souzzchef

Cooking Old School In The New Year

January 18, 2019January 21, 2019souzzchef5 Comments

Souzz and I often spend New Year’s Eve in the backcountry or in a cabin, and we traditionally make risotto (along with some other fancy dish). The standard bearer of New Year’s absurdity was probably the year that we made risotto with lobster in a five burner kitchen while camping in the snow. We didn’t quite reach that level of absurdity this year, but we at least thought about it.

Lobsters in the snow

Souzz and our friend Sara

Anyway, with cold rain in the 2019 forecast, we decided to head to the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club’s Dawson Cabin in Pennsylvania, about two hours drive from our home in Virginia. Dawson is one of the lesser visited cabins in the PATC system, maybe because the hike to the cabin is straight uphill. But the hike is short, and Dawson is a hidden gem that is worth the visit. The cabin is well appointed and very well maintained, and it has southern exposure and a beautiful view.

Approaching the cabin

Lots of windows across the front, so nice light

Nice site!

Roomy and bright

Very well maintained and supplied

Lots of supplies

All of the bedding needs to be caged when the cabin isn’t being used

It was too rainy for us to use this, but in nicer weather it’d be great

Looking back from the bunks

A concrete foundation and nice outdoor space

puzzles for a rainy day

For our planned risotto and filet mignon feast, we hauled in a lot of cookware, as well as a five pound canister of propane and a two-burner camp stove. Utility wagons are a great tool for getting bulky gear into walk-in PATC cabins—but dragging them uphill through the mud and over tree roots while it’s raining might be an acquired taste.

The start of the trail

Arriving at the cabin as the rain stopped!

When we reached the cabin, we learned that the camp stove and propane were basically flammable barbells. It turned out that there was a problem with the stove’s regulator that was beyond what I could field-repair, and fiddling with high-pressure gas connections is exciting in any circumstance—but especially so in a remote wood-framed structure. I’m also kind of fond of my eyebrows.

Well, at least we had some good appetizers…

Appetizers were easy, though! This is olives, feta, lemon peel, olive oil, garlic

Prosciutto…oh, and beer!

With appetizers gone and still five hours to New Year’s, we had a new twist: how to make risotto without a modern camp stove. But there was a perfectly serviceable wood stove sitting right at our feet, so how hard could this be?

Tending a wood stove is always important in a PATC cabin in winter, although the goal is usually just heating the place. But now we had to figure out a way to keep the heat somewhat constant.

Chopping onions, nothing special

Sauteeing onions in olive oil

Mixing in rosemary

Coating the arborio rice

Wood stoves used to be the only stoves we had, right?

Adding broth

Looking very holiday

Starting to shape up

I get that wood stoves have been around for generations, and my friends in bush Alaska are probably rolling their eyes by now (well, at least Ruby is…but in my defense, I don’t remember seeing a lot of risotto on “Life Below Zero“).

It took a little fiddling to maintain the level of heat on the cooktop, and there were times when we had to cool things off by lifting the pan onto a hastily made wire trivet (using a piece from a broken dartboard that we found in the cabin).

And more broth…

But we figured it out, and the risotto was quite good. And the keys to good risotto are the same whether on a modern range or on a wood stove: using homemade stock (way less salty), heating the stock quite a bit before adding, and cooking the risotto at high heat (ideally enough heat to finish the job in less than 20 minutes). With too little heat, things take a long time and the risotto gets sticky.

We paired the risotto with filet mignon, which we grilled over wood fire coals. And note Souzz’s thumb print in the steak. I guess that’s how real chefs figure out if it’s done.

Lastly, our stove challenge gave us the chance to puzzle over why we go to primitive cabins and then haul in hundreds of pounds of fancy gear. It seems about as logical as getting turbo in a Ford Fiesta. So maybe simplifying things should be our New Year’s Resolution? Well, that and preserving my eyebrows.

Souzz’s Christmas gift was an inflatable chair (she got me an Apple watch, whoops).

2019 resolution: never grow up!

A Recipe To Remember

January 13, 2019January 17, 2019souzzchef1 Comment

Back in 2005, we had the opportunity to travel to Italy with my parents and sister and brother-in-law on a pleasure trip that was also a mission of sorts. We went in part to visit Tuscany, but our primary purpose was to visit the site of a World War II memorial near the northern Italian city of Mantova.

My brother-in-law and sister

That’s me on the right, younger and thinner!

My sister with Souzz and my mom

In October of 1944, four aviators from my dad’s unit, the 319^th Bomb Group, were lost on a mission to take out a rail bridge in Mantova. Two of those lost, Don Treadwell and Joe Prebil, were close friends of my dad, who was a pilot in another B26 bomber on that mission. My dad was able to return to his base in Corsica that day, but that mission clearly was a defining moment in his life.

