Follow your gut

I very, very rarely eat Chinese food. There are far too many places that peddle horrible food and you never know what you are getting yourself into at a random Chinese restaurant. For some reason, my father is a big fan, and tries to get it at least once while on most vacations despite being in new and unfamiliar territory. Today was one of those days. I nearly had him talked out of it, but in the end, I was outvoted. I’m pretty sure my suggestions were vetoed simply on principle, because they came from the troublesome (pseudo-)vegetarian that had been making mealtimes difficult all week. I considered going off on my own for some alone time and to find something I actually wanted to eat, after several days of being subjected to crappy, unhealthy, and unsatisfying food. I conceded mostly because my knee is still really bothering me after the trip into the Grand Canyon yesterday and I didn’t feel up to walking anywhere, and in the hope that veggies and tofu would be a fairly safe and somewhat healthy choice.

Fast forward about 15 minutes after I finished eating to me trying not to puke on the sidewalk. Jump ahead a few more minutes to when I was trying not to throw up in our 15 person van, or in the parking lot of the night sky talk we were hearing. Several hours later I am still taking deep breaths, drinking cold water and trying to ignore the feeling in my throat and the lingering bad taste from the meal I never should’ve eaten…

April 24th of 2008 may mark the last time (at least for the foreseeable future) that I ignore my better judgment and make the mistake of having Chinese food.

Airports are big

So, for anyone reading this who doesn’t know me very well, you might be curious about why the name of the blog is I Shouldn’t Travel.

Here’s an example of why:

My day started out with nervousness over missing my first flight out of DIA to Detriot, where I would pick up a connection to Erie, PA.  Why an employee based out of Colorado is flying to Pennsylvania instead of someone from Connecticut is beyond me, but logical thinking has never been very highly valued at my company.

Northwest has had this cute little habit lately of their flights actually leaving not just on time, but a few minutes early.  They are sticklers about being on board 15 minutes prior to departure, as evidenced by the time I was crying and waving frantically trying to catch the pilot’s attention.  He saw me and gestured or called to the gate agent.   The plane was still on the ground, still attached to the gate, yet the gate agent still took it away after seeing that another passenger had arrived.  I spent the next seven hours in the airport waiting for the next flight out.

Thankfully, today I left the house with just enough time to arrive at the gate as boarding was in process.  Despite the babies surrounding me on the plane, I got in a nice nap and awoke shortly before landing.  I even grabbed a gourmet vegetarian dinner, described in my previous post.  I should have (WordPress apparently does not recognize should’ve as a real word) taken a picture…

I apparently misjudged how much time I had between flights, and forgot that DTW is actually fairly large with lots of escalators and long hallways.  Including a weird seizure hallway.  So, essentially, writing my last post nearly made me miss my flight.  Me and time don’t get along so well.

I was the crazy looking person half running, half speed walking through the airport.  I am a bit out of shape and getting over a nasty cold so I was more with the speed walking… and still managed to get very painful shin splints.  Awesome right?  There is just a dinky little plane that goes between Detroit and Erie, which departs out of this separate section of the terminal down an escalator.  The walls are composed mostly of windows, and I was able to see the gate that my plane should have been in.  Should have been.  SHIT!!!  My bags are too heavy to really pick up and carry down so I was just anxiously awaiting the return to flat ground.  I reach the end of the escalator and run to the nearest gate, as the door to mine was closed.  I ask if the Erie flight has departed, and the gate agent looks at me like I am crazy and wants to know what flight number it is.  Are there really that many flights leaving for Erie within this 15 minute timespan that I could possibly be asking about lady!?  Turns out, the flight is delayed!  We are told, at 5:20 that the new departure time is 5:30.  The plane is not here yet but somehow they expect to get all the passengers off, clean it, and board us in ten minutes.  Sure, why not.

Why do airports hate vegetarians?

So, I imagine several of my posts will have to do with the challenges, and as well as hopefully some rewards, that come with traveling and a meat free diet.  Those of you who have made a similar decision for yourself know what I’m talking about.   The response I usually get when asking clients where I can find a restaurant with vegetarian options is “Oh so and so place has nice salads.”  (That, or  “Ummm I don’t think there are any around here.”)

Now, don’t get me wrong, salads can be good; they can even be filling.  But usually, they suck.   I don’t fuck with iceberg lettuce and orange tomatoes, and that’s what you find in most places.   That does not qualify, in my opinion, as a “nice salad”.  In airports, its even worse, as something like 90% of all salads have chicken or ham on them.  Airport food has become one of the banes of my existence.

