Bamboozled.

When in China, be sure to follow the wise words of anyone who says "local guide". We started out our Thursday morning by getting mangoes and strawberries for breakfast and heading out to the countryside on motorbikes. We had planned to hike Moon Hill, a beautiful archway atop a karst, which is where we met Mama Moon. Mama Moon is a spunky lady who has to be at least 70 years old, who advertised herself as a "local guide" who could get us entry tickets for a "local price" and show us the "local trail". We would be getting a 75% discount on the price, which is hard to argue with. Turns out the local way is parking our motor scooters in the forest, climbing over a mossy stone wall, and crawling through the overgrown bamboo on a muddy and very obviously human made pathway in the mud. In between shushing us to be quiet and having us duck down so we wouldn't be seen, Mama Moon kept assuring us we were on the right path. Eventually, we did meet up with the paved walkway and made it to the top for some spectacular views. It was only awkward when 11 sweaty and muddy Americans clamored on the paved path in front of some rather shocked Europeans who had no idea where we had emerged from. Thanks, Mama Moon. 

Bamboo is the only way to travel. 

The rest of the afternoon was idyllically cruising the countryside on our little motor scooters. We took the same scenic route we found on the bikes, and made it to the same cafe for more mango sorbet and the chance to maybe float on bamboo rafts. Call it creatures of habit, but the mango sorbet and the views make it a hard place to only visit once. The rafts weren't running that day, so we ordered a leisurely lunch, but the minute we had finished, we saw someone untying the rafts to float on the river. We took our chance; this whole trip, the river had been too high to even think about rafting it. While not being able to raft all week, it also meant we were the only rafts on the water that afternoon. I highly recommend slowly floating the river being gently paddled by a man wielding a huge bamboo stick as you gaze up the catawampus mountains carpeted in green around you. It's lovely. 

Our last remaining days in Yangshuo were spent soaking up the scenery by finding little hikes and pathways to wander, riding through the countryside on bikes and motor scooters, and again on foot while munching on mangoes and those egg crepes I've come to love. Evenings were spent swapping stories in the many cafes that line the offshoots of West Street, and considering how much tea is too much tea to bring home for friends and family. One afternoon was spent doing a cooking class with the Cloud 9 restaurant; Hannah and I myself joined two French women and the restaurant's head chef for a market tour and then a tutorial on how to make 4 or 5 dishes.  The lack of photos is only because we were instructed to keep cameras and phones away while we strolled through the enormous market and later cooked our meal. The vegetables were beautiful; deep plum eggplants neighbored piles of lotus roots and bamboo shoots while huge bags of cumin perfumed the air. Baskets of eggs were precariously stacked to be inspected by those interested; teeny speckled quail eggs, soft mint and beige chicken eggs and larger duck eggs all piled high to be admired. I could talk all day about the produce, though I intentionally skipped out on the butcher block. However, detour didn't save me from spying the bags of turtles, bins of eels, and buckets of snails that rimmed the entrance. 

(Rule breaker; impromptu market shot). 

The kitchen was a long room framed by windows that overlooked the city. Each station was lined with well loved woks and containers of seasoning staples like salt, sesame oil, garlic  ginger, black vinegar and oyster sauced. First up was a mushroom and scallion stuffed and steamed dumplings, then spicy green beans sautéed with numbing sichuan, a stir fry of Chinese lettuce root and carrots, and little parcels of deep fried egg plant stuffed with the remaining dumpling mixture. While the French women split their meals with their interpreter and had extra to take home in a takeaway box, Hannah and I had no problem polishing off the delicious meal. The package included a little print off of the recipes, meaning I'll be recreating the meal as best I can when it comes time to go back home. 

Don't be fooled by the print on the currency; there are about 172,192 bamboo rafts in that river if the 20 yuan note wasn't in the way. 