Don Treadwell. Photo courtesy of Donald Treadwell Robertson

Joe Prebil. Photo courtesy of Claudio Mischi

Don Treadwell’s crew

B26s over Italy

Looking back in a tight formation. Photo courtesy of Claudio Mischi

One of the rail bridges in Mantova

The Mantova East Rail Bridge, from a mission the next day

The 319th took off six planes abreast, which saved a lot of fuel

Mantova Causeway

Tail #88 was Don Treadwell’s plane

The idea of our 2005 trip started when I learned about the memorial that the village of Redondesco had recently built to the four lost aviators. I’d learned about it by chance through my brother-in-law—a history professor fluent in Italian who had read about it in the Mantova newspaper. I was only half-serious when I announced later at a family gathering that I was going to visit. My dad surprised me when he immediately asked “can I come with you?”

A few months later, my parents, Souzz, me, my sister and her husband headed off to northern Italy on a trip that we’d never even imagined. We set things up entirely through email using web-based language translation programs (I think this internet fad might be here to stay).

screen shot 2019-01-10 at 10.47.32 pm

Once in Mantova, we were met by the Mayor of Redondesco along with a very knowledgeable Mantova historian and a volunteer translator from Redondesco. The three of them proceeded to take us on a guided tour of targets and crash sites, a tour that was simply amazing.

Claudio, Carlo, John

That’s the (rebuilt) bridge behind us

Guido (who witnessed the crash), Ivano, Claudio, my dad, and Carlo

During our tour, we met a local farmer that witnessed the 1944 crash as a young boy, and he shared his emotional story as if it had happened yesterday. Later we were joined at the memorial by a huge group from the village of Redondesco—a group that waited for us for quite some time, undeterred by steady rain. We then closed our visit with a remarkable meal at the Mayor’s family farmhouse.

Guido was 12 when the crash occured. He remembers it vividly and shared his emotional story

Guido tells his story like it was yesterday

Calling our experience at the farmhouse a “meal” understates things quite a bit, as it was more like a commemoration and a celebration of friendship–and it was also the most amazing cultural experience that I’ve ever had. Lunch lasted five full hours, and there were seven courses, all hand-prepared over the previous two full days. Wave after wave of food came out while gregarious townspeople chatted away in Italian. Several times, our new friends did their best (in English) to thank my dad and the US for helping to bring Italy its freedom in World War II (and “their best” was pretty great, just perfect).

Gregarious and friendly townspeople. What language barrier?!

At the center of the meal was a regional favorite called tortelli di zucca, a pumpkin-stuffed pasta that is a Mantova specialty.

After we returned home to Virginia, our new friend Ivano (our translator on the trip, one of several new friends with whom we are still in touch, some 14 years later) generously shared his tortelli recipe. Since then, tortelli has become one of our favorite dishes. We’ve made it twice in just the last few months, and it’s always a crowd pleaser. And perhaps best of all, it is both a meal and a story.

Squash or pumpkin, either works

Ivano’s original recipe

Amaretta cookies and parm, key ingredients

Making the filling

Mixing cheese into the filling

Pasta dough in the making

A pasta roller is key

Assembling the tortelli

Boil them until they float, only about a minute

The finished product (note Souzz’s Mantova apron)

Like any food experience, the memories of our meal in Redondesco are shaped by the context―the people, the situation and the emotions involved. Lunch that day in 2005 offered us a chance to connect with people from another country and to acknowledge a sacrifice that should never be forgotten—and we had the opportunity to share that experience with my parents and my sister and brother-in-law, pretty special.

And through my dad’s stories, our trip also offered a glimpse into what our troops did for us in 1944–and what they continue to do for us today.

My dad on the left, his flight engineer on the right

Each time we make tortelli di zucca, we raise a glass to Don and Joe, and to all of the others that never made it home. As I’ve learned time and again, food can be a meal, an experience, a memory, a connector, or even a tribute. Sometimes it’s all five.

Carlo, Guido, Claudio, John, and Franca

The Italian flag hangs every day in our house

The inscription says it all

A Multi-Layered Place

November 30, 2018January 16, 2019souzzchef7 Comments

A formula for at least some of our trips goes like this: never been there before + don’t know anybody that’s been there = adventure. In the case of our recent trip to Smith Island, there was an added multiplier: we had never heard of it until a few days before.

We stumbled upon Smith Island as a potential destination while we were looking into a possible trip to Tangier Island, which is Smith’s neighbor to the south. Once we “discovered” Smith and researched a bit, it looked to be quaint, off the beaten path (in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay), and somewhat unknown to us—in other words, a perfect weekend adventure.

Smith Island is worth knowing about! The island is a collection of small watermen’s communities that aren’t really set up for tourists, but that’s part of what makes this place so charming. Services are limited, but there are a handful of B&Bs and there is regular ferry service from Crisfield, Maryland. And getting to Smith is part of the adventure. It was about four hours door-to-door from Northern Virginia (including the ferry ride).

At the dock in Crisfield

Our Captain

En route to Smith

The Capt Jason was great, right on time and a beautiful ride

We were joined on the ferry by Smith residents that were bringing in groceries, supplies, and building materials, as pretty much everything but seafood and cake generally comes from the mainland (more about cake later). We mirrored the locals and brought along picnic-style meals ourselves (although there is a restaurant in-season that is generally open for lunch).

