Welcome back

Jah, we back.  But before we was back and we was away we went again to ol' Fore Street where we said to our waitlady hey, we never been back what you didn't put a card on our table what said welcome back!  But she twicky!  When dessert come, look what she did!!

(Took two home cooked dinners, a leftovers lunch, and a bananas breakfast to get the poops back to normal.  And no bottles of wine.  I knew you were concerned about that.)

Dear diary, wish you were here

Here, generally in Amsterdam, but specifically here, too, at Kapitein Zeppo's, where I am fortifying myself with a few pilsner, what the Dutch call young cheese, and an espresso.  Oh, hey, the gypsy jazz trio is about to come on...

Both of the openings last evening were fab.  Lota's busy busy busy and I'm, uh, scouting dinner and drink locations.  Research.  Wearing my bone to the bone.

Far away, and only yesterday

LH's life is much more interesting than mine right now.  (Makes me wonder how the blog can grow old without a "plumbing" tag.)

The second night was at Tintale, which is quite high at the top of a long, exhausting upward slope. We stayed at a kind of lodge / house. I talked with a handsome guy who was a teacher at a private English medium school, seemed to be well-off, and when I asked if he read Nepali novels, it turned out he had read ALL of the novels I've translated (in Nepali, of course) and seemed genuinely impressed to meet the translator! The proprietor of the "inn" (I'm not sure what to call it - they serve dal bhat and provide space for sleeping) was a very jolly Rai guy, and we had lots of laughs. He urged us to stay another day so we could "dance and sing together." We were informed that Tintale gets knee-deep snow in the winter. The way to the outdoor bathroom was so treacherous I peed in the road during the night rather than attempt it (it required going out through a room of sleeping travelers in the dark trying not to wake them, opening a creaking front door, stepping over a plank across the threshold, going to the street, going down a steep slope with uneven steps, being careful not to trip on a 2' high hose in the path, hopping down a 3' step (all slippery mud), negotiating the toilet door locked with a tiny lock - all while holding a flashlight and toilet paper, then dealing with a squat toilet. Luckily I didn't have the runs). Dinner was a noisy affair, as a couple of the guests had drunk a lot of rakshi and got a little noisy and obnoxious, but they soon went to sleep.

Flowery nose, creamy texture: more northwest chanterells & more pizza

Well, I know, you're sick of hearing it, but I'm not yet sick of eating it.  We were in the northwest again this last weekend (WA, this time), and again there were wild chanterelles at the farmers' market.  Bought some, and some garlic and red cippolini onions, some canned San Marzano tomatoes.  And a pizza stone since our host didn't have one.  We bought a handful of bottles at Patrick Hub's fabulous Olympic Wine Merchant (noo, laddie, no web site, you just have to go there).  (My fave was a Buty Sémillon, Sauvignon and Muscadelle blend. Oh, slay me, I am a pig of a pig of a pig.)  Lota made a salad, C made an apple crisp, and we stuffed ourselves!

Larry => Manjul => Simone = plus ultra

Larry's back in Kathmandu and urging us to get there, too. I keep asking him, Where exactly in Brooklyn is that? (Juju keeps asking me, Where in Berkeley is Brooklyn?) Anyway, Larry says "My next task is to set up some trekking, probably to the East, to retrace the itinerary of Manjul toward Bhojpur." So I had to learn who Manjul is. And that also lead me to Susan Simone's photographs. And to Bhojpur Ke Marda. Give it a go.

share the experience, vicariously....

longtime bloggo favorito Cardhouse makes substantial mention of roadtrip recently experienced thru PA NV CO UT MI CA OH IN IL NE IA AZ WI, by car and rail. Makes Juju want to jump ship here at NoNo HQ and head off for some misadventures of our own...

and hey, can you say "Green Chile"?

sure, we knew you could...