Off to Europe

It’s been a bit, but we’re back on the road. This time we are headed to Germany for the Christmas Markets.

I was sitting at the computer about three weeks ago. My wife had forwarded me an article about the German Christmas Markets she had seen online.

As I read the article, I thought, “why not.”

I went online and booked flights, hotels and a car.

There is a bit of insanity, booking a trip to a country you’ve only dreamed of going to, hoping that between Utube and one semester of high school German you can navigate a trip to a foreign country.

We’ll see how that works out.

We left home on Saturday and headed to Los Angeles International Airport.

On the way we stopped at Clearman’s North Woods Inn for a meal before the flight.

Clearman’s holds a special place in my memories. I remember going there as a child with my father.

My parents separated when I was very young, so I didn’t see my father much. One of the things I remember most about the time we spent together was eating out. He didn’t cook much and at home with mom, we didn’t have much money, so we rarely went out.

I love Clearman’s from the start. From the fake snow

covered roof, to the dimly lit interior illuminating the Canadian North Woods décor. And as a kid, anyplace that let you throw peanut shells on the floor was a rare treat.

Not much has changed since I first walked thru their doors over 50 years ago. On this visit, I had the “Steak Chunks on skewer” served with two salads, rice pilaf, baked potato and garlic cheese bread.

The salads are a pretty plain salad and a red cabbage salad. I would go to Clearman’s just to have the cabbage salad and the garlic cheese bread.

It’s not cheap, but for a special treat it’s well worth the cost.

Slapfish - Los Angeles International Airport

We had booked an early morning flight from Los Angeles to Vancouver Canada. Not wanting to deal with LA morning traffic, we booked a room at a hotel not far from LAX. The hotel offered a morning breakfast, but we needed to be at the airport before they started serving. 

Our experiences dining while traveling since the lifting of some pandemic restrictions has been a mixed bag. 

We have been in airports with no food establishments operating, seen some limited seating, and some places that were wide open. 

Since we arrived on the concourse at LAX before 7:30 am, we expected to have limited choices. The Jersey Mikes Sub shop was open, as was Slapfish Modern Seafood Shack. 

I was hoping one of the two other dining choices in the area, Build (custom burgers) or Fresh Bros Pizza would be open. We checked and were told they wouldn’t open until 9am. 

So, we ordered from Slapfish. My wife got a breakfast sandwich, I got the breakfast burrito. 

If you’ve read any of my posts on burgers, you know that a pet peeve of mine is chefs who coat the outside of the just about any sandwich with butter. Honestly, this needs to stop. The last thing I want when eating is to have both of my hands covered in butter. And after finishing the meal, no amount of handwashing will get the smell of the burger off your hands. Only time will fade the scent. The one exception might be a really good patty melt. But that’s bread, not a bun so the absorption of the butter is a bit different. 

Which brings me to my breakfast burrito. 

Snapfish describes their Epic Shrimp Burrito as “Packed with shrimp, tomato, rice, fries, salsa, pickled onion, comes with a small side of chips & salsa.”

The breakfast version is a variation of the Epic. The big difference seems to be the addition of a bit of bacon and a reduction of the amount of shrimp.

If only it was as good as it looked

Don’t get me wrong, I like shrimp. I like it a lot. But there was something more than off-putting about this combination of eggs, shrimp and bacon that I just couldn’t embrace. In fact, I would log it as one of the worst burritos I have ever tried to eat. I say tried because most of it ended up in the trash. 

The eggs were dry, the shrimp was fishy, the rest of the ingredients were lost, the salsa could have been the saving grace, but it was watery and bland. 

And to add insult to injury, Build opened before we got our food from Slapfish. 

An Open Letter to BMW

Note: this is a reprint of a Facebook post I made on January 13, just as the pandemic was about to come to light. Our refrigerator broke, and I needed to pick up some breakfast for the wife and I.

During the drive home, I identified a real problem with the design of my BMW Z4. 

Me and my BMW Z4 at Painted Rocks, Fort Irwin, CA

Dear BMW,

I don’t normally complain. Perhaps it’s because of my British roots, as the English are known to be slow to disparage anyone or anything, preferring instead to just wait until a solution presents itself – as Pink Floyd noted in the song “Time” that “Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way.” 

But in this instance, I feel I must say something.

First off, thanks for making truly amazing automobiles. 

I proudly drive an older model Z4 convertible. The power to weight ratio makes for an exciting ride, especially in the winding roads of our local mountains. I love to put the top down and make the run up to one of our local mountain towns for lunch in the afternoon.

I reserve my sports car adventures for the weekends and days off, choosing to make my 150 mile-a-day commute to work in my boring, under-powered, yet dependable work truck.

Which makes driving the Z4 even more fun.

