Santa Cruz 1976 Photo: David Gans

The day before he passed, word spread quickly across the internet about Levon’s rapidly diminishing condition. It was touching to hear how Robbie Robertson had visited Levon and said his final farewell. He had no idea his old bandmate’s cancer had come back. This shed some light on what a personal battle it had become. The messages asked people to pray for Levon and surely they did. The sense of global unity was palpable. Mercifully the final leg of his journey was brief as he exited the next day. As one of my friends aptly commented, “It was the second night they drove old Dixie down.”

Since then, I’ve found myself listening to as much of The Band as possible. The first thing I went for was their definitive masterpiece, “Music from Big Pink.” Beginning with “Tears of Rage” and ending with “I Shall be Released,” that’s the one to put on to turn a melancholy mood into a work of art. From there I went through all four audio discs of “The Last Waltz.” There are some serious gems which didn’t make it onto the film. I just got a couple bootlegs from ’73 and ’76 to keep feeding the jones. Thanks to the extra listening, I’m sure I’m just one of many to have an enhanced appreciation for a band which has to be considered amongst the greatest of all time.

I might hesitate to make such grand statements but the point is inarguable after seeing live footage from 1970’s Festival Express. In all my obsession with The Dead and Janis, I had kind of forgotten about The Band’s involvement on the notorious train tour. I thought it was so cool that my dad reminded me of the connection after Levon’s passing. It was a perfect excuse for another viewing of this monumental documentary.

These filmmakers shoot the movie like fans where the cameras seem like they are two feet away from the target. When The Band fills the screen during each of their three featured songs, it’s almost as if the crew had to take a step back out of fear of electrocution. We know all the musicians have just hopped off a non-stop party train and from the looks of these guys, they are still hurdling down the tracks. There is no doubt that each man is feeling every sonic vibration on a cellular level and spilling over with the emotion to prove it. Watching Levon sing “The Weight,” one might think he’s about to bite the mic off the stand at any given moment. He’s like a feral animal, reigning itself in just enough to cater to this laid back semblance of commercialism. Playing with that distinct, jagged bounce, the drums were more of a necessary appendage than their typical display of concert grandiosity.

Drumming his heart out in that cowboy hat, he’s the embodiment of a musician outlaw. He looked like the kind of guy who could win a stare-down with a rattlesnake, but also the nicest, most genuine cat in the room (at least from what I gather).The good old boy from the Ozarks had already lived what many would consider a full career by the time the Festival Express streaked across Canada. There he was, basically at the beginning of a whole new juncture. Fans have to be extraordinarily grateful for that footage, but it’s also natural to wonder: “Is there a lost reel of Levon jamming with Pigpen in the bar car which has yet to see the light of day?”

Photo: Ron Baker

Despite a significant S-curved spine which developed during puberty, I had been fortunate not to have much back pain throughout my life. It was mid-June in West Seattle when I suddenly started to experience jagged pain in the side of my neck one morning. I didn’t know what might have caused it other than an awkward sleep or possibly this ab roller exercise I was doing at the time. It felt jammed and the mild to moderate pain lasted for the next two months during stints in Isla Mujeres, Portland and Santa Barbara. Somewhat miraculously, the pain disappeared after a loose couple of nights in August, dancing to Phish in South Lake Tahoe.

The pain stayed away for about a month and I forgot about it. Then one day in the shower, all it took was a subtle turn of the head to trigger it. My neck felt so tight like it was filled with cement. The pain instantly accelerated well beyond where it had been before. At age 35, I felt so old and fragile. My neck was bad but it was the pain radiating down my right arm which bordered on unbearable. It was like electro-shock treatment burning through my veins and all the surrounding flesh, muscle and tendons begging for mercy. This is hard to even write about and recollect. Enduring pain like that on a constant basis is draining emotionally as it is physically. It took a lot out of me and Raven dealing with this freak occurrence and doing whatever I could to maintain a semblance of a functional life. Pain pills didn’t even work.

I finally got an MRI and when my doctor called with his interpretation, the news hit me like a punch to the gut. It was a severe disc bulge between c6 and c7 in the base of the neck protruding six millimeters into the spinal column. I could see it plain as day sticking out and the sight was disturbing. It’s always humbling when you are faced with the facts: “Wow. Something is really wrong with me!” Worth noting is my MRI experience itself which was much better than the first time 17 years ago before I had elbow surgery. It helps to know what to expect. Keeping my eyes closed was essential so I couldn’t see how small the tube really is. Hopefully as technology improves, they’ll figure a way to make it more peaceful and less like having your head stuck in a construction zone. They didn’t turn the music up loud enough for me but it was a major improvement over Grateful Dead’s “Drums>Space” which accidentally ended up as my soundtrack back in ’95. Very soothing.

My neurologist, a geeky guy with a mustache who wears polyester pants from the early 80s up to his stomach, didn’t look too optimistic when examining the MRI films. He said physical therapy was worth a shot but surgery was a likelihood. Of course I had already tried chiropractic (including Activator), acupuncture and massage but none had provided any relief. I stuck with PT for a little over six weeks and had some encouraging results where I really was convinced I was on my way to back to health. Putting my neck in various traction positions proved to be the most beneficial approach, accompanied by neck strengthening exercises. Just when I had been making steady progress, I had a setback and felt like it almost put me back to square one. At that point I figured it was time to start seriously considering surgery. I booked the appointment with UCSF, one of the best spinal surgery centers on the west coast, and waited. Even getting that appointment seemed like a feat.

Right around that time, I received a book in the mail from my brother. We haven’t been talking for several months as the result of a letter he wrote me which he intended to help but instead shattered our relationship. It has been painful for both of us. Despite our differences, it is powerful that he knew it was essential to get this book in my hands. A couple weeks passed before I sat down on a Sunday and read “Healing Back Pain” by Dr. John E.Sarno in a matter of a few hours. The information resonated in my every cell as I absorbed it completely. I knew when I put it down that I had found the answers I was looking for.

The book focuses on a condition the doctor identified back in the late ‘70s called Tension Myositis Syndrome (TMS). It is an undiagnosed psychosomatic condition where repressed feelings of anger and anxiety deprive oxygen from certain parts of the body. This tricks the individual into a pain response and makes them think they have a certain ailment. Our inevitable exposure to societal fears and over-information about certain conditions creeps into our subconscious and contributes to “illusions” between the body and mind. Dr. Sarno has done numerous studies over the decades and had over a 90% success rate among people who accept the fact that their emotions are the real factor in these physical conditions. Most people are healed within two to six weeks. It applies to not only back conditions but others throughout the body.

I began to feel better within the first week of reading the book. After two weeks, the improvement was significant. It’s been two months now and, for whatever reason, I’m not 100%, but very close to it. It definitely feels like a miracle. All it took for me was reading “Healing Back Pain” and changing my way of thinking. In addition to positive affirmations, it required frequent conversations with my subconscious; even yelling and cursing at myself which made me feel like Edward Norton from “Fight Club” (though I didn’t kick my own ass). This was definitely the most profound example I’ve experienced when it comes to the power of positive thought. In my case it seemed especially challenging because of the MRI evidence. “How is THAT not causing my pain?” Well, it wasn’t.

Now when I have one of those weird, unexplainable pains somewhere, it is a lot more comforting chalking it up to TMS. One of its main principles is that pain tends to pop up in different parts of the body. People who don’t acknowledge the root cause often end up dealing with multiple conditions, having more than one surgery and struggling chronically. I’m convinced that the devastating bout I had with ulcerative colitis back in ’08 was an earlier manifestation of TMS. It came on suddenly. I was feeling a lot of repressed emotions at the time. None of the normal means of treatment were effective. This herniated disc came on just as suddenly and without rational cause.

This still begs several questions. For starters: What would an MRI of my neck look like now? Honestly, I don’t really care. I’m just grateful to feel good and share this information with anyone who can be helped. The thought of going under the knife never felt right to me. I’m not that kind of person. The other side of the coin is accepting that I have held on to anger and anxiety about various things. A lot of people who know me would laugh because I come across as so mellow but there is definitely a bit of Incredible Hulk lurking inside. Now that I’m more aware of it, what’s the next step? Work on releasing it and dealing with it as it arises. It reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry’s girlfriend pointed out his inability to express anger. He tries to fake it until something snaps and he can’t hold it back. While I hover in the manageable medium, I’ll shoot for channeling my emotions in a healthy way. Perhaps it’s time to take up kickboxing.

Before their Sunday gig at Crystal Bay Casino in North Lake Tahoe, I declared to my friends, “I’m falling in love with this band.” Some I’ve fallen for instantly (Phish) while others take a couple years to click (ALO). After seven years of occasional listening and going to maybe three shows, Umphrey’s McGee had finally crested the hump in my mind. The defining moment came during a song called “Hajimemashite;” heard off a recording of one of their recent JamCruise sets. This magical essence emanated through the speakers, swirled around the room and left me tingling. Here was the emotional quality I seek from any band combined with a palpable “x-factor.” These dudes from Chicago were starting to make me care. I still wasn’t sure though if my allegiance might be premature.

Halfway through the first set, I couldn’t help but have a tinge of doubt. This wasn’t what I had been frothing over the past couple months. It felt foreign. Maybe I was a little shell-shocked. I almost didn’t make it in to begin with. Before the show, I was waiting in line to get in which isn’t so pleasant at CBC since casinos are the only places left in the free world where smoking is still allowed. I had my ticket firmly in my front pocket. I was golden; or so I thought. As I approached the front of the line, I plunged my hand into that right pocket and came up with air. “No. You’ve gotta be kidding me!”. I searched the other pocket and my wallet; no luck; of course not. I knew where it was and it wasn’t there now. It must have fallen out when I pulled out my phone.

First there was denial, then dismay, followed by horror; last but not least – déjà vu. It was 11/11/95; the finale of a three-night run of Phish shows at the Fabulous Fox Theatre in Atlanta. On the way in, I picked up a ticket off the ground. I looked all around and asked if anyone dropped it. I looked for Adam who I was with but didn’t see him anywhere. Time was ticking and I had to go in. There was no time to do anything but gift some fortunate fellow with an 11th hour miracle. I remember him howling for joy as he leapt through the door of the theatre. I waited and waited but there was no sign of Adam. Word eventually got through that he had lost his ticket; A prized ticket to an extremely sold out show in an undersized venue. I felt horrible at the twisted irony of the situation. Not only was my bro shut out of the show – and had to wait another year to see his first “Mike’s Groove” – but it was a bitter cold night in Hotlanta.

So, there I am, with an empty pocket, feeling like a huge idiot. My first instinct is to walk back through the line and ask if anyone found a ticket on the ground. These people look honest enough. Returning to my spot, I am at a loss for what to do next. Barely 30 seconds later, up walks this friendly bear of a guy named Sean who I met 10 minutes earlier. “Did you drop a ticket?” he asked with a sly smile. I couldn’t believe my luck. Disaster narrowly adverted. I felt a whole new round of sympathy for Adam.

Lights by Jeff Waful. All photos by T. Blue

Joel Cummins embodies the old adage, "If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life."

Stasik, Farag and Bayliss; one half of a six piece machine.