I’d always heard that bananas were bad luck on boats

Crazy sky as we approach Smith

The island was first charted by Captain John Smith in 1608 and later named after Henry Smith, an early landowner. It was settled in the late 1600s by English farmers John Evans and John Tyler, and the 250 or so current residents live across three communities: Ewell, Rhodes Point, and Tylerton. Tradition runs deep here, as crabbing, fishing, and harvesting oysters have been a way of life for generations.

PH1143SmithIsland1945 — A crabber keeps his live catch in a wooden crab float, 1945. Photo credit: The Mariners’ Museum and Park

Families on Smith today still appear to share a lot of connections (the names Evans and Tyler remain heavily represented on the island). Smith Islanders also share a dialect, sometimes called a Tidewater or Elizabethan accent, which was different enough to make us listen closely at times.

Approaching Ewell on the ferry

Crab pots on the main dock

The Bayside Inn restaurant

One of the main streets in Ewell

The church at the center of Ewell

During our visit, we rode bikes, checked out the marshes and bird life, visited the Bayside Inn restaurant (great seafood, no surprise), and stopped by the local art gallery in Ewell. We also had a lovely chat with the friendly caretaker at the Smith Island Cultural Center. A lot has happened—and is happening—at Smith, ranging from Revolutionary War history to the current threat posed by erosion (the island has lost 1200 acres over the past 100 years).

Good place for a bike ride

Souzz with one of the island bikes

Smith Island Cultural Center, during a higher than normal tide

Not sure who Hayden is, but I hope he doesn’t mind my borrowing his bike

one of the streets near the dock

near the main dock

Looking out at the main harbor

Lots of history here

higher than normal tides

We closed out the day back at our lovely B&B, the Smith Island Inn, where we watched a sunset that seemed to take a full hour.

The Smith Island Inn B&B

Our room at the Inn

Lots of windows and a view of the channel

What struck me the most about our visit was the evening quiet. Maybe it’s because watermen’s communities are ‘early to bed’ kinds of places—or maybe I’m imagining that—but the stunning quiet was something I was glad I got to hear (can you hear quiet?).

Lounging around in front of our B&B

There are clearly a lot of layers to Smith, with history and nature mixed in with a dash of tourism—all on a working watermen’s island. A friend from the Eastern Shore told us recently that Smith Islanders look forward to getting their first skiff at age 14 or so, much like city kids might look forward to cars and drivers licenses. That makes sense when you are in a place where a trip to school involves a boat ride. Life clearly revolves around the bay when you are living in the middle of the bay.

Crab pots on the main dock

Leaving the main dock

And speaking of layers, we also took the opportunity to enjoy Smith’s trademark dish, Smith Island Cake. It’s typically a yellow cake with eight or more thin layers of fudge frosting that is an island specialty. Smith Island Cake dates to at least the 1800s, when it was made to take along on the autumn oyster harvest.

When we got back home, we of course were inspired to make our own version of Smith Island Cake, complete with a taste test against the real thing (by our visiting niece, who was a good sport!). I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the eight cake pans that I bought just for this recipe, but souvenirs are a part of the travel experience, right?

ok, so that’s a lot of pans

ready for the oven

out of the oven

a skinny layer

frosting step one

frosting step two

first layer

not as pretty as what the Islanders make

Our version

To the right is the real cake.

Our niece was a good sport and did a taste test…and the real Smith Island Cake won, of course!

Getting Closer

October 21, 2018November 16, 2018souzzchef7 Comments

We just visited the Upper Peninsula of Michigan—commonly called “the U.P.” by all but the most uninformed tourists—and absolutely loved everything about it. Our U.P. trip was a short one, but we crammed in quite a few adventures. We kayaked at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore on Lake Superior, mountain biked on Grand Island, and stopped by Mackinac Island for an overnight on the way home.

Beautiful scene at Painted Rocks

The colors are amazing

Fat tire bikes on Grand Island

Lost (again)

Looking down on the George Spencer, which sank in 1905

Lake Superior selfie

Thanks to Uncle Ducky's Paddling Michigan for an awesome trip! www.paddlingmichigan.com

Thanks to Uncle Ducky’s Paddling Michigan for an awesome trip! http://www.paddlingmichigan.com

Photo by Mark Massey

Souzz right before she ran me over

on Lake Superior

Photo by Mark Massey

Mackinac (pronounced “Makinaw”) is a tiny little island (two miles long) out in Lake Huron, and visiting is like time travel—no cars, lots of horse-drawn carriages, and buildings and hotels dating to the 1800s.

The Grand Hotel, built in 1886

The Star Line ferry in St. Ignace

You don’t see this many places

Main Street

Beautiful hotels near the ferry

After biking around the entire island…in 45 minutes

We weren’t sure if this sign was real or not…but we think it was

Another stunning property in Mackinac

Mackinac Bridge, built in 1957, connects the U.P. to the rest of Michigan

The U.P. seems largely about the fantastic (ok, Great) lakes and the beautiful northern forests, but it’s also about the food—and you tend to see and hear a lot about pasties, perhaps the most well-known regional treat.

