Dispatch from Sonoma County

Who says Pliny the Elder isn't a breakfast drink?

August Results: I waddled more than in June, but Less than in July

August results are in: 31 daily Waddles Toward Fitness in Oregon, Ontario, and Québec; 212.83 Waddling miles; average Waddle, 6.87 miles; cumulative total year-to-date Waddles 1289.54 miles.

Dispatch from Saguenay: Waddling to La Croix de Ste. Anne et une Poutine

Call it fate, a siren song, or just plain luck. I was back in my rooming house in South Chicoutimi, out on the fire escape, and just about to fire a Lucky when the rain stopped, the clouds, parted, and the sun shone through. Damn, I wanted a Lucky, a beer, and a reason not to go waddling through Chicoutimi. Now I had none of the above. And no Dolly-girl to boot.

OK, so I didn't have any Luckies and it was too early for beer (well, maybe not) and truth be told, I like to walk. I headed out on shank's mare, destination, La Croix de Ste. Anne in North Chicoutimi. Let me tell you, there's a lot of elevation change between the river and the cross. Jack got a work out.



Coming back down the hill, being a gumshoe and all, I noticed a joint that would catch the eye of anyone who happens to like french fries covered in gravy with cheese curds. Yep, a patate, right there before my eyes. I knew it was the best in town because it said it is the best in town. My French is THAT good! Besides, there was a dump truck parked outside. I gave a look over my shoulder--force of habit, but hell, the Good Professor can't be here. I sauntered in because it seemed like the French way.



I sat down at the counter and Missy stepped in front of me, gave me the once over, and said, "Que sera-ce, Jacques?" How the hell did she know my name? "Je voudrais avoir une poutine avec les frites, le sauce, et la fromage blanc." "Nous avons obtenu an autre traducteur Google, Gisette. Seigneur, prends pitié, pour l'amour de Mike..." She turned to me. "First of all, the sauce, how do you comme, gravy? The gravy is a she and the fromage, le fromage it is a he. Mais, je comprende et je suis ici pour vous dire, poutine, she is frites, sauce, and cheese, Jacques!"


She turned and went to do whatever--I hoped to make me a great poutine like I'd had with Rouge and Newshawk--so I tried to act like I knew what was happening. I took out the menu, maybe a quelqu chose to late, and had a look. Missy gave me le globe oculaire poilue so I went back to trying to behave. I put the menu back in the little holder. She was there in about 10 seconds to take it out of where I put it and put it behind the ketchup, apparently the real home for a menu.




The next thing I knew, a poutine was sitting right in front of me. My mouth was watering and I picked up my fork to dig in. "Oui, oui. Il est ici comme une question de fait. Jacques! Au téléphone, il est pour vous." What the?

"Jacques-garçon, be careful there. You have not waddled far enough to deserve that beautiful poutine served in what could pass for a cocotte." "Professor, what, how, why?" "Jacques, the Star Cluster is an international tracking system. You didn't think..." "A guy can hope."


"I'll tell you what, Jacques, since it's a vacation of sorts, I'm going to let you consume this petite poutine, provided you promise to walk at least 6 miles today. I did receive the report this morning and, as of today, you are falling behind the pace of both July and June. You have work to do..."

"Wail! I know Professor, but look at this. The gravy is tasty and just salty enough. The curds squeak. The fries...oh, oh. A chink in the armor. They looked crisp enough, but a little soggy. Now I wish I hadn't eaten the whole thing!"

"Sounds like a 3.5 curds with a half-curd bonus for ambiance and china." "Just what I was thinking, Professor, just what I was thinking."

"Jacques?" "Yes, Professor?" "Get your LARD! ass off that counter stool and hit the streets." "Yes. Professor."

Fiora's Day in Plymouth becomes Jack's 1-Page Chapbook

"Ill tel u Jacl, Plymoyth is killin me ans I HATR pokinh at this iPhon leyboard to send emai;" Dolly-girl was not having the best of times in the tale of her 2 cities. August 2, 2011 and I was getting messages from her new blower left and right. All what you would call terse and truncated missives from the Wyoming Valley if you were a poet like Dolly-girl.









