Aix Marks Le Spot

“I do not like living alone in a hotel…It is too impersonal. I miss my children. I hate the sounds of the Vespas revving up on the Place des Augustins.”

-      M.F.K. Fisher, "Map of Another Town"

                                                                                                                               ©twmcdermott2012

Cours Mirabeau at Night

We had flown to Marseille through Heathrow on British Airways. We were tired after a long airplane journey, and I was driving our rented Peugeot diesel north up the D9 to Aix en Provence, already worried about having declined insurance as I maneuvered to avoid French commuter traffic. No matter where I travel, it seems that I must adopt some local worry or other. It is my way of assimilating.

My wife the DG (Darling Girl) and I arrived in Aix, the ancient Roman and Provencal city of water and rotundes or roundabouts, exactly at rush hour. Round and round we went as if we riding the real carrousel we kept passing, but we were losing patience and were not so amused. On one of those revolutions it occurred to me that there are only two kinds of people in the world: drivers and navigators. For anyone contemplating a long marriage, in addition to promising to honor through richer and poorer, I advise adding a vow to love through lost and found. I also realized that I'm a born navigator, but not when I'm driving.

Eventually, I suggested the unthinkable; that we, meaning the DG, humbly ask for directions. Et Voila! We were within meters of the entrance to Parc Rotunde, near Aix’s famous central fountain and a very short walk from our hotel. And thus our wonderful week began.

Those Vespas, which M.F.K. Fisher mentioned above, are still revving on the small Place des Augustins, but we didn’t mind. Unlike Fisher, we had chosen a small stylish room in back on a quiet courtyard in the same Hotel De France for an affordable 90 euros. Plus, the point of our trip was to be near one of our children, Ginny, who was “studying” in Aix for a term.

What did we do first? Look for that memorable meal in a special restaurant, or a seat at a café on the Cours Mirabeau from where we could people - watch during France’s Toussaint holiday?

Rotunde/Fountains

Non! Whenever we arrive in France we quickly go to Monoprix, which in this case was just around the corner from the hotel. It was there in Fisher’s day too, except she called it the “dime store.” So hier!

There is nothing quite like Monoprix in the U.S. CVS? Please. Seven-Eleven? Gosh – a - mighty – no! It’s kind of like a department store attached to a drug store, attached to a grocery. It’s...ah, forget about it; let’s agree that there’s a lot of good, affordable stuff there, and it’s a great way to throw yourselves into everyday French life.

I bought two merino sweaters for 88 euros. I purchased water, Perrier, organic yogurt, and cranberry juice for our hotel room. Monoprix makes the best travel size shave cream with a hint of lemon for 2 Euros; I got three. DG bought cosmetics and her own sweater. We did early Christmas shopping there too.

No sooner had I quit worrying about the car insurance than I commenced worrying if my debit card would work at the parking garage. It did not, since it didn’t have the all-important chip. Not to worry, a nice madame walked me through how to pay with cash. Soon, we were orbiting the garage and the first of many rotundes of the day, headed for the famous road, N7, northwest in the direction of Avignon and a few pretty towns of the Provencal countryside.

I was finally “reconnoitering” in “Gaul,” as I had learned reading Caesar’s commentaries in high school. Now I could see why the Romans had liked hanging out there. The N7 was lined with plane trees and cut through fertile vineyards and farms in a dozen small villages on our way to St. Remy de Provence, about an hour’s drive from Aix.

Les Baux, About Ousteau

Since it was off-season, St. Remy was quiet, but in summer it’s bustling with British and American tourists. We had a quick lunch and encountered the only disagreeable waiter on our trip, an amateur, judging by past experiences. Then we headed south. DG, a born driver, negotiated the steep, winding road to Les Baux very nicely, then we descended to take a close look at perhaps the best hotel and restaurant in the area, Oustau De Baumaniere. Lucky for me that its highly-rated and even more highly priced restaurant, a haunt of several generations in DG’s family, was closed during on weekdays in November.

