tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25347570997680615472024-02-21T00:22:35.566-08:00A Gypsy ChefAshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-11987687630708468492015-02-16T11:22:00.000-08:002015-02-18T09:39:15.124-08:00A Year Off<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It goes by SO fast!" My youngest is in college already and yesterday he was 3 weeks old!"</span><br />
Says the lady at the Trader Joes checkout, and the UPS delivery guy..... and that friend of my mom's...... and the woman with two German Shepards walking through the park..... and the man drinking coffee at the table next to me. I believe it, really I do. Just like how I have been telling people that I just got off the boat, or that I write a blog of travel and food. Which I DID! Back in 2013. Because time really does fly past, and suddenly your in the future, and your not even sure how you got there.<br />
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<i>35 weeks</i></div>
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It has been almost a year since she arrived. Since I watched my abdomen swell and my body change. A year since I craved nothing but bagels and pasta with mushroom sauce. A year since I spent any moment alone. A year of motherhood.<br />
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She arrived in mid March of 2014. We had her in the home I grew up in. I won't bore you too much with the birth story details. There was plenty of moaning, growling, intensity and pain. As one would expect. It was a sunny afternoon, and I felt best outside. Although I would love to tell a story where I hung from a branch like a Native American woman, allowing gravity to bring my baby down into the arms of Mother Earth. Blissfully welcoming my loin fruit through an ecstatic and orgasmic birth. you know, the ones you read about in books while in Bali last..... oh, just me? ok.<br />
Well, needless to say, it didn't happen that way. But the way it did happen was beautiful and amazing. It's truly incredible what the body can do, and I am in awe of women everywhere, even more than ever.<br />
I now also know why an epidural is so popular.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02IJVKdb-Q0L0Cvt4FUvNHis1pvN31388_64PIQ2Or6XqlQAYNto2lKwNl4NuiFH61B9ToVSLtQSnuxcjrrtgom2TQT_llJrxpR4NA44Gk8HmTnk9YXKX_7skBIO8rTXTQmDJMaP7NLJj/s1600/photo-7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02IJVKdb-Q0L0Cvt4FUvNHis1pvN31388_64PIQ2Or6XqlQAYNto2lKwNl4NuiFH61B9ToVSLtQSnuxcjrrtgom2TQT_llJrxpR4NA44Gk8HmTnk9YXKX_7skBIO8rTXTQmDJMaP7NLJj/s1600/photo-7.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Mila is her name.</i></div>
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So just like the snap of a finger, a year has past. Just like they all said it would. She crawls, and talks, and eats, and points, and does all those things that an 11 month old does. She's a dual citizen and has already whet her appetite for long hours in International airports. She is the most amazing and hardest adventure we have ever embarked on. Aside from the challenge to keep our carry-on luggage small and manageable, we are thrilled to add this new member to our gypsy pack. New destinations and adventures in the works! Now that we have properly hibernated with our little.<br />
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As for the "chef" in A Gypsy Chef. Although I spend most of my time being a private chef for one, and a master in milk production, I am still cooking for clients outside of my family home. A much smaller scale than the past, but the attention to health, well being and travel through taste buds remains.<br />
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Since I am not frequenting my favorite stops such as Morocco, India, Spain and Vietnam. I keep myself and those I feed connected to these places in the world via flavor. Bellow is my new favorite way to eat chicken- covered in Cardamom, coconut, ginger and garlic and roasted on the bone. It reminds me of places far away, and I feed it to my daughter while I tell her stories of the Gypsy I once was before I knew how to be the mother of Mila.<br />
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<div class="msg-body inner undoreset" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_18600" role="presentation" style="background-color: inherit; box-sizing: border-box; display: table; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 27px; padding-right: 27px; padding-top: 0px; width: 956px;" tabindex="0">
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<span class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2593" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: block; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;">Cardamom Spiced Roasted Chicken. Serves 4-6</span><span class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2593" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: block; font-family: Georgia; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(note: to get the cream top of coconut milk- refrigerate the can, do not shake, and scoop off the cream from the top)</span></span><br />
<ul class="yiv9899404165" dir="ltr" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2576" style="display: block; font-size: 14px; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; list-style-type: disc; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 40px; padding-right: 40px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: start; width: 660px;">
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2586" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">seeds from 10 cardamom pods</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2585" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">2 teaspoon black peppercorns</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2584" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">4 teaspoons sea salt</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2583" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">2 teaspoon ground coriander</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2582" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">2 teaspoon ground cumin</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2582" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">1 teaspoon cayenne (optional)</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2581" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">4 garlic cloves</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2587" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">2 tablespoon olive oil</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2588" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">1 cup whole milk greek yogurt, or the cream top from a can of coconut milk</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2580" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">2 tablespoon grated fresh ginger</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2579" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">2 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2575" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">1 3-4 pound chicken, butterflied or cut in half by your butcher</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2578" style="color: #3d3a3a; display: list-item; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 8px; text-align: left;">Fresh cilantro leaves for garnish</li>
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<ol class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2590" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(194, 194, 194); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; display: block; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; list-style-type: decimal; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 21px; padding-right: 40px; padding-top: 0px;">
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2589" style="color: #252525; display: list-item; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;">Grind cardamom seeds and peppercorns in a mortar with pestle to a fine powder. Add salt, coriander, cumin and garlic. and smash the garlic. Add the olive oil to form a paste. Stir in yogurt/coconut milk, ginger and lemon juice.</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2591" style="color: #252525; display: list-item; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;">Place chicken in a large bowl or pan. Rub yogurt between skin and breasts and thighs. Then smear remaining yogurt over the outside of the chicken, front and back. Refrigerate at least 8 hours or up to 24 hours. Remove chicken from refrigerator 30 minutes before roasting.</li>
<li class="yiv9899404165" id="yiv9899404165yui_3_16_0_1_1423769239608_2592" style="color: #252525; display: list-item; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;">Preheat oven to 425 F. Place chicken breast-side up in a baking pan or cast iron pan. Bake in oven until thoroughly cooked, 45 minutes - 1 hour. Remove and let rest 15 minutes before carving. Serve garnished with cilantro leaves and remember to por the leftover juices from the pan back over the chicken.</li>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-83234112546944692542013-09-30T12:08:00.001-07:002013-10-01T19:35:32.641-07:00Breaking The News.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've been away from the Gypsy Chef because I have been a bit busy.....<br />
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But I luckily woke up this morning feeling FINALLY rested! In a house that feels like a home (regardless of the lack of furniture.) Two nomads have picked a place the live. Can you believe it!? I can barely believe it myself. But it does feel good. We spent two days unpacking boxes of clothes, worldly trinkets, old photographs, cookbooks..... and more worldly trinkets. No furniture, but walls that we reconize as our sanctuary.<br />
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In late August after gathering the feelings of being grounded and having enough time to hoard and foster intimate secrets to ourselves, we decided it was time to break the news...<br />
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We sent this email and made a batch of strawberry barley scones.<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Dearest family and friends,<br /><br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_53" />Another chapter in life has transitioned as we returned to CA from 5 months away. The last 4 were spent with Chris (Swiss) and I wandering the streets, mountains and temples of SE Asia. We accepted this adventure into our lives to shed away past years of stressful work in boat life, and to discover what our future has in store. A chance to reconnect with our wandering spirits and each other, this time on firm soil. We spent countless moments at the mercy of timeless exploration, following our taste buds, and day dreaming about our future together in this beautiful world. The big question of where/what country to call home for a couple of nomads of the past 6 and 9 years is not an easy one to answer. A difficult transition to come to terms with while we continue to accept the pull of our wandering souls. <br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_56" /><br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_58" />Our last stop on our trip was the Island of the gods- Bali. A playground of tropical wonder, beautiful close friends, and an inviting lifestyle balanced between relaxation and invigorating freedom. We swam in the bliss of Bali for 5 weeks. <br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_61" /><br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_63" />Our answer to the question of rooting came in our last week on the island.</span></i><br />
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<i>We had participated in a ceremony with two of our dearest friends. A Balinese ceremony in water. Fresh spring water bubbles up from the earth, surrounded by a temple. We came to bathe amongst the blessed waters.... along with hundreds of Balinese. Dressed in traditional Sarongs of indigo blue and deep purple. Cuing through the cold, clear water, bare feet upon smooth stones, while wafts of incense swirl in the air. Moving down the line from fountain to fountain our heads plunged under the crisp running water. Washing away the old and welcoming the new. Intentions, prayers and blessings are held at each fountain as our senses awakened with blasts of holy waters. <br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_66" /><br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_68" />It was a few days after the ceremony that Swiss and I discovered our answer. After comfortably washing away our old lives of youthful sojourning, and accepting the new chapters ahead of "US" as opposed to "I". We realized that we had both set very similar intentions in the waters that day- <u id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_105">acceptance without fear</u>. That of our great love for one another, leaving old habits, and maintaining our constant curiosity in the world while living a rooted life.<br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_71" />Joy ran its way through our veins for this new adventure ahead of us when we discovered the most incredible of Bali souvenirs.... One that will need 6 more months to arrive. <br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_74" /><br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_76" />It was then that we really knew that we would be calling California our home while we unite our worlds and welcome our little wonder on March 13th. <br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_79" /><br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_81" />Once arriving in California a month ago, and telling our families the big news, Swiss and I assembled in front of the Santa Barbara courthouse with only my parents as witnesses and said our vows while exchanging Bali-made silver rings. </i></div>
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<i>We love that you will be a part of this incredible journey before us. <br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_84" /><br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_86" />With endless love and gratitude,<br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_89" /><br id="yiv9487966072yui_3_7_2_38_1377259353038_91" />Chris, Ash (and....what is currently the size of a fig) Schütz</i><br />
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-55580819963643915152013-06-25T06:25:00.000-07:002013-06-25T06:25:20.375-07:00Cold Coffee Chronicles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I count the seconds of the pour, like I did back in the days of helping a bartender pour his cocktails. One...Two...Three....Four....Five...Six.....Seven. The thick and glossy cream streams slowly from the opening in the can, creating a dense layer at the bottom of my glass. A smaller glass is placed on the table with an aluminum filter, dripping slowly with a dark, rich liquid. A third glass is placed on the table, full to the brim with large ice cubes. Eventually all three glasses will be united and the day will finally begin.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5tdfO_1dyLMR8d-X2bj7C_zeTV1V-0yhPnhWninFk_CsZ7aiAUe8tt8O3tdlniT-REZlp-Xb30bakYGaa5AMgktAS-vbrC7dL9_BhwTq_XPnx3PKUDr4xG9ur8vzgMSmGoZBSnnaCi54/s1600/L1090745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5tdfO_1dyLMR8d-X2bj7C_zeTV1V-0yhPnhWninFk_CsZ7aiAUe8tt8O3tdlniT-REZlp-Xb30bakYGaa5AMgktAS-vbrC7dL9_BhwTq_XPnx3PKUDr4xG9ur8vzgMSmGoZBSnnaCi54/s320/L1090745.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Coffee in Vietnam is more than a ritual, it is a practice of patience and a balance of temperatures. Ordering a Caphe Sua Da and taking your seat on a low stool of a crowded Hanoi cafe can test all of your morning fragility between sleep and caffeine, but the outcome is worth the wait.</div>
