Just the other night we left the menorah a-burnin’ on the mantle and headed out in search of Christmas lights, just like we do every year.

Tooling around San Marino, a fancy suburb near Pasadena, California, we found some pretty spectacular lights on St. Albans Road (see photo above). Adam came across this sparkling annual community effort in a cool article on the best places to see Christmas lights in the Los Angeles area, causing me to reconsider my firm conviction that I already knew all the best places for lights in this great big crazy town.

As we stood out on St. Albans’ weed-free sidewalk, thin-blooded and shivering in our shirtsleeves, oohing and aahing over the splendor of it all,  I was reminded anew that a shared adventure need not take you far from home. It just needs to take you out of yourselves for a while.

So wherever you’re headed this holiday season, please enjoy, be patient with traffic and/or the often-humorless TSA, and know that I’m wishing you exploration, happiness, wine, song, a nap or two, and the romantic glow of just about a million colored lights.

XOXO,

Melanie

Travels With Two

Boardwalk at Moonstone Beach, Cambria, Californa

In the last few weeks, I haven’t been doing a whole lot of writing here.

Instead, I’ve been writing a novel.

Y’know, like one does.

But for the Thanksgiving holiday I’ll be traveling again: Adam and I are heading up to Central California to go cove exploring, wine tasting and beachcombing in Morro Bay, Paso Robles and Cambria.

Y’know, like two do.

The novel is a project I first started back in 1998 and have been skillfully avoiding ever since. Novel-writing has been to me what air travel is to the flying-phobic. However, since they don’t make Xanax for novelists, I’ve just had to duck, dodge, weave and finally just choose the right time in my life to get started.

Apparently, the right time is now.

Set in a fictional version of the Age of Exploration, my book-in-process is a Young Adult tale of a witty young princess who feels she’s been born to the wrong family. She’s happiest having adventures with her science-geek best friend, who is unrequitedly in love with her. When our heroine is faced with a potentially disastrous arranged marriage, she and her pal stow away onboard a ship taking a trip ’round a fantasy version of the world; by the time this eye-opening journey is over, she discovers that she wants to be a leader, in her own right.

I figure a trilogy ought to do it, but let’s start with the one book, shall we?

I’m grateful that I can actually string together paragraphs of fiction, after not testing this theory since about, oh, the second Clinton Administration. 

In addition to noveling, I’ll soon be sporting a site re-design here at Travels With Two, as well as debuting a new website altogether: Have Snark, Will Travel will feature comedic photos and micro-stories from around the world.

I’m grateful that my chosen domain name wasn’t taken. I’m also grateful to have found a helpful, communicative coder/designer.

But not so grateful that I’m unwilling to take a break from the computer for a few days.

On Thanksgiving morning, we’ll climb in the car and drive four hours north. We’ll stay at The Fogcatcher Inn right on Moonstone Beach and have a hopefully delightful four-course dinner at the Cass House in nearby Cayucos. Then we’ll spend the weekend trolling around the rocky shores of Morro Bay, the wine tasting rooms of Paso Robles, the elephant seal breeding grounds at Piedras Blancas, and the sweet little village of Cambria itself.

Aside from the weekend to come, it”ll be nice to be back in Los Angeles for a good long while. It feels like about half of this year has been spent away from home and/or each other; just lately, I’ve been in Arizona and Maryland for 10 days combined…and that’s just lately.

In the weeks to come, keep an eye out for:

-the kick-off of the 4th annual Passports with Purpose
-a link to my radio interview by travel guru Peter Greenberg
-tales of resorts in sunny Arizona
-a layover plan for Sydney, Australia
-a visit to a seaside inn in central Belize
-the surprising foodie scene in Tijuana, Mexico
-further explorations in Taiwan
-and of course…more

For now, I wish you all a happy holiday of togetherness, tryptophan and travel, wherever it may be!

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See also
Central California: Cambria
A Dog-Friendly Stay by the Cambria Shore
Weird House of Cambria: Nitt Witt Ridge
Central California: Paso Robles
A Weekend of Wine in Paso Robles
Central California: Morro Bay
Central California: San Simeon
TWT Travel Binder: California

Travels With Two

A few weeks back we hit the road to find ourselves some autumn fun in the Pacific Northwest. With the help of our friends, we found it in Forest Grove, Oregon, less than an hour from Portland.

Between huge flocks of birds, a sake tour, wine tasting and a fine mist hanging o’er the hills, I’m sure as heck glad we got off the couch and headed west.

By “west,” I specifically mean west of Portland, where we were visiting our friends Jessica and Chris. Generally speaking, take 26W/NW Sunset Highway out of the city and get off at Exit 59 for Jackson School Road. All told, getting to Forest Grove should take about 35-4o minutes.

