Thank you, Cannon Beach

In just under 48 hours I will be giving thanks for all of those things in life that I'd say make me fortunate. Things that I typically try to appreciate more than once a year but tend to let everyday life distract me from giving the nod they deserve. Things like my family, the man in my life, the best circle of friends a girl could ask for, my health, a steady job—you get the picture.

All of those will get their due time in their own way on Thursday. Right now I need to stop and express an outpouring of gratitude to Cannon Beach. Yes, I'm talking to you Cannon Beach. You who slaps me in the face with a healthy dose of relaxation the second I arrive. You who slows my step and makes me breathe, let’s me think more clearly and calms my nerves. Thank you, Cannon Beach.

You’re full of good coffee, maple bars, chocolate dipped krispie treats and pizza I just can't quit. You bring pancakes and French Toast for breakfast and you pour better-than-usual bottles of wine with dinner (and sometimes lunch). You inspire said man in life to make meals that include things like ciabbata crostini with cannellini beans and chanterelle mushrooms, homemade pasta dressed with arugula pesto and roasted tomatoes and Parmesan crusted halibut with not one but two special sauces (buttercup squash puree and red pepper coulis). And then you let me have real ice cream with an impromptu caramel sauce. Thank you, Cannon Beach.

Not just for the stellar food and soothing vibe, but for letting me sleep in, read books and for surprising me with beautiful days full of sunshine when I’m least expecting it. You bring me closer to some of my nearest and dearest, help me build relationships with more recent life arrivals and watch while I fall farther in love. Thank you, Cannon Beach.

And to the two people who have let me come to know their warm, cozy cabin so many times over the past few years—well, thank you for Cannon Beach.

Happy (early) Thanksgiving.

When did November get here?

Seriously, when did we get 11 months into the year? How are we so far into fall and I’ve barely even noticed? I suppose the usual work, friends and life have been keeping me busy, but so busy that I haven’t had time to sit down and recollect anything since the Labor Day weekend trip to Allium? That seems absurd.

I guess it could have been the tail end of wedding season. I spent a chunk of September and October celebrating and shedding oh-so-happy tears (huge wedding crier here) as dear friends walked down the aisle, pledged their love and commitment to perfect companions and turned the page to new chapters of their lives. There were wedding showers, epic Vegas experiences, adorable grooms and breathtaking brides. Time spent catching up with people who feel like family, trips home (or as close to it as I get these days) and attempts to make up for lost sleep with early bedtimes and later weekend wake-ups.

Somewhere amidst all of the fun and chaos I managed to make my way to a pretty great place in Portland. The day after the fourth and final wedding of the year, my boyfriend and I decided to head into downtown Portland to have lunch and rehash our favorite parts of the weekend. My friend Tes recommended a place in the Pearl—Irving Street Kitchen. She’s the kind of gal that’s sort of effortlessly cool, in the know and has pointed me in the direction of a ton of other legit Portland spots (Nostrana, Park Kitchen, Higgins, etc.), so we were of course going with her suggestion before we left town.

Brilliant call. We were dragging after a long, eventful night that wrapped up a couple of jam-packed months. But the place’s warm, welcoming, wooden booths managed to perk us up, wrap us in their arms and make us momentarily forget that we had a three hour drive home ahead of us.

We had what I’m calling the brunch of all brunches. A breakfast of champions—if people were to call tired, dehydrated, sleep deprived couples who spend a near awkward amount of time considering the menu champions, that is. A mimosa with some sort of berry (huckleberry?) puree got me started, and a spicy, incredible looking Bloody Mary raised the boy’s brows before the shared plates we finally decided on followed. The Bibb Lettuce salad with Rogue Blue Cheese, Braeburn Apple and Radishes came first, followed by Draper Valley Fried Chicken served with Smoked Tasso Jambalaya and Sunnyside Eggs. Oh and then there was that order of Onion Rings with Truffle Aioli dipping sauce. Yes, I said fried chicken and I also said onion rings. (I did mention it was a late night, right?) Was it indulgent? Yes. Was it an over-ambitious order? Maybe. Was every bite of it amazing? Hell yes.