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While suspended in this purgatory of slowly trickling coffee, melting ice cubes and the unhurried pour of sweet and condensed milk, I simply take in the surroundings of my premier task of the day. </div>
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Many minutes later, the dripping has stopped and I wipe the sweat from my forehead in the humid cafe. Letting the coffee cool for just another minute and then pouring the coffee over the milk and the ice over the coffee. Stirring quickly, and pulling up the thin spoon with layers of thick milk to blend with the strong coffee. The mixture thins out with the melting ice, and becomes the color of a cloudy caramel. Overwhelmingly sweet, thick, cold and caffeinated. Like rocket fuel, it throws the adrenals into overdrive. I don't recommend Vietnamese ice coffee for the healthiest of lifestyles, then again, you could say it gives you an inner "push" and therefore feel free to replace your daily fiber intake with one of these puppies.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caphe Sua Da- Vietnamese iced coffee</td></tr>
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The days in Hanoi were spent with cold coffee and hot sun. Gathering up the street food offerings while bouncing in and out of any and all air conditioned rooms and museums. I spent over 2 weeks in Hanoi four years ago, curiosity kept me weaving through the streets of the old quarter while quickly loosing track of time. This trip was not much different as Hanoi kept us searching for daily little pleasures. We spent 20 days at the same hotel, with just two short trips outside the city center. Finding a sense of home within the city walls. It is something the weary traveler starts to search for after years of wandering. A tiny slice of ritual in the form of cold coffee and locals whom call you by name. </div>
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::Some food porn from Hanoi:: </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimrTXf1fs7CYjFum8cMjCzKh3c0I8UfzkqfjLKU31nK27zfw6GtC7Gxdde-QzKqeNrkWwxcE_xi8IvA3AHx0GJATaZETWAe5DinXhYdvdLxSHFezDYVI_IMlZ0ZDLUmfcd5ZhDDcCwSSvC/s1600/L1090508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimrTXf1fs7CYjFum8cMjCzKh3c0I8UfzkqfjLKU31nK27zfw6GtC7Gxdde-QzKqeNrkWwxcE_xi8IvA3AHx0GJATaZETWAe5DinXhYdvdLxSHFezDYVI_IMlZ0ZDLUmfcd5ZhDDcCwSSvC/s320/L1090508.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">banh mi - baguette, pork belly, pate, cucumber, cilantro, hot sauce.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5WqOQ0wxAhhRehoJHa6ycZuTJdPxTA4x8ddHa3EgsenVt37PmEsPQLpByeNUzIterCK-YJPpCCPxMk-hTjiL5mdSkZBpDCAclEpyLt2FaYyi5dRQ6QHMQy_1kcsScl9VxslplvFvO6O-m/s1600/L1090622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5WqOQ0wxAhhRehoJHa6ycZuTJdPxTA4x8ddHa3EgsenVt37PmEsPQLpByeNUzIterCK-YJPpCCPxMk-hTjiL5mdSkZBpDCAclEpyLt2FaYyi5dRQ6QHMQy_1kcsScl9VxslplvFvO6O-m/s320/L1090622.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fish market, Ha Long Bay</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO23jzgTH4ACUJI32k4kd_RiOPh_Ut9r_GvmxQct3PgyuTpmTB1pWcUn-RZiOoWTtfZyGI2Z1oSz8yqSUosh5NRX1p09l0JTpGfNaorXnLpl1-Uyh3xgnL9oIrqdRrnRG-drVCQ_2BiIg8/s1600/L1090523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO23jzgTH4ACUJI32k4kd_RiOPh_Ut9r_GvmxQct3PgyuTpmTB1pWcUn-RZiOoWTtfZyGI2Z1oSz8yqSUosh5NRX1p09l0JTpGfNaorXnLpl1-Uyh3xgnL9oIrqdRrnRG-drVCQ_2BiIg8/s320/L1090523.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bun Cha- grilled pork belly, cold rice noodles, sweet broth, loads of greens</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnaIjgWWj6gRzc36wM6BE3toE_Xh-hR2t3Ev7YtBIXTH-vFpWZcEasRoaLV2haCBac2be5ALmue3fUjsO1mccfD2iuinIkb2O_RMsSuM1EtlfOukqOkI_kqRJ-8AeosF3P0Pxk-6qPChyphenhyphen/s1600/L1090561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnaIjgWWj6gRzc36wM6BE3toE_Xh-hR2t3Ev7YtBIXTH-vFpWZcEasRoaLV2haCBac2be5ALmue3fUjsO1mccfD2iuinIkb2O_RMsSuM1EtlfOukqOkI_kqRJ-8AeosF3P0Pxk-6qPChyphenhyphen/s320/L1090561.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banh Xeo- crispy crepe with pork, shrimp, mushroom, bean sprouts, and greens</td></tr>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-52996591683024886562013-06-02T03:06:00.001-07:002013-06-25T21:46:54.139-07:00Viet Nam<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aSATe0iRa5ztt7kmcl4XWtI8O7Vvreanrc_dk7GuJa7BR5lQvV9u08XDmt0pJ6Hw1B0rUO1cEMq9aqTU_QVvLHcvAe3ceKhMXagI939aFYZuj_Or-HGEhsV-V_xfGMuleaYL5GLgXYK5/s640/blogger-image--132290982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aSATe0iRa5ztt7kmcl4XWtI8O7Vvreanrc_dk7GuJa7BR5lQvV9u08XDmt0pJ6Hw1B0rUO1cEMq9aqTU_QVvLHcvAe3ceKhMXagI939aFYZuj_Or-HGEhsV-V_xfGMuleaYL5GLgXYK5/s640/blogger-image--132290982.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7sjgku0eluRCNDc7mQp5tToqSRzOQRqMSGnDDqCPX906aT_r3d0c-g7-Nr33A9xqwLAk5uQj-d9-4LIwMLF7u04hIDCMQFPG5pjTNUULsfhOJmjHLfAq0ctisCZ6Tl4tsD5Ppn3kGj_EO/s640/blogger-image-1475413528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7sjgku0eluRCNDc7mQp5tToqSRzOQRqMSGnDDqCPX906aT_r3d0c-g7-Nr33A9xqwLAk5uQj-d9-4LIwMLF7u04hIDCMQFPG5pjTNUULsfhOJmjHLfAq0ctisCZ6Tl4tsD5Ppn3kGj_EO/s640/blogger-image-1475413528.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxqiijcW6b_GNlkCAYdCr81ZRJRCYWlD0-eBbN_DWyT302pnmTx8gefOhVWGLvtakWiCUIvq-kUXLsx-pxZsVEIL0kPuWJypei674L8cYJ8aKvoJpq3aht3ywymUUF5vbZu5TioMb91WG/s640/blogger-image--2038352611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxqiijcW6b_GNlkCAYdCr81ZRJRCYWlD0-eBbN_DWyT302pnmTx8gefOhVWGLvtakWiCUIvq-kUXLsx-pxZsVEIL0kPuWJypei674L8cYJ8aKvoJpq3aht3ywymUUF5vbZu5TioMb91WG/s640/blogger-image--2038352611.jpg" /></a></div>
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.....So that's what's happening right now.</div>
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Heat rises from the gravel while spice rises from the plate. Basing my quest for flavor in Hanoi. Will write more once I finish dinner.</div>
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x -A</div>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-45540252059180368192013-05-22T00:57:00.002-07:002013-05-23T02:52:57.148-07:00Comfort By Coconuts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJMkQGam5OETn-HW_2VNT16435G2_y7NVtAOKiSMvyevmtyoy9td2aAl0XWAe_YjVJuijKqV3fOU3ggxrGvFeWdde_Q3zwvorXy6xMg8cocvxZISA3_XCJYABZtZie8XoRNUJlGWA1yKVk/s1600/L1090338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJMkQGam5OETn-HW_2VNT16435G2_y7NVtAOKiSMvyevmtyoy9td2aAl0XWAe_YjVJuijKqV3fOU3ggxrGvFeWdde_Q3zwvorXy6xMg8cocvxZISA3_XCJYABZtZie8XoRNUJlGWA1yKVk/s400/L1090338.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4qmExLUGNKDYK0Ld3f8KpzNt402F1rNDw8VNJbmRTwkMrQqNmJJgtKeseUYdKskJCBPe7hB-EVFe21AgCr7Usc3PrX1xuDfCSeW95YuEVmcjTeK9lI4ID9oPt3W6rSTYYOS-Qng90YUo/s1600/L1090145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4qmExLUGNKDYK0Ld3f8KpzNt402F1rNDw8VNJbmRTwkMrQqNmJJgtKeseUYdKskJCBPe7hB-EVFe21AgCr7Usc3PrX1xuDfCSeW95YuEVmcjTeK9lI4ID9oPt3W6rSTYYOS-Qng90YUo/s200/L1090145.jpg" width="133" /></a>I remember the land of smiles as this new piece of the world that I connected with for the first time when I was 24. Instantly stunned and aware from the moment I arrived. As if I had just woken up to something more intriguing then the dream I had just left. Enchanted by sweet and spice, a world of new before me.<br />
I vividly recall witnessing fresh coconut milk being made in the market one day in Bangkok. My feet stopped moving suddenly as I caught this display of lustrous, creamy milk. It was as intoxicatingly alluring as that of beautifully drawn bathtub (you know, like that porcelain, claw foot tub with bubbles and rose petals.) In fact, I'm sure the ancient Kings and queens of Asia bathed in hand pressed coconut milk all the time. I would...<br />
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The young man, barely in his 30's, quickly passed the fresh coconut meat through the shredder, and then with soft moves, placed the coconut shreds into a large bowl. 2 more large bowls of equal size lay beside them. Fresh, cold water flowed from a pitcher onto the shreds. He massaged them quickly, and the water turned bright white. The same process was continued as the shreds were pulled out by handfuls and squeezed, ringing them out like old laundry, and placed in the next bowl, and then the next. The result was incredible, 3 variations of fresh coconut milk -the cream, the milk, and the water. The best you've ever tried, so rich and sweet.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5r1hmBsnk238O__yCUxcfSZ647rQ4fs9qge-Om3tlehARA3kwuhnrkyM2g1TcOs0sqsAce5RbGZhPIBrz6PFJ3qArXuDAVTEL5cuxMITP7bz9j_aiGFf4twzrvwp9YMtea_GdshfufbT/s1600/L1090307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5r1hmBsnk238O__yCUxcfSZ647rQ4fs9qge-Om3tlehARA3kwuhnrkyM2g1TcOs0sqsAce5RbGZhPIBrz6PFJ3qArXuDAVTEL5cuxMITP7bz9j_aiGFf4twzrvwp9YMtea_GdshfufbT/s320/L1090307.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I had forgotten all about that coconut milk that stopped me in my tracks that day. Like an old sunburn, it had faded away to nothing, not even the mark or tan was left behind that Thailand once made upon my flesh. Just the memory that I had been there before and that its land felt familiar. That was until I showed up again. Instantly, the thick scent in the air of dried fish, frying oil, rotting trash and human body odor, all came rushing in like a drug to my senses. Ah, Bangkok! Pathways on sidewalks too small to walk trough, and street food venders begging for your attention. A place where cold, sweet mango and warm, sticky rice find balance on your plate together, and where chiles, garlic and basil have never danced so harmoniously in your mouth. Thailand is the gateway into the intoxicating and stimulating palate of Southeast Asia.<br />
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New food and ingredient inspirations flood in with an urgency to be known….</div>
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<b><i>-Soft-boiled eggs wrapped in a spicy fish paste, fried and served in with cold cucumbers and fried basil leaves.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>-Thinly shaved banana blossoms, laced with peanut dressing and strips of ginger and basil.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>-Fried rice balls smashed and mixed with baby lettuce, cilantro, ginger, thai chiles, lime juice and the liquid gold of fish sauce. Crispy, spicy and fresh!</i></b><br />
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In search for a new take on Thai food, and that moment which stands out like the "cream of the coconut" I head out of Bangkok. Escaping the crowds and avoiding the "gringo trail" as much as possible by heading north. Finding comfort in fried bananas and doughnuts with black sesame seeds as the bus rides grew longer and hotter. Hunkering down in Soppong, Mae Hong Son and Chiang Rai. A new Thailand was budding up through the concrete cities I wandered through.</div>
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No matter how crowded and touristic Thailand continues to grow with it's western visitors, and no matter how many unfortunate times I was offered HEINZ chile sauce alongside my flavorless pad thai ::sigh:: It still remains a standing rule of traveling that once you scratch a little bit deeper beneath the surface, or at least drive your motorbike an hour outside the center…. you'll discover all that brings you here to begin with. The true cultural wonder and the intrigue of this exotic land of red earth and sweet bananas is still here. A place where they really do smile before you, they really do still create dishes with a fiery spice, and they really do make coconut milk by hand. </div>
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Love from Asia,</div>
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-Ash</div>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-50152091590055356182013-05-08T03:49:00.000-07:002013-05-08T03:49:49.678-07:00M & M<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">M</span>allorca & <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">M</span>orocco, <b>March 2013</b></div>
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Captivated by food, smells, colors, tradition, culture and it's people, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">M</span>orocco has always allured me. I arrived 3 years ago for the first time. I have returned twice a year ever since. A new avenue, flavor, artisan and spice blend are introduced to me each time I revisit. Last time it was red tassels and Aragan-rose oil, this time it's saffron yellow shoes and handcrafted belt buckles from Essouirra. Enchanted by it's mystic and unknown I simply can't get enough of what lays beneath the surface of this country. </div>
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While walking through the Medina, we were welcomed into a rug shop, and not for rugs, but for lunch. Seated upon thick layers of woven rugs, we were served warm kefta, and bread from a beautiful woman in red. Ripping off chunks of bread, we use it as a natural set of tongs to grad a steaming and perfectly seasoned kefta from the center of a blue platter. We listen to stories of the old medina as silver trays of cucumber and mint salad are passed around. A picnic within a rug shop. </div>
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We sit back, sipping mint tea and dusting the breadcrumbs off our laps. Breathing in <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">M</span>orocco.</div>
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<a href="http://peggymarkel.com/morocco" target="_blank">*Adventures in Morocco click here*</a> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ras al Hanout. Moroccan spice mixture</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cilantro and Mint</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange blossoms sold of pages of pop magazines</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">M</span>allorca Spain.</div>
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Introduced purely by chance 6 years ago. I was set up to intern at a restaurant with an American-French chef and his Spanish wife. The internship was a disaster as the chef had slipped into a darkened existence as he watched his restaurant dream slip away. His only sense of entertainment was to torture his new intern and make it impossible for her to love this industry of food and the foreign home to her now. But he was too late, not only did I fall deeply for the magnificent island in the Balearic seas, but somehow it began to take care of me as well.</div>
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It seems like forever ago that I learned the ways of the Spanish and walked the streets of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">M</span>allorca as a newcomer. Friendships on the island have sustained years of barely frequenting the Spanish soil, but my mind and heart remained connected from afar. </div>
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I am currently researching an opportunity to bring me back to the island yearly in the culinary world. My former "boss" from the failing French restaurant however, had to close his doors many years ago and move from the island.<br />
While my lessons from <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">M</span>allorca have been bitter and sweet, the karma has been even sweeter.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sopresada- A spiced and cured Mallorcan delicacy </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lechona</td></tr>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-47966866566858029772013-05-03T03:49:00.000-07:002013-05-08T03:51:20.884-07:00Little Ears<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orecchiette- which means "little ears"</td></tr>