The Mighty Pony - as entertaining to watch as he is to hear.

Bad ass Jake and his new baby. Bound to make plenty of magic together.

There’s not a single time that Adam Roberts makes food when you think, “This is just going to be ok.” No way. It’s a given that it’s going to be exceptional. It’s going to be something you can’t or wouldn’t conceive of making yourself. To complement our viewing of the Ravens – Patriots AFC Championship game, he busted out a traditional crab boil with fresh Dungeness crabs, linguica, corn and potatoes. You gotta love a meal that can be spread out on a newspaper-covered table and primally devoured. The result of the game was agonizing but the boil softened the blow.

Last week I was walking Thunder and a neighbor referred to him as the “young, brown dog.” When I told him he’s 13, the guy was amazed. His hearing is getting worse, but otherwise he’s like a spring chicken. Thundy is in the best shape he’s been in for awhile since we do a moderate hike through the snow almost every day. It’s amazing how close Raven and I feel with him. Here is waiting as I emerge from the wilderness.

It never ceases to amaze me how scrumptious the sushi is at Samurai in South Lake Tahoe. Most of the fish is just as good or better than any coastal restaurant I’ve been to. The hamachi, in particular, verges on orgasmic. Right up there with the best single pieces of nigiri I’ve had. The ivory fish at the back of the plate is our newest love – escolar. It’s velvety with a subtle, yet distinct flavor. I’m also a sucker for the wasabi tobiko with quail eggs as they all burst into a creamy, salty symphony in the mouth. Naturally we can’t resist uni whenever they have it. South Lake Restaurants make up in quality what they lack in quantity.

Photo by Ravena Blumara

Once upon a time, sliders were only a White Castle thing. Now they are one of the biggest casual culinary trends of the last five years as these miniature bunned-beauties have infiltrated every other restaurant and bar in the country. Why not? They are fun to eat and offer plenty of room for creativity. Before going to see Soulive and numerous special guests at Crystal Bay Casino last weekend, we enjoyed a nosh session at Bite – an American tapas bar in Incline Village. The BLT is one of the world’s definitive sandwiches. Here it is elevated to unforseen heights when the “L” translates as “Maine Lobster.” I look at this photo and think of my Jewish Orthodox brother with a devious smile. Honestly, they weren’t any better than a great BLT would be, but still darn tasty and texturally dynamic. Our other dishes were exceptional too including scallops with beet spaetzle.

I’ve never been one for after-shows. Once I see a great concert, that’s usually my musical quota for the evening. It’s a different story when the after-show is just a couple hundred feet from the venue. Being free doesn’t hurt either. Such is the case at Crystal Bay. Some shows are too good to follow and then others you need some extra music to wind down and process what you just saw. The latter was the case on this night as we had just been blown away by Soulive with special guests Karl Denson, Ivan Neville, George Porter Jr., Anders Osbourne and Matisyahu. The night was a ride on a runaway funk train serving up copious volumes of New Orleans gumbo. Each musician left everything onstage; especially guitarist Osbourne who burned his way into the collective consciousness with ferocious solos; tastefully complementing Soulive’s own guitar alchemist, Eric Krasno.

After all that, here comes Mike Mangan’s Big Organ Trio in the Red Room. Aided by a guest guitarist at times, they crushed every song with Mangan putting his aged Hammond B3 through a workout. He looks like Jesus combined with Russell Hammond from “Almost Famous;” rock star machismo to spare. The kind of guy you’d humbly offer your girlfriend. They did a funked-out version of “Dark Star” and a “Manic Depression” with Mangan ripping the guitar leads on B3. It was nasty and we couldn’t get enough. Every song was so intense, it seemed to push the audience to the collective breaking point.

Walking the dogs around the grounds of the Cal Neva on Sunday morning after the Soulive show, I came upon this statue. I noticed the English translation of Chief Joseph’s name and it really captured me – “Thunder coming up over the land from the water.” The statue honors a leader who stood up for his tribe against U.S. oppression, established strategic precedents for the military and, like most Native Americans, his efforts ended up hitting the impenetrable wall of injustice. Staring at his bust sparkling in the morning son, I could have felt a lot of things; at that moment, it was pride. It may not count for much, but at least Chief Joseph is being honored somewhere.

This is the view from the top floor of Cal Neva on the afternoon-after. The night before was only my second time seeing Soulive, but this was a whole different ballgame considering all the guests they had in the house. Considering the smoldering spontaneity, it was the closest I’ve felt to being at Jazz Fest since my last time there in ’97. I came away with at least one clear reminder: there’s funk and then there’s funk as played by members of The Funky Meters. Plus, it was the first time in awhile I’ve been at a show and found a bona fide “dance vortex.” Nothing like the universal language of groove to erase barriers and make new friends.

Thunder needs more dog company so we were happy to watch our pal Allen’s dog for a few days. Kenobi is the most entertaining snow dog I’ve had the privilege to know. He’s an Alaskan Malamute/Golden Retriever, so he’s totally in his element in arctic conditions. It was a trip to take him out after a recent snow and watch him go crazy. He loves to bury himself and roll in the fluff. He wanted to roughhouse with me any chance he got. I didn’t realize until we got home that he had all these snow balls caked into his fur. Getting them out wasn’t much fun at all. Of course later I’m told that he’ll eat them himself. What a sport.

I understand that people were seduced by the novelty of a modern-age silent film, an engaging story and good acting, but did it really amount to a Best Picture-caliber presentation? Well, apparently yes. I’d love to hear an educated film critic explain to me why “The Artist” should be considered superior to “Hugo.” The latter was oceanic in depth. To me, “The Artist” was a cute film which would have barely been worth the price of admission without one of the most lovable canine actors to ever grace the screen. Uggie, the Jack Russell Terrier, should have won an Oscar instead of Jean Dujardin. The actor’s hammy performance certainly didn’t scrape the barrel like Roberto Benigni who stole an Oscar for “Life is Beautiful” in 1998 (gosh, that was a depressing year.) However, like Benigni, chances are American audiences have seen the last of Dujardin (he’s no Christoph Waltz). I will say that his giddy and gracious acceptance speech made his win a little more palatable.

The Red Carpet pre-show was quite enjoyable this year even though two out of the four ABC correspondents were awkward and uninspired. The two that weren’t, Louise Roe and Tim Gunn, picked up the slack. I’ve been a red carpet reporter (not for the Oscars unfortunately) and know how hard it can be. Roe did a great job with her questioning and seeming natural with the stars. Gunn can surely be a little much for some but he is a fashion guru and that’s what the red carpet is all about. However, he does lose points for being a fan of Emma Stone’s red dress. That bow was ill-advised. There were some superbly-dressed women out there like Rooney Mara (what an ice princess she is), Penelope Cruz, Octavia Spencer, Jennifer Lopez (she has unwavering faith in adhesives) and Michelle Williams.

I’m admittedly a big, emotional sap, so I can’t deny that one of my favorite parts of the whole presentation was the “Mominess” segment during the first hour of the red carpet show. It was a brilliantly-conceived piece featuring the mothers of several nominees gushing about their kids. It was incredibly touching to hear their perspective and have their famous (in most cases) children be brought down to earth as a son or daughter of a loving mother. Gary Oldman’s mother Kay was adorable. It made me wish he would win even though he had no chance. It was cool hearing George Clooney’s mom mention his definitive scene in “The Descendants” and how she never thought he was capable of something like that. You could feel the pride pouring off the screen.

The intro to the Oscar show was one of the best in history. The opening montage with Billy Crystal filling roles in many of the nominated films was genius. Justin Bieber may have launched his acting career with an amusing, charismatic cameo. Crystal’s monologue was sharp, including one of the funniest lines ever delivered at the Academy Awards. Something to the effect of: “Nothing relieves the economic sting like watching millionaires present millionaires with gold statues.” Then his song and dance routine, which everyone was looking forward to, absolutely killed. He couldn’t have nailed it any better. Those changes in pitch and cadence with the lyrics were very challenging and handled seamlessly. The joke at Jonah Hill’s expense was in poor taste but he finished strong. The rest of his hosting was solid if unspectacular. However, he is definitely a comforting presence on the Kodak stage and did enough to earn a spot as a perennial host.

This was an Oscars where I was really starting to think: “They are getting it right this year.” Hugo went on an early run. “Rango” won Best Animated Feature. Alexander Payne and Co. picked up another Adapted Screenplay award for “The Descendants.” Even “Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” got a little love for Film Editing. We had reached the mountaintop of Oscar justice with Christopher Plummer earning his first statue at age 82. Go figure he had to play gay to get it. His speech was so charming with his accent, mustache and velvet tux. It wasn’t quite Elway winning the Super Bowl, but it was a triumphant crowd pleaser. Not long after, the reality of Oscar politics delivered a cold, hard thud with Michael Hazanavicius’ win for Best Director. All the air was let out of the room as it became a foregone conclusion that “The Artist” would sweep the big three.

It was rather odd how the producers of the show chose to weave all these sexual innuendos throughout the night. It started with Sandra Bullock talking up “sexy time” on the red carpet, which didn’t really make much sense. Next we got the gift of a gratuitous rear end view of Cameron Diaz and J-Lo while they were presenting. Whose ever idea that was, thank you! Moments like that make me wish I had DVR. Then the women from “Bridesmaids” started their presentation about Live Action Short with size jokes. By that point, maybe things had gone a little too far.

It’s officially time to worry about Angelina Jolie. It’s ok if she wants to be anorexic or bulimic on her own time, but don’t stick it in the face of a global audience. She had no business being a presenter in that condition. No length of slit exposing your long legs is going to distract us from your twiggy arms Angie. You are setting a horrible example for women of the world and for your kids. Brad must be appalled. Get help! While I’m at it, I’m not sure of her name, but the short haired brunette from “Bridesmaids” wasn’t looking much better.

I had a feeling it was Meryl’s year and it was nice to see her win. However, I though her speech was off the mark. It was silly of her to start out with a self-depreciating comment, “I felt like when my name was announced, all of America groaned, ‘Not her again.’” Hey Meryl, yes you’ve been nominated 17 times but lest you forget that you haven’t won since 1982? And you might like to know that America likes you quite a bit. It would have been nice to see Viola Davis or Michelle Williams win but how could anyone argue against Meryl in a role nobody else could have played. I loved how Meryl stopped to embrace Viola at her seat on her way up to the stage. It was sweet how she honored her nominees and all her friends in the room. It was a major oversight though not to mention anyone involved with “The Iron Lady” or acknowledge Margaret Thatcher herself. Plus, she treated it like a lifetime achievement award saying, “I’ll never be back on this stage.”

If the Oscars are so committed to having a streamlined, three-hour show, they need to get their priorities straight. We didn’t need the faux focus group about “The Wizard of Oz” or one of the other humorous fillers which escapes my mind right now. On the other hand, the Cirque du Soleil performance was dazzling and fit in well. It is shameful to cut off winners of the top awards like Octavia Spencer. The poor thing is getting “WRAP UP NOW” flashed before her like 30 seconds into her acceptance speech. I know that has become the norm but it still is uncool. I’d have to say that the standing ovation earned by Spencer was surprising. Usually the Oscar audience is more discriminating with their standing o’s. It goes to show how universally respected her performance in “The Help” was. Regardless, very humbling for an actress who most people had never heard of before last year.

