So I Spent A Few Days...

... in Las Vegas over the Christmas holiday, and for the first time ever I managed to not go to any buffets. Imagine that! It wasn't by choice or anything-- I happen to like Vegas buffets. A lot. But this time around due to various reasons, I did the restaurant thing instead.

For one of those nights, we went to Rosemary's, about 15 minutes west of the Strip on Sahara. I'm not gonna go into a lot of detail about this place except to say that I last came here a few years ago and was dying to go back. It's one of my favorite restaurants anywhere, and that's saying a lot. At $55 for the Pre Fix dinner (not including some really nice coupons that can be found in several places on the internet), it's a pretty good deal for a night of fancy restaurant dining. We're talking the whole 9 yards with impeccable service by an army of servers, and very good French inspired American food.

The place I do want to talk about is called the Oyster Bar, found in Palace Station casino, which is just west of the 15 on Sahara. They serve up Cajun-Creole seafood stews, jambalaya, and gumbo.

The restaurant itself is simply a long counter in the shape of a half circle that seats about 18 people at a time. It literally opens up out onto the main casino floor. Behind the counter are 6 interesting looking little kettles that are permanently affixed to a pipe where hot steam runs to heat the bottom of each pot. The chefs prepare your order right in front of you in these steam kettles. The whole experience reminded me of a sushi bar.

But before you can sit down at the counter, you have to wait in line. From what I can tell, there's *always* a line during lunch and dinner. The wait can be as long as an hour if you come at peak times. I think it's a telling sign that everybody I stood in line with was a Las Vegas local. They all rave about this place and come here as often as they can manage. The dude in front of me moved to Vegas 10 days ago, came to Palace Station for a job interview, and stopped here to have a salad and clam chowder. Suffice it to say he couldn't wait to come back for a proper meal, and even spent over an hour that evening on a local bus to come back here for dinner. The local couple behind me said that a place like Palace Station didn't deserve a restaurant that made food this good. When you come here, be aware that the seating is first come first serve. So if you have a large group, you may just want to split into smaller groups in order to get seated instead of waiting for an entire row of 6 seats or whatever to open up.

Once you get to the counter, the whole experience is pretty leisurely. What can you expect with up to 18 people to serve and only 6 pots? I ordered a half dozen oysters on the half shell to pass the time. These fat little guys were pried open in front of you and served on ice with a red chili sauce and horseradish. Yummy.

As for the entrees, here is the menu:

As you can see, most of the dishes are made in a tomato based seafood broth. The Pan Roasts are made with a tomato cream stock, which make them a little heavier. The husband of the local couple I was talking about earlier has been getting the same thing for the past 10 years, so I figured I should try the crab meat pan roast too. The wife swears by the Bouillabaisse, which I'll definitely try next time. If you've ever gone to a restaurant and ordered seafood, got your dish, and wondered where all the seafood went... the Oyster Bar is not one of those places. My bowl was chock full of real crab meat. Every other dish I watched our chef prepare was also laden with seafood.

You can have the spice level made to order too. I had the medium, which I thought was perfect. But for those of you who prefer to breathe fire, that can be arranged too. No Americanization of spice levels here.

My crab pan roast was sooo satisfying. After the stew is poured from the kettle into your big bowl, the chef tops it off with a large scoop of rice to soak up all the goodness. It is truly a perfect dish for a cold winter's night in Vegas. Mouthfuls of Cajun spiced crab with every spoonful. It was heavenly.

Finally, I have to mention the portions. If it weren't for the fact that I hadn't eaten all day, there was no way I could have finished the 6 oysters, the pan roast, and the beer I ordered. Two people could easily share any of the entrees. In fact, I think a dozen oysters, one entrée, and drinks is the perfect amount of food for two people.

The next time y'all go to Vegas, check this place out. You won't be disappointed! :)

How Do I Know...

...if she loves me?

Some Dancing...

Me and Cindy having a little fun...

Geek

My workplace has a wide tea selection in the breakroom.  I always choose the green tea.  Everybody chooses the green tea.  So occasionally, like this morning, we'll run out.  At that point, I'll usually choose the Earl Grey.  Not because I particularly like Earl Grey (green tea is the only type I really enjoy)... but because Captain Picard drank it.