Hungry? Well, along the way, we stopped off at the delightfully old-school and clapboard South Store Cafe in nearby Scholls for beautiful cappuccinos, lattes and hearty breakfast sang-wiches. I’d highly recommend the place to get yourselves in a snug, small-town, leap-peeping frame of mind. But right in Forest Grove proper, you could also check out the ornate Ironwork Grill at McMenamin’s Grand Lodge, one of a local chain of über-cool (and undoubtedly quirky) hotel/restaurant/pub/movie theater compounds set in lovingly-restored Portland-area landmark buildings. 

We loved our visit to the Fernhill Wetland, which offered a lovely little stroll around a marsh-ful of five gabillion ducks and geese, a couple of herons and a stoic white pelican who looked almost entirely out of place. We saw fiddlehead ferns drying on the stalk, berries dripping dew, and a fleece-clad couple on the prowl with high-tech birding binoculars. We saw a fuzzy brown caterpillar that I refused to hold in my hand for longer than a second, seeing as it was that creepy kind of fuzzy. We also saw more shorebirds than we’ve ever seen in one pond at one time just burst upward in furious formation, only to land a minute later in the center of a wheaty field as though nothing happened. Absolutely amazing.

Post-wetland, we wafted about the might-be-Europe-if-you-squint grounds of Montinore Vineyards, where Fall was on full display. While we’re already fans of Willamette Valley wines, this was our first trip to the Washington County wine country; Montinore’s warm, glowy tasting room is big enough to serve a crowd, though, so clearly this region has been discovered. After tasting our way through a pinot gris and a variety of elegant pinot noirs, we bought the spicy, fruity ’07 Forest Grove Cellars Merlot ($21) and their not-too-sweet Ruby Pinot Noir Port ($25) to share with our friends. 

We then switched to sake. SakeOne is one of the few sake breweries in the U.S., and was established in Forest Grove by its Japanese parent company in order to take advantage of the area’s high-quality water. I highly recommend taking a complimentary tour here: between the murals of pants-less men, the smoothness of perfectly hulled rice and its sweet fragrance when fermenting, this is a rare experience full of humor, sanitary booties and shiny contraptions.

After our tour, we bellied up to the bar for a Saké Shock, a gorgeous little food-and-sake pairing which matches different types of the brew with spicy chili garlic peas, smoked tuna, goat cheese and more. You can take your rose-colored glasses — I’d rather see the world through pink and sparkling plum sake. (free tours are given seven days a week at either 1, 2 or 3pm; Saké Shock tastings are $10 per person)

Our entire outing took about 7 hours and was one of the best days we’d all had in a long time. Getting out into a little autumn can do wonders for the cobwebs in your head, so give it some thought:

Where do you two want to go to experience a taste of Fall?

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See also

Portland, Oregon: A (Real Live) Weekend Away

Travels With Two

A bit of the bar at Ping in Portland's Chinatown

Recently spent my (early-October) birthday up in Portland, Oregon, which is just about our favorite city in America.

We stayed with friends, went to a book fair and a radio show taping, toodled around the city, drank wine and stuffed our faces. We wore actual sweaters and jackets to ward off the autumn chill. 

And you know what? It was darn good for the mind, body and soul.

On this trip, we stayed locally with our friends Jessica and Chris. Since it’s highly unlikely that you two would also stay with them, though, I recommend the Heron Haus B & B in Nob Hill (NW), Portland’s White House B & B in Irvington (NE), McMenamin’s Kennedy School near the Alberta Arts District (NE), or the Hotel Lucia in the heart of downtown (SW).

Artwork at the Wordstock book festival; pre-Live Wire radio show taping at the Aladdin Theater

To see what was going on around town for the weekend, Jess visited the Travel Portland site and discovered that the Wordstock book festival and a special Wordstock-themed taping of Live Wire! Radio were happening on my birthday. Since I’ve lately had novel-writing on the brain, the timing felt perfect.

At the Oregon Convention Center we puttered around Wordstock exhibitors’ tables, discovering new books, publishers and funny stickers. We even nabbed a subscription to McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, America’s best-designed anthology of fiction.

Later that night, the two back-to-back tapings of Live Wire were held at the vintage 1920s Aladdin Theater, and between the clever vignettes, performances by local musicians and fascinating interviews with writers, this experience absolutely rocked. You can attend a Live Wire taping just about every two weeks, and I would give it three thumbs up if only I had a third thumb.

Sign along Broadway in Downtown; artwork for sale in a NW boutique

Earlier that day, we’d headed Downtown to explore, and did our best to keep it weird.

Collectively, all of Portland also did its best.

The over-crowded Voodoo Doughnut in Downtown Portland

The only thing that no longer seems weird there is Voodoo Doughnuts. This home-grown haunt has been written up in so many magazines and blogs, covered to death in so many travel shows, that it’s now officially been discovered by the masses. Since I’m spiritually opposed to standing in line for anything, much less a g-damn doughnut, safe to say we didn’t engage; but if you absolutely must snarf some maple bacon ale fritters during your stay, then for the love of God go visit the other Voodoo Doughnut, on the northeast side of town.

