Kangaroos, Wallabies, Emus, Oh My!

The view from our KI rental home

Yesterday my two closest friends both departed Adelaide for holidays with their respective families.   Chocolate does not taste as good today.  I'm fighting sadness with memories of happier times.

Time has flown since I last wrote.  I was hunkered under a pile of academic work for a while, and then, relieved of that duty, have been indulging in a bit of travel, filling the rest of time with work of the money-earning kind.  I've had two spectacular trips in the past 3 weeks, one to the Coonawarra, and another to Kangaroo Island.  Let's do a brief rundown of each!

The Coonawarra is a iron-board flat strip of land about 80 miles from the sea on the Limestone Coast.  It is famous for its Cabernet Sauvignon, a varietal which (in my old age) I am coming to appreciate as the king of grapes.  Distinctive though it is, a good Cabernet displays a singularly wide range of aromas and nuances as it gracefully, elegantly ages.  Just like a well-raised person, it is neither subject to fashion nor pleasurable to fools.  Its best expressions require proper oaking and diligent care, and only in very specific spots (Bordeaux, Coonawarra, Stellenbosch, arguably Napa) does it ripen to the sort of perfection that results in a strong, velvety, developed, and thought-provoking wine.

There are many wines that get me excited: muscled & sexy Barolo, pensive & earthy Pinot Noir, outgoing & dynamic Grenache... (this is just my homage to reds)... zesty & gritty Zinfandel... But Cabernet Sauvignon... heavens, this isn't just a wine you want to take home to mom.  It's a wine you adore and want all for yourself, even as you want to share its joy with the world.  It's a wine for now if impatience strikes, and it's a wine to cellar for 35 years and enjoy in old age.  It only improves with age.  In every bottle is the opportunity to learn more, grow into a deeper appreciation, and be inexpressibly happy with the tutorial.  By my rough estimate, one really good Cabernet is worth ten bottles of lesser stuff, yet it does not need to be pricey nor flashy nor hip to earn its respect as a noble grape.  In fact, what I liked most about the Coonawarra is the close-knit community and the sense that the winemakers there are just winemakers, the viticulturalists are just farmers with a specific passion.  The terroir is perfect for Cab Sav, and so that's what they make, humbly as that.  And, boy, what they make is brilliant.

Sparing everyone the details of the itinerary (I recognize that most people aren't as nerdy as I am about wine), suffice to say we tasted a whole heap of good wine, and were really impressed in particular by the vintage wine available for sale.  Any day you're drinking wine older than yourself... that's a good day.
The company was pretty spectacular too.  Six of us piled into my roommate's big red Holden station wagon (affectionately called "Ed"), and with the exception of a flat tire on the return drive, we tooled around the region in real style and passable comfort.  We rented a cute little beach house on the coast, and basically spent four days cooking one another good food and drinking good wine.  Hedonism?  Bring it on.

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Remarkable Rocks

This past week I went to Kangaroo Island with three friends for a much quieter and calmer getaway.  Aptly named, the 90-mile long island is home to lots of native and extremely cute Australian wildlife.  We saw many wallabies, one big bounding kangaroo, sea lions, seals, and birds by the score.  The major disappointment was the platypus, who would not emerge from his watery haunt to show us his beak and webbed feet.  I suppose I'll have to go to the zoo... because I'll be bummed if I leave this place without seeing the world's most bizarre mammal.

Remarkable Danger!!

A return trip to KI is definitely in order.  We checked off the tourist must-sees, including the Remarkable Rocks (see right... complete with obligatory fear-mongering sign), Admiral's Arch, and the sheep dairy.  We had an awesome, butter-filled lunch at the Marron farm... marron are Australia's delicious little answer to Louisiana crayfish and Maine lobster.  We tasted some small-production gin and liqueurs at the tiny island distillery.  Wish I'd taken a picture of the copper still.  We checked out Clifford's Bee-and-Honey operation, which I found utterly fascinating.  KI is home to the world's only remaining pure strain of Ligurian bees, which makes it biologically special and important because Ligurian bees are prized for quality honey and a good temperament... It is now on my list to learn more about bees... absolutely fascinating creatures.

