Muerica!

We were met with cheese and crackers and homegrown veggies and dip. Hummus and fruit and wine. Trying to overcome the jetlag, we went to bed at a reasonable hour.

For breakfast we had oat-pancakes made with butter-roasted almond splits and blueberries. Served with sliced bananas, chunky peanut butter and maple syrup, of course.

Lunch was my favorite dim sum place in the International District, where the rooms were crowded and little carts of rolling buffets offered fried and steamed morsels of everything lovely and tasty – the sweet buns with barbeque pork, the glutinous parcels with prawns and garlic, the crisp Chinese broccoli with oyster sauce, the crackling spring rolls dipped in hot chili sauce, the prawn toast with sesame – all greedily gulped down with swigs of cold Tsing Tao beers and ladylike sips of jasmine tea. Then iced watermelon bubble tea on the way home.

Dinner almost made me cry for it was so beautiful. Fresh figs, tiny champagne grapes and cheeses hard and soft. Paper thin prosciutto and breads. One big yellow beef-tomato making love – right there on the plate – with a pale, fat buffalo-milk mozzarella, both of them frolicking in a olive oil-balsamic dressing. More wine. After-dinner drinks.

Breakfast frittata and berries. Espresso with so much crema, I had to film one coming out and send it to my coffee-nerdy brother with the title: ”Porn”. Dude almost lost his shit and by now all of his friends and coworkers have seen a little movie of the making of my morning espresso.

After standing in line for more than an hour, the Cuban sandwiches we have been talking about regularly ever since we had them three years ago, were finally ours. One with pork, one with prawns and one with chicken. Each one, the perfection of a sandwich, each one a big mess. Ah, those divine caramelized onions, so sweet, so tasty. The pulled meat, so tender and flavorful. Ah, the dressing with the fresh cilantro and the garlic. You need to eat those things in a bathtub, it’s so messy but DA-YUHM, it is worth it.

Then the road trip. Curly rosemary fries with 4 huge filets of breaded chicken ”tenders” – one had been plenty. Around the table, burgers were consumed, fries dipped in ketchup, all of us giggling at the audacity. ”MUERICA”, we saluted with our paper cups filled with milkshakes and coca cola. Shamelessly high on fat and sugar.

We were again met with open arms, open hearts, the master bedroom and hors d’oeuvres. Wine, smoked Gouda, crackers, veggies, dip. Then the roast, served with green beans with  garlic and salad. More wine. Here, have a margarita. Here, have another. The boys off in the woods speaking the international language of digging holes, shooting bows and riding bikes. Fire pit, S’Mores and mosquito bites.

Up for eggs and bacon. Yogurt and fruit. Lots of coffee. Out and about. How about micro brewery for lunch? Pale ale and burgers with onion rings and sweet potato fries. Ginger ale with the House salad with spinach, strawberries, nuts and cheese. Blood-orange vinaigrette. Mac and cheese and chicken wings. Finished off with Hawaiian-style shaved ice.

Taco soup. Chips in the bottom, grated cheese on top; melted, yellow, wonderful American brick cheese. More salad. Home-grown peppers; the first – the honor! Barbequed ribs, sweet potatoes and green beans. Picnic at Elk Lake, swimming up an appetite with the view of a snow-capped mountain in the horizon. Sandwiches, potato chips and Lime-A-Ritas. Leftover trout and watermelon. String cheese and nuts.

Back on the road. Paneara’s cheddar-broccoli soup. Free refills on the drinks. Caesar salad with parmesan, croutons and chicken. Latte for the road and a morsel of brownie.

Mexican heaven. Fish tacos with 6 kinds of salsa from mild to burning flames of hell. All delicious. Fajitas and rice and beans and chicken and cilantro and warm, freshly baked corn tortillas. More beers, per favor.

Market lunch; pulled pork sandwiches, a whole mango cut to be eaten off the stone, sprinkled with chili. Big Indian party-platter of chutneys and meats to be wrapped in a thing of naan and eaten with our fingers. Fresh lemonade and more beer. Ice cream and just a teensy morsel of chocolate.

Baseball game. Hot dogs and 10 dollar beers. Kettle corn and sweet potato fries. Pear cider and no luck on the field.

Off to the cabin. Monster-steaks and greens and cookies and rhum drinks. Hot-tubbin’ with an ice-cold shot of tequila and a refreshing slice of lime in a frozen glass, under the pine trees. Leftover meat cut up and served Philly-style with roasted onions, the special jalapeno sauce and smothered in cheddar. Hotdogs and more Walla-Walla onions.

Mai tai, oh, the mai tai. The shrimp in ajo. Oh, the ajo. And the deep fried halibut. With lime and rice and beans. And the fish cakes. And the mango salad.

And then the gelato. Salty caramel, chocolate, coconut, berries. Oh, try this too. No, here – try mine.

And then the pork-rinds. Aerial, light, crackling. The jalapeño poppers, oozing cream cheese. The burger with the bacon and the onion rings. The Nutella Shake. The blackberry shake and the skinny fries. Nothing skinny about them. Nothing skinny about anything anymore.

And then the sushi. And the watermelon salad with blueberries, fresh mint and white rum. A morsel of goat brie on a cracker.

And then home.

Water and steamed broccoli.

…

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

(Don’t watch it. It’s too much. Don’t. Or do, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!)

Mr. Creosote