If we can't live together, we're gonna die alone. – Jack Shephard
Dear Readers,
After tonight, we will no longer be Lost.
Journey with me on some random tangents as I mull over what for me has been the only passionate love affair I’ve ever had with television. As I sit here, I’m listening to the amazing Michael Giacchino’s score permeate my senses. The score was its own character in the show… an emotional tapestry that wove together partings and reunions, births and deaths, and the soul of the Island itself ( try this )
Before Lost, I wasn’t a big “tv person” – in fact I’m still not. I’ve only ever owned a tv to watch movies and football. There are a few shows I catch, some that even have real emotional heft, but none that pulled forth the fervent joy and intellectual pursuit as Lost has done. My best bud Matt and I clued into Lost around the same time, hearing about this new show produced by “that guy who did Alias” and it came across as some weird mix of Survivor and X-Files. But as I read about it in the summer of ’04, something about it sparked my interest. I clearly remember telling my parents that this was a show we needed to see. I can still recall the beauty of the cinematography, especially in those early days when everything in the show was white sands, blue water, green raining jungles.
Lost became a family affair for us. For the first time since childhood, this was a show around which my parents and I rallied. We all took something different out of the show, but our individual interests merged into one amazing adventure week after week. My mother loved the characters and the drama of the show. She’s always had an unexpectedly fine eye for direction, writing, and character motivation, and she has offered some very distinct insights into the show over the years, especially in this last weird-even-by-Lost-standards season. My dad is the sci-fi geek of the family and he gleefully helped explain some of the heavy-handed science and time travel. He often travels for work, and in the weeks when he was away the commercial breaks were spent in high-speed texting. While I appreciated the sci-fi aspects, I enjoyed much more the long discussions on philosophy and theology the show inspired. Especially the theology.
For Lost was an oddly spiritual experience. In today’s increasingly irreligious climate, Lost was bold about getting into religion’s face. Islam, Hindu, Buddhism, Jewish mysticism and Christianity all had a role in the Lost world. The constantly running theme of the show is the argument of Faith vs. Science. Even the timing this entire last season has been thought to have some spiritual significance, coordinating around the Easter season, and ending on Pentecost Sunday.
Beyond the family, there was a vast feeling of community with Lost. When a Lost fan met a stranger, it was always a matter of time before he would slip in a comment about Lost, just to gauge how the other person felt about the show. When you realized that a stranger and yourself both watched the show, you were strangers no longer. You suddenly knew this person, who they were and what they were about. There was an instant bond created just by being Lost fans. I was fortunate that most of my closest friends were fans as well, with many long phone conversations and analysis/therapy sessions on Facebook taking place immediately following each episode.
Then there is Jeff Jensen, aka “Doc Jensen”, the Lost Supremo of Entertainment Weekly. Over the last few years I’m not sure which I have enjoyed more, the episodes or Jensen’s recaps. I had never read tv recaps… I don’t think I even knew they existed before Lost, and I can’t remember now what led me to Jensen’s crazy theories and book lists. But once I found him, I was hooked. He is my kind of geek. And it wasn’t always just about Lost. His regular readers were let in on his own personal struggles as his wife fought cancer. Lost became an escape valve for him when she was sick, and later we were allowed to share his joy at her remission. I’ve always wanted to watch an episode of Lost with Jensen, in real time. That won’t happen, but I can’t wait to see what he has to say about the finale… and I’m hoping years from now he will still be making theories and leading his readers down the occasional rabbit-hole of writings by Lewis, Tolstoy, King, and Locke. If I am unsure of whether I looked forward to Lost or Jensen more each week, I definitely know who I will miss the most when it’s all over. Jensen is the good friend I never met with whom I will never again have a one-sided conversation with on Lost loopiness.
A friend of mine just informed me this weekend that he had started watching Lost for the first time. In a way I envy the fact that he will be able to zip along at warp speed, with no delay in moving ahead as fast as he desires. But… given the choice, I would have watched it exactly as I did. Appreciating the fan community, as we all awaited the start of each new season with baited breath and heavy anticipation. Agonizing together over the meaning of a book title, or the significance of a line that in any other show would have been meaningless. Searching for Easter Eggs. Watching the sometimes hilarious Totally Lost with Jeff Jensen, Dan Snierson, and Pig E. Vil. Listening to Lost podcasts with Lindelof and Cuse as they mercilessly tease spoilers.
