Recipe for Champurrado

This is what you serve Mexican carolers after they've been out singing in the cold

1/2 cup masa flour (masa harina) plus 1/4 cup hot water to make a paste
2-1/4 cups milk
1-1/2 cups water
1 disk Mexican chocolate (see photo -- it's made with cinnamon)
3 tablespoons piloncillo, chopped (from the cone of brown sugar sold everywhere in Mexico), or 1/3 cup brown sugar plus 2 teaspoons molasses
1/4 teaspoon crushed aniseeds (optional)

Place the water and the masa into the jar of a blender and blend until smooth. Transfer to a medium sized saucepan. Add the milk, chocolate, piloncillo (or sugar, molasses combination) and the aniseeds if you wish to use them. Bring the mixture to a simmer, whisking until the chocolate and sugar is melted and well-blended. Strain the mixture through a medium sieve (optional) and serve hot, in mugs.

Brunch at Dharma

Looking for a new Sunday brunch spot? Try Dharma Café, which translates its “Food for Life” philosophy into a unique all-you-can-eat cornucopia of flavors every Sunday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.

Houston Avenue lies dormant on Sunday, but the restaurant contains just the right amount of bustle -- the perfect spot for coffee and newspaper, a mimosa with friends, or an afternoon meal. Light pours in through the well-windowed space, washing this friendly little place in a natural radiance.

Fill your fancy with traditional breakfast items (like waffles, banana pancakes, cinnamon rolls, and made-to-order eggs) -- or branch out with more progressive fare (like delicious homemade fettuccine in a roasted red pepper sauce, fabulous Cuban black bean soup with pork, and grilled eggplant with peas and chickpeas). The buffet is $17, which also earns you a mimosa, champagne, or orange juice.

A full belly and a soothed soul. What a nice way to welcome in the week ahead.

Dharma Café - 1718 Houston Avenue (at Crocket)

My Navidad Advent-ure

Friday night was bonus night for the Mexican choir I joined this year. Fridays are usually just a rehearsal but this time we met at the church for Misa de la Adviento, which was also a mass for a girl celebrating her Quinceanero. And afterward we gathered outdoors to sing carols at the grotto where the creche has been set up for the season.

But let me start at the beginning. This was my second time to sing for a misa (mass) at the Iglesia de San Fernando, a beautiful church a block from my teacher Lolita's house. The sanctuary is very traditional in design, with a nave at each side of the central altar, graced with two larger-than-life statues of Mary (one is the patron saint of the pescadores, the other is Mary with arms outstretched), two of Jesus, numerous angels with golden wings and a faded image of the Virgen of Guadalupe. Stained glass windows, domes, towers, all the trimmings. The only jarring note is the cold glow of the fluourescent lighting tubes along the walls and arranged around the statuary. The choir sits just behind the baptismal font.

When I arrived I knew something special was planned: lighting had been set up for video and still cameras and seating was arranged in front of the altar. Just before mass began a young girl in a pink strapless gown pouffed with crinolines arrived with her entourage, including Mama and Papa in matching pink, to celebrate her fifteenth birthday. The poor muchacha had to stand for much of the service in her new high heels (part of the custom, representing women's sacrifices for beauty, is the Dolor de Los Pies or Suffering of the Feet). She tugged at the flimsy stole around her shoulders, attempting to appear modest under the critical eye of her relatives, and fought with her numerous petticoats while trying to appear serene and grown up. But I noticed she had down pat the traditional head tilt the girls are taught at Quinceanero time, which is meant to make them look simultaneously innocent and beguiling.

I'd hoped to get a photo of her in her finery but the choir was still singing when everyone exited. Thinking it was all over, I dug for my car keys, but Lolita said, "No, we're going to do the villancicos at the cave now!" The cave is a grotto made of stones in front of the church, especially decorated to look like a manger, and ringed with lights for Advent.

A group of guitar players and singers was already hooked up to electricity, and after the priests circled the grotto sprinkling holy water and spreading incense smoke, they thrust microphones at the choir so we could all join in. Lolita and I sang our English version of O Come All Ye Faithful as a duet, and after a few more carols we warmed up with cups of hot chamburrado (a thick, sweet, delicious hot drink much like atole). A crowd had gathered around, to hear the music, socialize, sip chamburrado, and marvel at the lights and creche figures.

Next we'll sing for a Christmas-themed wedding and a posada at another church. Before I became interested in Mexican Christmas I had just about given up on the holiday, but now it has a whole new meaning, gracias a díos. Read Mexico Bob's description of Advent and its customs for lots more details.

P.S. Today is the day to light the first candle on the corona del adviento, and I made a corona of seashells and candles. The corona is supposed to be a wreath, but I had none so I used a pottery bowl. The candles are supposed to be white and lavender, but I had pink, blue and green. But as Mexico Bob said, I don't think God will mind. Here's how it will look when all the candles are lighted on the fourth Sunday of Advent.

How Do You Say Goodbye?