Bits and Pieces:

Stacy Keibler was the most gorgeous woman in the Kodak Theater last night. She is more stunning than any actress in Hollywood. You know why? Because of how natural and comfortable she is in her own skin. There’s a good reason why there was an iso-camera on her and Mr. Clooney throughout the show. Don’t let her get away George!

Jason Segel had to be the happiest guy at the Oscars who didn’t win an award. On the red carpet he admitted how star struck he was. After “Man or Muppet” won for Best Original Song, he was beaming with pride and holding back tears. He must have cut quite a swath through the after-show party scene last night.

On that subject, how in the world were there only two original songs worthy of being nominated this year? And, with only two songs, how could the producers not fit in time for life performances? They always used to. A Muppet performance would have brought the house down.

I liked the increased showing of mutual respect among nominees. More than ever, winners took the time to praise their fellow nominees with great sincerity. I especially liked when Ludovic Bource, a first time winner for Original Score for “The Artist” stopped on his way to the stage to shake the hand of legendary composer, John Williams. Pretty impressive that Williams, at age 80, is not only still composing but was nominated this year for two different films.

The other funniest moment of the night was when Billy Crystal read the minds of select audience members. The drunken, growly belch he summoned from Nick Nolte’s conscience was daring, hilarious and probably not too far from the truth.

It was great that Woody Allen won for Best Original Screenplay but it’s hard to feel to happy for someone who doesn’t ever see it fit to come to the ceremony. I wonder if he watches at home or even cares at all.

There was a question many of us were contemplating during the show…What in the hell was up with Tom Cruise’s face in the interview segments?! He looked like a totally different person and slightly deformed. Does he normally wear that much makeup, did he get a facelift or is he undergoing some weird Scientology cosmetic procedure? I can’t believe his agent would allow that footage to be run.

Speaking of the interview montages, they were awesome. Whoever was doing the questioning got some incredibly candid responses from the actors. I especially liked seeing Edward Norton and hearing what he had to say. He is one of my favorites who has been off the map for too long. I’m glad to see that he has a few movies coming out soon.

Is there a cooler guy on Earth than Chris Rock? He looked like such a bad ass on the red carpet. If the suits don’t think Billy Crystal is the answer, Rock’s phone will be ringing soon. There is such a small pool of people who are up to the task. I like Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin too.

Good move by the ABC cameras never giving Sascha Baron Cohen any direct screen time. Considering that he was there in support of a serious film like “Hugo,” it was such a tacky move on his part to pull a publicity stunt and dress as the lead character from his forthcoming movie, “The Dictator.” I am the kind of person who can’t bear five minutes of “Borat” so it was very refreshing to see his deeply committed, heartfelt performance as The Inspector. I hope for more of that in his future and less of the offensive, comedic nonsense. Scorcese clearly loves him.

The Oscars always feel incomplete without Jack Nicholson. We miss you buddy! It seems like his film career might be over so I guess we’ll have to wait for the lifetime achievement award to see him back in the Kodak.

I have a habit of checking Twitter before bed and saw that postage stamps are being released in honor of Miles Davis. Anytime I hear or read that name, it triggers a chain reaction of energy pulsing through my body. A mournful, muted trumpet cries out in the distance. The connection I feel with his body of work and awe for the way he altered the course of jazz three decades in a row is profound. How many millions feel the same way? Of course he should be on a stamp. They picked a phenomenal image of Miles as his most bad ass self: knees bent, back at 45 degrees, bicep bulging, blowing full bore. I Tweeted about it and dozed off to sleep shortly after.

Sure enough, Miles pops up in my dream. I’m standing in a corridor and staring at a big, white door with a glow emanating underneath. I know Miles is about to walk through and I stand with bursting anticipation. The door swings open and there he is. It’s his younger, late-‘50s self and he is perfect. The suit is immaculately tailored, his hair is coiffed just so and complexion smooth enough to get him carded. We smile and greet each other like friends with a pat on the shoulder. There was something important we had to discuss but of course I can’t remember. I felt such a sense of warmth. It carried on into my day.

I’ve had dream run-ins with Bob Marley and Jerry Garcia much earlier in life but they were more Earthly. It was interesting how I was visiting Miles in an intermediary place just outside heaven. (Now that I see those three names together, they sure would make a transcendent band.) Other than the rare occasion of going fully lucid, communing with the departed (and maybe even taking away a morsel of insight) is the greatest gift dreams can offer. It would be nice if we could pick and choose who it would be. I guess I could experiment with more pre-sleep Tweeting. “Paging Mr. Hendrix to the white courtesy phone…”

When he's not providing support to physical therapy clients, Moose spends his time dreaming about the meaning of life. (Photo: T. Blue)

Most of Moose’s time is spent either sleeping or staring at the clients with that immense, silly smile. Sometimes while I’m doing my exercises, he’ll sidle over to offer up some quiet encouragement. While I’m in the room getting specialized treatment from my therapist, he’ll wedge himself in the tightest space to be as close as possible. Without fail, he makes me feel special. I’m sure he does the same thing for many of the other clients. When dealing with a painful condition like this herniated disc in my neck, I gravitate to beacons of unconditional positivity like a flower to the sun.

Thunder Bear doesn't like having his picture taken which is ironic considering he looks like a dog model. (Photo: Ravena Blumara)

Thundy’s lying right next to me with a look as if he knows he’s being written about. This dog has got it made at home. He has his very own easy chair which no one else sits on. His breakfast consists of free range turkey breast mixed with organic, vegetable pulp, flax oil and joint supplements. Dinner is the best kibble money can buy. Probably the most ideal thing is the proximity to this awesome hiking trail right down the street. We can walk right out the door, halfway down the block and then enter Forest Service land. It opens up to a meadow with views which captivate me every time.

In addition to bridges and creeks and scenic vistas, the meadow offers a window to the past. (Photo: T. Blue)

We never expected to still be in South Lake Tahoe over four months later but once again Murphy’s Law prevails. It has worked out rather conveniently that this period has been the driest in recorded history. There has been barely a drop of precipitation in any form since November. There couldn’t be a sharper contrast to last year’s snow-pocolypse, which saw a couple feet still falling into June. Even the most avid skiers found themselves begging for mercy. The lack of snow has made getting around a lot easier but it definitely detracts from the novelty of living in a mountain town. This morning there was a micro-dusting; just enough to fill the cracks in the street. The first real snow of the year is expected this weekend. Maybe by Spring when there is a solid base I’ll have my neck fixed and be ready to hit the slopes. This community is bleeding due to the lack of tourism and I feel its pain.

Luda and Lionel threatening to melt through the ice at Eagle Falls. (Photo: Ravena Blumara)

Luda and Lionel savor a romantic moment - sans skates - on Eagle Lake. (Photo: Ravena Blumara)

Here more like an later-year Brando. Chippy was no eccentric though. (Photo: Ravena Blumara)

It was a hot day in September with a rare Santa Barbara lightning storm underway when out popped six black and tan critters in Raven’s closet. The tiniest fellow named Lightning Storm didn’t make it through the night. An old soul named Mr. Patches was another ill-fated pup. He looked like Benjamin Button and didn’t survive his first year. With all the drama of a hospital labor room, Chippewa would have joined them had Scott failed to perform CPR on him shortly after birth. He had fluid in his little lungs but he pulled through like a champ. There was no question who was going to keep which dog. Raven bonded with Boji – the only girl, and Scott would remain inseparable with this being who owed him its life. Shakespeare and Thunder Bear found homes but those are stories for another day.

I first met Chippy and the rest of the litter a few days after they were born; still wriggling around with their eyes closed. It just so happened to be the same day I first laid eyes on Raven – my future bride. Chippy and his siblings had quite the early life living up in the mountains in the Painted Cave neighborhood. Scott would open the door and it was like the dogs were shot out of a cannon; stampeding over the boundless terrain at will. Chip was the ringleader, many a time leading the pack into mischief. When he got all the puppy ya-yas out of his system, he matured into a distinguished gentleman of the canine world. He carried himself with a calculated swagger.

Chippy loved the beach but he was most at home in the mountains. (Photo: T. Blue)

Chippy (right) sunning in Santa Barbara with his brother Thundy (Photo: T. Blue)

Jiboo (right) looked up to his big brother Chip so much. He was rarely far from his side while they were together. (Photo: T. Blue)

Earlier this year, Chippy started to exhibit strange neurological symptoms and Scott took him in for tests. It turned out that he had a cancerous mass growing on his brain stem. The disease took hold and accelerated steadily. Poor Chippy started to act like someone who had recently experienced a stroke; lacking proper use of his right side. Scott got him a climbing harness which we had to put on and use for leverage to get him up and down the stairs to go out. You could see how frustrating this all was for such a proud animal, but he looked at us with those big, soft, sparkling brown eyes and expressed, “I know you’re doing whatever you can to help me.”

Anyone who knows Scott knows that he feeds his dogs like Olympians. Their typical fare consists of organic vegetable pulp, natural turkey and supplements. It became an issue every day to see what Chippy would eat as he continued to lose weight. Caution went to the wind as he wolfed down chicken and rice burritos, rotisserie chicken and whatever treat might appeal to his diminished palate. He stopped drinking too and we had to give him liquids with a turkey baster. He had a thing for coconut water and appreciated chicken broth. Sometimes when he was just laying there peacefully, it looked like there was nothing wrong with him. He didn’t look his 13 years. Then there were other times when his eyes were rolled back in his head and it barely seemed like he was breathing. Over the course of the last month, there were so many times when I wasn’t sure.

Chippy was a guinea pig for a progressive, wholistic treatment which showed promise at times but it was ultimately too late. It became obvious that he was in pain and helping him to complete necessary functions was adding to his stress. When you get to that point with an animal, you pray that they will go on their own. No one wants to have to make the decision to take nature into their own hands. He looked so ready on several occasions just to close his eyes and stop breathing, but his strength refused to submit. There was too much lifeforce still present in The Wa to allow him to let go. Most people would have made the decision to assist him a lot sooner, but to Scott, Chippy was more than a dog. He was his best friend and as close to a son as he ever had. He felt he owed it to him not to give up and keep on fighting.

The concept of euthanasia being allowed for animals and not for humans makes sense, but it deserves a second thought. The decision as to when it’s time to help ease one’s pet out of their suffering is so subjective. While it’s obvious in many cases, surely there are a lot of people who pull the trigger prematurely. It could be for reasons as trivial as convenience, lack of necessary funds or an improper vet diagnosis. There were many times when I thought, “It’s time for Chippy to go. He wouldn’t want to live like this.” But those feelings would be counterbalanced with, “You can’t just kill a person. Chippy isn’t a person but we love him like one and he’s part of our family. Maybe there’s still a glimmer of hope.” The bottom line was that even if he could miraculously beat the disease, his functions would likely never be restored.

His last day was a good day which gave Scott cause to second-guess yet again. In his heart, he knew it was the right decision, but he just didn’t want to see his friend go quite yet. We all took solace in knowing that he would have a boisterous greeting committee waiting in the wings. Our dogs, Boji and Jiboo (Malachi’s brother from Roxy’s second litter), exited this plane all too early a couple years ago. Going through this process again was especially poignant and painful for us with our wounds still fresh.