Like many fans I almost gave up during season three, a notoriously rocky season for the show. I remember telling my mother that if the season didn’t finish well, I was done (she was horrified at this proclamation…she had more faith). But as Lost fans know, the ending of season three was the single most important game changer for the entire show (maybe in tv history), and completely altered how we would ever see the show again. I’m glad I saw it through. Lost has been more than a tv show for me. I’ve read more books because of Lost than I ever did in college. It’s made me think about aspects of my faith that never would have come to my mind otherwise. And it’s given lush nourishment to my imagination for years to come.
So thank you J.J. Abrams, Carlton Cuse, Damon Lindelof, Jack Bender, Michael Giacchino, the crew, the cast and everyone behind the making of a show that fired the imagination, and made its watchers think and argue and feel. I don’t care if I get all the answers, that’s not what the show is about for me. The show is about the characters, the power of love, the necessity of forgiveness, and the role of the family – especially parents. I want an ending that is true to the heart of the story and the characters. While I want a complete ending tonight…
I also want to go out believing that, somehow, the Island isn’t done with us yet.
May 23, 2010
May 5, 2010
The horse I bet on was so slow, the jockey kept a diary of the trip. - Henny Youngman
Dear Readers,
There’s a reason why I’ve never kept a diary.
I don’t write in them.
Oh, for about a week (or maybe two) I write religiously. Fanatically even. Like a religious fanatic. But then like most fanaticism, it quickly goes from being something joyous and fun to more like a chore or a duty… something that smacks far more of work than hobby.
What’s more bizarre is I’m sucker for journals. Oh! The romance of leather bound pages, with a buckle or a lock or a leather thong to hold the pages from revealing all their plum secrets! Even to this day you could wander among my bookshelves and find them – beautifully crafted journals with wildly interesting insights into my odd little brain… about one week’s worth of them anyway.
Last year when I started this blog, it was exactly how I start a diary. With great yet short-lived enthusiasm. I think now it is because I wasn’t quite clear of what I expected or wanted out of my own blog. I know what I like in other blogs and I would like to do the same (CS Lewis once said that he and Tolkien wrote the books they wanted to pick up and read). And I can – I just need to learn how to personalize those ideas into quirky little person I am.
Plus, to be honest, I couldn’t find a heck of a lot of joie de vivre to discuss. Let’s face it – times are hard. Politically, internationally, financially… you name it. Also the last year brought a lot of personal travails to work through. But then again, doesn’t that make it MORE important to find some joy in life? Without joy (and a hearty dash of nonsense), there isn’t much left. Sometimes though, one must go in search of joy! When you search it out I promise you will find it everywhere!
So I am stubborn. I’m Irish. Stubbornness comes with the genes. We’ll try this again. Not going to try to write every day (of course I said that last time – maybe that is my problem, maybe I SHOULD try to write every day – only that isn’t going to happen).
We’ll see where it takes us. Care to join me again?
Dear Readers,
There’s a reason why I’ve never kept a diary.
I don’t write in them.
Oh, for about a week (or maybe two) I write religiously. Fanatically even. Like a religious fanatic. But then like most fanaticism, it quickly goes from being something joyous and fun to more like a chore or a duty… something that smacks far more of work than hobby.
What’s more bizarre is I’m sucker for journals. Oh! The romance of leather bound pages, with a buckle or a lock or a leather thong to hold the pages from revealing all their plum secrets! Even to this day you could wander among my bookshelves and find them – beautifully crafted journals with wildly interesting insights into my odd little brain… about one week’s worth of them anyway.
Last year when I started this blog, it was exactly how I start a diary. With great yet short-lived enthusiasm. I think now it is because I wasn’t quite clear of what I expected or wanted out of my own blog. I know what I like in other blogs and I would like to do the same (CS Lewis once said that he and Tolkien wrote the books they wanted to pick up and read). And I can – I just need to learn how to personalize those ideas into quirky little person I am.
Plus, to be honest, I couldn’t find a heck of a lot of joie de vivre to discuss. Let’s face it – times are hard. Politically, internationally, financially… you name it. Also the last year brought a lot of personal travails to work through. But then again, doesn’t that make it MORE important to find some joy in life? Without joy (and a hearty dash of nonsense), there isn’t much left. Sometimes though, one must go in search of joy! When you search it out I promise you will find it everywhere!
So I am stubborn. I’m Irish. Stubbornness comes with the genes. We’ll try this again. Not going to try to write every day (of course I said that last time – maybe that is my problem, maybe I SHOULD try to write every day – only that isn’t going to happen).
