Adventure Dining

 

In May, we flew to Denver, rented a car, and drove to Boulder to observe a “celebration of life” for my brother.

We arrived the day before and decided to memorialize Jim in a way that he would have appreciated: eating a good meal at a high-end restaurant.  We chose Frasca Food and Wine, a James Beard Foundation Award winning restaurant.  In 2008, it won Best Chef; in 2013, Outstanding Wine Service; in 2019, Outstanding Service. According to their website, it is inspired by the food and wine traditions of the northeastern region of Friuli-Venezia Giulia in Italy.  

The site continues: “Friuli-Venezia Giulia is a sub-alpine region in northeast Italy, nestled at the foot of the Carnic and Julian Alps and bordered by Austria, Slovenia, and the Adriatic Sea, a region of immense cultural blending, geographical diversity, and idyllic beauty.  Part of the Friulano food tradition is the neighborhood frasca. Historically found throughout Friuli, frascas were friendly and informal gathering places, a destination for farmers, friends, and families to share a meal and a bottle of wine. Identified by a tree branch hanging over a doorway portal, they were a symbol of local farm cuisine, wine, and warm hospitality. As the harvest came to a close, the branch would wither and change colors to indicate the end of the season. The frascas would then close their doors until the next year.” 

At the restaurant, the wine list was extensive and expensive, some bottles in the $2000 to $5000 range with a few north of $10,000; the menu not so extensive: it featured two pris fixe choices, four courses or eight.  Both were available with suggested wine pairings for extra money.  We chose eight courses; and instead of the restaurant’s wine pairings, a bottle of Petrussa 2020 Schioppettino, an Italian red.

The first course came in three parts, a small curl of eel (scrumptious), speared on a toothpick; a single shigoku oyster in the shell with a scattering of white sturgeon caviar on top (exquisite) seated I don’t know why on a bed of sea salt; and a small serving of “whipped montasio” (an unpasteurized cow’s milk cheese, a monastery cheese, aged three months, originating from the Friuli Venezia Giulia and Veneto provinces.)

Only after the first course dishes were whipped away did we realize that we might record our dinner.  Thus our photos start with the second course, the Trota (steelhead trout) with marcona almonds (a sweet, gourmet almond from Spain).

The third course was bread (sourdough), with a plate of “Rodolphe le meunier beurre de baretta,” (creamy butter, from cows in Normandy, made in a wooden butter churn from pasteurized cream and then molded by hand) covered with gold foil.  The butter was good; the gold was more visual than tasty.

Next came Seppia (cuttlefish) rings with a slice of pork sausage within the ring, a presentation I had not seen before, served on a spread of polenta with a couple of peas and vinaigrette.  I’m afraid the sausage overpowered the mild flavor of the squid but the polenta was good.

The fifth course was “Agnolotti Lunga”, a small slice of rabbit wrapped in pasta and covered with a stinging nettle sauce.  Scattered across the agnolotti were a few pieces of artichoke.

Next we were served “Porcini Canederli,” mushrooms with a salsa verde made with ramp leaves and montasio, the cheese we had in a previous course named for the Montasio plateau, where it has been produced since 1200.

Then we were presented with a lamb chop, “Agnello alla Scottadito,” covered with a chickpea and poppy seed sauce with white asparagus and ricotta. 

The last course was “Rabarbaro,” a rhubarb and apple terrine, along with zabaione, sorbet, and a tonka tuille.

Finally we were brought an odd ceramic tray with a variety of tiny sweets, and I had an espresso and Deb a cappuccino. 

The meal had taken two hours and twenty-five minutes. Jim would have enjoyed it. We, however, had experienced more than enough of wretched excess.

 

Krewe of Boo

Early in the year, Maren asked Deb to plan to fly to New Orleans for the Krewe of Boo parade, an event established only in 2007 as the city's "official" Halloween event.  Maren likes it better than the Mardi Gras parades─fewer people, more intimate, and before we knew it, the entire family planned to attend.  Thursday morning we took Groome to PDX

and that evening were in N.O.  The parade was scheduled for Saturday, several days away; in the meantime, we wandered, enjoying the city as we always have.

Deb found an exciting band: Doreen Ketchens, 

and some unusual friends.

I wandered through antiques stores on Royal street and found M.S. Rau, which had some remarkable artifacts: a chess set for only $1,985,000; not old but lovely─each piece an automaton.  According to the placard placed with it, the set required 14,000 hours of work over ten years to build.

