One that comes up time and again is the next epic adventure, and after that last meal we shared, he was setting off on a bucket list cross-country road trip, while I stood still, getting smaller in the rear view mirror, soon to be buried by the snow that is sure to come. Again, such an asshole, for leaving me behind.

So of course the topic changes to why don't I leave as well? Take off for one of the many adventures we always start to hypothetically plan. Bucket list locations like Kilimanjaro, the Silk Road, Inka Trail, Everest for him, Mars for me... It's a constant Nat Geo Adventure travel trailer in my head on loop after taking some soma, but I can't go just yet...

Mainly because I'm a type A, first generation child of immigrants Capricorn Tiger. 

And because I'm poor. The former makes me unable to function until the latter changes.

I have read every article under the sun about how to save up for travel, how to work abroad, how to become a successful travel blogger, ad nauseam. And it's all balderdash!

I don't see how I could possibly retire in my 30's with passive income so that I can travel.

I won't be selling myself so that I can see the world in style, and saving $13,000 in 7 months on a kitchen wage? Fuggedaboutit.

I live in a pit of debt that I dug myself by going to college and to culinary school. I don't regret it, nor do I blame anyone for it. There's of course a larger conversation to be had student loan debt in this country, as well as living wages, but that's not what this is about.

This is about me knowing what value I place on travel for myself, and what I plan on doing about it:

I've started to go duck hunting. Before you get your ducks in a row, you need to have ducks.

To all twenty readers who haven't gotten an update in my life, I'm taking a break from the kitchen. I left my last job at a prestigious restaurant because the costs were too high, and the wage was waaay too low. There was no time to go duck hunting.

But in my month of unemployment, I came across a duckling. Vaguely termed Culinary Operations Administrator by myself, I inadvertently fell into crafting my own freelancing niche and possible business. I meant to help someone out for a month or two on the side as I looked for the optimal job in chocolate, but now it's ballooned into some kind of animal, and I'm okay with it, so I've decided to keep on with it, and see how it goes. Ideally, I'll soon be able to telecommute from anywhere, not just in DC!

I'm still keeping my hand in with chocolate. If you would like to contribute to my Duck Hunting Travel Fund in exchanged for cocktail inspired chocolate truffles, please let me send me a request. That duckling is still searching for its footing, but like myself, I can't walk in a straight line sober, I can hardly expect my ducks to be entirely straight either. A vague single file would be great.

Ducklings, Boston

So while I'm not going to be riding off into the sunset on the next great adventure just yet, I'm on my way there. I'm closer now than I have been in the last four years, and with 30 around the corner, I'm okay with the current pace of the journey.

Philly: 24 Hour Edition, or How Much Can I Eat and Still Fit in My Pants

Hours spent in the city: 24
Miles driven: 309
State lines crossed: 5
Food Stops: 8
Alcoholic beverages: 4
Money spent: $125
Friends seen: 2

It's hard for a California girl such as myself to wrap my head around distances. An hour can be spent simply trying to get onto the Bay Bridge, or a quick trip from college home for laundry. A road trip was always measured by the amount of things in the car, and inevitably meant Los Angles, boring ping pong tournaments, and remember to pack extra batteries for my hefty cd-player with the anti-skip function, and my Linkin Park albums, obviously.

The intent was to get out of DC, take advantage of my new flexible schedule, and see maybe 2 of 6 people from culinary school for whom there is no mutual dislike (let me tell you, I met some of the most narrow and simple-minded taste buds at that place...). However, let's be real. As much as I wanted to see my friends, I really just wanted to go to the chocolate factory, and it was easier to justify that trip if I had a place to stay and a friend to eat more with. Sorry, Nikki, hope you don't mind that I used you for chocolate.

My dear friends live in South Philly, right off East Passyunk (pass-E-yunk) Avenue. Up and coming hipster place if there was ever one, filled with tightly packed rowhouses, short stoops and cramped parking spots. Great growing food scene though.

Food Stop #1: BLT at Black N Brew, 1523 E. Passyunk Ave.

12 pm. Hangry after 2.5 hours of solid driving, and my first choice, Essen, was closed, Black N Brew was picked because it was all we had. No pictures of said BLT that took way too long to prepare, and way too fast to consume. People don't seem to understand just because there are only 3 ingredients in this sandwich, doesn't mean it can't be substantial. It did bring my morning grumpiness back to a grumble and not a growl, so I won't write them off just yet. Actually, their beautiful mosaic exterior, and typical hipster/chalk wall interior did make me want to come in and bask in the sun on a sidewalk table and write my deepest inner thoughts in my journal as I contemplated life over a soy vanilla latte.