My Texas oilman cousin Gene died in an Austin hospice last week and his wife Pat created an online memorial for him on www.MeM.com.

Gene and his younger brother Ronnie were raised by our grandmother and we first met at her house when he was a teenager and I was about eight. He was my first crush. Then we had no contact for decades, until he showed up at my mother's house at Christmas 2000 just to get reacquainted. After that we had marathon phone conversations now and then, and in his unforgettable Texas twang he filled me in on all the family history I'd missed by leaving Texas at 19 and spending the rest of my life in California. He always called me L'il Girl.

He was named Odus for his father, but always went by Gene. He never finished school but he managed to achieve a successful career in the Texas oil industry. He was immensely fond of his two grandsons, and loved to dance. He and Pat had only been married a few years.


He had been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, the same as me, and his had advanced to the point that he was on oxygen 24/7, but his spirit and sense of humor were still strong. Then a sudden attack of shingles sent him to the doctor and the cancer was discovered.

I have dozens of emails, mostly junk, that he sent me and I can't bring myself to delete them. At some point last year I became annoyed with his relentless messages railing against Obama and illegal aliens, and for oil exploration. So I stopped replying. But when I went with my sister to see him in October I knew we were saying goodbye though we talked about everything else but that. We didn't agree on a lot of things, but he was still my favorite cousin and I'll always miss him.

Royer’s Round Top Cafe

Best known for its twice-a-year antiques fairs, Round Top is a tiny pinhead on the Texas map, a laid-back country town with a picturesque town square and sweet-as-pie towns people. There’s even a sign posted that says “If you’re in a hurry, go to Houston.” That sign, of course, is at the famous Royer’s Round Top Café.


Royer’s is the heart-and-soul of Round Top, serving “contemporary comfort food” in a cozy, be-signed space. Bud Royer lives by the saying “Life is too short” and plans his menu accordingly. The jalapeno cheese soup was a fiery hit, as was the chicken corn chowder with cilantro. I had the grilled shrimp BLT, with spicy grilled shrimp sitting atop a soft roll with thick, sweet bacon. The sandwich was chock-full and tasty, though the fries were unimpressive.


Royer’s is firstly famous for its pies, and FYI, you’ll pay 50 cents more if you want your slice without ice cream. Why? Because pie is supposed to be eaten with ice cream, that’s why. So after lunch we split the sampler plate, our choice of four slices, generously topped with Amy’s vanilla ice cream.


We chose the Butterscotch, Tollhouse Chocolate Chip, Apple, and Strawberry Rhubarb… and I liked them in that order. With flaky crusts filled with rich flavors and a slick sweetness, the pie alone makes this place worth the trip. Antiques weekend or not.

Royer’s Round Top Café - 105 Main Street, Round Top, Texas

A New Meaning for Black Friday

The day after Thanksgiving is called Black Friday because so many shoppers hit the stores looking for bargains that retail businesses use that day's sales figures to establish whether they're in the black for the year.

It's also known as the first day of the Christmas shopping season, in anticipation of the holiday that most signifies love and peace.

But now Black Friday has a whole new meaning. Hundreds of shoppers in Long Island flooded into Walmart during its 5 am opening, tore the doors off their hinges, stampeded and stomped a Walmart employee to death. Not one of their elderly greeters, but a 34-year-old maintenance man who was trying to help keep order.

LATE NEWS FLASH! Three people were thrown out of a West Sacramento Walmart when they started fighting in the electronics department...at 6am.

And--shades of High Noon--Two couples got into a dispute at Toys 'R' Us in Palm Desert, CA and while the women settled for clawing and shoving, the men pulled guns and shot each other to death. Apparently the fight wasn't over merchandise, they just ran into each other there and decided to duke it out at the toy store. Whatever happened to the old custom of "Let's you and me step outside and settle this?"


Is that why they say, "When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping?"
Steely Dan's "Black Friday"

For These I Give Thanks

The Capt and Chica cozy up...

Wayne at Isla Mujeres inspired me with his list of things he's thankful for today. So I started my own list, a good antidote for the black funk I sank into yesterday. I may add to it throughout the day as more blessings occur to me.

• The Capt. I'm still in love with him after 20 years, and not just because he's un cachicán muy guapo (a smart, clever and handsome man).

• Music in all its forms. The Mexican church choir I'm singing with in Guaymas is doing an Advent mass tomorrow night and we'll sing Christmas carols in Spanish. And when I came home from rehearsal last night the Capt had set up several new gadgets including a harmonizer that (when we get the hang of it) we can use to create our own electronic choir and orchestra. Some of the effects are amazing. We're working on a Brazilian song called "Tristeza" about banishing sorrow and finding a new life.

• Christmas in Mexico. Posada, villancicos, atole, bunuelos, pinatas, the works.

• The boat. When I've been a lubber for months I tend to forget what a pleasure it is to hoist anchor at the crack of dawn and sail away, or be rocked to sleep in the berth or ride the dinghy to some new unexplored shore.