Chippy’s day of departure was cold, clear and surreal like a watercolor landscape. He managed to eat half of a glazed donut that I brought for him which made me happy. His very last morsel was a tender piece of chicken that he eyed in my bowl of Thai coconut soup. He loved poultry right down to the end. He was nestled comfortably on his throne of a bed in the center of the living room; positioned near the altar Scott had built for his mom when she passed from the same condition four months to the day. Sage was burned and the universal tone of Om harmonized as tears gushed. A compassionate vet with kind eyes came to give Chip the shot which would relieve him of his body. It couldn’t have been more peaceful. His eyes remained open and I swear there was a goofy grin on his face. Thunder Bear came over and joined the three of us as we unleashed a mournful howl in honor of a mighty spirit.

The phone rang and Dave’s little brother answered. Dave wasn’t around. I told him why I was calling. “You should give Tobes a call,” he said. I knew Tobes as one of Dave’s best friends who had been a quiet figurehead of my high school’s progressive hippie movement when he was there. I had observed him from a far but we had never officially met. I called him, told him I was jonesing for some new tunes and, much to my delight, his response was, “I’m housesitting at my friend Ross’s house. Come over on Saturday.” With a few bricks of Maxell XLIIs in tow, I anxiously arrived at Ross’s parents’ mansion. Upon entering and seeing Tobes’ cache of tapes, I knew I had found the Promised Land. They were all labeled impeccably with an enviable precision penmanship. They were organized perfectly by band and date. I wanted every last one for my own.

Back in those days, acquiring live music could be a chore. It all depended on who you knew and how connected they were. Everything had to be hand recorded in real time. Collectors like Tobes were a rare breed. He was constantly exploring any and every avenue to find what he was looking for; or, in some cases, what he had no idea he was looking for. He had an arrangement with some old Miami head who he used to meet at a park to exchange tapes; not unlike a drug deal. Naturally, the Dead and Jerry Garcia Band were typically the main pursuits. In one of those batches, he acquired a tape by a mysterious band named Zero. He didn’t know anything about them. All he needed to know is that the first song on the tape – an oddly-named instrumental called “Cole’s Law” – was a 20 minute piece of some of the most transcendent music he had ever heard. The quality sounded like it was recorded underwater through a wall of gauze in Bulgaria, but Tobes knew there was no denying this diamond in the rough. He played it for me that day and I can’t say I fully got it but my curiosity was definitely piqued.

Tobes went back to Gainesville and me to Clemson but we kept in touch. I would stop in and visit him as it was an ideal middle point on the drive from Miami to Clemson. On those short visits, I would record every single tape I possibly could. I would nod off and wake up whenever it was time to flip. Ahhh…the tape flip. Don’t we miss it? Tobes was far from an armchair quarterback. It wasn’t nearly enough for him just to hear this music in the comfort of his living room. He had to see it pour out of the musicians themselves. He had to feel the live energy. During that first semester of Hebrew class with Dave in 1991, I overheard that he and Tobes were driving all the way to Hampton, Virginia to see the Jerry Garcia Band. My young mind couldn’t begin to grasp the magnitude of such an ambitious mission. They might as well have been going to the moon. I wouldn’t realize until much later that their intrepid verve had landed them at one of the most monumental performances of that band’s later career. As a serious (or, perhaps, obsessive) music lover, those are the kinds of decisions which continue to pay dividends throughout life.

In March of ’96, Tobes finally realized his chance to see what this band Zero was really all about. Along with three friends from Gainesville, he flew all the way across the country to see a run of three shows at a tiny bar in Mill Valley, CA. The Sweetwater only held 100 people and it was difficult to grasp how a band this good could play such a hole-in-the-wall in their own backyard. It wasn’t enough for Tobes and his friends just to bask in the glory of this elite music on their own. He wanted everyone to hear it. Although, he also garnered a firm belief that what Zero had going on was so special, it wasn’t necessarily meant to be coveted by the masses. Thanks to the top notch equipment of a friend, Tobes came away with stellar recordings. His tape decks churned out umpteen copies which he infiltrated into hundreds of collections. A lot of people surely wouldn’t have found out about them for years later if he hadn’t been so committed.

It felt like Christmas had come early when that package of six tapes documenting the three-night run arrived in my mail box. I put on the first one which opened with a song called “Tongue ‘n Groove.” The mournful slide guitar of Steve Kimock chimed out of the speakers with an otherworldly resonance. It spoke to me; beckoning me deeper into some sort of exotic, astral realm. Those tapes were like manna. I devoured them. I loved Kimock’s guitar but the lynchpin of the operation for me was the velvety tenor sax of Martin Fierro. I first heard his unforgettable “wah-wah” tone on “Mystery Train” as a member of Jerry Garcia’s short-lived band, Legion of Mary. After that I couldn’t get enough. From 1974-’75, he was one/fifth of arguably the greatest underground band in history (big statement but this stuff melts me). Even now that a lot more of their music is accessible, Legion is only known to the most hardcore Jerry heads. Similar to Garcia, whatever Martin plays has always overflowed with raw emotion. Hearing him with Jerry and the Dead in the early 70’s and then fast-forwarding to the mid-90’s, it was cosmic to consider how he had found himself as a rare double-entry to the “once-in-a-lifetime band club.”

Zero is: (L to R) Chip Roland, Martin Fierro, Bobby Vega, Steve Kimock, Greg Anton and Judge Murphy

The Fall of ’96 was an exceptional time for music in the southeast. Just a few weeks after the most high-octane run of Phish I’ve ever seen, my first opportunity to see Zero presented itself for dessert. Tobes told me they were playing this club in a little town in Arkansas called Fayetteville. We had to go. There wasn’t much of a second thought. Atlanta was the meeting spot since Dave was living there going to Georgia Tech. Tobes drove up with a friend of theirs, Felipe (BKA “Veig”). Dave was going to drive initially but maybe there was something wrong with his car. I forget exactly. I batted an eye, we all hopped in my Mystery Box and I gobbled up the 12 hours to Fayetteville. Those were the good old days when gas was just over a buck. Driving through Alabama and Mississippi provided a little spice to the journey. Random roadside oddities, amusing signage and colorful characters triggered plenty of double-takes.

Arriving in the quaint college town of Fayetteville for the first time felt both foreign and a little like coming home. It was early dawn and our first order of business was finding a cheap motel room. We cruised the empty streets and got all excited when we passed the venue – Chester’s Place. The brick building with a tiny black awning looked miniature from the outside. These days any of us would laugh at the prospect of staying at a place like the Hi-Way Motel but back then as a college student, it was all about the bottom line. Four guys in a $39.95 room worked out with favorable economics. We managed to laugh about sticky headboards and the “Twilight Zone” sketchiness factor rather than run for the hills. My contribution to the party was a case of Samuel Smith Winter Welcome Ales which makes even a seedy motel room feel considerably more cozy. The four of us wandered off to nearby Wilson Park with its super cool, stone castle structure and bridge. The autumn leaves were at their peak. I remember that optimistic briskness in the air which always puts me in a good mood and makes me think of going to a college football game.

Chester’s Place closed down in 2002 and is now a hipster martini bar. Anyone who you talk to who went there has something affectionate to say about it. I turned my friend Kevin onto it and he ended up traveling there from Dallas upwards of seven times. It wasn’t much bigger than a shoebox but it had class and style. I remember it being well decorated with posters and stimulating wall hangings. The ultra friendly staff also left a lasting impression. Ultimately the most important part of Chester’s Zero/Kimock-based legacy was the family vibe established by that ardent fanbase. Kimock has continued to play Fayetteville over the years with his various groups. I saw him there most recently in 2005 with Steve Kimock and Friends. I still love that town but there will never be another Chester’s.

One of the fan-friendly Chester’s traditions was that any band that played there on a Friday had to play a happy hour set in addition to two later sets. Separate tickets were sold for happy hour so anyone could come for just $3. This seemed almost too good to be true as the four of us showed up ready for action with a skip in our step. As I got up to the doorman, he asked for my ID. The whole world froze. “ID?!?! NO!!!” In the days before the internet made all this information so readily available, it had never crossed my mind that Chester’s might be a 21+over kind of place. I was only three months into my 20th year and my fake ID was a distant memory after being confiscated years before in Charleston.

“Please,” I pleaded with the doorman. “I drove 15 hours to get here from Clemson, South Carolina.” “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.” The buzzkill of a lifetime began to set in. It felt surreal like a nightmare sequence in a B-movie. I slumped down on the sidewalk against the brick wall. My spirits sank but I knew it was way too early to give up hope. Tobes was going to connect with the promoter and see what he could do. It was getting darker and chillier outside as people continued to stream in. I couldn’t wrap my head around the reality that I might not be one of them. Just then who emerged from the door but Martin Fierro. I jumped up and he said, “We heard about you in there. Thank you so much for coming. We’re pulling for you man. Keep the faith. It’ll work out.” And then, for good measure, he added, “I love you,” and wrapped me in a bear hug. I couldn’t believe it. This guy who I respected so much as a musician was showing himself to be one of the sweetest, most compassionate souls I’d ever met. I knew then that everything would be alright.

It wasn’t too long after that Ira, the promoter, came out and told me the good news: “We’re going to get you in there. The thing is that this is a private club so the only way to do it is to make you an employee for the next two days.” My heart skipped a beat in total exultation. “Thank you so much. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll scrub toilets. Whatever.” “No. That’s not necessary. All you have to do is not drink.” “No problem!” (I’m a broke college student anyways) I had just enough time to rejoice with my friends before Zero broke into their signature opener, “Golden Road.” The loose, bouncy groove kicked down the gates as the raucous happy hour crowd roared with approval. When the band dropped an 18-minute version of John Coltrane’s “Afro Blue” in the second slot, the warning shot was officially fired across the bow. Kimock’s skyscraping solos extended far beyond the building’s four walls.

Judge made his first appearance as Zero expressed the opening notes of “Catalina.” The irresistibly smooth melody, delicately created by synergistic layers of guitar and saxophone, carries such warmth and familiarity. It’s the kind of song where one feels cleansed after hearing it; especially live. Every band has a darkhorse and in Zero that role is undoubtedly played by keyboardist Chip Roland. He’s a salt-of-the-earth musician who often looked like he just got off work at the mill, never got a lot of credit but could alchemize the occasional magic when the stars were aligned. Listening back on this show 15 years later, it’s clear that this was one of his finest nights. He leads the band through a slamming take on The Band’s “Shape I’m In,” which sent the crowd into a frenzy.

There’s such a distinct feeling that comes with seeing a band for the first time that you suspect is about to come one of your all time favorites. You’ve heard the music before on tape but now you’re seeing it in person and digesting so much sensory information. The energy and general presence of each band member is so palpable and important in that moment. After a solid but less than incendiary second set, Zero came back and showed everything it was made of. They opened the third set with a devastating cover combo of Bill Withers’ “Use Me” segued into Chick Corea’s Latin jazz adventure, “La Fiesta.” Bassist Bobby Vega practically lobotomized me with his spiraling torrents of funky thumping. Underrated drummer, band founder and attorney-by-day, Greg Anton, was fun to watch for his intensity and fluttering dexterity unhindered by a prosthetic hand. At the climax of “La Fiesta,” Kimock achieves a psychedelic epiphany as he spins a pure yarn of improv into a glowing revelation.