We left maybe a tad sluggish but psyched to have gotten a taste of Portland before heading home, where funnily enough, our first save the date for next year’s wedding season was waiting in our mailbox.

P.S. I'm playing with Picasa, hence the collage above, and it seems to have eaten my old, basic photo editing program. I'm experimenting with how to make the photos sharper once they're uploaded. In the meantime, this group of shots at least gives an idea of what the brunch of all brunches entailed, albeit a blurry one.

Allium on Orcas...

I spent my Wednesday afternoon in a dentist chair this week. Two and a half hours of my mouth wide open, an uncomfortable dull ache in my jaw and the disturbing sounds of those scary silver "instruments." I had my iPod in hopes Ray LaMontagne and Missy Higgins would drown out the sound of the drill, but sadly, they failed me and I gave them a rest about 45 minutes in. I started then stopped listing to the small talk my dentist and his assistant were making with each other, looked out the window and zoned out while thinking about all of the other places I'd rather be.

My dentist's office is in Ballard and has floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Puget Sound. It was grey and drizzling, and my mind wandered back to a similar view from the table my boyfriend and I had at Allium on Orcas Island Labor Day weekend. We'd gone to spend the night at his family's cabin on Lopez Island but couldn't get that close to Lisa Nakamura's new spot and not check it out.

The weather was less than ideal but the evening itself was flawless. Allium just feels like home. It's on the second floor of what feels like a house, has gorgeous but simple art and woodwork and a warm, comfy feeling. We took our time over cocktails (bubbles with raspberry puree for me, a bourbon sour for him) and the most amazing bread basket this side of Simon in Vegas (another story). We moved on to wine and then lingered over roasted vegetables with a caramelized onion dip, clam chowder and prawn and shitake "patties" that came with a garlic lime aioli and carrot beet slaw.

And we traded plates of Alaskan halibut with artichokes, tomatoes, and fava bean butter and New York strip steak that was accompanied by greens with Oregon Roquefort and a Russet potato gratin that was just bonkers. Absolutely nuts. Later at their adorable little bar, Lisa let us know it was only five ingredients, which seemed both absurd but appropriate at the same time. This is what I love about these little PacNW islands--the ingredients are so tasty it's silly.

The evening ended with more bubbles, our thanking Lisa and her husband profusely for a great night and a ferry ride that seemed just cruel after a few glasses of the good stuff.

I'll be back for anything else Nakamura decides to do with potatoes, dessert and a copy of the brunch menu to keep the dinner menu we kept as a souvenir company.

Anita's Crepes

It's seldom I get excited about breakfast food. I try. I really, really do. I go into the supposed most important meal of the day with high hopes and an open mind, thinking that the eggs in front of me could be cooked to perfection, potatoes could be well-seasoned or that whatever sweet treat I've let myself indulge in could really be worth it in the end. I often leave disappointed and either hungry for my next meal or angry that I wasted my money on a sub par meal. Most often it's both.

When I do leave the breakfast table happy I feel like I need to tip my hat. Post a little gold star in my brain and belly. I stop and try to figure out what it was that rocked my socks enough to make it different than the morning meals that came before it. Was it the dish? Did I do a better job of ordering? Was it the place? The atmosphere? Did mimosas impair my judgement? Could it have been that I was so hungry that even my napkin would have tasted good if I added enough Tabasco?

I recently left Anita's Crepes in Ballard asking myself these questions. I'd been with one of my nearest and dearest and was full, happy and thrilled that it was breakfast that left me this way. (OK, so technically, it was brunch, but to me the two are one in the same to me given my weekday morning meals rarely consist of more than coffee and the occasional English muffin. Weekend mornings don't often start for me before 9:30 or 10:00a.m., so brunch is breakfast.)

Anita's is of course known for it's crepes, but I wanted something savory too, so I followed my friend's lead and ordered the breakfast that included eggs and bacon too. The eggs were in fact scrambled perfectly, which for me means not too soft, not too juicy and not too hard either. The bacon was cut thick but held a perfect crisp around the edges. It was a nice balance for the standout, which was of course the crepe. Mine came light and filled with fresh local peaches and raspberries. The Chantilly cream that topped it made me swoon.

