Lost in Portugal, Part 1

The first meal in Portugal is whatever’s closest to the hostel. Flying into Porto from Madrid was no problem, but figuring out the metro system, finding the hostel, dehydration, sleep-deprivation––all help create a healthy appetite. The streets in Porto smell like grilled meats. At a local churrasqueira, you can watch a couple of guys sweat …

Notes from Madrid

One of the first things I ate in Madrid were the albondigas from a little tapas bar down the street from our hostel.  At first I thought it may have been some sort chicken mixed with pork. It tasted a bit like chicken parts too, hearts or liver, a distinct iron organ flavor. The sauce …

Papaya Thief Hops Across the Pond

I'll be traveling for the next four weeks through Spain, Portugal, and a slice of France, devouring as much delicious food, history, and wine as I can. From some old lady's cottage in Setúbal, to a Michelin-starred restaurant in San Sebastían, or La Boqueria in Barcelona, I will be writing, photographing, and posting about my …

Notes from a Drive North

Mom and Dad prepared a good spread for us at 6am the day we left Phoenix. Waffles with strawberries, maple syrup, fried eggs and sausage patties, strong coffee. The first leg of our trip was going to be the longest so we bulked up. The next meal wouldn't be until outside of Pasadena. In N' …

Another Day, Another Pepper

I've been in Arizona and New Mexico the last seven days, deliberately without a schedule, plan, sense of direction. It's the kind of feeling one needs after constant planning, yelling at people, being the know-it-all boss intent on finding perfection, or at least continuity, consistency. So far, in a mere seven days, in desert, in …