Clockwise from top L: the Downtown Stumptown and its cappuccino; the logo at Flying Cat Coffee Company; afternoon tea at Lady Di's; the lemon tart at La Petite Provence; and seasonal cupcakes at The Little T

Aside from crullers, Portland offers a many other lovely ways to mainline wheat products — and caffeine.

Hit industrial-fabulous The Little T for cupcakes and pastries, then worship at the temple of java at any of the five local Stumptown Coffee Roasters. (I have a love affair going with their Holler Mountain, and with their Hair Bender, too.) For a palate cleanser, score a latte and check out the greatest logo in town at the Flying Cat Coffee Company, who threaten to have t-shirts for sale soon.

If you have a spot of tea (and scones and finger sandwiches) in mind, head to Lake Oswego for the almost ridiculously charming Lady Di’s British Store & Tea Room and ask to be seated off by yourselves in the Tea Cozy Room (afternoon tea, $16 US per person). With any luck, it’ll be raining outside and will really feel like England inside. For a stunning breakfast nearby, visit sunny and delicious La Petite Provence, and order any gorgeous omelette on the menu with a side of potatoes, butternut squash and rosemary. Oh, and if you tell them it’s your birthday, they’ll give you a free pastry; I happily chose the truly lovely lemon tart. 

Chop in Portland's HUB Building; the NE outpost of Olympic Provisions

If you like charcuterie, you’ll feel absurdly lucky in Portland. Chop, a butcher counter located inside the HUB Building at the back corner of the splendid Tasty n Sons restaurant, is a great place to cobble together a picnic to eat over in the Rose Test Garden or up at Mt. Hood. Tasty n Sons itself makes a mean meat-and-locally-made-cheese board, as well as a stunning array of creative cocktails.

Olympic Provisions, whose NE location is spread across a sexed-up former warehouse, is absolutely serious about its meat; full of spices and a twisted sort of sausage-love, you’ll definitely want the nola and the saucisson sec, and you’ll want to pair ‘em with creamy cheese from the Northwest. I wasn’t much into the fussy cocktails here, but the full-bodied house red offered a hells-yes hit of cherry. 

Pok Pok Noi in NE Portland

If I only had a couple of meals to spend in Portland, though, I’d hit a link in the local Pok Pok chain. Inspired by the sizzle, crackle and heat of Southeast Asian street food, this is the place for chili and spice and a big ol’ stack of napkins. Try a cocktail with Kampong (Thai brandy) or a non-alcoholic and lightly sweet passionfruit drinking vinegar. Skip the too-tart papaya salad (and definitely skip the addition of tiny pieces of non-shelled blue crab), and don’t miss out on Ike’s Vietnamese Fish Sauce Wings. Between the sweet and crunchy coating and the pickled carrots on the side, I could easily make this my last meal.

At the compact Pok Pok in SE you order at your table, while at Pok Pok Noi in NE, you order at one section of the restaurant, then hoof your cocktails to another and go sit down. Both offer picnic table seating and a casual vibe, while the SE location is across the street from the D-Street Noshery, a kick-ass collection of  food carts where you can make a crawl of it all.

Ping, in Portland's Chinatown

One of my favorite meals of the weekend was Chinese street snacks at Pok Pok’s latest venture, Ping. Preserving its roots as Chinatown’s former stand-by, Hung Far Low (*chuckle*), the decor is a hipster version of 1940s Chinese-America, with old posters, packing crates and antique radios. Ping has the same drinking vinegars and full bar as at Pok Pok, but the light and chewy pork bun, buttery Malaysian roti bread and tea-stained egg are a delicious trip to a very different part of Asia.

Or Portland, as the case may be.

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See related posts
Portland’s Westside, Part 1 – The Pearl District
Portland’s Westside, Part 2 – Downtown
Portland’s Westside, Part 3 – Chinatown & Old Town
Portland’s Westside, Part 4 – Northwest & Nob Hill
Portland’s Westside, Part 5 – Washington Park
Portland’s Northeast Side
Portland’s Southeast Side
Portland On Our Minds
Falling Into the North Willamette Valley
By the Seaside…Oregon
TWT Travel Binder: Oregon

Travels With Two

Rock towers at Utah's Capitol Reef National Park

As some of you may have noticed (hey, we’re all busy), it’s the start of October 2011. Ten years ago this week I was off having a grand time with my mom and dad, exploring a remarkable swath of southern Utah.

Looking back on that trip, I’m still amazed at the endurance of love, family — and the Earth itself.

In the month following the shocking misery of September 11th, 2001, I flew out from Los Angeles to meet my parents in Salt Lake City. Adam wasn’t able to take time away from work, so this was my first flight alone since airplanes had been violently smashed across the Eastern seaboard. I was worried for my folks, who had to travel cross-country from Maryland, and uncharacteristically worried for myself; I felt enormous relief upon sweeping over the city’s surrounding salt flats, landing intact and at last, embracing my mom and dad.