On the way back to Aix, we stopped at another charming small village, Eygalieres, perched on a low bluff overlooking the D24 road. We did not have time to stop, but marked this as a place to which we should return.

We spent a day and night wandering, eating and shopping back in Aix, which was crowded with students and Toussaint visitors. Aix is a walking town like Paris, except that one can see the entire old town in a couple of days and it is nearly impossible to run into a native who a) is not extremely polite and b) will not gladly speak some English. It is also possible, as in Paris, to acclimate quickly and find your own small teashop with perfect pastries and a pharmacie, providing cures only French hypochondriacs could know about.

Then it was back on the road southwest on A8 for the quick tour of the Riviera, where: 1) We missed the turn to the famous St. Paul de Vence, in the hills between Antibes and Nice; 2) Went to Vence  instead and were cornered in Le Pecheur De Soleil by its owner and had an unplanned lunch; 3) Dented the uninsured Peugot while parking; 4) dashed around Nice, Cap d’Antibes, and Juan les Pins  and; 5) negotiated dozens of rotundes at dusk and headed home to Aix. All in about seven hours!

My recommendation would be to stay on the coast for a couple of days and take your time. Not to mention, closely check your auto insurance policy before leaving home for foreign coverage.

How can we visit Provence and not rave about the food? The easy answer is that we had very good, affordable food everywhere we ate (see list) in Aix, but it wasn’t our main aim. Aix is a busy university town and many of its restaurants, bistros and open - to -street vendors cater to hungry students on the go. We had some fun dinners with Ginny’s (Hobart & William $mith) roommate, Maddie & friends from Colgate University.

Our favorite meal in Aix was one that we cooked ourselves. Vraiment! Ginny arranged a cooking class at L’atelier des Chefs near her school. Yes, it was in French, and the chicken curry was simple to make and even better to have for our lunch. Highly recommended!

We also enjoyed hors d’oeurves and champagne served by Ginny’s very kind host “parents,” Fred and Clair in their charming house in town.

Le Band/Cours Mirabeau

A fun band, similar to a small college marching band played on the Cours one market day, on another night the Christmas lights came on, and there were fountains and the sound of water running everywhere we turned. The weather was like October here in the east, and it rained only one day.

Aix marks the spot, where we will return for more treasure someday soon.

Recommended hotels and restaurants:

Hotels:

Hotel de France, 63 Rue Espariat, contact@hoteldefrance-aix.com

Hotel Cardinal, 24 Rue Cardinale, www.hotel-cardinal-aix.com

Hotel de Gantes, 1 Rue Fabrot, www.hoteldegantes.com

Restaurants in Aix en Provence:

La Caleche (traditional/pizza), Le Four Sous le Platane (pizzeria etc), Coquillages (oysters etc), La Mado, La Patacrepe, Pasta Cozy, Petit Bistrot, Simply (road-trip sandwiches/salads) 

Seattle Stew

                                                 

Le Pichet

Before you go: When I tell people that I’m taking a trip to Seattle, they tend to look at me as if I’d just shared some terrible news, like maybe I’d just downloaded the new Apple Maps. They’ve all read or heard about Seattle’s dreary weather. Invariably, they ask, “It rains a lot there, doesn’t it?”

Trust me on this: for much of the year, the weather in Seattle is quite nice, and in October it’s much like our own northeast weather, in other words, ideal. It warms to the 60’s during the day, before dipping into the mid-40’s at night with deep blue skies and plenty of clean Puget Sound-washed air.

For our latest trip to Seattle, we chose Columbus Day Weekend, which actually took place a week before Columbus Day. Go figure. We arrived at noon on Friday and departed Monday. This is how many clouds we counted in the autumn blue sky there: zero. Couldn’t buy a cloud for all the crumpets in The Crumpet Shop (Pike Place Market) or all the salami in Salumi Meats (3^rd Ave. S., near Pioneer Square).

Cafe Presse

Tip: Get a Streetwise Seattle folding laminated map/guide before you go.  It will fit nicely in your jacket pocket or your bag. It will quickly familiarize you with Metro Seattle, Downtown/Pike Place, and the distinctive neighborhoods, where you will eat, walk, shop, and try to park, if you rent a car.