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The 28th year is said to be the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturn_return" target="_blank">Saturn Return</a>. When that shift from your years of countless re-invention, exploration, transformation take a turn, and something brings you "home" again. Maybe home translates to the weary traveler as a place, or a feeling, maybe even a quality or trait that re-surfaces itself in your life. For me it literally brought me home. Eucalyptus in the air, in the land wild sage and avocados- Central California. </div>
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So, once the siren of my 28th year sounded her song, I made it home in time for my birthday. Uniting first with my tribe of lady chefs and coming together to determine what new task on our ever growing list of creations to try.</div>
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"Ash,<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orecchiette" target="_blank"> Orecchiette</a>!!" </div>
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Kim proclaimed with girl-like excitement. A creative task we had yet to embark on within our 9 years of cooking side by side. Convincing Peggy was easy, as she would be the one to give us the personal tales from watching the process on the streets of Puglia herself.</div>
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The day began with our fists united with in a vigorous kneading for 20 minutes on the white marble counter top. A strong task to ensure strong dough, our muscles feel it as our mound of raw orecchiette begins to smooth out and ready itself for rest.</div>
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The process is simple. Using a bench scrapper to slice off wedges of dough, then roll between your palms and the cutting board. The dough remains smooth and firm, in no way clinging to your fingertips when touched. An almost silky tactility that soothes the spirit as therapy through creation.</div>
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Roll, slice into 1" squares and then quickly pull the dough across a wood cutting board with the back of a butter knife. The true Nonnas of Puglia would jump to their feet with disapproval if they witnessed our first attempts at Orecchiette- "NO! Non cosi!!!" they would proclaim. As dough was smashed, torn, or pulled too thick or too thin. But eventually we got our groove on, and little ears appeared one by one.</div>
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We set our pasta out in the garden, inside a clean beehive screen and covered with a linen sheet.</div>
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The destiny of our oriecchiette was to be happily united with kale, braised lamb with jus, and fresh chili breadcrumbs. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orecchiette drying in the March sun of CA</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Table set, awaiting guests.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chèvre and beets unite!</td></tr>
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<i>A Birthday Menu</i></div>
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<i>Cocktails- 28 Roses (gin, grapefruit & rose geranium) Thyme Sip (bourbon, meyer lemon, & thyme)</i></div>
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<i>Hors d'ouvré - Fava bean and preserved lemon dip with crudite. Beet and chèvre spread with crostini and radish.</i></div>
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<i>Pizzas- Radicchio, mozzarella and amaretti. Melted leeks, sausage and burrata.</i></div>
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<i>Mains- Orecchiette with lamb jus, kale and chili breadcrumbs. Wood-fire oven broccolini. Salad of garlicky kale and roasted chickpeas.</i></div>
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<i>Dessert- Choice of salted caramel or lemon curd ice cream. </i></div>
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<i>Coffee or verbena mint tea.</i></div>
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Bellies were full and sore from laughter. Our glasses remained filled with central California's best in red wine. Some still found space for another scoop to top off the evening, while a question was posed...</div>
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In this house and around this table for as long as I can remember, a question has been posed for all to answer. It's a beautiful tradition that brings everyones attention back to the center and gives each individual a chance to tell a story of personal importance. </div>
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The question (posed by Howard, Kim's sweet husband)--</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">"What was a lesson or experience that you could not learn from anyone else, and only on your own?"</span></span></div>
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A wave of vulnerability and joyful emotion came over everyone as they told there stories of that lesson or experience that invited a shift and a transformation. We listened tenderly with open hearts as the smell of lamb from the wood fire oven continued to linger over the table. One of my favorite aging moments yet, the year of the saturn, and the night of rose geranium-scented cocktail surrounded by my favorite beings. A magical start to my 28th year.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">28 Roses Cocktail on March 1st, 2013</td></tr>
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<b><i>:: 28 Roses Cocktail ::</i></b></h3>
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<b><i>5 oz Fresh Grapefruit Juice</i></b><br />
<b><i>1 1/2 oz Gin (Preferably Plymouth)</i></b><br />
<b><i>1/2 oz Fresh Meyer Lemon Juice</i></b><br />
<b><i>2 oz Rose Geranium Simple Syrup (recipe follows)</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Add all the ingredients to a shaker with ice, shake and serve in a tumbler.</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Rose Geranium Simple Syrup:</i></b><br />
<b><i>1 c White Sugar</i></b><br />
<b><i>1 c Water</i></b><br />
<b><i>4 or 5 Rose Geranium Leaves</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Heat the sugar and water together until the sugar is completely dissolved without boiling. Add the Rose Geranium once you've turned off the heat and steep the leaves for 10 minutes. Or less. It can get strong quickly, so check the progress and taste as you go along.</i></b><br />
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-52267748008191161782013-04-10T07:50:00.000-07:002013-05-08T03:52:41.901-07:00Of Eggs and Fate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was April of 2011. A long awaited and slightly avoided Skype call with my father was in order.<br />
I had just flown into Mallorca Spain after 4 months in India and Morocco. It was time. Time to face the facts and accept the raw truth of my reality. One that only Jimbo (that's dad) can offer to me at a time like this...<br />
"Sweety, you have $500 in your bank account...... What on earth are you doing in Europe right now!? You can't even afford a ticket home to California, honey!"<br />
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He was right. And right then, like a lightning bolt, 4 months of colors and bliss came rushing through my mind. I settled into my seat and swam in a smile and satisfaction for money well spent. But the truth is unavoidable, and quite noticeable as I claimed a friend's sofa as my home and consumed only Spanish mandarins and fried eggs for a week now.<br />
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"I know, dad." I said calmly. "And you are right...... but I can't come home now. I'm living in the open question (yes. That is something you just do after months of "finding yourself" in India.) I am not meant to be there, I can feel it."<br />
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I was hovering just above that red line of financial lows, but I hadn't hit it yet... so to say.<br />
The truth is that I did feel it. Something was happening, a shift in my world, and I could feel it deep in my being. A chapter was closing and a new to open, but I needed to hold still to see it. I couldn't leave now.<br />
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::Fast forward 7 days::<br />
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A couple traveling over from Austria were set to spend a weekend in Mallorca on holiday. A friend threw my name on the plate as someone to stock the fridge and tidy up. "oh yeah, and she's a chef and yoga teacher too." my friend mentions. On Thursday I made diner. Friday they enjoyed an hour of yoga and Berber omelet for breakfast. Sunday I moved to Vienna.<br />
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Now don't assume that I was just moving to Vienna to make some quick cash from a couple strangers. In fact, I actually liked them. There was a straight line of honesty and happiness from the beginning, and I wanted to see how this would evolve. It was like facing the open decision to turn right or turn left on a Sunday cruise. Your gut physically speaks the truth before your logic even kicks in. No I did not get punched in the stomach by a wealthy Austrian, thrown on a plane and made a servant in the kitchen. Far from. I was asked a simple question:<br />
"Are you available for the next few months and beyond?"<br />
Um... well...Other than my current in depth research of the citrus and egg diet manual I'm writing....... yes, I'm free.<br />
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::Fast forward 2 years::<br />
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I write this now from window seat on the third floor of a traditional family home in Switzerland. It is April and snowing. My fingertips smell of mountain cheese and cured meats, and my belly bloats from excessive bread consumption. I am happy, and I am set in motion of reflection.<br />
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In the past two years, in accordance with this couple and their extensive group of family and friends I have experienced an extremely abundant chapter in my life. As a private chef in their homes and boat, I cooked in 10 new countries, challenged my senses with foreign ingredients, challenged my patience with tight quarters and long hours, challenged my stomach with high waves, and challenged my heart with an adorable Swiss engineer. My blessing from the past 2 years are abundant, and I can't help but be filled with gratitude, even through the struggle. My cup runneth over.<br />
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And to think, it all just started with a poached egg in spiced tomato broth on a Friday morning...<br />
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<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<u><i>Berber Omlette</i></u></h2>
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<i>1/2 red onion, grated on a cheese grater</i><br />
<i>8 roma tomatoes, grated on a cheese grater</i><br />
<i>1 T Ras al Hanout (or a mixture of paprika, turmeric, cumin, ginger and pepper)</i><br />
<i>6 eggs</i><br />
<i>fresh cilantro, chopped</i><br />
<i>Olive oil</i><br />
<i>salt</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><i>In a 10" tagine or pan with lid, heat a drizzle of olive oil. Add the onions, tomatoes, salt and Ras al Hanout spice mixture. Cook the mixture down to 3/4, stirring regularly, about 15 minutes. Add the eggs on at a time in a circle and one in the middle. Sprinkle with a bit more salt and cover. Cook for 5-8 minutes on medium heat. Depending on your stovetop, it may take longer. Just check for doneness, just how you would when poaching an egg in water. Your looking for white whites, not clear. Present your omlette on the table, unavailing your masterpiece at the last minute. Sprinkle cilantro on the top just before enjoying. Sometimes and extra drizzle of olive oil doesn't hurt either. Serve with good bread. Enjoy!</i><br />
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-61235127198662705612013-03-09T14:15:00.001-08:002013-03-09T14:15:15.983-08:00Belize It.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCebrDzNHnqaLkEwP0XoasKHStN6dbJsOtdQtVhibEvxHcTfiQ20ziPeWLilEZ9hVOhXanXKl25r9heI2pL0sSZEzAUce6PWX4fKz3gbj4Fg8BaTzruuL6AvoebhczGzPS1jCDclRte9h/s1600/San+pedro+dock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCebrDzNHnqaLkEwP0XoasKHStN6dbJsOtdQtVhibEvxHcTfiQ20ziPeWLilEZ9hVOhXanXKl25r9heI2pL0sSZEzAUce6PWX4fKz3gbj4Fg8BaTzruuL6AvoebhczGzPS1jCDclRte9h/s400/San+pedro+dock.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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There are some places in the world that never make it to your bucket list. For one reason or another, it being the weather, the chaos, the people or animals, the danger, the boredom, it's history, or maybe it just lacks that "zing" that you crave in a new adventure. To many, destinations like India, parts of the Middle East, or Russia have dropped to the lowest point of places to be present in (according to my conversations with a few.) </div>
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One of those places, for me a few years ago, was Belize.</div>
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I'm not even sure WHY it was not a destination of interest to me, in fact its quite bizarre. Now, I can't imagine life without knowing a bit of Belize.</div>
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I've recently been asked by many friends and family to offer suggestions for honeymoon locations. I know very little, if nothing, about honeymoon planning. But I do have cultured opinions on the place I "would" honeymoon in. And one at the top of the list really is the sweet country of Belize. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwgi9-kUknmIXio_kSFST-YuGb_szeabB0LiWdtPevxUkmiBn03chF8wyku6uMmNzRo_0x9L3XcDZ2Ia1xZaAjOlBnwTZ29Piqc-nhuR8WkpI2HLdn4nQGo4Su23opSM0UuBO6jT9GU7F/s1600/IMG_4536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwgi9-kUknmIXio_kSFST-YuGb_szeabB0LiWdtPevxUkmiBn03chF8wyku6uMmNzRo_0x9L3XcDZ2Ia1xZaAjOlBnwTZ29Piqc-nhuR8WkpI2HLdn4nQGo4Su23opSM0UuBO6jT9GU7F/s320/IMG_4536.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road side lunch</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhibRsq44xWLh12A-gVV8rFk5u852_Zpz5RfFC2dJKwm2IolqsWC3PLl7AZ0Ir8y3f6cDeDJVz_GAshttkO_eU13GcbfKPKklyF5BVsaplJDkZ6NGvfOduSG39mDOMhyphenhyphentMnWmzMdtJUHl66/s1600/IMG_4508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhibRsq44xWLh12A-gVV8rFk5u852_Zpz5RfFC2dJKwm2IolqsWC3PLl7AZ0Ir8y3f6cDeDJVz_GAshttkO_eU13GcbfKPKklyF5BVsaplJDkZ6NGvfOduSG39mDOMhyphenhyphentMnWmzMdtJUHl66/s320/IMG_4508.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belize City Marina</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYkIJEm3bX9cTnrKAqVcOclFENTHyIJ0rWBh5RXBU1i27CrHCuK6DTtEPDBiCJnNDmGhGRHIzypP-z5GXL7GPJRIAEK26XIHEiWvZWucL5u3XeD3PJ_2w_euz5pqCVIM4mx6AbXMW4oaa/s1600/IMG_4540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYkIJEm3bX9cTnrKAqVcOclFENTHyIJ0rWBh5RXBU1i27CrHCuK6DTtEPDBiCJnNDmGhGRHIzypP-z5GXL7GPJRIAEK26XIHEiWvZWucL5u3XeD3PJ_2w_euz5pqCVIM4mx6AbXMW4oaa/s320/IMG_4540.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belize City Fresh Market</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBwOcNhbqY722ty0H9RN-kJ18AkkvnCZJN-uTABBBUD6oTPVE4yBH0A6K7lHvSgxd1eFxAkHwT-E9eBd5e2nOwxrtn5SF1YS8uPa1978Tb6jMWOh3_mmI_L4gLi2SKgAOAXOzs0b9tqOsP/s1600/IMG_4622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBwOcNhbqY722ty0H9RN-kJ18AkkvnCZJN-uTABBBUD6oTPVE4yBH0A6K7lHvSgxd1eFxAkHwT-E9eBd5e2nOwxrtn5SF1YS8uPa1978Tb6jMWOh3_mmI_L4gLi2SKgAOAXOzs0b9tqOsP/s320/IMG_4622.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Golden.Fried.Curbside</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCVRuQVgCrlg4YWWWjeIPecqj9xWLgRgfjKtMTCShMpc-BQ-khtdt4Ad6ENaJxhN2Cuf7xr_g32Lcpwpv2rbz-Ynmwg7LcCvr59phZICavVl1q8b4sXaDAECzOG4FKCHr5Z0GL7q6EPKJx/s1600/IMG_4598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCVRuQVgCrlg4YWWWjeIPecqj9xWLgRgfjKtMTCShMpc-BQ-khtdt4Ad6ENaJxhN2Cuf7xr_g32Lcpwpv2rbz-Ynmwg7LcCvr59phZICavVl1q8b4sXaDAECzOG4FKCHr5Z0GL7q6EPKJx/s320/IMG_4598.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh Catch. San Pedro.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcIC3qVIJpIIe21N_AJe3JR9sr9tWqbV7xiyEd62R77sviiZ-XV0TAuSOq3UCx04XJl9Zbfu1_TaKwdHF0QZaZARii99UMFj74lK3VvC9od9gGgASeY_kCbH8E6bKy2wl7haRfdVsQ6Gg/s1600/IMG_4615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcIC3qVIJpIIe21N_AJe3JR9sr9tWqbV7xiyEd62R77sviiZ-XV0TAuSOq3UCx04XJl9Zbfu1_TaKwdHF0QZaZARii99UMFj74lK3VvC9od9gGgASeY_kCbH8E6bKy2wl7haRfdVsQ6Gg/s320/IMG_4615.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robinson Cay</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8oib0Gqxe85b0Rxp0n_M4aeB5OvK_G-qIRCdtz_HCryupZ6FnbFI25o-y1_pEW7fAP3A7XNu1fiP3fdCiu5fF5aGKNFUDT8omp2_z3RjYwOmU7cq7vTjcwBJ3yf6hVTxew_22LnLZQpA/s1600/IMG_4623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8oib0Gqxe85b0Rxp0n_M4aeB5OvK_G-qIRCdtz_HCryupZ6FnbFI25o-y1_pEW7fAP3A7XNu1fiP3fdCiu5fF5aGKNFUDT8omp2_z3RjYwOmU7cq7vTjcwBJ3yf6hVTxew_22LnLZQpA/s320/IMG_4623.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belize City Harbor</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1nThrChoyVktSwPK3kgThVl1NJDIgLsCBSyLRcAiSqkBxQQgadJCyMa_OFrs0XzrEwkzs6dIQLD1pzkRGvSJ-AUG3MtT7Vjls4vxQJNb3kxS1BEAuxZgqY5cCIzeE0uBscMJXFC4O_gr/s1600/IMG_4637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1nThrChoyVktSwPK3kgThVl1NJDIgLsCBSyLRcAiSqkBxQQgadJCyMa_OFrs0XzrEwkzs6dIQLD1pzkRGvSJ-AUG3MtT7Vjls4vxQJNb3kxS1BEAuxZgqY5cCIzeE0uBscMJXFC4O_gr/s320/IMG_4637.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pelican Cay</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9btWQBHIwiBUojTQWluZjj8Kt2cCYQPSY8dihyphenhyphenjAoCSX4zgpjGk6ymemQc6jf6HXK5GfIPsLxOqdNTEPG8O_Ymp7NApmpzDZhioP0MQMoII3Co37QTjsuZxOqEL72gXdl_OJtta4PZad/s1600/IMG_4656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9btWQBHIwiBUojTQWluZjj8Kt2cCYQPSY8dihyphenhyphenjAoCSX4zgpjGk6ymemQc6jf6HXK5GfIPsLxOqdNTEPG8O_Ymp7NApmpzDZhioP0MQMoII3Co37QTjsuZxOqEL72gXdl_OJtta4PZad/s320/IMG_4656.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh Market. Placencia.</td></tr>