I remembered that she told me about some sort of poem that has 5 syllables in the first row, then 7, and then 5 more. Haiku, I think she called them. I think they are supposed to be reflections on nature. And they are supposed to have to ideas juxtaposed with a "cutting" word marking the transition. At least that's what I remember she told me. I made some up that are reflections on Dolly-girl's nature on August 2, 2011. I don't think they are haiku, though. I call them ditties.

Putting it in Perspective: A Conversation with Dolly-girl D'Mestiere

"Saints alike, Jack, I plugged your numbers into an app on my new iPhone (® along with the rest of the currently known universe, and points beyond, by Steve Jobs) and I see you've walked from here to Rugby, North Dakota, the geographic center of North America!"








"Right, Dolly-girl. As Roberto says, the good thing about being in Rugby is that what ever way you go, you're headed to the beach. But, I think I've only walked to Shelby, Montana."

"Why's that, Jack?"

"'Cause I'm coming home to you, Fiora..."

Update from Stumptown: Waddling Through July

The results are in. Thirty-one days of waddling yielded 237.04 miles, a worn out pair of shoes (after over 670 miles), and an additional 4 pounds of LARD! left on the streets of Stumptown!





I continue to collect data as I know Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD is all about data and she will give me a knowing and approving smile and nod the next time I see her. And, Professor Javier Boleyn just has to be proud!


You may recall that this all started one year ago with this post:

http://waddlingtowardsfitness.blogspot.com/2010/08/waddling-towards-europe-new-bill.html

You may also recall that it was inspired by the very trim President Bill Clinton who has been whispering in my ear for the last year. Inspiration, I like, but do I have to hear "Chels, when are you gonna have a baby?

Waddling Around Stumptown: Marking a Milestone.

"Here comes one on two hops, Jack!" "Thanks, Bar-Am, no trouble fielding that one." "I guess not. Just like back when you were playing the second bag, eh?" "How'd you know I was an infielder?" "I got your Rookie Card, Jack. Cleveland ball club, a long time ago." "Yep, another time, another story, Bar-AM, but it's as true as my life." "Never did find another card though." "Nope. Rookie. That was it. Curve balls. Not sayin' more. Nice of you to hold the card though. I could sign it for you..." "Naw, I don't think it would help. I tried to trade you for a Pat Corrales Manager Card--do you know he averaged 28 and a half games out of first during the 5 years he was managing--and I never did get even a nibble. Anyway, why the teeth showing through your mug today, Jack? What's tickling your fancy other than that tall cold one and the beautiful day outside?"



"Well, you know Bar-Am, it's not the taster tray of Imperial IPAs I just knocked off down the road..." "Yeah, someone told me you were in another joint. I was gonna be hurt if you didn't show up..."
I continued, "It's the fact that for the fist time in God-Knows-How-Long when I look down I see my belt!" A hissing sound filled the room, followed by "Eleven years, Jackie-boy, that's how long it's been." "OK, so God and Professor Javier Boleyn both know. Anyhoo, I noticed this week that when I looked down, I didn't see the familiar LARD!, but an unfamiliar shiny metal object."



"Bar-Am, please include the cost of Jackie-boy's beer on the monthly invoice for placing the Boleyn's Eye View (® Boleyn Enterprises) cam and mic. I know you've been swimming upstream metaphorically, Jackie-boy, and I'm quite proud of you for championing the 2-Step Duh! Diet. You have literally walked your ass off, Jackie-boy. Look at this silhouette captured by the Boleyn's Eye View Sky Cluster (® Boleyn Enterprises) this afternoon. Look there on the left at the top of your leg. Your ass is missing."

"Well, that's one gumshoe job I'm not going after, Professor. Wherever it is, it can stay lost! Catch you later, Bar-Am, I got concrete to wear out!"

Waddling Through June: 204.02 Miles on the Streets of Stumptown, Boise, and Juneau

June 30, the results are in. June is my waddlingest month so far. Professor Javier Boleyn will no doubt have a comment before long...

A Night Out in Stumptown: La nostra cena anniversario di Enzo's Caffe Italiano

I heard Dolly-girl humming to herself while she was clipping flower stems at the sink in the kitchen. She'd been riding Maude, her new Townie, and I'm not talking about a person living in Ithaca, if you get my drift. She'd been out on what she calls a "rescue mission", scooping up flowers that are laying over on the sidewalk or in the yards of a certain abandoned house she eyeballs from time-to-time. I walked in, snapped the cap on a Lucky 13 (© Lagunitis Brewing Company, image too) and pitched my idea.



