Travel

PDX is the code for Portland International Airport, and it's ubiquitous there as a shorthand brand, sort of like Manhattanites use NYC. We went there for some R&R&R—that's rest, relaxation and restaurants. We got very little of the former and plenty of the latter. What a gorgeous place! I discovered that it's known as "The City of Roses" because its climate—warm, dry summers and wet but mild winters—is ideal for these sometimes finicky flowers. All over town we saw lush gardens overflowing with fragrant roses and other blooms, tall grasses and incredible old trees. We stayed at the Ace, a slightly more quirky and rustic version of the one we stay at in New York, and I recommend it, especially if you don't mind rickety elevators, super-casual service and a Stumptown coffee outpost in the lobby. Even better, off the other side of the lobby is Clyde Common, a sweet place that describes itself as a "European style tavern," although I'm not really sure why. It's definitely the prototypical Portland-style farm-to-table eatery. The bar, run by cocktail king Jeffrey Morgenthaler, is not to be missed. We were instantly addicted to his clever new take on the Americano—a mix of sweet vermouth, Campari and orange oil that he carbonates and bottles himself. We will be doing that at home very soon, so stay tuned.
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It's kind of a cliché that you run the risk of being disenchanted when you meet your heroes. Depending on how high you've raised that pedestal, it may be impossible for anyone to meet your expectations. Or, someone's private persona simply may not match a carefully cultivated public image. So it was wonderfully reassuring to encounter the women of Canal House this week at ICE—their workshop was on writing and photographing recipes (and cooking them)—and discover that they are every bit as warm and wise as I had hoped. For those of you who don't know them, Christopher Hirsheimer and Melissa Hamilton are a food writing and photography team that produces Canal House Cooking, a gorgeous series of seasonal cookbooks that has defined a new space in the publishing world. In their past lives they both worked at Saveur, where Christoper was a founding editor and Melissa was director of the test kitchen. (Still a favorite of mine, this magazine was truly a revelation in its earliest incarnation.) They refer to themselves as "home cooks," but this is a bit like Einstein calling himself a professor.
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Hopefully, you've got a fun weekend planned. (Actually, I just wanted to use "hopefully" in a sentence, now that it has been accepted by the AP Stylebook as meaning something other than "in a hopeful manner." Get clued in here, or skip it and read on about less pedantic matters.) I'm looking forward to playing in the dirt aka gardening, reorganizing the attic, making a cork bulletin board for my office wall, working on my novel and maybe, if time allows, dyeing some clothes with my new indigo kit. Oh, and foraging for some more mushrooms! To see my recent haul—as delicious as they were unexpected—visit my Facebook page and, while you're at it, consider doing me the great favor of clicking the Like button. Now, you're probably wondering about how that photograph up top figures into all this...
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This is kind of a random post, but it does end with a couple of recipes, since I feel I owe you. Have you been cooking? Are you ready for a summer of fresh salads, grilling and frozen treats? I sure am!Before attending the Brooklyn Food Conference a couple of weeks ago, G and I hit the Fort Greene Flea. I was instantly transported back to the days when Saturdays always included a stroll around the now-defunct 26th Street flea market in Manhattan. I have to say, though, the food in Brooklyn takes it to a whole other level. It's such a testament to the explosion of artisanal craft that's going on in this once-humble borough. Sadly, I was on a juice fast, but G ate his way through the place. I had to be content with snapping a few photos with my iphone. That's fragrant roasted porchetta, above, which they were hand-slicing to go on chewy ciabatta rolls for deliciously rustic sandwiches.
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I've had fun all over again this week, going through the many photos from our vacation. I've showed you some highlights, but I haven't really shared the impetus for this trip. It all began with an invitation to celebrate the 50th birthday of my beloved college roommate in a palazzo on the Grand Canal. Who could refuse? Sixty lucky souls turned up at the Palazzo Loredan dell'Ambasciatore for a black-tie fête on the night of the super moon. It truly felt like the most special once-in-a-lifetime experience, but I hope we'll all end up back there when she turns 75. The palazzo was everything you might imagine: vast, lavishly furnished (including ornate Murano glass chandeliers) and complete with its own mustachioed butler. You could ride up to the palazzo in your water taxi, leap gracefully onto the small wooden dock and pass through the iron gate to the ground floor's echoing marble hall. What a life!