Getting There: When flying to Seattle from the New York area, you will fly JetBlue. Readers of this travel blog might remind me that I once wrote an amusing piece called JetBoo, in which I may have cast aspersion on said carrier. That was then, this is now.

Departing, it’s best to book an early morning JB flight. Do not, repeat, do not book the redeye returning. You book an early afternoon flight home. You carry-on luggage, a sandwich, water, a cookie, and you sit back and enjoy the seat made for human beings of regular human being size and not made for those stick figures in Vogue or J.Crew catalogues. You book two aisle seats in the same row, one for your companion.

Volvo wagon, Capitol Hill

Upon arrival you can take an airport Shuttle for $27 for two (30 minutes), Seattle’s municipal rail system, or you can splurge for a taxi downtown ($50, 20 minutes). For your return, the shuttles leave every half-hour from most downtown hotels and drop you at a convenient central airport location.

Eat! When I think of Seattle, I do not think of rain, I think of food. A lot of really good food, much of it made from local ingredients produced by Washington’s farms, vineyards, and rivers. Not to mention the fairly nearby Pacific Ocean. Some things from Oregon and Vancouver may sneak into this Northwest pudding. Note: every Seattle neighborhood from Fremont to Ballard to upper/lower Queen Ann and Capitol Hill has an astounding number of great places, which are very affordable.

Here are a few of them:

Belltown/Pike. Le Pichet is at the southern tip of Belltown on 1^st Avenue and also a short walk to/from Pike Place Market. It’s conveniently located near many downtown hotels ( a subject for another day) and a great place to have lunch or grab a quick bite at the counter. Charcuterie rules here, but, if you’re smart, you’ll have the salade vert too. This is not the skimpy thing you’re used to, but a bountiful stack of Bibb lettuce covered in owner Jim Drohman’s mustard vinaigrette dressing with a not so secret ingredient, crushed hazelnuts. Simple, memorable, refreshing.

Oddfellows

Pike Place Market. This area is a focal point for visitors and residents alike and almost as famous as Seattle’s “rain.” It’s like a local Notre Dame without the spires or Trafalgar Square without the pigeons. Instead you get fish: fresh, local, Alaskan, raw, cooked, tossed. You also get fresh local produce and lots of other good stuff to eat.

On my first visit to PPM about fifteen years ago, I wore my green “Apawamis Squash” cap. A friendly farmer at one of the many stands inquired, “Apawamis squash? I don’t know that one. Is that a summer or winter squash?” Didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a game played at certain organically elite clubs and schools. PPM’s charm has never worn off.

On morning walks from your hotel, you might want to stop in PPM and share a warm sweet or savory crepe or crumpet at Crepe de France or the aforementioned Crumpet Shop. It’s not a bad idea to repeat the exercise in the afternoon. Later, if you want one of Seattle’s finest dinners, try Matt’s In The Market, but make sure to make a reservation.

Want a roomful of TV screens tuned to the Steelers, other NFL games and Barcelone v. Madrd live? Go to Fado, a pub on lower 1ist Avenue on Sunday mornings. Bring a taste for beer, ale, mead, or any other filling bubbly drink.

View from Queen Ann

Capital Hill: We lunched/brunched one day at Oddfellows, with its lively wide-open dining room. Try the biscuits and eggs or the B.L.A.T. (A for avocado). Luckily, Oddfellows is next door to one of the country’s finest independent bookstores, Elliot Bay Book Co., which relocated here from its former perch near Pioneer Square. Booklovers should allot at least an hour for browsing here and one square foot in their carry-on for booty. If you’re not a booklover, shame.

Another day we lunched at Skillet Diner. Get the kale Caesar with fried chicken or wild sockeye salmon.