The next day was cold, gray and gloomy but it couldn’t have been brighter. I was on cloud nine after my first Zero show, relishing the expectations of another and the comfort of not stressing getting in to Chester’s. The four of us took a field trip to Devil’s Den State Park where we checked out the caves, cool geologic formations and built Zen rock towers. By the time we got into the show later that night, it was as if we were levitating. After only one day at Chester’s, it already felt as comfortable as my own living room. There was a real sense of unity amidst the audience. Martin, the king of hilarious and occasionally goofy banter, made sure the audience knew how loved they were with his comments over the two nights. (He also made us wonder whether he had lost his mind.)

Download or Stream Zero at Chester’s Place – 11/22/96

The mood and the flavor of Saturday’s show felt totally different. It was still loose but far more refined. Whereas Friday’s crowd was more curious locals, Saturday leaned towards the faithful. The first set was textbook brilliance with ideal song selection and flawless playing. When a band has so many instrumentals, it can be hard to remember the names so I had been doing my homework. They exploded out of the gates with “Tear Tags Off Mattresses” which sounded as freewheeling and defiant as its title. Vega was delivering bottom end body blows like an in-prime Tyson. Another bass showcase came a couple songs later with the serpentine, dynamic, dagger – “Berm.”

There was that extra bit of tension prior to the start of the second set as all signs pointed to liftoff. It kind of caught of us off guard when they opened with the mellow exhale of “The Weight.” Putting The Band’s classic on a pedestal, a reverent tone was set for the rest of the night. Rays of morning sunshine in the form of guitar notes entered the Zero consciousness and we reveled in what was about to come. I knew that “It’s Up to You” was Zero’s Fifth Element and it was one of those moments where the significance of a single song felt universally magnified. The melody opened like a lotus flower as we entered into a tropical garden of aural delight. Any “It’s Up to You” jam is a rite of passage. This one ended up being all that and more. Dave had brought his djembe into the show and was standing close to the front when Martin spotted him. The jam had broken down into a rhythmic groove when Martin motioned for Dave to come up onstage. Before we knew what hit us, our buddy was drumming along with Zero during the most primal moment imaginable. Listening back now on the tapes, it’s amazing how much space they give this random guy they don’t even know. He really rose to the occasion. All the while, Vega entertains as the antagonist; hurling jagged bolts of reverberation into the mix.

It was one of those charmed sets where the music flowed effortlessly from spring of creativity. Every song received an elegant treatment. Zero could do psychedelic blues with the best of them. Hunter’s “End of the World Blues” howled through the room like hot desert wind. Delivered with Murphy’s utmost swagger, this is probably Hunter’s finest prose he gifted this band. Here they erupt into a total blues orgasm. By the time Zero arrives at the inevitable “Gregg’s Eggs,” they are white hot and spewing a trail of sparks. Dedicated to Ira, this “Eggs” shows every band member harnessing the force of the entire two nights into his performance. The intensity oozes through the recording. Music of this caliber (at least in this genre…whatever you want to call it) rarely happens in venues this small. (Zero would take it to an even loftier level upon their return in March of ’98).

There was such a pervasive sense of gratitude, awe and warmth pulsing through that place. After a volcanic “Little Wing” encore, the crowd made it very clear they weren’t letting the band go anywhere. (I miss that. I’ve been to too many shows over the last several years where the band doesn’t get enough applause. Yes, I’m talking to you Phish fans.) Steve, Bobby, Greg, Chip, Martin and Judge were summoned back for another “Catalina.” Tobes, Dave, Veig and I felt like four of the luckiest humans on the planet that night. I’m sure it was quite festive afterwards at the Hi-Way Motel but I can’t say I really remember.

Download or Stream Zero from Chester’s Place – 11/23/96

In all sorts of places along the way, our culinary muses have been utterly enthralled. I’m neither a critic nor a chef, but a true lover of food, drink and the places who know how to make them shine. Those who master their crafts and create things which transcend the norm deserve credit. So, for whatever a blog like this is worth, here it goes: The Blue Blog’s 2010-2011 Party in My Mouth Awards (aka The PIMMS…copyright pending), as we tip our hat to all the dishes, drinks, restaurants, bars, chefs and bartenders deserving recognition. All photos by yours truly.

Brunch Makes the World a Better Place

Polenta and Sausage Ragu with Mozzarella and Fried Egg @ Tasty n Sons in Portland, OR

When this place opens at 7, I’ve heard there’s already a line out the door. Once you eat there, it’s easy to see why. The menu – a fusion of North African, French and comfort food influences – is imaginative and daring. The dishes are staggered, one at a time, and you never know what’s coming when. This beauty landed in the center of a pack of vultures, eliciting a collective moan of ecstasy after our first bite. Integrated into the creamy polenta were morsels of housemade lamb sausage ragu, chunks of fried egg and mozzarella. It struck me as groundbreaking in the way it forged a new frontier of brunch-time possibilities.

This is like a cartoon version of a brunch dish. What you can't see is the ratatouille stuffed inside the puff pastry. That tomato cream sauce sent the whole thing into the stratosphere.

I read the following description on the menu and my mind created an elaborate fantasy: “Ratatouille in crisp puff pastry with tomato cream sauce.” I must admit, since seeing the movie, I am somewhat infatuated with its peasant namesake. The reality of this dish proved even more dramatic than the fantasy. It’s a work of art and a mélange of blissful flavors. Perhaps the most innovative use of puff pastry I’ve seen.

That’s What I Call a Sandwich

Burrata Grilled Cheese @ Artisan in Paso Robles, CA

Since getting turned on to burrata – the fresh, pillowy overlord of the mozzarella family – I can’t resist it whenever given the chance. Artisan has the sort of menu which convinces me that lunch is my favorite meal. We had to go back a second day in a row because the first day we saw other people eating this sandwich and couldn’t ignore the jealousy. It was made on fetish-worthy, fresh, toasted whole grain bread with heirloom tomatoes, pesto and a little piave vecchio cheese. This sandwich captivated every sense with texture, taste and residual juices.

The Grinder summarizes the greatness of Tat's all in one over-the-top sandwich.

These sandwiches are as different as could be so picking a favorite is just a matter of the day’s mood. Our friends who own this deli are from the Philly area and don’t mess around when it comes to the authenticity of their subs. Eating a Grinder is like a rite of passage at Tat’s. A trio of Italian meats – capicolla, pepperham and Genoa salami – gets down like James Brown with provolone, hot and sweet peppers, pickles, lettuce, tomato, onion and mayo on a fresh Italian roll. The addition of hot pepper spread (an original grinder ingredient) is a necessity. This is gonna get messy.

If More Salads Were Like This…

A salad like this one from Fresh Ketch makes me very happy. The combo of cherries, pecans and pancetta was especially Fall festive.

Several of the best salads I’ve had this past year happened to feature spinach as their leafy green. Enjoyed outside on a sunny fall day a year ago, this one still stands above the rest. Perky spinach bedded chewy chunks of pancetta, gorgonzola crumbles, tart dried cherries, red onion, shredded carrot strands, spicy pecan shards and a poppy seed vinaigrette. Every ingredient contributed significantly to the whole. The cherries would have to be considered as the wild card.

We all know pears work well on a salad but throw in some hazelnuts and guanciale vinaigrette into the equation and look out.

When I saw mention of guanciale vinaigrette on this salad, I had to know what the heck that was and what it tasted like. It turned out to be an Italian pork cheek which turbocharged the dressing into an irresistible, smoky glaze. The role players harmonized like The Everly Brothers, starting with smoked chicken and moving onto blue cheese, pears and (the ubiquitous Oregonian cruncher) hazelnuts. The chicken was so yummy and almost too plentiful.

Out-of-the-Box Salad

Scooping up mouthfuls of this spicy, vinegary, mushroomy deliciousness with sticky rice is nirvana.

Thai has long been one of my favorite foods so when I was introduced to its street food subgenre (i.e. what Thai people actually eat), it threw me for a loop. This dish has several similar variations on the menu and they are all stellar. Raven’s favorite is made with tuna. Mine is this spicy forest mushroom salad with soy sauce, lime and chili powder dressing, shallots, lemongrass, mint, cilantro and toasted rice powder. The lime and chili merge with the herbs to create a remarkable synergy. It’s hot but the lime and vinegar keep it to a low roar. Eating becomes a more primal activity when using one’s hands to scoop up the food with sticky rice.

The photo doesn't do it justice. The unique, ceviche-style preparation made this kale unbelievably tender.

Of all the dishes we’ve had over the last year, this is the one we most wish we could make at home. We tried twice but it wasn’t even close. It’s the Holy Grail for a kale connoisseur. Somehow Serious Pie prepares their kale in a ceviche style (i.e. soaking it in citrus) without applying any other cooking method. This yields a perfectly tender green which mystifies the palate with each bite. In this presentation, it was sprinkled with Calabria peppers (tangy with just the right amount of heat), pine nuts and parmesan. When we went back months later and saw it was no longer on the menu, we busted an immediate u-turn.

Making Off Like Bandits During Happy Hour

Come to papa!

Throughout the whole trip, we had been on a hunt for the ultimate oyster fix. We even went to Oysterville next to Willapa Bay on the Washington coast and still were left longing for more. One day at Pok Pok for lunch, a woman told us about this place which had an incomparable deal on oysters. Starting at 3 p.m., they mark ‘em down to 50 cents a piece which is practically unheard of. They go up in price each half hour. We took the ferry over from West Seattle and were at Elliott’s at 2:56, ready to suck down some oysters. I forget what kind they served us that day, but they were perfect. An accompaniment of champagne granita for dipping was a classy touch. Fortunately they have a one dozen per person limit or we might have kept going.

Look how lightly the calamari is breaded. Those onions make the dish.

This tapas-style dish is one of the Happy Hour specials at this organic Chinese restaurant in Portland’s Pearl District. It rendered Raven and I momentarily speechless after the first bite. It is such an exciting variation on the run-of-the-mill calamari. They are light, airy and crispy with savory Asian seasonings. Sautéed onions are as essential to the equation as the calamari themselves. It was so incendiary, we had to order another one.

Strutting It Like a Peacock

If the first course involves smoked salmon on a bagel, you're going to have a hard time topping that in my book.

I had seen samplings of Alex’s kitchen ninjitsu over the years but never had one of these mythical multi-course meals I heard about him putting together from time to time. In a hip kitchen lounge 15 stories over Portland’s Pearl District, Alex went to work as he laid out an intricate three-course brunch in honor of his mom visiting from Hawaii and his girlfriend Shawn’s mother. A lot of people could manage to whip up a tasty brunch but few could present it with this artistic vision. He even printed out a menu. The final two dishes – Moroccan Hash and Strawberry Mascarpone French Toast – were sexy and scrumptious. However, it was the opening arrow-through-the-heart in the form of a mini-bagel with house cured salmon, creme fraiche, chive, grapefruit and balsamic reduction (more or less) which had me at its mercy. Raven’s fruit salad on the side brought more color and balance to the plate. Every dish came out beautifully with all the color and whimsy of spring.