• Blogging. Well, Wayne, it changed my life too. So many of my friends are people I either have never met f2f or have only gotten acquainted with because I read their blogs. The Internet, which has enabled me to stay in touch with friends like Sue in Oregon, Teresa in Seattle and Wendy in BC and brought me whole worlds of interesting information. The MacIntosh.

• Spanish. I love singing in Spanish, enjoy rolling my R's and I'm delighted when I begin to entender what someone's saying to me. They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but we'll see about that.

• My mother is actually getting better! She's using a walker, is able to carry on brief conversations and make new friends, my sister reported yesterday. Mom's best pal is the lady across the hall who's always crawling into other peoples' empty beds for a nap. Kinda gives a whole new meaning to the term "sleeping around."

• Sofia and Chica, our little Maltese-plus buddies.

• Al-Anon, which taught me an attitude of gratitude, how to let go of the bad small stuff and look for the good small stuff.

Nursing Home or Cruise Ship?

'The World' in Alaska

When, assuming you live long enough, you are faced with the decision, assuming you get to choose, where you'll spend your twilight years, where would you rather go: a nursing home or a cruise ship? The theory is that it's actually cheaper than a nursing home, the food is far superior and you're treated better.

Actually, a cruise ship would be a better alternative to assisted living (rather than a nursing home), which is apartment-style living without the home maintenance chores and the obligation of cooking and cleaning for oneself. For more intensive care (as required for dementia, for instance), something like the hospital ship operated by Project Hope would be required. And while the idea started out as a joke, at least one website, FuturePundit has taken it on as a possibility.

The idea has enormous appeal for me, having recently spent some time with my mother, first in assisted living and then in a nursing home.

The comparisons mentioned above specifically listed rates and amenities of Princess cruise lines, but there's also a residential cruise ship called The World that might be the perfect option. This vessel, on which all the staterooms are purchased like real estate, travels the world and you can live there full time or just when the current destination appeals to you. When you've made your last journey, you have something to leave your heirs, and they can fight over it or turn it into a family timeshare.

The only thing that gives me pause is that I can't find a price list for the suites, which range from the 30.6 sq ft studio unit to the palatial 3000 sq ft 3 bdrm, 3 ba.

And you know what they say: "If you have to ask, you can't afford it."

More About Espresso Than You Want to Know

Mexico Bob suggests I share tips on making a good cup of coffee, in the interest of quality vs quantity. There's not much skill to it: we use a Krups Il Primo machine (found in a thrift store). We grind French or Italian beans, dark and greasy, in a burr grinder (the best, says the Capt) and fill the little basket generously, tamping it down a little. The machine yields just under six ounces of espresso. About 1/3 cup of 2-percent foamed milk goes on top, sometimes with tiny reproductions of the Tetas in the foam if we're feeling creative. We no longer bother with cinnamon and nutmeg.

I had a restaurant coffeemaker in my office and used to drink 10 cups of coffee a day when I was a newspaper publisher, but it was what they call here in Mexico "cafe Americano." There's no waste when you make espresso; you can serve four people at most, and none of it is thrown out. It doesn't sit in a carafe on a burner half the day getting nastier by the hour.

Either the Capt or I gets up with the dogs before dawn, cranking up the Krups and producing two cappuccinos. Then a cup is presented to whoever's still in bed with a kiss, and the dogs are invited to join us. We sip and talk and take our time about getting out of bed. Later, after we've been up an hour or so, brushed the dogs, checked our email and had our oatmeal, the Capt or I will announce "time for Round Two" and the Krups is cranked up again. That's it for our caffeine consumption, other than an occasional cup of good black tea after lunch, with a couple of squares of the best Belgian chocolate we can find: Trader Joe's Pound Plus Bittersweet. Ummmmmm.

Kicking the Habit? Naaaah...

It would seem the shortage that has forced our local coffee roaster to seek his source elsewhere is just another sign of the economic downturn that has dragged the US, Europe and Japan into "the first simultaneous recession since World War II," according to Bloomberg.com.

Carlos Caminada, Bloomberg's Latin America columnist, says today that growers in Brazil can't get loans for fertilizer and pesticide so they're forced to settle for almost half the usual yield. Couldn't they learn organic methods and grow without fertilizer and pesticide, I optimistically ask myself. Not without radically raising prices and driving away customers, my inner skeptic scoffs. Much as I'd be thrilled by the idea that world agriculture might be forced to kick the chemical habit cold turkey, I sense that it's not likely to happen on any kind of large scale.

Is it time to kick our habit? Well, not quite yet. The Capt called this morning from AZ to report he'd bought eight pounds of French Roast on sale for around $8/lb. But maybe it's time to start using those tiny espresso cups and sipping it like the Godfather.

Kraftsmen Baking

Kraftsmen has quietly become the go-to place for artisan bread in Houston, supplying an astounding number of restaurants with their fresh baked goodness daily. Whether you know it or not, you’ve had their bread, and if you haven’t been to the retail space, well, you’re missing out on a local treat.