Before leaving Yangshuo, we had to get a photo by the so called "20 yuan shot", the scenic stretch of the Li River that appears on the back of the 20 yuan note. True to the TripAdvisor review, after you will come to despise the word bamboo after your visit. The entire walk through dusty streets lined with people selling fruit and little fish in tiny bags, I was bombarded with about a thousand offers for a ride down the river on a bamboo raft. Dozens of tiny women shouted "Bamboo! Bamboo!" as we all made our way down to the river and tried not to melt in the scorching sun. On our walk back to the bus, we were chased down by one last woman shouting "Bamboo, bamboo!". I would had brushed her off as just another vendor, but I recognized that spunky grin anywhere- Mama Moon had come to the neighboring city Pinxing to work her "local guide" magic. True to form, she tried to have us spend the afternoon hiking up a karst to see the view from a bird's eye perspective, telling us we could get in "no charge, just for locals!". Sadly, we had a bus to catch, and couldn't fit it in. I fully expect to see Mama Moon sneaking tourists onto the Great Wall next month. Until then, it was a bumpy bus ride before catching a tuk-tuk, then another coach to Guilin, where a bullet train took us to Liuzhou and a sleeper train (full post on THOSE adventures to come) and a taxi before arriving in Zhangjiajie; the Avatar Mountains. 

Nanjing: Things I Love

I don't take the word "love" lightly. Yes, it's tossed around when people talk movies or music, but this list of Nanjinian things are not just frivolous statements of love. I'm coming up on three weeks in this sprawling city, and I love the normalcy I've felt. Isn't it odd how somewhere you've never been, somewhere seemingly so different from your life at home can feel so normal? Of course, there are aspects of China I've yet to embrace....the fact that people everywhere just hock loogies is something I will never appreciate. I have taken to look upwards when I walk for two reasons. One reason being the skyline is almost always more interesting than the ground, and the second being I just don't like seeing the wads of spit I inevitable step in. Yum.

Nanjing Museum- shortly before I was bombarded by college students who filmed me and asked for my signature. 

In all seriousness though, there are some things I do love about Nanjing and about China. For one, I'm enamored with the fruit stands and speckle every street corner. Bins piled high with vibrant oranges, artfully peeled pineapples with their green spiny tops peeking out from behind boxes of lychees, dragon fruit, apples, and pomelos. Breakfast used to be a trip to the school cafeteria, but I've taken to snitching from my fruit bowl and taking a swig of red date milk for that meal instead. The Asian pears here are especially good, and make for a great walking around snack. I'm especially partial to these oranges that I bought purely because they were so beautiful. Turns out, they are my absolute favorite....and are really pretty. Seriously, if you walk for more than 7 minutes in one direction you will hit a fruit stand. I've taken to keeping my little recyclable back in my camera bag just in case. It's delightful.

I can't be the only one who squeals at the site of a bin of tiny oranges. 

I love Muslim noodles. In every sense of the word, I love Muslim noodles. There are restaurants dotted around everywhere here, but you have to find the best ones. Luckily, one favorite haunt is just a stop over on the metro which is very convenient. There's also one rather smashing place right around church, and just a few restaurants down from this cute old man who sells the best cream puffs. Needless to say, every Sunday I stumble through ordering in my terrible Chinese, pointing to what other people have ordered, and then repeat everything in English and sit down to a bowl of delicious noodles, then a walk down to get cream puffs. Some weeks it's been pulled noodles in a salty broth, or pulled noodles with potatoes, peppers, and onions. I cannot tell you how delicious it is. As for the cream puffs, the first week I bought 2. The second week, it was 5. I don't want to say what last week's total was.

This is everything to me. 

And, of course, I completely love my kids I teach, but that will be another post entirely...probably more like 47 more posts, but yes. I do love my kids.

There will be more to come of course, but lastly I love Nanjing. I sorta love being stuffed in the metro while the man siting next to me screams into his phone in Mandarin, or when someone comes in holding the largest (and loudest) chirping black cricket I've ever seen. I really do love getting off at a random stop to discover the tiny old woman who makes these teeny fat pancakes that are stuffed with a thick custard. I love the random English words scrawled on sweaters and shoes. I am not sure I will grow to love the chicken feet and I know I won't ever love the loogies, but there are definitely things about China I do love.

Autumnal.

It's an under-utilized word, autumnal. Somehow able to capture that warm afternoon while simultaneously hinting at a chilly evening,  a single word is both all spiced with cinnamon and wrapped in a knit sweater. Exaggerating, I am not.  Maybe I'm prejudiced, but it's factual that fall is the best season. 