The space is warm, bright and cozy. It was full of little tables and people soaking up a sunny Sunday. We skipped mimosas in favor of coffee, so the bubbles weren't messing with my mind. Nope, I loved this place, and I loved my breakfast. Though, I will say the conversation, giggles and girl time may have made me a tad giddy.

I'll be back for a $15 Friday night wine flight and the crepe with chevre, roasted golden beets and Balsamic vinegar....or maybe the roasted duck with organic baby spinach and ginger-soy-jalapeno sauce...and maybe the champagne mangoes and cream crepe for dessert.

Foodportunity

My boyfriend's birthday was at the end of June but he just got the rest of his gift on Monday. A couple of days before his big day, I planned a little dinner party (that ended up not being all that little actually) with a few handfuls of his favorite people. He did the cooking, 'cause, well, that's kind of how it usually ends up working around here. It was a great night, but I left thinking that I still wanted to give him something that felt more like an actual gift and less like forced labor.

My post 20 person dinner party budget meant the gift had to be reasonably small and affordable. I debated a handful of options for a couple of days before opting to give him a couple of tickets to Foodportunity, a Seattle food-focused event that's organized by Keren Brown (aka Frantic Foodie) and aimed at connecting people who love to eat. We'd kicked ourselves for not attending the last one when we saw the likes of Thierry Rautureau of Rover's and Luc tweeting from it, and I like the idea of giving experiences as presents. So there you go.

Monday's event was Foodportunity's fourth and its one year anniversary. A few standouts from the list of participating restaurants were Luc/Rover's, Matt's in the Market, Zoe, Cantinetta, Fresh Bistro, a handful of dishes from Tom Douglas' Prosser Farms and the forthcoming Blackboard Bistro. Matt's had my favorite bite of the night--a pork belly bahn mi--and I was pleasantly surprised that a seafood cocktail from Fresh was a close second (both below).

We'd gotten there right around 6:00 when the doors opened and made our way around the room, briefly chatting with a few of the chefs and table hosts along the way. A couple of hours later, we were stuffed and decided to move on to BalMar in Ballard to round out the night. I'm not sure we did the amount of Foodportunity mingling, meeting and greeting we intended...but I'm also not sure I mind ending the boy's birthday celebration by getting lost in our own little cocktail conversations either.

Lummi Love

This past weekend, I discovered and fell in love with Lummi Island. As a +1 to the boyfriend, I was lucky enough to tag along with him on a weekend wedding full of sun, fun, love and indulgence.

The wedding itself was gorgeous perfection. The bride was nothing short of stunning. The groom was beaming. The venue was amazing. (Willows Inn, if you ever find yourself in the area). The ceremony was intimate, personal and tear-jerking (yep, I cried, despite the fact that I'd only met the couple the night before). The weather was epic. And the food...well, the food was spectacular. Probably some of the best wedding food I've had.

I had a hunch it was going to be a treat when I overheard the officiator introduce herself to the chef as he cruised around the deck during the rehearsal dinner. He introduced himself as Justin, and I thought, gosh this guy looks familiar. I dismissed the small chance I knew who he was and blamed my bad eyesight for failing me yet again. But then, my boyfriend's dad casually mentioned that the guy use to have a place in Capitol Hill in Seattle. Ding-Ding-Ding. I guess my eyes aren't that bad after all. Justin Niedermeyer--the former and premiere pasta maker at Spinasse--was cooking this lovely couple's wedding meal. AWESOME.

I didn't get the full story on how he ended up at this place but know it has something to do with him hunkering down for a bit after traveling to Italy. And to be frank, I didn't care why he was on that that little, idyllic island--I just thought it was amazing to be eating the guy's food for a wedding I was already adoring.

The even better part? The bulk of the meal was sourced with ingredients from Lummi. I've known local, farm-to-table meals have a different, most often better taste than dishes that were made the other way around for awhile (much love, Alice Waters). But this meal slapped me in the face with a tasty reminder. Some salmon from the Sound. Some greens from one of the many nearby farms. Some bread that was made in the kitchen earlier that day. Some lamb that was raised on the island. All of it incredible.