Rau had items similar to some I have, with prices I found hard to believe.  It had several kids' rides in pristine condition, including a Bally police motorcycle that in the day cost 10 cents to ride; today it will cost you only $55,000.

We stopped at a cigar factory.  Deb bought a package for friends.

We ate at some outstanding restaurants─at outstanding prices.  At Antoine's, the baked Alaska stood out,

as did their wine cellar.

Established in 1840 and thus the oldest restaurant in New Orleans, Antoine's has fed celebrities such as George Bush, Bill Clinton, Franklin Roosevelt, Pope John Paul II, Brad Pitt, Bruce Willis, Tom Cruise, Kate Hudson, Jimmy buffet, Whoopi Goldberg, Bob Hope, Bing Crosby and now the Johnsons and Bollingers, to name just a few.

We spent a good deal of time sitting around catching up; the first time since Covid struck that we have all gotten together.

Saturday evening rolled around and we established spots on the parade route.

Deb had purchased her parade hat.

So had Matthew.

And the parade rolled on.  As they say: Laissez les Bons Temps Rouler; floats, 

bands,

horses,

and of course, the horse pooper scooper, with a special Halloween message.

Beads were thrown, of course (with no flashing that I saw), as well as souvenir plastic cups, candy, Chee-Wees, pralinettes, light-up medallion beads, voodoo doll pins and magnets, packages of coffee, doubloons, and children's toys.  According to the web site, "Krewe of Boo throws are all collectable or consumable, which cuts back on waste."  The kids in the crowd picked up the beads and edibles, and I dodged a few items I could not identify that flew at my head until fell into my hands the only item I kept, a 5-inch stuffed pumpkin skeleton, my only souvenir of the weekend, except for the memories.

Balloon Over Africa

 At the Maasai Mara National Reserve early one morning we assembled for a balloon ride. 

A slight breeze at launch caused the balloon to drag and bump across the uneven ground until we achieved flight.

In the East the sun was rising; we were headed west.

Our pilot had a selfie-stick.

The basket held about a dozen passengers. Deb and I are on the right.

We passed over only a few animals but the ride was fun.

 The landing was as rough as the launch.

Deb is still in the basket, waiting for those on the lower level to get out.

Then the crew started wrapping everything up to prepare for tomorrow's launch.

For our adventure, we received a certificate, as they say, “suitable for framing.”

  

Maasai Village Visit

Our tour company arranged a visit to a traditional Maasai village.  (Our guide called such sites “tourist villages.”) As we drove up, we were greeted with song and dance by men of the village wearing Maasai garb. 

The red plaid robe is called an alkarasha.

One blew notes on a traditional horn.

The men took turns at the adumu dance, the jumping dance performed by the morani, or young warriors and protectors of the village, who perform the adumu for initiations, rites of passage, and weddings. The dance is a competition, whereby the moran who jumps highest receives the greatest esteem and bragging rights for his display of strength and masculinity. 

Tourists were invited to join in, and Deb accepted the challenge.

The village elder brought out his lion headdress and let Deb try it on.  In the past, Maasai boys proved their manhood by killing a lion—killing lions is now illegal; the headdress was so old most of the fur had worn off.

We were invited inside the boma—the fence of sticks and poles that surround the village—and inside one of the houses.

The houses are made of sticks and poles and plastered with cow dung.

The village we visited had two elders, brothers, one with eight wives and one with seven.  Traditionally, prestige among Maasai is determined by the number of children a man has and the number of cattle.  There were 75 people living in the village, we were told, wives and children of the elders.  When a man takes a wife, he brings her to his village and with the help of the women of the village, she builds her own house.  The house we visited had three main rooms: a sleeping room for the wife (and husband when he visited), one for the children, a central room for cooking and other activities and several smaller rooms.   I was told that the houses last about ten years before they need to be rebuilt. 

The villagers were dressed in finery and posed for the tourists.

When we came out of the house, the men put on a demonstration I had never been convinced worked: rubbing sticks together to start a fire.

But sure enough, by spinning the olive stick in a hole in the board, they started a fire in less time than it takes to tell about it. 

And then they offered to sell us fire-starter kits for US$20, and also other Maasai crafts and jewelry.  A villager told me they entertain five to ten tour groups every day.

We returned to our lodging at Mara Leisure Camp where we were housed in tents, luxurious compared to the traditional Maasai homes.