Where Do We Get Off?

So often in life the hard question is not where to start, but rather where to stop. I write this entry from the Admirals club in the Dallas airport, en route to New York. It's no Chez Panisse, but it beats the hell out of the food court on the main concourse. Then again, as Lenny Bruce used to say, you have to know the bad to know the good. Plus, dude, Manchu Wok is actually kind of good.



Our original flight (AA740): cancelled. The flight onto which we were immediately rebooked by my most excellent mother and travel agent (AA750): cancelled. The flight which we hope will deliver us home to the waiting embrace of 460 Sixth Street (AA766): delayed.

I feel the merry-go-round of this proneymoon slowing to a gentle stop, but does that mean the blogging has to end? We're considering continuing post-proney, through the wedding parties and possibly beyond. It's difficult to say how long our cyber-diary will continue, but for the moment we have unfinished business. So here goes.

It turns out that in the sun, Vancouver is a gorgeous city. It reminded me of Barcelona. A kind of Asian, Canadian, Pacific Northwest Barcelona. Cradled by mountains and water, the feel on the street is contained but vibrant. Amanda noticed several times that the city was glistening.





Food was the pretext for a day of walking the city. Actually, food had become the pretext for the better part of our trip. (As my mother likes to say, food is the new rock and roll. As long as food doesn't become the new sex, I'm okay.) We started yesterday at the Granville Island market. We thought it might be difficult to find, but the giant sign welcoming us also indicated that we were not the first tourists to visit the market.



After coffee at the Blue Parrot, we walked back into the city center, through Yaletown to Rodney's Oysters. Let me just say this: awesome. Rodney's bar is limited to beer, wine and what they call "caesars". I would call it the tangiest Bloody Mary ever. Amanda took one look at the bar staff and said "this is where the cool guys hang out." Whatevs. I was too wrapped up in my caesar and oysters to notice the rocker waiters shucking oysters with distracted abandon and taking our order with subtle lisps. At least they weren't glistening.





Yaletown is, as we had heard, much like the Pearl District in Portland. It's a bit like I imagine Soho in Manhattan was fifteen years ago. So depending on how you feel about cobblestone streets with beautiful people walking on them, converted loft spaces housing trendy boutiques and restaurants, you will either like or dislike Yaletown. Personally, I dig it.



We realized how walkable the city was when we passed quickly from Yaletown to Gastown for our next stop, Salt. Amanda said, "Gastown is like the lower east side of Vancouver." It makes sense, actually, since Gastown touches tummies with Chinatown. much like the LES, which pretty much IS Chinatown.

Located halfway down Blood Alley, Salt is a hip spot for meats, cheeses, condiments and wine. It's very hard to find, however, and we ended up standing on a corner, map unfolded, pointing and squinting, looking obviously lost. A relatively funky looking guy with an unidentifiable accent who introduced himself as Joel led us through the Gastown streets to the tiny alley in which Salt sits. I wasn't sure if he was a good samaritan or a transient in need of some spare change. It was a good example of the fine line that Vancouver walks. Gritty, yet Canadian. In the end, Joel extended his hand wishing us well, and never asked for a dime. I chose not to offer anything because I didn't want to offend. He could have been the mayor for all I knew.

In fact, I'd like to take just a moment to talk about funky people on our trip. From San Francisco all the way to Vancouver, we found there to be a large population of homeless, drunk, high and what I would describe as generally crazy people on the streets. Everyone I asked about this attributed it to the good weather and permissive governments along the west coast. It struck me as something people weren't talking about either because it ruined the mood, or because they had simply learned to accept it. I never really felt unsafe but it was noticable in Union Square, at the Portland Farmers Market, at the Pike Street Market in Seattle, in front of the art museum in Vancouver, and all through wine country and the Redwood Highway, the number of funky people, many with dogs, wandering amidst an otherwise healthy economy. But I digress.

Like most of the cities we visited on this trip, Vancouver was very excited about its local produce. We tasted at least a dozen dignified BC wines that have never crossed the border, and most likely never will due to their small production runs. Our waiter described the corned beef at Salt as "the best you will ever taste". Maybe it was the wine flight talking, but I agreed.





From Salt, we walked through the West End, along the foot of Stanley park and eventually to the water, before heading back to the hotel for a nap. Each neighborhood in Vancouver has a distinct feel, but they're all relatively close to one another.



For the final act of a trip that started as simply a western adventure and ended in decadent swill and indigestion, we headed to Vij's for our last supper. Vij's is Vancouver's most famous Indian restaurant, and its chef is as much a celebrity in his own right as Tojo. It's no surprise that Vij's was also featured on No Reservations earlier this year. In fact, unlike Tojos, they actually don't accept reservations and we were told the wait would be the better part of an hour and a half when we arrived at 8:30 on a Wednesday night. But the vibe was so pleasant and the reputation of the food so good, we had to stick it out. In the end, we waited an hour and it was worth it.