"Perché non provare quel nuovo ristorante italiano su Alberta? Enzo's Caffe Italiano, a new joint I spied on a waddle up there. You know, the place me and Juneau went when he was visiting a few weeks ago. Remember, I was telling you, it's like being in il paese vecchio what with the homemade salt-and-flour map of Italy on the wall and a TV with Italian shows on..." "Non dire un'altra parola, Jack. I'll put these rescues in a vase, beautify, and we'll be on our way." A few minutes later, on account of this place is in the neighborhood, we walked into Italy-on-Alberta. Dolly-girl gave the special board a scan. "No need to even bring me a whaddaya-want, I'm having Enzo's special, paparadelle di massaria. You know there can't be nothin' to complain about when you slather a clucker in crème, toss in some spears-o-asparagine, and pour it over some pasta!"



It sure did sound good, but I knew an order like that from a mouth like mine would get me a phone call from Professor Javier Boleyn before Enzo could sing A Che gelida manina. It was a new place, but there wasn't an ombra di dubbio that the good Professor already had his Boleyn's Eye View installed in a joint like this one. He'd know that I'd be here faster than a Lambretta zips through the Piazza Venezia
(© Wheels of Italy, I think since I took it from their website)





Andrea, which any old person might think is said AN-dree-ah, but what she said was an-DRAY-ah, met us with a buonasera that meant business. Enzo and Carmella were outside, waiting for the evening rush, and from all appearances, having a quiet chat--hands were moving, of course, but not like it was serious talk going on. She steered us towards some biancho e rosso, brought a plate of some fine tasting dipping oil, and a cestino di pane.







"Si prega di portare noi una insalata verde per avviare." "My jaw dropped. Apparently while I've been out waddling off the LARD!, Fiora has been mastering the Italian. "Bene, è sulla sua strada" Yipes, it really was like I was in the old country! The salad showed up doused with just the right amount of a homemade and some of the best shaved wax I've ever had. "Grana, Jack. It's called grana, not wax." "OK, Dolly-girl, penso io." "Quit speaking Google, Jack. I see that iPhone (® along with the rest of the currently known universe, by Steve Jobs) in your lap!




anDRAYah was back after she saw that we'd mowed through the salad like a John Deere through a field of timothy hay. I tried to act like there was some connection between the ethnicity of my name--D'Mestiere, not Jack--and ordered the orechiette e cime di rapa con acciuga. "Enzo's gonna love making that one for you--it's his favorite anchovy dish. But I have to tell you, the rapa isn't right so it's coming out with broccoli--OK with you?" "OK con questo ragazzo!" anDRAYah looked a little quizical. "He's speaking from Google Translate. Jack, you're not that much of a youngster anymore." OK, some I'm not a ki, but I smiled like one when the feedbag arrived. The combination was as tasty as it comes to my way of thinking.




Dolly-girl's paparadelle di massaria arrived and it was as special as promised. The crème was rich and spiced just right. The chicken was tender and the pasta was perfect. Dolly-girl was all smiles for this anniversary! "This hits all the spots I was hoping for, and then some. And, I'm going to have it again for lunch tomorrow. anDRAYah, una scatola per favore!"






Coffee for me and tiramisu for Dolly-girl were going to top off the night, we thought. But Carmella had a different idea and anDRAYah showed up with due bicchieri di limoncello. "Complimenti di Carmella ed Enzo. felice anniversario! And oh, by the way," she pointed up at a small box in the corner, "I turned of the tiramisu-cam and sent in a trouble report, so you don't have to worry about the phone call..."




If a taste of Italy is what you're looking for, you'll find it staring you in the face on Alberta Street!

Dispatch from Mash Tun

Tatchos and beer with friends on the 4th of July. 12 Thumbs Up!

Waddling Through June: 204.02 Miles on the Streets of Stumptown, Boise, and Juneau

June 30, the results are in. June is my waddlingest month so far. Professor Javier Boleyn will no doubt have a comment before long...

Dispatch from Juneau

Leaving Juneau and its rain behind. But I'm not leaving all of its smoked king salmon behind ...

Dispatch from Juneau

Departure time leaves me with a Stone IPA and a halibut taco at the Hanger. Too bad, tourists ...