As much as I love the Zed, I would like to call your attention to a critical design flaw that could cause even the most experienced of drivers to lose control of their machine and end what should be a wonderful driving experience - in a fiery blaze of horror. 

Yes, I am talking about the cup holder.  Or to be a little more specific – the lack of a proper cup holder.

Yesterday morning I went out to pick up breakfast for my lovely wife and I. Our very high-Tech refrigerator had quit working and every bit of food in the house had to be thrown out. This necessitated a trip to a local restaurant to pick up our morning meal. 

Having spent a good deal of hard-earned cash on the refrigerator, as well as the food inside of it, I was feeling a bit low that morning. Because of this I decided that driving the BMW instead of my work truck might be just enough to raise my spirits.

I drove the four miles to the restaurant, enjoying the deep, smooth purring of the engine as I cruised happily along the main street of town.

Once there, I ordered breakfast - coffee and the #1 with scrambled eggs and bacon for the wife, an omelet with hash browns for me. After a short wait and a bit of conversation, I left with our meal.

As I situated myself in the driver’s seat of the Zed, I suddenly remembered the fact that the cup holders in the BMW will not actually hold a cup. 

The design has them embedded into the dash and they pop-out when needed.  However, in the four years I have driven the Z4, I have yet to get the cup holder to actually “hold” a drink cup. 

So, I sat for a minute, contemplating my options while the smell of freshly cooked bacon filled the cab of my little car. 

Hungry, and knowing my life depended on delivering the all-important morning elixir to the wife, I carefully placed the steaming cup of java in the only place it would be secure - between my legs. 

I carefully backed out of the parking space, shifted into first gear and pulled gently toward the exit. 

I signaled and made a left turn onto the roadway shifting into second gear. 

Almost immediately I felt a strange sensation in my nether regions. 

I’m not sure if the cup lid was not properly secured, or if my operation of the clutch jarred it loose, but the lid had come partially off the cup.

Time slowed as the “sensation” quickly became excruciating pain, as the dark, molten hot, 100% arabica-bean liquid soaked thru my blue jeans and scalded – how should I put this – the leading edge of my man parts.

I find it hard to describe the pain this inflicted onto one of the most sensitive parts of the male anatomy, but I imagine that somewhere in a deep dark dungeon of Medieval Europe, someone found this to be an effective tool to encourage any man to admit to any crime. Perhaps this was one of the methods of persuasion used during the Inquisition. Or maybe used by the KGB to flush out imagined spies. If not, they missed an opportunity. No man can stand up to this torture.

With no place to pull over, I continued to drive home. With tears in my eyes and holding the evil cup in my left hand, steering with my left wrist and using my right hand to steer and shift as I drove along in “quiet desperation.” 

I made it thru the multiple traffic signals and finally arrived at my house - relief finally in sight. As I pulled into the driveway, I hit a small bump, spilling more of the scalding liquid on my pants and interior of my prized automobile. 

Inside, as I explained to my family what happened, I was met with a touch of sympathy, but mostly with hysterical laughter. 

BMW BMW USA you alone hold the power to prevent this tragedy from repeating itself. You alone can prevent the pain and embarrassment caused by this design flaw from being suffered by others.

I plead with you to ensure that all future BMW automobiles have a proper way to secure beverages, for the safety and happiness of your loyal customer base. 

Or maybe we should all just stick to iced tea.

Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam Wonderful Spam!

I’ve long been a fan of British comedy. As a kid, I would stay up late and watch Fractured Flickers and a couple of other oddball comedy shows. But the king of late, late night was Benny Hill. Maybe it was just the scantily clad women, chasing or being chased by Hill, but I found the skits really funny.

Later I became a fan of Monty Python’s Flying Circus. I still chuckle at the fuzzy little rabbit that turns out to be a fearsome beast that rips men apart (if you haven’t seen it, here is a link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnOdAT6H94s&t=3s).

Vikings enjoying a little Spam at breakfast

But one of the most lasting skits from the show involves Vikings, breakfast, and Spam (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gxtsa-OvQLA).

Now, in my younger years, I vaguely remember having Spam for breakfast once. I became more familiar with the processed meat product when I was stationed in Hawaii in the 1980’s, but I didn’t eat a lot of it.

Intrigued, I began to look into the origins of this “mystery meat.”

It’s really not much of a mystery. Introduced in July 1937, the Hormel company found a way to use pork shoulder, which was not a popular cut of meat. They blended it with some ham and a few other ingredients (salt, water, modified potato starch, sugar, and sodium nitrate), sealed it in a can and cooked it for about three hours to kill off any bacteria that would make the meat spoil.

During World War II, the US Military became the major purchaser of the luncheon meat. Spam was shipped to the Pacific and to the front lines in Europe. With fresh meat being quite scarce, it filled a need for an Army on the move.