How could it not be? Complete with rich oranges, pureed root vegetable soups, and frothy chai, the food alone in this season takes the cake (cardamom and apple studded cake, that is). 31 days of haunting Halloween films, 2 birthday celebrations in the Cummings family, and roadside stands of Honeycrisp apples, striped squash and hayrides makes October very difficult to beat. 

Twenty three was a quiet affair, the 5th being tucked after sessions of Conference, and landing on a Monday. Family celebrations happen on the 4th, with a little shopping and a celebratory lunch with pops before the work day began. Such a grown up birthday, needing to go into work....though the flowers at the desk did help a tad. Wednesday was a social affair, with a hand picked guest list of those who would most appreciate sipping drinking cocoa out of tiny glass teacups and cooling everything down with pumpkin spice popsicles...I told you all there would be popsicles when summer time officially ended. 

While 22 was spend running around the Hagia Sophia, no matter where you are in the world, being home for the holidays or for birthdays is exactly where you'd like to be.

A Little Tart

Have I mentioned my love of food puns? This might be the first on the blog, but a few minutes in a grocery store will get the "pun times" rolling. Lame introductory paragraph aside, this weekend was a little bittersweet, but ended with a little tart...quite literally. A week up in Park City with the family was the sweet part; days at the pool, adventuring in the Olympic Park, enjoying a scrumptious Italian dinner, and a float down Provo River proves that point. Though we'd all love Sister C. to be there, she decided to be in England for the past year and for the next six months. I don't really feel that badly, but it was a bit bitter because we had to celebrate her birthday without her the day after our Park City escapades had ended. Psh, not only did she miss the family vacation, she missed her birthday! Not really, we sent the party to her. Bless the people in England who are willing to not only have her over for cake, but make her a classic British dinner, and show her the little film of her friends and family wishing her a happy birthday. England did treat her right, though I'd rather have her in America.

The second dose of bitter was sending sister L. off to college. Though I'm not entirely convinced she's old enough to be in at a university, I suppose that's what happens to smart girls after high school. Perhaps to console myself (or my mom, it's a toss up really), a little fruit tart seemed to be in order. Though it's kinda cute to send photos of the cat as my new roommate to the sister down at school, the reality of the cat actually being my roommate is a touch disheartening.

This is just a preview to the long awaited peach season. I can't wait. 

Because breakfast should be delicious and pretty...and basically dessert

Though the fruit mosaic atop buttery shortbread didn't quite alter that reality, it didn't make anything worse. It does make me sad to see my little sister grow up, I am jubilantly envious she'll be staying up late, eating too many Oreos, and making friends she'll keep through the years. I like flipping back in my journal/sketchbook to reminisce a little bit...though college barely ended, it seems like another chapter of my life (and provides a good reminder that I was still a little foodie, even when on a college budget).

Farmer's Markets: A Guide

Dozens of little fruit and vegetable stands crop up in the oddest places in the summertime. Chalkboards profess the dates of when you favorite fruits will be in season, and if you are anything like me, you’re tickled at the prospect of wandering rows of beet filled baskets. (I don’t even like beets, but they photograph splendidly well. See below.) Summertime is certainly a season of excellent kitchen experiments. Last week’s apricots were marvelous into an oatmeal crumb bar, and this year’s strawberry season made for many a’ pavlova (and about 4 dozen jars of jam).  During other seasons, the idea of eating locally is always a fantastic idea, until I remember that I live in Utah, and I wouldn’t be able to eat rambutans ever, and a myriad of other tasty things. That being said, I give an honest effort to cook seasonally during the summer time. And farmer’s markets make it that much simpler.

Crunchy and marshmallowy meringue, tart creamy lemon curd and fresh berries. Yes, please. 

I’ve had my fair share of markets and that life trend doesn’t seem to be slowing down.  In college, I looked forward to summertime Saturdays, and not for the reasons you might suspect. You may think college was about wild parties in the summer time, but that has never really been my jam (black current is truly my jam, but that's another post). Regardless of the hour I was up on Friday, I made sure I was up early enough to beat the heat and walk a handful of blocks to the local market, toting well-worn recyclable bags. Naturally, I’d snag breakfast at the Kolaches place on the way to the market (very convenient). 

Even when abroad, I’m a sucker for any sort of outdoor market, especially if there is food available. I had a full on food freak out when I first encountered the spice bazaar in Turkey. I walked away with significantly more in my stomach and with considerably less in my wallet. 