And yes, Niedermeyer of course did a pasta. It was a spinach-filled Cannelloni that was rich and crispy and tender and savory and...sigh, perfect. But the taste that's still making my mouth water is the roasted cauliflower, made with olive oil, salt, pepper and red chili flakes. It really is the simple things with me.

I tried a bit of everything and was so full I could barely do a second glass of champagne, a rarity for me, as I think I've been clear that I love my bubbles. A lot.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any shots of the food (or the rest of the wedding, for that matter). A memory lapse meant I left my camera on the bed at the farmhouse where we stayed. I did get a few shots earlier that day of the scenery though, which I actually think are more important in this case. The food was definitely a standout. But it was sharing it with some pretty incredible people, during a weekend I felt seriously fortunate to be a part of, in a place that looked like this, that really made it an experience:

It's Been Awhile....

Yes, it's been awhile since I've posted anything. But no, I'm not going to detail all of my excuses for my little leave of absence. They're not that great, and I also honestly just don't really feel all that obligated. It basically comes down to not liking the idea of writing something when I'm not feeling creative, motivated or inspired. I don't feel compelled to post something for the sake of posting, or because feel like I have to because I've pinned myself into some sort of schedule.

Now, I know that I'm breaking one of the core "rules" of blogging with that mentality. I'm supposed to post frequently. I'm supposed to post often. But I don't like the idea of attaching a feeling of must-dos to something I consider a fun hobby. I've got enough of those elsewhere in my life.

To be clear, I am oh-so-thankful for and envious of the real bloggers out there. People who do post everyday and manage to keep it interesting and worth reading each and every time. And honestly, getting lost in a week's worth of Cupcakes and Cashmere, Eat Drink Pretty and Smitten Kitchen posts makes my Sunday mornings.

Anyway, this space hasn't really been about volume of posts. It's been about sharing the food related experiences that move me enough to jot them down before I forget them.

And, well, it's been awhile.

I blame it on France. France and all of its amazing, delicious indulgences. Its cheese, bread, crepes and patisseries. Its chalk board menus and its open-air markets with special salami, bright and bountiful produce and macaroons. Its cafe au laits, croissants and cafe culture. Its prix-fixe meals, giggle-inducing lamb chops, Joel Robuchon potatoes and picnics in perfect parks. France and its real butter, surprising obsession with pizza and all of its carafes of Chablis, Rose and Sancerre.

I've never eaten as well as I did in Paris, Lyon and Provence. It felt new and I felt lucky. I had aspirations of chronicling each and every meal, taking and sharing pictures of all of the beautiful presentations and documenting flavor profiles, because, as I said above, that's what this space has been about for me. But once I got there, I kind of just lost myself in all of it. I shot photos where I felt it appropriate and tried to journal as many meals as I could.

I've been asked a couple of times what the best thing I ate was. I could probably narrow it down, but I don't really want to. Though, I did pick a few of my favorite photos taken during some of the most memorable days.

Scanning back through these photos has in fact given me a shot of motivation. A little jolt of inspiration, happiness and gratitude. It was a vacation that makes me crave more new adventures that are similarly foreign in more ways than one. The sign of a good trip, I'd say. Hopefully it won't be awhile until I have more of those to share.

Life's Been Full & So Am I

So I've been away. For a month now, looking at my last post. Things have been hectic, and life has been all over the place...figuratively and literally, actually. I left a job, started another, took some time off, went to the Oregon Coast and spent a couple of weeks abroad. And I've been without a computer!

But I've been having a blast--meeting new people, seeing cool stuff and tasting some absolutely amazing things. Life's been full and so am I. I'm getting the computer situation sorted out this weekend, so more to come soon.

Best of Intentions

I use to have a recipe book that was covered with a black and white asparagus print. The book was optimistically purchased after I moved into my first post-college apartment with one of my oldest friends. I remember when and where I bought it. I was in a bookstore downtown on a Sunday afternoon I spent musing about how our tiny two bedroom in SE Portland would provide a perfect backdrop for brunches, cocktail parties and special roommate dinners.

The book moved with me to Seattle, where I dreamed about buying the ingredients for the recipes I'd started to collect at Pike Place Market. I was certain my new living companion would happily benefit from all the cooking I was going to do. From Queen Anne to South Lake Union (SLU), SLU to Eastlake and back again to Queen Anne, the book bounced from one tiny kitchen counter to the next. I spent years stuffing the thing full of recipes I'd ripped from magazines, printed from the Internet or scribbled down during phone calls with family.