Shopping in Ballard

Queen Ann: Our son Ted had moved to this area since our last trip; he and his wonderful fiancée Sara took us to one of several area Via Tribunalis for thin-sliced pizza and delicious salads. If you prefer something more distinctive, try nearby How To Cook A Wolf, generally regarded as one of Seattle’s finest dining spots these days.

Even if you do not know anyone in Seattle to guide you, or are too shy to ask the concierge, just take a ride to any of Seattle’s vibrant, hip neighborhoods including those named above and Ballard and Fremont as well. Close your eyes, spin once or twice, walk a block or two, you will find a very good place to write about. Just like this.

Ed Notes:

http://www.salumicuredmeats.com

http://www.mattsinthemarket.com

http://lepichetseattle.com/home/

http://skilletstreetfood.com/diner.php

http://cafepresseseattle.com/home/

http://www.viatribunali.net

Get Waxed!

Is There A Barbour In The House?

Old Beaufort

©2012twmcdermott

Time for a wax job!

No, not that kind; I mean it may be time to get your Barbour coat re-waxed, or as they refer to the process in South Shields, UK, re-proofing.

For those brave souls who want to try re-proofing on their own, we have one word: Hah!

We tried that once: stood the Thornproof Dressing in hot water, cleaned off our Beaufort with a damp cloth (never with soap!), tried to apply the wax-dressing somewhat evenly with a brush, and then tried to blow dry the applied "wax" evenly (some say to use a warm iron). The result was just about what you'd imagine it to be, amateurish, as in total mess. Pheasants and ducks would have fallen out of the sly laughing at that splotchy coat.

If you bring your Barbour into a nearby purveyor of thornproof coats (Orvis in Darien CT or on Fifth Avenue in NYC, or Parker's in Rye NY), they will forward it to Barbour's Re-proofing & Repair facility in New Hampshire. Or, you can send it directly by using the form provided on Barbour's website (link below).

Barbour and Orvis currently estimate that this process will take 4-6 weeks . In other words, since you didn't do it last spring, you better get going in order to get it back to meet the first real fall chill. Actually, most people do forget to re-proof in spring or summer, and there is always a bit of a rush as fall begins (FYI, tomorrow morning) A simple reproofing, without repair charges, will  cost $36 including return shipping, a pretty good value in this world, Barbourites.

Older

Barbours have become commonplace on campuses, in upper middle class communities, and on city streets. Many men and women wear them to the office. Some people even make fun of those who wear Barbours, as they would others who habitually wear Gucci loafers, Vinyard Vines ties, or Patagonia clothing. To them we say, get waxed and don't take your selves so seriously.

I purchased my own Barbour (above)  for a trip around China in November 1998 at the old Orvis shop on East 45th Street. I needed a versatile coat for a cruise down the Yangtse from Chongqing through the pre-flooded Three Gorges to the site of the mammoth damn being built at that time.

I learned two important things about Barbour coats on that trip: 1) they are versatile and really do keep you warm and dry as long as its not actually freezing; 2) The weight of their cotton, dressing, and metal zippers/snaps, so vital to fighting off sharp thorns, drizzle and chill, make them impractical  to carry around, when not actually wearing them.

As soon as we moved off river to Yichang and especially Shanghai, where it was much warmer, I no longer needed my Barbour, but had to transport it.

Meet The Bedales

This does not mean that you should always leave your Barbour home when traveling. You just need to think about the circumstances. If it won't be too warm wearing it in airports, or if you can carry it with you easily, or you know that you'll be needing it where you'll arrive, then by all means go for it. The good news is that in the right destinations: much of Europe in late fall, winter, early spring, for example, you will have a trustworthy coat, which you can wear during  the day or night just about anywhere except more formal restaurants or business engagements.

Some travelers prefer to wear Barbour's lighter, quilted coats when traveling. These coats still keep you warm, but lack real rain protection. I must admit to believing that many men look silly wearing quilted coats; just saying, and you know who you are, or should.

But, your Barbour experience in cool and or wet weather will always depend on having the coat properly weather-proofed. So, best not to go more than two seasons between proofings. If you can't tell whether your Barbour needs reproofing, just take it in to one of the shops listed above; someone on the staffs there should be able to advise you about that. If they can't, they shouldn't be selling Barbours.

