Getting Closer

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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! 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
Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons
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 Tim Trombley, GreatLakesPhotography.net
Photo courtesy of Tim Trombley, GreatLakesPhotography.net
Photo courtesy of VanLandschoot and Sons
Photo courtesy of Tim Trombley, GreatLakesPhotography.net
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

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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 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).

That’s Johnny third from left
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

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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
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

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

Souzz’s parents flanking a purple cow
At a Williams football game
Purple cows are pretty book-smart

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

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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

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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

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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 sharing coffee with Jeff Lowe, arguably 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

Seven Fish, and a Cheese Log

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We spent part of our holiday this year in Southwest Florida before heading north to enjoy the snow in Buffalo. While in Florida, we made a new (to us) dish called Cioppino for Christmas Eve. Cioppino is a soup/stew that features seven different kinds of seafood. It originated with Italian immigrant fishermen in San Francisco in the late 1800s, who were apparently inspired by an older tradition from their homeland. That’s a whole lot of tradition behind what might be a new tradition for us.

The story behind Cioppino is that unlucky Bay Area fishermen would walk around the docks and collect fish from the more successful boats, and then would add tomatoes and white wine to a large pot and make a stew from their random catch. They would expect to return the favor when they had better luck. Sharing a bit of one’s catch sounds like a “holiday season thing to do” no matter the time of year—and shouldn’t every season be the season of giving, anyway?

It was easy for us to get into a seafood theme in Florida, since you are never more than 60 miles from a beach anywhere in the state. A beach theme also seemed to go with the mellower pace of things here–although the calypso vibe isn’t as obvious when you see two people at the local mall fighting over the last cheese log. There are, I suppose, practical limits to the season of giving.

pvmurphyagain
My brother-in-law in mid-carve on a past holiday

My brother-in-law, who is a history professor, shared with us that the original Cioppino took some inspiration from an Italian dish called the Feast of the Seven Fishes that is traditionally served on Christmas Eve. In Italy, the Feast of the Seven Fishes is called La Vigilia, or “The Vigil.” My brother in law is a fountain of Italian history; he really should do that for a living.

Our favorite seafood place in Southwest Florida is Skip One in Fort Myers, a locally owned market on Highway 41 that features fresh caught everything. Skip One is primarily a shrimping outfit, but they trade part of their shrimp catch with other types of boats to bring in a full bounty—sort of the commercial fishing version of Cioppino (ok, so that analogy is a bit of a stretch).

Skip One, in Fort Myers
Small space, big punch
Not the best marketing
Lots of choices
Modern day recipe shopping
Love the signage at Skip One!
Souzz marvels at the selection
Things are fileted right in front of you

For our dish, we used a recipe from Giada De Laurentiis, and for our seafood we chose grouper, snapper, sea bass, clams, shrimp, mussels, and scallops. In addition to the seven types of seafood, Giada’s recipe includes white wine, diced tomatoes, garlic, shallots, onions, and fennel. We added the seafood to the broth just ten minutes before serving in order to avoid over-cooking it.

Snapper, Bass, Grouper
Making the base
Lots of ingredients
Souzz drinks the cooking wine, go figure
Mussels
Fresh scallops
Soaking clams
Shrimp, which is Skip One’s specialty

We’re told that Italian restaurants in San Francisco serve a lot of variations of this dish, and some even provide a bib to their patrons (if you’ve seen me eat, that’s another hint for why we chose Cioppino). In the tradition of the city, we served our Cioppino with a beautiful loaf of San Francisco-style Sourdough bread.

Pretty fancy garb for cooking
plating
That’s my niece on the left, Souzz on the right
My sister, neice, and Souzz
My sis with the bread, and even the hot pad is color coordinated!
With my brother and mom. And is my head really that huge? (don’t answer that)
The finished dish

All in all, Cioppino was a fun new recipe, pretty easy to prepare, and delicious. Tradition or not, it’s one thing we did this year that is worth repeating next year (but we’ll order our cheese log ahead of time).

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Fancy Beef Sandwiches

souzzchef1 Comment

A few years back, I wrote about the amazing food scene in Buffalo, New York, a scene that is partly the result of the melting pot of immigrants from back in the day (and by “melting pot,” I don’t mean the forgettable fondue chain, where $100 buys you an appetizer and the need for a cholesterol check). Many of Buffalo’s best-known dishes are ethnic creations like kielbasa and pierogi, dishes which are now competing for attention with more recent additions like Buffalo wings and sponge candy.