Moments after we’d taken a deep breath together, though, we were surprised to find machine gun-toting Green Berets guarding Salt Lake City International Airport. It hadn’t occurred to us that Middle Eastern terrorists might target America’s center of the Mormon faith, and we suddenly felt we’d traveled much farther from home than a few scant hours in the air could possibly take us.

We’d soon find other surprises in Salt Lake City — Eisenhower-era fashions, bars in what we’d thought was a fully dry town, and amidst soaring snow-capped mountains, a small and thriving Afghan community. However, nothing was more exciting than the attractions we’d really come to see: Bryce, Zion and Capitol Reef National Parks.

My parents and me at Zion National Park, October 2001

This 5-day trip had been my mom’s brilliant idea, and she invited me along as a present for my 31st birthday. Eager to sit back and experience rather than navigate, she booked a private van and driver to take us across the state and around the parks. I feel it would be just as fun to rent a car and do this yourselves, but the presence of Alison, our young driver, did provide us with a welcome, unexpected coincidence — she and I shared the same birthday.

In addition to that small-world moment, this trip afforded a series of firsts: it was my first visit to Utah; my first-ever trip alone with my parents; my first time away from Adam on my birthday since we’d met in 1994; and my first time traveling with a digital camera, since Adam had just gifted me with one a few days before.  (The only thing in this list that I’ve since done again is travel with a digital camera…allowing me to illustrate this here site.)

Heading south from Salt Lake City to the parks, we’d pass huge mountainsides carved with high school emblems, explore dusty piles of rocks that hid long-abandoned petroglyphs, and beside dry creek-beds and willow trees, find the former homesteads of Mormon pioneers. There were roadside cows roaming free, whole hillsides of autumn-yellow aspens shivering in the breeze and long expanses of sheer rock snaked with bright green trees wherever a river ran, well, through it.

At Bryce Canyon, my folks and I were deeply wowed by the almost comically endless vistas, the trippy hoodoo spires and pastel gradients of red-pink-peach-brown-green-and-blue. At the rim of the yawning crater, Alison led me over to a pine tree, asked me to take a deep whiff of the sap, and smiled as I grew wide-eyed, amazed to find it smelled exactly like vanilla.

Bryce Canyon

We hauled way out past rocky gray moonscapes to Capitol Reef, which — quite possibly because of its proximity to very little else — we had entirely to ourselves. Climbing out of our van, we found ourselves standing firmly on what had once been the bottom of the ocean. From this vantage point, looking up at amphitheaters of stratified rock we marveled at big holes that had once housed ancient sea creatures…and felt the full and awesome weight of geological time. I tried to imagine this deep, narrow canyon filled with salt water, and suddenly understood (in a thirty-something sort of way) that just about everything that seems permanent is eventually replaced with something else.

Capitol Reef

Our last stop was Zion National Park, a bustling operation with its own eco-friendly bus system and scant opportunity to be alone. A stunning sprawl of slot canyons, mountain-edge views and sun-dappled creek paths, this park manages to attract a lot of tourists and yet still feel peaceful. Standing at the bottom of a narrow sandstone canyon next to a shallow trickle of the Zion River, one of my parents on either side of me, I felt that while a lot of things might change in our lives, we’d always have each other.

Zion National Park

Well, that was a decade ago. I’d love to return to Utah with my parents and Adam, maybe even see Arches and the Canyonlands this time around.

But this year, my dad has pancreatic cancer.

Next week he starts taking part in a special chemo study at NIH, a mere 20 minutes from my parents’ home in Maryland. Since I know my folks would much rather be heading out west on an adventure, though, I offer this post to them as a small consolation and a show of my (now 41 year-old) support. 

My hope is that someday we can all four go to Utah together. ‘Til then,  this amazing landscape seems more than willing to stand by stoically…and wait for us.

My parents, Ron and Suzan Wynne, near Capitol Reef in October 2001

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See also
TWT Travel Binders: Utah

Travels With Two

It’s always summer in Hawaii…or so we like to tell ourselves, once autumn takes hold.

One of my favorite versions of Hawaii, the northeast coast of the Big Island, has lush and frondy jungles, windswept coves, freakishly enormous flowers, tumbling waterfalls — and the comfortable elegance of the Palms Cliff House Inn.

The northeast edge of the Big Island, called the Hamakua Coast, is where you’ll find the island’s deep, green heart and a healthy dose of its tropical romance. About 15 minutes north of downtown Hilo, I was thrilled to discover a luxurious little cliffside bed and breakfast amidst a landscape that can easily make us forget the rest of the world.

Perched a long, quiet ways off the 19 near Honomu Town, at first glance the Palms Cliff House looks like someone’s sort of large, Victorian-y and whitewashed clapboard house. At the front door, though, you’re welcomed into the deceptively sprawling home of owners (and married couple) John and Michelle Gamble; these forty-something folks fell in love with Hawaiian culture and the Big Island back in 2000, and have since filled their inn with Hawaiian artifacts, crafts and a sense of place.