Snack #1: Chocolate. See previous post.

Food Stop #2: Spicy lamb dumplings and Italian roast pork bao, Bing Bing Dim Sum, 1648 E. Passyunk Ave. 

5:30 pm. I will not launch into a tirade about my issues with their take on my bastardization of one of my favorite culinary and cultural traditions, and just say that it was close by, the price was right, it was Happy Hour, and my fellow food professional liked frequenting the establishment. I had an accompanying forgettable New Belgium, and Nikki has a watermelon cooler of sorts. The only nice thing I can say is that the food is well seasoned. That is all.

Food Stop #3: Raw oysters, foie gras froyo, Stateside, 1536 E. Passyunk Ave. 

6 pm. Do you see what we were doing here? I had a master plan to happy hour crawl down East Passyunk, but this place felled us. Armed with the happy hour Chardonnay and an Old Fashioned, we ordered just a handful (4 each) of local Virginia oysters, and a foie gras froyo. Badly described by the waiter and the written menu, I took it as a partially frozen foie gras mousse with some stone fruit and other garnishes. What came out was... not expected. Beyond expectation for the price point ($14, listed as a snack), it was nearly beyond consumption for 2 people as well. Mainly because the chef's vision of it was to leave out any cracker/crostini/bread to help eat the mousse. Challenge accepted! But the salt content was just a little over of too well seasoned, so we had to asked for something carb-y.

We realized that by the time we finished our behemoth "snack," we were throwing in the towel. We had to, to survive the rest of the night. I was disappointed in ourselves, 4 small plates, 2 drinks each, in 1.5 hours... it's like our metabolisms were dying on us. Ugh, old age.

We restarted it by walking 3 miles to University City to our third stop. I quickly agreed to "see" Rittenhouse Square, and take in the atmosphere by the fountain to mask how horribly out of shape I was in.

Fountain, Rittenhouse Square

Food Stop #4: Salmon tartare, and steamed mussels, White Dog Cafe, 3420 Samson St. 

8:15 pm. I hope I never stop having friends in the industry, even after I leave it in the future. It's nice to get those extra little things, extra pours, dishes sent from the kitchen, your own corner at the bar. In this case, it was not I who got this treatment, it just helps if your friend is the fiancee of a sous chef. (Just fyi, dropping my name never gets anyone anywhere with anyone else, so don't bother trying to find people and say you know me. They will just spit in your food.)

Our adventure was cut short by a crazy lady with knitting needles. No, I don't mean me. Yes, I did bring my knitting to the bar, again. But it was another woman, with crazy eyes, and by her own admission, was there because she had no friends. We left a lot earlier than we wanted to, but there was no other polite way to pry her hands off Nikki, other than to quickly make for the door when she was distracted. (No, we are not that horrible, but yes, that woman was Level 4 status clinger, and we had to get out of there, after lots of polite goodbyes).

Food Stop #5: French fries, Fountain Porter, 1601 S. 10th St.

10pm. Grease and a pint. At the end of day, I'm a simple girl. Mountain of French fries, and a nice cold one. If you wanna get fancy, tater tots. I wish there were more unpretentious spots like this in DC, but sadly, this is not the town for it.

End night one. Wasn't drunk, nor stuffed beyond belief, just content to be with friends.

Food Stop #6: Dan dan noodles, pan fried Shanghai dumplings, Shang Hai 1, 123 N. 10th St.

10:15 am. It really didn't take much to convince Nikki that we should have pre-breakfast. Yes, a small snack before breakfast. Because I am a fatty. Because the pungent smells of walking through a Chinese enclave reminds me of home, and I really wanted jook and donuts. We had neither. But, not going to turn my belly from food. Consensus: I've had better versions of both dishes, and I'll never understand Shanghai dumplings and their serving sizes.

Food Stop #6: Butter cake and donuts, Reading Market Terminal, 51 N. 12th St. 

10:45 am. A total assault of the senses. A constant buzzing in my ear, the growl of my full stomach as my eyes got hungry, and the smells all the meats cooking. Nikki took me to the Flying Monkey for their famous butter cake. Butter, sugar, and flour. Repeat. Feel free, but I won't. We ended our gawking of every stall at an Amish donut spot. My trained eyes were able to pick out the shortening in the smears of flavored cream on each donut, and my suddenly dry mouth told me which ones not to pick. The apple spice cake donut was really nice though.

Meat art.

Food Stop #7: Brisket sandwich, Bubby's Brisket and Bugsy's Weiners, 103 N. 15th St.

