 Another mostly unheard-of (to us non-Angelenos) Los Angeles gem is the Venice Canals.
The canals run through a neighborhood a few blocks inland from Venice Beach, and they look less like their namesake city than a fairy-tale village. A warm, sunny fairy tale village with palm trees. The homes along the canals alternate in style between ginger-bread house and modern but every one is beautiful. The houses practically touch and the front yards, if present at all, are tiny but beautifully landscaped with shrubs, palms, and colorful flowers. Many of the yard trees are hung with Christmas lights all year 'round and some are hung with "tree art": ornaments of colored glass or small metal sculptures. There's a walkway around the canals and ornate foot-bridges over the water, so you can stroll along and try to decide which house is your favorite. Mine is one that has an infinity pool where a carport used to be! Part of the movie "Valentine's Day" was filmed at the Venice Canals. The first time I saw "Valentine's Day" (panned by critics, but, alas, one of my all -time favorites!) I wondered if the place with the canals really existed or was just built on a movie lot. The next time I visited Los Angeles I found out for myself. It's just amazing that a person can have kicked around this planet for over half a century and be unaware of some of the earthly delights to be found here.
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   I hesitate to write about Manhattan Beach, California, I mean, it would be a shame if this beautiful little beach community were to become a Los Angeles tourist destination. Which is why I hesitate to write about it - better to let it just remain a secret gem along the Pacific Ocean. So secret that even the sharks don't know about it. Or didn't know about it. They say the sharks, which have recently been stalking Santa Monica, Venice, and the other Southern California beaches, don't enter Manhattan Beach because Manhattan beach is a scooped-out indentation along the coastline and sharks only swim in a straight line so they miss Manhattan beach. Or used to miss Manhattan Beach. But apparently the sharks - or at least one shark (but hey, one finds out, he'll let all his shark buddies in on it, you know how that goes) - has found Manhattan Beach.  A mother who took this photo at Manhattan Beach a couple days ago found that her picture had been photo-bombed by a shark!
So it's already begun with the sharks. The humans can't be far behind. I once read an article by the editor of Parents' Magazine commenting on some research by an economist on the material benefits of having children. The economist had concluded that there were no real tangible benefits to having children. Children were expensive. The average (supposedly) cost (back then ) of raising a child (not counting college) was around $100,00 and children generally lowered one's material standard of living, in addition to the stress and turmoil they added to one's life.
The editor of Parents' Magazine didn't dispute the economist's conclusion, but offered that there was at least one real benefit to having children: having the chance of being instrumental in, and at the same time sharing in, the newness and wonder that a child experiences in everything in life. That thought still resonates with me. I alternate between envy of and happiness for people whose grandchildren live close by. And yet whenever I see young parents immersed in the exhaustion-laced joys of young parenthood, I find all the old thoughts that used to pass through my brain when I was in the baby -phase of parenting once again popping into my mind. And sometimes out of my mouth. A few: - It's lucky babies are so cute or they'd never get away with it all. -On the planet Venus gravity is 32 times heavier than on Earth. Trying to schlepp around a baby and toddler is like living on Venus. -I wish my kids could have known me before I had them. -It's good if there's two parents so that each can have a turn eating dinner. -My daily mantra, which I repeat to myself all day: clean clothes and food on the table...clean clothes and food on the table...clean clothes and food on the table... -Before I had a baby and a toddler I had time for the luxuries - like lunch. -I've become so disorganized, I do believe this nursing baby is sucking out my brains. -My dear little ones, when you're fourteen you may hold a peck of grievances against me, but right now you think I'm pretty swell. -My life may have been easier before you came along; but now that you're here, I can't imagine life without you! - It's lucky babies are so cute or they'd never get away with it all.
