Day one of my trip to Chicago with Bill to visit his sister Jean. Flying over the city was astonishing – the size, the people, the pavement stretched for what seemed like a hundred miles. There was no way I could get my mind around this town. I was there for the company, the art and the food and knew I would only get a taste of all three in two 1/2 days. Kiki’s Bistro was the perfect place to begin, with a juicy duck salad, a roasted chicken salad, appetizer of pate and mushroom soup and a glass (or two) of wine. Ready to tackle the traffic, we headed off to Glen Ellyn to meet Jean and tour their childhood stomping grounds in Warrenville, close to the Fox River. The collections of villages, including Geneva, Aurora and Glen Ellyn were charming, sprinkled like baubles around the wrist of Chicagoland. After a day of reminiscing, it only seemed right to enjoy a night in Melrose Park at Tom’s Steakhouse. The good fellas may be gone (or not) but the bar had not aged since Jerry Vale reminded us that it’s all in the game. Even now, George’s Brandy Alexander goes down mighty easy.
Cruising to Chicago
Sky waves
Fermilab
Chicago on Lake Michigan
Lake Shore
Skyscrapers
Trains and fire escapes
Kiki’s for lunch
Kiki’s Bistro
Intimate, warm, European
Wine and glass
Elevated after a delicious lunch
More Tall buildings
All these fire escapes made me want to climb some roofs
Castroville on a Sunday morning (in late January) was sunny, still, and unusually warm. We were sauntering around this charming European style village looking for a bite to eat when we saw a homey looking café. The sign outside the Old Alsatian Ristorante read Open at 11am. From the street, it looked to me like a coffee shop and bakery – a perfect short stop. Instead, Eve and I found a sophisticated restaurant with a varied menu and wine list. Tito, the owner and host, welcomed us and described the specials on the chalkboard perched above a selection of his prized wines. He was kind enough to show us around his charming establishment both inside and out. The patio held the promise of spring and summer dining and Tito opened a small outbuilding that housed a number of civil war era relics left on the property by soldiers who bivouacked there long ago. It will become a small museum. (See the post on Castroville for pictures). After suffering from a lack of appealing eateries on our trip to Sonora and Uvalde, this was a refreshing antidote, a delectable discovery.
Unable to resist temptation, we ordered entrees and wine. Lunch started with a cup of the day’s cauliflower, broccoli and poblano pepper soup. The touch of parmesan and blend of buttery, vegetable goodness exceeded every expectation. Eve chose a spinach and chicken tart served with caesar salad. The savory spinach filling was enhanced with the surprising addition of an occasional fresh green olive, and was held in an airy home made filo crust, absolutely superb. I picked the beef braised with mushrooms, wine and herbs, the garlic mashed potatoes and fresh mixed vegetables. Tito poured me a glass of Chianti to go with the beef, an inspired pairing. I had a sip with each bite. The Pinot Grigio he chose for the tart was fresh, with hints of citrus, another delicious combination. Tito certainly knows what to do with garlic, olive oil, herbs, freshly baked bread and wine. The garden provided the herbs and will yield tasty salad fixings in the months to come. I look forward to my next chance to find out what’s on Tito’s chalkboard.
On the way back from Uvalde, Texas, after our journey through the underworld in the Caves of Sonora, Bill and I made a delightful discovery in Castroville, an Alsatian community and artists’ enclave with an incredible European restaurant. Although there were some nice rolling hills and scenic vistas on the drive between Sonora and Uvalde, the towns we passed through were a hodgepodge of trailers, decaying and abandoned homes and trucks, unplanned and untended communities. From Devil’s Sinkhole to dry devil’s creek, river; this was devil’s country. Uvalde had a few attractive buildings and some evidence of life, certainly enough fast food joints but other than the” little gallery that could”, The Art Lab, the experience was forgettable.
It was such a pleasure to roll into Castroville. Right away, the layout and feel of the town was picturesque, European, tidy. OK, I betray my roots, I like aesthetically planned communities. The sloping roofs and old country feel of the homes brought back memories of Bavaria. I include shots of the city in the gallery below. The Old Alsatian Steakhouse and Ristorante will be reviewed in the Dining section of this site. Suffice it to say, it was a rare gem. More trips to Castroville are in the cards.
Traveling out to the Caverns of Sonora in Sonora, Texas was made easier by 80 mph speed limits. I was prepared to enter into another world, of twisting tunnels and vaulted rooms gleaming with crystals. We were not disappointed, the caverns were mysterious, well-lit and eerily beautiful, an alien world that was only recently discovered (in 1954). Since there was only a small ingress and no egress, it remained undisturbed, growing over eons, carved by water and by wind. Privately owned, the Mayfield family runs tours for 10 – 12 people at a time. Our guide was a caver whose day job was at TXDOT, the group all people “of a certain age” who were new to the caverns.