11:30 am. I wanted a sandwich. It was an some Eater list. With a name like that, the idea just stuck. Literal hole in the wall, no frills, and all foods were probably on the brown spectrum by nature or after a hot oil treatment. Definitely would have been a guilty pleasures lunch spot if I worked downtown. I like my grease, what can I say.

#sandwichesandlandscapes

24 hours after I entered the city, I left it, with my mind already working on what we would next time. Perhaps I'll even explore the city next time, and maybe not eat (as much). Until next time, Philly.

Will Drive for Chocolate

"Okay Nikki, so here's the plan. We are going to charm our way into free chocolate today."

She doesn't bat an eye at my schemes. I'm lucky that most of my friends are happy-go-lucky enough to just go with my bulldozing methods and harebrained schemes. 

I had just driven 130 miles from DC to South Philly to be reunited with a culinary school classmate, whose professional career path has been similar to mine: haphazard goat trail leading to some end, but who knows exactly what, where and how. I had a random address to a chocolate factory in New Jersey. It's funny how random details stick out in my mind, but those have always led to the most interesting travel adventures (i.e. sunrise on Monserrat, after spending the night in a hermitage lean-to, a lifetime ago).

Michel Cluziel USA was located in West Berlin, New Jersey. The latter part of that sentence is enough for anyone normal person to go blank, if they got past the former to begin with. Michel Cluziel was a high end chocolate maker I remember seeing during my time in Paris, but as my small au pair stipend was usually blown on the more important part of the meal (wine, cheese, baguette, charcuterie, mousse de pate), dessert was usually secondary.

While not at the size or reputation of Valhrona, they are big enough to have a presence here in the states, and, to my luck, they were a mere thirty minutes outside of Philly. And when your friend is also a trained pastry fiend, there was no doubt in my mind that we would be crossing my fourth state line in as many hours to visit the Chocolatrium. 

Many hesitant turns onto random back roads of New Jersey led to a small singular building, hidden on a driveway, unnoticeable to the casual driver. A short picnic on the grassy flood barrier at the hood of my car later, we marched in, with no plan whatsoever, other than to be cute, and perhaps charm our way onto a tour. 

Tours were only for groups of 10 or more, and to be booked in advanced, but as I learned from my sister, the master trespasser with zero arrests or forcible removals to her name, it never hurts to ask, and look slightly pitiful when you do. 

We were denied the tour, but shown the store, where my Chatty Kathy personality came out. The line "I'm a pastry chef" tends to be a great conversation starter, and as our luck would have it, it was the starter and stopper. 

We were told of an immediate job opening and would we like to apply?

Seriously??? All I wanted was chocolate, but if you want to tell me about the opportunity to be a professional oompa loompa... (somehow the stars keep pointing me in this direction)

We met with the president, exchanged info, still reeling that sometimes job offers fall from the sky. 

Other customers came in and occupied the attention of our tour guide, Alan, but our patience was well rewarded. An abridged tour of the facilities showed me treasures; antique chocolate molds. 

Absolutely stunning. I want. So badly. Must. Not. Spend. Money....

Sadly, we only conned our way got to try was the Mokaya, a single origin dark chocolate from southern Mexico near Guatemala.  Full bodied, strong chocolate taste, slight red fruit sweetness.

Is it ridiculous to drive across four states to get chocolate? Only if you are not me. If you are me, it's just another Monday. 

Reflections and Projections, Hopes and Dreams, and then Stark Reality

2015 was not an easy year for me. I don't there has been one yet. Despite the constant barrage of inspirational memes and Elite Daily articles about never settling, I don't blame anyone but myself the yet unattainable "perfect" life/job/love that I've been striving for and failing at, because all my choices have been my own, for better or worse, and the only resolution one can make in the new year and every day is to have no regrets.

I tried very hard to avoid posting vague and passive aggressive status updates because there wasn't a point; those who cared already knew, and those who didn't just got annoyed. Instead I went the "1000 word" posts instead, by joining Instagram and capturing and curating my life for moments that didn't suck.

So here's a verbal recap that isn't just Instagram photos of my 2015: 

- I started the year off with one of the saddest birthdays I have had in a decade, and vowed to never be asleep that early again unless it was from having having too much fun. 

- I made a firm decision to leave Pittsburgh as soon as possible, as I was tired of being in a place were I never felt like I fit in, nor had allies to fight in the zombie apocalypse with. 

- By December, I had left a total of 3 jobs, and decided that enough was enough, and that if I can't find my place in the kitchen, well dagnammit, I'm just going to make my own.

