Saturday, April 19, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Lest anyone think I am a total food snob I shall freely admit right here and right now that there is a place in my heart for the gas station hot dog. This was not always the case. Gas station hot dogs and motorcycle touring go hand in hand, so it's no surprise I only learned to appreciate them after my so called "enlightenment." I remember my very first one as if it were yesterday afternoon. Rupert, ID, 17 July, 2005, final destination Sawtooth National Recreation Area. I had just experienced moto warp speed (I won't quote a number, my mother might be reading this!) for the first time, so I was feeling quite brave. If I could survive the ride, surely I could survive the hot dog. Besides, it beats a Twinkie on the health scale, if you ask me. Since that first bite, there are moments when nothing else will do. Not a lot of moments, mind you, but they exist as surely as my love for foie gras. Come to think of it, are hot dogs and foie gras really all that different? Hmmm...
Posted by Paula at 10:59 PM
Friday, April 4, 2008
You know, I can fit quite a lot of grapefruit in my moto trunk. I absolutely MUST have a half grapefruit with my breakfast every morning. I was fed practically year round by my good friend's tree, until a couple of years ago, when she had the nerve to up and move to Portland. Buying grapefruit here is utterly ridiculous, given that it grows seemingly in every other yard (my yard, unfortunately being one without a tree), and that the stuff from the store doesn't remotely resemble a fresh picked grapefruit. So I've resorted to bartering symphony tickets for unlimited rights to a number of trees in Tucson! It's a lovely arrangement, and, as luck would have it, one of "my" trees happens to be at the base of Mt. Lemmon. Life is good when you can pick up your groceries and ride the Catalina Highway in the same trip.