Sevilla

Recently introduced to a beautiful place by the name of Sevilla.
A city of 1 euro tapas in perfectly crowded and smoky bars. A city of cobblestone streets too small for cars. A city of divine passion, exuding a feeling in motion known as Flamenco. A city spoken of as 'The Gypsy City'. A city that took my hand as I entered it's walls.... no, actually it cradled me in it's Spanish nook for the entirety of my stay. I have never experienced anything as powerful as this city before. I can genuinely say that everything I wanted from this city, I got. And I got it on a platter of gold- Sultry, Spanish, Seville gold actually. This was the first time in all my travels that I felt like the city itself was actually taking care of me. A truly beautiful experience.

A powerful, traveling, yoga teaching, gypsy, wonder woman friend of mine was also in Spain working on a retreat center. She and I met up, rented a Smartcar from Malaga (which by the way, would move more efficiently if you just punched out the floor and ran Flintstone-style in that thing!) and 2 1/2 hours later and we were in Sevilla. We enjoyed heart-shaped sticky, sweet Palmeras with our cortados at La Campana. Baños de Arabes- Turkish baths tucked under ground in a maze of candlelight and Moroccan lanterns. Spent time wandering through Triana- the Gypsy city within the city. Was encouraged by cosmic Sevilla forces to buy a pair of 3" red high heels, and easily broke them in over the course of a 10 hour night galavanting and dancing through the streets of lopsided cobblestones. And was completely consumed by the intoxicating trance of a Flamenco experience, which not only brought me to an unexpected emotional state, but also had me walking away from that building with numb hands and feet as I still tingled with amazement.














The amazing thing about Sevilla, was how feminine it made me feel. I had superwoman powers there, and although I am obviously not a Spanish woman myself (which breaks my heart everyday...) the city of Sevilla made me feel sexy and goddess-empowered. It was as if women ruled the show there, like this city was made special for them. My friend and I sat at cafe tables and tapas bars, and almost every single time had an incredible conversation and connection with women, local and foreign. One pair of ladies from Ireland talked with us for an hour, and then handed us a pair of U2 tickets for that evening to a sold out show. Just because they felt connected to us and our journey. That stuff doesn't just happen- Super Powers, i tell you!
I started to notice in particular, the vast amount of Virgin Mary dedication in the city. Images of the Madonna were ardorned all over the walls of bars and cafes. Mary was dressed in a velvet cloak, or a soft blue head dress and placed behind the altar of churches, where the crucifix would be. I was raised catholic and the sight of Mary has always been a sense of peace and comfort to me. Her story is that of a strong woman with a beautiful soft face, and I loved seeing her there, like the governess of beauty and feminine power looking over this incredible Spanish city.

Ave Maria.... Sevilla Sevilla.

Alpkase

My latest adventure begins in Switzerland. I have never been to this country before, and it is the one that I have the closest family connections to- which is why I have started journey here… and accompanied by my older brother and 79 year old Grandma. A desire to connect with our roots in a curiosity for my family history, this has brought us to Giswil. A small village nestled somewhere in between Lucern, and Interlakken. Farmland for those in sync with the slower, simpler pace of life. Half of the town shares the last name of Abacherli- which I also share through the branches of my family tree. The single commercial grocery store offers cheese made by local farmers, hand knitted wool socks from a neighboring home, and milk from the dairy which you can hear the bells from as you exit the store. This is the village that my great grandmother, at 19 years old stood proudly on the soil and made the dedication to herself to board a ship and go start life in a foreign country- America.

My German-speaking Swiss grandmother has held our hands in making transactions and interactions with locals fluid and easy. While we have held her hands down narrow European stairways, and up steep mountain trails to witness the glory of this spectacular landscape. One that she has not seen for almost 20 years, and one that she assumed she would never see again.

