Will teach English for wine

What I appreciate most about traveling, is that it makes coming home that much sweeter.  I haven't always felt this way.  In fact, 'coming home' for many years caused me a troubling dose of anxiety, and often tears, usually en route to Manhattan from JFK in a yellow cab, barely inching along, choking in exhaust.  I don't mean to insinuate that New York is a terrible place - it is indeed, precisely the opposite.  But it wasn't home; this grand evergreen, ever-rainy, never too cold, never too hot, Washington, is home.  I am reminded of this after spending a gorgeous fall day outside, planting garlic.  That's not heaven for all; but for me, it is divine. I'm glad to be home, but visiting Chile, mostly Santiago, for the second time this decade was a treat.  I anticipated many things: empanadas both baked and fried with a plethora of stuffing combinations, meat, so much meat, a healthy South American male appreciation for my not so natural these days blonde hair, a dependable cortado, ensaladas curiously missing the lettuce, and contrasts - everywhere.  But I didn't anticipate the phenomenal wine, the multitude of high-end "gastromic" restaurants, with a full suite of wealthy, scene-conscious Santiaguinos to frequent them, and a hot dog called the Italiano dressed in an Italian flag of tomatoes, avocado, and creamy mayonnaise.

The House Salad

I had the pleasure of a visit from my dear friend Adrienne this week and the title of this post is courtesy of her.  We enjoyed several meals from vegetables and greens (and strawberries) grown just steps from the kitchen.  How apropos that when Adrienne dipped her fork into the mixed green salad with arugula, spinach, mizuna, mache, baby carrots and a handful of fresh herbs, she exclaimed: "This really is the "house salad""  Touche.  Here's a photo log of what's growing (and being harvested).

7800 Miles West

That’s not the distance between NYC and Orcas Island.  Despite bagging the Wall Street gig, I can still reason enough to locate Google Maps on my browser.  7800 miles is the distance between Orcas Island and Sydney, Australia, where I find myself this sunny & warm Fall morning (if you’re confused, pull our your maps, this is the southern hemisphere folks, and much much much further West).  I took an unmerited hiatus from the newly christened blog to tag along on my husband’s business trip to Sydney.  There’s something deeply satisfying about this trip other than it being a welcomed holiday.  There’s a sense of coming full circle --I was last in Sydney in 2004 after prematurely quitting my career for the first time.