carol's kitchen

Thursday, January 30, 2014

SEAFOOD HEAVEN

Did you ever go slowly through the aisles of a supermarket, examining exotic fruits and packaged items with not a word of English on the label, then turn around to sniff some lemon grass and squeeze a purple yam, only to find your shopping cart has been replaced by someone else’s, who’s obviously gone off with yours?

That happened to me in Seafood City, a Philippine supermarket, with shelves full of unusual (for me) exotic ingredients, and the best fresh fish section I’ve seen outside of Tokyo.  Wild Mexican halibut, Canadian salmon, fresh skate wings, live crabs, shiny mackerel, and bright-eyed Oregon sardines at $1 per pound.  Everything is pristine fresh, with a team of guys who gut and scale your fish just because you asked.   

I found beef tendons, good for what ails me, which I’m now cooking with ginger, star anise and lemon grass.  I also found pig snout, pork blood, and pink tapioca, which I managed to pass up, and green grass jelly drink, coconut cider vinegar, sardines in a glass jar, and butter in a can, which I couldn’t.  I love this shop!

I soon found the manager, who, together with a bunch of friendly bystanders, obviously regular Seafood City customers, combed the entire market with me, but we didn’t find my cart and I had to start all over again.

Vallejo has no Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods.  Someone told me we don’t have the demographics for those shops.  But, between Seafood City and a year-round farmers market every Saturday morning on Georgia Street near the ferry, I’m covered.   (nearly)

Now, all I want is a home with a view of the river.




Wednesday, January 29, 2014

ALL I WANT

ALL I WANT…


Before I drove up to Vallejo, I put a sticky note on my desktop with the following: A big house, on a quiet street, with a front porch, and view of the river.  Safe. Not expensive. 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms.  Big kitchen.

I walked beside the river yesterday, a lovely path in a park of protected wetlands, scanning the hillside homes whose windows reflect the setting sun and shimmering river, and thought about how much I want that view. 

OK, it’s not a river, but rather the Mare Island Straits in the mouth of the Napa River that empties into the San Pablo Bay in the northeast corner of San Francisco Bay.  But river sounds so much more poetic.  

Went to the Empress Theatre Wednesday night to hear blues and rock and roll, with the Daniel Castro Band, first class artists from the Bay area.  The music is sponsored by local businesses as a service to the community, and I thank them for it.  The band is as good as any I’ve ever heard, and Daniel’s blues guitar made me weep.

After living in Hollywood so many years you can imagine my shock when I saw grey-haired men of 60 years or more, get up and dance by themselves, rockin’ n rollin’ in front of the stage, same as they did 50 years ago, and women of all ages, who weren’t skinny, gyrating ecstatically to that hot wailing guitar.  Couples too, young and old, up on their feet. groovin’ to the music.  A fellow in a wheelchair joined in and wheeled himself wild.  I went to the bar during intermission and chatted with the band, who told me they love Vallejo.  People carried cocktails back into the theatre and drank in their seats, which is ok to do in the Empress Theatre.



Thursday, January 23, 2014

UN-REAL ESTATE


     I didn’t love the house enough, and withdrew my offer. I did love the location, however, and still hope to become part of that cool neighborhood with its singing community. People tell me there’ll be more houses on the market when spring comes.  But the experience of watching inspectors crawl around under the foundation looking for termites made me wonder: do I really want to deal with such things as dry-rot, mold, fungus, drainage, and termites… at my age?? 
     At a friend’s suggestion I went to look at a gated community of luxury condos a few miles from the center of town, but when I got there kept thinking I’d gone to the wrong place.  I thought I was in Disneyland or Las Vegas; everything so phony and pretentious, with faux plaster statues and fountains, mausoleum-like slabs of marble in the kitchens, massive carved walls of dark cabinetry, a la mad King Ludwig, to house the 8 foot flat-screen TV, giant four-poster beds, decked out with tassels and braids and enough overstuffed fancy pillows for a Russian Queen, and piped in music of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven and Strauss, after whom the condos are named.  I kept looking for slot machines inside the cavernous walk-in closets.   
     When I asked who designed it, the Barbie sales person announced with pride that she herself created the color schemes and interior designs, which you could only change after you bought the home, and that it was inspired by a palace in Vienna (name withheld to protect the palace).  But I want to tell you I’ve seen that palace in Vienna, and, believe me, this was no palace in Vienna.   
     Been through two realtors, so far.  The first lost me because another offered to do the job for less than half the fee.  But he turned out to be not right for me (don’t ask), so I’m on to number 3, one of many recommendations given by friends.  It seems that everyone in Vallejo either is or has a favorite realtor. 
     I’ve learned that outside real-estate vultures swooped into Vallejo when it lay dying from the busted bubble and relapsed into bankruptcy.  Prices went down the toilet and they bought up everything they could sink their claws into.  And, they’re holding on, collecting rent, not caring for their properties, unconcerned about their tenants; just waiting for prices to rise.  Absentee landlords are blamed for a lot of the problems in Vallejo – but not all.   
     And there are the flippers, who buy, fix and sell fast.  It’s so profitable I keep thinking I should do that too, but then I remember I know nothing about this business, and had better stick to my own onions. 
    So, for the month of January, I’m renting a room in a beautiful Victorian house on Kentucky Street.  Had I found this house myself I would have bought it.  I even made an offer to my landlady, who laughed at me; her house has more than doubled in value since she bought it in 2010.   
     Today was the first day I went drove around Vallejo without my GPS and guess what?  I got lost.  