A trip up Fronalpschtok via train, ski lift and by foot on clear and cool September day, we followed signs for “Apkase”- Alp Cheese. A round woman with rosy cheeks and rubber boots on her feet, greeted us at her front door. Then escorted to a space bellow her house where she makes and stores the cheese from her cows. 7 francs for a half a pound of beautiful summer-milk Alp cheese. I walked my wedge of Swiss-bliss from the hands of the farmer, through the moist pasture, past the cows that created it, and down to the bottom of the mountain. I was so happy that my whole body was zinging for hours to come.



16 days of strong cheeses, cold cuts in the sunshine, Post-hike Alp mac n cheese (with applesauce), plum Kuchen, Apple kuchen, warm Lebkuchen, weak beer, strong schnapps, and the best tasting milk and butter I have ever had. 2 days left here, and then on to the next….. How do you say “DETOX” in Spanish??

Bali Belly

I have no sisters. I am the related friend to 3 amazing brothers. But I have found many sisters in life already. I'm talking about those women you meet and instantly feel like youve already shared a life with them. Emily is my sister, my gypsy soul-sister. If we had past lives, then Emily and I were probably fellow Mayan Medicine women in Guatamala, or maybe we met skinning kangaroos as Aboriginals, or maybe we just ran in the same meerkat group. Whatever it was, that deep connection we have welcomed me to Bali last October. She strapped me to a motorbike for 3 days, with nothing but a bikini, cut offs, a sarong (which you really can wear 12 different ways- I tried em all) and an ipod on a Tom Petty repeat as we cruised through tiny villages in the hot Indo heat. After that tour of Bali beaches with my long lost friend, I arrived back to Ubud with a helmet head of salted dreadlocks, a very unique sunburn from sitting on a motorbike for 3 days, and a deep love for my sisters home on the island of Bali.



The film Eat Pray Love came out in theaters this week. An intriguing true story about a successful Manhattan woman in the post- divorced stage of her life. She chooses to flee her world as she knows it in search of self-discovery and awakening her hunger for life, spirit and love again.... In Italy, India and Bali.
Two things deeply affected me during this 2 1/2 hour movie- First of all, there is NO freaken way that she can fit all those clothes for a whole year in those 3 very different countries, into one duffle bag! (Welcome to the current anxiety of my 7 day countdown to packing my bag for the next ___ months of my life abroad...) And second, within the first image of Bali landscape on the big screen, I started to cry. Now this is nothing new, for I am fully equipped with a very sensitive emotional response mechanism for nostalgia, and beautiful things in general.

Last October I bought a ticket from Vientiane, Laos to Bali for one week...... I stayed for one month, and I cried as I flew away. Yes friends, food and familiar things are all left, but it's more about what that place had done for the spirit that brought on these kind of tears. The portal that it opened up deep inside me, and now leaving with no idea how to fill this exposed space. Bali is a very strong and intense place, known as an energy vortex on the planet where things just seem to happen, and they did. It opened up quite a lot that I had never allowed myself to feel, and it sent me away feeling raw, vulnerable, connected, and at peace. Bali is not known as a culinary haven, by any means, So I switched my normal focus from food, to that of the spirit and strength.

The island of Bali is so unique itself that it makes complete sense why it has this power to transform you. Bali is the one island in all of Indonesia that is not Muslim. The classic Hindu rituals are displayed openly- handmade baskets with offerings to the Gods containing rice, gold paper, flowers, banana slices, and coins, are placed on the ground with special prayers and a quick sprinkling of water off Plumeria petals. The papaya tastes like flowers there. All visible wood and stone is intricately carved and created. Monkeys live amongst the people. Sunsets resemble melted rainbow sherbet. The coffee tastes like dirt. The ginger tea tastes like heaven. And Nasi Goreng can cure a quizy Bali Belly or heal a Bintang hangover.


