Fall Peas

When I would visit my grandparents as a kid, in Pennsylvania, I would inevitably end up in my Grandpa’s garden. My most vivid memories of that garden centered around the peas. I would post up, find the most plump pods, and crack them open to eat the raw peas one by one. I was secretive. Stealthy. I had to be doing something wrong because they were so tasty. You would have thought that little me found a secret stash of candy. Come to find out that is what they were there for. To eat. Raw or otherwise.

After our first spring/summer North Carolina garden failed to produce to our expectations -  because of the heat, poor soil, beginners lack-of-luck, you name it – I decided to plant some peas as the summer heat subsided. Come to find out, the North Carolina fall supports the needs of peas. Because of that, I temporarily had my own candy store.

Now the frost has set in and I’ve since removed the peas from the garden, big me is surprised that they made it inside the house… well, at least half. 

NYC Surprise

The weekend after we returned from Asheville, we had even more plans. Our good friends, Natalie and Travis, were to pick us up at 5:30am on Saturday morning. We didn’t know where we were going, but only that we needed an overnight bag.

That Saturday morning we found ourselves at Raleigh-Durham International Airport to pick up a “rental car”. However, there was no rental car. I found myself trying to pick my jaw up from the parking garage floor as I was handed a boarding pass to New York City.

I was still dumbfounded as I ate an everything bagel, with a half-inch of cream cheese, in Rockefeller Center. Liz and I had never been to NYC. Separately or together. Yet, we found ourselves taking a food tour with the most perfect tour guides. A whirlwind viewing and food tasting tour of everything from Greenwich Village to Midtown Manhattan to Central Park. All in approximately 30 hours. The most pleasant surprise of a weekend for sure.

Highland Brewing Company

North Carolina is a great state for a lot of things: Food, college basketball, Southern hospitality, and… beer. With 61 operating breweries and brewpubs in the state, North Carolina won my heart when I moved from Oklahoma. The names of the breweries range from A to Z. Well, maybe more accurately, from A to W. From Ass Clown Brewing (“Don’t be one, drink one!”) to Weeping Radish Brewery (the oldest microbrewery in the state) located on the Outer Banks. You will find flavors that involve sweet potato, basil, chocolate nibs and locally foraged persimmons. And that is only from my favorite NC brewery, Fullsteam. There are 60 others, with a laundry list of more in the works.

So, when Liz and I found ourselves in the city that brews her favorite beer we had to tour the brewery. Also, it didn’t hurt that there was a distillery right next door. Highland Brewing Company was great to visit. Rightfully set in Asheville, it sits at the top of a hill and at the end of a short winding road. It was nice to hear about their brewing process and to be informed of their seven state regional distribution. But, to be honest, the best part for me was to see the face of a girl light up while standing in the middle of a chilled warehouse full of her favorite beer.

If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach then I have found that maybe, just maybe, the way to m’lady’s heart is through a pint of Highland Gaelic Ale. Cheers.

Asheville

The past few months have been a welcomed whirlwind of activity. Road trip travels. Unexpected jet-setting. And visits from fellow Okies – James surprised me with a post birthday appearance in Durham. Jeremy and Kathleen joined us for a relaxing extended weekend.

Liz and I whipped up the whirlwind when we set off on a four hour drive to spend my birthday in Asheville, NC. The scene was set as we drove to the Smoky Mountains through red and yellow leaves that fell like large snowflakes. An unlikely North Carolina storm washed away any concerns that we may have had before we spent several nights and days balancing relaxation and exploration.

The Airbnb we stayed at was perfect and the host could not have had a better. The neighborhood (just across from the River District) was a pairing of homes that had been there for a while, as well as modern homes, that were all quaintly situated on the steep incline of the foothills. A chicken coop was located just outside of our door (a selling point actually). It was doubly enjoyable waking up to the sound of clucking hens (it has been too long) and having coffee with the sassy egg-laying ladies. Liz and I spent our time eating, drinking, and we were merry.

It was the conclusion of another year of my life well spent. Conversations were had of the accomplishments over the past year. The present was discussed, as was the way that the future should look. Planning life as I all too frequently call it. It deserves a toast…well, that and suiting up.

Gumbo

Okra is in season, and Liz brought a pound of it home from the Wednesday, Durham Farmers’ Market. It was pretty much gifted to me - you know, in a “here you go, have fun” sort of way.  It was a pleasant surprise because my five okra plants are struggling to say the least. My first instinct was to fry it. All of it. I could see it like it was real. Me sitting on the couch, in front of a movie with a pound of fried okra, eating it like popcorn. Ridiculous, I know. On to plan B: gumbo.