The tour began at the surface in the part of the cave that was not considered alive, no longer producing formations. It took about an hour and 45 minutes and descended 150 feet into the earth. They warned us it was humid, so no one was overdressed and almost everyone packed a camera, only occasionally impeding the enchantment of the living cave creature. Several moments stood out for me: one was when we passed a small, extraordinarily clear pool of water, tinted slightly green. There were stalactites dripping over the pool, causing a circle to ripple across the surface, some intersecting but all moving with a smooth elegance that made the water seem like glycerine. It was so silky and luxurious, the gentlest touch of time moving over the water’s surface. I tried to capture the feeling in my body but was shooed along, always the laggard. The group stopped for a moment to sit on benches and experience the darkness and the deep silence in one of the caverns. It was truly womb like, we were immediately enclosed by the soft, dark quiet. Would that we had a few moments in this pre-existent state, all sense of direction collapsed into a point. Bill suggested we return and take a private tour to enjoy this world at a saunter. I agree. I am still trying to get a real sense of geological time. The formations grow roughly one inch per thousand years and are still evolving. The cave is an ancient being by whom we are insects. This feeling reminds me of the Badlands when I realized how many millions of years the dinosaurs roamed the earth. I include a modern dinosaur in tribute.
It’s always nice to be with family for a traditional Christmas dinner. Our hosts, my sister Lucy and brother in-law Bill are beyond gracious. Growing up in a military family with a European mother and living oversees made me a world citizen before I knew I was American. In the last few years I’ve understood how much honor and courage means to me. It takes courage to face the ups and downs, the battle of life. Generally I prefer a more aesthetic approach, but one rises to meet challenges with grit, a quality I learned at home. Missing Aurora, who traveled north to Buffalo for a white (and frigid) Christmas, we were warm but not as bright.
The tables turned to more down home fare at the Salt Lick, as I meandered out to meet my sister Carol, Mike (my other brother in-law) and Dick, in from California and up for ribs. Holy smoke, I believe it has expanded threefold (like my waistline) but the food is still authentic and the people friendly. Except in the parking lot, where the feeding frenzy prompted snapping carnivores to lose some holiday cheer. We got our cheer back at the Duchman Family Winery (formerly Mandola’s) where we sipped some reds and whites, and split North and South. It’s probably clear to most who venture into this blog that I’m “big on Austin” but honestly, where else can you drive out in the country for great barbecue, enjoy the rolling hills and fields, cypress creeks, vineyards, an ass or two and Barsana Dham, a Hindu temple? The evidence speaks for itself. I hope you stay merry through the New Year and into 2011!
Bill and I had fun in San Antonio, staying at the Hotel Havana on the Riverwalk. I was given a membership to the McNay Museum as an early Christmas gift, signaling the start of a new series of photo abstractions. I’ve included a few, but most are in development. Friday evening we dined at the famed Liberty Bar in its new location in the King William district (housed in a former convent). A lovely meal, nice appetizers and a particularly tasty Cotes du Rhone, easily 3.75 stars. Apparently, Black Friday was cause for celebration and a river parade, adding a little glitter to the experience and a lot of traffic. The Havana Bar was a fabulous dungeon with underground cellar or hotel elevator entrances, good drinks and quaint alcoves. While it was busy, Bill, Carol and I managed to take over a sitting room with little fanfare. On Saturday we visited the Pearl Brewery farmer’s market, had a drab cup of coffee and a questionable taco. Off to La Villita looking for blankets then back to the King William district for an outstanding breakfast at Tito’s. For a convenient overnight trip, this was a lot of fun. I recommend everything but the Hotel Havana for a quiet night’s sleep. Charm trumps comfort there.
Club 21 cannot be replaced. I took these pictures of the Lucky Tomblin Band playing there last October and set them to one of Lucky’s tunes. A classic dance hall since the late 1800s. If those walls could talk . . .
Getting up early to hike through the woods brings memories of the morning light as it casts long shadows down the mountains, brings fire to the aspen leaves and makes globes of dew gleam in the sun. Smells of pine needles, boggy creek grasses and tumbling water under rocky outcrops begin to fade in my mind, sooner than the sound of the wind through the trees. Clattering aspen leaves and rustling pines sprinkled over a deep, muffled mountain roar, the voice of the Tetons, writ small on the trail to Inspiration Point. We saw quite a few people, an international collection taking two forks of a several mile hike up the mountain. The only animal who made contact was a grouse, almost invisible until she stepped out onto a log and walked daintily by me, a gentle, lovely little being. Her trust and friendliness were surprising and she melted into the underbrush as quickly as she emerged when a young couple came up the trail.
It was good to work out on the mountain, not knowing what was around the next bend, wondering “am I there yet?” stalking the next nature shot. I was tired when I got to the bottom breathing deeply the clean, pungent air, knowing how long it had been since I went to the mountain and felt its strength. I hope it will be sooner than later the next time. It has been liberating to explore this new terrain, see the ancient movement of the earth over time and share a few moments with the animals who taught me much about tribe and community. A wonderful, if brief journey North and West.