-Nasi Goreng-
Bali-style vegitable fried rice or noodles with prawn chips and a fried egg


1 shallot
1 garlic
1 red chili (seeded)
1/2 teaspoon shrimp paste (belacan)
1 teaspoon palm sugar
1/2 tablespoon soy sauce (kecap manis is ideal)
8 oz. overnight rice (or make the rice 2 to 3 hours before)
1 fried egg
2 tablespoons oil
Prawn chips


Break the overnight/leftover rice using the back of a spoon so they don’t clump together. In a wok, toast the shrimp paste on low heat until it becomes dry and aromatic. Toasted shrimp paste should be somewhat powdery and appear like tiny granules. Fry an egg and set aside. Using a mortar and pestle or a mini food processor, blend the shallot, garlic, red chili, and toasted shrimp paste. Transfer the blended flavoring paste into a small saucer. Heat up a wok and add oil. Add the flavoring paste and stir-fry until aromatic. Add the rice into the wok and stir well with the flavoring paste. Add soy sauce and palm sugar into the rice and continue to stir-fry and make sure that they are well blended with the rice. Dish out, top the nasi goreng with the fried egg and prawn chips, and serve immediately.


There have been many mixed reviews on the film Eat, Pray, Love so far. I liked it, personally. I tend to not have high expectations for films in general, but I did enjoy the movie. And frankly, if a Julia Roberts film about pasta, prayers, beautiful landscapes, and the greatest duffle bag on the planet, can all make more woman travel alone in the world- then I give the movie nothing but good reviews. And if nothing else, then the movie helped remind me how blessed I am to have a working passport, global sisters, and travel size tissues.

Love and Eggs

My first trip to Italy was 3 years ago. It was in the middle of summer, in a small town named Crosia. I had traveled for 12 hours from Tuscany to Calabria to attend a dear friends wedding. She-American, he-Italian, they- crazy in love.

The town was hot. The cars and doorways small. The wedding was breathtaking. And that panini of melon and salami that I enjoyed on the beach was irresistible. A wedding in Italy should be a "must" for all to experience. A gastronomic gathering of the senses. My memory is spotted from that evening- I remember wearing a black dress. I remember cramming into a tiny Fiat and chasing the scooting newlyweds down a spiraling hill from the chapel to the restaurant. I remember being seated for 12 courses but only making it to 8. I remember an Italian duo singing Hotel California at the reception. I remember wine....and grappa. But most of all, aside from the octopus salad (maybe course #5...?) that really had me succumbing to Italian powers, I retain pure blissful images of my friend's face that night. And the happiness that surrounded all of us there.

Well, my beautiful Italian-American fused couple are back in California. So we made lunch.



Peaches and Nectarines with Opal Basil.
Salad of Red Quinoa, Harrisa, and Fried Chickpeas.
Frittata of Sweet Onions and Cherry Tomatoes.



Frittata is a simple and beautiful way to enjoy a meal. Breakfast, lunch or dinner- frittata is acceptable. I tend to not get too crazy with my frittata combinations; one or two vegetables, a fresh herb, plenty of parmesan, and maybe some pancetta if I'm feeling sassy. Hot or cold, its one of my favorite ways to eat eggs.

Frittata with sweet onions, torn basil and cherry tomatoes

Salt and Pepper
12 Organic Eggs
2 ounces Parmesan, grated
1/2 a medium Brown Onion- or 1 torpedo onion (which I used), chopped
2 T Olive Oil
¼ cup Basil Leaves, torn
8 Cherry Tomatoes, cut in half

Preheat oven to 400 F.
Whisk the eggs, Parmesan cheese, and season with salt and pepper. Add olive oil to an oven-proof skillet. Heat over medium heat. Add onions and cook till just caramelized, about 3 minutes. Add egg mixture to the hot skillet. Stir eggs gently with wooden spoon. Continue cooking until eggs are starting to set on the edges. Place skillet in oven for 8 minutes, or until the center is set but not brown. Remove from oven. Remove frittata to warm plate. Cut into wedges and sprinkle with tomatoes, remaining basil and some fresh parmesan. Enjoy!