The evenings in KI passed in good company, eating good food (probably eating way too much, honestly), and then staying up late chatting about life and plans.  My friends might say I've been inexhaustibly talkative on the subject of "life" recently.  Lots to think about, lots of logistics and hopes and dreams to sort through.  It's nice to feel as if I'm on the right track, however hard it is to stomach the reality that not everything is within my control.  One lives in hope, and continues to work hard.

That's a nice thing about this summer.  I'm here, at the massive sacrifice of family time and traditions and comfort, in order to work... Working hard keeps the mind busy... and it's hard to do much heavy lifting with fingers crossed.  So I'll just keep my head down and keep posting the good news! 

me, worried,  in a rock

Food. (or, A Weekend in NYC)

I love New York. Even when it's July steamy--stinking, slippery wet with summer--there's this frenetic movement of people and ideas that make the place pulsate with cool. I love seeing how people are dressing themselves nowadays. I love how shoes can give away exactly where certain people will get off the subway train. I love that you can have a $16 cocktail in a gorgeous bar, then go across the street for steamed dumplings. Five for a dollar. I love how anytime I come back, every little thing has changed, but all the big things, the important things, like landmarks, intersections, and people are all the same.
I would guess in fact that little has changed since Nick Carroway wandered into a drunken revelry at the Plaza. Even as every facade adapts its outward appearance to keep up with the times, the City at its heart remains: distinctive, robust, gritty, and gorgeous, with a razor-sharp and enticing edge. When I am not in New York, I feel like I'm missing something breathtaking; it is something beyond the realm of mortals, for which real life simply must be suspended.

And by "real life," I mean "normal diet," so bear with me as I recount the gastronomic exploits of the weekend... we did well for ourselves.

We arrived at LaGuardia on Friday morning, and went downtown to check into the hotel. It is the first time I have stayed in a nice hotel in the city, so that in itself was a special treat, certainly an upgrade from my old East Village apartment or my friends' couches when I was back for visits. First stop on the tour was a rustic little eatery near Gramercy Park called "Friend of a Farmer," which uses exceedingly fresh ingredients and is intended to evoke country inns from upstate. I don't think I've ever eaten such delicious carrots. From there we wandered south through Alphabet City before heading west to Greenwich Village. I mused along the way at the new shopfronts and favorite parks. The Village is great for interesting doorways, which make a good distraction on walks. From there we meandered into Soho, briefly braving the Broadway throngs to go smell cheese in Dean & Deluca and looking for jeans in a couple boutiques. We stopped for a Masala Dosa snack on Prince St. Delicious.

Friday evening was all set up to be spectacular. Back at the hotel, we decked ourselves out and took a cab up to Lincoln Center to see a fantastic staging of Rodgers and Hammerstein's "South Pacific." I was enthralled by the performance; lost in the music and I was transported back to my sailing days, melodiously nostalgic for those endless sunsets and the undulating blue upon blue.

After the show, we went for wine and cheese at Caselula, one of my favorite little spots in midtown. They have an extensive cheese list, paired with an equally interesting wine selection. Each cheese arrives accompanied by a nibble of fruit or nuts or sauce or popcorn... an assortment of flavors to set the mind ablaze. Add a charcuterie plate with cornichons and more nuts, plus some bread... I was in heaven. We ordered a leafy salad to aid in the digestive process.

Saturday we slept embarrassingly late in that luxurious, deep, feather bed. Around 2pm, we made our way to Chinatown and ended up lunching over mediocre Vietnamese food. The hardest thing about traveling in Southeast Asia is knowing that the Pho will never be as good again. I got stuck on a desperate, poorly-timed hunt for a dress, so after lunch we headed up Broadway trying to accomplish that. There are few things dumber than buying a dress (a) in New York (b) on a Saturday (c) in the summer (d) when you really need it (e) for that evening. In one store, to the beat of pounding hip music, I nearly succumbed to the multiple layers of wrapping and ties on a piece of clothing that looked devastatingly chic on the in-store model (possibly also the manager), but looked on me like a poorly-cut rag collection. Maybe I was just moving too fast because of the music, but I swear that thing started growing and tried to choke me. I emerged from the dressing room feeling like I'd snorted cocaine, had a seizure, and lost all my self-confidence. (nb. I know nothing about cocaine. I conjecture based on popular media interpretation.) As I exited, the statuesque dressing room attendant smiled condescendingly. "So, how did everything go?" Several hours later, we'd missed cocktails with friends (SH and RK, I am so sorry), and I was triumphantly sporting a new white frock... at a cost that makes me go as pale as the fabric itself.