After much research I discovered two things. 1) Making good gumbo is time consuming. 2) People are VERY particular about their gumbo recipes. At first I was intimidated by the amount of ingredients that I found in the gumbo recipes. However, after I made my grocery list it was obvious that I was leaning into it. M’lady was kind enough to take the pictures above, as I was elbow deep in nearly 30 different ingredients.

I decided to make a roux and use it, as well as the okra, as the thickener. It was oddly enjoyable to take what would normally be a base for white gravy to the next level. A rich, brown level that would only appear after 40 minutes of careful attention. The roux was only the beginning of the tedious process. Good thing good music (unfortunately, I had no Zydeco) was ingredient number 24.

At 11:30 am I started prepping the ingredients. At 6:30 pm we ate gumbo.

This all led me to two conclusions. 1) Saturday is a good day to make gumbo. You know, have some Abita and make an afternoon of it. 2) It is hard to go wrong with a recipe if everyone disagrees with one another on what ingredients should or should not be included. I chose to add andouille sausage, crab meat and shrimp among many, many other things.

It boils down this way, it is either great or its not. Though, I had little to no basis for what gumbo is supposed to taste like, I‘m pretty sure it turned out quite well - for a bastardized, do-what-you-will recipe. Love and time were the common denominators of all of the recipes that I researched. Lots and lots of time love. I think that is what makes it so good. Well, that and a little bit of fried okra as a garnish.

Home Sweet 'Homa

When I arrived at my dad’s place, in northeastern Oklahoma, it was perfect homecoming. The hay had just been cut by a tractor that continued slowly to the southern part of the field. That all too familiar smell of fresh cut hay was in the air, and the sky was big. Big in a way that is only found in a place with flat land. It was nice to be home, if only briefly.

There are great things happening in Oklahoma City and Tulsa, but there is something about small towns. Something that I have finally grown to appreciate. En route to my dad’s, Liz had pointed out signs in a small town that I had passed by many times before. I had almost forgotten that they were there. We pulled over. Off of Highway 69, I took a couple of pictures of the signs that I am pretty sure time has nearly forgotten as well. 

Christmas In July

After a trip to the Upper Peninsula, I made my way down to Oklahoma. I saw my mom, as well as others, for the first time since I moved to Durham. Over a year ago. Though brief (less than 48 hours), it was great to see the family that I had been missing. That being said, my mom had a gift for me. My Christmas gift.

To be honest, I thought that she had forgotten to get her son, half way across the country, a Christmas gift. Come to find out, she was holding on to it for safekeeping. I sat with my mom, Liz, Nana and Papa (the Curtis half of Simon Curtis) as my mom handed me a large box with the Frye logo emblazoned on it. I thought that I had just received a pair of boots. I haven’t worn boots since “cowboy day” in second grade. They were bright red. I opened it and saw several individually wrapped items. This one in newspaper. That one in tissue paper. As each piece of paper was unfolded by my hands, the story unfolded from my mom’s mouth. I began to unwrap each piece of, what once was, my great grandfather’s possessions.

Harry’s razors and shaving brush. His manual hair clippers. His Tuckaway, Gillette travel razor (assembly required). And, a Kriss Kross (I know, it makes me want to jump, jump as well) stropper that uses a leather disc to sharpen the razors. I pretty much swooned knowing that these things were used nearly a century ago. Used during the time when my grandfather (the Simon half of Simon Curtis) was born. Hearing her tell me about it, piece by piece, was well worth the seven-month wait.

  

On a side note: With a career in advertising, I can’t help but be enamored by the instructions that came with the stropper. The imagery, the vernacular, and the assumptions that were made during that time period. It could be a post of its own, but I’ll spare the gushing, and just say that it is beautiful.

Kayaking

The first time white water caught, and intrigued, this young boy’s eye was at Ohiopyle, in southwestern Pennsylvania. The name Ohiopyle stems from an extinct Native American language meaning, “it turns very white.” Why? The focal point of Ohiopylye State Park is more than 14 miles of the Youghiogheny River Gorge that provides some of the best white water rafting in the Eastern United States. It contains class II-V rapids. As a kid, I couldn’t help but want to be in them.

Coming from Oklahoma, there aren’t many white water rapids. At least, there aren’t many white water rapids that could be defined by class. When we got to Michigan I heard that there were kayaks at our disposal. That child-like excitement returned. True, there weren’t rapids in Lake Superior. However, there were white-capped waves and glass like water… all on the same beach.