In all honesty, I probably only made a handful of the dozens of recipes that spilled out of the book's pages. It seemed every time I decided to make something special I'd find a different recipe that seemed better. And then I came into a rather large collection of past issues of Bon Appetit, Food and Wine and Gourmet (tear) and got lost in them. The book was admittedly a victim of neglect.

I had the best of intentions though. Still do. But now it's gone, disappearing after the latest move. I've searched the apartment and think it probably got recycled with a box of old InStyles. While I realize I could probably easily pull some of its contents--like the recipe for a maple Dijon glaze (one of the recipes I actually made, a whole three times)--from the Internet, I still feel I'm in need of a way to keep some handwritten replacements. Online recipes for things like my mom's sausage stuffing or my grandma's chocolate chip pumpkin bread won't do, so my darling sister is now going to have to recite and send the details for the versions I grew up loving.

I found these cute vintage-looking recipe cards from Rifle Paper Co. via a Bon Appetit tweet that seem like a pretty perfect start (over):

But I still need something to house them. Tasting Table is pushing Moleskin's recipe journal, but I'm not sure it's for me. So I'm putting it on my list of possible Paris or Provence purchases during my upcoming vacation later this month. Some might call the idea of a recipe book obsolete. But I love the thought of it, especially if it comes from a trip that will in theory yield a story as good as the recipes.

*Photos from Bon Appetit and Rifle Paper Co.

Mistral Kitchen

Sometimes I worry that if I don't jot down my thoughts on a delicious experience soon enough that I wont remember what it made it so great later. That I'll forget why I fell silent for a few seconds after taking a bite or what it was about a certain dish that left me craving it hours after determining I'm full beyond belief.

I thought that might be the case with Mistral Kitchen given I went weeks ago. Not so.

I can still feel the little kusshi and Chelsea Gem oysters coming off the shell and into my mouth. I can still see the beautiful bed of fennel that the Hamachi Crudo came on, despite the fact I was too distracted (by the scene, the open kitchen and/or maybe even the waiter?) to snap a picture. The acidity from the lemon squeezed over a simple arugula salad with cremini mushrooms and Pecorino is still prickling my tongue, and I'm still awing over the mixture of textures that came with a dish of perfectly seared scallops with black quinoa, creamy puree and halved grapes. And the perfectly cooked veal chop--the one with the truffle mushroom relish and potatoes that might as well have been whipped butter--well, that still has me salivating.


I'll be back for a seat at the bar, a go with the prix-fixe menu and perhaps even a special occasion at the chef's table.

Feeling Fortunate....

I've mentioned before that I benefit from my boyfriend's culinary endeavors. I happily serve as a subject when he's recreating a recipe, deciding on a dish and figuring out the best way to please a group of people's palates. Countless random weeknight dinners have come from a test kitchen of sorts, and it's fun to later watch the people a menu was intended for enjoy, savor and thank him for whatever it is he's made.

Since moving in together a few months back, I've discovered it can be just as if not more fun to make semi-selfish meal requests for myself. Case in point. It's a wet Sunday night. I'm watching and trying to decide if Sunshine Cleaning is the most depressing or uplifting movie ever, and I say I'm craving something sweet. Instead of letting me grab a piece of chocolate, he tells me to stay put, heads into the kitchen and makes this:

Sauteed bananas with brown sugar, a chocolate marshmallow sauce and sea salt. He had a bite and I had the rest.

A few days later, I mentioned I was headed to the gym after work and half-jokingly asked if he was making me "a light, savory meal" (this term gets thrown around a lot, I think it makes us feel better about eating something that usually doesn't end up being all the light) for dinner. The answer was a nonchalant "sure," but when I came home to Whole Foods bags and his immersion blender on the counter I knew I was in for it. Half an hour later I had a plate of crusted halibut on top of a spicy pepper sauce and roasted carrots and parsnip in front of me.

Even better? He does the dishes too. Here's hoping my bi-weekly deep clean of our little apartment (ahem, both bathrooms?) reminds him I pull my weight around here.