-On the planet Venus gravity is 32 times heavier than on Earth. Trying to schlepp around a baby and toddler is like living on Venus. -I wish my kids could have known me before I had them. -It's good if there's two parents so that each can have a turn eating dinner. -My daily mantra, which I repeat to myself all day: clean clothes and food on the table...clean clothes and food on the table...clean clothes and food on the table... -Before I had a baby and a toddler I had time for the luxuries - like lunch. -I've become so disorganized, I do believe this nursing baby is sucking out my brains. -My dear little ones, when you're fourteen you may hold a peck of grievances against me, but right now you think I'm pretty swell. -My life may have been easier before you came along; but now that you're here, I can't imagine life without you! -  I love airports.
I think it must be by some kind of proper Karmic balance that twenty-seven years ago, long before it became evident that my then-toddling children had inherited their mother's travel-loving DNA, we moved to a house located fifiteen minutes by car from Port Columbus, and I’m talking fifteen minutes from our garage to the line at the check-in counter. How many times while driving to the airport to drop off or pick up one of our departing or returning brood have Tom and I reminded ourselves that, unbeknownst to us at the time, moving close to the airport was the smartest thing we ever did? I love picking people up at the airport. I love waiting at the arrival gate, the anticipation in the air, not only mine but everybody else's. I love watching people anxiously watch the exit, watching them catch sight of their awaited one, the cries of happiness, the hugs and kisses, sometimes tears, or sometimes just a brief greeting, cordial or cool, before arriver and arrivee walk off quickly together. Last time I was waiting at the arrival gate to pick someone up there was standing next to me a group of young 20-something jeans- and -hoodie dudes. As soon as their awaited fellow dude exited the security area they ran to him and he to them and he jumped into the arms of one his dudes and wrapped his arms and legs around him while the others converged joyfully upon them. Airports are so full of emotion. I also love flying. I didn’t much care for the movie “Up In The Air” (I know, I know, I’m the only person on the planet who didn’t think that movie was written and directed by God), but I did identify with George Clooney’s character, the guy whose comfort zone was on planes and in airports. That feeling resonated with me. And I always look forward to the layover time. There’s something about being in an airport terminal. I mean it’s like you're neither here nor there, in no real place or time, with no demands on you except to get to the next leg of your journey on time. It's liberating. As is the plane trip. With all the bad press flying gets these days, I have to honestly say I still love being on a plane. So what if the seats are too small and too close together? I just get into my own zone. I don't need to converse with my flight mates, and I avoid all but the necessary social interactions. Though as a rule I'm a terrible sleeper in a clean, warm, comfortable bed in a dark, quiet bedroom, sit me in an airplane seat and I immediately conk out. I don't even need to tilt back the seat and annoy the person behind me, I can sleep with my seat back upright while the seat in front of me is tilted into my lap. Go figure. I think better while flying, write better while flying, feel better while flying. Like I said, go figure. One time during a flight the turbulence was rocking our plane so roughly that the flight attendants had to stop serving drinks and some passengers were calling out the Lord's name in fear. Me, I was rocked to sleep. The only real problem with flying is that airport food, with few exceptions, tends to be awful. I can't comment on plane food since I never spring for the obscenely over-priced stuff. The up side for me, though, was the discovery of Combos, peanut M&M's (Used to use trail mix 'til I figured out that peanut M&M's were of the same basic construction as trail mix but at half the price), and diet Coke as palate-pleasing food substitutes while flying. And when else could you legitimately get away with consuming Combos, peanut M&M's and diet Coke all day long? Anyway, the reason today's blog arrived so late is that today I flew from Columbus to Los Angeles. How