We’ll see where it takes us. Care to join me again?
May 17, 2009
Life After People
Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It is already tomorrow in Australia. - Charles M. Schulz
Dear Readers (yay! I have two followers now, I can legitimately use the plural),
I don’t really understand what is the point behind the Life After People series that is airing on the History Channel these days. It started with just one special, and I admit that I thought the initial show was intriguing. Being a bit of a sci-fi fan, I have always wondered how long it would take for the remnants of human civilization to crumble away in the event of a man’s elimination from the earth. I would have guessed decades, and was shocked to see how quickly it would all disintegrate. Even our most solidly built structures would crumble within a few years without maintenance.
However, I’m not sure if I see the validity of creating an entire series based on this concept. How many episodes do we need to see of a Life After People? Once you’ve seen one city fall to pieces on a specific timeline, do we really need to see ALL the great cities of the world follow suit?
I am only thinking of this today because H.C. is airing a mini-marathon of all the episodes created. Oh goody-gumdrops, let’s watch the destruction of our modern day Babel towers over and over again! Is this really what we want to be thinking above given these times? ;-)
And for that matter, where exactly did all the people go???
Dear Readers (yay! I have two followers now, I can legitimately use the plural),
I don’t really understand what is the point behind the Life After People series that is airing on the History Channel these days. It started with just one special, and I admit that I thought the initial show was intriguing. Being a bit of a sci-fi fan, I have always wondered how long it would take for the remnants of human civilization to crumble away in the event of a man’s elimination from the earth. I would have guessed decades, and was shocked to see how quickly it would all disintegrate. Even our most solidly built structures would crumble within a few years without maintenance.
However, I’m not sure if I see the validity of creating an entire series based on this concept. How many episodes do we need to see of a Life After People? Once you’ve seen one city fall to pieces on a specific timeline, do we really need to see ALL the great cities of the world follow suit?
I am only thinking of this today because H.C. is airing a mini-marathon of all the episodes created. Oh goody-gumdrops, let’s watch the destruction of our modern day Babel towers over and over again! Is this really what we want to be thinking above given these times? ;-)
And for that matter, where exactly did all the people go???
An Amish Adventure
Remember what Bilbo used to say: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to. - The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien
Dear Readers,
I’m sitting at my desk listening to the rainfall outside, relishing the cooler air and a brief respite from what has already been a dry, hot spring (after a very dry, warm winter). Having just spent the last two weekends either in the country or driving through it, I can attest that the entire region is incredibly parched for this time of year. I feel especially for the cotton farmers – the weather has not cooperated with them in the last few years. Hopefully this is the beginning of some relief for all of us. It is a nice mellow conclusion to a full day.
I have always been annoyed when people complain that there is nothing to do in or around Corpus Christi. In my opinion, people who say that are either lazy and unimaginative, or simply have a very narrow perspective of “things to do”. While I love traveling to new places for different experiences, I have yet to ever be bored in my own hometown and its surrounding areas (ok, I will admit a there is a dearth of things to do late at night but I’m speaking in generalities here).
Today I had a plan for an interesting and mildly adventurous morning. I was thrown off my schedule a tad by events last night that kept me up late (short version: a belligerent high-speed baseball attacked my mother which sent the whole family into the ER - but she’s ok), but I was still able to carry out my plan.
I had just recently learned about a small Amish community that lived about 40 minutes from C.C. I had no idea there were Amish nearby! Like many people, I find their way of life fascinating. However, I had to do my homework. For obvious reasons, they are not online; so I could only find vague references to their location. The non-Amish community that surrounds them is very protective of “their Amish” and I knew it would do no good to ask around town. However, with some persistent sleuthing I thought I had fairly good idea of where they were located. For the record, my motivation was not just idle curiosity; I had discovered their existence while seeking local sources of fresh farm produce and eggs, which the Amish do sell in their own little shop.
I woke up later than I intended and drove first to the local farmer’s market. It isn’t a great market, but I admit to becoming spoiled over the years by the amazing markets and local farmstands in the Austin area. However, the locals are more organized than they used to be and have been slowly growing. It was worth the quick trip. I left the market with fresh homegrown red potatoes, a pint of very juicy strawberries, and some delicious peaches. On any other Saturday I would have been strongly inclined to drive on to Le Success, our local (and legitimate!) French bakery and patisserie, for an sweet breakfast and coffee, but I decided it was a bit late for that and had a strong desire to start the real adventure of the day!