Wings
Sponge candy from Watsons

I’d of course heard of Buffalo wings long before I met Souzz, but marrying into a Buffalo family means you get to learn about a lot of other new treats. One example is the signature sandwich of Western New York, a beef on weck. The beef on weck is a Buffalo classic: a coarse-salted roll with caraway, thin-sliced roast beef, fresh horseradish, and au jus.

Beef on weck

“It’s just a fancy beef sandwich,” I once blurted out from under my newly purchased Buffalo Bills hoodie. Endearing yourself to your in-laws is difficult stuff, I soon learned, and no food in Buffalo is “just” anything. Dinner choices often have storied histories and serve to unite generations–regardless of whom your daughter might have just married.

Weck is short for kimmelweck, a style of roll that you don’t see unless you are in Buffalo–or are in a restaurant with chefs that wish they were. The sandwich’s origin is hotly debated (well, maybe not hotly debated, but people do occasionally talk about it). Some say the kimmelweck was adapted from a roll that was served at funerals in Germany, and others say that an enterprising bartender decided to salt rolls to get people to drink more (Seriously? Has lack of consumption ever really been a problem in Buffalo?).

Regardless of how and where the sandwich originated, it is a Western New York staple. And the locals agree that the classic area restaurant for beef on weck is Schwabls, in West Seneca. Schwabls is on a non-descript corner that isn’t really on the way to anywhere, and yet it has been serving Western New Yorkers in one form or another since 1837. Its small dining room is perpetually filled with hungry locals that come to enjoy a sandwich or some other German-style dish.

I felt very authentic walking into Schwabls over the holiday wearing my still-new-looking Bills hoodie. As usual, the place was packed, with a lot of folks enjoying beef on weck as well as their signature holiday drink, the Tom and Jerry (similar to egg nog, maybe like drinking a sugar cookie).

Our server asked us just exactly how we wanted our roast beef, and she meant every word. Beef on weck at Schwabls is hand-cut, in order to avoid cooking the roast beef more with the heat of a spinning blade. The care that Schwabls takes in preparing each and every sandwich is in itself worth the visit. Oh, and Tom and Jerry were nice to see, too.

It seems that every time I visit Buffalo, I learn a little more about the food scene, and maybe a little more about other things, too.  My meal was great, my brother-in-law shared a lot of history, and there was some good local color, too. I may have some more work to do to blend in up here, but at least I didn’t order a “fancy beef sandwich.”

Meeting Up With Irma

souzzchef8 Comments

As we awaited the arrival of one of the bigger hurricanes on record, my 92-year-old mom had a question for me. While typing away into her iPad (she’s pretty high-tech), she asked “how do you spell the word hussy?”

Pre-storm, care free! (photo by Norma A.)
Johnny and Margie and her iPad, awaiting Irma

To backtrack a bit, I came down to Fort Myers, Florida to visit my parents a few weeks back and decided to stick around to help out during Hurricane Irma. As expected, we were ordered to evacuate, so we headed across town to a friend’s house that was outside of the evacuation zone. Their fortress of a home (high ground, solid construction, hurricane shutters, generator…and incredibly gracious hosts) was a very welcomed refuge.

Shutters makes it dark…and safe

Our hosts generously took in several others in similar circumstances–so all in all, there were 17 of us (12 adults, five children) in a three-bedroom house, along with a dog and two gerbils (hey, what’s a hurricane without a few gerbils?).

Watching the water build out front
This tiny window required standing on a stool, offered the only view of outside
Water still building
Can’t get much higher…but it didn’t
During the height of the storm

The storm itself was pretty exciting for a Virginia boy, tons of rain and wind that left a lot of standing water and downed trees (it was worse elsewhere in the state).

Lots of standing water, but all of the homes that we could see were above water
Could have paddled to the neighbor’s
Another look at the street

Unlike areas to the south–and unlike Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands during Hurricane Maria–we were fortunate to get through without much damage. We did a lot of prep beforehand, moving anything that could blow away, but we also got lucky with the storm track.

Last minute, had time to take off an old satellite dish
No roofing cement? No problem, just put back the old screws

There was some flooding and damage in the surrounding neighborhoods, but for us the challenge was mostly about the long (several days) power outage, the seasonal heat, a shortage of gasoline, and a few health issues that thankfully resolved.

