Archive for the ‘Food’ Category

Until Next Time

Tuesday, October 12th, 2010

We’re home. I’m always happy to come home. But, damn! it was a good trip. Loved it. Besides all that beautiful scenery and those crazy storms, here are a few things will stick with me.

It was raining like crazy when we went from Capitol Reef (Torrey) to Arches (Moab). This street sign was out in the middle of nowhere letting us know where NOT to go. 

This truck has been stuck for a looonnng time.

Pick your gloves at the Youth Garden Project CSA in Moab

On our morning walk along the creek in Moab, we met Sandy. He seemed to like the leash and it got his elderly folks out. They were all charming. We wonder if our cat Fred might go for this.

I loved this sandwich SO much that I ordered it for lunch three times. It’s the Bahn Mi (Vietnamese pork with veggies) from the Love Muffin cafe in Moab. Everything they served was good — excellent breakfast burritos and good vegetarian options. And while I’m at it, we ate several times at Buck’s Grill House, also in Moab. Bill moaned endlessly over the elk stew. If you go there, eat in the lounge — it’s lovely.

We took way fewer pictures of US and more of the scenery. Must be a side effect of time marching on. I don’t look quite as good all shiny with sunscreen, hiding behind sunglasses and a big hat. You notice I’m not putting THAT picture on here.

For now…goodbye desert southwest. I’ll be back!

Comfort

Sunday, January 24th, 2010

When Bill came home from work Thursday afternoon, he was tired, he’d had some rough things to deal with at work. He wanted to go to the place we go to at times like that. Justa Pasta. We’ve been going to Justa Pasta for I don’t know how many years. Seven? Eight?  Ten? Whatever, it’s been long enough and often enough that it’s our “go to” place for all kinds of things.

We usually go to Justa Pasta when we’re having a date day – a matinee and early dinner. But we’ve celebrated birthdays there, brought friends for small or big dinners, we’ve taken each of my siblings to Justa Pasta when they were in town for a visit. Bill and I got into a fight there once and I spent most of my meal crying. The staff kindly pretended they didn’t see. We’ve been there with our friends Dane and Mary and laughed so hard we may have scared a few guests away. One night, after a few glasses of wine, I let the owner, Roland, know just how cute I think he is. When our niece Devin died, we came here on our first night back in town from the funeral in Condon.  Angelina, one of the lovely people who work at Justa Pasta, knew what had happened and she greeted us with hugs and good care.

It’s a fine thing  to have a place to go that’s familiar and comforting, a place that smells good and has consistently delicious food, low lights and people who remember who you are and know what you like, people who make it easy for you to be there even when life isn’t easy. What’s your place for comfort?

“Oh, I was wrong.”

Sunday, January 3rd, 2010

That’s me, practicing my New Year’s resolution.  In the last year I’ve had more than a few opportunities to find out I was wrong when I was sure, SURE, I was right.  Mostly it hasn’t been a big deal, but lately, it’s occurred to me that I might be becoming a Little-Miss-Know-it-All. I don’t want to be her. So, I better do something about it now or it’ll creep on like extra pounds that get harder and harder to shake off.

See, I think we become more of who we are as time passes.  If we aren’t working on ourselves, rigidness becomes more rigid, sloppiness more sloppy, crankiness more cranky. And the opposite happens too. Gentleness becomes more gentle, generosity more generous, funniness more funny, happiness more happy (of course these are the ones we hope for, but you’ve got to work at them).

But it didn’t bode well for me a few weeks ago when, four times in one day, I got in “discussions” about things I thought I was right about and found out I was wrong about. Completely wrong. The specifics aren’t important here. Oh. They are to you? Well, here’s an example.

Server at Decarli: “Compliments of the house. Octopus.”

A few moments of Bill and I and three dear cousins eating said octopus, which was really yummy as everything is at Decarli.

Me: “Yum, I love calamari.”

Bill: “It’s actually not calamari. It’s octopus.”

Me: “Right. But it’s also called calamari.”

Another person at the table: “Calamari is squid, this is octopus.”

Me: “This is calamari. See all those squiggly things?”

Another person at the table: “Jackie, it’s NOT calamari.”

Me: “Well, maybe they call both of them calamari when it’s fixed like this.”

And yet another person at the table:  “Here’s our server, let’s ask.”

Me: Nodding. I’m sure I’ll be right.

Server: “No, calamari is squid. This is octopus.

Me: “Oh. Well, it looks exactly like calamari.”

This wasn’t the first time last year that I strongly argued a point and found out I was wrong. And even with the evidence, I had a hard time saying I was wrong. Of course, we all do that once in awhile, but four times in one day? The part that bothers me is that I spent time with people I loved arguing things that didn’t really matter. And for some reason that night, having those four sweet faces looking at me at that lovely dinner, me having taken our time to argue a silly thing, was like having a mirror turned on me. I saw it. I had become Little-Miss-Know-it-All, WRONG-Little-Miss-Know-it-All. That night, I decided it is time to pay more attention to my humility and curiosity. That’s what I’d like to become more of as time goes by. Curious. Humble. So for the past two weeks, I’ve been using these words more: “I didn’t know that.” “I was wrong.”  ”Oh. Okay.” What I like best about it is that it feels sort of freeing, not to have to know.

Not all meals at Decarli Restaurant offer me these big moments. But all of them are good. Wonderful food in a beautiful setting. In Beaverton, Oregon. I’m especially fond of the chicken, the braised short ribs with spaetzle, the beet salad, the polenta fries, and the cinnamon ice cream.