Going to the Tetons without seeing Yellowstone was not an option, although tourist attractions held no real allure. Traveling through the Teton National Forest was scenic; more fabulous road pictures of the Tetons offered themselves at almost every bend. Off we went, trailing a fluorescent green VW hippie van (sporting a peace sign and putting along at weed speed) through the forest. Entering Yellowstone lacked enchantment, the mountains balding with acres of trees lost to fire or disease, hard to tell. By this time we were used to the alternating speed limits popping up for no apparent reason – 25, 45, 35 – one rarely knew why or when. We crossed the Continental Divide at least 10 times on the trip, six times in Yellowstone alone. I couldn’t keep track of east or west unless it was clear which way the streams were flowing. Yellowstone held a certain fascination for me since childhood. My grandparents spoke of it and PBS lit a “great lodges of the West” fire in my imagination.
The lodge itself was monumental, a log cabin to dwarf all (and there were many) others. The shot I took inside the lodge does not do justice to the balustrades and massive stair railings, an odd marriage of Grimm’s fairytale meets cowboy campfire. Tourists of every age and stripe covered the ground like ants, scouring the mounds of holy smoke for that perfect shot, a camera safari at one of the West’s great wonders. Bill and I took to the boardwalk for a several mile hike around the main geyser area, waiting for the scheduled eruption of Old Faithful, watching the earth come and then rest for another 90 minutes.
The vivid colors, mineral smells and smoking, bubbling mud and water make for an atmospheric photo and sensory rich experience. It was not hard to imagine a time when this ground was hallowed, a place where the earth’s arteries spill precious minerals, whispering secrets from the deep in plumes of steam and mineral rain. I will not soon forget the sounds, smells and terrain of Yellowstone.
Aside from the crows, who were lured over to us by almond apricot treats, no animals were to be seen. On the way back to Jackson a small herd of elk stood regally by the side of the road but it was not until our hike to inspiration point the next day that we had any sightings. Tomorrow: hiking the Tetons.
The feel of the terrain changed dramatically in Wyoming. While Nebraska and South Dakota had a numinous, feminine quality, it was clear we were entering cowboy country when we crossed the state border into WY. One of my favorite stretches of road was gravel Highway 18 into the Badlands in South Dakota. Rolling hills, sage greens, fawns and purple browns dotted with a variety of shrubs and pine trees evoked the nooks and sensuous curves of a woman’s body, topped with soft, grassy fur. Even the Badlands had a mysterious, softening effect, possibly because the animals seemed peaceful and protected. The Black Hills were more rugged, home to more antelope than cow with a brooding, historic quality all their own. Still, the mystery was present in the pinon trees, the road to nowhere that took us into the woods, the reservoirs.
The flat stretches of coal and oilfields, along with a preponderance of cattle and horse ranches made the eastern part of Wyoming feel distinctly masculine. The odd bicycle on the hill early in the trek Westward provided a welcome moment of whimsy in the spare, no-frills expanse of gas stations, post offices, abandoned outposts and caravans of truck and train transport. I “enjoyed” my once in a lifetime all white meal at the Ghost Town Café (hot turkey slathered in white gravy over white bread over mashed white potatoes). It was hard to imagine we were headed to one of the most beautiful natural settings in the Northwest: the Grand Tetons
The dearth of birds on this trip surprised me. I had a fortunate encounter with a ruffled grouse during a hike I’ll post later, but other than hawks, crows and the occasional magpie they were hiding or absent. The other exception came at a rest stop with a pond, which we shared with a flock of migrating Canadian geese. They were a lively group, not shy at all. I may have seen one flock of sandhill cranes in the distance in Brighton, CO but I’ll probably have to go south to the Gulf Coast to see any more this year.
After one of several 8+ hour drives, we pulled into Jackson, WY at twilight. The teaser shots of the Tetons included in this post are from the following day on the way to Yellowstone National Park. Jackson Hole proved to be an Aspen wannabe, but the Wyoming Inn, despite the over the top Western theme, provided a great base camp for the next few days. The fireplace and the large Jacuzzi tub didn’t hurt. Neither did the homemade cookies and outstanding bread pudding (with fresh berries) snuggled up to Seattle’s best in the hotel lobby. I haven’t talked much about food because this was not a culinary tour by any stretch of the imagination. We had one nice meal at Café Genevieve, which made up for the sushi we tried at Ignite, an Elton John bar boasting an assortment of cowboy Asian appetizers. Right, but it was late and the menu looked interesting. We declined other JH sushi (one on every corner, seriously) offerings and considered wild game (the other red meat) without biting in the end. The pig candy appetizer at Café Genevieve, however, took me beyond any lingering bacon fetish and ended the reign of the noble pig for the time being. http://www.genevievejh.com/
Despite his cold, Bill rose early the next morning to take some amazing shots of the Tetons in the morning light. Fortunately, I got some good ones at a more reasonable hour – posting to come.