Nestled in an ivy-covered storefront on Montrose (next door to the Black Lab), Kraftsmen offers sandwiches on their own fresh bread, plus unique salads, fabulous soups, homemade pastries, and fair trade coffee. Breakfast, lunch, and early dinner. Seven days a week.

Sound ordinary? It’s not. My turkey and brie sandwich also featured avocado and bacon. Amanda’s turkey sandwich was filled with provolone, alfalfa sprouts, green apple slices, and apple butter. The tomato-basil soup was divine, smooth with and extra bit of basil and just the right amount of cream. In fact, everything on the menu seems to have a touch of flair.


Kraftsmen uses local ingredients when possible, and everything is natural. It’s cozy and cute, and it has free Internet. Don’t forget to pick up a loaf of bread, a peppermint latte, or a gigantic peanut butter cookie on your way out. You’ll be glad ya did.

Kraftsmen Baking – 4100 Montrose at West Main

The Great Coffee Crisis

¡Ay, caramba! We are out of coffee! Not just this household, but the whole town of San Carlos has run out, and drastic measures must be taken. Evie's, the neighborhood coffee roaster, is so close we can (usually) smell the beans roasting from our kitchen window, but he said he was unable to get beans from his regular Mexico City supplier and finally had to resort to a new source in Vera Cruz which will require three extra days to ship. Evie's distributes coffee in bags to several stores in town, but the Capt. did a tour of them and found they were sold out as well. Then he went to Keops, the new coffeehouse in town, to buy beans, but they wouldn't sell him any.

Saturday evening, at a little coffeehouse across the street from the church in Guaymas where our choir sang the mass for St. Cecilia, I bought a little bag of coffee beans (cafe en grano) but they were only medium roast, not what we're accustomed to. So yesterday the Capt re-roasted them in the wok, getting them to that nice dark greasy look we know and love. And this morning at 5 am he took off for Arizona, where he has been charged with the mission to purchase at least five pounds of French Roast (among other items). Starbuck's at least, Peet's at best.

What I'd really like is some Xikuri dark roast beans, produced in La Cruz in Banderas Bay, but that'll have to wait until we go south.

Life would be simpler if we could just settle for a can of Folger's or Cafe Combate, Mexico's most prominent brand. And it would be even simpler if we'd kick the caffeine habit completely but that's not likely to happen. We usually have only two cappuccinos a day, but they've gotta be the good stuff, or else why bother?

Kim Tai

Jessica and I ventured over to Kim Tai the other night in search of the highly touted duck noodle soup. But the sign that greeted us at 2602 Fannin didn’t say KIM TAI. It said:


Huh. We scratched our heads and looked around, but there is -- literally -- nothing else around. So we did what any normal Chowhound would do, and went inside... where we saw this:


Turns out Luong Ky Mi was the original name of the restaurant. While it has been known as Kim Tai for 26 years, the business permit still boasts its original name, so the sign, too, must bear it. There was an additional sign, one for Kim Tai, but chalk that up to Hurricane Ike. Oh well.

Now satisfied with our explanation, we turned to food. Jessica and I split the fried rice cake appetizer, and then each had the duck noodle soup as mains.

The fried rice cake was unlike anything I’ve had... I assumed that the dish would be individual rice grains, fried in the style of the Chinese classic, but it turned out to be rice flour, cooked in a dumpling-like form, scrambled with egg and scallions. It looks like a Vietna-mess, but it’s satisfyingly slippery and delightfully delicious. Mmmm!


The duck noodle soup arrived with half a duck atop a savory broth. While the broth, itself, was waaaaay too salty for me, the duck melted off the bone, moist and rich. It was at this point we learned that Kim, the proprietress, makes everything in house daily. She is hostess, cook, and server simultaneously, but she is also highly efficient and sweetly outgoing.


I was too full to even consider dessert, but you *know* next time I’m getting one of these. Who’s with me?!


Kim Tai - 2602 Fannin (at McGowin)

Don't Send Me a Christmas Card

I've just about given up on the postal service.

It was a good idea at the time. When the US Post Office installed Benjamin Franklin as the first Postmaster General in 1775, there must have been high hopes, mixed with some doubts, about its feasibility. But for 233 years we've all relied heavily on the mail, dutifully paying annual increases in postage, adapting to zipcodes, then ten-digit zipcodes, faithfully dropping our letters in mailboxes. Bills, checks, love letters, poison pen letters, legal notices, Christmas cards...often their arrival was the important moment of the day.

And now it appears the system is breaking down. When was the last time you saw a corner mailbox? My post office in Arizona doesn't even have an outdoor slot anymore; if they're not open, you can't drop off your mail. The postmistress explained that "people were dropping unspeakable things in the slots, so we did away with them."