Soldier’s and Marines shared their Spam with local populations, many who faced near starvation, and Spam became a part of the local diet. It’s still somewhat popular in the UK, but the pink loaf has found a real home in the Pacific.

Hawaii, Guam, Okinawa and the Philippines, all consume large amounts of spam each year.

But South Korea has taken their love of spam to another level.

In the US Mainland, you’ll find the blue cans of meat in almost every grocery store. Neatly stacked on store shelves, most American’s just walk past.

In South Korea, Spam has achieved a status of a luxury gift during the Lunar New Year and annual harvest festivals. Packaged in fancy gift boxes, many Koreans plop down as much as $75 for a package containing as many as 16 cans and some expensive cooking oils.

Here in the US, Hawaii is the state that consumes more Spam than any other.

So, I wasn’t too surprised when stopping into a McDonalds on the North Shore, I found Spam and rice on the breakfast menu.

I grabbed a couple of breakfast sandwiches for the family, and a plate with eggs, Spam, sausage, and rice for myself.

I must admit, it was a great breakfast.

Loco Moco

During the four years I lived in Hawaii, I managed to learn to love many of the distinctly Hawaiian foods.

Over time, I developed a fondness for spam, chili over rice and a few other new flavors. My personal favorite, even to this day is the plate lunch.

There is one quintessential Hawaiian dish I couldn’t wrap my mind around as an 18-year-old. Loco Moco.

The Loco Moco at Pounders Restaurant at the Polynesian Cultural Center 

It’s generally agreed that Loco Moco traces its roots to one of two restaurants in Hilo Hawaii in about 1949.

According to legend, the dish was created for a group of teenagers who wanted something to eat, other than American type sandwiches, but that would still be inexpensive, easy, and quick to prepare.

The dish may have been named for one of the players on the Lincoln Wreckers football club, who’s nickname was “Crazy.” One of his teammates was taking Spanish in school and suggested they use the Spanish “Loco” instead of crazy. They picked Moco, mostly because it sounded good. Whether or not they were aware, moco in Spanish can mean booger, yep, that ooze from the nose. So, in essence they created the “Crazy Booger.” Yum.

Richard and Nancy Inouye, the owners of the Lincoln Grill, used some of the ingredients they had on hand to create the dish. They served up some common American favorites, like burgers, and had various Asian items on the menu.

In their published musings about the origins of Loco Moco, they name names, mention the local football club, and have many members of the club make public statements backing up that the dish was created in their restaurant (the other restaurant offers no proof that I have seen to back up the claim they came up with the dish).

In what may be the first real fusion dish, they served up a hamburger patty over a bed of white rice and topped it with brown gravy. Later they added a sunny side up egg.

As I mentioned, at 18 I wasn’t keen on the idea of Loco Moco. I think it was the sunny-side-up egg that put me off.

On our trip back to Hawaii after over 40 years, I made up my mind to give it a try.

We spent the first part of our Hawaiian vacation in Waikiki. Having lived on Oahu for four years, we opted to spend a little time in the “city” before moving to a hotel on the North Shore.

Turned out the North Shore hotel we picked was literally in the parking lot of the Polynesian Cultural Center. Which turned out to be a great choice.

We could just walk over to the Hukilau Marketplace at the PCC and eat at the restaurants or the food trucks there.

One night we made a reservation for the Pounders Restaurant at the Marketplace. My granddaughter opted for the make-your-own pizza. I went for the Loco Moco.

The kids Make-Your-Own Pizza

Pounders has taken the Loco Moco to the extreme. I’m not sure how much rice, but they serve three quarter pound burgers and three sunny side up eggs in their version of the local classic.

Its very good, but it’s a bit much for just one person.

Plate Lunch

 

When I was 18, I decided to venture out into the “real” world. I had told my mother when I was 12 years old, that I had planed on a career in the US Army. My first plan (the US Military Academy at West Point) hadn’t worked out, so I had switched to plan “B.”

Plan B, started with me becoming an enlisted Soldier and I was fortunate to find a position in an Army unit in Hawaii.

I was stationed on a small base west of Honolulu. For an 18-year-old it was the best life possible. I knew that I could eat at the Mess Hall, I had a guaranteed roof over my head and a steady paycheck.

The barracks that I lived in when I was first assigned to Hawaii

Which is why my friends and I spent every possible moment on the beach, mostly in Waikiki (and yes, in the bars there also).

At one point while growing up, we raised our own cattle, hogs, chickens, and turkeys. By the time I was 18, I knew that I was a big fan of steaks, Italian, Chinese and Mexican food. But that was the extent of my food experience.