was my trip? The check-in line at Port Columbus was slow and stretched to kingdom come; a gate attendant was surly to me; the plane was packed, babies cried and kids whined; I had the window seat so I had to keep climbing over my seat mates to get to the ever-present line for the bathroom; I had trouble getting my suitcase in and out of the overhead; my daughter was stuck in an LA holiday traffic jam and was late picking me up. It was a great trip! Menu for the Feast: Honey mustard roast Pork, roast beef au jus, mashed potato casserole, green beans almondine, stuffed mushrooms, pasta with tomatoes and garlic sauteed in olive oil, ham and cheese stromboli, spinach and mushroom stromboli, apple pecan romaine salad, layered guacamole dip and chips, peach crisp, cherry almond streusel pie, ice cream, whipped cream, mini-cupcakes, cookies, beer, wine, soft drinks, coffee, tea. December 25: I made layered guacamole dip. Theresa and Claire made cookies. Tom and I partially set up dining room table December 26: 7:00 am : I Pulled out pork, beef, mushrooms, stromboli, cherry pies, peach crisp and cupcakes to defrost. 10:00 am: I Put partially thawed roast beef in crock pot. 10:30 am: Claire & Theresa iced cup cakes. 10:30 am: Tommy cut lettuce for salad. 10:00 am: I made tomato sauce. Bought wrong tomatoes! Ended up using: 26 oz. crushed tomatoes, 15 1/2 oz. diced tomatoes. 11:00 am : Pies & crisp not defrosting quickly enough. Put them at 350 degrees for 20 minutes. 11:30 am: I Put partially thawed pork roast in crock pot. 11:30 am: I put partially thawed mushrooms in microwave to thaw more. 11:45 am: I put on pasta to boil. 11:50 am: I put partialy thawed mushooms in oven at 375 degrees. Done in 20 minutes! Too soon! 12:00 pm: Tommy chopped apples & pecans, added them to salad. Salad finished. 12:25 pm: I mixed sauce with pasta, transferred to chaffing pan. 12:40pm : Tommy put four strombolis into oven at 375 degrees. Baked for 35 minutes. 1:05 pm: Tommy made potato casserole - used instant potatoes (turned out great!) - and transferred to chafing pan. 1:10 pm: Pork roast still ice cold! I transferred it from crock pot to microwave. Cooked for five minutes. 1:10 pm: Theresa and Claire finished setting out chips, cupcakes and cookies. 1:15 pm: Claire cut the strombolis. 1:15 pm: I put the last stromboli into the oven. 1:16 pm: I pulled plastic container of pork from microwave and set it on a still-hot burner on stove. Destroyed plastic container and burner. Pork unharmed but still cold. I transferred pork to a pot, heated it on the stove. 1:20 pm: I made green beans almondine. Transferred to chaffing dish 1:20 pm: Tom's sister Mary Jane called to let us know that she was still half an hour away. (Mary Jane was bringing the rolls for the hot roast beef sandwiches!) 1:25pm: I put the cold mushrooms back into the oven for ten minutes. 1:35 pm: All the food on the table, all the relatives arrived except Mary Jane and the rolls. 1:36 pm: I invited the family to dig into the guacamole dip and mushrooms while we waited for the rolls. 1:50 pm: Mary Jane and the rolls arrived! 1:55 pm: Said grace. 1: 56 pm: The feast began! 7:00 pm: The feast ended. 
  Chapter one
Yesterday morning I went upstairs to wake my daughter Theresa who was visiting from out of town for the holidays. I saw that she wasn't in the bed she'd started out in the night before, a brand new queen-size I'd bought about a month ago so that when my kids came to visit with their spouses, kids, friends, friends' friends, whoever, there would be plenty of bed space (unlike Christmases past when we've come up short in the bed department and had to delegate people to couches and blow-up mattresses). When I asked Theresa why she switched beds she said that the new bed was hard as a rock. That concrete has more give than that new bed mattress. I hurried to said bed and tried it out. Aw geez, Theresa was right! The brand new bed was unsleepable upon! It wasn't at all the same mattress that I'd tried out in the store, of that I was sure! I checked the model number on the mattress against the number on my receipt and the two matched. But that mattress wasn't the one I ordered! So here I was with a month-old, slightly slept-upon rock of a mattress that I probably couldn't return, and even if I could I couldn't deal with it today, Christmas Eve, since my day was already crowded with need-to-dos: more shopping, more cooking, an airport pick-up, a church-work obligation; but