The Herban Bento is a homerun for any seafood lover and just a brilliant idea in general.

We fell in love with this place for its Asian-themed brunch. We came back for Happy Hour and couldn’t believe our eyes when the Herban Bento Box arrived at the table. I can’t identify all the components right now but it was as fun as it gets playing the “I’ll have one of everything” game. This is a romantic spread for a couple to share as you feed each other crab cakes, mussels and whatever that is with the foam on top. Those baby ahi tacos sure are adorable. I want to crunch into one right now.

I’m Not a Big Sweet Guy but…

Cookies ‘n Cream Ice Cream by Three Twins @ Select Stores in the Pacific Northwest

I rarely save room for dessert so I had to rack my brain to fill this category. I love ice cream but I hardly ever eat it. I’m a total snob. Most times I won’t even bother eating it if it’s not ultra gourmet. I’ve always had a thing for Cookies ‘n Cream so I had to try a spoonful of this stuff when I saw it in Phil’s freezer. A moment later, it was very clear this pint didn’t stand a chance. It was so apparent that every ingredient was of the highest integrity, any inclination towards guilt was counteracted. I would bet every flavor they make is close to the best you could ever have.

Pretty Freaking Close: Coconut Lemon Saffron Sorbet @ 50 Licks Ice Cream Cart in Portland, OR

“Coconut lemon saffron sorbet!” Raven exclaimed as she saw it listed on the board of flavors this mobile cart was selling on a hot afternoon. “Oh my god,” she moaned after the first bite. I was full but soon found myself waiting like a dog for any spoonful she was willing to share. Non-dairy frozen desserts don’t get any creamier. You could actually taste the saffron, providing high-brow intrigue amidst the tart lemonyness. This could become an expensive habit.

Blown Away at First Bite

This would be up for consideration for a last supper. The combination of flavors going on here represents the power of Mexican culinary tradition at its finest.

Every Friday on the back patio of this under-the-radar taqueria, Chef Willie works his magic. With a deft hand slicing from roasting spit, razor thin pork lands on fresh corn tortillas. Two more flicks of the wrist and it’s topped with fresh pineapple, onions and cilantro. The explosion of flavors is enough to make a grown man weep. During a month in Mexico, we couldn’t find anything that touched this. It doesn’t hurt that Cuernavaca also has a pair of blue ribbon salsas. The danger with these tacos comes in knowing where to draw the line. You’re looking at Willie smiling and you know he’s got the goods. The stomach may be saying “No,” but the lips are saying, “Uno mas.”

Nong's Khao Man Gai is one of many splendidf reasons to live in Portland.

Nong is an adorable Thai woman who could probably sell me roasted shoe if she wanted to. Out of a tiny trailer in downtown Portland’s biggest food cart pod, she purveys but one dish. Khao Man Gai is pillowy, magic, poached organic chicken with sublime rice and a chili-ginger sauce which may very well contain the secret of the universe. As if all this wasn’t great enough for $6, it comes with a cup of chicken broth which provides nourishment down to the bone. I was so enamored after having it, I wanted to shout from the rooftops. Maybe that’s why I’ve written articles and blogged about it on four separate occasions.

Food Network as Pied Piper

The fresh brussels were such a fitting contrast to the crackly, crispy crust. Then the smokey chunks of pancetta hit it home.

When I had a home, I used to unwind while watching a few shows on the Food Network. When I saw a restaurant I should check out, I took notes in hopes I could make it there someday. I vaguely remember the episode of “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” Serious Pie was featured on (ironically, it doesn’t meet the definition of any one of those Ds). I know I have never seen pizza which looked quite like it. Of course it’s way more awe-inspiring in person. Baked in a brick wood-fired oven, the oval-shaped pies are crisp to the point of being a little burnt, which ends up just right. The excellence of this crust is worthy of poetry and song. Our toppings were brussel sprouts, house made pancetta, caramelized onions and cheese (I forget what kind). While I was savoring each crunchy morsel, I rolled my totem to make sure I wasn’t in an Inception-esque dream state.

I've shown this photo to quite a few people on my phone and every single one of them lets out some sort of longing moan.

Duff Goldman is one of my favorite Food Network personalities because of how emphatic he is when he loves a certain dish. When he sank his teeth into one of these bad boys on “The Best Thing I Ever Ate,” I was determined to do the same. I didn’t realize until our trip to New England last fall how ubiquitous the lobster roll is in that food culture. So many restaurants have it, but they aren’t created equal. It’s just chunks of lobster meat with a light mayonnaise dressing in a roll. PJ’s lobster roll earns its title due to especially plump, tender chunks of meat, barely-there dressing and a small roll (really a glorified hot dog bun) which is well grilled. Sitting at a table with five friends who I dragged along with me, the collective expectations were extremely palpable. I had nothing to fear though, for they would all be resoundingly exceeded.

Marquee Meal

Not a good photo but you get the idea.

When anyone asks Raven to name the best dish she’s had on this trip, the answer comes quickly. The meal just so happened to be on our first night out in Portland at this uber hip restaurant with a mixologist’s cocktail list. Raven had only tried rabbit once many years before and craved a reintroduction. She still jokes that she regrets sharing it with anyone else at the table. Fortunately she did so I can confirm its excellence. Slivers of crisp green apples provided a tart counterpoint for the succulent rabbit, bathed in a thick mustard sauce. The crepe was very light.

This nigiri plate - course #5 - was one of my highlights. The bowl in the corner might as well have a red bow tied around it since it's filled with uni and topped with caviar.

I had always wanted to order omakase but it never happened until this charmed evening when we joined our pal Phil for an epic seven-course adventure. For inquisitive foodies like us, it was exhilarating to have no idea what sort of elegant dish would be coming out next. Some were simple (hamachi sashimi), some stretched our comfort zone (fried fish spines, smelt fish and sardines) and all of them made us appreciate authentic Japanese cuisine on a whole other level.

I've never had hand-pulled Chinese noodles like this anywhere else.

Hand-Pulled Noodles @ Frank’s Noodle House in Portland, OR

Rarely staying in one place for too long, Raven and I felt the importance of pushing ourselves to constantly explore each city’s culinary scene. However, when you find an exceptional dish, sometimes it seems most logical to keep going back for the tried and true. The hand-pulled Chinese noodles at Frank’s are the object of a noodle-lover’s fantasy. Long and chewy with a textbook balance between soft and firm, they were a winner each of the six or so times I had them. I favor chicken, shrimp or squid but they have several other options. Well-spiced with chilis and adorned with cabbage, this dish hit the bullseye for lunch, dinner or late night leftovers.

A beam of heavenly light shineth down upon this bowl of blessed chili. Or, in simpler terms, "This chili kicks serious ass!"

It doesn’t take a chili expert to know that what Slims has brewing in its pots is some pretty exceptional stuff. I had a craving for chili one day, which is kind of unusual for me, and this just so happened to be the most convenient place. They have four kinds of chili and we tried them all over the course of several visits. Once we tasted the turkey and white bean, there was no straying. We went back for it about five times. The hip, roadhouse ambience is part of the draw. It was also featured on “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.”

Smoked Salmon Stole My Heart

Just knowing this exists makes me see the world in a more optimistic light.

Confession: I’m a hopeless romantic for all salmon but reserve a special place for those cured with a little smoke. I also have an appreciation for hash when it’s done right. Unfortunately it rarely is. When I saw this item on the menu, my synapses spun around like a slot machine. It was a long wait in a crowded restaurant but so worth it. The plate came out and my heart skipped a beat. The salmon was so fresh and plentiful in meaty-sized chunks. The hash was well-chopped and integrated with leeks and hash browns, just how I like it. A drizzling of fresh lemon dill sauce was like the perfect song playing at just the right time in a movie.

For me, this is food porn defined.

Whenever I go back to visit my parents in Miami, Roasters is an obligatory destination. If I were a robot, I might run on fully-loaded bagels with lox. That would be cool. As a human, they are just a rare treat these days, yet they remain the most guaranteed route to food nirvana. On a recent trip to Miami in April, I realized that nova is the way to go because it’s less salty than lox. I’ve never seen anywhere else where they slice it off the whole fish right in front of you. Watching the guy slice sheets of nova off the electric-colored salmon puts me into a trance. The platter is a must so you can construct your own bagel. It’s steep at about $20, but they give you so much salmon, it could easily be shared. Not that you would ever want to.

Singing for Soup

This bowl of ramen looks relatively ordinary but there was more going on here than meets the eye.

This was part of a festive group meal at an Itzakaya (Japanese pub style) restaurant in North Portland. I was never a ramen-eater in college and didn’t know it could translate to a more refined dish. This was one of those things where you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s so great, but you just want to keep eating it. The aesthetic appeal was definitely part of the x-factor, accentuated by a slice of hard boiled egg. I was sharing it with a table and definitely was left wanting more.

All the tongues were wagging over Alex's soup at this party.

Dipping into homemade territory, this was part of an elaborate spring pot luck dinner hosted by our friends Chrissy and Andy. Alex is a former kitchen pro who reverts back to his expertise whenever given the opportunity. Everyone was amazed with this cold soup he pulled off. It was delicately nuanced in a way where each individual flavor shone through. The sea bass ceviche was such an elegant touch. A lot of fine dining establishments wish their chefs would bust out something like this.

Oh Pizza, How I Love Thee

Spinach and Garlic slice @ Big Nick’s in Upper West Side/Manhattan, NY

It took me until my last night in New York City to finally find my way into a pizza parlor. I got there late and ate a slice too many so I had to take a few laps around the block afterwards. Big Nick’s is a diner with a formidable, eclectic menu which also happens to make the kind of pizza New York is famous for. Being at a Greek place, it seemed apropos to go with spinach and garlic. Talk about a match made in heaven.

This was more of a flatbread than a pizza but close enough. It looks a little dry in this picture but it was spot on. Especially for $5!

If you can nail the crust, you’re well on your way to a great pizza. This one deserves dual credit in the Happy Hour category because it was a killer deal at only $5. Topped with crispy pancetta, roasted tomatoes, olives, hazelnuts, arugula and gruyere, it hit all the right notes. They love putting hazelnuts on everything in the Northwest and they work really well as a textural contrast with pizza.

Not Your Ordinary Bar Food

Bacon-Wrapped Stuffed Jalapenos @ Z’s Taphouse and Lounge in Goleta, CA

The description sounded irresistible, but we didn’t expect that much ordering these at a bowling alley. Stuffed with cheese and wrapped with thick pieces of bacon, they were executed perfectly. You never know what you’re going to get spice-wise with jalapenos and these delivered a firm kick.

Pretty Freaking Close: Kung Pao Calamari @ Portland City Grill in Portland, OR

Located on the 30th floor of the US Bancorp Tower, this spot has the best view in town. This appetizer plate has great visual appeal with the reddish-orange chili sauce glazed over a mound of calamari rings which are chewier than they are crispy. These larger pieces are wicked tender with a light crunch. They are a reasonable deal during happy hour. I like that they come with a lot of green onions.