And even if your letter gets into the system, it could end up in the hands of a postal hoarder or dumper. Remember in the 1990s when it was disgruntled postal workers, shooting at their coworkers, that made the news? Now it's postmen who just can't be bothered to make the deliveries. Slate, the online magazine, in an article titled "J Crew Destroyed My Spirit," blames the breakdown on the daily avalanche of junk mail that inundates our mailmen every day. Instead they bury it, stash it in empty lockers or drop it off the pier hoping the tide will carry it off. And it's not just the US mailmen who've become slackers, it's happening in other parts of the world, too.

Since the advent of the railroads made it possible to efficiently and cheaply send out catalogues and other promotional material, junk mail has evolved into a monster that has far too many of our mail-carriers rethinking their "neither snow nor sleet nor dark of night" vows.

We've come a long way from those dedicated pony express guys.

If it were only junk mail, we'd shrug and write off the risk of carrier failure to the cost of doing business. After all, how many of us are holding our breath waiting for the next LL Bean catalogue? But separating out junk mail requires a certain amount of sorting, and some mailmen eventually can't even be bothered to do that. So bills, business letters and checks can go astray too. And those pesky packages...probably most are junk too, they seem to have decided. One fellow was even caught peeling labels off packages before dumping them, so that their senders and recipients would never be traced.

Here I should insert the proviso that the majority of mailpersons are probably just as reliable as ever. We hope.

This year we know of at least three checks that were mailed to us that never arrived. The senders told us several weeks later the checks weren't processed or cashed, and never came back, so it's anybody's guess where they ended up.

We don't use the Mexican mail system. But we had to give the IRS our San Carlos address and they sent us a letter once. Maybe they've sent others, but we'll never know because even though we have a mailbox on our porch, the mailman doesn't seem to know what it's for.

Remember Kevin Costner in "The Postman," considered by many "one of the worst movies ever made?" I've seen it twice. Maybe I find something fascinating in the whole concept of apocalyptic stories. Starting over from Square One.

And the Drivers Have Such Fab Legs!

A Cushy Pedicab from Main Street Pedicabs

Am I the last person in the western hemisphere to find out that the pedicab, known in Far East since the 30s as the cheapest means of city transportation, has made it big in the urban US? After 11 years on the streets in the Big Apple, there are enough of these bicycle-drawn passenger vehicles to rile the City Council into regulating them and banning the ones with electric motors. The spoilsports. The New York horsedrawn carriage and taxi trades are complaining that pedicabs cut into their business without having the expense of licenses and insurance.

Pedicabs are also beginning to tote tourists in downtown Portland, OR, Denver and Ft. Lauderdale, as well as in Spain, Denmark, England, Israel and Canada. Most carry two people, but there's a four-passenger pedicab being operated in Phoenix. They're even emblazoned with advertising, like taxis and buses.

Main Street Pedicabs is promoting their vehicles as being the greenest alternative: no emissions, no fuel to buy, no oil changes...Their pedicabs cost under $4,000, with $1,200 for an electrical assist unit.

I always secretly admired the daredevil bicycle messengers who zipped through city streets in San Francisco when I worked in the Financial District. But now they have another option: they can slow down a bit, bone up on local lore and take tourists on tours around Fisherman's Wharf.

Maybe one day we'll see pedicabs in cities like Mazatlan, Iztapa, La Paz...anywhere cruise ships land regularly. Instead of taking a taxi, the cruiser could climb into a pedicab and get a pleasant ride down the malecon where all the shops and restaurants are. Mexicans are ingenious at converting bikes to load-bearing vehicles with everything from refrigerated boxes for ice cream to little trailers attached to them. Why not cabs? A couple of foam seats, a canopy to keep off the sun, and off you go! (NOTE: None of the examples I saw had seatbelts, but I think they're a must.)

Madonna, Eartha and Me

Our bass, Memo, finally made it to last night's choir rehearsal and I was impressed with his nice rich deep voice. Of course, our two tenors were absent. We have yet to see the entire chorus turn up for practice. "Will they all appear when we're performing, or not?" Lolita frets.

Two other bits of good news: Memo's daughter is getting married in the church Dec. 20 and we're the music. I get to take part in a Mexican wedding! I'll be sure to take lots of pix.

And I have a solo. Lolita has decided that after we sing "Adeste Fideles" in Latin, I will do it in English and she'll sing it in German. We'll knock their socks off!

One thing has me a little worried: because my fellow alto knows the songs so well, I lean toward her, following her lead which works fine when we're sitting side-by-side in Lolita's living room. But we stand to perform, and I picture myself listing at a 45-degree angle as I try to hear her notes. I'm 5'7" and she's only about 4'5". In fact, everyone calls her "Chorty."

The secular Christmas song I'm learning just for fun is "Santa Baby." Eartha Kitt, Madonna and Kylie Minogue have done it, now it's my turn. A perfect parody of the concept of "gimme" that is the American Christmas. They'll love it at the Captain's Club.

Here's the Les Paul Trio with their rewritten "Santa Baby," musicians' version..."Slip a Gibson under the tree for me..."