with three more kids arriving today, now what was I supposed to do about beds?! Theresa pointed out that there actually would be enough beds for everyone even without the queen-size. "So you don't have to worry about the mattress today," she said. "Why don't you just wait until after the holidays to deal with it." "Fine," I huffed, "but then what? What do I do if the mattress store won't take back this useless mattress that is not the one that I ordered?!" "Then," interjected my husband Tom, "Just get rid of it and buy a new one." "What?!" I shrieked, "You want to throw away a brand new mattress?!" Tom shrugged. "Find some family that needs a mattress. Just give it away and buy a new one. What difference does it make?" Wow. He was right. What difference would it make if I went out and bought another new mattress? Would we miss a meal over it? A credit card payment? A water bill? A gas or electric bill? Was there a single other want or need over the course of our whole lives that we'd have to deny ourselves if I went out and bought a new mattress? So just like that my problem was solved and my inner sea was calmed by the healing powers of money. Chapter Two Later in the day I was at Peace Lutheran Church where I'd volunteered to check that the worship stations were ready for the Christmas Eve service. As I passed by the church office I noticed a young woman standing in the hallway who didn't look like a member of our congregation. She looked, well, poor. I asked her if she needed help and she began explaining to me that the toys she'd requested for her children weren't in the Christmas bag she'd received from our church, so she must have received the wrong bag and could she exchange it for the right one? I asked the girl to wait while I found our church administrator and told her the woman's problem. She gave me a helpless look. "Everything's gone," she said, "there's nothing left here to give her." I'm not sure how our church administrator dealt with the young woman's problem. I thought about the woman on and off during the day, I felt bad for her and concluded that, right or wrong, in her shoes , I, too would probably have returned to the church in hopes of getting what I'd asked for for my children. But it wasn't until that evening when I was helping to light our luminaries and thinking about the metaphore of Light of the World when it hit me like a sudden burst of light : I could have helped that woman! I could have solved her wrong toy problem the same way my wrong mattress problem was solved: with money! I could have zipped over to the nearest ATM and snagged enough money to buy her the right gifts for her children! Because I had enough. More than enough money to buy out her problem, if only I would have thought of it! But buy the time I thought of it it was too late in the day. And then...Well, in retrospect, giving that girl money might in reality have turned out to be a bad idea. Merry Chistmas, and God bless us every one with situations that make us wrestle with our consciences and question our values.  I bought a few trinkets for my two-year-old grand daughter, the first and only Christmas shopping I've done in years. Family gift-giving ended several years ago by mutual agreement among Tom and I and our adult kids, and the feeling was so liberating that I swore off Christmas gifting of the material variety altogether and have never looked back. Except that now I've replaced
over-the-top Christmas shopping with full-tilt-boogie Christmas cooking. And, by natural extension, Christmas eating. And now that I think of it, why am I saying I do no Christmas shopping? Of course I do Christmas shopping: Christmas grocery shopping ! A ton of it! The shopping and cooking start weeks before as I try to get a handle on the big family reunion meal that we always host the day after Christmas. My basement freezer must be absolutely cleared out by the middle of December so that I can start filling it up, up, up with food for the up-coming feast. December 26 is only the beginning of the end of Christmas feasting for us. Our standing Christmas celebration is a three-day event that starts Christmas Eve afternoon when we ( by "we" I mean Tom and whatever kids are home for Christmas. I don't mean me, as I'm still in the kitchen cooking, of course) go out and line our street with luminaries, that is, plastic-milk-bottles-that-we-save-all-year-then- put -inside -them -candles-in-baby-food-jars luminaries. That's