Worth the Wait...

I've lived about three blocks from Paseo for the past two plus months and finally got my act together to go. No clue what I've been waiting for. I guess the epic lines were keeping me away. I've cruised by for about eight consecutive weekends now, wondering how good the food must be to have around twenty people patiently waiting, often in the rain, to edge their way into the tiny building with the aluminum (?) roof. Could those big, bountiful sandwiches be that good?

Most definitely.

Patience was put aside this past weekend, and the boy and I walked up the street and took our place in line. It was only sprinkling so I thought OK, not too bad (I'd also come prepared in my wellies). 15 minutes later and we were close to the front of line. Not too bad at all. And then we realized we'd forgotten to bring cash. Amateurs.

I kept our spot in line while the boy made a mad dash for an ATM. I ended up letting people in front of me when I got to the front. It was getting awkward, so I finally just went to the back of the line. Idiot. The boy was back about three minutes later with cash, a look of severe disappointment and questions about my decision making ability when he realized we now had another 15 to go. And then we found out the guy working the register was awesome and that I could have just ordered and paid when the boy got back. Insert more disappointed, questioning stares in my direction here.


But all was forgiven when we wrapped our hands around those sandwiches. We over-ordered, going with the Cuban Roast (amazing, marinated pork shoulder that lives up to the "succulent" description on the menu), Chicken Breast and an order of beans and rice. All of the sandwiches come on these big, toasty baguettes that are dripping with aioli, spilling over with caramelized onions and peppered with jalapenos. Oh, and don't forget the corn on the cob.

I left conflicted. Not because I couldn't decide if I liked it (loved it), but because I was so incredibly full but still wanted more. I dreamed about the Cuban Roast for the rest of the day and into the night. I might have gone back for Easter brunch if they were open on Sundays.

So worth the wait. Now we'll just have to see how long I'll be willing to wait for a second trip.

What I Love (and Hate) about Sundays

I have a love/hate relationship with Sundays. I spend half of them angry and pouting about my blessed weekend being over, cursing myself for all of the things I didn't and wont get done and dreading the sound of a Monday morning alarm clock. The other half are spent basking in the light and free feeling that comes with wide open mornings and having no plans other than to make myself happy. Doing only the things I want to do. Taking my time with at the grocery store, cooking real meals and going to bed ready to face the work week because I've had a healthy dose of me time.

Sundays as of late have been all about the latter. They've been the epitome of lazy with noon wake-up times immediately followed by greasy but delicious pizza, pajamas and movies like The Hangover watched from the comfort of the couch (necessary and appropriate after a previous night's Bayless inspired gathering).

This last Sunday was one part lazy with a splash of productivity and a heavy hand of indulgence. Waking up at 10:30a.m. for no other reason than to eat eggs with mojo and chives, bacon and homemade hash browns; curling up on the couch to finish The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (good read, by the way) and ending the night with Indian take-out and The Invention of Lying made-up the lazy portion. The splash of productivity included a quick drive into the office for a forgotten power cord (frustrating), scrubbing the kitchen after a Saturday baking extravaganza (more on that to come) and paying bills over a glass of Oyster Bay Sauvingon Blanc.

The indulgence was in between and really wasn't much of a splurge (unless you count the Indian food, which I probably should). It consisted of a cup of coffee, an itty-bitty doughnut and a newspaper. The thing is I'm not supposed to have coffee right now. Doctor's orders for the next three weeks. And I love coffee. Hot coffee with milk and sugar sipped slowly from a big mug that I can wrap my hands around is complete luxury to me. I felt like I needed something special, so I had it anyway. Shhh. I nibbled a perfect little cinnamon and sugar Mighty-O donut with it and lingered over both in the cafe at Elliot Bay Book Company while reading the paper. A hard copy, which I feel like I rarely feel in my hands anymore. I then moved upstairs and spent an hour wandering through the travel loft, the cooking section and selected a couple of fun new paperbacks (Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love and Ruth Reichl's Sapphires and Garlic--I'm behind, I know).

A simple, uneventful day that was pretty perfect for just that reason. What's your favorite way to waste a Sunday?