The experience was extremely positive, and the price point much less surreal than Tojo's. Still, I think Amanda and I both realized that the eating bonanza was coming to a close. As much as I'd love to keep it up indefinitely, it's simply not realistic. I'm not saying the proneymoon is over. In fact, we're just getting warmed up. But if you don't hear from us for a few days, just assume we're walking off some of the west coast and making room for the next installment.

We couldn't begin to rank the cities, bars, restaurants, people, views. They were all so great, even when they weren't. But, a brief thank you to Lisa, Jason, Rylie and Reese in Phoenix, Jamie, Christopher and Toby in Vegas, Poppy and Granny in Carlsbad, Terry, Michael, Sasha and Hobson in Mill Valley, Eric in San Francisco, Ryan, Mary and Ally in Portland, Jason, Beth, Harper, Danielle and Eddie, Jerry and Jen in Seattle for making us comfortable.

Tojo Style

Walking down West Broadway last night in Vancouver, Amanda explained, "the difference between this Toys R Us and the ones we've seen before is that this one is in Canada". So true, so true.

It seems fitting that she said it here, on our last stop of the trip, because it's very connected to the conversation we had on the way out of Phoenix (our first stop) about exurban sprawl. The conversation here seems to be similar, but instead of American corporate powers spreading like wildfire across the frontier of the Arizona desert, they've crossed the border, dotting the supposedly foreign Canadian landscape like punctuation. 7 Eleven! Wendys? and A&W: (Amanda said "We don't even have an A&W in Brooklyn!")




The night before we took our Amtrak bus (!) trip out of Seattle, we had one more fine meal with Amanda's friend Danielle and her boyfriend Eddie. Danielle moved to Seattle from New York two years ago to open her fabulous Curtsy Bella store near the University. It was a treat to visit her shop, although I was dizzy from all the inventory.





Passport control was surprisingly slow. We wondered, as we waited at the back of a long and seemingly unmoving line, what the Canadian immigration officers could possibly be asking people. When it was our turn, the agent asked us how we knew one another. Amanda and I looked at each other and started laughing. I wanted to say, "it was late on a Friday night about five years ago in Madison. We were in a Madonna cover band together. Actually we had met years earlier because she worked at Cafe Montmartre and I played there a lot..." Instead I simply said we were engaged. The border woman was sweet about it and chatted casually with us about our plans in Vancouver. Of course, I thought, border patrol is slow in Canada because the people are so nice and talkative.

We arrived in overcast Vancouver around 3:30 and after checking in to the cute hotel Le Soleil, we took a little walk around the downtown area. Vancouver at first glance (at least on a cloudy Tuesday) is architecturally consistent with itself. The buildings all have a common design. Steel and glass, rounded edges, curved corners, floor to ceiling windows. I can't quite put my finger on why, but it reminds us of China, and not just because of the large Asian population.



The city also seems to be undergoing massive development. Cranes survey the city like industrial grazing giraffes.



One of the best things about knowing restaurant people is that they can guide you through the maze of establishments in a city to the right places. Our Seattle contacts sent us packing to Vancouver with a list of places not to be missed. (We realized, for better or for worse, that they are the same places visited by Anthony Bourdain on the Vancouver episode of No Reservations earlier this year.) The first place on our list, and the only place we made a reservation: Tojos Omakase.

Tojo has been a fixture on the Vancouver food scene since the 70s. Last year he moved his restaurant into a new, 6000 square foot space to accommodate all his international customers. They say the best way to eat at his restaurant is to sit at the sushi bar on a night when he is working and request Omakase (which means "entrust", as in "I entrust you with my evening"). There is no menu. Only Tojo. And his attentive, charming assistants.

We requested two seats at the bar and we got them. Right in front of Tojo. He asked us where we were from. We said New York. He asked us if we have open minds. We said yes. The food started coming. All told, I think we had eleven courses. Nothing was huge, but we were certainly full. Every course had fresh fish. Tojo served us each course and explained the dishes, sort of. ("West coast Sashimi salad Tojo style! Local sable fish Tojo style!")

Ask Tojo if his business improved after being featured on television, and he produces a two page resume of his accomplishments in chronological order. This was my favorite: "August 1989, Tojo is the inventor of the California roll." I'm not saying it's not true. I'm not sure. I need to do some research. But I think it gives you an idea of where Tojo's head is.



To our right was a young couple named Rachel and Mitchell. They turned out to be excellent neighbors because she works for Tourism Vancouver and was extremely knowledgeable about the city. To our left, a couple from California, Circe and Mateo, on vacation. She is a hotel proprietor and he a chef in Healdsburg, where Amanda and I stopped for wine tasting with the Vegas boys last week. If only we had known Circe and Mateo then!