I'm planning to reconnect with Italy in many ways this next year. Renting a space and working at a restaurant in Florence for winter. Living on a Tuscan farm in early spring, consuming my weight in gelato...... and budgeting it all by eating only frittata for the next month.


Finito...

Skillz

L'Arte de Cappuccino.











This Santa Barbara July-Gloom has me sitting under my down comforter, eating oatmeal with warm apricots, and blogging about hot cappuccinos......Ah, summertime in California.

Transport

I just took my first long train ride in the US. I spent 24 hours on the Amtrack from Portland, Oregon to Santa Barbara, California.

Now mind you, I have endured my fair share of public transportation on this planet: I've exercised a Eurorail pass on damp, un-air-conditioned trains from Calabria, Italy through Oberstoff, Germany. I've mastered the New York Metro. I've yogicly curled myself into the fetal position on the coach window seat of many a 10+ hour flight. I've burned my shins on the hot tail pipe of a Balinese motorbike. I've shared a minivan with 27 Cambodians, when only 17 seats were available. And I recently took a train from the lush and sunny landscape of Oregon through the Summertime coastal fog of Northern California.

I actually love overnight transportation because how else are you going to sit front row and witness the sun fall into pink clouds, then rise again over a beautifully foreign landscape? And all without the need of controlled substances, and loud techno on the beach of an island in Spain!..... not that I've ever endured such chaos for a blissful sunrise and a freshly baked Spanish pastry or anything. But I really do love watching the trek from point A to point B pass by me. When I told my friends and family that I was taking a 24 hour train ride home versus a 2 hour flight, the reactions were that of shock and discomfort. My experience was everything but shocking- quite nice actually. I made friends with strangers, read my book, watched the beautiful landscape pass, and stretched out in a seat that can fully accommodate a 5'11" girl. Far from some past traveling escapades I've endured.



It all reminded me of the many travel experiences I have had over the years- A special 13 hour bus ride in Vietnam this past September, in particular. I typed up this email to a friend on my phone while on that little venture....

It's 6:40 pm on Sunday- I have just boarded a sleeper bus from Hué to Hanoi. 13 hours, with 1 stop for dinner. We bought this ticket this morning from our hotel that we stayed one night in (Hué is pretty damn boring.) for $10 we get a nice sleeper bus, individual seats with blanket, pillow and complimentary water. The pictures in the add show a lovely seat, fully reclined with a soft red blanket, and a white sheet turned down at the corner. Another image of the bathroom on board, clean, big with pretty light fixtures. The whole thing screams "Smooth Sailing!" and for only $10!!!

So as a smart traveler, you ask all the right questions, look the receptionist dead in the eye with serious intent to get what your about to pay for, check out on time, etc.... And somehow you still get totally screwed over!!!
I'm currently laying on a half reclined, vinyl bed ( that's right, vinyl...) of an old bus- probably built in the 80's. The window drapes are a fowl yellow color, stained and torn. The pillow provided was probably white at one point, now it shows little reminders of all it's past visitors. What blanket? What bathroom? The aircon only works on my side (window side) so Julie has her arm draped over my stomach to keep something cool. It smells like chicken feet and lemon dish soap. If there was padding in this seat at one time, it's gone now. The woman in front of me has been playing the same Vietnamese slow rap song (think LLcool J, circa 1998) on her cell phone speaker over and over again There isn't enough light to read (and therefore i write email drafts, and daydream about a shower...) our bathroom stops will most likely include: popping a squat in a bush, or popping a squat in a hole in the dirt. The creaks, squeaks and over use of horn & brakes are all subtle reminders that you are in fact.... on a shitty bus for 13 hours in the middle of Vietnam.