Dispatch from the Juneau Lab

Another dispatch from Juneau ...

Dispatch from Juneau

A Very Happy Hour at Cocotte: Enjoying the Guilty Pleasures of Stumptown

(Cookware image © Whoever put it on Wikipedia; Hooker image © Princesse Tam Tam)

"Cocotte, Jack. It's a cooking vessel, not just a French hooker, and in this case, it's a new feed bag that opened in Gourmet Gulch. Remember, we went there with South Dakota Slim and his missus back when what we call winter but passes for spring everywhere else was in full bore. Honestly, Jack, I'm going to have to get you some of that Ginko biloba..." "There's nothing wrong with my memory, Dolly-girl. Ginkoales Ginkoaceae Ginko biloba. Monospecific to order, so there. Anyhoo, how did you get all these whatzitmeans for Cocotte?" "Skimming through my Larousse, of course. Jack, what do I always tell you? An idle brain is the devil's playground..." "OK, Dolly-girl, knock it off with the one-liners (© Stan Freberg, History of the United States, Jefferson speaking to Franklin). What have you and Dixie got up the sleeves of your Kimmielees (©Tahari by ASL)?"






"Well, you know that Dixie and Delancy have been working their fingers to the quick getting the new Maison Devereaux in shape, and frankly, Jack, they could just use a good sit-me-down-pour-a-drink-down-my-hatch-and-feed-me-some-good-food. So I put on my thinking cap and figured we ought to do the happy hour at Cocotte. Remember, we were there a couple weeks ago." "Yes, I remember--I remember everything. Have you seen the blower? I got a call to make..." "Anyway, we're meeting them up there just about the time old mister Sol hits the yardarm." "I'm there."



Five o'clock found us looking at Stumptown outside from inside a bistro that pretty much screams "Hey, welcome to Paris"...well, no, not really. No cigarette smoke. English spoken. Table settings different. But it could scream "Hey, I'm close enough for Stumptown and what the hell, if you want to be in Paris, go to Paris." The Devereaux duo arrived. Being that I make my living checking facts and catching people in lies, I demanded to see their fingers. Dolly-girl gave me a quick boot with her Dansko (® Dansko) and I turned my "Looks like regular unworn fingers to me" to a "mumph, Hey you two!" We settled in, Missy was by with some whaddayas--drinking and eating--and we gave them the once over three or four times. Gads there were hard choices to be made. The full-sizes sounded great--and they lived up to their buzz the last time we were there--but we were looking for the lighter side. The happy hour menu was it.





One thing that didn't take long was to settle on what was gonna head down my gullet. "Does that tap jockey know how to mix up a tub-o-gin?" "You'd better believe it." "Drown four." He did and Missy was right. "Best martini I've had since Monday," but really, it was the best one I've had in a long time. Delancy had an I-can't-remember (oh, jeesh, I can hear Dolly-girl with the Ginko biloba again). Our dolls settled on a vin blanc for Dolly-girl and a Sazerac for Dixie. "It's America's oldest cocktail, you know, and it's just what this Florida girl needs to put the quick back in my fingers!" I kicked Dolly-girl under the table and opened my trap, but caught her eye-balling me so "What's with the exaggeration?" turned into "Here's mud in your eye!"








The happy hour menu had a good selection of what Dolly-girl likes to call 'small plates' I suppose because they come on small plates. Dolly-girl went for a mermaid's splash and I'll tell you, it put a smile on all our faces 'cause she saw fit to share. Dixie and Delancy ordered up a trio of Asparagus Velouté, cowfeed, and an order of Murphies, roasted and served in what looked to me like red mayo, but Dixie said was a sauce rouille. I looked it up later. It means red mayo. I ordered up a bowl of clams, and I'm not talking money here. These babies were steamed in wine and garlic and some whatyacall Fines Herbs that did their job, I guess, cause they sure tasted fine. And, one of those Hop Lavas washed them down in Fines Style, too. At five clams a pop for the small plates, and a good price on the drinks, there wasn't any bad news when Missy dropped the bomb. We walked out of there a lot happier than the clams that didn't.

"See, Jack, Cocotte is a lot more than you realize." "I'm with you there, Dolly-girl. I suspect this is one French hooker that we'll be seeing a lot of..."