Both couples were a lot of fun to share the evening with, although none picked up the tab like Mike in Portland. That was a shame, since Tojo style Omakase comes with a high price tag.

Walking home across the Granville bridge, full of fish and shochu, Amanda said, "I think I like Vancouver better at night." I know what she means. It was beautiful. Our wallets belonged to Tojo, but for those few minutes the bridge and the city beyond it seemed to belong to us.

So Full... Part II

After leaving the picnic, we headed to Madison Park, where Jason and Beth live with little Harper. It's right on the beach and it's a lovely neighborhood (one of the original founding Starbucks dudes lives across the street behind a very large fence).

After a brief visit, we piled in the car to head to dinner. First we stopped at Discovery Park where at the top of a tall tower there were spectacular views of the city.

On to our next meal... Jason has been a restaurant guy for as long as I've known him, as has Jerry, so we knew we were going to eat well in Seattle. Jason took us to his current place, Monsoon. The Vietnamese fusion food tasted as good as it looked.

Harper liked it too...

We capped off the night with a few cocktails and some very interesting conversation downtown at Campagne and Spur. The next morning, after coffee and showers, we picked up Jerry and headed to the Market for lunch. On the way, we tried to ship a bottle of wine home that we had bought in the Russian River valley. Did you know they won't ship alcohol for you at UPS, FedEx , or the USPS? Is it a Washington thing?? After intense discussion on how to get the bottle back to NY safely, we decided the safest option was just to drink it at lunch. 
Jerry and Jason are well connected in the service industry, and we were treated well everywhere we went. Matt's at the Market was no exception, and again, the food was phenomenal, as were the views.

Leo hated his duck confit.

We couldn't pass up this photo opp, I think it should be Leo's new business card:

After lunch, we strolled through the market...

Past the original Starbucks, which is actually a tourist attraction...

And ended the afternoon with a stroll through downtown, where we made a pit stop and discovered the best way to memorialize all our loved ones from now on.

More later, now we're off to (you could probably guess this) dinner.

xoxox

Trix

So Full... Part I

As most good vacations do, this trip has turned out to be all about food. This, of course, much to Leo's chagrin, since he's been working hard with his trainer all summer to be fit for the wedding. Then we go and spend two weeks eating and sitting in a car. My attitude is a little more lax, I'm a hedonist at heart and often think to myself things like, "when am I ever going to be in Portland at a boulangerie again?" Emma, this is for you, we felt donuts were done (and quite well, I might add) by you and Mike, so we went in another direction. Our last meal in Portland looked something like this:

We ate that pastry case, said good bye to Ryan, Mary and Raymond, and to Portland. 

Four hours, and our first and worst bout of traffic, later, we arrived in Seattle. My friend Jerry and his lovely lady Jen took us to a very cool picnic. Their friend Piglet met us there.

The food looked amazing, the wine was amazing, the location was spectacular. It felt like we were in Provence, not down the road from the airport. 

And there was an herb garden, and Chickens!!

Unfortunately, we only sampled the goods sparingly as we had another dinner date on the horizon. More on that to come, hope you saved your appetites!

oxox

Trix

Becky and Mike

One relatively newer phenomenon in trendy New York restaurants is the communal table, they make sense because of the small rooms, the shared table saves space. I like to think that in a city that can feel isolating and lonely, forcing strangers to sit together and possibly talk to one another might be a positive thing.

Amanda and I actually got engaged at a communal table in New York (Merkato 55 in the meatpacking district). Although the night ended well, the communal table was not a particularly positive experience that night. We were seated at the end of a table of people who were all at a party together. So it was 20 friends and then us squeezed onto the end of the table, yelling over the buzz and flutter of the party. Amanda was thinking about whether or not to stay at her job (she ultimately decided to leave) and I was thinking about how the hell I was going to propose without the ring. (It was our fifth anniversary.) Perhaps you have heard the story before, so I won't go into too many details, other than to conclude that she did, in fact, accept.

As the last stop on his Portland restaurant tour, last night Ryan took us to Toro Bravo for tapas. We waited at the bar upstairs for a table, and in the meantime we had fancy, complicated drinks with names I can't begin to remember. We were eventually seated at the front table in the restaurant downstairs. It was a communal table that accommodated 8 people comfortably and 10 including the heads. We were four (me, Amanda, Ryan and his dad Raymond). There were two women sitting at the other end of the table. We said hello.

Shortly after being seated and looking over the menu, but before ordering even the first drink, a couple was seated in the middle of the table. The woman was cute, a bit quiet with a gentle expression. The man was loud and immediately engaged the table. He started by exclaiming loudly: "What is this? Have you ever seen anything like this? It's a family dinner!"

He then bought us a round of drinks. He introduced himself as Mike, and he introduced his date as "My fourth wife, Becky."