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We nestled ourselves primmarily in the southern town of Placencia. A place that is truly hard to leave. The water in Belize is clear, the reefs are abundant, the chilies are hot, the beer is tasty, and the people are overwhelmingly kind. </div>
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Find a solid dock to tie your dingy to and stop into <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g291977-d2096301-Reviews-Yoli_s_Bar_Grill-Placencia_Stann_Creek.html" target="_blank">Yoli's</a>. Run by an incredible family team that instantly treats you like one of their own. From the first moment you arrive, you intend on returning.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bVHlwfyXOAFUVFZHF79xkNrbz-7JXF6IkHXBmwKDfgDEUj8lPncLZlijEmr-tNj4fILboTq2rZde3EpA-GSYA0rcpY8PSMbFE6wtCEFbz0ZlFyNh0dDA4YJFKPjW0GWwfeknVxWyyEcc/s1600/L1070837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bVHlwfyXOAFUVFZHF79xkNrbz-7JXF6IkHXBmwKDfgDEUj8lPncLZlijEmr-tNj4fILboTq2rZde3EpA-GSYA0rcpY8PSMbFE6wtCEFbz0ZlFyNh0dDA4YJFKPjW0GWwfeknVxWyyEcc/s320/L1070837.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Till my coffee cravings and new found love of Caribbean cinnamon rolls beg me back to Belize....</div>
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-A</div>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-82796014522020797502013-02-06T07:46:00.001-08:002013-05-08T03:54:16.849-07:00Salty Beer and Rich Papaya<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-oYRJ62mphE1jO9j9eQTnXLDuuO3lrQHVvaPHVmKeVxFQFsmysNvOJXt3hhjgBDTmxRhWfSKvMEa0J9PrO2PZKkgdwM34cHtuOdu1Y53VtLEkQFDxk64znJqYyw1v-pTp7KI9_xo5JL4b/s1600/L1070268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-oYRJ62mphE1jO9j9eQTnXLDuuO3lrQHVvaPHVmKeVxFQFsmysNvOJXt3hhjgBDTmxRhWfSKvMEa0J9PrO2PZKkgdwM34cHtuOdu1Y53VtLEkQFDxk64znJqYyw1v-pTp7KI9_xo5JL4b/s400/L1070268.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"No dar la Papaya" </span></div>
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The literal meaning is-- "To not give a papaya." </div>
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But in Colombia this expression is known by all and translates to - "don't show off your stuff, or put yourself out there to be taken advantage of."</div>
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Sandra and Maria (my two Colombian soul sisters, and present guides) explain this expression to me as we sit in a rooftop bar at midnight in Medellin. This Colombian night club was pouring over with fashionable and beautiful young adults. Dressed to the nines, with stilettos and laced with jewelry frosting. And yet even out here, you do not show your goods off.</div>
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I quickly recall that Maria had changed her earrings from earlier in the day to something else for night, something simpler as opposed to the chunky pearl studs she rocked when she picked us up at the airport. Sandra and I have just arrived from Cartagena to visit Maria for a long weekend and to see the famously, infamous city of Medellin. At night the city glows up the mountains that frame it, much like any city would. But the tumultuous history of Medellin has become something I am suddenly very interested in absorbing and understanding. So I begin to ask questions.</div>
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Both women had stories of their childhood growing up in Colombia- stories on the news, bombs, drug lords, killings, kidnappings, friends of family affected by tragedies... etc, oh AND Maria's childhood under house arrest.....</div>
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"Wait. what? I'm sorry, come again? House arrest?"</div>
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After her father was kidnapped and held for months until the family could pay for ransom, the Farc threatened to take his youngest child. Maria was 3. For nearly 10 years she stayed in and never went out without adults surrounding her. He father was kidnapped a second time, and unfortunately never came back to the family after that. </div>
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An incredibly positive and talented woman, now in her 40's, she is a private chef and cooking instructor. Incredibly close to her family and her goals, she is in love with her country and speaks with tenderness on her life experiences and the loss of her father. Based out of her 5th district, Medellin apartment, she has the "Papaya" within the confines of her sanctuary, but she lives carefully outside the walls of her home. To me, she evokes all that is Colombia. Through strength and gratitude, her stories silenced me in curiosity of what it is like to be a true Colombiana.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ih3Gis4aUfOPgldplZGl92o7Nmhey4a2b3I6PGUTpF0TxKcAQ_NCL7dkxIJKsffQANLcv3z-E3k-XgmzE6hhi1nKaIM5uQKANVQdZOSVM8noATjAfuQ6gpsXc4GF26tVF0sr1L32_UcQ/s1600/L1070320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ih3Gis4aUfOPgldplZGl92o7Nmhey4a2b3I6PGUTpF0TxKcAQ_NCL7dkxIJKsffQANLcv3z-E3k-XgmzE6hhi1nKaIM5uQKANVQdZOSVM8noATjAfuQ6gpsXc4GF26tVF0sr1L32_UcQ/s320/L1070320.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The countryside of Medillin</td></tr>
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The country itself is much different now than it used to be. Take for example the club in which we had drinks - a renovated mall, that was once under the care of Narcs to hold money, weapons, drugs, etc. Now, it's comparable to an expensive Manhattan-style trendy hot spot. But again, all this glamour is just a facade. 5 years ago it was illegal to travel in your personal car between major cities, for fear of Guerillas. It is a different Colombia now, with room to move around and experience the country's natural wonders.<br />
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We took a day out of the city to experience the thrill of the countryside. Winding through mountains of farmland with the brilliant sun guiding our path. Stopping for freshly baked cheese bread and handmade sausage. It was the countryside that committed me to loving the country of Colombia.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7lMwPqyfLhKf9VTqPV_KPYfPrugBI3vK7r3vzmlF60-9_ugQYum0UWjiCuwbH_qMqMUGYC3QQuxDntv3cxAMz4KcG8bf46WCTXuFEWglQ3F74xrVJki2DqZP9tTX59EBCjEH67GX6Fjh/s1600/L1070269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7lMwPqyfLhKf9VTqPV_KPYfPrugBI3vK7r3vzmlF60-9_ugQYum0UWjiCuwbH_qMqMUGYC3QQuxDntv3cxAMz4KcG8bf46WCTXuFEWglQ3F74xrVJki2DqZP9tTX59EBCjEH67GX6Fjh/s320/L1070269.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homemade chorizos curing outside a home in the still, dry mountain air.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xeaLs4i6CrXoorUrm6fWM9D5BKqQfBeTRfguRQgpzKtziURWvACRn0IpEF02KKhCI_enAXBa3M-OMK5Ka_Xn7vppjxYnxW4rmJG8GLhp85Qp3lrp4FKsCFJPx9nOtKRUuLKdEJowieu9/s1600/L1070275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xeaLs4i6CrXoorUrm6fWM9D5BKqQfBeTRfguRQgpzKtziURWvACRn0IpEF02KKhCI_enAXBa3M-OMK5Ka_Xn7vppjxYnxW4rmJG8GLhp85Qp3lrp4FKsCFJPx9nOtKRUuLKdEJowieu9/s320/L1070275.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roadside assistance- fresh baked cheese bread</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vf_8hivpqS0qtVc144SIhxHaVh7i8rIsewd6L6TKPT9VBVimrj4RFyntZAi-6hu4oEkkEskf9p111ydN5IdB8Apmbbg7dM7Rhzy20G7m4TiXDqSHDRHWw2zHSdOD6EAEb9NB5nEMEbko/s1600/L1070338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vf_8hivpqS0qtVc144SIhxHaVh7i8rIsewd6L6TKPT9VBVimrj4RFyntZAi-6hu4oEkkEskf9p111ydN5IdB8Apmbbg7dM7Rhzy20G7m4TiXDqSHDRHWw2zHSdOD6EAEb9NB5nEMEbko/s320/L1070338.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A classic Paisa man on his way to church. <br />
Tucked in shirt, hat, and wool blanket over the right shoulder is a symbol of the men from this region.</td></tr>
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After connecting our beings with the earth of the country through mountain hikes, we were prepared to properly fill our bodies with some local magic. Seated outside at a traditional restaurant, m<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michelada" target="_blank">icheladas</a> were promptly ordered to cure our sun-strained fatigue. The menu was written in the local dialect of Medellin. I understood nothing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from left to right: chicharon, blood sausage, chorizo, arepa, fried egg, dried beef, avocado, plantain, and white rice.<br />
This is a classic Paisa plate (the meal of Medellin)</td></tr>
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30 minutes later after grazing upon fried plantain chips and sipping our salty, thirst-quenching micheladas, the food arrived. A bowl of creamy beans, the color of warm caramel and the taste of wood-fire, this was the base. Garnishing the bowl with chicharon- fried pork belly, as the ultimate in crouton glory. Finely ground and dried beef to dust the surface of the bean soup. Slices of perfect avocado, white rice, and spoonfuls of Aji (hot chilies, onion and cilantro in vinegar) finish off the bowl. One dense, light yellow, and rich corn flavor arepa remains on the plate for dipping. Along with a fried sweet plantain to offset the array of flavor profiles before me. Incredibly rich and balanced, this meal struck me at the core with comfort and intrigue.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sopa frijole</td></tr>
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No thought or space in my being was left available for dessert. A rich flan-like pudding or sweet guava jelly filled rolls were offered, but not even a papaya could be craved. I was filled and fulfilled with Colombia and all it's simple, humble, and frosted decadence.<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<u><i style="font-weight: normal;">Colombian Micheladas</i></u></h3>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>1 central American beer (Aguilla, Corona, Pacifico...)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Juice of 1 lime</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>dash of tabasco or chalula hot sauce</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>1 salt rimmed pint glass</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Serve cold or on ice. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Preferably on a hot day in the countryside. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Buen Provecho!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
-Ash</div>
<span id="goog_1902858425"></span><span id="goog_1902858426"></span><br /></div>
Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-85331008558030973372012-11-06T11:43:00.001-08:002013-05-08T04:08:20.993-07:00Danke Villmal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgia62nsr0S6mer6Kv2qoichv51FYH6Rebv6F371zzdsqocc_zTZ7NUrOf7NYeFFFC-c-y8nCIm2QCmQ_Boh8L43rissl9fEIOft4cdV_6DaL01pA4TxNoVCUdimEcZQNSRE3cpMtrDH4tX/s1600/L1070751.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgia62nsr0S6mer6Kv2qoichv51FYH6Rebv6F371zzdsqocc_zTZ7NUrOf7NYeFFFC-c-y8nCIm2QCmQ_Boh8L43rissl9fEIOft4cdV_6DaL01pA4TxNoVCUdimEcZQNSRE3cpMtrDH4tX/s400/L1070751.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Switzerland Oct 2012</td></tr>
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<br />
Here it was, my big moment, spot light on, ready to impress, take out the big guns.....<br />
"Danke Billmal!"<br />
(oh no... Did I just say something in Swiss German with a Spanish accent? Yes.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIu_Drd_IX8R2f_MyKUBzlrOmPmmSxaV7lo3EFL0dbPe4uP4cS1th05X2J8cVa3fSFWyI41IPeQcjdVK9YGbnCxIe5uUqXNLQWszTlhIPNERuG565hYHWQYxe4f7hAcPje_PbVoNe9oNUB/s1600/L1070629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIu_Drd_IX8R2f_MyKUBzlrOmPmmSxaV7lo3EFL0dbPe4uP4cS1th05X2J8cVa3fSFWyI41IPeQcjdVK9YGbnCxIe5uUqXNLQWszTlhIPNERuG565hYHWQYxe4f7hAcPje_PbVoNe9oNUB/s320/L1070629.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swiss</td></tr>
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Laughter and applause erupts from the poor victim of my verbal Swiss massacre. He is the father of my boyfriend (here after referred to as Swiss) and I am meeting the parents here in Switzerland for the first time. It's apparent that my "Swiss-anish"slip-up has gone unnoticed.<br />
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This is not my first trip to Switzerland, nor my first attempt at the ultra romantic, and oh so fluid Germanic languages. My grandmother is Swiss, and although I never picked up on "that funny language Nonnie speaks on the phone to her cousins" when I was growing up, it does ring a familiar note in my ears. But while courting the young and handsome Swiss man, I did pull out the Nonnie secret weapon, placing them on the phone together to practice their odd throat-clearing techniques. I'm sure she helped seal the deal on our courtship.<br />
<br />
My boyfriend's father (hereafter referred to as Señor Swiss) was nervous to meet me, and excited to see his son after yet another year of being away from home. It must be difficult to predict whom one is going to meet when your son calls home and says he's dating an American..... an American that does not speak Swiss German...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHqU_l97b1z3ErCkS422jMDQQ-DLNz6sawB0mLve3SvwuPokj-5Kx_lSzDfU0ocHsi1OUcUEiUuwjGY38Q7dpQ1ozH8HJivin7Kr-5joCXUv-8RkQfAZb3DYbRjEG0jcUNAWc1Ub8Qlb4/s1600/L1070737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHqU_l97b1z3ErCkS422jMDQQ-DLNz6sawB0mLve3SvwuPokj-5Kx_lSzDfU0ocHsi1OUcUEiUuwjGY38Q7dpQ1ozH8HJivin7Kr-5joCXUv-8RkQfAZb3DYbRjEG0jcUNAWc1Ub8Qlb4/s320/L1070737.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farmhouse at Sunset</td></tr>
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<br />
