Cheese!

M.F.K. Fisher wrote about her travels. Her descriptions of people, places and food are exceptionally evocative.

In the 2nd-to-last paragraph of How To Cook a Wolf, published in 1942, she opines "An unnesessary peptic goad, but a very nice one now and then, is a good, soft stinky cheese, a Camenbert or Liederkranz...." 

Unfamiar with Liederkranz, I wended my way via The Web to Chalet Cheese where I ordered some plus a pound each of white Brick, both young AND aged Swiss and some Pannaro. 

It's true there's cheese made in Tucumcari. But there're some things that just aren't right and high, eastern New Mexico scrubland-made cheese is one of 'em.

Five pounds of cheese including 2-day shipping came to $17.60/pd. A deal compared with the $24.97 per pound for an attractively mottled roguefort at Smith's (Kroger). And from a fifth generation family farm where there's plenty of water.

Thank you, Ms. Mary Francis Kennedy Fisher Parrish Friede.

Here she is a week or month before her 80th birthday. At 20:35 she says, "Everything is sexual." What a woman!

Woggy's - The Real Deal!

As chili is to New Mexico, fish & chips are to Northern California and Oregon.

Halibut season came and went. A day late and a dollar short, when offered some frozen I admitted $22/pd was out of my league. The woman suggested I was a candidate for rockfish.

Strolling the dock in Crescent City, I chanced upon a fisherman unloading the remains of his catch. The de-meated skeletons, with heads attached, smelled relatively fresh and though this was the wharf trash bin, my curiosity was piqued.

The fisherman, a bearded fellow about my age and of equal girth, almost a stereotype with his overalls and wire-rims, responded to my question about whether the red ones were snapper by launching into a description of the species, subspecies, cousins and relative prevalence of each, tossing in their latin names like a true scholar.

I have to admit I was taken aback and briefly, only for moment or two mind you, but briefly, made speechless. Recovering, I asked about where to obtain some. He said all of his went to Seaquake, a nearby restaurant.

As anyone who's fooled around with fish knows, nearly all (fish) have, depending on where you are on the planet, at least twenty names. I'd seen a few purveyors, preying to gullibility, refer to them as rockfish-snapper, but snapper, a LARGE fish that's bright red, has a delicious flavor. And while some of the rockfish are red, and to some extent of similar physiognomy, rockfish are in the size range with tilspia, but, in flavor, a rung below Ms. Paul's fish sticks.

https://www.mrspauls.com/fish-sticks/fish-sticks

Thinking to arrive in time to partake of fresh, we sped to Seaquake where a looong line sat peering at their phones. Hoping to be served sooner, we took seats at the bar.

Now, I'm not much of a barfly, but the woman mixing drinks in front of us had the motions of a karate master. As she sped through the process, it was impossible not to notice the smooth precision of execution. Finally, unable to contain myself, I asked, "Who *are* you?"

She was, as incongruous as it seemed, a world-class snowboarder and skateboard champion. She'd taken up bartending to support her habit and now, ten years on, was truly an expert. She'd recently relocated from Tahoe where skyrocketing rents had forced her out.

Tall and large-bodied, she allowed as how she commutes on a single-wheel board and though hospitalized a number of times, her enthusiasm remains strong. You just never know.

Back to rockfish...unimpressed by Seaquake but with fond memories of the fish & chips from Griff's in Port Orford (my notes from 2016 say to "Get two!"), Griff's had disappeared and The Crazy Norwegians didn't open for several more hours so I went to "The Dive."

*The Dive* has daily specials and it being Tuesday, it was fish tacos....$3.00 each, normally two for $12.00; I bit.

The agglomeration (on the smallish, sand-dollar size tortilla) included a smattering of "slaw" with its own sauce, some salsa and the fish. The fish reminded me of a mild-flavored mackeral and, hungry as I was, I choked it down.