Fabulous Food On-The-Go

Nong's is world famous due to all the press coverage she's gotten, yet many people in Portland have still never heard of her food cart.

Lunch is an important meal during the week because it gives us a respite from whatever might be going on in our day. We want it to be quick, delicious, cheap and, if possible, healthy. Nong’s Khao Man Gai is all those things. Served out of a vehicle the size of a small horse trailer, it is one of about 40 food carts in an expansive downtown pod. Khao man gai is a plentiful meal for $6; especially considering it’s made with organic Draper Valley chicken and other high quality ingredients. It is handed through the window in a pouch of white deli paper. It didn’t matter if I was standing on the street corner or sitting on the curb, this meal worked its voodoo on me everytime.

Pretty Freaking Close: Spicy Chicken Burrito @ Korean Twist in Portland, OR

I had a lot of memorable food at the carts around Portland, but go figure that my second favorite would be right next to Nong’s. The Spicy Chicken Burrito from Korean Twist was actually my first love. After so many traditional burritos, it was revelational to try an Asian version. The lean, juicy chicken, slathered in sweet, spicy sauce is the crux of it all. Crunchy cabbage accentuates each bite. The addition of kim chi adds a touch of vinegary va va voom.

Crispy, Crunchy, Bang, Wow!

Crispy potato chips and fried herbs. That's it. End of story.

This Spanish tapas restaurant on the hipster haven of Alberta Street has a sleek look which doesn’t quite fit in with its surroundings. The atmosphere is somewhat cold and trendy but they know what they’re doing back in the kitchen. Whenever Raven sees homemade potato chips on a menu she always wants to order them. Not only were the chips absolutely perfect – ultra-thin, crispy and just the right amount of salt – but they had a generous sprinkling of fried herbs on top. All I can think of now are sage and rosemary but there were a couple more. They were clumped together and with each bite, Raven and I would give each other a look like we had discovered a Ming vase in a thrift shop.

Pretty Freaking Close: Pachamama Raw Kale Chips @ The Ferry Building in San Francisco, CA

It was kind of ridiculous that it took us until recently to finally visit the Ferry Building and explore its gourmet food vendors. Whenever we see raw kale chips for sale at healthy grocers, we always want to get them but balk at the price. We found this small stand selling sealed bags of raw kale chips for half the normal price. These little crunchy morsels are extremely addictive as we couldn’t help but polish off the bag in one sitting. They taste cheesy but there’s nothing but healthy, wholesome ingredients at work here. I need to start making these so I can have them around all the time.

My Kind of Ambience

Doug Fir Lounge in Portland, OR

I didn’t actually eat here but I had a drink so that qualifies. The level of interior design creativity here is off the charts. It exemplifies the way the Northwest hipster aesthetic can be overly bold without seeming like it’s trying too hard. Flowing between levels, one can milk this multi-faceted lair of hedonistic style. Downstairs is a concert venue; upstairs is a restaurant, lounge and hotel. The décor is reminiscent of being inside the trunk of a doug fir while high on ecstasy. The use of mirrors in this room has surely left more than a few visitors questioning reality. The Doug Fir aesthetic gets more and more seductive as the night unfolds.

Not for Everyone but I Love It: Pok Pok in Portland, OR

Starting as just a walk-up window, this restaurant has evolved into a compound of sorts with all these different areas where patrons can dine. I always opt for the main dining room because it has this inner sanctum glow which envelops me in an exotic warmth. I haven’t been to Thailand so I can’t say how authentic the surroundings are, but it feels like a seamless merger between Portland and the Far East. The tables in the center are too close together but the booths on the perimeter are ideal. If you’re in a drinking mood, it’s fun to sit at the bar. At Pok Pok, there’s always a sense that if you’re within those wooden walls, you’re in the epicenter of cutting edge Thai cuisine.

Stand-Out Servers

Topher @ Beaker and Flask in Portland, OR

“My name is Topher unless everything goes wrong, in which case I’m Dave or Doug.” With an introduction like that, we were instantly in the groove with Topher. He elevated our experience with his witty interactions and candid sense of humor. There’s great service and then there’s those rare servers who are especially good at reading people and make a long, elegant dinner seem like about the most rewarding thing you could be doing.

Pretty Freaking Close: Chantelle @ Lefty’s Grill in Nevada City, CA

Some servers win your heart the second you see them and such was the case with Chantelle. She had the most positive attitude and made it seem like she really enjoyed her job. We came in late and she never made us feel rushed. Her reactions were so animated and on point when we asked about certain dishes. Particularly in regards to the ahi poke which ended up being one of the best we’ve ever had.

Unexpected Discoveries

Vivify in Mount Shasta, CA

There are few things The Blue Blog appreciates more than finding the hidden gems of the food world. I was going to be content eating at the Black Bear Diner when we rolled into Shasta around 8 p.m. Raven’s iPhone alerted us to an organic Japanese restaurant just a block or two away from our motel. An organic Japanese restaurant in Mount Shasta? The whole place was a surprise but nothing more so than a special trout tapas plate. Restaurants don’t serve fresh trout and I can’t confirm that this was, but I’m 99% sure. It was prepared simply with some greens showcasing the pure, unadulterated flavor of the fish. We also enjoyed a few vegetarian sushi rolls including one with wild mushrooms. Vivify (what a name!) also makes its own raw desserts which was quite an unexpected treat as well.

The mountains of Oregon aren't where one expects to find good Mexican.

We were all beaten up by the time we got to our cabin that night. We were cold and wet from putting on snow chains for the first time. In a tiny mountain town like Welches on a Tuesday night, we didn’t have high hopes for our dinner options. We could hardly believe our luck when we learned there was a Mexican restaurant close by. Not only that, but it was one of the coolest Mexican restaurants we’d ever been to with a name which still makes us laugh. I loved my enchiladas and she adored her innovative coconut chili chicken verde special. The margaritas were solid and the atmosphere had flair and comfort. Our server rocked and, in a serendipitous occurrence, we ran into a friend we hadn’t seen in ages.

Shear Innovation

When you've graduated with an advanced degree in uni-ology, you might be ready to at least contemplate the reality of uni "ravioli"

When we ordered the seven-course omakase at Masu, the only direction we gave them was, “Please make sure to include some uni.” The first course served notice that we were in for an exotic culinary adventure like no other. I still don’t know what the uni was wrapped in (it was almost like a marinated sheet of daikon or some other vegetable), but it was divine. Accented with a light soy-based sauce and a sea bean, this was a piece of art which has served as a conversation starter amongst chefs and foodies ever since.

The Next Thing that Came to Mind: Sweet Potato Latkes by Phil Tseng in Portland, OR

Is there a Jew out there who doesn’t appreciate a well-done latke? We love them but they generally only come around once a year for Channukah if we’re lucky. When Phil announced that he’d be making Sweet Potato Latkes for a springtime pot luck, the selection seemed kind of out of place. Plus, I know Phil’s a good cook, but could an Asian guy really pull off this Jewish staple? It doesn’t sound that innovative to simply replace Russets with sweet potatoes but it deserves recognition as such because I’ve never heard of anyone else doing it. These potato pancakes were showstoppers. The sweet potatoes made them more interesting than normal and they were cooked to crispy perfection. Creme Fraiche and chives put the baby to bed.

You’ve Got to be Kidding Me!

Shrimp Cocktail @ Zama Beach Club in Isla Mujeres, Mexico

While we’re talking about Phil, I found it interesting when we got back from Mexico, he was more intrigued to hear about our worst meal than our best. It didn’t take much contemplation to anoint this pathetic excuse for a dish as the lowest moment of our last year’s meals. Seafood cocktails are popular on Isla Mujeres but we were more interested in ceviche. Finally near the end of the trip, we pulled the trigger on this shrimp cocktail. It made us want to pull another trigger on whoever thought it was ok to serve this dish. Instead of a nice big glass of fresh shrimp protruding out of cocktail sauce, I found myself staring at a cafeteria-style bowl filled with a thick sauce which tasted like French dressing. Lost in it were bay shrimp which seemed to have come out of a can. Considering that this was served at an upscale beach club with high prices made it all the more insulting.

Really Guys!?: Club Sandwich @ Mesa Café in Santa Barbara, CA

I was hungover the day after my birthday and in dire need of some bacon to help reestablish my equilibrium. My friend Nicole was kind enough to offer to pick up something and bring it to me. How do you screw up a club sandwich? Well, Mesa Café put on a clinic in that department. First off, you forget to add bacon. Then you serve it on limp whole wheat bread. For good measure, you use low-grade turkey and cheese. Did I mention they forgot the bacon? If I wasn’t so hung over, I might have gone down there to raise some hell.

Highway Robbery

Key Lime Pie @ Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. in the Cancun Airport

We had a lot of time to kill before our flight and had never been to a Bubba Gump so it seemed like a no-brainer. One expects food to be high-priced in an airport without the quality to match. Our entrees were actually pretty good and the ambience was fun. There were no prices listed next to the desserts and we should have known to ask. Granted it was a huge piece of pretty good key lime pie but was it worth $13? Yes, you read that correctly. I might expect that in the Zurich airport but not in Cancun.

You Suck Too: Anything @ Zama Beach Club in Isla Mujeres, Mexico

See above.

Pulling Out All the Potluck Stops

Exhibit A on why it's always a good idea to invite Alex to your next pot luck.

It was Easter and the host – Cosimo – was already making a leg of lamb so there could have been a risk of lamb overload. But this was an Alex Kurnellas dish we’re talking about so it’s always the more the merrier. Sliders are so much fun and these got an extra boost from the Mediterranean theme. The presentation was spectacular and the flavor was even better. They were tender and juicy and benefited from the complexity that lamb is known to bring to the table.

Pretty Freaking Close: White Sea Bass Ceviche from Ian Zellet in Santa Barbara, CA

From what I gathered, it was a short but amazing season for white sea bass in Santa Barbara this year. Fortunately we got to experience the tail end of its glory thanks to Ian’s classy contribution to our “welcome back” pot luck at Jeff and Lora’s house. Served on a big, colorful dish with plenty of cilantro, this ceviche electrified guests both visually and otherwise. Having learned the craft from his mother, Ian knows how to achieve just the right nuances for a well-balanced ceviche. He nailed the perfect citrus tones and firm but fleshy consistency for this beautiful fish.

New Kitchen Tricks Up Our Sleeve

Tomato “Crack”

Over the last year, Raven’s kitchen skills have ratcheted up several notches. Through some experimentation, she found that some of the most delicious things are also the simplest. We’ve been having a lot of quinoa and one night she decided to roast some cherry tomatoes. She just laid ‘em out on a baking sheet, drizzled olive oil and sprinkled on a little salt and pepper. When they are ready, the skin bursts open and the juices start to coat the pan. The tomatoes themselves are amplified in their sweet and savory goodness. But what really excites us is the “tomato crack,” as we affectionately call it. That would be the tomato ooze which turns into a salty glaze to be scraped with a finger. Oh man is it sinfully delicious. Better than licking the cake batter bowl.