Barbour's reproofing center:

http://www.barbour.com/us/repairs-reproofing-us

Print version of this column from The Rye Record:

http://www.ryerecord.com/life-style/is-there-a-barbour-in-the-house.html

Barbour Care & Love:
http://vimeo.com/42981591

Hotel Design: Who Took The Soap?

Our recent overnight stay at a three year old boutique hotel in New York City reminded us of a few things we've been meaning to note:

* How do you tell the European tourists from their American counterparts, aside from the from their being much thinner? The Euros are the ones in colored sneakers or trainers, while the Americans are wearing the new white athletic shoes, which look as though they've never been used. They haven't.

* The exception to that rule are German tourists, who are the worst-dressed of the Europeans. When you see a couple wearing sandals, with socks, those are the Germans. Do we know why the wealthiest Europeans dress so poorly that they are easily mistaken for Americans? Nein.



* Apparently, all contemporary hotel room-designers share a strange trait; they wear glasses while taking a shower. How else could we explain the tiny print on the small containers of shampoo, conditioner, and something called bath gel in the showers? We are getting a little tired of washing our hair with conditioner and covering ourselves in oily shampoo instead of soap! Bath gel? Whose idea was that! What was wrong with having a bar of soap in the shower? Worked for hundreds of years; get it back, please

Water Hazard

* Speaking of hotel showers. Remember when hotel showers had one water source, hanging from above? Now many hotel showers come equipped with six spigots or more! Depending on your height, this could be dangerous to your bodily health, not to mention that we need a manual to figure out how to turn on that single source. Figuring out how to use the shower, however, does give us time to read the small containers while still wearing our glasses.

* Can we talk about hotel Heat/AC units without using four letter words, and we don't mean w-o-r-k  w-e-l-l? Those thick quilts on the beds are there for use in July, when the AC insists on a room temperature of around 57'F. And those windows that actually open a crack? Those are for use in January, when the Heat unit has gone on intimate-dry cycle. Our most recent room used a point and click system, in which we  ( well, one of us, anyway) pointed a remote at the ceiling-hung unit in each of three rooms. You've heard of Four Seasons Hotels? Well, we had Three Seasons going in our living room, bedroom and bath. The bath had the only temperate zone.

* Having so many European tourists benefits New York City's economy and we're glad to have them. But, it's high time that we taught them how to walk in the city. A stroll is not a walk. Come to think of it, we need to train the American tourists as well, who are breaking in those new white sneakers at snails' pace.

Several years ago, while advising a hotel group about their room design, we suggested a solution for this problem: place sidewalk walking instructions on every hotel room door, just like the required fire safety and hotel rate notices: 1) Keep to the right. Always walk on the right side of sidewalks. 2) "Strolling" is not allowed on sidewalks; stroll in parks and museums only.  3) Walk at a "brisk" pace on sidewalks at all times, just as the locals do. 3) If you have not exercised in many years, and you know who you are, we strongly suggest use of an all-day pass on the subway system.

* What will all of these Manhattan boutique hotels with contemporary European design and style do, when the wave of actual European tourists subsides? Sadly, this day must come, and soon, due to EU economic difficulties and the weakening of the Euro itself? Will China provide the next tourist wave? Will they want  their hotel rooms to reflect their own familiar style? How do you say "renovation costs" in Mandarin?

* How do you spot a European tourist in a NYC restaurant? They are the only ones paying for bottled water.

Upgrade

The idea came to me while I was walking past the landmark hotel in the upper eastside neighborhood near the private library where I sometimes do my work. Why not celebrate our thirtieth-anniversary night at the very hotel where we stayed on our wedding night?

Why not indeed.

At home that evening, it occurred to me that I had kept the original checkout statement from our night's stay. A quick look in the vault revealed the old statement and the GM's letter of December '81 (left) confirming the room and my deposit.