It was a nice morning for a drive. The sky was overcast and hints of rain surrounded me although I never ran into any storms. But I could see stormheads all around me and hear soft rolls of thunder. Once I got on the quiet country roads I was in heaven. I adore being in the country and everything was still and quiet, the quiet before the storm. The windows were down and I felt the allure of the open road! As I drove I thought about the Amish, at least what little I knew about them. Their history dates back to the Reformation and the Anabaptist traditions. While they are true Christians, with belief in salvation through the grace of God and Christ’s sacrifice, they also have incredibly strong legalistic tendencies, which is sometimes in conflict with the message of grace. The pressure to measure up to the standards of their church sect is very difficult, and puts an enormous amount of pressure on the individual (I have read that suicide is sadly not an uncommon thing among them). I have had a previous encounter with Amish, in Lancaster County, PA. Large groups of Amish and Mennonites reside in that part of the country, with lush farms and adorable children. Amish children have the most innocent, pure eyes you would ever see in a child today. Today I also wondered if their way of life made it easier to ride out hard economic times. It would affect them to some degree, but their entire lives are built on being completely independent of outsiders and modern conveniences, so they would surely be less affected.
At one point I went through the booming metropolis that is Tynan, TX. I love small Texas towns!!!
Dear Readers,
I’m sitting at my desk listening to the rainfall outside, relishing the cooler air and a brief respite from what has already been a dry, hot spring (after a very dry, warm winter). Having just spent the last two weekends either in the country or driving through it, I can attest that the entire region is incredibly parched for this time of year. I feel especially for the cotton farmers – the weather has not cooperated with them in the last few years. Hopefully this is the beginning of some relief for all of us. It is a nice mellow conclusion to a full day.
I have always been annoyed when people complain that there is nothing to do in or around Corpus Christi. In my opinion, people who say that are either lazy and unimaginative, or simply have a very narrow perspective of “things to do”. While I love traveling to new places for different experiences, I have yet to ever be bored in my own hometown and its surrounding areas (ok, I will admit a there is a dearth of things to do late at night but I’m speaking in generalities here).
Today I had a plan for an interesting and mildly adventurous morning. I was thrown off my schedule a tad by events last night that kept me up late (short version: a belligerent high-speed baseball attacked my mother which sent the whole family into the ER - but she’s ok), but I was still able to carry out my plan.
I had just recently learned about a small Amish community that lived about 40 minutes from C.C. I had no idea there were Amish nearby! Like many people, I find their way of life fascinating. However, I had to do my homework. For obvious reasons, they are not online; so I could only find vague references to their location. The non-Amish community that surrounds them is very protective of “their Amish” and I knew it would do no good to ask around town. However, with some persistent sleuthing I thought I had fairly good idea of where they were located. For the record, my motivation was not just idle curiosity; I had discovered their existence while seeking local sources of fresh farm produce and eggs, which the Amish do sell in their own little shop.
I woke up later than I intended and drove first to the local farmer’s market. It isn’t a great market, but I admit to becoming spoiled over the years by the amazing markets and local farmstands in the Austin area. However, the locals are more organized than they used to be and have been slowly growing. It was worth the quick trip. I left the market with fresh homegrown red potatoes, a pint of very juicy strawberries, and some delicious peaches. On any other Saturday I would have been strongly inclined to drive on to Le Success, our local (and legitimate!) French bakery and patisserie, for an sweet breakfast and coffee, but I decided it was a bit late for that and had a strong desire to start the real adventure of the day!
It was a nice morning for a drive. The sky was overcast and hints of rain surrounded me although I never ran into any storms. But I could see stormheads all around me and hear soft rolls of thunder. Once I got on the quiet country roads I was in heaven. I adore being in the country and everything was still and quiet, the quiet before the storm. The windows were down and I felt the allure of the open road! As I drove I thought about the Amish, at least what little I knew about them. Their history dates back to the Reformation and the Anabaptist traditions. While they are true Christians, with belief in salvation through the grace of God and Christ’s sacrifice, they also have incredibly strong legalistic tendencies, which is sometimes in conflict with the message of grace. The pressure to measure up to the standards of their church sect is very difficult, and puts an enormous amount of pressure on the individual (I have read that suicide is sadly not an uncommon thing among them). I have had a previous encounter with Amish, in Lancaster County, PA. Large groups of Amish and Mennonites reside in that part of the country, with lush farms and adorable children. Amish children have the most innocent, pure eyes you would ever see in a child today. Today I also wondered if their way of life made it easier to ride out hard economic times. It would affect them to some degree, but their entire lives are built on being completely independent of outsiders and modern conveniences, so they would surely be less affected.