I few days earlier, at Gold Beach, I'd noticed Woggy's, a food truck down the way (south) from "the Mall." They'd closed and Iver and Grace were finishing packing up for the day, but Iver took time to tell how he catches the fish himself...with a pole. His description of their crispy batter made my mouth water and as I was leaving Grace mentioned they also have clam chowder. Determined to return, I got a picture.

Today I did...and they're the real deal! The fish, though still rockfish, is cooked to perfection and comes apart with the shininess between flakes that connotes the optimum of savory. The batter is crispy with subtle flavors that distiguish it from all others. The chowder is delicious; neither too thick nor too thin, gently seasoned and heavily laden with toothable bits of clam.

Splurging, I got a burger to go. It too was worthy of praise. Garnished with generous amounts of pickle, lettuce and tomato, it was a substantial chunk of meat on a bun that was recognizable by NOT being yer average Food Club offering. The side of slaw was fresh and crisp and the fries interesting (generous portion)  in their thin coating of batter. And each entree (not including the chowder) was a mere $12.00 (and maybe some change).

They're a tad hard to find, but up to now, 27.July, they've set the bar.

29900 Harbor Way, Gold Beach, OR 97444

Grace and Iver

I'm going back for seconds.

Moab

(editing on the phone doesn't work so well)

Desperate for reading matter, I joined the streaming hordes on highway 191. Speed limit is 65 with most doing 70. Phoebe's comfortable top speed is 62, but with everyone equally desperate, one takes one's life in hand when people are forced to pass. So we streamed along.

The Friends of the Library occupies the lobby area; the collection is superbly curated, organized and hardbacks are $1.00. Special books are $3.00 - $5.00 and it's self-pay so even the indigent, if they were willing to compromise their integrity, could partake.

Afterward, I visited Moonflower co-op where a small roll of paté, several cheeses and some breads cost a little over $77.00. It wasn't until I was settled in for the night I noticed the sourdough was $12.85.

Having recently read Michael Pollan's, Cooked, in which he waxes eloquent about the alchemy of bread-baking and the good-for-what-ails-yuh elements in sourdough, I just tossed it in the basket.

While reading his book I looked up a couple of the bread companies who cater to those in need. Prices were fairly consistent at around $35.00 for two loaves, not including postage...which, for Albuquerque brought the total to over 75.00.

I never expected to find such quality on "the street." But after tasting it, I stand corrected, Moonflower is NOT "the street."

Baker City - LSD

Yesterday's eye pain resulted in a hyper-state that I've read about in BDSM articles wherein the induced pain results in a whole-body experience some find pleasurable. I did not.

But it felt interesting enough to prompt me to augment it with a microdose of LSD. And contrary to my usual inclination to "do it in the woods," I went into Baker City.  Motto of the day: Keep it simple.

There're (supposedly) a lot of bears in the area and though I've not seen a one, I've seen their "calling cards." 

Small bears

It seemed cruel to leave sardine and smoked oyster cans lying about. But I was running out of inside storage.

In addition, the "wonderful" Grayl 24 ounce geopress water purifier so highly recommended by a woman who'd traveled with one in Africa for two years, became inoperable. There's a beautiful stream about ten minutes away, but one bout of Giardia cured me of succumbing to a pretty face. I now filter all "wild" water.

With the breakdown of the Grayl, thirst became an issue. And so, into town I went. It was an amazing journey...highlighted by extraordinary kindness from all the people I encountered.

Unwashed and with several days of beard, my foremost interest was Boric Acid Solution, a liquid with mild anti-bacterial and anti-fungal with time-honored use as an opthalmic. I wandered from Safeway to Rite-Aide (a REAL pharmacy) where I, with all the drama and indignity of a Shakespearian play said, "Surely you Jive?!?!" when the pharmacist said they had none, adding that "I should check up front." 

At the register, whilst inquiring of the cashier, a pharmacist appeared and said she had checked and indeed, as the original minion had stated, there was none to be had.

At Albertson's the pharmacy was closed for lunch. Unable to see well enough to read the labels, I found myself picking up a bottle of castor oil in the enema section. It prompted me to realize things could be worse. Enlisting the aide of a customer, she assured me there was none. ONWARD! 