our Christmas gift to the neighborhood and brings much cheer. We have friends who, having no family in town, embrace their friends as their family on Christmas Eve and have a big, wonderful party in their lovely home. (I'll admit, once December rolls around I start anticipating the arrival of "The Invitation", always a moment of pre-celebration celebration! ) So, then, on Christmas Eve we have somewhere to go with our children , a reason to get dressed up, people to be with, all gifts. And then there's the food, food, food! For their Christmas Eve party our friends set out tables full of food not only in the dining room but all over the house: tables full of meats, cheeses, breads, meatballs, shrimp, casseroles, vegetables, dips, snacks, cakes, cookies, choclates, a raspberry trifle in glass bowl that always looks to beautiful to eat - and yet we bring ourselves to devour it! In the basement there's always a Christmas movie showing on the TV for the little ones, or the big ones who still secretly , (or not) love the Christmas movies. Tom and I are usually ready to leave the Christmas Eve festivites by ten o'clock, though my children have been known to stay until the wee hours of the morning. Which is why the next day of feasting usually doesn't get underway until ten or even eleven o'clock on Christmas morning. Our Christmas breakfast (or brunch, or lunch, whenever we get around to it) is what we offically call "The Feast" : a family meal of eggs, sausage, potatoes, toast, fruit salad, cinnamon rolls, juice, coffee, tea. And then, after The Feast is consumed and the clean-up squared away the rest of the day is devoted sitting around feeling like stuffed geese, watching movies, playing chinese checkers, going back to bed, etc. Except, of course, for me (and anyone else who can muster up the energy to assist): I'll still be found rocking the kitchen, getting ready for the family Christmas reunion the following day. I suppose the irony of all this Christmas Day cooking - or result of it - is that we never have a nice home cooked Christmas dinner. We always have a nice, restaurant-cooked Christmas dinner. It takes most of the day to recover from breakfast, but by evening we're generally ready for another round of eating and ready to get out of the house after sitting around all day. The challenge, of course, is finding a restaurant open on Christmas, but we have found one that's become our Christmas night tradition: The Sakura Japanese Steak House. It's where we always head Christmas night. It's where we'll head this year, too, if the fates allow. On the morning of December 26 it's all hands on deck and boots on the ground as we all run around like a bunch of crazies (or a bunch of people having company), finishing up the final touches to the big meal. At 1:30, Lord willing, the buffet is laid out on the dining room table, the kitchen counter, some small tables brought up from the basement, and any other available surface we can find, and the relatives start arriving. And eating. And eating. And eating. There's usually 32 of us at the Day After Christmas Family Reunion and Feast, though this year due to one circumstance after another our number will be half: there will be only sixteen this year. But be we big or small in number, the great final feast will go on! So here's the menu for this year's Day After Christmas Feast For Sixteen: Honey mustard roast Pork, roast beef au jus, mashed potato casserole, green beans almondine, stuffed mushrooms, pasta with tomatoes and garlic sauteed in olive oil, ham and cheese stromboli, spinach and mushroom stromboli, salad, layered guacamole dip and chips, peach crisp, cherry almond streusel pie, ice cream, whipped cream, mini-cupcakes, cookies, beer, wine, soft drinks, coffee, tea. (If anybody wants recipes I'm glad to share!) As the relatives pile high their plates they'll tell me that I've really over-done it. They always tell me I've really over-done it. They're right. I always really over-do it. But the truth is, I just don't know how to do anything unless I over do it. For better or worse, that's my gift to the planet. Our pink-lit hallway, "Uptown"  I woke up in the middle of the night sweating, feeling like I'd been dropped into a blast furnace. I threw the covers off just as Tom staggered, heat drugged, from his bunk bed and plopped onto the futon. Hot air was blasting loud as a windstorm into our room from the vent on the pipe that ran along the ceiling of our room.