A pastie (pronounced pass-tee), which is basically a pot pie without the pot

But there’s so much more to food in the U.P., in particular the seafood. Coming from the East Coast, I didn’t really associate seafood with Michigan, and yet there is amazing fresh Great Lakes seafood all over the U.P..

On our trip, we fell in love with the local market in the town of Munising, VanLandschoot and Sons. It’s been around for more than 100 years, and it has an amazing selection of whitefish, salmon, trout, fish dip, and smoked fish.

Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

Like a lot of U.P. businesses, VanLandschoot and Sons is a family affair. It was founded in 1914 by a Belgian immigrant named Philip VanLandschoot who initially set up shop on the shores of Lake Michigan. In 1942, he and his family shifted operations to Munising, a town of about 2,500 on Lake Superior. He fished all summer by boat, and then ice-fished all winter—moving his gear around by horse and sleigh. Those were no doubt different times.

Philip VanLandschoot. Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

Paul VanLandschoot, Skippy Ghroel, Philip and Joe VanLandschoot in the 1950s. Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

Jerome VanLandschoot, 1987. Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

A fish market in Duluth, across the lake. Commercial fishing on Lake Superior dates to 1834. Photo courtesy of Duluth Public Library

In addition to running an amazing market, VanLandschoot and Sons has also been at the forefront of sustainable fishing practices. In the 1960s, they pioneered the use of trapnets, which are a more responsible way to fish than gillnets. With a trapnet, fish are caught live and any fish that are not being targeted (“bycatch”) can be released. In contrast, gillnets typically kill anything that they catch. The use of trapnets are one of many innovations over the years that have help maintain Lake Superior as a very health commercial fishery.

A diagram of a trapnet

The fleet

Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

Trapnets in action. Photo courtesy of Tim Trombley, GreatLakesPhotography.net

Photo courtesy of Tim Trombley, GreatLakesPhotography.net

Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

Photo courtesy of Tim Trombley, GreatLakesPhotography.net

There are 88 species of fish in Lake Superior, including whitefish. They are near the lake bottom in terms of habitat, but clearly near the top in terms of popularity—comprising almost 90% of the commercial harvest. Whitefish owes its popularity in part to its mild flavor, which means that even people who don’t like fish seem to like whitefish (illogical much?).

Photo courtesy of Tim Trombley, GreatLakesPhotography.net

VanLandschoot and Sons is located in a building next to their docks on the edge of town, and there’s nothing fancy about it. But you can see the boats when you are standing in front of their cold case, so I’m thinking you are getting pretty fresh stuff. They also process, filet and smoke everything right on site, with a friendly staff and prices that would make Whole Foods blush.

Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons

Back at our spacious and lovely AirBnB rental in Munising (we splurged a bit), we pan-fried our whitefish with a little paprika, olive oil, pepper, and lemon juice, and we also made a smoked whitefish dip with green onions and cream cheese. That’s a lot of whitefish, but it was definitely a Superior meal.

It’s funny to think that time spent together in the kitchen was one of the highlights of our vacation. But there’s something special about supporting a local (and responsible) business, eating what’s in season, preparing your meals from the freshest of ingredients, and doing it right near the source. A lot of people go on vacation to get away, but sometimes it’s fun to get closer.

Sweet Memories

September 23, 2018December 10, 2018souzzchef4 Comments

A few weeks ago, I asked my 94-year-old dad if he had a favorite drink–thinking he might say something like a Manhattan or a Whiskey Sour. He looked skyward for what seemed like a long time, and then he finally announced, “probably cane juice.”

Huh? Cane juice? I guess I’m still learning things about my dad—and learning things from my dad, too. This lesson was about a great memory from his childhood in Savannah, Georgia, which was apparently overflowing with a sugary natural drink that I’d never even heard of.

Poppy enjoying some cane juice

Poppy in 1938

The real thing

pasteurized cane juice, pretty good stuff

Cane juice is made by crushing sugarcane stalks, and it is quite popular across the South, as well as throughout Latin America and in Southeast Asia. People have been enjoying this stuff for generations wherever sugarcane is grown (who knew?). Oh, and cane juice can also be aged to make rum (patience is an even greater virtue than I thought).

Extracting cane juice. Photo by Panther

Cane juice in Indonesia. Photo by Gunawan Kartapranata

Whenever my dad had money in his pocket as a kid, he would stop for cane juice at roadside stands in and around Savannah. He also shared that there were a lot of stands in nearby Guyton, where his Aunt Beth lived on what we’d nowadays probably call a farm (she kept chickens and pigs out back). In the old days, the juice was sometimes made by mules that walked in a circle to power a cane crusher.

That’s Johnny third from left

A mule turns a cane grinder, old school style! Photo by Margie Love, courtesy of Liberty County Convention & Visitors Bureau

Right around when my dad got his first bike

Before there were bikes, there were sheep-drawn carriages?

