Travel

I was fortunate to spend an extra week in December visiting friends and family in my hometown of Portland, ME. And while there are countless reasons why I adore Portland—-the architecture, the cobblestone streets, the Eastern Prom—-aside from my glorious circle of friends, nothing tops my list like the food. Oh, the food. The exquisite food.

Named “Foodiest Small Town” by Bon Appetit last year with good reason, Portland’s chef’s are among the country’s most talented, and celebrated. Hugo’s Rob Evans was honored with the James Beard Chef Award last year, the Oscars of the cooking set. I could literally go on and on for hours about the fresh local produce, and innovative dishes Portland restaurants offer up (newcomer Grace‘s truffle & fried egg topped pumpkin waffle has positively ruined me for all other appetizers. Now, I’m simply despondent when confronted with the suggestion of an onion tartlet).

Instead, I did my best to obsessively capture some of my favorite meals with my camera, thanks to the patience of my darling dining mates.

I’ll start with my favorite; a leisurely, foodgasm inducing dinner enjoyed with one of my oldest and dearest friends, Diane, at tiny Old Port/East End adjacent gem Ribollita. Under the tutelage of our server who will henceforth be referred to as Fabulous Bob, we shared the mussels, the olive oil drenched bread topped Tuscan soup, and the braised spinach with golden raisins. Our paths diverged for the entree; Diane had the Beef Braciole and I a squash and goat cheese risotto. We were back to sharing when it came time for dessert. Despite my low level moaning due to overstuffed-ness, we knew from chatting with fellow diners that we simply Had To Have The Flan.

And so we did. The flan was the only thing all night that Fabulous Bob was even remotely off base about: contrary to his assumption based on our “I’m so full!” wails, one order of flan was not nearly enough.

The meal was so amazing that not only did I beg to thank the chef in person, like some giddy food groupie, but I could only manage two photos for the night:

Ribolita Before and After 1.22.101 Portland, Maine: Part One

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During my recent trip to Las Vegas, we took a window shopping stroll through the Wynn, where my in-laws were staying. I was calm, cool, and collected until I saw this, and stopped dead in my flat, equestrian-chic boots:

MB Store Manolo Blahnik AKA The Mothership

 

Spellbound, I dropped Paul’s hand, and floated toward the open doors of this store, my eyes and mouth wide open. I may have stopped breathing.

“It’s, it’s…” I silently opened and closed my jaw, willing the words to form in my throat and come out. They didn’t. I lovingly fingered the stately black plaque on the wall, and peered around the corner.

The salesman looked at me, and smiled. I tripped into the store, breathless, and out came each and every word I had been trying to produce for the last minute. All at once:

“Ohmygosh! It’s—you’re—they’re! Manolo Blahniks! They’re so beaaauuuutifuuuul! Look! Oh, feathers! Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh! Could I, um, take a picture? Please!”

Too amused by my reverence to be concerned about the accompanying threat of hyperventilation, he kindly let me snap away to my heart’s content.

shoes Manolo Blahnik AKA The Mothership

I was particularly fixated on these feathered beauties:

shoes2 Manolo Blahnik AKA The Mothership

As I lingered over them lovingly, cooing, my brother-in-law Justin strolled in.

“Justin!” I gasped. “Look!”

Justin is an acclaimed jewelry designer in New York, and isn’t quite as bowled over by encounters of the exquisitely feathered kind as I am—such things are de rigueur in his beautifully decorated world, but he’s sweet enough to humor me.

“Wouldn’t they tickle your toes?” he asked.

I turned to face him.

“Honey—I haven’t felt my toes in years.”

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Paul and I took advantage of the sunny fall Sunday, loaded our pups Bailey and Lola into the car, and headed for Huntington Beach Central Park.

We stopped first for NY Style bagels at Bagelmania in Huntington Beach—now my destination for perfect bagels in an adorable setting, with colorful old school sodas, and the best service—and then parked at the Park Bench Cafeadjacent to the park. Because HB Central Park is such a popular spot for dogs and the people who love them, the Park Bench Cafe offers both a human and canine menu, which can be enjoyed al fresco at one of their many picnic tables. We spent two hours walking through the park, where we met ducks, a baby Beagle named Zoe, and discovered that Southern California really does have seasons.

And although we were still full from breakfast, we picked up dessert for our tired puppies on the way out.

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