{Oh, We just got a flat tire. We're pulling over.}

:: 1hour later ::
Other than the really cool lightning show outside the left window- my night is gonna suck!! There is no way that I am taking off my shoes. I'm sure I'll contract some creepy ringworm from sweating and sleeping on this chair. And thank Buddha that I actually bought a tiny neck pillow. At least Julie and I fully stocked up on coconut crackers and banana chips before departing tonight....sustaining happiness by means of coconut.

Other than this present moment, I'm doing great! And I'm sure Hanoi and all its delicious street food offerings will be awesome, and worth the journey.

More soon,
- Ash

P.S. The trip took a total of 16.5 hours. We got another flat tire around 3 am. Then they dropped us off in the rain at the wrong station in Hanoi- we had to then take 2 crazy motos to our hotel, in the pouring rain. Ah, the joys of being a filthy backpacker! I'm currently looking into flights for the remainder of my trip.... And maybe some Vietnamese Valium ;)

Sent from my iPhone


(view from my window in Hanoi, September 2009)

But for a moment with a proper Bahn mi sandwhich from lady in the old quarter of Hanoi, or that rocket fuel-like Vietnamese iced coffee I had every morning, or a glass of warm house beer with an ice cube on a crowded street corner of such a fabulous city - Yes, I would gladly choose that bus over the fancy leg room of an American train any day.

Holy Curd

Ahhhhh.....

The sigh of relief, as I finally settle down from a chaotic month. I catered a handful of parties, cooked for a large family for 5 days, a wedding of over a hundred guests, work at the restaurant, preparations for Spain and Morocco, and somehow gathered in a few "cool points" with friends whom have already forgotten that I live here. And I ask you this- who in their right mind would offer to cater a wedding for 100 people, outside, on Solstice Saturday, when I don't have any space in my volvo (due to all of my belongings still residing in the trunk.....minor detail), and I have no kitchen...? Thankfully I have good chef friends and family that let me rent equipment and kitchen space to make the day possible. I am forever in debt to them, I swear.

So I've retreated up to Bend and Portland for the next week to hike, play, eat and breathe before going back down to Santa Barbara to do it all over again. I am a HUGE fan of taking time out of life to re-charge. I think I'm even starting to figure out the balance of working hard and playing hard in life. The Pacific Northwest summer is the perfect escape for me to plug in my cord- strong coffee, dry sunshine, scenic utopia, endless trails and bike paths, a pastry by the name of Ocean Roll, and a plethora of ruggedly handsome Mountain men. Yeah, you can just hook me up to an I.V of that, thank you!

The last time I retreated was when I was in Big Sur in early March. My mom and I met there to celebrate our 25 years together (my birthday.) I am obsessed with Big Sur. I have been for a while now. I rented a friend's shack in the woods, way up above Highway 1. A potbelly fireplace, lofted bed, creaky wood floors, and a bathtub buried in the dirt under the redwoods. I took 4 bubble baths in 2 days.... The best part though was Clovis, the owner of my little shack. Clovis has lived in Big Sur for 50 years and she sent me home with stories of the California coast, an appreciation for bathing outside in winter, and a bag full of her limes with a recipe for Clovis's lime curd. It's now July, and I still can't stop making this curd. Just to dip summer strawberries and peaches in it, or fill a tart crust and top it with meringue, or just do as my mother and I do and ladle spoonfuls of this tangy-Goddess-of-a-dip directly into your mouth. God bless the curd!



Clovis's Citrus Curd
1 1/2 cups fresh lime or lemon juice
1 cup sugar
6 eggs
1 cup heavy cream
whisk together all the ingredients in a medium saucepan. cook over low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the liquid is thick enough to coat the back of the spoon.
I love that this recipe is with heavy cream and not butter (as most curds are). I think it gives the curd a unique richness and milky coloring.

At the moment, I am strongly considering making a large batch of lemon curd, setting up a table in the sunshine, on a street corner here, and selling it by the cupfuls to these Oregon Mountain men. That's my kind of holiday vacation. Happy fourth!