No joke.

I mean, if I had to pick a tea from a selection I'm not crazy about, this is as good a reason as any, right?

Right?

p.s. If you've never heard of Captain Jean Luc Picard, it's a wonder that we're even friends.

Reason 42 Why I'm Not So Smooth With The Ladies...

"What IS that perfume you're wearing?"

"Tiger Balm"

It Makes My Blood Boil...

... that we have teachers in this country who have to deal with hostile blind religious fanaticism in the classroom.  As if teaching biology to teenagers isn't hard enough already.  I swear.  It's like some people in America are still living in the friggen Dark Ages.

I'm pretty agnostic when it comes to this stuff, but even I can see that science and the existence of God doesn't have to be mutually exclusive, people!

Arrgh!

Number Two

Usually, the general procedure for when you need to do a number two out in the wilderness is to: 

1)  Hike completely out of your way to find a spot where nobody can see you 

2)  Dig a 6 inch hole in hard, rocky ground with your flimsy plastic trowel

3)  Do your business

4)  Cover it back up

5)  Pack out your used toilet paper

I hear ya.  It's not the most pleasant activity in the world.  In fact, it's my least favorite part about backpacking – dealing with this crap.

So I was pleasantly surprised to learn that there was going to be a pit toilet within walking distance of our campsite last weekend.  A pit toilet is basically an outhouse… a big pit in the ground topped by a commode.  You know what outhouses are.  They usually have 4 walls and a door… only this one didn't.  Instead what it had were remnants of walls, scattered all around the general vicinity of the toilet, which was now sitting out there in nature in all its naked glory.  It was quite a site.

It had quite a view too.  With the walls now gone, toilet visitors can now do their business while looking out over an alpine lake overshadowed by a 12,000 foot peak.  Not only did I watch a family of deer graze by the shore at sunset as I sat on my throne, one even passed within 20 yards of me like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

For reals.

No shittin'.

A Life Lived

So there we were, sitting in our rafts at the pushoff point, waiting to begin our 3rd and final whitewater run of the day.  A lady comes paddling up in her solo kayak, asking us if we saw her friend up river.  Which is well and good, but what really struck me was her age.  Judging by the lines on her face, she must have been well into her 60s, if not 70s.  And here she was, kayaking class IV rapids on the Kern on a perfect summer day.  When our guide complimented her on her sweet looking carbon fiber paddle, she said thanks, and that she got it for her birthday.  

Can you imagine that birthday party?

Happy Birthday Gramma!  We all chipped in a got you this insanely high tech paddle.  It weighs less than air!  We hope you like it!

Dude, if I ever get to the point where my grandchildren felt like I could get really jazzed over a carbon fiber paddle on my 65th birthday... I'd consider that a life lived.

You Know What I Hate?

I hate bugs that come and bite you for no good reason.

So there I was standing by a stream, waiting for my friends to cross, minding my own business... when I experience what feels like a hot needle being jabbed into my pinky finger.  I instinctively shook my hand like a spastic monkey, and saw something fly off out of the corner of my eye.  So I wasn't exactly sure what it was.  What I do know, is that now my left pinky is all red and puffy, and currently about double the size in volume of my right pinky.

I also know that I had done nothing to provoke that little son of a bitch, whatever it was.  It just decided to come and ruin my day for no good reason.

Bastard.

You Know You Should Start Doing Some Pushups...

...when your shoulder muscles are sore after throwing a Frisbee only 39 times the day before.

So all day yesterday, I was wondering to myself, "Why the hell is my right shoulder sore?"  I mean, it's not *sore* sore, but there's definitely something going on there.  I began recalling all the activities I did the day before.  Okay... there was that hike to the gold mine that required some rock hopping/scrambling, but that was mostly leg muscles.  Then we pigged out on pastrami sandwiches at Langers.  Then... ah, right.  We played Frisbee Golf, or as my Canadian friend Dave likes to call it, "Disc Golf".  Of all things, my shoulder is sore from playing Frisbee golf.  And I know I only threw it 39 times because that was my score.  12 over par 27.