- I was able to visit California twice in a year, something I haven't done since I left when I was 23, and had my Thomas Wolfe moment that had been building for years, but only now was I able to accept it. Still not quite ready to let go, but almost. 

And here I am in 2016, older, but no wiser, with no more grasp on my hopes and dreams than I did when I was 18 or 25, and I'm sure that 30, a mere 360 days away, will only bring an unwelcome plethora of "over the hill" jokes." But I have plans. I really do:

- A new job to start at the end of the month, in a brand new kitchen with a brand new team. I'm very excited about it, and will announce more and post our first write up once we've been reviewed.

- Volunteering has opened so many new doors for me I don't even know where to start. I've in the process of helping out with 2 community cookbooks, and will start to worm my way into a certain national museum that has an entire exhibit about food....

- I'm experimenting and slowly building the foundation and a network for an eventual business concept, but it's years down the line from now. My commitment phobia is still very much in play at the moment, and I'm kinda okay with that. 

- The above networking and volunteering has led to so many unexpected emails about opportunities and collaborations that I never thought possible, and it's helping me to get over my impostor syndrome and really own the fact that I could be in fact, awesome. 

- I had a once a month travel goal last year, that despite me thinking I failed at it, I really did manage to go somewhere nearly once a month.

On a personal level, I am as lost and confused as ever. My anchor points are all over the country and world and Skype dates and phone calls are soothing balms on my soul. Never underestimate the power of a text message, or an 4 sentence email to let someone know you are still on their radar, and that you matter.

So here is my reality: I'm living in DC for the foreseeable future. My new job shows promise and excitement, and what professionally enriching joy I cannot obtain during my work hours will be found in museums and food banks. I am very slowly building a personal network, but maintaining my global one is very high on my list. I hope to keep up with my travels, but I do have to be somewhat financially responsible.

Feel free to come visit me; I have a spare bedroom, and can almost promise you food. 

I promise myself to keep putting myself in awkward positions that will lead to interesting stories for you all. No resolutions. No regrets. And now here is a picture of me trying to climb a tree while drunk, because there should always be drunk tree climbing when in Philly.

Fifth Fall

Did you know that during the months of September to November, the leaves burst on fire and change color before they drop from the the trees so you can stomp on them with a satisfying crunch?

If you were born and raised in California, then the answer is no. It's simply a product of Hollywood (where this phenomenon definitely does not happen), and only happens over there, on the other side of the country, or Canada. We simply grew up in greens or browns. And then I moved away...

View of the Siene, Rive Droite and the back of the Louvre
Paris, Fall 2010

Gardens of Waddesdon Manor
Buckinghamshire, England, Fall 2010

La Defense,
Paris, Fall 2011

Sloe Berry Picking Adventure with favorite Frenchies
Park near Harrow, London, England, Fall 2011

View of the Golden Triangle/Downtown Pittsburgh, from Grandview Station
Pittsburgh, Fall 2012

The thunderstorm the previous weekend had stripped the trees already...
Loyalhanna Creek, off US 30 West
Ligonier, Fall 2013

Montreal, Quebec, Canada, Fall 2014

Potts Mountain, Jefferson National Forrest, Virginia, Fall 2015

And so, five years later...

I hadn't realized it had been so long since I've been away from "home." A woman I met had asked if I was from California, asked what the job situation was like back there, and I said, "Oh, I haven't lived there in like, five years," mentioning that I had moved out to Pittsburgh, and then here, earlier this year. 

"Oh, so you're an East Coaster now, then," she stated. 

I had no response. 

I still have no response. 

The Smell of Chocolate on Northern Winds

"Do you like it? Taking your home with you wherever you will go?"

"Yeah, why not? Your way must be harder, each time having to make a new home from scratch."

"Well, maybe this time I'll get it right."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe I'll stay."

"What?"

"Don't you ever think about belonging somewhere?"

"The price is too high. You end up caring what people expect of you. No."

"Is that so terrible? Having people expect something of you?"

- Chocolat, film, 2000

#ThursdayTravels: On Driving Around and Around and Around

Days late, most definitely dollars short, but here's my #ThursdayTravels...

I grew up in a car. Driving to school. Driving to Chinese school. Driving to the outlets. Driving to San Francisco, Sacramento, and everything in between. Nothing beats being lulled to sleep by a fast moving car after a long adventure, with streetlights streaming behind my eyelids, or keeping my eyes opening just long enough to watch the Enjoy Coco Cola billboard lights cycle through, fill up, and empty again, before getting bathed in the harsh yellow lights of the lower span of the Bay Bridge....