Pretty Freaking Close: Brussel Sprout Chips

This was another accidental discovery. Raven was roasting some brussel sprouts when a few of the outer leaves came off. When they were done, those leaves stood on their own. They were so appealing, I would pick these over potato chips any day. Later on when she had gotten with the program, Raven made a separate tray of just leaves. Could you imagine showing up to watch football and there’s a big bowl on the table of crispy brussel sprout leaves?

The Lush Awards

Bloody Mary Magnificence

Halftime Tavern – Vancouver, WA

We were staying in Camas, WA and had a vicious craving for a Bloody Mary. We looked it up on Yelp and found this place that one reviewer referred to as “The Church of the Bloody Mary.” Not only did we find an exceptional Bloody, but a really cool establishment in a building which has been around since 1903. We tend to run from Bloodys served in pint glasses because they usually aren’t strong enough, but this one at Halftime is an exception. We requested Lukosowa Vodka – since it’s made from potatoes – and the price came to $9.50. That was a little disappointing but this drink had about three shots in it so I shouldn’t complain. It was a dark and tangy version of the classic; perhaps a touch heavy on the Worcestershire. I couldn’t restrain myself from sucking it down too fast and wished I had another one immediately.

Pretty Freaking Close: Tasty n Sons – Portland, OR

We knew it was love at first sight when Tasty n Sons’ had five Bloody Marys on its drink list. Raven and I had to try the Tasty Jerk which comes with a piece of amazing, housemade beef jerky as a swizzle stick. The drink is too small for its price tag but makes sense for a hot spot like this. I recall a tomato-rich libation with exotic spices and a garnish of house-pickled vegetables.

Cocktail Supremacy

Careful Raven. Don't light those pigtails on fire.

Part of the draw to Tavern Law’s upstairs “speakeasy” is the mystery quotient of what you’re going to be drinking. When you order from one of the master mixologists, they might ask what you had downstairs or what kind of mood you’re in, but they won’t respond to specific requests. It’s up to their alchemical flow to determine what’s going to land in your glass. Raven’s request to our bartender was “a strong rum drink.” “I’m going to get you druuunnnkkk,” he guaranteed gleefully. Out came a flaming concoction in a Tiki chalice as if delivered by a native elder during a sacrificial ritual. When she asked what was in it, he fired off a long list of crazy ingredients. I doubt they were all FDA approved. It carried the mystique of drinking a magical elixir as it had more of an herbal than sweet profile. When Raven asked him to make another one “just like that,” of course she shouldn’t have been too surprised to receive a completely different libation.

Ginger Lemon Drop @ Portland City Grill in Portland, OR

Do cocktails taste better when looking out at a spectacular view? The jury is still out, but our research so far would answer affirmatively. On a clear day 30 stories up, Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens figured prominently into the metropolitan panorama. I am a sucker for just about any food or drink made with ginger. Usually the ginger flavor isn’t strong enough. This one was just right as the ginger pirouetted with the vodka and lemon (I think it was Domaine de Canton liqueur). Sealing the cocktail with a kiss was a ginger-sugar rim. If loving a froofy drink like this is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Cocktail Supremacy: Old School

The Gibson at Olive & Twist in Portland, OR

This was our neighborhood bar when we stayed in the Pearl District. I love the retro ambience in here with a lot of black and white, mood lighting and velvety cushions. It was here I got turned on to this classic martini made with Plymouth Dry Gin. What makes it a Gibson is the addition of three cocktail onions. This is a perfect example of why some of the most simple libations are also the best. It was so clean with just enough naturally-imparted flavor from the gin and onion pairing.

Flying high at the Hive on Aviation Airlines.

Strolling on the south end, we came upon this happening hot spot with live music, a swanky bar and an extremely enticing food menu. I had never tried a cocktail with creme de violette and I love gin so I went with the Aviation. It actually tasted like violet and the alien-jade glow from the liqueur gave it an additional sense of intrigue. I felt like I had gone back in time to a far off land.

Doing it Blender Style

Mango Daiquiri @ Cockteleria Minino’s in Isla Mujeres, Mexico

Ordering frozen drinks in Mexico was undesirable because more often than not you’re getting something brimming with artificial flavors with little trace of any alcohol. We knew we could trust Minino’s margaritas but their daiquiris were hit or miss. On this day, the bartender must have been in a really good mood because this creation was like frozen sunshine. The consistency was smooth and creamy and the flavor tasted as natural as possible. Best of all, this big goblet of tropical delight packed a wallop. I would try a few more times before the trip was over and no other daiquiri touched this one.

Wet Woody @ Gar Woods in Tahoe City, CA

This is the signature cocktail for this lakeside establishment and their sister restaurant, Riva Grill. It’s like a rum runner with a blend of rums and fruit juices, topped generously with a pour of Myers. I recently had a couple during Happy Hour and they are not only ridiculously strong but delicious to boot. It’s one of those where you have to be really careful not to get brain freeze. Gar Woods has a whole list of them offering different types of rum as a floater to alter the drink’s dynamic.

Keeping it Neat

Desert Juniper Gin by Bendistillery

I appreciate gin more than the average fellow but I’m not normally inclined to sip it straight. During our visit to the Bendistillery, Raven and I lit up as soon as this stuff passed through our lips. It was sweet and pure as if it had bubbled up from a spring in the middle of the desert. Made using only local juniper berries, it has a distinctly different personality and flavor profile than any other gin I’ve had. You wouldn’t want to mix this with any juice.

Flor de Cana Grand Reserve Rum

Even for someone fairly tuned in to the global cocktail scene, I was completely in the dark when it came to sipping rums. Up until not that long ago, I only knew rum as a mixer. At a high brow sports bar in Portland called Spirit of ‘77, a bartender took me under his wing and opened the door of enlightenment. He gave me a small glass of this Nicaraguan rum and my perceptions were immediately altered. Here was a smooth, sophisticated operator. I can’t help but ponder what some of Flor de Cana’s older, aged rums must be like as well as those from other small batch producers.

My Kind of Bar Ambience

You can already tell this place means business.

The main bar area at Tavern Law is nothing to shake a stick at. But if you’ve made it this far, you’ve got to go the distance up to the secret “speakeasy” upstairs. It requires a phone call and gaining access through a mysterious door. But then, all of a sudden, you’re back in the early 20th century with low, wooden-beamed ceilings, photos of scantily-clad dames, vampire lighting, high-backed chairs and period-appropriate music. It’s hard not to feel blissfully elitist when holding court in these coveted confines. It’s also nice to know the place isn’t likely to be raided by the Untouchables.

To the right: Pool, hammocks, rocky cliffside, Caribbean Sea; To the left: icy beers, pina coladas, margaritas and chilled wash cloths

“Beer so cold it’ll make your teeth hurt,” reads the sign which reels passer-bys into this oasis nestled on the Caribbean Sea. Taking those first steps through the gate, you really might think you’ve died and gone to heaven. Or maybe that’s just the island humidity pushing you to the brink. From my seat at the swing bar I couldn’t help but chuckle while taking in the view of the pool and sea. Jimmy Buffet played through the speakers. I swung back and forth on my seat like a parrot who got into the rum. They only serve beer, margaritas and pina coladas but what else could you want? The latter two are made from scratch. After taking that first, frosty sip, the bartender arrives with a tray of chilled, moist washcloths. Ahhhhhh….

A taste of Birch St. Lounge. So many classic cocktails, so little time.

I would have been impressed discovering this place in a big city let alone on a side street in a tiny mill town like Camas. It’s another pre-prohibition era hot spot with all the swank accoutrements to provide the necessary authenticity. We felt very welcomed by Dennis; the uniformed bartender from Baltimore. Birch St. already had me in the palm of its hand before I went to the men’s room. There I found myself staring at a framed sheet of dialogue from The Godfather (Clemenza, Sonny and Tessio discussing the task Michael is up for). Now that’s what you call good taste.

Definitive Local Watering Holes

Freddy introduces Raven to the real meaning of a "shot."

A lot of the best local’s bars are either hard to find, don’t look like much from out front or both. Soggy Peso definitely meets both criteria. When you do make your way into its cozy sanctuary, you’re guaranteed to be met with a warm welcome. Texan ex-pat owners, Mal and Sally, are usually there to extend some longhorn hospitality. Freddy is one of the friendliest, funniest bartenders you’ll meet. This poolside palapa is dripping with character and characters. During Happy Hour, the volume escalates as locals from around the island rap about the latest happenings. Everyone knows this is the place to be on Sundays for the BBQ special. Resident mascot, The Soggy Doggy, makes his rounds hoping for fallen scraps.

Honorable Mention: Chelan Café in West Seattle, WA

It was a major inconvenience not to have TV where we were housesitting during the NBA finals. We sought out a few different bars with varying levels of success. Raven tracked down this café and dive bar in an industrial zone under the freeway where we watched one of the Heat’s painful losses. This was one of those situations where we walked in and had to embrace the reality of being the new kids on the block in tight-knit local’s territory. Rather than getting the cold shoulder, we were accepted somewhat curiously like explorers entering the village of a native tribe. It was amusing when the sexy bartender came on for her shift and deflected playful commentary from the peanut gallery. One excitable cat actually bought us shots of tequila after he won his bet. I can imagine all those guys still sitting there now in the same spots.

Winery “Wow-Factor”

A Raven on an autumn day in front of the charming estate which contains JM Cellars.

We’ve been to probably close to 30 wineries over the last year and there have been some great ones. While the best individual wine was not found here (might have been a Bordeaux blend from Elevation Cellars, also in Woodinville), JM deserves credit for being the best overall. The setting is gorgeous as the winery is contained in a big house surrounded by enchanted landscaping. They had a fire burning in a pit as we approached on a chilly winter day. The selection was comprehensive with Bordeaux, Burgundian and Rhone grapes expressing themselves in sophisticated wines. The staff was very personable and accommodating. Last but not least, JM had a spread of hors d’ oeuvres laid out for guests to snack on. These wines are fabulous on their own but really shine when paired with food.

The tasting room isn't much to look at so let's admire the vineyard instead!

Cruising on a scenic road to a remote cabin with your loved one, you see a sign for a winery and pull in. Being that this is the second-most northern winery in the country, you don’t expect much in terms of the varietals they are able to grow. Well, it turns out that this place has more diversity in that department than almost any we’ve seen. There isn’t much in the way of tasting room ambience, but as long as we’re in from the rain, that is a mere formality. We liked their whites, we liked their reds (the dolcetto and tempranillo especially) and we liked the people. One tasting session led by an employee named Ben was full of laughs and riveting conversation. It really is the remote setting and surrounding enchanted landscape which infuse this winery with an extra mystique.

Folin Cellars has several wines I would love to drink all the time.

This state-of-the-art winery and tasting room knocked our socks off. In fact, it might as well be the winner in this category. Our lengthy experience at this state-of-the-art tasting room in the boondocks was the crème de la crème. Almost every wine had that extra something going on starting with a thinking person’s viognier. Reflective of the French Condrieu region, it is distinguished with an elegant minerality. Their rhones are stars as well but it was a show pony of a tempranillo which left the most indelible mark on my palate. Steve – the tasting room manager – became an instant friend. We were feeling a rosy glow as we pulled away from Folin and continued south to the California border.