If you need a hit of ocean air right away, breeze on past the lobby’s sunken sitting room, waft through the French doors and lean against the railing on the first-floor porch. Or better yet, go check out the view from your digs.

There are only eight rooms here, all with ocean views; we were given one of the most popular with couples, Hawaiian Views (room #5). The room was huge and impressive, the decor a curious mix of stately manor, luxurious bordello and Hawaiian feather work; at first, this struck me as odd and a little garish, but soon began to blend into comfort with a bit of panache.

Schmancy perks like a gas fireplace, big ol’ flat-screen, marble Jacuzzi tub and balcony looking out over the water encouraged us to scurry back here from our adventures. The king-sized bed was full of pillows, allowing each of us to go all Goldilocks and find the one that was juuussssst right; tucked up in high-threadcount sheets, the fireplace turned down low, the sliding door open and the rumble of waves in our ears, we had ourselves a delicious night’s sleep here. (Hawaiian Views Suite, $349 US in summer and $449 US in other seasons)

Earlier that afternoon, leaning on the balcony railing with the soft blue glow of ocean in my eyes, I’d struggled a bit with myself: I could easily have convinced Adam to spend the rest of the day here with me, reading books and looking up occasionally to catch a drifting pod of dolphins. Or even a delightful spot of afternoon tea ($45 US per person).

But no — there was much exploring to do. (And just about all of it would require comfortable walking shoes with grippy soles.)

The Palms Cliff House is about three minutes south of Honomu Town, an early 20th-century sugarcane settlement that looks like a Hawaiian version of the Old West, and the spectacular Akaka Falls, a soaring 442-foot waterfall set amidst a big loop of walkways through a towering rainforest. Take a left from the 19 onto the 220, and you’ll find that it costs nothing to park in two-block-long Honomu (where you can score a turkey burger, ice cream and some local handicrafts) and all of $5US to park at Akaka.

About 7 minutes south of the Inn is the gorgeous Hawai’i Tropical Botanical Garden, a Northern California couple’s (seemingly insane) man-made celebration of otherworldly plants and flowers that spills down a steep hill into a rough tumble of stunning coastline. We sprayed ourselves thoroughly with insect repellent, picked our way down the initial path (watching lucky older folks get driven down in golf carts), and meandered amongst tiki idols, rare idols, rocky streams and giant ferns. Dee-lightful.

Tooling along the 19 back towards the Inn, we stopped by rushing rivers beneath tangles of vines, smuggled guavas from roadside trees, and gaped at sheer hillsides of palm trees that melted to verdant valleys and plunged to the rushing sea. Nice neighborhood they’ve got here.

For dinner that night, we got adventurous and headed north — way north. After about a 40-minute drive, we arrived at the Waipi’o Valley overlook, at the northernmost tip of the Big Island, in time to see the sunset. Sure, we could have caught the last blush of the day from our own balcony back at the Inn, but don’t judge until you’ve seen this wild slice of Hawaiian coast for yourself.

Aside from the pursuit of sheer beauty, our mission was dinner: come evening, there’s little to eat around Honomu. You can easily trek the few minutes back to Hilo, but we chose instead to take Michelle’s suggestion and head up to Honoka’a for homemade calzones at Café Il Mondo. A wise and delicious choice, we took refuge from a sudden rainstorm in a small, cozy storefront-style dining room with scuffed wooden floors and table-fulls of friendly locals. Excited to find that the dough here is made fresh in-house, we chose a light, chewy, olive oil-kissed Greek calzone with salty feta and (instead of marinara) the cafe’s signature pesto. It was absolutely wonderful, and fully worth the 25-minute drive back in the dark.

Morning back at the Palms Cliff House was a mix of strong winds, showers and intermittent rainbows, so we took our sweet, dense slices of homemade Dutch apple pancakes in the inn’s public room, sipping mild Hilo coffee, waiting out the rain and chatting with Michelle and John about their passion for the culture of hula. Their happiest (and busiest) month is in April, when the 3-day annual Merrie Monarch Festival is in full swing and a feathery flurry of hula dancers call the Palms Cliff home.

For us, we were content to explore the wilds of the Hamakua Coast and then sit awhile on that splendid wraparound porch, gazing off at the bay — with no place else to be.

_____________________________________________

My stay at the Palms Cliff House Inn
was sponsored by the Big Island Visitors Bureau,
but all observations and opinions are my own.

Nightly rates include breakfast and range from
$199 US-$349 US during the summer and $299 US-$499 US in other seasons.

United/Continental offers direct, six-hour flights to Hilo from both Los Angeles and San Francisco.

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See also
A Hui Hou, Hilo
Hawai’i in Bloom
Shipman House: Back in Time, Hawaii Style
Hawai’i's Big Island: Go With the Flow
Dreaming of Hawaii
TWT Travel Binder: Hawaii

Travels With Two

Placemat at L.A.'s Caffe Bella Roma

Courtesy of Bertolli, we recently took a unique 9-hour tour of Los Angeles, indulging in Italian food from restaurants and purveyors all across town.