We spent the time discovering how big was too big, when it came to waves. We used the kayaks as transportation to visit the neighbors, down beach, for happy hour. And, simply tooling around in the bay as the sun set, was majestic.

Now that I’ve finally got my rookie appearance out of the way, I’m looking forward to where Liz and I will kayak next. As far as Ohiopyle goes, it will happen sooner than later.

Still Wedding Season

So, like I mentioned before, it is apparently wedding season. According to my tally, I'm up to five this summer. Liz and I have been to three weddings, in three states, in three weeks.  The latest...

Oklahoma - I got the pleasure of watching my youngest sister walk down the aisle... from a bridesmaid's point of view. Unfortunate circumstances resulted in me being called to action, three hours prior to the wedding, as a bridesmaid. It was a great perspective to watch my little sister get married from. I know, always a bridesmaid. Never a bride...

North Carolina - As a plus-one to Liz's coworker's wedding, I got the pleasure of being mancandy for an evening. The wedding involved two Hispanic families from Queens. So. Much. Fun. The dance moves of a fifteen-year-old inspired me to want to take dance lessons. Okay, if we are going to be honest, a six-year-old had more fluid moves than me.

All of that being said, one of my favorite weddings, held in Brimley, Michigan, involved a Scandanavian bride and a beach.

Michigan - In short, Liz's mom handmade the arbor. It was transported down the beach and planted in the sand. Mrs. Fabry then officiated the wedding from underneath the arbor that she had made. The bride (from Michigan) stood to the left with Michigan land jutting out on the horizon behind her. The groom (from Canada) stood on the right with Canadian land jutting out on the horizon behind him. All the while I was shoeless with my feet in the sand. It was beautiful.

The wedding photographer’s awesome shots can be found here. 

Lake Superior & The U.P.

Tourism officials generated the slogan "Say Yes to Michigan" in 1982 to fuel a state promotional campaign. Yooper residents (residents of the Upper Peninsula) put a more northern spin on the catchphrase, of course, transforming it into "Say Yah to Da U.P., Eh!" For a week, I became a Yooper, saying "yah" to the absolute beauty that is the U.P.

I had never been to the U.P. during the summer, but only visiting last Christmas. The average water temperature of Lake Superior is 40ºF, so I imagined it not being swimmable. I was wrong. Everyday was a shoeless, backyard-beach day, filled with sunshine, saunas and a pure as-you-please pace.

Lake Superior still blows my mind. It is the largest freshwater lake in the world by area, and holds 10% of the world's surface fresh water. To give a vague perspective (take a look at the map above) we were beachfront in Brimley. Now, do you see the point with the Bay Mills dot? It looks like it is pointing to Brimley State Park. The tip of that jutting land is on the horizon when standing on the beach in Brimley. Canada is across the bay as well. Lake Superior is HUGE.

It was a perfect getaway spent with m'lady, her family, and a beautiful beach. Say Yah to da U.P. indeed... "eh!"

Impromptu Picnic

The same evening Liz and I had an impromptu date night at Six Plates, we decided that we were going to finally give in and seek out some North Carolina style BBQ (vinegar based as opposed to the tomato based found in Texas, Memphis, and Kansas City). It has been over two years for Liz and just over one for me since we moved to the state. It was overdue for both of us. We decided on Bullock’s upon the recommendation of my coworkers. Connoisseurs or the North Carolina style.

Initially, I had planned to pick m’lady up on my way home from work and have a sit down supper at Bullock’s. As I have found in the past, things don’t always go as planned. Bullock’ closes at 8:00 pm. I ended up leaving work at 6:35 pm. 30 minutes away. I was convinced that I could make it. Then I got in my car and the gas light was on. Great. I made a b-line to the gas station to fill up as I ran through the options. “OK, it is 6:50pm. This will happen”, I thought as I hit the gas on I-40 west.

7:20 pm – Stopped at Whole Foods for a personal portion of Bota Box cabernet and two individual bottled beers.

7:27 pm – Called Bullock’s and placed a take-out order for BBQ brisket and pork. Each meal came with three sides so… baked beans, green beans, potato salad, pasta salad, fruit and macaroni and cheese.

7:29 pm – Called Liz. “You know my favorite bar key? Please grab that, a blanket and I will pick you up in five minutes.”

7:38 pm – With Liz in tow, we arrived at Bullock’s to pick up the order. In all of the hustle and bustle, what did I forget? Bullock’s only takes cash. But I got this far! Thankfully, an exception was made.