The Provo markets weren’t as spectacular as in Turkey, but after my grownup job, I’m now in spitting distance to the Salt Lake Market: a glorious realm of cheeses, local honey, pastries, pressed cider (in the fall), and salsas which line the paved sidewalk. Combine with bunches, bushels, baskets of local produce and you’ve got yourself quite the farmer’s market. Though a visit to the market is an activity itself, there’s a bit of a guide I follow as I peruse my options.

Step one: I always bring cash, but in two sets. One set is the predetermined amount I am willing to spend. Your second set is for emergencies. Emergencies like “it’s the last week for black currants” or the adorable 4 year old that wants to know if you’d like some buttermilk pancake syrup. This is only to be used in emergencies.

Step two: Buy what looks good, then hit the web. Luckily, a few hip food sites are into the whole eating locally deal, so they will already be featuring recipes for asparagus in early spring, or cherries in July. If all else fails, I’ve never been too upset I’ve had to eat a bucketful of blueberries instead of finding a buckle recipe that tickled my fancy. 

Step three: Go early. You'd think this was because it's blasted hot in the summer (true), and that you want your pick of the crop (also true), but mostly it's so that you can browse all morning while you eat a strawberry handpie AND be there to snag an empanada for lunch. Win Win. 

Oh and one more thing- enjoy the market while it lasts, because as fun as holiday baking is in the winter, it's not the same as browsing the rows and rows of a farmer's market. 

Apricots and America (but mostly butter)

Happy Fourth of July and stuff, America. For the C. family, that means a couple days of good ol' American tradition; BBQ's, parades, fireworks, and sweltering in the heat of July. It's all good fun. Because all us working people had the 3rd off, 2015's celebrations included a heavy dose of nostalgia as we made the trip up to Brigham City for a day at the pool...just like old times. I went there all the time as a kid, so coming back some 14 years later was a flashback straight out of my childhood.

 We left the pool late, snagged some great fried chicken at Maddox, and stopped off at one of the many fruit stands that dot the highway. If that isn't an American afternoon, I don't know what is.

I love those roadside fruit stands. There's something about purchasing fruit that's a little blemished, piled in well worn baskets, right next to the orchard. I'm a big fan of grocery shopping (where else can you ogle at so much food?) but the pristine rows of fruit isn't as charming as the roadside markets and stands. Being early July, apricots are in full swing here, which meant baking something truly lovely for our firework picnic the next day.

Inspiration struck. Apricot & strawberry bars. Though they're not exactly bright red, white, or blue, somehow these bars were still very appropriate for the holiday. I riffed off a recipe for apricot bars I had found online, but added a couple twists. A little lemon zest to brighten up the shortbread, brown sugar instead of white for an extra caramelly taste, and a schmear of strawberry jam below the pitted fruit because that's what was in the fridge. (Sidenote: A few weekends ago, the C. family got gobs and gobs of strawberries and spent loads of time jam-ing and jar-ing, so adding strawberry jam to the slightly tart apricots was an obvious addition.)

Layer shortbread, jam, sliced apricots, and an oat crumble, and test your patience. You'll need to wait while the bars bake and through one agonizing cooling session. Ah, now your patience as been rewarded: Square, package, and tote to the park. Eat while enjoying the scent of bugspray and fireworks in the air, if at all possible.

A Most Americana Evening

An All-American Celebration

Summer brings late nights and good lemonade. A birthday party attended this past week certainly encapsulated the essentials of the season. Tucked away in the corner of a park, a checkered tablecloth set the table for 8 was festooned with bistro lights as well as triangle paper banners. Needless to say, the scene was Pinterest worthy. Dress code demanded red, white and navy, and plates were piled with rotisserie chicken, potato salad, biscuits and baked beans. Mason jars were adorned with blue and white striped paper straws and filled herb infused lemonades.  Paper lanterns provided some light as the sun set, but not enough to douse the shine of candles on the apple pie, or the sparklers that followed dessert. Set after a long day of class and spent with good friends certainly allowed the event the title of"A Most Americana Start to Summer". 