Our room rate way back when? $195, which may sound like a bargain today, but may have represented a half week's pay at the time! I wondered what a room might cost today. Kayak/Etc Answer: $540, and that was for the least expensive room.

So, I wrote a very clever message to the current GM and Sales Staff, saying I'd found my original bill, how wonderful the old place was, wouldn't it be nice to wander down Memory Lane there, but could we do it for less than $540, please, mainly because I'm writing this really clever letter?

The answer came back promptly: sorry, no. But, they would be happy to upgrade us in honor of the event, at the published rate. Who knows, maybe they just get these cute requests all the time and finally created a strict no-go policy. Whatever.

The MAve

I was underwhelmed by their apparent lack romance and a sense of whimsy or humor about the matter.
They've grown a bit snooty with all of their recent success after a renovation, I thought.

I set out to find another, better, much more fun place for less. I found it, luckily, at the other end of Madison, at 27th Street just up from the real Madison Square. The MAve Hotel is one of many new small (72 rooms) hotels which have popped up in Manhattan over the last decade or so, catering to the waves of European tourists and their once maxi-strength Euro.

The MAve's lobby is all glass and white and bright red. It's front desk is tiny, with room for one very efficient check-in host/concierge/parking attendant/tour guide. While I was there I saw people coming/going who were French, Dutch, German, Spanish (from the real Spain), all of whom had very spiffy heavy-duty brightly colored plastic luggage. European governments must give this luggage out for free like education and healthcare.

Are Europeans cowering with fear about their economic woes? Take a walk around Manhattan and you'll find a quick answer: non, nein.

69th Regiment Armory

Years of hotel observation have trained me that a) all people checking in look happy just to have arrived someplace, and b) the faces and body language of those checking out is a better way to gage one's potential experience.  Those checking out seemed happy in several languages.

I was duly informed that our room was not yet ready, but not to worry, the GM had upgraded us, at no cost, to the penthouse suite. Score one for the New Hotel! Why had they done this? I had simply noted our anniversary in the remarks field while making a reservation on the hotel's own online site. Simple as that.

I decided to take a short walk in the neighborhood, which was not new to me, although I'd not been there much lately. I was curious to see if the old armory was still there, where, as a student in a military high school I'd had to drill every dreary Tuesday afternoon for four years. I used to hop on the subway at Union Square and alight one express stop later at 23rd Street, then walk along Madison or Park Avenue and across 26th Street to the side entrance.

PH Suite LR

In those days, Madison was lined with tall stately stone buildings, mostly housing insurance companies. I can still remember walking back down Madison at rush hour, happy to be free from drill drudgery, jostling and being jostled on the wintry streets in yellowish streetlight by people in a hurry to get home (at 5PM!) to have dinner with their families.

Sure enough, there was the armory, nearly fifty years later, and it looked exactly the same, the old  69th. Funny how the years make somewhat brittle memories into fond reminiscences. Life's rough patches have a habit of returning as The Good Old Days.

The Madison Square area has acquired a restaurant pedigree. Some of my favorites are nearby, like Gramercy Tavern and Eleven Madison Park. But, we had been eager to try one of David Chang's Momufuku-Family places, Ma Peche at 15 W. 56th, next to another contemporary hotel, Chambers. We were the only ones in the place over the age of thirty-five, which pleased us. Highly recommended: small plate soft shell crabs, lobster steam bun and large plate duck, but, actually, it's all really, really good. As with other Chang emporia, prepare for loud music from nearby speakers, but do not let it prevent you from going as often as you can afford to go.

Taking a stroll down Memory Lane in places we fondly remember is a nice concept, but those  memories are sometimes best left alone. Exploring new/updated neighborhoods, surrounding ourselves with young people in hip places has a way of energizing us. It also has the added benefit of creating new memories.

You can't get more upgraded than that.

