i've been in a car with joni...i felt safe

Vanity Fair spills Bob's brain onto the page. It's kind of cool, no?

I raided the library for all my missing Dylan and am spending the evening rediscovering Infidels. You've got to admit Mark Knopfler did a hell of a job. I like this album, including all the strange political references and polished production. Hey, at least man's done naming all the animals.

I've also discovered that I missed celebrating International Talk Like Bob Dylan Day, but there's always next year.

in print

I love rediscovering my pieces when they come out in print. Often, months go by between the completion of a piece and its actual publication. And in most cases, I'm not involved in the layout and photos that accompany my text; the package comes as a nice surprise.

Last week, I made my FOODday (the Oregonian's Wednesday food section) debut with the front page feature story about white asparagus. The photos are so wonderfully eerie, like a scene out of a haunting sci-fi film. And when I arrived home on Saturday after running some errands, I was delighted to find two pounds of green asparagus, one pound of white and a few pints of fresh strawberries sitting on the porch, a kind thank you from farmers Manuel and Leslie.

Instead of using one of the recipes from my piece, I took a different route, braising the white spears in chicken broth and butter and serving with a citrus reduction. Yum.

I made another debut this month in Northwest Palate magazine, where I gave wine lovers some advice on how to both respect beer and enjoy it. Not only was "Beer Demystified" my first piece for NW Palate, but it happened to be the publication's first-ever story about beer (they've been around for 20 years). Always happy to break new ground when it comes to beer education.

voting by drop box

While voting by mail guarantees certain benefits (like filling out a ballot in your pjs with the Google on hand), it means missing the chance to visit a voting booth. Call me old-fashioned, but there's something great about pulling aside the little curtain and stepping into a protected little space designed for just one thing: participation in a functioning democratic system. (Forgive me. I tend to get highly patriotic on election days.)

This morning I filled out my ballot at the kitchen table, post espresso of course, but a few hours later I ended up at the library, an official ballot drop spot. Because the library didn't open until 10 a.m., people were instructed to drop ballots at the neighboring McDonald's.

Even so, at 9:45, people started to appear holding their little voting envelopes, anxiously waiting to shove the ballots into the blue tupperware box, secured shut with padlocks, inside the library. Somehow I got the voting booth feeling by just watching the crowd gather.

Maybe I'll hand out "I voted" stickers at the drop box in November?

imbibing

Last fall I had the chance to visit Croatia for two weeks. I was on assignment for a few publications and in search of the white Italian truffle. (A note to other travelers: do not attempt to call this delicacy "Italian" while in Croatia. You will offend many. Trust me.)

I did find truffle after truffle, not in the dirt but in pastas, cream sauces, cheeses, soups and one insanely memorable semifreddo. During the course of my truffle research, a few people have said that truffles can get to you. Somehow, they start to alter your perception of reality. You begin to smell them when they're not there.

Now I understand. I smelled truffles at the airport as I was leaving the country. I smelled them at home while walking down the street, buying groceries, ordering coffee, picking up the mail. The truffles got to me. I will never be the same.

But I digress. The trip was fantastic, especially because I had the chance to travel with photographer Leah Nash for the first time. The first piece from our adventure has just hit the newsstands. Check out Imbibe's May/June issue to see all of Leah's photos, or find the text version here.

unembedded

The other day I was lunching at the Dog House (kosher beef Chicago style/Coke in a can) with my friend Brian, when a swarm of middle schoolers holding notebooks descended on the place. Their teacher told us that she'd seen Amy Goodman speak the night before and was inspired to create the next wave of unembedded journalists. And what better way to do that than head to the Dog House for a hot news story?

Well, these kids were in luck, because they'd just come across two experienced journalists enjoying the absolute freedom of their jobs by sitting outside in freezing weather in order to eat hot dogs mere feet from where they were warmed. We agreed to be interviewed about our jobs.

We told them the hard truth: we would ask tough questions if we had to and bust down doors to get the facts. I tried to make the profession sound noble, but the dab of mustard on my face may have diminished my credibility. No matter, I'm happy to know I helped shape the next generation of unembedded journalists, who, if they're smart, will choose the glamorous lifestyle of the freelance writer.

Don't hold the onions, kids. Don't hold the onions.

perfect pairings

In the most recent issue of Beer Northwest magazine, I write about one of my favorite pairings: running and beer. Read about my first encounter with the drinking club with a running problem, one professor's proof that beer hydrates more effectively than water, and the clever calculations that disprove the notion of the beer gut.

The piece isn't online, but it's worth checking out this new Portland-based publication when you get a chance.

sunday soundtrack

Visiting David Byrne's streaming radio feed is like showing up at the airport and getting on the next available flight to wherever. Today I've been dropped in Turkey, a country I had the chance to visit with my dad and two little brothers way back when.

Byrne's collection would have made a good soundtrack for our trip, although most of these tracks lack the disco sound that makes me so fond of Bollywood/Bhangra mixes. But right now I'm feeling satisfied by this dreamy Turkish pop. Of course the music makes me think of food...juicy lamb kebabs, breakfasts of feta slices and olives, and sweet, thick coffee.

I wish I could post a good photo from our trip. Alas, we traveled in the pre-digital-camera era, so I have no idea where my stack of prints went. Just picture a family of skinny white Americans carrying backpacks filled with iodine pills and Nalgene bottles, grinning in front of mosques, ferries and plates of whole fried fish with cloudy eyes.