At one point I went through the booming metropolis that is Tynan, TX. I love small Texas towns!!!
Yup. That is really their local Post Office!I started becoming excited when I turned off the road where I hoped to find them. Sure enough, I saw something that I learned before was a sure sign of nearby Amish, horse poop in the road.
Now some of you may say, isn’t this Texas? Yes, and to be honest, cow poop wouldn’t be too unusual, but horse? Surprisingly, this is very rare. Given my search, I took it as a good sign. Sure enough, over the next small hill a farm wagon pulled by a single horse trotted towards me! It was a surreal moment, seeing the young Amish man in the wagon, chirping his mare along. I was trying very hard to observe without staring, and did the casual “car wave” my dad taught me to do on Texas roads. The gentleman gave a huge grin back and an enthusiastic wave. This was a pleasant reversal of my previous experience with the Amish who, while never unfriendly, certainly were reserved and unenthusiastic about greeting strangers. I drove on, spying a cluster of farms on one side and small horse-plowed fields to the other.
It’s a hard life. There are few Amish this far south due to the heat (not just for them, but working horses in this heat is very hard on the animals). These farms were a far cry from the Technicolor green fields I had seen in Pennsylvania; I could see these folks had a hardscrabble existence.
I saw in the distance some women working in the garden, but I made no effort at this time to photograph the people. Many of the Old Order Amish consider photos to be in violation of God’s edict against “graven images” so I wanted to respect that. I drove down the entire length of road on which the community lives and pulled over for a moment. I took a few moments to enjoy the luxury of a freshly picked peach sitting on the hood of my car, soaking in the quiet countryside.
Afterwards I retraced my journey down the road, looking for the Amish “shop” I had read about. This shop is a combination of harness repair, animal feed, produce from their gardens, eggs, homemade candles, etc. Maybe I’ll take pictures inside someday if I feel it won’t offend.
Frankly I was a little intimidated going in to the store – I had never dealt directly with a member of Old Order Amish. But I was encouraged by the friendliness of Wagon Man so I cautiously went into the place. A local rancher was already there, picking through the tomatoes and summer squash. I was delighted to see they made their own honey and snatched up a small bottle of it. Then I spied a cooler that read, “Homemade cottage cheese… Butter…. Eat at your own risk.” (!!!) Now for those of you who don’t know me, a sign like that is only an open invitation for me to try something, so I was very disappointed to see the cooler was already empty (it was probably about noon at this point). I got a small thrill when I heard the noise of boots and there walking towards me was an Amish man, probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s. He was tall and thin, and dressed exactly like what you would expect an Amish man to dress, down to the straw summer hat. Full beard so I knew he was married (they don’t wear wedding rings and men don’t grow beards until after they are married). He was carrying a large box with some equally large glass jars (these jars probably held about 2 gallons apiece and there were about four of them in the box). I greeted him and he greeted me back, quiet but friendly. He chatted with the rancher and I realized that the containers had milk. Fresh farm milk??? INSTANT AMBER JOY! I let them chat for a moment and then shyly asked if the containers had milk and the Storekeeper affirmed it was. I hesitated and then inquired (rather cautiously because I really didn’t know what they did with their milk and was afraid my question might be insulting) if the milk was raw or pasteurized. The Storekeeper instantly said that it was raw, most definitely. Hot-diggity! I have been searching out places to get raw milk in this area for years. Farm milk, butter, eggs, honey… was Canaan hiding behind these poor-looking farms? I purchased the honey and asked about the milk and was told that to purchase milk, I must bring my own containers. Then I asked about the butter and he looked me over a moment and chuckled quietly, then said that I would have to get out of bed a bit earlier if I wanted to catch the butter. Tickled that he had taken the trouble to tease me, I thanked him and left. As I left I took a few quick shots of all the wagons and carts lined up for repair.
As I drove away, I had this strange sensation that I had been in another part of the world, even if just for a short while. I drove back another way and found another cluster of Amish farms that looked much more prosperous. I realized that this was the group who formed their living less by farming and more by horse training (from what I read online, they have quite the reputation among the locals for their skills with horses and breaking them into service). My favorite scene was that of a father walking his garden with two small boys; they were looking at the oncoming clouds and seemed excited by the possibility of rain.
