90 miles and then some

A friend took us on a tour of sorts today. He drove us out to where the sky fills a large part of the horizon and mountains rise in the distance. Not only is there nature, but there is a little restaurant by the name of Pig 'n Steak. And with this simple addition, a beautiful area becomes very delicious as well.



You start with fried pickles. Deep-fried pickles. Your standard crunchy green spears in a crisp cloak of fried-batter goodness. With ranch dressing on the side. Upon tasting them our friend said, "I wish I had a deep fryer." They're that good.



Stefano had a giant plate of smoked meats that he devoured along with sides of french fries and cole slaw. The cole slaw was perfect -- small bits of cabbage in creamy dressing with flecks of carrot here and there. With the BBQ sauce and the cole slaw and the ketchup, it was a messy undertaking. But sometimes dirty tastes a whole lot better than clean.



I consider myself a devoted #1 fan of the baked beans. The sauce was remarkably complex -- not your average baked bean in a ketchupy coat. This was real flavor; layered and spicy. They stole the thunder of my chicken sandwich and fries. But in the best way.



And then there was dessert. The top two contenders were the funnel cakes and the ice cream cake. Ice cream cake won. Chocolate mint ice cream fenced in with a cookie crumb crust -- and the color! So vivid and unreal. Who knew ice cream cake could be so delicious and yet so void of cake.

Pig 'n Steak shall assume a position near the top of our local dining experience list. Although maybe "local" isn't the right category. Let's go with "regional" instead -- with the ride there and back being an added bonus. Good food is one thing, but the accompanying road trip is what makes it great.

and the mist rolls in

It would have been easy to miss. After a few minutes it had rolled its way right back out.

It seems slow and heavy. Across the river. Sinking and cloaking. But it's fast and quiet and makes a swift get away.

Truly, had I been paying more attention to my mascara, I would have missed this. And that would have been a shame.

up up and away

The Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center of the National Air & Space Museum is an immense and organized hangar housing pieces of aeronautic history that send the mind reeling. Exactly how does something made entirely of metal and filled with people, or loaded with deadly weapons, float on air? How can anything fly at speeds beyond 2,000 mph all the while remaining undetected to radar? And most importantly, who were the fiscally creative individuals paying $12,000 a ticket to fly the Concord?



There were, of course, the more base inquiries as well. Do women astronauts wear makeup in space? (They may bring a NASA make-up bag if they wish.) How do the astronauts manage necessary body functions? (Using equally specialized bags.) And what does Diane like most in this exhibit case? ("I like the urine hose.")



Questions were answered and "museum back" was avoided. The cherry on top was a small metallic packet with a tiny brick of astronaut ice cream inside. Nothing like a little freeze-dried dairy to commemorate the amazing conquest of air and space.

one fire is plenty.

You would think one fire would suffice. (See December 3.) That throwing flaming garbage down the chute once might be a good lesson in what not to do in the future. Especially in communal living situations concerning 20 or more floors.

However, it seems we live with people unclear on the concept and for good measure they've thrown flaming items into the garbage chute. Again.

So last night the hallway started smelling like smoke. (Again.) And the fire trucks rushed over. (Again.) And the sirens got louder and louder until they stopped in front of our building. (Again.) And instead of Home Alone, we watched Arrested Development. (New.)

Oh yah... and wondered just how super an impression this was making on my in-laws who happened to be over for dinner.

more joy

Pictured above is a wonderfully sweet and sparkly asti that we enlisted to welcome in the new year. It's perfect for sitting on your floppy rented couch, watching an Italian film and kissing your best friend at midnight. It goes well with salmon mousse and Doritos and a blue veined cheddar that I don't particularly enjoy. It also has a bird on the label. Should you see it on the shelf in your local market I suggest you purchase it immediately and delight in it's fizzy joy.

Each and every time I use the word "joy" -- with zero exceptions -- I think of a photographer friend who prods couples & their entourage with strong suggestions of "more joy!" as he's shooting their wedding day portraits. It's quite effective and tends to garner good results from the highly stressed and deeply drunk individuals one works with on your average wedding day. Hey grumpy groom - more joy! Yoohoo, drunk uncle - more joy! You there, bridesmaid who really shouldn't have ever stuffed herself in a dress that shade of orange - more joy!

So with a nod to the aforementioned gentleman may I be the first to say, on behalf of those who truly need it and those who could simply use a better shade of orange... hey there, 2006 - more joy!