In the parking lot I called two pharmacies in La Grande. No luck. And with that, I gave up.

After googling Sporting Goods I ended up at ACE Hardware where I was getting new "feet" for the porta-toilet. 

Trapped in a line bounded by shelves of gummie bears, candy bars and other assorteds, I shouted to a fellow standing nearby if they had any water purifiers. He waved his hand at a wall display that looked beyond my current mental capacity. I paid for the "feets" and left. 

Wanting to enjoy the trip, I pulled into the library parking just as someone was leaving a shady spot. I spent a sort-of pleasant hour being reminded of how noisy cities are. Geiser Park has a pretty stream running through, lovely trees and grass, happy children and lovers cavorting and is adjacent highway 30, which was, on this day, funneling the freeway traffic around a slowdown on interstate 84. The semi trucks, vacationers, local hot-rodders all made an impression. I left.

Looking for good food, I decided to stop at the Co-op. Here I found a cornucopia of local blackberries, blueberries, tomatoes, huge, firm peaches from Fair Haven Orchard; raw cheeses, including a delicious smoked gouda. And to top it off, they had a homeopathic treatment for dry eye, a remedy I'd had luck with in the past, albeit the prev was allopathic. With a box-load of wholesomeness, I set sail.

Water and garbage had been expeditiously dispatched at the City Offices in Haines. 

Fortunately, I'd marked the way in my GPS. It's pretty far out there and at one point, only once though, did I need to check coordinates; in other words, I was lost. But eventually...all was well. 

Tonight I'll have beef tartare with Fields grassfed. Keep it simple...no open flames or dishes to wash.

A wonderful drug!

The Melon

We stopped at Kayenta for gas. A short distance away a gentleman was selling some yellow round things. I went over to see.

"Canaries," he called 'em. Said they were from Utah and he'd nearly sold out the eight thousand pounds he'd brought down. The cheapest was five dollars, out of my budget these days. We chatted a bit about our heritages and he decided that since I was a foreigner, in the heart of Navajo Land, he'd gift me with one.

There's something about accepting a gift from someone whose family has suffered -- and is still subject to -- untold miseries at the hands of the dominant culture.

It was one of the sweetest, most delicious cantaloupes I've ever eaten.

Pie!!! The next best thing to sex!

After you've been around a while yer focus jus' natch'ly narrows. The things that hold yer 'tention gits fewer. One of them is pie.

At Benton Station I had a slice of apple. Three weeks later, much like that one-time dose of heroin, hit whar still on muh mind. Thus, when I agin found muhse'f in duh hood, I made sure I got there when they were open.

It's at the corner of highway 120 and 6, just up the road from Bishop (California). Gas is reasonable, there's a water spigot out front for your jug-filling convenience and the eezee access restrooms don't require a key. Pie is $2.99 a slice.

Whole pies are $12.95.

I tipped her $1.00 for ringing it up and strolled out to the lot. There's a fine elm at the far end that gives shade. I tucked muh napkin unner muh chin and set to.

It's almost like you gotta do this on a hot afternoon in July. There jus' ain't no better time. The cold-case chill tickles yer fingertips as you peel off the sarano-wrap. Nevermind 'bout slicing...we jus' gwonna eat it!!

The peaches were crunchy, like REAL ones. And the crust had a flavor reminiscent of my own....and tha's sayin' sumpin' cuz when duh cosmoz aligns jus' right I kin whomp up a pie dat make folks sit up and (in their best ebonics) say "Yaaaaaaassssss SuHHHH!!!"

I ate nearly half. Not to worry, it won't go to waste. In fact, it probly won't last more than an hour or two. The waitress said they make them every morning. I'm a believer.

Elm shade at far left 

Grilled Cheese - To the toon of Smoke On The Water

                                                                                                                                                                         


When in town, I'm easily distracted. The results often prompt impromptu (slightly altered) excerpts  from  Smoke On the Water.

The lyrics are: Hiiiiigh burner cooOOOoking, a fyre in the kitchen.