Señor Swiss walks into the house and shakes my hand in greetings, hugs his son and announces a surprise. An extended moment later, we wait while Señor Swiss flips through his iPhone for something. He gives it a tap and a song begins to play. It's an instrumental melody that I recognize but can't name. <br />
"The Stars and Stripes!" he announces (I'm a horrible American. I had no idea what the song title was...) and we all begin to laugh.<br />
"You are. The first. American. In. This. House!" He says to me with steady and careful pronunciation. I'm honored and give him my thank you attempt in Swiss German (with a Spanish twang.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8V75iKJbYM8nsMo5Y-ZPAWAITssNQD-S5Ea02FDpSKp5GzEcXcpYhOXoElORH-A83Y2o5rPFY4Jul2NANEu_I9SNqu4AYF9HyIvB_BG-NCMUA4pwNRP0twbq8-oQfq-g7Rr24a5P4R5z/s1600/L1070594.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8V75iKJbYM8nsMo5Y-ZPAWAITssNQD-S5Ea02FDpSKp5GzEcXcpYhOXoElORH-A83Y2o5rPFY4Jul2NANEu_I9SNqu4AYF9HyIvB_BG-NCMUA4pwNRP0twbq8-oQfq-g7Rr24a5P4R5z/s320/L1070594.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view en route to Gruyere</td></tr>
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Switzerland is dreamy in October. The air hydrates your body with a sharp freshness, it's a vitamin all on its own. The hills and valleys are blinding in electric green, sprinkled with cows grazing on the summer's last pasture. It is a magnificent country to wander about in, and even better to walk in the shadow of a local.<br />
<br />
We spent our two week holiday from the boat (our home and work) to hike, breathe, sleep in, and fill our guts with copious amounts of cheese. All of which was wildly successful and beyond decadent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19-aAcCQVB8Wr0wW0TGUMHvwoKtqqZj2NdPDeBhoK2LbFqLQOZEnjMHHIO7nOMqrC9d_qGH0gcyygmfnm0SwnomR3nHP95FBYkEtKSkdAQBnOqkq-cQTovaSWuk43FEpfpZlddVFCsT6Y/s1600/L1070764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19-aAcCQVB8Wr0wW0TGUMHvwoKtqqZj2NdPDeBhoK2LbFqLQOZEnjMHHIO7nOMqrC9d_qGH0gcyygmfnm0SwnomR3nHP95FBYkEtKSkdAQBnOqkq-cQTovaSWuk43FEpfpZlddVFCsT6Y/s400/L1070764.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dairy Air</td></tr>
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Now lets get down to business here...<br />
<br />
3 words: Cultured Cows Milk.<br />
Specifically speaking - Le Gruyere.<br />
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It's really not surprising at all that I have so easily fallen for a Swiss man. I did prepare for years and years for him, while slinging cheese at the neighborhood cheese shop, <a href="http://www.cestcheese.com/" target="_blank">C'est Cheese</a>. I spent four years honing and sharpening my cheese knowledge and appreciation. And for me, Switzerland was always (and I'm not just saying this to impress the Swiss or to diss the French) the highest echelon of artisanal cheeses. Plus they were always the most expensive cheeses in the shop, so that may have had something to do with it. But regardless, my love affair with the strong scent of mountain cheese has not only sustained a trip to Switzerland, but has also impressed a native family.<br />
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Here is a beautiful way to incorporate this flavorful cheese into your menu plans. I do highly suggest that you don't skimp on the type of gruyere you buy. Keep it real, and get the good stuff. It's imported and usually around $30 a pound, and it does not have holes in it. I did not include a filling in this recipe, but you can fill it with quiche fixens, or a savory tart of caramelized onions and fennel, etc . Or fold the corners up over thin slices of green apple and knobs of butter to make a zesty and sweet galette!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdtRGA4rqa29MbOonOsMS0o9azil4JJ5ZEGv6VZzPiV2MUDMxl480Nh-OBYVrbdrVF6ifjdqVGsKz0h2SAGO0W-M7RQyOvf6qTqndCk425BeWSqwGP1jEkxEz-4oFw2suTOT1fVBq_z1K/s1600/L1070736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdtRGA4rqa29MbOonOsMS0o9azil4JJ5ZEGv6VZzPiV2MUDMxl480Nh-OBYVrbdrVF6ifjdqVGsKz0h2SAGO0W-M7RQyOvf6qTqndCk425BeWSqwGP1jEkxEz-4oFw2suTOT1fVBq_z1K/s320/L1070736.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swiss farmhouse decor</td></tr>
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<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><u>Gruyere Tart Crust-</u></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1 1/4 cups flour</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1/2 t salt</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">8 T cold butter</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">3 oz grated Gruyere</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1/4 c sour cream</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">2 t lemon juice</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1/4 c ice water</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #252525; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Add the flour and salt to the bowl of a food processor. Pulse about 3 times to combine. Add the cubed butter and grated cheese to the bowl and pulse until the size of the butter resembles small peas. In a small bowl, whisk together the sour cream, lemon juice and water and add this to the butter-flour mixture in the bowl of the food processor. Pulse several times until the dough starts to hold together when pinched between your fingers. The dough may seem dry. Dump the dough out onto a floured counter top. Gently bring the dough together into a tight ball. Try not to knead the dough too much or your warm hands will melt the butter and change the doughs composition. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least an hour.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #252525; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #252525; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Roll out the dough on a piece of floured parchment paper until it is about 12-inches in diameter. Put the parchment and dough onto a baking sheet. Chill the dough in the refrigerator for about 15-20 minutes.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #252525; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #252525; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Bake the dough at 350. And according to your recipe of desired fillings/toppings.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harvesting walnuts.</td></tr>
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Thank you for stopping by, and for reading. </div>
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Gracias. Danke Villmal.</div>
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-Ash</div>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-32461202816813720992012-10-26T09:40:00.000-07:002012-10-26T15:05:08.888-07:00Shy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">handmade kuna sailoboat. San Blas Islands, Panama</td></tr>
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I never believed in this so called "writers block" thing. That was just some lame excuse a few professional writers made up when their publishers called, and they were too hungover, too many days in a row to deliver the goods. So writers block is like some professional procrastination, right?<br />
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Well, for the past 2 months, I have looked at my blog title up in my bookmark bar, and can NOT bring myself to hit the button. Laziness, jet lag, busy, bad internet, new computer..... all have been exercised as brilliant excuses to keep me from writing about the Gypsy Chef. And then!! People that actually read this thing brought it to my attention. Like multiple times. It's not as if I have been cooking through 5 countries this summer, and have absolutely nothing to show from it! I do have 3 new sassy Colombian bikinis, and an overwhelming desire to eat <a href="http://www.mycolombianrecipes.com/arepa-filled-with-egg-arepa-de-huevo" target="_blank">areapa de huevo</a> each and everyday, but have still written nothing.<br />
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So the night before I get on a plane (AGAIN!!!!) I am writing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">last night in Cartagena, Colombia</td></tr>
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Topic to ponder: Shyness.<br />
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#1. Discuss shyness in attending to blog (you may re-read above at your convenience)<br />
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#2 Shyness of love-<br />
A true Gypsy travels alone, wandering the streets, falling in love with empty bottles of Italian wine, ticket purchases, or the perfect scarf (to add to the backpack full of perfect scarves.) But how can a Gypsy fall in love and keep on Gypsying??? Well, when he has blue eyes, sailor scruff, and equally lacks a home in his quest for worldly connection.... you just figure it out. Oh that reminds me, please insert "Love" to the list of excuses in above paragraph. But there really is no shyness here, not even a twinge of cynical anti-male comments to follow. In fact, its all set and done. We will find a cave in some mountain, some where in the world, and make babies and cheese while growing old together.<br />
Thats if two nomads can decide on one place in the world to live....<br />
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#3 Lack of shyness in the form of cookie consumption.<br />
These cookies may have topped any (and I mean any...) childhood or adult dream of the perfect chocolate chip wonder. The craziest part of all, is that they are made completely and entirely with whole wheat flour! Think of the cookie love child from a Digestive biscuit, graham cracker, and chocolate chip cookie- a ménage a trois, or the Holy Trinity of cookie creations. I am sold!!<br />
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And as a pledge for forgiveness in my blog negligence, I ask that you take this recipe (even better, just buy the book- It's aaaamazing!) and that you promptly fall in love without any respective shyness.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shy Kuna girl selling bracelets in San Blas, Panama</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies- Adapted from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Good-Grain-Baking-Whole-Grain-Flours/dp/1584798300" target="_blank">Good to the Grain, by Kim Boyce</a></u></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3 cups whole wheat flour<br />1 ½ tsp. baking powder<br />1 tsp. baking soda<br />1 ½ tsp. kosher salt<br />2 sticks (8 oz.) cold, unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch cubes<br />1 cup lightly packed dark brown sugar<br />1 cup sugar<br />2 large eggs<br />1 tsp. vanilla extract<br />8 oz. bittersweet chocolate, roughly chopped into ¼- and ½-inch pieces, or bittersweet chips<br /><br />Position racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven, and preheat to 350°F.<br /><br />Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl, and whisk to blend.<br /><br />Put the butter and sugars in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. With the mixer on low speed, mix just until the butter and sugars are blended, about 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a spatula. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in the vanilla. Add the flour mixture to the bowl, and blend on low speed until the flour is just incorporated. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl. Add the chocolate, and mix on low speed until combined.<br /><br />Drop approximately 3 T of dough per cookie down onto lined sheet pans, leaving about 3 inches between each cookie. Bake the cookies for 15 to 20 minutes rotating the sheets halfway through, until the cookies are evenly browned. Cool and enjoy!</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gypsy portrait in Cartagena, Colombia</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 20px;">Lots of love from transitional shyness.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 20px;">-A</span><br />
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-13889627666142256722012-09-03T14:21:00.000-07:002012-09-03T14:21:35.145-07:00Cured.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Although Salmon and curing have nothing to do with the Arcapalargo Island of Samblas, Panama where I am right now. It does in fact have something to do with the breakfast I serve each day.<br />
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Before we ventured off into the deep of Colombia and Panama (more appropriately descriptive photos/stories to follow...) I cured salmon. Alot of salmon.</div>
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Heavy on the salt, sugar, juniper and citrus skin. The combination of ingredients used for curing create an intoxicating cloud of aroma. The sweet simplicity in the art of curing has captured me recently. Small jars in my refrigerator are filled to the brim with carrots, cucumbers, Asparagus or shallots. All awaiting their destination alongside a panini, in a bloody mary, or layered inside Korean lettuce wraps. It was just the next step for me to properly cure a fish... or two.</div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Cured Salmon</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">(Recipe adapted from Barbara Lynch)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Note: the recipe is doubled for 4 sides of salmon. Don't let the excessive amount of citrus rind intimidate you. It makes all the difference in the outcome. Plus it is an instant air freshener!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1 c Juniper berries</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">2 c Coriander</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">12 Bay leaves</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1 c Peppercorns</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">4 c Salt</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">4 c Sugar</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">10 Lemons- zested</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">14 Limes- zested</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">4 oranges- zested</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Grind spices and mix with salt, sugar and zest in a large bowl. Cover salmon, top and bottom with curing mixture. Place the salmon top side down, and refrigerate for 48 hours. Rinse flesh clean and pat dry. Slice salmon thinly, at an angle from tail end to the top.</span></div>
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The coral colored flesh of the salmon is offset by the bright pink papaya on the opposite end of the table. Before forks are lifted by guests, and my pans are just hot enough to make eggs a reality, a knock at the aft deck draws our attention. Opportunities to buy local, and very recently caught seafood from the Kuna Indians is rare at times. Placing a large pot of water on to boil before I run down and receive the lively crustacean of the day. Breakfast has yet to begin, but lunch is already in the works.</div>
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Enjoy. -A</div>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-32984063365197446992012-06-15T06:20:00.001-07:002013-05-08T03:55:44.504-07:00Crepe Romance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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His thin frame, pubescent facial hair patches, and slight overbite approach the table, as he delivers my plate. With monotone speech and no eye contact, he informs me.<br />
"This is a saigon crepe. It's stuffed with vegetables and thin strips of pork and shrimp. We recommend that you wrap pieces of the crepe in the lettuce here and add the sauce. Enjoy. Thank you."<br />
And he quickly walks away.<br />