 This get-together certainly set the tone for all the following summer get togethers that may or may not occur this season, but I am most certainly inspired to get into the summer season. So far so good-with one fantastic party under my belt, a lovely day at the Farmer's Market, I'm well on my way to enjoying the season's spoils.  Note-Brian's Macaroon's are the best I've ever had and an evening listening to some local talent at the Provo Rooftop concert series is a great place to eat the whole box. All in all, it certainly seems to make the days in the office worth it.


Mint Limeade in hand, and a darling box of Mac's, we rocked the opening
morning of the Provo Farmer's Market.

Markets: Flea and Farmer's

I've always had a thing for markets.  I remember being a little girl tagging along to go grocery shopping with my mom.  In college, I loved walking to the nearby Farmer's Market to buy my produce, and I absolutely adore going to Salt Lake City's huge market on Saturday mornings in the summer.  It's a cool fascination with the sites, people watching, the crafts...and the variety of pastry that accompany the outdoor market.  Okay, so mostly it's the pastry. To my joyful discovery, this holds true on an international scale.  Sunday brought the fantastic chance to skip off on some homework and take a short bus ride to the Mediterranean coast and spend the day in Tel Aviv.  What a gorgeous coastal city.  A small group of us decided to explore before hitting the waves, which was a fantastic decision.  Old Jaffa houses a really neat bohemian artist district that led to lots cool discoveries in little galleries.  We saw a Yemenite jeweler demonstration and a gallery centered around advertising in Israel to highlight a couple.  I found the French influence in advertising really interesting.  My  Humanities professors would be proud of that little detour I think.

This is mostly to make you jealous of two things
1: My sick awesome Genie Pants (See previous post)
2: The gorgeous shot of the Mediterranean.

 Alright, onto the markets.   When I say flea market, expand your mental definition to include a Mediterranean breeze, Turkish rugs, Moroccan furniture and African influenced art.  Along with random street side vendors that sold everything from q-tips to Sherlock Holmes style pipes.  Cool.  The winding myriad of pathways housed stacks of rugs, crisp white linen shirts, glittering necklaces, ancient leather camera cases, dishes, pots, pans and used postcards.  (Is that legal?)  Some storefronts were so jammed packed you couldn't walk inside. It's quite the sensory overload once the food comes into play.  Around the corner, spits of shawarma, rows of baked breads and baklava and slushy pomegranate chillers tempt your palate.  Needless to say, there was quite the sampling.  It's all part of the sensory experience, right?

The hot and sweaty atmosphere paid off when I hit the beach.  I played around in the waves and then just sat and chatted in the shallows after taking a long walk along the beach.  Watching the sunset demanded gelato, and that ended our day in Tel Aviv.  Needless to say, I'll be going back again before this little trip is over.




Highlight of the coolest aspect of the market in my
opinion.

Market number two.  September is a wonderful time to be in Jerusalem for many reasons.  One particular reason is the number of Jewish holidays housed in this month.  Today officially begins the start of Sukkot, just five days after Yom Kippur.  Our Jewish professor suggested all the things we could go see in celebration of the 8 day holiday.  One in particular was to see the temporary huts built in remembrance of the exodus from Egypt. Naturally, we had to see that after class on Wednesday.  Some families eat, sleep and drink in their sukkhas for the extent of the holiday.  Obviously some sukkahs are more temporary than others, depending on the use. In West Jerusalem we saw many sukkahs being built, but we found the highlight of the holiday in the market just around the corner from Yafo street.

This has to be one of the coolest markets I've ever been to.  Fish, melons, dozens of types of candies, citron fruits, nut mixes, pastry, cheeses, figs, dates in various states of drying, bouquets of flowers, oranges, sushi, pistachios, cinnamon, dried fruits like mangoes and kiwis, currants, cardamom, saffron provided an myriad of colors and smells to the narrow street. Each vendor had his wares in a gorgeous spread to tempt the crowd of shoppers.  It was very busy, given the eve of the holiday.  This had to be one the coolest things I've seen in Jerusalem to date. The only downfall was that we were unsuccessful in our hunt for (you guessed it) coconut baklava.  I plan on becoming quite the connoisseur before returning to the States.

Like Tel Aviv, this won't be my last visit to that market.  I'm a firm believer that food is a reflection of a culture, and what is a better sampling of that culture than a market?
.

While we didn't find coconut baklava, we did find God.
I think that counts for something.