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I was tempted to title this post "The Girl Who Ate Venice." I think I mentioned to you that I went on a juice fast the second we touched down at JFK. I wouldn't say we grossly overindulged, but you know that restaurant food is just that much richer, and I can't say we really denied ourselves much. Everywhere you go in Venice, people are eating gelato, and the flavors are irresistible: the deepest, most fragrant coffee; nutty pistachio; fior di latte (flower of milk) that tastes of the purest cream; fig and walnut; fresh strawberry...who could resist? I was armed with 6 pages of restaurant recommendations, culled from friends, the internet and a long-hoarded issue of Departures magazine devoted to Venice, and I feel like we barely made a dent. We didn't make it to either Da Fiore or Alle Testiere, two much-touted restaurants on everyone's lists, but we had many wonderful meals.You may have noticed that most of the Venice photos were taken by G. Despite my best intentions, I find that I get caught up in the moment when we're traveling, and have a hard time remembering to shoot. Also, when you're in a cozy little trattoria surrounded by locals, you don't really want to pull out your honking Nikon (or even your iphone) and start snapping away. That said, there's plenty of eye candy coming up.
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We hit the ground running in Venice, dropping our bags at the sweet garden apartment we rented in the Dorsoduro neighborhood (more on that another day), and hoofed it right up to Canareggio in the northern part of the city to visit Gianni Basso Stampatore. G had brought me to this dark sliver of a shop on Calle del Fumo last time we were in Venice, but it was closed on that cold day in early January and I vowed to return. The window was tantalizingly full of gorgeous calling cards created for an eclectic roster of luminaries, including names as diverse as Hugh Grant, Pierre Bergé and Gael Greene. Gianni himself mans the shop (though his son now works with him, too) and I was thrilled to spend some time with this genial Venetian who is responsible for such beautiful letterpress creations.
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Venice is truly transporting. The magic of the place is hard to describe. It's a convergence of so many things: beautiful muted colors, lovely gardens, a culture of art, rich history, outdoor cafés, unique topography, no cars, the patina of age. It's arguably the world's most beautiful city, and definitely one you must visit in this lifetime. It's hard to say what is my favorite aspect but, if pressed, I might name the Rialto market. All and sundry turn up here on a daily basis to shop for seafood, fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as meats and cheeses. Elegant Venetian matrons pulling their trolleys, gawking tourists with cameras, young couples in love and mothers with strollers rub shoulders in front of amazing displays of the Veneto's finest. It's here you get a sense of the unique riches this region has to offer. As everywhere in Venice, there are little cafés surrounding the market, my favorite of which is Al Mercà, really no more than a kiosk where you can get fantastic wines and the very best little sandwiches.
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There's good new and there's bad news. I'll give you the bad first: My blog was horribly hacked and all sorts of things went haywire. The subscriber email alerts stopped working, the site got "blacklisted" and who knows what else. On the upside, magical elves have stepped in and made some changes, so everything should be working well soon if not right now. A new design is forthcoming in the next month or so. AND,  I'm leaving for Venice this evening!! It is, without a doubt, among the most magical places I have ever been. This time, G and I rented a little garden apartment in Dorsoduro for the week and plan to shop at the Rialto market, eat cichetti and stroll aimlessly to our hearts' content. And let's not forget the impetus for the trip: a black-tie birthday bash in honor of a dear friend at this glorious palazzo...

Despite our recent Hawaiian idyll, I feel desperately in need of a vacation and am longing for a few carefree days with the freedom to explore and discover, and no pressure from deadlines. I promise plenty of pictures and detailed accounts of all the wonders we encounter. Ciao for now!
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In September of 2009, after nearly 25 years in New York City, I decamped for the little cottage in Sullivan County that had been our weekend escape. It was among the best moves of my life. Recently, I read in World of Interiors magazine (one of my greatest sources of inspiration) about an artist residing in the most spare and beautiful cottage on the rocky coast of England. She said that being so far from the city enabled her to resist the trends and tug of consumerism so present in a throbbing metropolis, and fueled her artistic endeavors. Like her, I often go all day without speaking to anyone, except perhaps Titi, my boon feline companion. I am more in touch with my self and my creative impulses than ever before. I ebb and flow with the rhythm of the seasons now; the natural world is compelling and so alive to me. If this sort of existence tempts you, consider making a move of your own. There is an amazing little compound with a Victorian church for sale in the Hudson Valley that could be the answer to your dreams.
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