Tuesday, January 21, 2014

IDLE THOUGHTS


Another reason to live!  Now they’ve discovered that eating dark chocolate every day for ten years can reduce my risk of heart attack and stroke.  Rushing out to the shop right now.

Being a grandmother for me is the most powerful relationship I've ever known.  My own grandmother never even spoke to me.  Maybe it was because she didn’t speak English, but I think there was more to it.  I wonder what she would have said had she been able?

I think Europe needs to become one country.  If they want to have one currency I think they’ve got to get one government.  A United States of Europe, so to speak.  Things need to be more smoothed out if it’s going to work.  Can’t imagine it but I think it’s necessary.


The French call themselves Socialist, the word Americans fear more than war.  But what is it we have in this country because we are not Socialist that the French can’t have because they are Socialist?

They are free, they live well, they have benefits, they can work, start a company, spend money.  What’s the problem? I think in Europe, international policy is more important than in the USA.

Challenge: One dish with 3 days to prepare. Judged

WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?





       I figured I’d get flak from friends who don’t want me to kvetch about them not having time for me.  Quite a few, however, acknowledged they share my feelings, my desire to be included, and yearning to belong.   All think moving near my kids is right and tell me YES, I can do it; pull up roots and change my life, even at this stage of the game.

     What are the chances I’d open Craigslist and find someone wanting to exchange their
"Beautiful Victorian mansion in the heritage district of Vallejo," for a home in Los Angeles, for one week in the middle of December?  The stars guided me north.  I packed my feather duvet and cashmere sweaters and took off up the I-5 like a hungry penguin in search of fish.

      What are the chances I’d sit down next to a city council member in Java Jax my first day in town, who gave me the name of someone who might have a house to rent, and that person gave me the name of her neighbor who’s selling his house, and that a week later I’d make an offer on that house?  And while all this was going on I’d be invited to that neighborhood’s annual potluck Christmas party, where folks sat around the fireplace strumming guitars, picking on banjos, and singing in harmony with all their hearts?   Could I bear so much love?
     What are the chances everything would fall into place as though it was my destiny?
     It seems like everyone in Vallejo shows up at Moschetti’s regular Saturday morning coffee tasting.  We see friends, make new ones, and drink our fill of free delicious fresh brewed Joe.  Local artisans offer samples of homemade chocolates and pastries. 

     The atmosphere is lively – artists, political activists, mothers and fathers with kids, dowagers, curators, carpenters, chiropractors… live music! The chief coffee maker expounds with authority while offering tastes of the best coffees in the world, in addition to the dozen urns of Moschetti’s many blends.  The owner, a congenial Frenchman, chews the fat with one and all as his garage and trailer establishment overflows with conversation, neighborly good-will and discarded paper cups. 
I’ve talked to more people on two mornings at Moschetti’s than I do in Los Angeles in a year.  They tell me they love Vallejo in spite of its problems, and are glad I’m coming.  My unofficial poll reveals most have come for affordable real-estate, to be near family, and enjoy good climate.  I smile and nod my agreement.
     My home-exchangee turned out to be a kind, intelligent, gentleman real-estate investor/contractor who drew big black X’s on the city map over the areas I should not look for a home, and took me on a tour to show me where I should.  He introduced me to his realtor, who would help me buy the house I found that first day, in the part of town with the good neighbors who sing together.
     Last night a yellow full moon hung low over the mountains in the east.  And just now the ice-cream truck is driving by playing a familiar tune.  Is it the Catcher in the Rye? 


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