The verdict? A truly delicious day spent enjoying a version of our home city that we’d never seen — or tasted.

Francesco Bertolli started a little food shop in Lucca, Italy back in 1865, but these days, you’ll find Bertolli products in supermarkets across Europe, New Zealand, Australia and North America. They still make excellent olive oil and pasta sauces (which I’ve used for years), but I just recently learned that they also make prepared meals of traditional Italian dishes (like, say, Chicken alla Vodka & Farfalle). They value Italian regional cuisines and ingredients, and put this tour together  – with the help of local sommelier, food writer and lovely human being Stacie Hunt – to celebrate their connection to Italy, anywhere and everywhere.

Here’s how our staggering culinary adventure went down:

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Café Bella Roma SPQR
1513 S. Robertson Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90035 –  (310) 277-7662

We started our day here with cappuccinos and cornetti…and for that half-hour, all was right with the world.

At this small and cheerful bakery (along an otherwise faceless, concrete swath of the Westside), Roman expat Robert Amico specializes in cornetti, the Italian version of croissants. These flaky little pockets of magic use just about half the butter of their French cousins, plus a dash of shortening and a sprinkling of powdered sugar. Some have a marzipan-style cream inside, some are plain, both are delightful. Pair either with a strong espresso drink that’ll have you dreaming of the Spanish Steps, then consider hanging out until the antipasti starts appearing.

Caffeine and cornetti at Cafe Bella Roma SPQR

Obika Mozzarella Bar
Westfield Century City Shopping Center, 10250 Santa Monica Boulevard, Upper Level, Los Angeles, CA 90067 – (310) 556-2452

This modern, glassy space in what’s colloquially known as the Century City Mall is one of two local outposts of an Italian chain (the other L.A. Obika is in the Beverly Center). Obika’s Chef Simone Santopietro offers a passionate introduction to the world of bufala mozzarella, which is made from honest-to-God water buffalo milk and imported here three times a week from Italy’s southern Campania region. If you still think of mozzarella as off-white sticks of string cheese, check out a tasting of two to five ball-shaped varieties paired with arugula, tomatoes and a little spring-grassy olive oil; I swooned over the creamy and intense pontina, while Adam, who generally prefers sharp, aged cheeses, was partial to the firm, smoked affumicata. You can come here from morning ’til night, but I’d suggest trying out the prosecco-laced romance of Aperitivo Hour (4:30 to 7:30). Skip the awkward metal stools by the bar and head outside to the umbrella-shaded patio.

At Obika, the chef shows off bufala mozzarella from Italy's Campania region

Primi al Mercato and Norcino Salumeria
The Market at Santa Monica Place, 395 Santa Monica Place, Santa Monica, CA 90401 – (888) 530-5204

All hail Piero Selvaggio: the maestro of one of America’s greatest special-occasion restaurants, Valentino, has created a relaxed, affordable way to transport yourselves to southern Italy. Primi al Mercato is half a take-home deli, half a warm, friendly, white-tablecloth restaurant, a lovely place to pick up a meal to share with friends or sit down to a grown-up dinner together; Norcino is a reverent homage to meat and cheese.

We hadn’t yet been to The Market, the swanky high-end food court at the formerly dowdy, now glittering mall at Santa Monica Place, and our head was turned every few seconds by something that looked tasty — that is, until Primi al Mercato’s pasta-making demonstration caught our full attention. Chef Fernando and his wife (who make a great team) spread out flour, eggs and skill across the white-marble counter and got down to gnocchi-ing. By the time they’d finished, we’d see the birth of beet-red “Venus’ Bellybuttons” and spinach-tinted cavatelli, forming a big yummy bowl of Italian flag-i-tude. These demonstrations happen every hour, and you can purchase the spoils — even a gluten-free version — for later use. 

We headed next door to the restaurant to see what the kitchen would do with all that pasta. The crowd favorite seemed to be a lamb ragu, but I fell utterly in love with a Tuscan pici with pecorino and fava beans as big as my pinky finger. Also exciting: the wine list focuses on the Earth’s south, from Italy right ’round to Southern California; we were both pleasantly surprised by elegant, not-too-dry whites and reds from Sicily.

By now we didn’t need to eat anything else — but that was too darn bad. We hoisted ourselves 100 feet across The Market to Norcino Salumeria and cozied up to a table laid with wafer-thin slices of acorn-fed prosciutto and flute-fulls of prosecco. Sounds delightful, yes? Well, our sommelier friend Stacie insisted that, it being summertime during this tour, sparkling red Lambrusco would be the far better tipple — and in a flash, Piero made it so. Turns out this often dry, sweet and/or entirely overlooked wine makes the ideal palate-cleansing complement to the fatty richness of salumi. 

