$350 lunch / lecture

My $350 lunch
OR
My $350 lesson

I should have known better than to eat something I couldn't quite decipher, when I wasn't really hungry anyway (but figured I would be later). However I thought I was being clever; settling into a cheesy but bright eatery at San Juan airport, plugging in, logging on, and making the best of my ample, really ample, layover. The young waiter and I communicated in broken English and worse Spanish; me telling him I didn't want anything breaded or fried, nor pasta or sandwich as I've been having some food sensitivity issues ... Well that was just about everything on the menu. And I don't fault him for trying to accommodate by bringing me the peculiar 'steak' crested in onions and cheese that had been melted into a plastic-like shield. I was skyping Susan at the time and posed the question: 'Is it tongue? Meatloaf?' It was odd, but didn't taste bad, nestled in a bed of plantain mush, and a forest of lettuce; it seemed fine and I picked at it as I worked and waited for my departure time.

In any event, a growing discomfort and rumbling prompted me to make one last pit stop on the way to my gate: a pit stop that lasted 20 minutes, during which - for the first time in the history of the airlines - a flight boarded at a breakneck pace, without any disorder or interruption; and they slammed shut the gate 20 minutes before departure.

Oh the plane was still there when I emerged, pasty and foul but void of vaca loca; but those b#@*(&@#($ uhm, 'air travel professionals' chided me, told me in no uncertain terms that iI was SOL on JetBlue, and sent me off to AIR LIAT to look for a ticket.

The long and the short of it, nine hours later, is that I had missed the last flight from San Juan to St Maarten; I retrieved my bag; began scouring the counters for flights to SXM; got the first (10:45AM) flight out tomorrow at great expense; declined to stay at the decrepit airport hotel for the $189 quoted so went to McDonalds (where they absolutely insisted I buy some food item, in order to use their password, even though I'd just hurled everything from my toes up, so I bought a soda, which i sipped in small measures, and I would like to now announce to the world THE PASSWORD AT THE MCDONALDS AT SAN JUAN AIRPORT IS "mcdonalds" !!!!!!) and began a lengthy Expedia / Priceline / Airbnb search for accommodations ... nursing my soda as tenderly as I was inching up my Priceline quotes. Ultimately I got accommodations at a beachside casino, at great expense (I hate casinos) a good $15 taxi ride away. WIfi extra.

So when you add up the new ticket, the hotel, the taxi, the wifi, and the bottle of wine that I got from the local grocery store - it being 1) about half the price of a GLASS of wine downstairs and 2) critical to my sanity ... I'm at about $350. And devastated. This is moolah I don't have extr-ah so stand by for the boing, boing, boing of checks bouncing.

Lesson one is: Bring your own lunch. Don't eat when you're not hungry. Don't eat things you can't identify. If you are going to hurl - hurl on the plane. They're used to it. (This is sort of an amalgamation of lessons)

But the other lesson has to do with Plan B-ability.

I spent a bit of time in shock that the plane was sitting there and they wouldn't let me on, willing the door to reopen. But basically no one gives a fig and nothing is going to change. Lesson: get on with it. When the going gets tough, the tough don't sit and whine. Formulate a solid Plan B immediately.

Then I wanderered through the motions, getting my bag and telling my tale; looking for a hotel, and telling my tale; texting my friends, telling my tale. (Oh a smarty pants at baggage asked if I wanted a ride to the hospital. She wouldn't have offered a half hour earlier, I betcha!) But see item one! No one gives a shit! the Stop dwelling on the story. It just makes you feel bad. Forge ahead on your new track.
   
By the time I scoured all the room options and secured one, got the taxi, checked in, moped around... there was little time left to enjoy my 'casino & resort' accommodations. I went for a half hour stroll on the beach til sunset, then walked to a grocery store to buy a little snack (being fearful of eating real food) and wine.
 
Embrace your new direction.
 Had I jumped on the program sooner, I could have enjoyed more time on the beach or pool; or even dressed up and trolled for someone to buy me a drink downstairs (although there are an awful lot of women sashaying around - who all must have lost their luggage, because they are women my aged, dressed in their daughters' clothes ;-? ) In any event: this time and money is shot - whether I enjoy it or not. How much better to check my 'grumpiness' at the door, and enjoy my diversion to San Juan ...

CIDER REVOLUTION

21 October -- Crystie Kisler was still in her PJs when we arrived (admittedly early) at Finnriver Cidery, to drop off our wild apples. In truth, Susan and I had been hurried that morning too, pulling over on Washington’s Route 104 at the last minute to pick the small feral apples that grow along the roadside: scrabbling up and down mud-slicked embankments, peeling away brambles that clung to our legs like whiney toddlers. With our bounty overflowing Susan’s colorful Zulu baskets came the promise of a free bottle of hooch made from this harvest of apples gleaned throughout Jefferson County; dropped off by us and others who were unpredictably eager to taste apple wine and hard cider in the early Sunday hours.