Running around the back yard at Aunt Beth’s in Guyton. Photo from Anne Brown

Aunt Beth’s house is still standing today (although it needs a little work)

Fresh cane juice had to either be consumed or refrigerated right away, which wasn’t a hard choice for a thirsty kid (and there wasn’t much refrigeration in those days, anyway).

A stand in 1935. Photo by Russell Froelich Collection

A roadside stand from back in the day. Photo by blizzardofjj.tumblr.com

With my dad’s re-kindled interest in cane juice, my sister found a place close to where he lives in Florida that serves it in much the same way as the stands across Savannah in the 1930s. The community of Bokeelia, on Pine Island, is only about 40 minutes from my folks’ home in Fort Myers, but it feels lost in time. Pine Island still has general stores, motels that advertise in-room color TV, endless fruit groves–and a place called Fruitscapes that sells amazing fruit as well as fresh-pressed cane juice.

Pretty non-descript from the road, easy to miss

The sign says it all

I don’t even know what these are

The grove out back

Picking the perfect one!

Persimmons

Pomelos

More and more pomelos, a little riper

Inside a pomelo, like a sweeter grapefruit

We stopped into Fruitscapes for a visit this week, and were delighted to find fresh juice—along with pomelos, bananas, persimmons, dried mangos, and a super friendly staff. During our visit, our new friend Cecelia gave us a little education along with a glass of the prized juice. Just as in the old days, she threaded several stalks of sugarcane through a press, and then folded the partially flattened canes in half and did it again. The whole press contraption looked like it was made in 1930, so maybe that’s why the juice tasted so familiar to my dad.

Sugar cane

Threading cane through the juicer

threading it a second time

Johnny watching the show and sharing stories

a crushing view

The freshly squeezed cane comes out of this spigot

So, for four dollars, we got a demonstration, a drink, and a chance to hear stories about Savannah in the 1930s. I’m not sure I’d say that I like cane juice better than a Manhattan. But you probably have to drink six Manhattans to take a trip through time, and it only takes one cup of cane juice.

Awesome Sauce

July 6, 2018October 2, 2018souzzchefLeave a comment

So what’s a camping trip without a mole? And by mole, I mean the pepper-based sauce from Mexico and not the burrowing beady-eyed critter. Mole (pronounced mo-lay) tastes amazing over fish, chicken, or basically any kind of meat (except over mole meat, which is disgusting).

By Thelmadatter

Mole is an ancient Spanish word that loosely translates to “mix.” The recipe has its roots in the Mexican town of Oaxaca, about 200 miles southeast of Mexico City. Popular legend has it that nuns were rushing to prepare for a visit from the archbishop and they just made up a sauce out of what they had on hand.

Catedral Metropolitana de Nuestra Señora de la Asunción (Cathedral of our Lady of the Assumption), dating to the 1500s

Catedral Metropolitana de Nuestra Señora de la Asunción

Cuilapan de Guerro, a former monastery dating to the 1500s

Souzz visited Oaxaca last month on a business trip, and she managed to squeeze in a mole-making class during her visit (I guess the margarita-chugging class was fully booked).

At the local market

Chef Jose Manuel Baños, at his restaurant, Pitiona

Looking local?

Chia seeds

Chef Jose Manuel Baños flanked by a few students

shopping for ingredients

At the local market, the peppers used for mole

The produce was amazing

Lots of great choices at the local market

Plaza de Santa Domingo

Monte Albán ruins, 500-100 BC

Oaxaca countryside garden

Monte Albán ruins, 500-100 BC

Cuilapan de Guerro archway

Souzz raved about her class (and her trip) when she got home. So when we started planning a menu for a backpacking trip with our good friends Lou and Kay, mole-making became an obvious choice (with margarita chugging as a backup). Our destination was Racer Camp Hollow, a favorite of ours in the Blue Ridge mountains near Wardensville, West Virginia.

Rock-hopping along the way

Walking the plank

The view from our camp, not bad

Racer Camp Hollow

Looking down into camp, Racer Camp Hollow

We made a mole verde that used tomatillos, which are smallish green Mexican tomatoes. Our mole recipe also used pumpkin seeds, jalapenos, onions, garlic, cilantro, parsley, and a little bit of chicken stock.

Tomatillos in their husks

After peeling the husk

The whole trick to backcountry mole–besides a penchant for cooking the absurd–is to carry a hand-crank food processor. Our new little toy worked out great, and it weighed less than a pound.

After browning the veggies

Adding the cilantro

Kay provides power to the mixer

It turns out there are actually several makes and models of hand-crank food processors, which had me wondering how many lunatic foodie backpackers there could possibly be? Or maybe people want to cook fancy during power outages? But mostly I wondered if this thing could be used to make margaritas.

Jalapenos

The basis for the sauce

Pre-processor

browning sauce ingredients

Chugging Margs?

The absurdity of our meal planning came into sharper focus when we decided to include fresh doughnuts for breakfast. We always use a paper bag to shake and coat the doughnuts, which naturally prompted a text exchange ahead of the trip about cow pies.

Here’s the text exchange when I needed paper bags to dust the doughnuts

Have another doughnut!