"I 'm going down to the desk," Tom gasped. "Dan's not there between midnight and 7 am," I reminded him, "we're on our own!" But since there was nothing else to do and it was too hot to stay in the room Tom went downstairs anyway while I wrestled the windows open to let in some snowy 2 - degree air. I was standing in the pink-lit hallway outside our room when Tom returned. "There's nobody at the desk," he said. We went back into our room to see if the cold air had at all neutralized the killer heat - it hadn't, not much. But then the hot air blast suddenly clicked off and after a few minutes, with the open window, the room cooled off and we crawled back into our bunks. The next morning we told the hospitaliero - not Dan, but another friendly young guy - about our hot, hot room. He rolled his eyes with an "Oh, not again!" expression. He told us he'd take care of it, which we sincerely hoped he would, since we had to spend one more night in that room. On the brunch agenda this Sunday morning was a bus trip with Claire and Miguel to the West End Bakery, an eatery known for its its dessert repertory, to which had recently been added a new confection that I'd never heard of: the cronut. A hybrid of croissant and doughnut, Miguel informed us it was the current darling of the dessertitarian crowd. Since it was understood that we'd be topping off the meal with some of these cronuts (or some equally decadent sugar entities) I decided to change my usual breakfast/brunch strategy and order a spinach salad in order to save room for the really important stuff. The others ordered eggs in some form or other, but when our food arrived and I saw the potatoes that accompanied their benedicts and scramblers, I had to call the server back to bring me some of those potatoes! They were small red new potatoes roasted in herbs and topped with a generous drizzle of a buttery sauce. Were they good? Oh yeah! (Later Tom told me he was glad I enjoyed my potatoes so much, since the portion I'd ordered had cost a whopping six dollars!). After we all dutifully cleaned our plates came the moment we all anticipated: the arrival of the desserts! Miguel had a beautiful-looking apple-cranberry cobler and Claire had...well, now, I can't seem to remember what Claire had...I guess I was too lost in my pumpkin-cream cheese cronut coated with cinnamon sugar and topped with slivered almonds, though I did take a moment to study Tom's s'more cronut filled with chocolate creme and topped with chocolate icing along with graham cracker crumbles and bits of marshmallow. Looks-wise, these cronuts in no way ressembled a croissant, they were closer in form to a doughnut, though a long rectangular , square-edged donught. The casing was of a different consistancy than a yeast doughnut, firmer, slighly flakier, though it didn't exactly seem like croissant material, either. Oh well, whatever it was, it was good. After brunch we hopped back on the bus and headed to Target to buy a tree for Claire and Miguel's apartment. We spent the afternoon helping them decorate their tree then consuming as many episodes of "Breaking Bad" as we could stuff in before it was time to leave again for dinner. We wanted to go to Paisano's, a pizzeria with some of the best pizza on the planet, but it meant we'd have to take the bus and the thought of stepping back outside, where the cold had become the kind of cold that seeps under your coat, hat, and gloves and into your boots, so daunted us that we waivered and nearly opted to have the pizza delivered. But then when Tom reimnded us how much better pizza hot from the oven is than pizza cold from the delivery ride, we rallied our courage and headed out for the bus stop. Paisano's deep-dish pizza is like no other: its crust is, I'd say, more shortening-based than yeast-based. That is to say, instead of being soft and doughy it's more like a thick firm pie crust. But trust me, it's good! As I am a cheese pizza purist I ordered my own plain cheese pizza while Miguel and Claire shared a half pineapple-spinach and half pineapple-spinach-ham pizza. (Whatever floats your boat, right?) Tom opted for the spaghetti marinara, though the topping was more crushed tomatoes than sauce. He said it was good. Claire and Miguel said their pizza was good. My pizza was good. So it was all good. After dinner we all got back on the bus and said our good-byes before Tom and I got off at our stop and Claire and Miguel got off at theirs. The rest of our night was, thankfully, uneventful, as our front desk guy did in fact take care of our psycho heating vent problem from the night before. The next morning after we packed up we went back to the front desk to ask about a breakfast place close to the hostel. Our hospitaliero (again not Dan - sadly, we hadn't seen him for a couple of days now. He was nice. ) pointed us towards a little place around the corner on Milwaukee Avenue called The Bongo Room. Funny name for a little breakfast diner, but the place was kind of funny (in a good way!) in the decor department, too: There were victorian-looking wall sconces, Greek pillars, a brick wall, a green wall, a blue wall - something to suit your style, whatever your style might be! And we thoroughly enjoyed our final meal of eggs (sunny-side fup or me, omlette for Tom), toast and potatoes. Then our trip to Chicago was over, we hopped back into our Focus and drove home to Columbus. In conclusion: would we stay at a hostel again? Hecks, yes! Would we stay at the IHSP Chicago again, with it's fun-house hallsways, random bathrooms and psycho heating vents? Double hecks yes!  The lobby of the IHSP Chicago Hostel When we woke up the next morning the view from our blinds-jammed-open window was of