All or Nothing

During my monthly visit to the laundromat last week, I was struck by a sudden hankering for Indo fried rice from the Indonesian restaurant in the strip mall there.  A peek in my wallet showed only $4.  Dinner was going to be more than $4, and this place only took cash.  So I continued walking down to the quickiemart next door.

Two $2 scratch tickets later, I was $50 richer.

The fried rice wasn't even that good.

I Learned Something Today

So for most of March, I was coughing from my yearly bout with post nasal drip.  In fact, I coughed so much, I strained my left rib muscles to the point where I couldn’t cough or breath deeply without it hurting.  A lot.

Anyways, I was reading something yesterday...


And somewhere in there it claimed that it’s almost impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.  There were several things on this list that I *could* do, so I thought this was kinda BS too.

Naturally, as I was about to sneeze today, I remembered this littlefactoid, and went for it.

I learned something today:  Do not try to prove a stupid internet article wrong by sneezing with your eyes open with a strained rib muscle.  Ooouch.

p.s.  The stupid internet article was wrong.

A Taste of Italy

So I was chatting with my co-workers today, and one of them mentioned gelato, which got me thinking...

Didn’t I read something in the LA Times about a gelato place that was supposed to be really good?  Wasn’t it in Altadena?  Being the type of food geek who emails himself whenever he comes across a nice food article, a quick search through gmail for "gelato" came up with one email, sent by me to me, exactly 1 year ago.  In it was one simple link.

http://www.bulgarinigelato.com/index.html

There it is.  Altadena.  Only 10 minutes away from home.  I’ll just swing over on the way back from work.

The gelato store is located in the corner of a little courtyard hidden in the back of a strip mall anchored by Rite-Aid.  When you walk in, you’re greeted by one simple freezer filled with tantalizing flavors of gelato and sorbetta.  After several minutes of indecision, I settled on 1 small scoop each of zabaglione (egg custard cream and Marsala wine), hazelnut, and pistachio.

Now I’ve had a lot of gelato and ice cream in my life, including Fosselmans, the LA gold standard for ice cream... this place ranks right up there.  While Fosselmans knocks you out with good ’ol fashioned rich, creamy, delicious butterfat, Bulgarini seduces you with ethereal, yet intense flavors that can only come from primo ingredients.  The gelato had this strange quality of tasting creamy without being creamy.  It was very good.  :)

As I was savoring my gelato, I walked around, reading the newspaper articles that were prominently featured throughout the store.  I found out that the owner actually imports pistachio nuts from Italy in order to get the best flavors.  Ironically, many Italian gelato places import cheaper California pistachios to save money.  He must be doing something right, because the pistachio gelato was a winner.  You’ve gotta try it.

After finishing my 3 scoops, I walked back to my car, knowing that forever more, I will not be able to drive home after an Echo Mountain or Inspiration Point hike without stopping by Bulgarini!  On the way back down Lake Avenue, my mind must have still been in Italian mode because I remembered another something I read once a long time ago.  Wasn’t there supposed to be an Italian market or something on Lake?  There it was!  Roma Market.  In I go.

My first reaction?  Wow!  My senses were overwhelmed with all sorts of imported Italian food stuffs.  Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a little deli counter with a bunch of meats and cheeses.  I purposely veered away from that corner of the store, saving it for last.  I knew if I went there first, I would be a goner!

As I walked through the store, I saw all sorts of vegetables, Italian wines, pastries, candies... literally anything you would ever need to make any Italian dish.  Big packages of lady fingers and small tubs of mascarpone cheese.  Visions of homemade Tiramisu danced in my head.  Bottles of fine olive oil and balsamic vineger.  Fresh loaves of olive oil bread.  Bottles and cans of sardines and anchovies.  Vacuum sealed bags of meatballs.  Bags of homemade ravioli.  Pastas of every shape and color.  I could go on and on.

But let’s talk about the star of the store.  The deli counter, and the very opinonated old Italian gentleman/proprietor who mans it.  He’s a bit of the soup nazi type, if you know what I mean - but he means well.

Stand at the counter long enough, and look at anything even for a second, and Rosario will cut you a piece to try.  I asked whether or not what he was shaving for one of the customers a few minutes ago was prosciutto (those of you who know me, know that I have a soft spot for this stuff), and he replied by shaving me a paper thin slice of translucent hammy heaven.  