In any case, dinner was delightful, and we served the mole over rice and some fresh grouper that we had hand-carried from Florida a few weeks back. We followed the main course with Kay’s apple tart for dessert, which made for a pretty elegant backcountry meal.

Florida grouper, vacuum sealed and still frozen

Grouper frying away in the frybake

The finished product – grouper with mole over rice

Kay’s apple tart, fabulous!

Camping with Lou and Kay is a lot of fun under any circumstance, but in particular when you team up for a five star meal at a five star campsite. It’s great to be with folks that know both the outdoors and food…and it’s a total bonus when they also know Heather Locklear trivia (don’t ask).

Could be the album cover?

DSCN4332-2

A Grape Idea

May 25, 2018December 13, 2018souzzchefLeave a comment

I was driving north last week towards Canandaigua, in the Finger Lakes Region of New York State, when a purple awning caught my eye. The awning belonged to the storefront of Monica’s Pies, a shop where just about everything is purple—awnings, signs, milk jugs, jars, t-shirts, carpets, flower pots…even the port-a-potty out back. Monica’s Pies is in Naples, a town of 2,500 that claims to be the grape pie capital of the world.

Driving towards Canandaigua Lake (literally)

Canandaigua Lake

My kind of place

Canandaigua Lake

Flowers against the lake

Special parking just for me

Even the port-a-potty is color-coordinated

Monica’s Pies

I always thought that I knew a lot about purple—including preserves, juice, wine, Bubble Yum, Pez, and even the Williams College Purple Cow (thanks to my in-laws).

Souzz’s parents flanking a purple cow

At a Williams football game

Purple cows are pretty book-smart

But I’d never had a purple-flavored pie before (and if orange can be a color, then purple can certainly be a flavor).

Monica’s Pies dates back to 1983, and it is one of four shops in Naples that feature grape pies. Back in the day, owner Monica Schenk was looking for a way to use a surplus of Concord grapes—a style of grape that had fallen out of favor with local vintners–and she started making grape pies. She sold the pies only in the Fall season, and most of her sales were by the honor system (an unattended box of pies sat out front, along with a money slot).

Honor system pie sales. From wjbq.com.

A roadside honor stand for pies. From wjbq.com.

Then and now, her grape pies are very sweet, thick like jello, and come topped with a crumb crust that adds a lot of texture. Souzz said each bite was “like eating really good grape jelly, back when you were a kid.” Huh?

Nowadays, Monica’s Pies is open year round and offers a variety of pies, jams, baked goods, and other treats. The shop has been featured in the New York Times and on the Food Network, and her grape pie sales alone top more than 10,000 a year. There’s no reason to wine with sales like that.

When I got back home, I shared the story of my new discovery with my Williams-educated purple cow-loving brother-in-law Steve, who is quite the foodie. “I love those grape pies,” he said. “Concord grapes suck for wine, but grape pies rule.” Those Williams kids sure have a way with words.

That’s Steve on the left, with his sisters, and looking more like a college kid than a foodie

A family visit to the “purple valley,” as Williamstown is known. That’s Souzz 2nd from right, probably after eating some jelly.

A Swell Time

April 14, 2018May 15, 2018souzzchef7 Comments

Our recent trip to great state of Utah featured a lot of variety: a four day backpack on the historic Boulder Mail Trail, a day of canyoneering in Capitol Reef, downhill skiing at Brighton, and mountain biking in the central part of the state. We also caught up with our cousin Brian and our nephew Pat, so we got in some good family time, too.

With cousin Brian, backcountry tour guide extraordinnaire

Souzz with her nephew (and expert snowboarder) Pat, fresh off of a Naki concert

with cousin Brian above Escalante

Over the course of the week, we traveled by plane, bus, car, foot, rope, ski, and bike—not bad for a couple of flatlanders from the east. And we capped off the week with bear watching (ok, so the bear was the mascot at a Utah Grizzlies hockey game).

Souzz hanging below Cassidy Arch, Capitol Reef NP

At the trailhead of the Boulder Mail Trail, with Souzz’s cousin Brian

Mountain biking near Price

Souzz hanging out in Cassidy Canyon

The natural bridge in Mamie Creek, Escalante

Crossing the stream in Death Hollow

Capital Reef NP

Descending into Death Hollow, Escalante

Well, the blog is called souzzchef

Camp in Mamie Creek

Part of our trip was spent around the town of Price, a coal-mining community of about 8,000 that at first glance doesn’t look like much of an outdoor playground. But there are some great mountain bike trails on the plateau just outside of town, and friendly locals told us about a nearby must-see area called the Little Grand Canyon in “The Swell.” After getting some vague directions, we poured over our maps and found what they were talking about—a BLM recreation area in the heart the San Rafael Swell.

There’s pavement in a few places, mostly where the road washes over

Close to the Wedge

Headed down towards the river

To get to the Little Grand Canyon required about 20 miles of driving on a dirt road…but “it’s a good dirt road where you can go 60 miles an hour,” to quote one of our new friends in Price. We were a little slower than that, but the road was in great shape. There was a BLM visitor center kiosk along the way that provided some information as well as a few good area maps.