We did manage to make it to dinner with my friends John and Marina, and catching up with them over good food and drinks got me back in an amiable mindset. I also wanted to see an old buddy/colleague(?), Brian, who's now cooking at a wildly popular and acclaimed place in Brooklyn. He bent over backwards to make our experience deliciously memorable, and we sampled through a menu including a zucchini tart, corn salad, beets, duck-crackling (!!) encrusted tilefish, and perfectly tender octopus served with olives and cauliflower. Especially notable was the tender braised lamb shoulder, which had a spicy rub offset by a delightfully sour yogurt and a Greek-ish salad. The house-made pasta, which we tried both as a primavera and with a bolognese, was a great lighter plate, offset by the rare-cooked pork chop with cheese grits. Apparently the pork has been getting a lot of positive press, so much so that people don't venture any further on the rather eclectic and earthy menu. Their loss. Even on that busy night, our service was stellar, the wine delicious, and the atmosphere buzzing with conviviality. I felt like I was perhaps in some friend's backyard birthday party in France. And that was before the desserts arrived: chocolate cake, a heavenly bay leaf and blueberry (panna cotta? pudding? mousse?), and a crumble...
The whole situation was unspeakably flattering and generous. We left suitably impressed and thoroughly satisfied, and for my part I was beside myself with happiness to be in the company of old friends.

After dinner we scooted into the Lower East Side to meet Matt, who was kind (and persistent) enough to procure a reservation at Milk & Honey, my favorite bar in town. It's a tiny little speakeasy with an air of reproachable cool, lit by candles and serviced by the most talented bar men one can hope to find. The waitress, perfectly hip in her own laid-back way, comes off as a bartender understudy. She's knowledgeable about the cocktails in the manner that a Civil War buff is conversant about personality traits of dead generals. This is not a place to order my usual "G&T." I was talked into a Sidecar, the holy-of-holy cocktails in a goblet as far as I'm concerned, and everyone else rounded out the orders with an East Side Cocktail, a Penicillin, Prescription Julep, and a Sazerac. Drinks for small sipping, particularly at $16 a pop. A couple hours later, feeling very posh and chic and cultured, cool, and broke, we traipsed out into the night for more drinks, revelry, etc. It's a city where anything can happen, and thank God, usually does.

Almost Heaven, West Virginia

We drove south from Cleveland on the Fourth of July and arrived at the Greenbrier in time for cocktails. Perfect timing.

Man do I love the Independence Day. It's a holiday dedicated to celebrating democracy through liberal use of grills, summery beverages, and explosives. There's minimal pressure, only a sense that fun should be had. For one brilliant hot day, America comes together to have some sort of barbeque, cool off in whatever way is available, and wait for the sky to light up in ecstasy. Forget turkeys and gifts; this is my idea of a fiesta. Even during my summer in India, I celebrated the 4th in Kodaikanal with a strawberry, vanilla, and blueberry ice cream cone by the lake. Of course, I was joined in succession by a well-fed cow and a gaunt beggar, and vowed that I would never again spend my favorite holiday out of the US. By extravagant contrast, BBQ ribs, a couple G&Ts, nice wine, and the Greenbrier fireworks (accompanied by the Charleston Pops Orchestra) rounded out a delightful evening.

In fact, the entire vacation in the West Virginia mountains has been delightful, restful. The weather has been stunning, with soaring hot temperatures that are absolute relief from winter Down Under. We've gone shooting clay pigeons (watch out, Annie Oakley), played tennis, and had some lovely spa treating. The whole place is gearing up to host its first PGA tournament next week, so the grounds are teeming with extra workers bent on transforming the landscape. I was impressed on my 7:30am run through the golf course to see so many guys out planting begonias by every tee.

The sun is setting late, and light lingers until 10pm. We've got a nice dinner planned, and then maybe we'll go check out the casino that just opened up at the main hotel... or maybe we'll just take a nice long stroll around the gardens. Summer is a welcome treat.