Nothing, except being in the driver seat, that is. I was prepared to fight tooth and nail to get my learner's permit the second I turned fifteen and a half (because fifteen is still young enough to count the years in terms of months). I was surprised when my parents gave in so early. Should have known it was too good to be true, because it would be more than another year until they let me actually take the test, and another two years before they would let me behind the wheel....

But once I got into that seat, I never really left. College was both far enough away to warrant a car, and close enough that frequent excursions home for fresh laundry and free groceries made me a regular road warrior. I never questioned how I knew where I was going, because I had been on those roads as long as I could remember.

I knew the multiple side streets to get back to my house, to go to Chinatown, to get on the Bay Bridge in case of traffic, and what times of the day to take Frontage Road (answer: pretty much always, because who doesn't want the salty air blowing in, windows down, fog rolling in, and the familiar sight of the Bay and Golden Gate Bridges across the Berkeley Marina?)

Had to pull off and park while driving down Frontage Road along the Berkeley Marina. Probably one of my last California sunsets for a while, so I stayed until the last rays.

Moving to a new city means new roads to avoid, new back roads to discover, and of course, the inevitability of getting lost. I remember once the ease in which I navigated back the random short merges and multiple bridges to our apartment in Pittsburgh, and my roommate turned to me in awe, and asked "How do you know where you are going?"

Google, baby. Google. But in a time before such crazy things like "smart" phones and when GPS was still a spy function in Enemy of the State, Map Quest reigned, and I printed step-by step directions. I also remember this crazy thing they mentioned in history class called an "atlas..."

It's absolutely hilarious to me the duality of personalities, who I am in America, on foot, and in a car, compared to who I am when I travel abroad to different countries, where I navigate via my notebook of scribbles of addresses and half-formed beginnings of adventures and a free or cheap tourist map.

This Thursday, in search of a Restaurant Week lunch locale, I drove almost an hour to Ashburn, VA, to Ford's Fish Stack. I read the menu, and had lobstah stuck on my mind...

Maine Lobster Roll. Ford's Fish Shack, Ashburn, Va. Restaurant Week Entree, Lobster rolls served 2 ways, Connecticut and Maine, with fries and slaw. Worth the drive? Only as part of the day, not as the reason.

After 5 months in DC, I'm still learning the roads and the laws of the land. Keep in mind, I have to learn 3 sets: District of Columbia, Virginia, and Maryland. The lessons I did learn the hard way include speed traps and parking enforcement... Damn remote cameras.

This week's lessons involve that there are multiple parkways, greenways, and beltways in the area, and there is always traffic, no matter what time of day. Since I never fully understand when Interstate 66 is HOV only (which I learned, HOV is High Occupancy Vehicle, and for us West Coasters, that's the carpool lane), I just avoid it, except after midnight (yes, sometimes I drive around when I can't sleep, or if I'm coming back from watching meteors).

The main lesson from this trip is the fun of driving on a toll road that leads to Dulles airport, but not really, and the joy of multiple toll entry/exit lanes, which may or may not have cost me over $10 in tolls... Virginia State Route 267, ladies and gentlemen. Read the Wiki on it, and get a migraine, or be like me, and suck it up and keep driving.

There's that moment of panic whenever I miss the exit and my GPS yells at me (note to self, change the voice to a more pleasant one. Does Morgan Freeman give directions?), and my ETA is increased and it eats into my buffer time. There's no wondrous feeling of adventure as I barreling down a two-lane road that has no turn out, no life, no bathroom, and worse, no signal. But then suddenly "in a quarter mile, turn left" chirps out at me, and the trip is back on. "Your destination is on the right."

These initial months of learning the roads far from my well traveled roads tear me up inside. There's the joy of driving through a green, tree laden Baltimore-Washington Beltway, learning the curves in the road, or knowing that the Ferris Wheel at the National Harbor will be lit up to my left as I'm on 495 South... Yet, the mild panic of not being about to cut into the left lane to avoid the "exit only" coming up in 500 feet because you forget yet again while crossing Memorial Bridge back into the city.

Then, forced to take the exit as far as it goes, I take a breath and continue straight. I know I live in the North East sector of the city, and this exit will take me North, so by virtue, if I just keep right turns east, and left turns north, I'll make it home, GPS be damned. And as luck would have it, I'll end up driving by a magnificent monument I have yet to see, and the sudden awe makes the panic all worth it...

Hello, Supreme Court. So that's where you are....

Like in life, one day I'll know where I'm going and how to get there without directions.

Until then, okay Google, how do I get to.....?