Ed Note: Everyone we met at The Mave was wonderful and they took really good care of us. They clearly love working there. The regular rooms are small, 21-0220 sq.ft, but the PH is over 500 Sq. ft. There is valet parking and room service. 

http://www.momofuku.com/restaurants/ma-peche/
http://www.themavehotel.com/
http://www.sixtyninth.net/armory.html

Dining At The Lounge? First, Grab A Snack At Home

The Lounge

     Word has just come that our beloved Harbour Lounge at the foot of the long dock on Saint James to which we come and from which we go each year has been sold and will become a private house. After nearly fourteen years-worth of visits, I'm beginning to know how the real old timers feel, when they speak to me about the "old" island's life and its passing.

     Truth is that The Lounge had a few extra years beyond the owner's desire to sell it; and that, on many nights, we were nearly by ourselves there, waiting as patiently as visitors can wait for our food, or drinks, or perhaps just a passing glimpse of our waitress. On too many other nights, while riding home in our cart from another island dining place, maybe Valentine's or, only occasionally due to its prices and own patented brand of waiting The Landing, The Lounge had already been closed for an hour, the girls gone back to Eleuthera by water taxi, Ritchie, Spooner and the guys gone from evening vespers at the bar.

     The Lounge was our place of choice for our first island night and our last, from the first visit to the one we made last year. One did not seek out The Lounge for its fine cuisine, although I never tired of its grilled or baked grouper, the mahi-mahi, the conch fritters or the grouper fingers. On two occasions, we had Bill bake our own wahoo, caught on Jeff Fox's boat or that of another ocean-rig guide.

Sip-Sip

     It was never fashionable, nor did its chefs have the talent and training of those at The Landing, Rock House, or out at the beach at Coral or Pink Sands, where the expectations of global luxury ran high, and where service would never, ever quite rise to the occasion. It did not have the casual island homey feel as Sip Sip does; and, besides, Sip-Sip, on the whole, is the best restaurant on the island (and the smartest, being open for lunch only).

     The Lounge did not have a single dish to win a prize, as Queen Conch's fresh salads might very well do in competition; that is, if the Queen went in of that sort of thing, which she does not, could not, will not. Hers is more of a spiritual quest for perfection, filled with the grace of the conch itself and in every small movement as she chops her peppers, tomatoes, onions; squeezes the juice of many limes and, not least, performs a wristy-shake of her own hot sauce.

     None of The Lounge's desserts, including its key lime pie, could measure up to the delicate donuts at Mr. Arthur's Bakery, or, indeed, of his own key lime pie, best frozen for a day and served that way.  I say this even if the Lounge, unbeknownst to me all these years has been serving Arthur's pie, which I doubt.

     And yet, The Lounge retained a kind of allure for us, much like Les Deux Magots has done for legions of Hemingway fans. I do not exaggerate in this, I assure you. We were there for something that probably had not been there for many, many years, but made us feel pretty good that it had, at least, once been there.

Bay Str

     We are already negotiating where we will go on arrival night and on departure eve this year. Opinions vary.

Maybe Valentine's and sit out by the bar (for some strange reason, even by island standards, service is faster out there than inside near to the kitchen). Or, perhaps the new place that replaced Hammerhead's over at the Marina that many people like. Not Angela's Starfish; I love her, although not so much her cats or her unruly grandchildren, and even, on occasion, am amused by the loud preaching emanating from nearby speakers. We'll savor Angela's chicken and slaw another night.

     Brian's barbecue? No, we need to stop by his house and order in advance for that. On other nights we may cook Chico's lobsters or grouper at home, but not first or last nights; while I admire many fine qualities in Chico's possession, promptness is not one of them; casual more closely describes his scheduling technique.

In The Flats/Low Tide

     This cuisine crisis is, as they say, a good problem to have, and, by the time we deplane on the Big Island, find Captain Ed and his six-seat (a generous description) Comanche, land on the other island, alight from the taxi at a dock, descend the stairs to the water taxi with all of our baggage and foodstuffs, and receive a welcome hug from Reggie on the dock on the island, near The Lounge itself, it and other things will no longer be crises.

     That is how islands transcend these relatively minor changes and why we are drawn to them. It is also why we will not actually tell anyone precisely where they are or their real names.