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.