So this was my first encounter with the local Amish but I guarantee it won’t be the last. I’ve already sampled the honey and it’s delicious!
Side Note: For some basic information about the Amish, check out this website. Please understand the various groups can have different ideas per church group (just like any other denomination) but this is an informative overview.
Now some of you may say, isn’t this Texas? Yes, and to be honest, cow poop wouldn’t be too unusual, but horse? Surprisingly, this is very rare. Given my search, I took it as a good sign. Sure enough, over the next small hill a farm wagon pulled by a single horse trotted towards me! It was a surreal moment, seeing the young Amish man in the wagon, chirping his mare along. I was trying very hard to observe without staring, and did the casual “car wave” my dad taught me to do on Texas roads. The gentleman gave a huge grin back and an enthusiastic wave. This was a pleasant reversal of my previous experience with the Amish who, while never unfriendly, certainly were reserved and unenthusiastic about greeting strangers. I drove on, spying a cluster of farms on one side and small horse-plowed fields to the other.
It’s a hard life. There are few Amish this far south due to the heat (not just for them, but working horses in this heat is very hard on the animals). These farms were a far cry from the Technicolor green fields I had seen in Pennsylvania; I could see these folks had a hardscrabble existence.
Afterwards I retraced my journey down the road, looking for the Amish “shop” I had read about. This shop is a combination of harness repair, animal feed, produce from their gardens, eggs, homemade candles, etc. Maybe I’ll take pictures inside someday if I feel it won’t offend.
Frankly I was a little intimidated going in to the store – I had never dealt directly with a member of Old Order Amish. But I was encouraged by the friendliness of Wagon Man so I cautiously went into the place. A local rancher was already there, picking through the tomatoes and summer squash. I was delighted to see they made their own honey and snatched up a small bottle of it. Then I spied a cooler that read, “Homemade cottage cheese… Butter…. Eat at your own risk.” (!!!) Now for those of you who don’t know me, a sign like that is only an open invitation for me to try something, so I was very disappointed to see the cooler was already empty (it was probably about noon at this point). I got a small thrill when I heard the noise of boots and there walking towards me was an Amish man, probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s. He was tall and thin, and dressed exactly like what you would expect an Amish man to dress, down to the straw summer hat. Full beard so I knew he was married (they don’t wear wedding rings and men don’t grow beards until after they are married). He was carrying a large box with some equally large glass jars (these jars probably held about 2 gallons apiece and there were about four of them in the box). I greeted him and he greeted me back, quiet but friendly. He chatted with the rancher and I realized that the containers had milk. Fresh farm milk??? INSTANT AMBER JOY! I let them chat for a moment and then shyly asked if the containers had milk and the Storekeeper affirmed it was. I hesitated and then inquired (rather cautiously because I really didn’t know what they did with their milk and was afraid my question might be insulting) if the milk was raw or pasteurized. The Storekeeper instantly said that it was raw, most definitely. Hot-diggity! I have been searching out places to get raw milk in this area for years. Farm milk, butter, eggs, honey… was Canaan hiding behind these poor-looking farms? I purchased the honey and asked about the milk and was told that to purchase milk, I must bring my own containers. Then I asked about the butter and he looked me over a moment and chuckled quietly, then said that I would have to get out of bed a bit earlier if I wanted to catch the butter. Tickled that he had taken the trouble to tease me, I thanked him and left. As I left I took a few quick shots of all the wagons and carts lined up for repair.
So this was my first encounter with the local Amish but I guarantee it won’t be the last. I’ve already sampled the honey and it’s delicious!
Side Note: For some basic information about the Amish, check out this website. Please understand the various groups can have different ideas per church group (just like any other denomination) but this is an informative overview.
May 10, 2009
Brunch happiness in Austin
He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart. - C.S. Lewis
Dear reader… let’s dive right in, shall we? I can’t think of a better way to start than to talk about food!
I love brunch. Now I know a lot of people SAY they love to go to brunch but I really love brunch. Not being an early morning person, I would never call myself a breakfast person, but I like breakfast food. Pancakes at 1:30 am are a sublime delight. Eggs Benedict is a worthy dinner companion. The French dine on omelettes and red wine. But breakfast after a leisurely awakening on a weekend is my favorite!