BLM visitor center and kiosk

Headed in towards the Wedge

Shade must be nice in summer

Lots of cattle gates

A great lunch spot on the rim of the canyon

A side canyon near the river

Nice interpretive signage

Those are antelope out there

A good sense of location

The locals were right that it’s a spectacular place, with cliffs and canyons as far as we could see. The Little Grand Canyon itself is not as grand as its larger namesake, but there are stunning vistas, petroglyphs, an old (1937) bridge, primitive campgrounds, and an abundance of hiking and biking trails. And what is plenty grand about this place is what’s missing: people, concessionaires, streams of vehicles, and the suffocating infrastructure that can be somewhat common in larger parks. This place is definitely a hidden gem.

Looking to the north

That’s the San Rafael River down there

I must be standing on a rock above Souzz

looking northeast

Selfie, little Grand Canyon style

Looking down canyon

Petroglyphs

A great hike or ride, but don’t stray too far right!

San Rafael Swell and I-70, photo credit Dennis Adams, National Scenic Byways Online – http://www.fhwa.dot.gov/byways/photos/51883

Bridge over the San Rafael River, built 1937. Photo by Greg Willis https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

As we were leaving Price earlier in the day to head towards the Swell, the guy at the local convenience mart asked where we were going. “Aaaah, yes, the Swell, you’ll love it,” he said. “It’s exactly like the Grand Canyon, only way better. And who wants to drive all the way to Arizona anyway?”

Stepping In Old Footprints

March 30, 2018June 2, 2018souzzchef2 Comments

My last post was about the Adirondacks, a place that I’ve visited over and over through the last several decades. There are only a few destinations like that for me, with Alaska leading the pack—but Alaska is such a huge geography that it doesn’t really count (are you really going to the same place when your trips are hundreds of miles apart?).

Another regular stop for me is the Nantahala Outdoor Center (NOC), a whitewater paddling school in Western North Carolina. NOC was founded in 1972, which happened to be the same year that the movie Deliverance hit the theaters–with its dueling banjos, twisted locals, and scenic paddling on the nearby Chatooga River. NOC’s timing was perfect, as the movie sparked a huge increase in whitewater recreation. And it did so in spite of its dark plot, like a bump in cruise traffic after seeing Titanic.

Deliverance Rock then

Deliverance Rock now

My first visit to NOC was way back in 1988 for a kayaking class, and I returned the next year for a four-day clinic in whitewater open canoe. I’ve been back maybe ten times since, mostly to brush up on various hardboating skills (learning to roll, river rescue, tandem paddling, playboating, etc.), and have introduced a few friends to the place along the way.

Souzz’s first trip to NOC, in the 1990s

A rare shot of me with a kayak, from about 1988

On the Ocoee, tandem with Souzz

American Gothic style

Whitewater outfitting

KB during a clinic at NOC

Running the Chatooga at NOC some years back

My first taste of canoe instruction

Endering (almost) at the base of Nantahala Falls

Tandem with Souzz on the Chatooga

I was at NOC this past weekend for some more paddling instruction, this time in an ultralight Alpacka packraft. Alpackas weigh in at six pounds and stow easily, which makes them perfect for fly-in or carry-in trips. We were roadside for this trip, but there are trips further afield down the road.

Alpacka packraft, ready to paddle

The full view

My instructor for my clinic was Will Norris, and I shared with Will that I wanted to get more comfortable in this boat so that I can do more remote trips. On a more general level, I shared that my goals were to have fun and push myself. I didn’t mention to him that those two pursuits are often the same thing for me (although I think he figured it out).

NOC has changed a lot in 30 years, maybe even more than I have. This used to be a sleepy little place, and now there’s a big gear store, a full service restaurant, a tourist train stop, and permanent slalom racing gates across a lower section of the river. And the facilities are much improved, with the old hostel lodging mostly replaced with fancy cabins.

The view upstream

The gear shop has quite the selection

Looking out the window of the gear shop

The bunks used to look like this

Souzz’s sister relaxing in some more modern accommodations

NOC pie!

Celebrating something?!

A past trip with Souzz, her sister, and her niece

Gone are the days of pilot bread and banana chips, and apparently pedicures are mandatory

Most noticeable is that there are a lot more people around, and especially more rafters. The raft crowd doesn’t always get a lot of respect from hardboaters, but rafters create the market that makes for good gear and dam-release whitewater. I’m glad they’re here.

Over the course of the weekend, we paddled three different rivers, the Nantahala (an easy warm-up), the Chatooga (a nice class III), and the French Broad (some bigger water). I refined some strokes, tried some new moves in harder water, and had a chance to revisit some of my motivations for paddling.

Will asked me how I got into paddling, and I shared that I’ve always been drawn to things that I was told I couldn’t (or shouldn’t) do. I’m also drawn to places that are “off limits” because of skills barriers (harder whitewater, glacier travel, requiring avalanche knowledge, etc.). I’ve been fortunate to do some of those things (and fall short at others), and to see at least a few off-limits places. I hope there are more to come.