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I come twice a week to this Vietnamese cafe here in FL. I order the same plate, every time..... and every time, I get the same robotic breakdown from the bust boy. But alas, I don't really care much as I have FINALLY found a perfectly made Banh Xeo. Which holds as a beautiful reminder to the sweet country of Vietnam.<br />
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I was welcomed to Vietnam by boat in November of 2009. Taking my time from the rivers of Can Tho in the south, and up to the Islands of Halong Bay. Captivated by the life, culture and food of this country, it quickly became one of my favorite places on the planet.<br />
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The crispy crepe- Banh Xeo, was one of my main targets in culinary stalking. I searched each city for every woman or man, nestled in the corner of a cafe making fresh crepes and stuffing them with thin strips of pork and shrimp, and fresh bean sprouts. Seated snuggly on my tiny plastic stool, curbside in bustling cities as Hanoi and Ho Chi Ming. I found a strange, euphoric, serenity in taking to a plate of this gastronomic wonder, in a proper roadside Banh Xeo.<br />
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I must learn how to make this.<br />
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I challenged myself plenty (alongside Kim, we tested various recipes for Banh Xeo.) Making the rice flour from scratch, to letting the batter rest for 24 hours or even 48 hours. There is a package of Banh Xeo mix (Ingredients: rice flour, mung bean flour, corn starch, tumeric. Just add coconut milk.) It is naturally gluten-free and vegan, and super quick to whip up and fry. Served alongside a mountain of herbs and greens with a side of nuoc cham sauce on the side.<br />
I make it on the boat for my boss at least once a month as a sweet ode to Vietnam.<br />
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<a href="http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/23670/banh+xeo+crispy+pancakes" target="_blank">This recipe</a> is great, because the addition of cornstarch aids in the ultimate crispy-factor. The style is really close to what you get from a <a href="http://hkfoodmarket.com/hk/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=10_112_118&products_id=397" target="_blank">package mix</a> of Banh Xeo. Which I have found in almost all Vietnamese markets, from California to Florida, and Vienna to Madrid. <br />
<a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/member/views/SIZZLING-SAIGON-CREPES-BANH-XEO-1248205" target="_blank">Another recipe</a> here is more like what I have attempted by scratch. Either recipe or mix, you'll find making a crispy crepe simple and approachable.... and overwhelmingly addictive.<br />
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I'm back on the boat cooking in the galley, and leaving Florida (FINALLY!!) for Columbia next week.<br />
But I will soon be back to visit my awkward bust boy, while he gives me the lengthy breakdown on my favorite Vietnamese wonder. I'll listen with care while I await the "...enjoy. Thank you." while diving head first in to the crispy bliss of Banh Xeo.<br />
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Enjoy. Thank you.<br />
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-A<br />
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-23817057080240513992012-05-20T08:19:00.001-07:002012-05-20T08:23:45.879-07:00Mothers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The Art Of Motherhood</u></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bea</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am completely in awe of my girlfriends whom have entered so beautifully into the world of motherhood recently. There is something so amazing about that transition from woman to mother. The respect and support I have for these women has developed so much, while they have created and fallen in love with these little nuggets.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dahlia</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elodie</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uma</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liam</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Massey</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siena- Massey's big sister</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This is a beautiful piece of <a href="http://www.elephantjournal.com/2012/05/becoming-mothers-peggy-markel/" target="_blank">Becoming Mothers</a>, by Peggy Markel.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My curiosity remains at a distant, as my life continues to unfold in ways that deserve my selfish attention to the path of a gypsy chef, not a gypsy mama..... But the moments that I can spend with these children in the last year(s) has made my heart smile in a whole new way.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A happy belated Mothers Day to all the mamas out there!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Especially my own mom, whom will even come to a dirty shipyard in Florida just to spend time with her daughter!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">with love and light,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">-A</span></div>
</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-5843926600342492992012-04-30T17:18:00.000-07:002012-04-30T17:18:39.281-07:00Rhubarb<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbOB6r07nRZZ5nhod9i8cNutj4nBjQRXlDTlIF3qwXDyQDiL_1Eq2Skb8iFOf3oM3CyzThh0FEwa9DBoLVUf6YGDdQd4ohYUWfKS70b7vvUlH4W_6GgwkOEUBAulaNlX5FhSVLhfISjCx/s1600/IMG_4012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbOB6r07nRZZ5nhod9i8cNutj4nBjQRXlDTlIF3qwXDyQDiL_1Eq2Skb8iFOf3oM3CyzThh0FEwa9DBoLVUf6YGDdQd4ohYUWfKS70b7vvUlH4W_6GgwkOEUBAulaNlX5FhSVLhfISjCx/s400/IMG_4012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roasted rhubarb on granola. Towpath Cafe, East London</td></tr>
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After a couple weeks of Intoxicating Gnawa music, camels, blush-colored sand, and tender braised meat in a cumin-saffron ballroom of flavors.... it was again time to exit the incredible country of Morocco.<br />
<br />
I flew to London.<br />
<br />
First of all, let me tell you that two of my most incredible discoveries happen in this trip to London:<br />
<br />
I flew<a href="http://www.flybmi.com/bmi/splash.aspx" target="_blank"> BMI</a> for the first time. Possibly the ONLY airline on the planet anymore that not only allows 30 free kilos of luggage in economy (as opposed the normal 22-25 kilos.) Which is extremely helpful in supporting my ever growing leather-baboosh and spice tagine collection.<br />
But also............ All drinks are free in economy class.<br />
Qu'est-ce que c'est?!<br />
drinks.are.free.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.peggymarkel.com/" target="_blank">Peggy</a> and I settled into our seats (with a surprising amount of leg room, might I add) and dug through our purses of change, separating out the Euros and Dirhams and Dollars, to find the Pounds needed to buy ourselves a gin a tonic. But alas, all drinks are free on BMI flights! Make note!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYDfnqh37RgJtnEzBswwUJfqE5gt61RNS6lGYKggt6RfitdGiQYU0lyv-3U7yhNeXlY2nYB23OeHlZss2_ghdbldBSBMQqnZE6FnRaK6a6GXV1a9wO0m3JdkCEZyXPI5hcevAlm_OVlxV/s1600/IMG_4014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYDfnqh37RgJtnEzBswwUJfqE5gt61RNS6lGYKggt6RfitdGiQYU0lyv-3U7yhNeXlY2nYB23OeHlZss2_ghdbldBSBMQqnZE6FnRaK6a6GXV1a9wO0m3JdkCEZyXPI5hcevAlm_OVlxV/s400/IMG_4014.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Now the other incredible discovery was the sweet canal-side cafe of a dear friend of Peggy's.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyy6-0027-Rn_3Uewkusi2nIEklh290p12gWgfJPr22kGXzHsdoLojqA0_57Rg0PIInShoB86Svj9npMD_fiqN1iXFa6lswM9YDWsLTApMXTg6ZZJ-RmcbQE_8lnZ6sowqQCduhU7ICBe/s1600/IMG_4010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyy6-0027-Rn_3Uewkusi2nIEklh290p12gWgfJPr22kGXzHsdoLojqA0_57Rg0PIInShoB86Svj9npMD_fiqN1iXFa6lswM9YDWsLTApMXTg6ZZJ-RmcbQE_8lnZ6sowqQCduhU7ICBe/s200/IMG_4010.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://towpathcafe.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Towpath Cafe </a> is located in East London. It hugs the canal, as small miss-matching tables and chairs pour out onto the sidewalk. You place your order in with Lori, the owner and dreamer of this adorable cafe. Leaning up against the wood counter to order a cappuccino, and lusting over the olive oil cake, dark chocolate walnut brownies, marmalade almond tart, and spice cake. There are few things as beautiful in my world than to find a perfectly constructed, intimate, and tasty cafe.<br />
<br />
A chalkboard menu reads:<br />
<b>Fresh blood orange juice</b><br />
<b>Porridge with apple compote</b><br />
<b>Granola with roasted rhubarb </b><br />
<b>Grilled cheese sandwich with chili jelly</b><br />
<b>Bread and house-made preserves</b><br />
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Items served on tin plates or mix n match diner-style porcelain. Simple and inviting. I order the granola, a cappuccino..... and a slice marmalade almond tart.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjoUqKv3xdOILHezPRgVS48tL2H2EA946bOYY4L36eQqylv16eBIzTzDfhJPVnIHJKM-_eaKh1_nVG-0SEgE2_wFyF_TwQeIIQfVOmpY0RqxeTsRAuvaIGpCiYGazuG_dUxKLClPH-Wsd/s1600/IMG_4015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjoUqKv3xdOILHezPRgVS48tL2H2EA946bOYY4L36eQqylv16eBIzTzDfhJPVnIHJKM-_eaKh1_nVG-0SEgE2_wFyF_TwQeIIQfVOmpY0RqxeTsRAuvaIGpCiYGazuG_dUxKLClPH-Wsd/s200/IMG_4015.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pwuioy6C1H3GYRIZU16p8YHYNMqxeGcD-ZSCp_-D1Zv8SXmFILXW56-hKhqNqkf4-fam1RYw8LSWkWrftUI-CnbWwiKuknmY5_6xDbNXsOjUAfGFyv2JuSezzxKR8IJmV9Wk3aj9kJ4P/s1600/IMG_4022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pwuioy6C1H3GYRIZU16p8YHYNMqxeGcD-ZSCp_-D1Zv8SXmFILXW56-hKhqNqkf4-fam1RYw8LSWkWrftUI-CnbWwiKuknmY5_6xDbNXsOjUAfGFyv2JuSezzxKR8IJmV9Wk3aj9kJ4P/s200/IMG_4022.JPG" width="200" /></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Roasted Rhubarb-<u> Towpath Style</u></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Rhubarb</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">2 Bay leaves</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><i>Zest of 1 Orange</i></span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">1T Peppercorns</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">1/2 c Lemon juice</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">4 Cinnamon sticks</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">1 Vanilla bean</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">1/4 c honey</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Clean rhubarb well, and peal off any tough, stringy bits. They tend to not soften quite right. Cut rhubarb into 2" chunks and place into desired roasting pan. Zest the orange into thick, wide strips, with very little white pith. Split the vanilla bean down the center, and scrape out the seeds from the middle, placing all in the roasting pan. Add the remaining ingredients, and mix all together well to coat the rhubarb chunks. Place on the middle rack of a preheated 325 degree oven for 25 to 30 minutes. You can lightly mix or shake the pan once during the roasting, but be careful not to mix it very often as the integrity of the rhubarb may change. Serve at room temperature atop granola and yogurt. (<a href="http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2009/10/granola-recipe/" target="_blank">This is my favorite granola recipe to use</a>.) Or even enjoy it on ice cream, scones, in a trifle...... whatever tickles your rhubarb fancy!</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></div>
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We sat for hours lingering over pots of tea, and recounting stories from recent trips to India, Morocco and Jamaica. Trying to gather our words and experiences while the essence from those trips begins to slowly fade away and melt off our skin. After days of meeting at the Towpath and and sipping coffee cups dry, Peggy and I separated ways and I took a train to Bristol to meet an <a href="http://agypsychef.blogspot.com/2011/12/soul-full.html" target="_blank">old friend</a>.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbAvw1RPXVFxQIQxnfV980XVtX-kwqlx8vV0HCPpiKiHV_yza2XoiYuQxqk49zdF9KbVwTTJnR-uLPD88-4PWyf57duS7Ambh3C_a2J13Q1SDLiabr627xpzC0JE6oQHVKIj8WDWfxNkw/s1600/IMG_4020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbAvw1RPXVFxQIQxnfV980XVtX-kwqlx8vV0HCPpiKiHV_yza2XoiYuQxqk49zdF9KbVwTTJnR-uLPD88-4PWyf57duS7Ambh3C_a2J13Q1SDLiabr627xpzC0JE6oQHVKIj8WDWfxNkw/s200/IMG_4020.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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Even though It's pouring rain in Florida as I write this, and that I currently live in a hotel room (sans cooking possibilities...) Still, the thought alone of rhubarb and English market stands has me remembering that this really is spring time. And that soon enough, my granola will be topped with roasted, red rhubarb in celebration of the winning discoveries of late in London.<br />
<br />
Cheers,<br />
-A<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-75089520905144817362012-04-24T05:17:00.001-07:002012-04-24T12:25:48.520-07:00Glimpse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A feast through the eyes.<br />
Morocco. <br />
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</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-31050638477988531832012-04-18T09:39:00.000-07:002012-04-18T09:39:38.718-07:00Essaouira Blues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vpBqJvnUoAJcEYjC63wnI1PAOZKfwYTepMwX6xW_IcX9YLiVAgUryw7nLW_D-Tke0Esd5Fbujd-oEHeFOP2VTL-U6arPsT8sWq6L5YexbqoR_MtYcc-Pm5fx7BqA9t-UB4l1mbCK-s4q/s1600/L1050836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vpBqJvnUoAJcEYjC63wnI1PAOZKfwYTepMwX6xW_IcX9YLiVAgUryw7nLW_D-Tke0Esd5Fbujd-oEHeFOP2VTL-U6arPsT8sWq6L5YexbqoR_MtYcc-Pm5fx7BqA9t-UB4l1mbCK-s4q/s400/L1050836.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This shade of blue found in Morocco is unlike any other blue. Essaouira does it best, from the sea and sky, Portuguese-style fishing boats, and the blue shacks lining the port- seafood, pastries, and fresh grapefruit juice. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> When fresh grilled seafood meets cumin and salt, and the wind continues to swirl around you, there is no where in the world you'd rather be.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is Essaouira in March....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I may have landed back in Florida for the next 2 months..... but my mind is still in Morocco.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">-A</div><br />
</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-82750123677416961042012-03-30T02:55:00.000-07:002013-05-08T04:06:44.981-07:00Off The Surface<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A story of scrub. A sense of belonging..... and an arugula salad</div>
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I slide into my red, goat-leather baboosh slippers as if hugging an old friend. It's Dusk in Marrakech and I have barely arrived to my room in time to turn around and head back out. Around a few corners and down narrow pathways. I arrive to a familiar place, and strong rumbling surrounds me as I walk down the staircase leading below the earth's line. Two women, barefoot, in sweat-soaked clothes, walk us down even deeper. Double wood doors open up to a room of steam and dark marble. The sound of running water is constant and our naked bodies are directed to either end of the room where marble benches await. </div>