Today, my airport experience is set in the Detroit Metro Airport.  After deplaning, I walked through a section of quick dining and snack options.  Most of these joints have the menus posted outside, and I usually quickly scan for something I could eat.  I found one sandwich that would work, the Motown Veggie.  Now comes the problem of never knowing what you are going to get with a veggie sandwich, particularly in airports.  I was told that the veggies included tomatoes, mushrooms, zucchini, and onions, marinated in Italian dressing.  Not too exciting, but it’ll do.  Or so I thought.  My grilled veggie sandwich more closely resembled a grilled cheese with a couple small chunks of tomato, onion and zucchini and shreds of lettuce.  Not OK!  It was bad to the point of actually telling the waitress that that’s what I thought of it.  Now, I don’t ENJOY complaining about food – but I’ll do it.  Honestly, it makes me really nervous about what they might do to my meal when it is out of my sight.  But this was just not gonna cut it, and was certainly not a $9 sandwich.

The embarassing part is that I told her I wasn’t comfortable complaining and didn’t want anyone to spit in it.  I am SO awkward sometimes haha.

The waitress was very nice about the whole thing, and after a few minutes brought out a new Motown Veggie panini, with extra veggies.  It was better it terms of quantity of vegetables… but it still wasn’t good.  I hate this crap…

By the way, I am literally LOLing right now at a woman who just walked by – in her 50s at least, wearing very tight jeans that are most likely about as old as I am (25)…. that are red and black, printed.  Like… they were printed with the black image (which I unfortunately did not have the time or wherewithal to try to make out) was printed on probably stone or white washed jeans, then all dyed red.  She also had ridiculously high clunky red platform shoes on.  I effing love people watching in airports.

If you don’t like the weather, wait 5 minutes… or 30… or try back tomorrow

Following brunch yesterday, I hopped back into the rental Sebring and drove a couple hours north on 5 to Tacoma, WA. I have come to love satellite radio, and wish to extend my sincere thanks to Thrifty for including it in their vehicles.

Over the last few days I have encountered a broad range of weather. I have seen blue skies, and ominous clouds. There has been rain, from storm clouds that covered the sky as far as the eye could see, and the kind of rain that seems to be coming out of no where. There have been picturesque scenes of bright sun shining down through breaking gray clouds onto wet and glistening city streets. There’s been snow, sleet, and the classic “wintry” mix. I experienced most of those while driving to Tacoma, and much of it within the span of mere minutes.

Upon reaching the red-headed stepchild of Seattle, it was brisk but sunny. Maggie and her husband have two pit bulls, both of whom were extremely excited to see me. To give Maggie a break and hopefully wear the pups out, I offered to take each of them for a walk. Individually. Two full grown pit bulls with puppy mentality are way too much for my 5′3″ frame.

First up was LP, Maggie’s husband’s dog. He did the first of his business promptly, and I decided a run would do the most good for both of us. It was cold and I had left my coat inside, fooled by the date and sunshine into thinking it would be warmer than it was. (This happens to me quite a lot really. I’m the girl who wears flip flops in February.) LP and I took off running down the sidewalk of Maggie’s residential neighborhood, past some middle school hoodlums fresh off the bus, yelling all sorts of ignorance at each other and anyone else who happened to cross their path.

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to the homeowners in whose front yard I left LP’s other business. I don’t own a dog, and hadn’t thought to bring a bag. My b.

LP dragged me down another couple of blocks, at which point the sky opened up and dumped very wet, very cold snow and sleet down upon us. Like I said previously, I wasn’t wearing a coat, so THAT was fun. Have I mentioned how changeable the weather in the Pacific Northwest is? If so, I wasn’t exaggerating. The weather is the biggest factor keeping me from seriously thinking about moving to Portland. Well, that and the job market. Apparently, a great many of America’s tragically hip youngsters won’t be kept away from such a happening place by something as silly as a lot of rain.