Mike was excited about the communal table. He had never seen anything like it before and it got him going. He led us in an animated conversation which weaved together a large cross section of subjects, including but not limited to Brett Favre, the music of the band Boston, reconstructive surgery, his first wife, tourism in Alaska, and his relationship with a newscaster in Milwaukee.

At one point, in the middle of a particularly personal story, he leaned into me and Amanda and whispered conspiratorially "I shouldn't say this too loud. Becky doesn't know this story." I asked how long they had been together, and he confessed that they were not actually married. In fact, this was their first date. Mike and Becky met in Seattle, where Mike lives and works (he does marketing for two Vancouver based reconstructive surgeons who specialize in men's hair; he's also a happy customer) and had driven down to Portland ostensibly to take her out to dinner. He had also arranged to play golf with some friends and do a little business while he was in town. As evidence, he produced a match book from his wallet with Becky's number written on it.



Mike got more animated as the evening continued. His business in Portland had gone well, and he was clearly hoping to impress the shy Becky, who told us she works for an insurance company. Actually, she might not be so shy. It's just that next to Mike, anyone would come across as seeming a little quiet.

I'll cut to the chase. Mike bought dinner for the table. He went on a date with one woman and ended up picking up the check for eight people. And I know he loved every minute of it. Do I wonder how the rest of his evening turned out? You bet! Do I wonder if there will be a second date? You better believe I do. Did Mike restore my faith in communal dining? Indeed he did.

I would like to raise a glass. To Mike and Becky. Good luck you two kids!

Today, we're off to Seattle. But first, a little coffee and toast to get the day started right.

Finding The Pearl

Hector here. Today's entry is photo intensive. So... there. 

We woke up in Coos Bay in our Spa room and headed north along the Oregon coast. We heard over and over again about this coast and how stunning, rugged and varied it is. As with most of our trip, we did very little research about (or planning for) this leg. For the first time in our journey, our lack of preparation was noticed. Much of the 101 is a bit inland from the coast, so you really have to know where to turn off and stop.

So when the road cut back to the coast and we saw signs for Sea Lion Caves, we took advantage and stopped. Amanda was pretty excited:

It's actually a pretty great place. There are hundreds of Sea Lions living along this short stretch of the Oregon coast, sunning themselves outside during the summer months and flopped in a kind of orgiastic opium den-like cave during the winter. In the 1930's, an opportunistic Oregonian family figured out they could charge admission to see the Sea Lions, and they have been printing money ever since. 

As I mentioned, Amanda was pretty excited.

Actually it's fair to say she was extremely excited. 

We were surrounded by very lush landscape as we approached our 2000 mile mark. Apparently the odometer resets itself at 2000 miles, so we were given a fresh start.

We made it to Portland in time for drinks in the Pearl District. We're staying with Ryan, a friend from Madison who moved to Portland four years ago. He sent us exploring while he attended a surprise party. This gave us a chance to check out a few spots in the Pearl and North West of 23rd Street districts. Bar Mingo on 21st street was a good place to start, due in part to the fact that Ryan's girlfriend Mary was working there and took good care of us. 

From Mingo we walked to 13th street for drinks and oysters at Bluehour, which is situated right next door to the Wieden and Kennedy office. As we enjoyed our drinks, Ana Laan's "Para El Dolor" played in the background. 

Finally we met up with Ryan, Mary and a few of their friends at Clyde Commons for a delicious late dinner. 

Portland's Pearl District is a hip, vibrant area. It's fair to call it gentrified and possibly yuppified. But it's also very comfortable, walkable, and filled with restaurants, bars, shops and businesses (including Ryan's Survey Monkey company).

We headed to Saucebox for one more drink.

We fell asleep with two in the bed and woke with three. Meet Ally. 

Portland has a huge urban park called Forest Park which is filled with rough unpaved paths through what feels like a forest. We ran and hiked, and found everyone we passed to be extremely friendly and chatty.

Ryan could definitely work for the Portland department of tourism. He took us (along with his dad) to the excellent farmers market:

And then to the less yuppy Mississippi (street? lane? avenue? boulevard? district?) for tacos at Por Que No.

The food was great! The scene on the street was nice, and reminded me of Williamson Street in Madison or South Congress in Austin.

We then walked down Mississippi past the Fresh Pot coffee shop...

...down a funky stretch of the street to a cafe that Ryan sold as serving the best coffee in Portland.

It was good coffee.

And they had art.

Portland, you are impressive. I'll give you that. Maybe tomorrow I'll speak about the seedy underbelly of the city, about how it has the highest per capita number of strip clubs, or about the homeless people and beggars, and how Ally needs to spend a day with the dog whisperer. But for the moment I prefer to think of the city as the hip, progressive, bike friendly, home to organic produce and trendy bars that Ryan has showed us.