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In my commitment, and well lets face it, complete obsession with the culture of hammams, it is always the first thing I do when arriving to Morocco. This is an ancient tradition of pouring water and communal bathing, a time to strip away and scrub down to the raw of things. I adore it. To be surrounded by warmth, in water and in trust. The trust in the hands of a beautiful Moroccan woman, whose fingertips are reminiscent of shriveled raisins. She moves effortlessly with eucalyptus soap, buckets of tempered water, and a rose-soaked towel to rest on my eyes. I release completely, the weight of my body that of a deep savasana. I succomb to the water.</div>
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In Morocco, every city and village has 3 elements available for it's community-<i> Mosque, fire and water.</i></h4>
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The call to prayer is sung 5 times a day from the mosque, as everyone faces east towards Mecca, praying and with gratitude in unison. The communal ovens are managed by men who work from early in the morning to bake the barley bread among wood-fire. The element of water comes in as the Hammam. </div>
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Women of the community may have the mornings for a hammam, or every Monday and Thursday (for example) and the men will take the off times. Women peel off the layers, and come together for scrub and connection, gossip, and unity. Abrasive mitts take to skin like baboush take to feet, and the transformation begins. Layer by layer, peeling off and washed down the marble bench.</div>
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My mind goes elsewhere....to cumin, dates, and mint tea. </div>
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It is Springtime in Morocco, and the hammam is my spring-cleaning. Out with the old and off with the surface. I'm also convinced that it may in fact be the ultimate remedy for jet lag or hangovers.... just sayin'</div>
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Marrakech dinner of fish pastilla - fish, vermicelli, preserved lemon, chili pepper, and red cabbage. A glass of French rose, and greens from the garden. The arugula is flowering now and carries a sharp bite and peppery edge. It goes beautifully with the salty-tang of preserved lemon in the pastilla. A salad dressing of grapefruit juice, olive oil and aragon oil is simple and completely complimentary to our local salad greens. </div>
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Morocco has always had a very special way of blanketing me with intrigue, magic, and awakening my senses. From clean skin and scrub, to spiced coffee and bitter-sweet arugula. I am forever at the mercy of your beauty, and what still awaits to unfold.</div>
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Shukran Bisef.</div>
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-A</div>
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Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-90422847150172625892012-02-20T11:25:00.000-08:002012-02-20T11:25:23.819-08:00The B's<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Blood Orange. Bourbon. Balsamic...... and Bees</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXXAiKUqSS9bgGHMnI9JUC2wmot_xlsjmuG0x8b28d_XlFTn7vxvODIc3-YL69DI-7gi8qQPsXMq2v0Yu5k3pU_ONfWAW10trPmJMqX8QpMyKxodSP1hTwMwTCLJv1BiU7dXpBN_RWM43/s640/blogger-image-25425291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXXAiKUqSS9bgGHMnI9JUC2wmot_xlsjmuG0x8b28d_XlFTn7vxvODIc3-YL69DI-7gi8qQPsXMq2v0Yu5k3pU_ONfWAW10trPmJMqX8QpMyKxodSP1hTwMwTCLJv1BiU7dXpBN_RWM43/s1600/blogger-image-25425291.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">With plans constantly shifting and changing before me, and while Europe freezes over (even Mallorca got 5 inches of snow!!) I choose to hunker down in a sweet 72 degree California winter.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A lesson on Bee keeping with our very own new members to the Santa Barbara family. Pizza dough was left to rise in the warming drawer, and our fourth cup of <a href="http://www.mariagefreres.com/boutique/UK/ft+marco-polo-classical-black-tin-100g+TC918.html" target="_blank">Mariage Frere </a>black tea was now finished for the morning. At 10:00 am, two young bee keepers came to the house to teach us the ways of Bee house-keeping.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH97CuQreWU0w2_3qcJxMIN0GInSyzqgc8i0sE3ZPicW6D5L2jMJEIdpT0UefCZ_qgt8HbX7kjSO65eeW2UPspErXBSJE8AZJEGOE7Q6tTWtG_bwokyYNiq9W34zn9xkrhfyE68x2Wsd8x/s1600/L1050255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH97CuQreWU0w2_3qcJxMIN0GInSyzqgc8i0sE3ZPicW6D5L2jMJEIdpT0UefCZ_qgt8HbX7kjSO65eeW2UPspErXBSJE8AZJEGOE7Q6tTWtG_bwokyYNiq9W34zn9xkrhfyE68x2Wsd8x/s400/L1050255.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8CpoEpNMhalhzBujsGzZFvQDO0hraDxE0-PMjKG3f2TDkDaICAWrFw9pmxQeSjkQ-FmH8IoIve_yCra_1ikdno01UWNyOdsL0W-nN8QmHKP0epk6ieUF1h8IvF986UZISFjXHpBRQrQ5/s1600/L1050257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8CpoEpNMhalhzBujsGzZFvQDO0hraDxE0-PMjKG3f2TDkDaICAWrFw9pmxQeSjkQ-FmH8IoIve_yCra_1ikdno01UWNyOdsL0W-nN8QmHKP0epk6ieUF1h8IvF986UZISFjXHpBRQrQ5/s320/L1050257.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGnRtEjbkMjz1sR_kCxksMuY2dsxKwuFj5_Nr9SQRNM7YADcLfH3ENXO7rM9Zz_kBJFIZcjKeKxiMBk1WWSnUE5y8Z8rKSIVrEQf6wI7CnxGSAexO0pA3nDbThUabts_gJ49Ij7QgIV5l/s1600/L1050273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGnRtEjbkMjz1sR_kCxksMuY2dsxKwuFj5_Nr9SQRNM7YADcLfH3ENXO7rM9Zz_kBJFIZcjKeKxiMBk1WWSnUE5y8Z8rKSIVrEQf6wI7CnxGSAexO0pA3nDbThUabts_gJ49Ij7QgIV5l/s320/L1050273.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After smoking the bees out with essential oils to calm them down, we disassembled the box and carefully searched through it's solders to find the queen. Worker bees carry pollen on their hind legs and litter the waxed comb plates. Glistening nectar shines up from bellow, and dreams come to surface of what we will do with our future supply of backyard honey...... Homemade chevre with honey. Morning toast with peanut butter and honey. Flatbread with sopressada, caramelized onions, rosemary and honey. Pear tarts with creme fraiche and honey. Moroccan mint tea with honey.....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1XpOXGLTabfmdDiWZ0-5vw8Y2UlPLIyQgMfCEjb2k4oaXr5lV47yA9hTETDvq07EpQ8SJ7fyQIKdsWSY0G6XeijPMm8R4hVpe-JnpjbjqB77_lCaeuQsFVaKAv8pX0IlWCyCGJF0peJB/s1600/L1050304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1XpOXGLTabfmdDiWZ0-5vw8Y2UlPLIyQgMfCEjb2k4oaXr5lV47yA9hTETDvq07EpQ8SJ7fyQIKdsWSY0G6XeijPMm8R4hVpe-JnpjbjqB77_lCaeuQsFVaKAv8pX0IlWCyCGJF0peJB/s320/L1050304.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-aym7XSYWl4bX2GPgUwYCXSpzYZIzf1zzBFCMM7deTjt4SMbnf5b_MMjWdv5TEKRj_uQvu1bQWpXFvyD0SeegPAzSprO3ALcSBpH6cHI7D5E8US5CnhgcvWI_J12DZtV5ukMYJk4KvoD/s1600/L1050291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-aym7XSYWl4bX2GPgUwYCXSpzYZIzf1zzBFCMM7deTjt4SMbnf5b_MMjWdv5TEKRj_uQvu1bQWpXFvyD0SeegPAzSprO3ALcSBpH6cHI7D5E8US5CnhgcvWI_J12DZtV5ukMYJk4KvoD/s320/L1050291.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJybUzD32c-zBbG8tm4ncW4H2bE9652yrZFnDzle2DfzCvInOM8eutE-GK9TcKjXP2d5XOrlDNOZgwCSP1EBbbxx6J9FJjGyIO5bwPLbGfFPac_pU6NGUH4DV54SnDZii43HZNbAEuwODt/s1600/L1050287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJybUzD32c-zBbG8tm4ncW4H2bE9652yrZFnDzle2DfzCvInOM8eutE-GK9TcKjXP2d5XOrlDNOZgwCSP1EBbbxx6J9FJjGyIO5bwPLbGfFPac_pU6NGUH4DV54SnDZii43HZNbAEuwODt/s320/L1050287.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">By evening time, and while our counter tops were quickly being taken over by hands hard at work with flour and dough. Making the perfect size pizza base for their moment in the wood-fire oven. It was 5:00 in California and aperitivo time was before us.</div><div style="text-align: center;">In the wake of a serious citrus season in the California, we were left with far too many blood oranges, piled in baskets on the counter. A blood orange cocktail is made to go alongside our reunion dinner and honey bee conversations.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbcCSuaohhdkS62TVxVXzbdlK0y08imlCTab4YM-WtySmrePLLZXrC7H9mJQsHSBuuobSE5izBSPROFNSEGWTaxHl-4Clm82UV7WAKQSfMmj6QbfZ6lqNZvRXFa1VZVZn-V7oWsDNnlxQ/s640/blogger-image--268379758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbcCSuaohhdkS62TVxVXzbdlK0y08imlCTab4YM-WtySmrePLLZXrC7H9mJQsHSBuuobSE5izBSPROFNSEGWTaxHl-4Clm82UV7WAKQSfMmj6QbfZ6lqNZvRXFa1VZVZn-V7oWsDNnlxQ/s320/blogger-image--268379758.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The B's</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">1.5 oz Quality Bourbon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">1 c Blood Orange Juice</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dash of balsamic vinegar</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dash of lemon juice</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dash of simple syrup</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mix in a shaker (I'm super into <a href="http://www.amazon.com/OXO-1058018-SteeL-Cocktail-Shaker/dp/B0001YH13E/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1329407574&sr=8-1" target="_blank">this</a> one!!) and adjust flavors to taste. Best serve over ice with a wedge of blood orange, on a winter night in California, alongside wood-fire oven pizzas at home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Love and Light -Ash</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-77554047072921831912012-02-02T15:42:00.000-08:002012-02-02T15:42:52.857-08:00Stillness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Dear Breakfast Pizza,</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>You are unlike any other breakfast pizza. Perhaps even my favorite.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>In fact, you may just put them all to shame. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>With your thin crust of slightly crispy, yet slightly chewy semolina bliss. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Your perfect balance of parmesan and mozzarella, melted in harmony.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>To your strips of beautiful bacon, essence of wood-fire, delicately baked eggs, and optional red pepper flakes.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>You kinda rocked my world on Sunday morning... </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I love you, Breakfast Pizza.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(And it's not just the juice fast I've been on for the past 3 days that's speaking. I swear.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Yours, Ash</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKIJxvjJCwLnhZ_TXd8Z5-lYh2GYrKYhmqFsvLzEs69KHppHoamYVCVm8Zv8QUx8yxO534SuxUa583W1EjJwja_5LxkF8lfo5wbuIK4zu4xaE64SwRvbVdvoQl0NLYN89uER-QV8a26ye/s1600/IMG_3763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKIJxvjJCwLnhZ_TXd8Z5-lYh2GYrKYhmqFsvLzEs69KHppHoamYVCVm8Zv8QUx8yxO534SuxUa583W1EjJwja_5LxkF8lfo5wbuIK4zu4xaE64SwRvbVdvoQl0NLYN89uER-QV8a26ye/s400/IMG_3763.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://www.bigsurbakery.com/">Big Sur Bakery</a></td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">....But then I met a bathtub.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGA6OrqOG_RwfyMftO7vd40zZvOk55SfADkbKmXnmG5zUndmUrCFUjPudK8nZmCzD9DCajKA41IcaHw8QseKQUMtTYq7X_3aRvhcBV7WpMd3DIVRWj0Skfu0HWBGEWXuO6TD29Ew9dkdLf/s1600/IMG_3771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGA6OrqOG_RwfyMftO7vd40zZvOk55SfADkbKmXnmG5zUndmUrCFUjPudK8nZmCzD9DCajKA41IcaHw8QseKQUMtTYq7X_3aRvhcBV7WpMd3DIVRWj0Skfu0HWBGEWXuO6TD29Ew9dkdLf/s400/IMG_3771.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Post-Brunch bath in a tree house of Big Sur, CA.</span></td></tr>
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</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Dear Sweet Bathtub in the Woods.........</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
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</i></div></div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-33609862172320564452012-01-31T13:15:00.000-08:002013-05-08T04:05:32.313-07:00Forest Breakfast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A good morning in Big Sur, California.</div>
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Breakfast in a tree house- Fresh granola and strong coffee, sliced baguette, plugra butter, French breakfast radishes, and fleur de sel.</div>
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Hands down, one of my favorite places on the planet. Driving Hwy 1 north into Big Sur from Santa Barbara should be on that master list of top 100 things to do/ places to see before you die. I even got to introduce it to a Swiss man, for his first trip to the California coastline. I think it was an easy sell.<br />
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Staying home for a couple weeks to revisit my dream board of cookbooks left behind. And to set up plans for upcoming adventures to Istanbul, Morocco, and cooking through Mexico, Belize and central America.<br />
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"Let the beauty we love be what we do" -Rumi </div>
Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-84533390192458306972012-01-15T09:19:00.000-08:002012-01-15T09:19:59.521-08:00New Year<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The year 2011- Gypsy'd.....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMWX73LGUb6U0TXCaDUPVuSBT5s6IcOdv6ya-hyEMYD3KMOFYoE0ASDEOI0jvB_1PbDB6p3XSlLk0b3DLQzOtrWRJEUMPQT4YPFE7_7gIube0_RKWXW203vp1C_th8soo05prOiy505oH/s1600/IMG_3477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMWX73LGUb6U0TXCaDUPVuSBT5s6IcOdv6ya-hyEMYD3KMOFYoE0ASDEOI0jvB_1PbDB6p3XSlLk0b3DLQzOtrWRJEUMPQT4YPFE7_7gIube0_RKWXW203vp1C_th8soo05prOiy505oH/s400/IMG_3477.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Flying through London and then Madrid, breaking a 4 months fast of Alcohol and meat with plates and cups full of fried fish, beer, and plates of cured ham...... de tox- re tox! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUQN94w6__8JYbxrZ5fFhph3Yt83O01q6-_-d2ObikCRz0eTrN0Y6fU0ji877PSXPTrlJ87vu_LBFozyJdttEFQnLqciJ6a3vM7OxLeUb8pZOulT_AN4wR11IIp0S10Otz1fNJqbDKPMO/s1600/IMG_4512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUQN94w6__8JYbxrZ5fFhph3Yt83O01q6-_-d2ObikCRz0eTrN0Y6fU0ji877PSXPTrlJ87vu_LBFozyJdttEFQnLqciJ6a3vM7OxLeUb8pZOulT_AN4wR11IIp0S10Otz1fNJqbDKPMO/s320/IMG_4512.JPG" width="320" /></a> España, March 2011</div><br />
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</div> Return to Morocco in March of 2011- Spring time in Morocco is something not to be missed. Wild poppies, mint tea, walnut forests, fish tagines, and camels.<br />
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Magic of Marrakech<br />
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Peggy Markel's Culinary Adventures. Sailing the Amalfi coast.<br />