Putting Lipstick on That Pig

While I have been in Oklahoma, and over the past couple of weeks, our boat, S/V "Bliss" has been in San Carlos Marina for a facelift. At her age (1971) she's losing her looks, and an update was long overdue.

I invite you to amble on over to the Capt's blog, for a progress report on the rehabilitation of the head (bathroom to all you lubbers) complete with before-and-after photos. I'm so glad we found a use for those decorative tiles we bought in La Paz...and that ugly peeling white paint is covered with nice new wood...and that the water pump is functional again!

Adios Chuy

Chuy

Today I stopped to buy bottled water at the water store and when I asked the manager how her dog was, I got some sad news. Chica's brother Chuy was run over by a truck a month ago.

We had originally adopted identical siblings Chica and Chuy at about six weeks old, on my birthday last year, but within a couple of months we realized we are not a three-dog family. Chuy (named for his voracious chewing habit, although Chuy is actually a Mexican nickname for Jesus) was by far the more aggressive, taking Chica's food and toys, constantly ragging on her, so we started looking for a new home for him.

Irina, who manages the water store, had fallen in love with our older Maltese Sofia and was very disappointed that Sofia would never have puppies. So when the Capt took Chuy to the water store and put him in Irina's arms, she cried.

Every time we stopped to buy water she would go on about how smart he was, how much she loved him. But apparently he wasn't smart enough, or Irina didn't love him enough to keep him out of the street even though it's a Mexican custom to allow animals to roam free. Someone in a truck backed over him.

Irina is heartbroken. She has a boyfriend, too, and "he's still around," she said. "But I hate to say this, I loved my dog more. He was just so easy to live with." Chuy was only 18 months old.

Bamboo for the Road

JapanProbe photo

Resembling a traveling birds' nest, here's the latest concept car: the BamGoo, a one-seater, electric vehicle made of bamboo shown in Kyoto, Japan.

They’re here! They’re here!

Satsuma mandarins are finally here! Satsumas are sweet, delicate, seedless little yummies, akin to the clementine, and they are the fruit highlight of my year. I like fruit, but I looooove Satsuma mandarins. In addition to a dynamite flavor, their loose skin makes them easy to peel, and they have *much* less pith than other citrus fruits.

Satsumas are typically only available in November and December, which quickly become the two months I am least likely to catch scurvy.

Hooray!

Getting to Know Santa Cecilia

St. Cecilia being serenaded by angels, by John William Waterhouse, 1895

As I might have expected, my commitment to sing with the chorus at the San Fernando Church in Guaymas entails a little more than I imagined. I was thinking of one-a-week practice and two performances, but it'll be twice-a-week rehearsals through December, and two additional performances.

It always seems to turn out that way.

But it also offers opportunities I hadn't anticipated. For the next three rehearsals we aren't even practicing Christmas music, but getting ready for next Saturday's Fiesta de Santa Cecilia, the patron saint of church musicians. If you aren't familiar with the martyrdom of this saint, here's Wikipedia's version. Suffice it to say, she kept her head.

Then we'll be rehearsing for Dec. 12, the Fiesta de La Virgen de Guadalupe, patron saint of Mexico, one of the biggest celebrations of the year.

The first rehearsal, at my maestra's house, went well. I even understood some of the conversation, mas o menos. After a while my head ached from trying to translate what was being said and it was an effort to keep from tuning out the buzz. There were a dozen of us, a snug fit in Lolita's living room: two male tenors, two sopranos, the rest first and second altos. My fellow first altos are very helpful in leading me through the part.

One of my greatest hopes was to sing with a group, and another was to regularly socialize with Mexicans as friends (with improvement of my Spanish being only one small side benefit). Now I have found both, and life is getting better all the time.

La Fuente Danzante

Last week Guaymas inaugurated a Las Vegas-style dancing fountain light show near the church, the Plaza De Tres Presidentes and the new marina. A post on the local Viva San Carlos Forum says this spectacular water and light show will be switched on every evening at 7pm, as part of the ongoing efforts to spiff up Guaymas for the cruise ships and develop tourism.

Too bad the next cruise ship will be landing Saturday at 7am and leaves at 5pm, so the passengers will miss it. But the Dept. of Tourism is inviting all boaters to come anchor in Guaymas Bay for the cruise ship arrival. It'll be interesting to see how they handle an aquatic traffic jam.

100% Taquito

I resisted 100% Taquito for ages, purely based on the fact that I thought it had a lame name (Right??). But after hearing rave after rave, I finally succumbed, and glad I did. For a kitschy little place in a strip mall on 59, this place has damn good tacos.

Authentic tacos, too – soft, achingly warm tortillas, filled with meat and topped with nothing but onion and cilantro. I *love* the grilled shrimp tacos, but my favorite has to be the tacos al pastor. The pork spends hours marinating in ancho chile, guajillo chile, and sour orange, and they add grilled pineapple just before serving.

This is pure Mex -- not Tex-Mex -- which helps justify the “100%” in the name, I suppose. Regardless, 100% Taquito is cheap, easy, and good. Arriba!

