Glorious Food

In England it’s fish and chips in the days they were wrapped in day-old newspaper that got good and greasy as you plucked the crispy pieces from the folds.

In France, it’s sauces and wines.  And macaroons in every flavor under the sun.

In Russia, it’s blini -- mushroom blini with full fat cream sauce, juggling the hot foil from the street vendor.

In the Northern Cascades?  Fruits and vegetables

Okay, fruits and vegetables don’t sound all that exciting, but when you can smell the fresh arugula, a new world sits on your tongue.  The apples are as sweet as honey, and peaches and pears juice down your chin in sugary juice that’s better than candy.

Susan was my exploration partner when we were both expat wives in Moscow.  There we walked all over the city.  From here in Richland, it was a matter of a day’s drive to visit her home in Twisp, WA, doorway to the Northern Cascades.  We visited the shops in Twisp and near-by Winthrop.  We read and crocheted and talked and laughed.  We walked every day.  It’s just possible that my memories of the Northern Cascades would be dominated by magnificent vistas if it weren’t for the windy tide of smoke from the surrounding wildfires, but I think no matter what, the Cascades equal the cascade of flavors from the yummy freshness of food that actually made me excited to prepare it. 

The enthusiasm has carried over a bit, and back in Richland today I made a little lunch of ripe tomato and avocado slices drizzled with balsamic vinegar, and whole wheat crackers with aged Irish cheddar.  There may also have been cookies involved, but I'm not sayin'. 

Twisp and a Cat

Not much turbulence coming down into the Pasco desert this time, a smooth landing.  Steve went to get the car while I waited for my enormous purple suitcase to be ferried through one of the two carousels at the airport.  No, this is not Seattle; this is not Portland (but, yes, let’s keep it weird); this is not the coast, and do not ask me again.  In Seattle or Portland there would be so much to do: museums, plays, library activities.  

 

As the plane landed, I made a mental list and apportioned one activity per weekday.  Even at nine of ‘em, I can’t make things stretch. 

One day I went to Crafter Warehouse (woefully short of sale fabrics, but that’s good, it will require a return trip), one day, the “Big Mall” (compared to, well to nothing, there is no other mall).  There's a very nice history museum about the waste site, and one day I went to the grocery store.  Oh, and there’s cleaning.  Yes, life here is one whirl after the next. 

I’ll stop complaining though.  I know I'm bad because it's bad to whine when, on Friday, Steve drove me into the Northern Cascades to visit the house of a sweet friend I made in Moscow.  We’ve walked for an hour or two in the mornings and visited town in the afternoons.  Fresh local food hums in my taste buds (I do actually hum when I take the first bite; it's a bit embarrassing, and the Twisp River sings outside the door.  We crochet to keep our fingers busy while we talk.

I’ll spend a week here, and return to Richland on Friday.  In contrast to the dullness of the weekdays there, the weekends there are full of enjoyable things to do.  This Saturday, we’re going to Prosser for wine tasting and fabric scouting; next Saturday is the tour of LIGO (Laser Interferometer Gravitational-wave Observatory -- be still, my geeking heart).  Next week? Back to Crafter Warehouse, I guess, and a lot of TV.

Next Sunday I wing to Muncie and all the hoopla my Perfect Grandson's fifth birthday ails.  Even thought the apartment,  Steve’s nine hour work days get pretty dull for the girl left behind.  There's only so much junk TV even I can take.

 

You know what I need in Richland?  A cat.