A mystery palm frond appeared in the pool…even though the cage was completely intact. A good Irma mystery.

Through it all, I learned a lot from the locals, who know a thing or two about hurricanes. Here are a few random tips:

  • Back into the door: Garage doors are one of the weaker parts of a house, and bad things happen when the wind gets in under your roof. A trick is to back your car next to the door (from the inside), set the brake, and wedge in some wood (or whatever) between the door and the bumper to give the garage door more strength.
  • Strings attached: Our friends had a hanging light above their front porch that couldn’t be removed ahead of the storm. So they tethered it with parachute cord, tying it off to the front pillars on the porch. It made it through, which was nice–but we also know that some folks lost everything, so we tried to keep it all in perspective.
  • Keep water out, but keep it in, too: It’s old news that a filled bathtub means you can flush the toilets if you lose water, but tub stoppers often leak. Our friends put a little Saran wrap around the plug to help the seal. We never lost water, but we had plenty on hand just in case.
  • Give your freezer a quarter: Food safety is a big deal after a power outage, so one trick is to freeze a glass of water and put a quarter on top. If the quarter is still on top after power returns, the food in the freezer didn’t thaw and refreeze–and the meatloaf is ok to eat (although I still hate meatloaf).
    notice how close the car is to the (soon to be closed) door
    Hanging light tethered
    A little saran wrap around the stopper
    Quarter on top means freezer food is safe

In the coming days, the Fort Myers News-Press was still delivering and was one of our main links to the community and the state!

Lastly, there are some things that I knew before the storm but that were good to see in action again:

  • You can’t have too much power (unless you are a dictator): Having a few UPS’s (uninterruptible power supplies) on hand is a good thing. The UPS’s work well for charging anything and the batteries last much longer than pocket-sized phone chargers.
  • Siphons suck: Spend a million dollars on a good one, as the gas in your car is a great resource to feed a generator (if you are fortunate enough to own one). Inexpensive siphons don’t seem to work well with newer cars, and sitting on 15 gallons of gas with no way to get it into a generator is a bad feeling (ask me how I know).
  • It’s dark, even when it isn’t: With spotty cell coverage, no internet or tv, and radio coverage that was hard to follow, it was amazing how little we knew about the storm. This was true both before, during, and after–even though we were right in the middle of it. At first we had cell reception and Souzz texted us images of the storm track. But the cell towers eventually went down and it wasn’t until days later that we heard details about the damage in the Keys and elsewhere across the state. Looking back, the lack of communications was equal parts unsettling and unburdening.
Important info
the track was good to know
football scores and hurricane info, together
  • Reaching in: People from outside of the area wanted to help…and they did, simply by connecting on the phone (once our phones worked). Friends, family, the NMFA crowd, the 34th crowd, and Red Cross peeps, you know who you are. Connecting with friends by phone or text was a huge boost.
  • It takes a community: A neighbor that we had never met until the eve of the storm gave us five gallons of gas when we couldn’t get a drop anywhere. Shara and Kevin gave us gas and food and support, Dave fixed our generator the day before the storm (!), Janet from Publix grocery store offered hugs, Jonathan (the pool guy) gave us a big lift, and a total stranger stopped his car to help my mom, pretty cool.
    My dad and brother with our hero Dave
    The dogs did their part!
    It takes a community…or a community chest!
    My sis and Marlis

For days, anywhere you saw people in town, Irma was all that they could talk about, and sharing stories was definitely a part of the process. I can’t even count the number of conversations that started with “how did you do in the storm?”

As we put things back together, we went out of our way to thank the employees at Home Depot or Publix or CVS–places that are filling critical needs in the community. Each of those folks had their own story, but they were out there helping us (maybe later they’ll write a blog that is more interesting than mine).

I also recognize that storms hurt even more for those with fewer resources, so we feel incredibly fortunate to have had so much help to bounce back. And our hearts go out to those that lost so much to Irma–and now to devastating Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico and the Caribbean–and we are contributing to relief efforts. Our little adventure was pretty manageable when you view it in the context of the areas that were hardest hit.

**

As for my mom’s question before the storm, she was posting an update on Facebook, and her post ended with “Irma, you hussy, be gone!”