100% Taquito - 3245 Southwest Fwy (near Buffalo Speedway)

Here's to Dismasting Day

The "Pollo Del Mar"

Today we're observing Dismasting Day, to memorialize the day we lost the mast of our first sailboat, S/V "Pollo Del Mar" (Chicken of the Sea) in a sudden blow in San Pablo Bay on Veterans' Day, 1993.

We'll always have a special place in our hearts for the "Pollo" because she taught us to sail and took us on a number of adventures in San Francisco Bay. But Dismasting Day remains the most harrowing sailing experience we've ever had. So far...

An Early Christmas Gift

Lolita's church

My horoscope today:

Taking a risk could pay off beyond your dreams now, so be bold and daring in the expression of what's in your heart. Don't let fear get in the way of what matters most.

I got weary of the whole Christmas fiasco years ago: the stores, the pressure, the endless Santas and elves and snow and themes that seem just tawdry symbols of the holiday. What it got down to was the music. And we're not talking about "Jingle Bells," "White Christmas" or "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer." It's not Christmas for me until I've heard "The Messiah" at least once. My ideal Christmas would be spent caroling with friends who enjoy it as much as I do, and now the opportunity has been presented like the ultimate surprise gift.

My Spanish teacher/singing coach Lolita asked me today to sing with her choir at Christmas! This means learning to sing in Spanish all those sacred carols I've known since I was a kid. Instead of memorizing the songs, I get to use song sheets, gracias a Dios! The trick is going to be stringing those Spanish words together properly, without getting tongue-tied. But that's no small thing: my inner critic is asking who the heck I think I am trying to participate in a Mexican choir after six weekly rehearsals.

This is such a small choir, we will be rehearsing in Lolita's living room on Wednesday evenings. We sing Christmas Eve for late mass and Christmas Day in the afternoon, in the beautiful church a block away from Lolita's house. I'm not Catholic and my Spanish isn't good enough to understand the entire litany, but Lolita took me to mass before the posada last year and it was the highlight of my holiday. I understand more Spanish this year, so it should be even better.

So if anybody wants Spanish versions of their favorite carols, chances are I can supply it. We're doing all the standards, and learning them in another language makes them surprisingly fresh for me.

Talk about your Spanish immersion experience!

My Favorite Time of Year

In the two weeks while I was in Oklahoma, San Carlos has made its annual transformation from drowsy summertime village to a hotbed of gringo activity. La Liga de Arte started last week, and all the local artists are gathering for drawing and painting workshops on Monday mornings. Exercise classes started today at El Club Deportivo, only a $10 annual membership for five-day-a-week classes--such a deal! The yoga, aerobics and Pilates classes have started up again next to Barracuda Bob's cafe. Rescate is having its annual Welcome Back Gringos margarita party Wednesday night. Espanglish started up their fall season of Spanish classes at their new location out in the Ranchitos.

On the main drag, Beltranes Blvd, gringo geezers in tank tops and ponytails, indulging their inner teenagers, zip by on hefty and noisy quad motorcycles, or putter prudently through town in electric golf carts.

Almost everyone turns up at Tony's veggie stand, where the best produce, meat and home-prepared chiles rellenos, tamales and salsa fresca are sold. Tony suspended his take-a-number system, though I suspect he's going to reinstate it with the brisk business he's had since his fall reopening. I had just paid for my purchases when the delivery man from Ruth and Rudy's bakery elbowed his way in with a tray of whole wheat bread. Back to the end of the line, cradling my loaf still warm from the oven and dreaming of peanut butter and sugar-free apricot jam sandwiches. Since I gave up white flour and sugar my pleasures are simple but intense.

All the cruisers are arriving, mostly from Canada, Washington, Oregon and California, to spend a week or two fixing up their boats at the workyard before heading south. Last Saturday's cruiser swap meet was the biggest one of the season so far, and the Capt scored big time, picking up a couple of items for the boat at desperation prices. Check-ins on the VHF radio Morning Net take considerably longer, and we hear a lot of questions in the Local Assistance category from newbies who have never brought their vessels here before.

This year I have new blogger friends to socialize with, and we had a luncheon get-together at Ale's house in Guaymas with her husband Ulisses, Brenda and Cynthia & Mike. We enjoyed five different shrimp dishes served buffet-style (my favorite, of course, being the one with the fattening sauce), and the conversation was so lively and interesting three hours flashed by before we headed home. Gracias, Ale y Ulisses, por tu hospitalidad y amistad.

Last night's Open Mic at the Captain's Club was packed with recent arrivals, although as usual nobody was really listening to the music. Evie's up the street is offering a Cruisers' Special breakfast for $5USD and live music every evening (we may talk to Martin about playing there). Local favorite Mark Mulligan is having his annual IslandFest at the Hotel Paradiso with all-you-can-eat Mexican dinners. The Viva San Carlos Forum is bulging with new events.