Perhaps part of why I enjoy brunch so much is that I am rarely able to indulge in them. Sundays just scream out brunch to me, but most Sunday mornings find me at church, and after that it is just lunch. No brunch for me at 1:30 thank you very much, just boring old lunch. Also, my town has very few places that offer what I would call a REAL brunch. So I often only have brunch when I am out of town, ergo making them not just unique, but an adventure.
I was in Austin this weekend visiting friends but by Sunday morning the social part of my trip had wrapped up. I was flying solo in an incredibly fun and gastronomically diverse city. Brunch was calling out to me, softly…but insistently.
There was one potential problem – Mother’s Day - after Easter, the second most popular brunch day in North America. No matter, I had plenty of time and was going for it!
I mulled over a few possibilities and finally decided adventuring out to Vespaio on SoCo (S. Congress St). It was still pleasant outside and I had been hankering to try out this restaurant, as well as their little outdoor patio, for several years. I had looked at their menu online and was delighted to see some unique offerings, so I hustled on down there. The fact that Vespaio is a client of the wine import company I work for had nothing to do with my decision ;-)
There was a brief wait for the outdoor seating (they said 15-20 minutes and it was closer to 10) but it was well worth it. The hostess was rather somber and lifeless but polite enough. My server, Bob, was also rather somber and grim-faced … but polite. Makes one wonder if the restaurant manager is a tyrant or perhaps they were all just tired of always having to be polite (I know I would be!). The happiest person there was the busgirl who was bubbly and jovial, and complimented my shoes (they ARE a great pair of shoes, Calvin Klein patent burgundy pumps…but I digress…). Bob endeavored to be helpful when I asked him about the menu. I was torn between two different dishes; but then he leaned forward and confided that while the one item was delicious, the other was authentically Italian and more unusual. The fact that the dish he recommended was significantly less expensive made me trust him immediately. So I opted for Panino with pressed proscuitto, fontina cheese, arugula and truffled egg. What is a truffled egg? According to this dish it is a sunnyside-up egg of the non-runny variety that has been cooked with truffle oil. Intriguing. And I love how it rolls off the tongue…truffled egg. Truffledegg. Equally intriguing was the side of “caramelized potatoes”.
The presentation was whimsical (I apologize profusely for no photo, I swear I shall do better!) with the sandwich served on paper in a dapper little metal basket. The potatoes were on a separate dish to the side.
The panino (must look up the difference between a panino and a panini later) was delicious. I like runny eggs alone, but NOT on a sandwich, so I was relieved to see it was cooked thoroughly. Overall it was a delicious savory sort of breakfast sandwich, although there was a very subtle sweetness in it from somewhere… the truffle oil maybe? I’ve not cooked with truffle oil so I’m not sure.
The caramelized potatoes were baked wedges that were then pan-tossed in caramelized shallots, then sprinkled with parsley and sea salt. The idea made basic potatoes into something unique but still comfortably potatoey. They weren’t quite what I was expected but a fun little discovery nonetheless – and it looked like something I could easily copy!
The only very slight drawback was the paper-lined basket holding the panino showed every spot of grease from the sandwich. It is one thing to KNOW what you are eating has grease; it is another thing entirely to see it blatantly before you!
I was surprised how filling the dish was, at least to me. Those with lighter appetites could easily split this dish. I goofed up a bit in opting not to finish and take it home with me, confident that the proscuitto would survive four hours in an air-conditioned car. It didn’t occur to me that perhaps a four-hour-old cooked egg would NOT be quite so happy. Needless to say I’m not eating the other half – but I kept the potatoes!
I was keen to try their tempting desserts but since I was already full, I opted to take with me a few of their toasted almond polenta cookies. I’m not a cookie person but these were great and a perfect little tidbit or two without any dessert guilt. After leaving Vespaio I wandered the shops of SoCo, nibbling away. I found a last minute gift for my mother and an inexpensive bottle of Spanish garnacha for myself and decided it was time to go home.
Thus, my first entry into the world of blogging! It will never be the same again ;-)
Side Note: Technically Vespaio is a 2-for-1 location. There is Enoteca Vespaio (Italian café type of place) and next door is Vespaio Ristorante (the more formal dining option). Enoteca Vespaio is the one I went to, the more formal one isn’t open for brunch.
Dear reader… let’s dive right in, shall we? I can’t think of a better way to start than to talk about food!
I love brunch. Now I know a lot of people SAY they love to go to brunch but I really love brunch. Not being an early morning person, I would never call myself a breakfast person, but I like breakfast food. Pancakes at 1:30 am are a sublime delight. Eggs Benedict is a worthy dinner companion. The French dine on omelettes and red wine. But breakfast after a leisurely awakening on a weekend is my favorite!