Finding myself in the culinary wonderland of the Polynesian Islands, I began to try a variety of new, but pretty safe, dietary choices.

Though I wasn’t ready to dive headfirst into uncooked fish, octopus, poi, laulau, or spam musubi just yet. However, shave ice, saimin, and chili over rice (who knew it would rock) made me think about expanding my palate.

Which brings me to one of my fast-food favorites – plate lunch.

Growing up in SoCal, we had the advantage of growing up in the home of fast food. The original McDonald brother’s restaurant is only about 30 miles from where I grew up. The home of In-and-Out is maybe 60 miles away. My high school classmates and I split our Mexican food loyalty between the original Del Taco and its offshoot (and better) competitor, Naugles which were both local eateries.

One of the main attributes of fast-food, in my mind, was that it is “hand-held.” Like the original hot dog, it requires no silverware and no plate. It was purposefully designed to be consumed on-the-go.

Plate lunch was different. While still “fast-food” it was served on a paper plate and with plastic silverware.

I’m pretty sure that my introduction to plate lunch was at a roadside takeout window in Eva Beach.

I don’t remember who I was with, but I remember looking at the plate with a more than mild degree of skepticism. I thought, who would serve teriyaki beef with macaroni salad and rice. Turns out it was pure genius.

I wondered where the idea of the plate lunch came from. Who devised this rather strange combination of carbs, and why?

According to the website Eater.com;

“The origins of the dish date back to the 1880s, where it began as a popular midday meal option for hungry workers on Hawaii’s booming pineapple and sugar plantations. The plantation workers would bring their lunches to work with them in bento boxes, and leftover rice was used as an inexpensive way to bulk up whatever meats were leftover from last night’s dinner. By the 1930s, new mobile meal services called lunch wagons popped up to cater to laborers and drive-ins; instead of being served on bento boxes, they were served on compartmentalized paper plates, hence the name "plate lunch." By the 1950s, the plantation era had ended, but the plate lunch was a staple at drive-ins and free-standing restaurants across the islands.”

So, the origins of the plate lunch is not much different than the humble hot dog or burger, a cheep and filling way to feed hungry workers in the field.  

Forty some odd years after I left Hawaii, I finally returned to the Islands for a vacation. High on my list of foods I wanted to retry was the plate lunch.

Unfortunately, we first tried an order in a food court in Waikiki. They attempted to “upscale” the traditional plate lunch. The meat was tough, the sauce tasteless and the macaroni salad was replaced with a bad salad and a piece of pineapple. I was not pleased.

The "fancy" Waikiki plate lunch

I tried again at a food truck in the Hukilau Marketplace at the Polynesian Cultural Center when we were on the North Shore. I think I paid a little over half what I paid for the lunch in Waikiki, but the difference was worth twice as much.

Finally, on the North Shore, I found a real plate lunch from a food truck at the Polynesian Cultural Center

The beef had the sweet-salty blend that you expect from a good teriyaki sauce. The rice, was, well rice. The macaroni salad was very good. It took me right back to that little stand in Eva Beach. And it was just as good as I remembered.

Writing Again

 

0 words

That is what is displayed in the lower left corner of my computer screen.

16 words. A bit better but still too few words.

For some reason, writing has become very difficult for me.

It’s been over three months since I have posted to either of my blogs. It’s not like I haven’t been traveling. We had planned several trips before the current issues but had to cancel for obvious reasons.

We adjusted, rescheduled, and made new plans. We made changes, we adapted to follow the rules.

Finally, we just went where we could. When they wouldn’t let us fly, we drove to Zion National Park. We took a short trip to Palm Springs.

Zion National Park

As things started opening up, we went to Hawaii. We even went to Texas just for dinner and a show.

Waikiki at night

I flew to Wisconsin for work, then drove back to Southern California. We went to New England to visit family. And finally, we took the entire family to Walt Disney World for the 50^th Anniversary celebration.

As I sit here tonight, I have three different versions of this post on two different computers. And I’m left to wonder why?

I guess it may be some form of mild depression, I want to write, but can’t find the motivation. If the media is to be believed, I’m putting myself and everything I love at risk every time I walk out the front door.

Now please don’t get me wrong, I do believe that Covid is real. I believe it is highly contagious. I’m just not sure that wrapping our heads in old napkins and locking ourselves in the basement was a good idea. We should have protected the most vulnerable, of that there is no doubt.

I haven’t locked myself in the house and hidden from the perceived dangers of the current situation. I made the decision to live. It’s my decision to make, and others are free to find their own way. I wish everyone the best.

As things stand, we have two new adventures in the next few months. I’m going to look over what we have done in the last year and attempt to share some of those memories, but I look forward to getting back to what I do best. Writing about the travel lifestyle.

Thanks for coming along.