We parked at Duke Gardens, and carried our North Carolina BBQ and booze to the Asian section of the 55-acre gardens. Sat down (finally), and enjoyed a sunset supper. Sometimes things do work out for the best. 

Six Plates

It seems to happen every time Liz or I go out of town for more than a few days. We want to spend as much quality time together as possible. Liz had that in mind when she texted me saying that she was taking me on a date.

We ended up at Six Plates. Taking its name from the six seasonal offerings that rotate out bi-weekly on their menu, they also offer six suggested wines to pair with each plate. Liz had gotten the pleasure of visiting several times before, but this was my first. The following were enjoyed.

Grilled Farmhand Foods pork loin – herbed spaetzel - green beans - tomatoes - blackberry-demi glace - basil honey butter

Truffle frites – truffle oil - house made ketchup - parmesan

Pan-seared shrimp – caramelized onion polenta - avocado puree - tomatoes - shaved fennel - raspberry lemon-vin

Like Six Plates notes on their menu, the italicized ingredients above are all local. Throw in a bottle of Malbec and you have a nice date night.

As an added bonus, while we were finishing our wine, a gentleman walked in with a plastic bag of produce (presumably local) and marched directly into the kitchen. Local ingredients for the next plate. Just seeing that made the meal that much better. I don’t think it will be long before we return. 

Infused Vodka

A while back, a coworker of mine graciously gave me a bunch (more like a bush) of rosemary. To be honest I held on to it for a couple of days. What in the world am I going to with these… limbs?

In short, I used the woody stems as skewers for shrimp, roasted chicken with the sprigs, and boiled mashed potatoes with the leaves. However, the approach that I anticipated the most was infusing vodka.

We combined 750mL of vodka with one 9” rosemary sprig and two 5” lavender thingies (isn’t “thingies” a standard recipe measurement?). Side note: Liz has named her lavender plant Lilly. I support it. We let it do its thing for 3-5 days and tested daily to get a gauge of where our herbal preference was. Yes, I thought testing daily was excessive too, but the infusion takes unusually large strides that are very interesting to the palette. When we found our preference we strained the concoction. It tasted great. I was proud of my liquid Frankenstein.

This is the point that I want to say,  "go try it" or “you’re welcome”. Except - You know when you have a beautiful bouquet of flowers and after a few days they start to wilt but aren’t yet dead? Yeah, it started to taste like that.

It wasn’t you science experiment. It was me. Maybe I didn’t do something right.  Maybe I didn’t show you enough love. However, you’re still going down the drain. Next experiment, hot pepper infused Whiskey. I’ve got high hopes for this one.

Wedding Season

For the first time I have found myself experiencing what people oh-so-often refer to as “wedding season”. Recently, Liz and I traveled to New Hampshire to attend a wedding. It was an enjoyably exhausting, whirlwind weekend involving lots of love and libations. Go-carts and batting cages. Family, fun and the Little League Baseball mascot Dugout.

One of my favorite images to come from that wedding was one of my grandfather with his arm around Liz.

Next up:

Oklahoma - Headed back home for the first time in just over a year. The first time since I moved to Durham will be to stand by my wonderful friend’s side as he gets married.

Michigan - A beach wedding on Lake Superior where Liz’s mom will be officiating. For the first time, during the summer, I will get to join Liz in the place that she has visited every summer of her life.

Oklahoma - Straight from Michigan, and back to Oklahoma to see my little sister get married. The youngest of four is blazing the trail to the alter for the rest of us.

Geez, none of these are even my wedding and I’m already exhausted. I can’t wait though.

RDU to MHT

I often find myself looking up to the sky, watching birds fly, and looking up at the clouds. It is nice to look down from above sometimes.

1. New York City fly-by
2. New England clouds
3. Atlantic Ocean inlet 

Growing A Garden

Over the past month I have unintentionally developed a habit. I get home from work, kiss m’lady and step into the back yard. It has been a couple months now since we have dug up and planted our gardens. Three spaces now hold vegetables, herbs and flowers.

There is an odd sense of pleasure that we take in tending to the plants, pulling weeds and assessing growth. Liz does well with gently guiding her tiny sprouts. I, on the other hand, want to poke, push and slap my plants around to see daily development. We have planted accordingly.

I often forget that all of the work we have put into (and enjoyment we have gotten from) developing the gardens will eventually yield delicious results. In the mean time, there is the added benefit of the blooming vegetables. A temporary faux flower garden.

East Campus Tunnel

Ok, it is not necessarily a tunnel. There is an underpass that runs under Main Street in Durham, and links Duke’s East Campus to the West Campus. I know it as “Lollage bridge” from this picture that Liz took prior to me moving to Durham. That is not the name of it of course, and the bridge no longer says “Lollage”. That is the reason that I like the underpass so much. It is ever changing.