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Life in Florence for the summer.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhIfjWimH9CaFD3YtClvA-pZtQT0kiKbjONf5M382kobwZTwu_yJgTDCXORRsMNE4mjoQsEbkP81iy91iLWd_fTU-tUUJPpkIG2K_2xhLSTZj8l9V6iqEgILgCBXN6484WfN5oFJB-ogg/s1600/L1010655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhIfjWimH9CaFD3YtClvA-pZtQT0kiKbjONf5M382kobwZTwu_yJgTDCXORRsMNE4mjoQsEbkP81iy91iLWd_fTU-tUUJPpkIG2K_2xhLSTZj8l9V6iqEgILgCBXN6484WfN5oFJB-ogg/s320/L1010655.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJQ57WiUoNkTCPdtEyt04kGX4LJ9IuHskLvQOTBPvxBtAFEcboyq79HTLWGb-W065JJupjdxCUpOFsgRHpEmygbZOaOPxEvFwR5xpbXydRl6V96Ij2l1ea9rC5YXTIOG5bPq6ncx54-0p/s1600/L1010595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJQ57WiUoNkTCPdtEyt04kGX4LJ9IuHskLvQOTBPvxBtAFEcboyq79HTLWGb-W065JJupjdxCUpOFsgRHpEmygbZOaOPxEvFwR5xpbXydRl6V96Ij2l1ea9rC5YXTIOG5bPq6ncx54-0p/s320/L1010595.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAOrDNEe9TS12LjFmgWNBCE9V37nAOv8emumawuLY8Sb6glG09Cxpsk4lIMpBjYRuQi9AfMntRPm1sI299VU4-s8qnh9gN9vgcsNKN-TXB8dRfhusDSTeiggAloEVS7Tymnknv8b05TAN/s1600/L1020059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAOrDNEe9TS12LjFmgWNBCE9V37nAOv8emumawuLY8Sb6glG09Cxpsk4lIMpBjYRuQi9AfMntRPm1sI299VU4-s8qnh9gN9vgcsNKN-TXB8dRfhusDSTeiggAloEVS7Tymnknv8b05TAN/s320/L1020059.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Fresh caught cod, chucks of ice, wild arugula, tart blueberries and testing out my sea legs as a yacht chef in Iceland and Greenland.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_0sqZba-xKDvhgR8t4swcjPB3L5KXIIXLJ726l4Q3GiaNcu11mDopf2KaLMu7bFNz9HmQHWiPGH8fXZHYjedqdJmgqqsjRPi5DmQUa9SeJOIB9JtyPrq8AKEFY1QpK_LchsONm3ZXMla/s1600/306164_10150269119487531_607952530_8321532_3388817_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_0sqZba-xKDvhgR8t4swcjPB3L5KXIIXLJ726l4Q3GiaNcu11mDopf2KaLMu7bFNz9HmQHWiPGH8fXZHYjedqdJmgqqsjRPi5DmQUa9SeJOIB9JtyPrq8AKEFY1QpK_LchsONm3ZXMla/s320/306164_10150269119487531_607952530_8321532_3388817_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbrqLC7Ipy3W-rY2Q2lyhG_JQ0DH4OPo9mdst3f-rSrW-JH0Q_u8GSefd9eHdHmWYH6s1GKN9DfCUe1dUdu1i78YaVlvJ1vEfNTrEhYznPf071oo0a8nAdfdCgJ62U3W4SOwfg3SzV2yi/s1600/L1030428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbrqLC7Ipy3W-rY2Q2lyhG_JQ0DH4OPo9mdst3f-rSrW-JH0Q_u8GSefd9eHdHmWYH6s1GKN9DfCUe1dUdu1i78YaVlvJ1vEfNTrEhYznPf071oo0a8nAdfdCgJ62U3W4SOwfg3SzV2yi/s320/L1030428.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_NfV1kPDXVaNAP6e4J06Bg6oudv3NoO2aJ6wU8RcLC6bY5tluLa-TmRxWuhH0nR2D3C0EDkDr2LNyabrry32Y3ImjeCIAGmsEBH5OXHaqngnPYecriE19wLjroA3iOo7BhrPrWTg_wSlg/s1600/L1020535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_NfV1kPDXVaNAP6e4J06Bg6oudv3NoO2aJ6wU8RcLC6bY5tluLa-TmRxWuhH0nR2D3C0EDkDr2LNyabrry32Y3ImjeCIAGmsEBH5OXHaqngnPYecriE19wLjroA3iOo7BhrPrWTg_wSlg/s320/L1020535.JPG" width="320" /></a>Home in California. Reunited.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBiXbwtXSBYekyv5siopchEKqo91qigSqiy58Ocp2BtVOYF5mmJG3ikdBAspXjPxzE91e3umEGcYX8o6ZG7iMR-s_8oGRwoS_Wdl7evH63_BpZpSek8jxzSDsh6toBkc5bkpy6e4sK6xt/s1600/L1030544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBiXbwtXSBYekyv5siopchEKqo91qigSqiy58Ocp2BtVOYF5mmJG3ikdBAspXjPxzE91e3umEGcYX8o6ZG7iMR-s_8oGRwoS_Wdl7evH63_BpZpSek8jxzSDsh6toBkc5bkpy6e4sK6xt/s320/L1030544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><br />
Christmas and New Years in Jamaica..... Hello 2012. May you be awakening and deeply explored.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh98NRZ82Co9-q7U89ZMEb_3c4fvhcV2AWlg2UCyeIQsPN40dpnQjPkpdQ-oQJ9pXa6qtG-mtJbJF0mw121pFKy4pTgh6QlkGFrQGkXf1fX0N7lzr6_NcAUbTMi9yJ9a-VyVuEWejb4lc6x/s1600/IMG_3682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh98NRZ82Co9-q7U89ZMEb_3c4fvhcV2AWlg2UCyeIQsPN40dpnQjPkpdQ-oQJ9pXa6qtG-mtJbJF0mw121pFKy4pTgh6QlkGFrQGkXf1fX0N7lzr6_NcAUbTMi9yJ9a-VyVuEWejb4lc6x/s200/IMG_3682.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Much love. -Ash</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-3720555642195424552011-12-30T07:23:00.000-08:002011-12-30T08:39:29.387-08:00Soursop<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimeOn7rNnDco7BhHgbrrxJCINe5l4VrNFnhJtn5ju7yCgIHdI4TIqUSGAgXV7Xi8-0L8WwdLD0zBFHdgKJlYw0flXrgIXxXI_eeOUCVMuJHu-klifj1oEFmI2-tAaj2hg7l2CvfoHwPCKF/s1600/800px-Annona_muricata_1_%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimeOn7rNnDco7BhHgbrrxJCINe5l4VrNFnhJtn5ju7yCgIHdI4TIqUSGAgXV7Xi8-0L8WwdLD0zBFHdgKJlYw0flXrgIXxXI_eeOUCVMuJHu-klifj1oEFmI2-tAaj2hg7l2CvfoHwPCKF/s400/800px-Annona_muricata_1_%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">This spiky, green, sweet and sour fruit grows in abundance in central America, Mexico, and Jamaica. It's family member, the cherimoya is one of my most favorite California fruits. The fruit has a creamy texture, reminiscent of bananas and coconut, and the flavor of tangy strawberry and pineapple. This has easily become one of my favorite ingredients, and meal accompaniments of Jamaica.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">So the chef taught me how to make Soursop juice yesterday. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMv8rW_iO2oohcLfjiX_BKf7_K47QgBBqjSkw7FkhO4XRcIiwIMZO-QuujF8c41NhM0a5OeMme7ZIbAOfJ52B17GMBW5AxBdWJmAB8p0JUTvlt6U1vxqi8BFIQk1vxzRbQQGLiDukBhC-h/s1600/IMG_3685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMv8rW_iO2oohcLfjiX_BKf7_K47QgBBqjSkw7FkhO4XRcIiwIMZO-QuujF8c41NhM0a5OeMme7ZIbAOfJ52B17GMBW5AxBdWJmAB8p0JUTvlt6U1vxqi8BFIQk1vxzRbQQGLiDukBhC-h/s320/IMG_3685.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Whole, ripe soursop is roughly peeled with a knife and placed in a bowl with a dash (1/4 cup or so) of water. Squeeze and massage the fruit with hands for a couple minutes.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4dtV7kMriZGKfm_k8iGxQmZxDSNc_K3ts1BxPmJuIOmUiRcBlm3IKRqPzrUsTtGgs0gag7DMdvsZIvDNwdsZEuead0edBqXkeHeTLdEiVtDmbrvkxlgVM0LAVWivOhRwbqSJXHksH3Ec/s1600/IMG_3686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4dtV7kMriZGKfm_k8iGxQmZxDSNc_K3ts1BxPmJuIOmUiRcBlm3IKRqPzrUsTtGgs0gag7DMdvsZIvDNwdsZEuead0edBqXkeHeTLdEiVtDmbrvkxlgVM0LAVWivOhRwbqSJXHksH3Ec/s320/IMG_3686.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Strain the fruit juice from the flesh and seeds into a seperate bowl. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Grate fresh nutmeg into the fruit juice and whisk in 2 T sweet and condensed milk.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPHWMV_k-Vu0ZfEu0lGzkdZ3ZkiXBZFEFqnwrfOJBSBEHa9XX0ddf7mMMuSQH3n6SJmOBgis2JRD143dw34h4a9cCPDbLvq_Mxiun92Axe2e3tyFk_TFKMSBZLSY3fNV7Q9ntcwGuBrxY/s1600/IMG_3687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPHWMV_k-Vu0ZfEu0lGzkdZ3ZkiXBZFEFqnwrfOJBSBEHa9XX0ddf7mMMuSQH3n6SJmOBgis2JRD143dw34h4a9cCPDbLvq_Mxiun92Axe2e3tyFk_TFKMSBZLSY3fNV7Q9ntcwGuBrxY/s320/IMG_3687.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Soursop juice is a meal in it self. Thick and creamy, sweet and refreshing with that slight hint of nutmeg on the end.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I also have a scotch bonnet infused white rum sitting around on the shelf for the last week here, and the two of these together with a twist of lime make one hell of a fiery cocktail!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We will be serving them here for New Years while listening to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZoImzA5iO4">this band</a> playing live on the beach to bring in 2012 the Jamaican way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Happy New Year!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">x -A</div><br />
</div>Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534757099768061547.post-33666327351289722962011-12-21T05:24:00.000-08:002013-05-08T04:04:18.418-07:00Nutmeg Sins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tales of a carnivorous yogi.....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2njTuM0KAzZ-ouOrf__J7ifTYJd5dsJV5NPuTP_bxO5dIgsPZp3ojP7BZb0oqqUpKRTcIFuIjnsdEW7eMjTVGk4GqzslyP4KIUa6tQKhQtzHThvkBcRP0OGQmuw8DU6Znj6GnGbAILuFK/s1600/jerk_pit_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2njTuM0KAzZ-ouOrf__J7ifTYJd5dsJV5NPuTP_bxO5dIgsPZp3ojP7BZb0oqqUpKRTcIFuIjnsdEW7eMjTVGk4GqzslyP4KIUa6tQKhQtzHThvkBcRP0OGQmuw8DU6Znj6GnGbAILuFK/s320/jerk_pit_lg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was told to leave my belongings tucked under the seat of the car before leaving.<br />
<i>"Girl! This is doooowntown Kingston! You can't be walking round this market as a whitey with a bag full of money. Even if it ain't full of money! People only think one thing when they see you, round here. Ya hear?"</i><br />
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I heard. And left my things in the car while the chef and I shopped for food.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZWXAgq_pf_e3r7XwGqrAnJCGj1V7yIIo6BzQgnr_5mBwez4FHv17JFm6z7jPpoVMK4LOdEVIa4ifWMM5rm7hU-5wh9uRPpsEOLB2BG80HpAC_pDoGM5S-HcvRQpaNpPYd5FNKJwyjT1t/s1600/jamaica_map2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZWXAgq_pf_e3r7XwGqrAnJCGj1V7yIIo6BzQgnr_5mBwez4FHv17JFm6z7jPpoVMK4LOdEVIa4ifWMM5rm7hU-5wh9uRPpsEOLB2BG80HpAC_pDoGM5S-HcvRQpaNpPYd5FNKJwyjT1t/s200/jamaica_map2.gif" width="200" /></a>The market of Kingston is not unlike other markets in rural parts of the world, that I have been to. Tattered blue tarps strung up to block out the hot sun. Piles of empty coconut shells in every corner. The smell of urine and fermenting fruit rising up from the dirt path. Dogs, kids, and piles of colorful fruits and vegetables on display.<br />
I find myself quite content in these markets. If it wasn't for the noticeably big, black, bra-less women in neon colored dresses, aprons tied snug under their bosoms, yelling at one another from across the aisles, then I could be anywhere in the world really- Cambodia, India, Greenland, or Morocco. It's all the same- people just doing what they need to do, with bare necessity, to sell goods and provide food to their community.<br />
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From the bright red hibiscus flowers (known as sorrel here in Jamaica), to whole Carribean nutmegs with their orange mace skin still dramatically wrapped around, and the constant smell of grilled chicken in the air, were all that reminded me that I am, in fact, in Jamaica.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe0SEHogjfKMvQAf0K8wSwhWbqChIWwr82MVqVODjlkyOix0IPrYLRMeWswMLB2SBqKpPukMieUG9PZNhyefq5eFJE_zGD4U6yMN3_D-DhwfpqX5jrjqd1KG8M9Eqr_7IkqutVfrPYK7R1/s1600/b3d3e05807804e72a27e2d8c5e268010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe0SEHogjfKMvQAf0K8wSwhWbqChIWwr82MVqVODjlkyOix0IPrYLRMeWswMLB2SBqKpPukMieUG9PZNhyefq5eFJE_zGD4U6yMN3_D-DhwfpqX5jrjqd1KG8M9Eqr_7IkqutVfrPYK7R1/s320/b3d3e05807804e72a27e2d8c5e268010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
A rasta'd man pushing a shopping cart full of garbage and goods stopped near me. I had been wandering down the aisles, while keeping close enough for the chef to keep his gaze on me.<br />
<i>"Where ya from, mon?"</i><br />
He asked me with a large, stretched out smile. His rastas had been here awhile, I noticed, as they had begun to fuze and mat back together at the ends, while half of his hair was tucked up under a red, green and yellow stripped beanie on his head.<br />
<i>"Is it your first time in Jamaica, mon!?"</i><br />
He un-tied a bright colored string bracelet from his cart.<br />
<i>"I will give you this for 100 jamaican dollars, mon."</i> ($1.25US)<br />
When I informed him of my not having money, he gave me the bracelet anyway.<br />
<i>"The green is for the jungle of Jamaica, the yellow for the sun, the red for the blood shed, and the black is for the skin of the people. Now you will never forget Jamaica, mon. Peace and love, sister."</i><br />
Hit re-lit his joint and walked away. I felt as if I had just been given a blessing.<br />
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Our van was now full of our next week's worth of produce, all packed in their own cheap, black, plastic bags.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzj9U20THBgygvWo_8SsDZTFAIp_1XNZZVvafiMwMFQYuz5x88DX7blhlyv5qzzeVg4oD2kPjK7V7J8xSxLuxybgjHVusxeoI1N0QTs30zuwuXGhgYrteZ_-zaU2LfhlfLfNWNeMaj_uL/s1600/L1040903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzj9U20THBgygvWo_8SsDZTFAIp_1XNZZVvafiMwMFQYuz5x88DX7blhlyv5qzzeVg4oD2kPjK7V7J8xSxLuxybgjHVusxeoI1N0QTs30zuwuXGhgYrteZ_-zaU2LfhlfLfNWNeMaj_uL/s200/L1040903.JPG" width="200" /></a>At the end of the day, having acquired much of our holiday provisions, we began our 3 hour journey home to the other side of the island. It was dusk, and the roads were busy with Friday night traffic. It was still hot and muggy in the car, so we stopped to get some cold Red Stripes beers for the journey home. The winding roads, framed by tropical jungle become increasingly narrow. The chef leans back to ask if I mind him lighting a joint -Welcome to Jamaica.<br />
As it gets darker and darker, the locals begin to come out into the cool night along the roadside. Families play loud music outside their front doors, with full gangsta-style speaker setups, and fire up grills for throwing down some evening jerk chicken for hungry travelers in their cars. Smells of wood fire, cinnamon, scotch bonnet chilies, and that blessed nutmeg fill the night air. I hang my head out the window for a closer relationship with the cooking chicken legs and breasts....<br />
Enough is enough!<br />
We pull over at a jerk shack.<br />
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A quarter of jerk chicken, rice and peas (black eye peas) and festival (basically... a savory doughnut). I order without hesitation and wait my turn at the pickup window. A styrofoam container is filled to the brim with warm, spicy chicken, rice and festival. I sip a spicy Jamaican ginger beer from a plastic bottle while I wait.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQh8vAbluf8p49YTQyDyizB-6NoTt_GCcPDaCzm2BPnUZS-uBcYx6wOufah5F_s52fpNy8RXUtTgHn82E9S4mT8kHlJdIh9Moxa4h1eLfSAY-I25rBZ_a1g5im9uWKRjc1VvehuovWcEei/s1600/chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQh8vAbluf8p49YTQyDyizB-6NoTt_GCcPDaCzm2BPnUZS-uBcYx6wOufah5F_s52fpNy8RXUtTgHn82E9S4mT8kHlJdIh9Moxa4h1eLfSAY-I25rBZ_a1g5im9uWKRjc1VvehuovWcEei/s320/chicken.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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As I dive quickly into this blissful aroma and tasty bits of tender chicken muscle, wrapped in spicy flavors only known to Jamaica, I am beyond happy. My plastic fork and knife are of the lowest grade of plastic, for a utencil sake, as they do more bending than piercing. Bits of rice fling off my plate and onto the laps of those around me, as I attempt to navigate my way in the dark, around this hot chicken leg. I quickly dispose of my not-so-handy utensils in the nearest overflowing bin, and move straight in with my hands. It's good. REAL GOOD!<br />
I wipe the side of my mouth with the back of my hand and continue eating as if I have never eaten before. Drips of jerk spice splash onto my white tank top, and my sandals are glittered with rice. I stop for a moment and drop into where I am.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieQkR3sLGUrS-gcdq1_MudfF8VT2TmCismFm1Kbgvm1ssaxsLP8fVHboqTXAvYa9yCVEeq-mWdthUdHqp9JNWGRXdHeXq7prdx-oJjfofWcNgU3XVqLSCiS3s9m32F3OhRsUtYbbZQhst/s1600/L1040856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieQkR3sLGUrS-gcdq1_MudfF8VT2TmCismFm1Kbgvm1ssaxsLP8fVHboqTXAvYa9yCVEeq-mWdthUdHqp9JNWGRXdHeXq7prdx-oJjfofWcNgU3XVqLSCiS3s9m32F3OhRsUtYbbZQhst/s200/L1040856.JPG" width="200" /></a>After waking up at 4:30 am this morning to practice yoga before the sun rises, reaffirming connection with myself and with the planet. I somehow end the day now by disregarding all consciousness towards my food sourcing, AND towards disposable waste management! Two things that I take pride in my everyday life as a yogi-chef.<br />
So what is it that makes us switch off the bars of conscious consumption, and delicate ways towards the environment so quickly? Yes, I admit that my appetite is a force to be reckoned with, as I will do almost anything to feed the beast inside me that craves delicious food. And the "when in...!" mentality of traveling in new countries and wanting to integrate seamlessly with locals and their cuisine, is something that I believe strongly in. But regardless, I couldn't help but feeling at that moment, very satisfied and at the same time, very disappointed in myself.<br />
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So where is the line drawn for being a carnivorous yogi? I still don't know. But I woke up this morning with a gnarly chicken hangover. Sticking to juice and papaya today.... but I'll be back you beautiful jerk chicken, you.<br />
I'll even succumb to humoring the locals as the white girl who shows up to a roadside chicken shack with her own set of bamboo fork and knife.<br />
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Merry Christmas from Jamaica....Yeh-mon!</div>
Ashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00590065906616698234noreply@blogger.com0