Koontz Flume, Gauley

Baby Falls, Tellico

New Gorge

Chatooga

As I look back on another trip to NOC, I find myself wondering why someone with an explorer’s mentality has “go-to” destinations in the first place. Psychologists talk about “place attachment,” but adventure travel seems like just the opposite. My favorite place is often the new destination that I’m planning to visit, and once it’s discovered I usually don’t have much interest in going back.

And yet there are a few places–like NOC–that keep me coming back. Maybe I come back because I get to experience myself more than experiencing a place. Maybe it’s harder to reflect if my mind is busy taking in a new view. Maybe the unknown of a familiar place is me?

Highs and Lowes

February 24, 2018December 1, 2018souzzchef2 Comments

Souzz and I generally prefer to be guide-less on our outdoor adventures. And by that I mean that we like to try to do things on our own, at the mercy of our own skills and decision-making (and sometimes at the mercy of our own mistakes). That approach has worked very well in whitewater, pretty well in the backcountry, and mostly well on technical rock climbs. It hasn’t worked as well around the breakfast table, but I’ll get to that in a bit.

Souzz and me

KB keeping us safe

With my brother Tim

ok, so it’s not ice, but it is my mom showing us where we got it from

As for our guide-less adventure limits, putting our skill on ice has long been a mismatch. So we rope up with a professional guide when we climb ice. And for the past 25+ years, our outfitter of choice has been Adirondack Rock and River in Keene, New York. They opened for business in 1988, and climbing with those guys has always felt like visiting old friends (assuming, of course, that your old friends can safely lead you up frozen waterfalls).

Rock and River

lots of tools at Rock and River

A little climbing history

Gear

The main dining room

Eric Heiden won five gold medals here in 1980

fires indoors and out

nearby Placid

1980 Olympic Torch in Placid

Souzz doing an Olympic pose (albeit with beater rental skis)

Our hotel (ok, not really)

After a day of xc skiing

The guides at Rock and River—experts like Ed, Matt, Don, Chad, Bill, and Mark–are highly skilled in their craft. And they are also interesting people, as quick with a story or a quip as they are with a taut rope. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve seen one of them shivering on a stance chirping out encouragement while waiting for an out-of-shape client to finish a pitch. Sometimes I’ve seen that dynamic up close, like real close.

Matt

Don

Matt and Souzz

Our most recent trip north featured a lot of what the Adirondacks are known for—varied climbing, easy approaches (ten minutes walk gets you to the base of a lot of area classics), cold weather (17 below one morning), the skill and charm of Rock and River guides, lots of fat ice, and at least one fat climber.

A screw and tool

would you trust your life to this?

An equalized anchor

Jeff Lowe invented these, called tricams

A full rack of gear

A hexcentric. Sometimes there are dry cracks near ice routes

We spent our time around Chapel Pond, an area with classic routes like Chouinard’s Gully, Power Play, and Big Brother (the latter route’s first ascent was on New Year’s Day 1984). Area guidebooks, including one written by Don Mellor, list more than 1500 routes in the Adirondacks, so there’s a lot to choose from.

Souzz is apparently an “autumn”

Lions on the Beach

First pitch, Roaring Brook Falls

Kai on Whales in the Jungle

TimO up high on Central Pillar

Central Pillar of Pitchoff

Unexpected Pleasure, on Knob Lock Mountain

A short approach to Chapel Pond Canyon

Pretty sloppy with the straps…

Power Play, in Chapel Pond

Pulling an overhang at Right of Pitchoff, Cascade Pass

Souzz getting it done on Lions on the Beach

Chapel pond

From the early days…ice looks the same

Dogleg, first pitch

Back in the day, the ‘dacks was a somewhat overlooked climbing destination. But then some high profile visitors and a 1995 Climbing Magazine feature kind of blew the cover off of the place. That article, combined with a winter festival called Mountainfest, established the area as a regular stop for both weekenders and visiting stars. Generational talents like Jeff Lowe, Alex Lowe, Will Gadd, and Mark Synnott all have spent time around Keene, and you never know whom you might see on the cliffs.

The visiting stars have put up some visionary routes, but the R&R crew has put up its share of routes, too. An Underwood Canyon Matt Horner classic called “CFD” comes to mind. There’s also an aptly named (but otherwise unremarkable) Don Mellor route at Chapel Pond called “Full Court Press.”

Justin on CFD

Power Play Wall, Chapel Pond

1993, looking younger

Don leads Full Court Press

One morning back in the mid-1990s, I sat at the Rock and River breakfast table next to a 40-something guy and confidently waded into a debate about avalanche safety. While I was making what I thought was a key point, I noticed that my new friend’s knuckles were red and swollen–a telltale sign of a serious climber (back before tools with curved shafts). At some point I realized that I was basically arguing with Jeff Lowe, perhaps the best alpinist of his generation.

If I’d climbed a new route that day, I’d have wanted to call it “Unguided Breakfast.”

A famous pic of Jeff Lowe from back in the day

Jeff’s book from the mid-1990s, a seminal work on ice climbing

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