a flurry of snowflakes that seemed to be blowing around more for effect than adding to the four inches of serious snow that had piled up during the night. Though we were meeting Claire and Miguel for breakfast Tom and I decided to go down to the hostel kitchen for some free coffee and tea and to check out ( perhaps for future reference) the all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast. Which turned out to be an all-you-can-eat- so -long- as -you-cook-it-yourself- pancake breakfast: on the counter were bowls of batter, two griddles, and sundry pancake supplies: chocolate chips, syrup, jam, etc. There were several hostelers eating or in the midst of making their pancakes, which we had to admit did look like some prime pancakes: big, fluffy, perfectly circular, golden brown. Must have been some quality batter and class griddles. ( I definitely credit Dan with the excellence of the operation. He seemed the type to make everything in his care into a work of art.). As soon as we entered the kitchen Tom and I were aware of a sublte but major difference between the dynamic of this hostel and that of the albergues along the Camino and it was this: here we were half a dozen strangers in one room and everyone was politely going about their own business. In an albergue two pilgrims couldn’t have been in the same room without immediately connecting. Of course Tom remedied that situation right away and started asking people their vital statistics and whipping up conversation among the group. We ended up meeting a middle-aged couple (though quite a bit lower middle-aged than us) who turned out not to be exactly a couple, but a guy from New York and a gal from New Jersey who meet up for a weekend in Chicago every year around Christmas time (A “Same Time Next Year”situ? Eh, who knows? Still, if you wanted to stay in Chicago under the radar this would be the place to stay!). We also chatted with a 19-year old German boy who was touring the states with New Orleans as his next stop. He said he liked America but wished he'd planned the trip for two years from now when he'd be twenty-one and could legally drink. (I wanted to tell him that maybe in rertrospect he'd see that perhaps he was better off navigating our wonderful country sober). Claire and Miguel walked from their apartment and arrived at our hostel at around 9:15, which meant that we'd now be part of the brunch crowd, having passed the 9:00 Saturday deadline for being part of the breakfast crowd. It's far preferable to be part of the breakfast crowd on a weekend morning in Bucktown, as the brunch crowd is, well a crowd! Though the weather was biting cold - 18 degrees, wind chill of 4 - we walked to Claire and Miguel's (and, apparently every one else's) favorite brunch spot, a little place called Toast, about a (freezing!) half mile from the hostel. Still it was a visually lovely walk, snow falling on the already snow-covered neighborhood...snow-covered, but by no means snow-bound! I swear this city springs to life in the snow! As soon as the first flakes start sticking the plows hit the streets and the residents hit the sidewalks with their shovels. I got a kick out of all the little kids out shovelling the sidewalks, pushing those shovels along at little-kid speed! And the city sidewalks seemed busy enough, full of people bundled and booted up and out and about their usual Saturday morning business. Except that for the first time ever, much to our wonder and surprise, when we arrived at Toast there was no line out the door! We were actually able to get a seat right away! Miguel offered the observation that it must be the freezing weather that kept all but the hard-core brunchers home this morning; though it turned out that utimately the weather didn't keep the brunchers away, just delayed them a bit; by the time we left we had to squeeze by the usual line out the door. A little personal historical note on Toast: last time we visited, while we were milling around outside Toast waiting with all the other prospective brunchers for a table I recognized the actress [and native Chicagoan] Marley Maitlin, whom I loved in "Children of a Lesser God", "What the Bleep Do We Know?" and "Desperate Housewives". She was with a young man whom I guessed to be her son. While I tried not to stare too much, I guess I sort of did. I just couldn't get over how petite and pretty she was in person. Every time she noticed me noticing her