"Yes.  Prosciutto.  Not salty, no fat, like the store!", as he handed me the slice, which went directly into my mouth.  

I was sold.

"A quarter pound of that please!"

As he began slicing more wafers of goodness, I started looking at the cheeses, thinking to myself, you know what goes well with prosciutto?  Provolone.

Rosario must have read my mind, because the next thing he asked was,

"Do you want to try some cheese?"

Any remaining resistance left me as I heard myself say,

"Ya.  I was thinking about some provolone?"

What he said next caused a paradigm shift in my cheesy world.

"What kind of provolone?  I have mmanny different types.  You want to try the best?  Here, you try.  It is aged 10 years."

You guys have seen provolone right?  Round slices?  Pasty off-white in color?  A light smell?  That was the extent of my familiarity with provolone.

Rosario pulls out a big ’ol half wheel of cheese.  Thump!  Carefully unwraps it.  It’s the color of custard.  He cuts me a small chunk to try.  It was unlike any provolone I ever had.  Nutty.  Ever so slightly crumbly consistancy.  Dissolved in your mouth.

One look at me tasting that cheese, and our deli-nazi began cutting me a big slice.  Who am I to argue?

As I was ringing up my purchases, Rosario called out from behind the deli counter.

"You know what you’re missing?  Some of that bread!"

I looked at the olive oil bread.  That loaf was HUGE.  I told him that I simply can’t eat that much.  The lady picked three small rolls of some other type of bread instead.  Looked about right to me.

1/4 pound of prosciutto
1/3 pound of provolone
3 small loaves of bread

$10.  I’m gonna have a nice lunch tomorrow.  :)

Havasu Falls Trip Report

I went on my first backpack trip of the year last weekend.  It was a Sierra Club bus trip to Havasu Falls, which is in the Havasupai Indian Reservation in the western part of the Grand Canyon.  I first read about Havasu’s blue waterfalls in a magazine a couple of years ago.  It instantly made my list of Places I Have To See, which was why I was pretty excited to finally get to go.

For those who don’t know, the falls are near Supai village, which is located deep inside a canyon with no automobile access.  If I recall, they’re one of the last, if not the last, places in the United States where the Postal Service still deliver mail via pack mules.  Visitors who wish to see the falls must get to the village either by foot, by mule, or by helicopter... with prices rising accordingly!

By foot...


By mule...


By heli!


Getting to the top of the canyon was a simple matter of falling asleep, and waking up.  We left LA late Thursday night on a chartered bus, and arrived at the top of the canyon early the next morning.  After saddling up our packs, we began our 10 mile hike down the face of the canyon, and then on to Supai village.  It’s the ideal hike, actually.  You walk down into the canyon loaded with food, and eventually walk back out with no food.  Since it was only a 2 night trip, and since I didn’t need to store my food in a heavy bear canister like I would for a trip into the Sierras, I didn’t pay much attention to food weight, and pretty much packed whatever I felt like eating... within reason of course.  :)  Fresh fruit and juice boxes that are normally considered a luxury due to their water weight made the list.  Even so, I didn’t go quite all out like a fellow packer who brought eggs, cheese, bacon, and made scrambled eggs for breakfast.

Backpacking tip 81
Make friends with the guy who brings fresh eggs on a backpacking trip.

When we finally got to Supai village, my first impression was, well... kinda depressing.  Sad looking houses, many with pack mules grazing in the backyard.  The Indians there do not look like they are very well off.  It’s rather ironic that the very qualities that make their native home a natural paradise also severely limit the options that these folks have to sustain themselves.  It looks like many of them run the pack mule service that brings visitors and/or their equipment in and out of the canyon.  Others help run the 2 or 3 stores that cater to both natives and tourists.

One of them is a cafe that served fry bread.  Many in our group tried it.  Turned out to be a lightly salted flat piece of fried dough.  Not bad actually.  If they had covered it in powdered sugar like a funnel cake, then I woulda been all over it!  The cafe also sold exactly 1 variety of very ugly t-shirt.  I swear, they can really make some good money if they would only spend some time coming up some decent souveniers.