Pasta making, serving and red olives at Primi al Mercato's "laboratorio," and salumi alchemy at Norcino

Caffé Bellagio
Third Street Promenade and Santa Monica Blvd., Santa Monica, CA 90401 – (310) 394-3400

So, you know what goes perfectly with eating too much? Gelato.

We rolled like barrels for a few blocks to the center of Santa Monica’s Third Street Promenade, right up to the door of a glass-covered kiosk we’d probably walked by 50 times in our young lives. (To be fair to myself, though, it’s right in front of a super-distracting Anthropologie.) Inside, magical fresh-fruit gelatos (featuring milk instead of cream) are whipped up using produce from the area’s famous farmers’ market. Beside a straight-outta-Italy orange Vespa parked inside the shop, we were treated to cool, velvety spoonfuls of the best strawberry gelato we’d ever had…all apologies to Florence.

At Caffe Bellagio, the sign behind the Vespa on which I'm sitting says: "Please don't sit on the Vespa" (*cough*)

Osteria Mamma
5730 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90038 – (323) 284-7060

Our last stop of the day was way on the other side of town, in the Larchmont neighborhood near Paramount Studios. In a cozy space that for years was one of our Mexican favorites, Osteria Mamma is now a paean to the Paduan home cooking of the Cortivo family. Smiling, blond and shy, Loredana Cecchinato is the Osteria’s resident Mamma, leading her kitchen to an unassuming brilliance. Our group, far from actually hungry by now, fairly devoured a flotilla of her dishes, which were all too gorgeous to refuse.

I have only a few wonderful things to mention: fig and gorgonzola risotto; gnocchi with porcini mushrooms; sardines with ribbons of onion and plump raisins (stay with me, here, and have faith); and fig and prosciutto bruschetta with fancy little dollops of mascarpone. I’d also recommend reservations, as the two-sided dining room here is none too large. Be sure to check out the far eastern wall, lined with Cortivo family photos — including one of bombshell Mamma, where she looks a little like Sophia Loren.

Homestyle dishes from Padua and family photos at Osteria Mamma

If high airline prices to Europe are getting you down this year,
go ahead and design your own Italian food tour right outside your own front door.

Or maybe just stay in and make an Italian meal together by candlelight. (*Ahem.*)

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I love that we got to share this day with some wonderful local folks.

 From left to right:

Romy Schorr of Romy Raves  
Amir of Duo Dishes   
Andrea Fellman of Savvy Sassy Moms 
Sharon Garofalow of  Cupcakes & Cutlery  
Loredana Cecchinato, aka “Mamma”
Chrystal of Duo Dishes
Filippo Cortivo, Loredana’s son and Osteria Mamma’s manager
And beside us, sommelier and writer Stacie Hunt

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This fabulous day of stuffing our faces across L.A. was sponsored by Bertolli,
whose olive oil I’ve been cooking with since 1990.

All observations and opinions here are my own.

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Travels With Two

I’ve had New Orleans on the brain a lot lately…despite the fact that I’ve never been there. Good thing, then, that one of my dearest friends and colleagues, Jessica Spiegel, has fallen deeply in love with the city. Here, she offers some great tips to help you fall in love with it, too.
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I’d argue that when it comes to traveling, the biggest challenge for busy working couples (after finding the time to get away in the first place) is being able to physically and mentally relax.And because it’s so easy to bring work- and life-troubles with us wherever we go (thanks a lot, iPhone), it’s especially important to choose a vacation destination that encourages relaxation.

While it’s easy to think of relaxing in the same breath as beaches and resorts, I personally love finding urban settings brimming with great culture and food that still make me feel I’ve left my own version of the real world behind. In other words, I love New Orleans.

And to be perfectly frank, it’s almost impossible to not slow down in New Orleans. Not unless you want to give yourself a heart attack, that is.

Ah, the Mississippi River

New Orleans transplant and author Tom Piazza, in his fantastic post-Katrina book Why New Orleans Matters, says the city has “weather that for at least seven months a year is equivalent to wearing a towel soaked in steaming hot water wrapped around your head.” While that may not sound altogether appealing, it does demonstrate one of the (many) reasons New Orleans wears the “Big Easy” moniker so well; people take it easy in this part of the world, partly because it’s ingrained in the culture and partly because it’s just not possible to move any more quickly.

Despite the fact that this steamy oh-my-word-the-air-is-so-heavy-can-you-carry-it-for-me-please weather is fairly consistent year-round, it’s not the only ingredient for the perfect relaxing trip to New Orleans.

Here are five things that I think will help you ease into The Big Easy:

Avoid the Summer. The weather is hot enough during the rest of the year; there’s no need to torture yourself with a visit during the hottest period. Having visited New Orleans in both spring and fall, I can vouch for both being humid and warm without being too much of either. In late summer/early fall you may run into problems with hurricane season (even if they pale in comparison to Katrina, they can still be a pain), so a spring or late fall visit might be better. Later in the fall you might get periodic ferocious rainstorms, but they’re brief and it’s T-shirt weather on either side of the storm. It’s the perfect excuse to duck into the nearest bar for another Sazerac.