Beloved Bayless

There's a lot of love for Chicago-based celebrity chef Rick Bayless in my apartment. We're still celebrating his win on Top Chef Masters, and a Frontera Grill menu is proudly displayed among a collection of others on a bulletin board in the kitchen. His show, Mexico--One Plate at a Time, is on the regular DVR rotation, and I can't get over how active this man is on Twitter. OK, so I haven't actually eaten at one of his restaurants (the menu is a souvenir from the boy's trip to Chicago awhile back), but I swear I've been able to taste his food through the screen. Plus, the guy just seems so genuinely...nice.

So It felt right to theme a little housewarming party after him. We had a few friends over for Bayless inspired menu last weekend that included chipotle roasted peanuts, chillied peanuts and pumpkin seeds and popcorn with Bayless' mojo de ajo (slow roasted garlic oil), also known as "liquid gold." I was slowly but surely slinging Topolo margaritas as folks walked in the door, and we served both black bean queso fresco and creamy chipotle shrimp tostaditas (bite-sized tostadas) before brava steak and duck carnitas.

The credit for all of it goes to my boyfriend. He did an amazing amount of prep and cooking in 24 hours, and the food was incredible. The duck carnitas were superb, which just might have had something to do with a smidge of the fat it was cooked in. It was amazingly tender and rich, but a chunky tomatillo-avocado salsa made it taste bright.

My minor contribution was a mango lime ice. The suggestion actually came from Mr. Bayless himself on Twitter (highlight of my boyfriend's life, as he put it). I'll be honest that I probably made making the stuff more complicated than it needed to be. It took me forever to juice the limes, I was caffeine deprived and got frustrated fast when pureeing the mangoes made a huge mess (my bad for filling the processor bowl too full). But I'll say the end result was pretty cool. They were like cups of slushy. But not like the Sno-Cone ice. Almost like a sorbet. And definitely a nice little palate cleanser after all of the savory treats.

We even had an appearance from the celeb chef himself. Kind of. Well, OK, as close as we're probably ever going to get to him coming to dinner.

Cheers.

Refreshed

Like a lot of those who grew up in the PacNW, I fell for Cannon Beach at an early age. We'd go for the day when I was younger. Cannon meant a day trip, picnic meals and kites. It meant saltwater taffy, sandy shoes and waffle cones.

Some but not all of that changed as I got older. Throughout college, I forced Cannon on new friends who were more familiar with beaches than coasts. At that point, the trips involved fewer pieces of taffy and more pints at Bill's Tavern. Cannon and I lost touch for awhile there but reunited in February '08 when the boy brought me to his family's cabin for the first time. I fell in love all over again. Funnily enough, that was also about the same time I realized I'd completely fallen for the boy. Coincidence? Yes, actually, but undoubtedly one of the many reasons I smile when I think about going to the cabin for the weekend.

Cannon means different things now than it did when I was little. It means I've worked hard and the getaway feels better deserved. It means a longer drive (it's four plus hours from Seattle) full of Splendid Table and Bill Simmons podcasts. It means getting in late, going to bed early and waking up rested.

It also means way better food and a special bottle of wine these days, as was the case last weekend. I was battling a cold and worried it wouldn't be the weekend I wanted. I was wrong. I woke up feeling refreshed and ready for some actual sustenance after a week of broth, tea and juice.

So I indulged. And imbibed. Highlights included snacks like cantaloupe brought down from Sosio's at Pike Place Market. Some of the first of the season apparently, and it tasted like fresh, juicy candy. Amazing. Slices from Pizza a'fetta for lunch. Always.

Cheese, prosciutto and crackers started off the evening along with a close but disappointing (for me, at least) game of Scrabble. But not just any cheese. The hard was a basque and the soft was heaven in the form of quadrello di bufala. Dinner itself was an arugula salad of tomatoes, crispy shallots, chives and a vinaigrette with a main course of braised lamb, farro with beet greens, hedgehog mushrooms and rainbow carrots and a bottle of Six Vineyards Pinot Noir. Lovely.

I also took got my hands on a maple bar from Cannon Beach Bakery I mentioned craving and worked it off with a little beach hike followed by a healthy dose of reading and a whole lot of sleeping. Refreshed indeed.