Half of our group checked into the lodge located in the village, while the other half hiked another 2 miles to the campgrounds.  That’s right... even if you’re not the most outdoorsy guy or gal in the world, you can still ride a helicopter down into the village, stay in a hotel, and still get to experience some of the most amazing waterfalls in the world.  But for me, camping along the creek under lush cottonwoods and falling asleep to the sound of running water was the better choice!

The creek by our campsite


After setting up our tents, we had happy hour (my contribution was a package of proscuitto and another package of pepperoni) and cooked our dinners.  Then we all kinda just hung out, talking to around 9 or 10pm before people started heading back to their tents.  The funny thing about backpacking... your schedule gets all messed up.  I mean, normally, I go to bed at like 1am.  Out in the woods, you run out of options real quick once the sun sets.  There’s not much to do except to go to sleep.  Plus, we had a long day tomorrow.

On Saturday, there was a 10 mile hike to go see Beaver Falls, one of the 4 waterfalls in Havasu.  But the way I figure, I was gonna hike 10 miles back to the bus on Sunday anyways, so I didn’t feel the need to come all this way to waste 5 hours walking.  I mean really.  There were three perfectly fine waterfalls within a mile of our campsite!

A group of us went to see Moony falls first.  It was the tallest and skinniest of the three falls I visited that day.  The climb down to the base of the falls involved a series of tunnels, chains, ladders, and rocky cliff faces.  Kinda fun, and kinda nerve wracking if you’re afraid of heights.  I got there relatively early, before a lot of people arrived, and ended up just sitting there, staring at falling water for about half an hour.  When others got there, we just played in the water and made silly poses for the cameras.

The climb down to Moony


Moony Falls


The Thinker @ Moony Falls


After Moony, we walked to Navajo Falls.  This was my favorite one.  It was not very tall, but it was spread out pretty wide, which made for a nice visual effect.  There was a deep pool for swimming too.  All the falls had deep pools, actually.  Since we got to Navajo around noon, it was warm enough to go in the water, even in the middle of March.  :)  I can see how great it would be to come here in the middle of summer.  It would be torture to hike in and out in that sun, but the swimming must be pretty awesome.

Navajo Falls


More Navajo


Relaxing


Finally, in the late afternoon, I went down to the biggest set of falls, Havasu Falls.  By then it was getting kind chilly, so I decided I was done with water for the day.  I should mention that due to the high levels of precipitating calcium carbonate that give these waters their distinctive blue color, travertine terraces form all along the edge of the base of the waterfalls, as well as along the entire length of Havasu Creek.  So I walked along one of these terraces along the edge of the pool to this sunny area where the last rays of the day were hiding, and sunned myself until the sun set.

Havasu Falls


You can see the terraces here


It was a day well spent.

That night, I cooked up my dinner of ramen and a can of roasted eel.  Sooo good.  Turns out Asian markets are great places to shop for backpacking food.  :)  Went to bed early because we had to get up at 4:30am the next day to pack up and hike out.

The hike out was uneventful, except for the weather turning bad.  Clouds, wind, and cold weather blew in just as we were leaving.  Better than coming in one day earlier I suppose.  With my pack practically empty, probably weighing only around 10 pounds total, I made good time through the first 8 miles.  Then I got to the base of the cliff, looked up, and saw the heart sinking climb I would have to make to get to the top.  I think it was a 2000 foot gain over 2 miles.  Amazingly, the steady beat of Indian drums kept me on task throughout the climb.  Turns out there were a group of Indians there that weekend, passing through Havasu on their walk from San Francisco to Washington DC to raise awareness of Native American issues.

When I got to the top, I was greeted by snow and wind.  I made the mistake of only bringing my shorts, t-shirt, and wind jacket.  So ya, I was freezing my ass off.  One of the other backpackers lent me his fleece, which made a big difference as we all sat there, waiting for an hour for our bus to arrive.  Thanks Jeremy!

Me in Jeremy’s fleece, freezing my ass off


As you can probably tell, I had a great time.  If you ever get a chance, definitely try to go see these waterfalls. You’ll fall in love with them just as I have!  :)

p.s.  Did I mention that during the entire trip, we drank water from an honest to goodness spring?  As in, water getting filtered through rocks and flowing out of the cliff face spring?  As in, you don’t need to treat or boil this water spring?  So tasty!