Too early. Crystie fluttered back and forth like a nervous sparrow, putting out flyers and snacks between pours of cider. At one point a gangly bed-headed boy walked in with a delivery of serving trays: Crystie’s eldest son, River. On completing his chores he asked for a piece of the chocolate Crystie was putting out. ‘After you bring me my wool skirt,’ she replied, and continued to set up the tasting room, doling out sips of elegant and rustic ciders. When he returned with the skirt, she immodestly pulled it on over her leggings; a swing of wool beneath the heavy sweater that hung rather limply on her twiggy frame. (Littlest son Coulter – about 4 – milled around silently in a large tri-cornered pirate hat and shimmery coat.)

Today, on World Apple Day, Finnriver Cidery was collecting natural heirloom apples (those not bio-engineered or bred for sweet-toothed American tastes) to create a ‘Backyard Blend’ of hard cider. Apple donors will get a share commensurate with their tonnage (or poundage, as is more accurate) and the balance of proceeds will go to support the local food bank.

Finnriver is cultivating more than just apples and berries on their 33-acre farm: a strong sense of community exists on the compound (I want to call it a commune) reached by a windy dirt road in Chimacum, past clever signs asking, in rhyme, for visitors to drive slowly, keep the dust down, and mind kids and critters.

There is a wind turbine (we don’t see) and several small houses and even smaller (frightfully so, for a claustrophobic like me) cabins that house workers and interns, set off from the large pavilion, where random chairs and bales of hay provide community seating around a generous oven suitable for firing pizzas and breads, and to take the chill off the numbing cold of the Pacific Northwest.

As she pours, a tangle of hair jutting out from beneath her wool beanie, Crystie tells us, “We think the more complex apples will make a more complex cider.” Small or large; the size doesn’t matter, “it’s the tannins and character we’re after.” Most Americans prefer sweet apples, but these don’t make the best cider she says. Referring often to ‘old world’ taste, she serves up hearty sips of ciders that are tart, clean, mineral.

While Crystie describes each sample, more donors arrive with apples: from Dungeness, and Port Angeles. One of the patrons offers to go out and help a newly arrived woman, Ellen, lug her boxes of apples to the bin.

“We are just three years into this,” Crystie explains, “’Let’s try this. Let’s try that.’ Sometimes it’s dangerous.” One such case could be the fir infused botanical cider. She calls it a ‘culinary adventure’ – I liken it to a fizzy Christmas tree. But the small company is unrestrained by corporate dictates, so there is indeed a new-world sense of exploration – even euphoria – in their endeavors. Open-mindedly they experiment, bound along the way to hit some snags, but presumably more successes.

Other samplings:

Artisan Sparkling Cider: won a double gold in the 2011 Seattle Wine Awards. “We thought they didn’t realize it was from apples,” she exclaims. It’s fermented with champagne yeast, crisp, dry, sophisticated, with a neat finish.

Farmstead Sparkling Cider: she prefaces with a ‘warning’. Aged on the lees, it’s much more rustic than the earlier sample. Earthy, mineral, with a hint of citrus or lemongrass.

Sparkling Pear Cider: notable perfume and a hint of sweetness – a blend of organic apples and pears. Delicious.

Dry Hopped Sparkling Cider: attempt to ‘address the plethora of beer drinkers’ in the Jefferson County market, she explains, “It’s like drinking a meadow.”  I found it tart and soapy: perhaps beer is something best left to the breweries.

Sparkling Black Currant Cider: Susan liked this one, but it reminded me too much of cough syrup I took as a child. Still, I could see it with holiday toasts, or game dinners. Rabbit, venison, boar (If anyone knows where to shop for boar these days …)

Seasonal Botanical Ciders: with their Wells Fargo Wagon elixir type labels. Lavender, Fir, Cranberry, Rhubarb. Novelty ciders in small releases. (Thankfully - in the case of the fir ... )

Apple & Pear Sweet Wines: “The sexy, sophisticated side of the apple” Crystie says. Cider fortified with brandy, intense fruit flavors. I want to shove the wine aside and indulge on the rich, heady brandy.

Fruit Brandy Wines: I try the blueberry. It’s absolutely delicious and intense, without being cloying. It slides down easily, and at 18.5% alcohol content, is welcomingly warming on a frisky day.

Crystie refers to a 9/15/2012 article in the WSJ on the cider renaissance, calling it ‘historical’ and part of the ‘locavore movement.’ So over the next week we go on to explore every winery and cidery we can find, within an hours perimeter – with much success and mirth. But that report (and the image upload) will have to wait for another time …