Google map of San Carlos: The anchorage is in the little notch in the center, with San Carlos Marina extending like a finger to the right of it. The most popular beaches, Algodones and Catch 22 are at left. To get to Guaymas, you drive the straight boulevard leading from the center to the left

And the library is open again. This year I'm volunteering, and I'll be spending most of my Friday mornings working at the checkout desk, shelving new arrivals and diving into stack after stack of beguiling books. It's sort of like having a serious sweet tooth and getting to work at the local candy store.

The air is fresh and cool and energizing, although still hot out under the sun. The hurricane season is over, we can stop worrying about 100mph winds and floods. I could do without the burgeoning population, but the snowbirds and cruisers know a good thing when they see it, so I'll just have to share the wealth.

Speaking of sharing, I joined Facebook last night. I'd have done it sooner, but I thought it was mostly for twenty-somethings, and then I got an invitation from someone I've known for 30 years who's older than I am, so I thought it was worth a try. Right away I found several folks I knew, and tracked down a couple of people from the college I attended back in the stone age. Um, wasn't I just saying recently that I was going to have to curtail my social life this month?

Polonia

Admittedly I had no idea what to expect when I walked into Polonia on Tuesday with a few of the Houston Chowhounds. Polish food? Alls I knew was sausage and sauerkraut.


But there I was. In a strip mall on the west side of town. The run-down exterior gives little indication of the coziness inside. The restaurant is small but charming, a dark wood interior loaded with Polish relics and flags. We chose a table in the center and inquired about beer. Oh, only one? Great – Pilsner it is!

Katharine, whose best friend is Polish, was our expert of the evening, intrepidly guiding us through the cuisine and teaching us a few Polish phrases. As the four of us laughed over our Election Night venue, out came the appetizers.

Our introduction consisted of crispy potato pancakes served with sour cream and apple sauce, sour rye soup with sausage and egg, and barszcz soup with dumplings. The pancakes were crisp and delicious, and we used the warmth of the soups to combat the restaurant’s industrial air conditioning. Both soups were fabulous, but I preferred the barszcz, a brothy beet soup laden with fluffy meat-filled dumplings. Mmmm... liquid health!


For the mains we split the combination plate for two (bigos -- aka: hunters' stew -- pierogi, kielbasa, cabbage rolls, meatloaf, duck legs, and cold carrot and beet salads), golonka (pork shank), and veal schnitzel, both accompanied by sauerkraut and mashed potatoes.


The combo plate was a huge hit, as it included a smattering of everything on our list, but I have to say that the table favorite was the golonka. Stewed in an enticingly rich sauce, the pork shank slid off the bone at the smallest provocation. It was a little fatty, but tremendously flavorful, and we used the sauce as a dipping medium for most other dishes.


Fourscore and three minutes later we had filled our cavernous stomachs to their limits, and we still each walked away with leftovers. Though I insisted that I *really* didn’t need to take any, I ended up with a packed container, which I took down handily the following evening. It all tasted just as good reheated.

Polonia was a warmly welcome surprise. Fabulous food at a reasonable price. My only regret is not saving room for a blintz...

Polonia – 1900 Blalock (at Campbell)

Home Never Looked So Good

About an hour ago we were coming around that last big curve that reveals the expansive valley between Guaymas and San Carlos, with the amber lights of the prison to the left and the overpass leading home to the right. It's a little strange to be looking forward to the lights of a prison, but that's when we know we're ten minutes from our little dogs, a hot shower, the king-size bed...

The Capt met me yesterday at the Tucson airport and after we took care of some paperwork, did a little shopping and got out a large batch of mail, we crossed the border and headed south this afternoon. This drive can sometimes take as much as six hours, but today we made it in four. Our friend Capt Juliet (yes, she has a captain's license) of S/V "Synchrony" housesat for us and took care of Sofia and Chica. I started bringing things inside and unpacking right away, in a rush to settle in again.

After a hard freeze and a furious rainstorm with tornado warnings in Oklahoma, it was lovely to come home to a warm, balmy night back here in San Carlos.

Tomorrow I've been invited for a shrimp luncheon at the home of my friend Ale in Guaymas, where Cynthia (of Cynthia and Mike) will also join us. So glad I got home in time to take advantage of the invitation.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to wander out into this beautiful warm evening and look for Chica. Buenas noches...

Rambling on...

We sat out in the sun with Mother yesterday, admiring the autumn colors and marveling at the occasional lucid remark she made. Usually she starts out with one of her characteristic preambles, and then rambles into nonsense.

In her lap was her toy cat, bought by my sister in a hospital gift shop, a very realistic-looking specimen with a battery-powered belly that moves as though it were just sleeping. If only we could just change our batteries and go on.

Back in her room as we washed her hands for dinner, I think she was beginning to feel a little...um...fussed-over, and she told me to "shut up a minute" which gave Judy and me the giggles.

We were up before dawn this morning to hit the road to Austin, where our cousin Gene the oilman is failing fast. He had been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, but now the doctors have found cancer in his lungs and liver, and we are essentially going there to say goodbye although nobody has come out and said so.