Perhaps part of why I enjoy brunch so much is that I am rarely able to indulge in them. Sundays just scream out brunch to me, but most Sunday mornings find me at church, and after that it is just lunch. No brunch for me at 1:30 thank you very much, just boring old lunch. Also, my town has very few places that offer what I would call a REAL brunch. So I often only have brunch when I am out of town, ergo making them not just unique, but an adventure.
I was in Austin this weekend visiting friends but by Sunday morning the social part of my trip had wrapped up. I was flying solo in an incredibly fun and gastronomically diverse city. Brunch was calling out to me, softly…but insistently.
There was one potential problem – Mother’s Day - after Easter, the second most popular brunch day in North America. No matter, I had plenty of time and was going for it!
I mulled over a few possibilities and finally decided adventuring out to Vespaio on SoCo (S. Congress St). It was still pleasant outside and I had been hankering to try out this restaurant, as well as their little outdoor patio, for several years. I had looked at their menu online and was delighted to see some unique offerings, so I hustled on down there. The fact that Vespaio is a client of the wine import company I work for had nothing to do with my decision ;-)
There was a brief wait for the outdoor seating (they said 15-20 minutes and it was closer to 10) but it was well worth it. The hostess was rather somber and lifeless but polite enough. My server, Bob, was also rather somber and grim-faced … but polite. Makes one wonder if the restaurant manager is a tyrant or perhaps they were all just tired of always having to be polite (I know I would be!). The happiest person there was the busgirl who was bubbly and jovial, and complimented my shoes (they ARE a great pair of shoes, Calvin Klein patent burgundy pumps…but I digress…). Bob endeavored to be helpful when I asked him about the menu. I was torn between two different dishes; but then he leaned forward and confided that while the one item was delicious, the other was authentically Italian and more unusual. The fact that the dish he recommended was significantly less expensive made me trust him immediately. So I opted for Panino with pressed proscuitto, fontina cheese, arugula and truffled egg. What is a truffled egg? According to this dish it is a sunnyside-up egg of the non-runny variety that has been cooked with truffle oil. Intriguing. And I love how it rolls off the tongue…truffled egg. Truffledegg. Equally intriguing was the side of “caramelized potatoes”.
The presentation was whimsical (I apologize profusely for no photo, I swear I shall do better!) with the sandwich served on paper in a dapper little metal basket. The potatoes were on a separate dish to the side.
The panino (must look up the difference between a panino and a panini later) was delicious. I like runny eggs alone, but NOT on a sandwich, so I was relieved to see it was cooked thoroughly. Overall it was a delicious savory sort of breakfast sandwich, although there was a very subtle sweetness in it from somewhere… the truffle oil maybe? I’ve not cooked with truffle oil so I’m not sure.
The caramelized potatoes were baked wedges that were then pan-tossed in caramelized shallots, then sprinkled with parsley and sea salt. The idea made basic potatoes into something unique but still comfortably potatoey. They weren’t quite what I was expected but a fun little discovery nonetheless – and it looked like something I could easily copy!
The only very slight drawback was the paper-lined basket holding the panino showed every spot of grease from the sandwich. It is one thing to KNOW what you are eating has grease; it is another thing entirely to see it blatantly before you!
I was surprised how filling the dish was, at least to me. Those with lighter appetites could easily split this dish. I goofed up a bit in opting not to finish and take it home with me, confident that the proscuitto would survive four hours in an air-conditioned car. It didn’t occur to me that perhaps a four-hour-old cooked egg would NOT be quite so happy. Needless to say I’m not eating the other half – but I kept the potatoes!
I was keen to try their tempting desserts but since I was already full, I opted to take with me a few of their toasted almond polenta cookies. I’m not a cookie person but these were great and a perfect little tidbit or two without any dessert guilt. After leaving Vespaio I wandered the shops of SoCo, nibbling away. I found a last minute gift for my mother and an inexpensive bottle of Spanish garnacha for myself and decided it was time to go home.
Thus, my first entry into the world of blogging! It will never be the same again ;-)
Side Note: Technically Vespaio is a 2-for-1 location. There is Enoteca Vespaio (Italian café type of place) and next door is Vespaio Ristorante (the more formal dining option). Enoteca Vespaio is the one I went to, the more formal one isn’t open for brunch.
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