The walls are covered with graffiti. The sidewalk is covered with graffiti. The road is covered with graffiti. Even the guardrails and encroaching ivy have traces of spray paint.

Dain's Place: Brunch

I think that my excitement trumped my surprise when I heard that the joint that serves my favorite burger in the area would start serving brunch. That was several months ago now, and since Dain’s has been calling my name on Saturday mornings between 9:00am and 12:00pm.

As far as the ever-changing brunch menu goes, you could throw a dart at it and be pleasantly surprised by ordering whatever you hit. Above is a French toast sandwich with Nutella and bacon, buttered and grilled, served with fresh fruit and maple syrup. The First Class Biscuits and Gravy is one of my favorite offerings so far. It consists of honey biscuits topped with sausage gravy, then topped with fried eggs and drizzled with Siracha. It sounds fairly simple, but the result is wonderful.

How can you say no to brunch at a place that shows Saturday morning cartoons, serves the “Bloodiest Mary” (my favorite in town) and serves milk and Oreos as a dessert? The answer is, you can’t.

The Corner of Wilmington and Martin

I will be the first to admit that there is much more of Raleigh that I need to explore. That being said, I really dig the corner of Wilmington and Martin. It is on that corner that Ashley Christensen has weaved her magic into a trifecta of well designed greatness.

Fox Liquor Bar - It is rare that you can walk in to a bar, tell the bartender what flavors you like and he comes back with the perfect beverage, chilled with hand chiseled ice no less. Fox Liquor bar accomplishes that. My drink of perfection was the American Trilogy - rye whiskey, brandy and orange bitters, garnished with an orange twist.

Chuck’s - Burgers are just burgers until they are more than burgers. Have you ever had a burger with blistered peppers? Tortilla dust? Or have you found a spirit animal between two buns? Chuck’s take burgers to a whole new level.

Beasley’s Honey + Chicken - When you have fried chicken at the oldest bar in Oklahoma, you want to believe that it is the best fried chicken that you have ever had. I wanted to believe that… then I had chicken at Beasley’s.

Ashley was even kind enough to show up on our front doorstep recently (in the pages of Garden & Gun magazine) to reinforce the awesomeness of the area.

Jesus Wept

With the 17^th anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing last week and the upcoming 12^th Annual Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon coming up this weekend I found myself getting nostalgic.

Looking back as a lifelong Okie, the Oklahoma City Bombing shaped the state of Oklahoma and interestingly, if not oddly, became a place of peace for this kid over a decade later. In short, while in college, and as I entered the professional world, the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial was where I would go to find solace.

I would sit and admire the work of an architect who was told that a ¾-inch reflecting pool could not be done in Oklahoma. He proved the naysayers wrong. Side note: that architect reviewed my first year architecture final and tore it to shreds (rightfully so, though I still got an A). That architect would later go on to design the Skydance Bridge in OKC.

In the evening, I would sit with a security guard and watch a single duck, that never learned his lesson, crash and burn in the ¾-inch reflecting pool. It was hilarious.

I started and finished my first half marathon at the bombing site while families that had lost loved ones cheered wildly along the course.

Months before I left Oklahoma, a group of friends and I joined together to run the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon relay in the pouring rain.

The list goes on, but at the end of the day, there is a certain amount of strength and peace to be found at the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial. I continued to visit until the day that I left. Just outside the West Gate of the Memorial stands a statue of Jesus with the words “Jesus wept”. The image is one of the last I compiled before I moved to Durham from Oklahoma City.

Carolina Theatre

            The first time I visited the Carolina Theatre I had flown from Oklahoma City to North Carolina to visit Elizabeth. We watched A Clock Work Orange. It was awesome to see the film as it had originally appeared. The scratches on the film. The cue marks or “cigarette burns”. The film rolling in a way that no DVD or “enhanced” version could do justice. No IMAX. No 3-D. Just film.

            I say just film, but it is more than that. It is a film housed inside a beautiful, historic structure. Opened in early 1926, the Carolina Theatre was the first theater in Durham to admit African-Americans. The main stage (yes, it has a stage), called Fletcher Hall, has two balconies and seats 1,016. The structure was designed in the Beaux Arts style and is the only downtown Durham building of its kind. And the blueprints… the blueprints of the Carolina Theatre only made me appreciate the structure even more.

            So naturally, that is where we watched The Godfather on Easter Sunday.