Come to New Orleans in the Spring to catch some sweet hat/carriage action at the Easter Parade

Avoid Bourbon Street. I know, I know, it’s super popular and you can hear the thumping bass from a couple blocks away, and you’ve just got to see what all the fuss is about. Fine. Walk down Bourbon Street once to say you’ve done it, and then stay the hell away from it. Bourbon Street is where the worst elements of bachelor parties, Las Vegas, and spring break have set up camp in New Orleans, and while this is the kind of stuff most people (who have never visited) think defines the city, it’s only a tiny part of what makes New Orleans. It’s also the furthest thing from relaxing. The sheer noise from karaoke and disco bars spilling onto the street, not to mention the guys with microphones yelling at passers-by to join the party, make intimate conversations impossible, and you end up feeling like you’re dodging both the drunkards and the microphone guys. It’s a spectacle, so have a peek, but then find another bar elsewhere. Lord knows there are plenty of ‘em.

Decidedly not Bourbon Street

Pick an Historic (& Locally-Run) Hotel or B&B. This tip has two purposes. First, by picking an historic property in either the French Quarter or the Garden District (the two areas I’d recommend looking in) you’re less likely to end up with the sorts of modern amenities we love and need when we travel for work but that make it far too easy to “just check in real quick” when you’re trying to disconnect. (Sure, that historic hotel might have WiFi, but let’s be honest – it’s slow when you’re on the 12th floor. It’s not worth it. Put the phone down.) Not only that, when everything (elevators, particularly) is a bit older it helps force you to slow down. Second, by booking a stay with a locally-run property as opposed to a big chain you’re supporting a community that still desperately needs the help. New Orleans is a city with more problems than anyone can count – Katrina-related and otherwise – but by giving your tourist money to the people who live there in the most direct way possible you’ll hit the pillow each night with warm fuzzies in your heart.

An historic house in the Garden District

Branch Out from Deep-Fried Goodies. One could argue that indulging in every deep-fried food imaginable would certainly slow you down, but unless this kind of thing constitutes your normal everyday diet, it’s likely to make you feel a bit ill after awhile…and that’s pretty much the opposite of a relaxing and romantic vacation. Thankfully, although New Orleans is certainly famous for its love of the deep fryer, there are chefs in the city creating exciting food that doesn’t need to be battered. Cochon chef and co-owner Stephen Stryjewski won a James Beard Award for “Best Chef: South” in 2011, and the restaurant’s other chef and co-owner, Donald Link, won the award in 2007. The Green Goddess isn’t nearly as new-agey as you’d think from the name – it’s noted for including bacon in everything, including dessert – and it’s an exciting mix of New Orleans culinary traditions and local ingredients with traditions and ingredients from the owners’ travels. Tickle your taste-buds with something intriguing and your gastro-intestinal system will thank you. Then go have a beignet and cafe au lait at Cafe du Monde. I mean, you kinda have to.

Branch out from deep-fried goodies right after you have beignets at Cafe du Monde

Follow the Music. Not everyone is a lover of jazz or passionate about music, but when in New Orleans, following the music is arguably the best way to live in the moment and catch the laid-back, smile-inducing vibe of the place. As my husband pointed out one night as we walked down an empty French Quarter street, a solo saxophone echoing through nearby buildings, “Music is everywhere in this city, isn’t it?” Even in the early mornings when some musicians are still sleeping off last night, you’ll hear music. Every shop has a soundtrack, half the French Quarter streets have their own resident street musicians, and if you’re lucky you’ll be led to the river by the unmistakable sound of the calliope on the Steamboat Natchez. Weddings almost always include a second line parade, sharing nuptial joy and Dixieland jazz with anyone who’s listening. Clubs all over the city have spectacular acts playing indoors, and then when you walk outside you’re hit with the sound of yet another performance that draws such a crowd on the street that the intersection is impassable to cars (who, by the way, don’t bother honking – they just wait). If you can soak in all that toe-tapping music and not find yourself smiling and moving with the music, you’re a stronger person than I am.

Just another wedding procession in New Orleans

New Orleans can get under your skin in a bad way, but if you let it, this is also a city that can deliver a unique sort of relaxed, whatever-happens-happens kind of a trip.

So, let New Orleans dictate the pace — a slow pace — and you’ll be have a much better time.

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Jessica Spiegel is a Portland-based travel writer for the BootsnAll Travel Network, the RTW travel resource.
She often writes about Italy, but get her started talking about New Orleans and she’ll gush so much
you’ll be looking up cheap flights to New Orleans in no time just to get her to shut up.
Follow her on Twitter @italylogue.<All photos by Jessica Spiegel ©>

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See also
TWT Travel Binder: Louisiana
48 Hours in New Orleans

Travels With Two