I smiled, though I realized I must be overdoing it when she finally shot me a pleading look that said, "Please stop staring at me, you crazy lady!" So I did. Anyway, when discussing with Claire and Miguel what we'd like to do during our visit it came out that all any of us really felt like doing was trying as many different restaurants as we could fit in and staying inside the rest of the time. Sounded good to me. So, like bears preparing for a long cold winter, we'd eat and hibernate our way through the weekend , starting here at Toast where each of us ordered some variation of egg : a spinach goat cheese omlette for Claire, eggs Benedict for Miguel, Tom ordered the Denver omlette and I ordered the only thing I ever order for breakfast: two sunny-side up eggs whose yolks I break and mix with the side potatoes (can't seem to pull myself out of the rut, no matter how tempting the other options!). However, the vison of those hostel pancakes still dancing in my head, I did also order a round of pancakes for us to share for dessert. All I can add is that Toast does deserve its reputation as a great brunch (or breakfast if you arrive before 9:00) destination. During the course of brunch Miguel and Claire confessed to a hankering for some of my cherry almond streusel pie so we decided to schedule a supply-run, by bus, to The Jewel, their local supermarket. Isn't "The Jewel" a great name for a supermarket? Sounds like a place that must carry all kinds of rare delicacies. Unfortunately, the one delicacy I needed to make my pie, canned sour cherries, was not to be found at The Jewel. I had to settle for frozen sweet cherries. After The Jewel we headed back to Claire's apartment where I made my pie then sat around with the others drinking tea and watching the snow and some old episodes of "Breaking Bad". (Ah, "Breaking Bad"! I could write a treatise on that show. A couple blogs from now I will!) Eventually it was time to bundle back up and venture back out into the cold for our dinner destination, a downtown Chicago restaurant and brewery called Revolution Brewing where the handles of the beer taps are shaped like raised fists and the beers have names like "Anti-Hero IPA", "Eugene Porter", and (groan!) "Fistmas Ale". The others sampled the brews while I stuck with my diet Coke. The food was sooo good!: Claire, being a vegetarian, had a tempeh Reuben while Miguel had a real (that is, corned beef) Reuben; Tom ordered the Beef Wellington (mostly just to find our what it was - turns out it was a piece of pot roast capped with puff pastry) with mashed potatoes, while I had the most excellent burger - cooked rare as can be and piled with carmelized onions, but so big I could only eat half of it. Earlier in the day we'd made the command decision that, cold weather or not, we really couldn't be in Chicago at Christmas time without at least stopping by the Christkindlmarket. This is an outdoor Christmas crafts market in Daley Square modeled after the Christkindlmarkt in Nuremberg, Germany. After we'd walked a few rounds of the market, mingled with the crowd, looked at the Chistmas lights, and breathed in the yummy aromas of the hot food and hot spiced wine, we headed back to Claire's apartment to dig into the cherry almond struesel pie. Having had to settle for using frozen sweet cherries instead of canned sour cherries, I felt the pie turned out well enough, though in truth it it lacked the je ne sais quoi that makes that pie such a standout. For one thing, the color was off: it resembled a blueberry pie more than a cherry pie. In fact, I couldn't swear it didn't taste more like blueberry pie! But in the end we ate it and it was good enough covered with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. But it was a bit off. Here's the receipe for cherry almond struesel pie as it should be (My adaptation of a recipe from the Elegant Meals From Inexpensive Meats cookbook): 2 cans of tart red cherries 2 tablespoons quick-cooking tapioca 1 cup sugar 1/4 tsp cinnamon 9-inch unbaked pie shell Almond Streusel (recipe follows) 1. Drain one can of cherries then mix it with other can of cherries undrained, (in other words, use only the juice from one can), tapioca, sugar, and cinnamon. Let stand for 15 minutes. Spread in pie shell. Spoon streusel mixture evenly over the cherries. 2. Bake in a 375 degree oven for 45 to 50 minutes, until filling is bubbly all over and topping is well browned. Almond Streusel: Cut 1/2 cup butter or margarine into a mixture of 1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar and 3/4 cup flour until mixture is crumbly. mix in 1/2 cup slivered almonds. Enjoy! |
"Tropical Depression"
by Patti Liszkay Buy it on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BTPN7NYY 
"Equal And Opposite Reactions"
by Patti Liszkay Buy it on Amazon: http://amzn.to/2xvcgRa or from The Book Loft of German Village, Columbus, Ohio 
Or check it out at the Columbus Metropolitan Library
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December 2024
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