Luckily, LP and I didn’t melt or freeze to death or anything, and the short burst of exercise got the job done. The sun soon came back out, and we all eventually ventured out to pick up dinner and rent a movie. On the way to the car, we were ambushed by two missionaries of Jesus Christ, or Joseph Smith, whichever. One of them had a very unfortunate face, and I hope that his door-to-door work does not involve many encounters with young children, as it might turn them away from the Church of Mormon forever. I want no part of any religion that involves harassing people in their homes or on the street, and having the audacity to assume that you have the right to pry into their beliefs without any knowledge of who they are or what they have been through, in their lives or on that day. I am curious about what these “missionaries” most often encounter:

A. Slammed doors
B. Polite disinterest and a gentle but firm closing of the door
C. Polite disinterest and a gentle but firm closing of the door, after (stupidly) taking the proffered pamphlets, perpetuating the missionaries belief that they might find some people to save, and adding to the already out of control amount of trash accumulating on this planet
D. Lonely recluses who just want someone – anyone – to talk to
E. Outright rudeness (your religion is a joke, are you crazy, etc etc etc)
F. Religious debate

Am I forgetting anything obvious?

For all the complaints that I sometimes have about my job, it would be wrong of me not to acknowledge opportunities like this to visit the people I love around the country, at little to no cost to me (myself? Grammar is hard sometimes). It was great to see Maggie and her husband now that they have had time to settle into married life, if only for a few hours. All my love to both of them, and hopefully our visit in May will be longer!

The Jam!

From a suburb about 20 minutes south of Portland, I headed up to the city for brunch on my way to Tacoma for a visit with a dear friend of mine, Maggie. I decided on a bustling cafe on SE Hawthorne near 22nd St. on the (you guessed it) east side of Portland. Funky modern art brightens up the sand colored walls of Jam on Hawthorne, and the scuffed checkered floors tell of the many that have come before me over the years.

I first learned of Jam from a vegetarian friend who had visited a few months ago. His recommendation was echoed by Portland’s local alternative paper, The Mercury (think the Advocate, Westword, etc). Their menu would appeal to vegetarians and vegans, the average Joe – though I really couldn’t say if there are many of those living in this hip Pacific NW town, and everyone in between. Being a huge fan of breakfast, I have to say I didn’t even really look through the sandwich and other lunch options on the menu. I didn’t need to; I had a hard enough time just deciding between just the breakfasty offerings. Certified humane eggs or tofu can be used in a variety of scrambles or breakfast burritos, and the French toast sounded delicious. However, what really caught my eye, and spoke to my sweet tooth, were the Oatmeal Chai Blueberry (vegan and wheat-free) and Lemon Ricotta pancakes. I often like to ask the opinion of the wait staff when stuck on a culinary decision. My friendly waitress told me that although they have received recognition for the Lemon Ricotta, she preferred the Oatmeal Chai. I still couldn’t pick just one, which must be a fairly common problem, as both types of pancakes were offered in single servings as “side items”. My decision was made!

Jam on Hawthorne is not only vegetarian and vegan friendly, they also make their own jams (hence the name for the less quick among us) and use local ingredients when possible. Both pancakes make use of local blueberries; they are baked into the Oatmeal Chai pancakes, and served as a side of warm blueberry compote for the Lemon Ricotta variety. The Oatmeal Chai Blueberry pancakes are made with DragonFly Chai, brewed in Portland, and spelt flour, and are served with a side of Earth Balance vegan butter and real maple syrup. I *greatly* preferred the Oatmeal Chai Blueberry pancakes. Granted, I haven’t had vegan pancakes on very many occasions, but these were definitely the best I have ever had. They weren’t overly dense as can sometimes happen, and were very flavorful. To be fair, the Lemon Ricotta pancakes were good, but in my opinion, the blueberry compote really overwhelmed the light lemony flavor. Alas, I made the mistake of dumping the warm blueberry mixture onto the pancake before making this discovery. I would’ve liked them a lot more without the compote and served instead with the maple syrup.

Even on a Thursday, this place was packed, so be prepared to wait. In anticipation of this, the kind folks running this joint have set out a coffee station to help make the wait pass by in a little more comfort on those wet Portland mornings – or on the pleasant spring days like today. And yes, they have soy milk ready and waiting. Considering the location, the tasty food and the fact that there are only 11 tables in the place, its confusing why people seem to be shocked by the possibility of a line.

In closing, today I learned that the miraculous Tide pen won’t do shit when it comes to saving your favorite white shirt after its been splattered with blueberry compote…

***Update on the Tide pen***
I take it back, and apologize for blaspheming this little wonder of the modern world. I won’t leave home without one again. Note to readers: although the Tide pen does not claim to be effective against all stains, know that it will continue to work its magic even after you stop rubbing away at whatever mess you have made of your clothes. The blueberry marks are no more after a couple additional attacks!