Finally! A Waffle Ho(u)se and Southern fried chicken

I have never been to a Waffle House. I’ve been curious for years and a road trip down South seemed the perfect time.

Imagine my delight to see a Waffle House across the street from the motel.

That night we noticed the U in the sign was out so we drive around the truck stop to get a photo.

It amused me.

This morning I finally had my first Waffle House experience. Everyone was very concerned I would be disappointed.

I loved it.

The woman running the grill was amazing. The coffee good. And my waffle was thin and crispy.

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And then we had lunch at a hickory house chicken place in Hardeeville, South Carolina.

Chicken Lickin’s.

They made it fresh for us and the sides were out of this world. Best coleslaw ever.

Savannah, we are here!

Day 4

We arrived in Savannah about 4 pm last night and checked into The Inn at Mulberry Grove. The prettiest motel I’ve ever seen.

For less than $50/night, I finally got a decent cup of coffee.

But I digress…

Last night we went downtown and ended up getting New York pizza got dinner at Vinnie Van GoGos. Wonderful artsy pun. I had a local blonde beer: Tybee Isle Blonde.

And then we visited the River Street area and bought sundresses and met a man who made palm roses.

A PJ Monday

So, I’m still receiving comments about how fun P.J. is. I have to admit, I didn’t expect him to be so popular.

I had a rough start to today. Let’s just say there wasn’t enough caffeine and sugar in my system to compensate for my Black Friday weekend in retail. Number seven. When I first accepted a job working part-time, I never thought I would stay this long. I wanted something to allow me flexibility and to leave my stress at the time clock. Both are usually true.

P.J. and I headed to West Chester early this morning and spent the day doing homework in my office between helping students as a history department graduate assistant.

Before too long P.J. had to use the facilities and you can imagine his confusion when I had to explain to him why the ladies’ room had urinals. You see, P.J., this building used to be a dormitory and it once housed male students.

We finished our work and had to decide what the next leg of our day would bring. After much debate, we opted for coffee. The nice man at Dunkin Donuts sold us TWO peppermint crunch doughnuts for a dollar. That meant we didn’t have to share! P.J. couldn’t have been more thrilled because he knows I am a bit of a glutton.

But I did have to be in the adult in the room and point out to P.J. that we needed “real food” and not merely sugar. I have a long night ahead and the sugar/caffeine roller coaster would do me more harm than good. We walked outside and right next to the Dunkin Donuts there was a natural food store (Great Pumpkin Market). That sounded great as P.J. and I have eaten more than our fair share of junk over the holiday weekend.

They had some raw honey at very reasonable prices so I picked that up and I discovered one of the “power sandwiches” I would eat occasionally during my vegetarian days.

As I walked toward the front of the store, I found a discount section and there was a power sandwich AND some fake turkey salad.

The clerk turned over the discount items and discovered they were out of date so she gave them to me for free! And since a bear is a scavenger P.J. didn’t mind at all.

Like good children we ate our dinner first and then had a doughnut.

Coffee and St. Basil’s

It is so wet in Moscow today.

We have been drenched to the bone several times already. Sigh.

So after our morning adventure, we decided on a cup of coffee and found a delightful shop with good looking pastry and the word that we recognized as Russian for coffee.

We speak a total of five words of Russian yet someone managed to order coffee and juice and cookies and a delicious poppyseed loaf. And a chocolate muffin cupcake thing.

After that it was more struggling with the rain… And dear daughter losing the hotel room key and the 500 rubles spending money I gave her.

IMG_3968Of course, I took a picture of her in the Moscow streets with her inside out umbrella.

And St. Basil’s was delightful. Gorgeous architecture. Art students drawing in the halls. Ancient coins and tools. Great music. Various examples of metal work and religious art.

 

 

Goodbye, Paris. Hello, Moscow.

Our traveling companion M took us on a walk through Barbès where my daughter made some French/Algerian friends in one of the shops. The people there tried to get her to speech French and Arabic and gave her a piece of candy. She noted the difference between standard touristy Paris and the so-called immigrant presence in the outer districts, seeing Africans and Arabs. I use the term so-called immigrants because of how the French consider even second generation citizens “immigrants.”

We walked up to Sacre Ceour. Lil Miss didn’t realize it was on the top of a hill. She just thought it was tall. But she was a trooper walking up the hill. And M showed her the Eiffel Tower in the distance.We wandered half way down the hill and she spotted the funicular. We had a metro ticket for the day so we actually walked back UP to Sacre Ceour and rode the funicular down.

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Funicular to Sacre Couer

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View from Sacre Coeur

Dinner was at Le Magenta, another place where I have eaten before. I ordered a two course meal for each of us, with Lil Miss trying to overcome her fear of using French words. I suggested the restaurant based on past experience and as soon as she saw they served escargot she was in.  She ordered six escargot in a bourgogne sauce. In the photo, she looks a tad intimidated but in reality she was merely focused on getting those snails out of their shells. I asked her why she liked them and she said it was because she loved getting them out of their shells. I suppose she’s like a cat and needs to play with her food.

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She also had a duck thigh which came artfully arranged on potato wedges and slivers of tomatoes that resembled flower petals.

The walk back to the hotel was exhausting, not because it was far but because of the jet lag and the nine miles we had walked. Lil Miss showered, collapsed into bed. In the morning, we were on the RER early returning to CDG-Roissy.

In the Air France lounge, Lil Miss made an amazing discovery. 1. She LIKES croissants. She has insisted for years that she doesn’t like plain croissant. I have countered, for years, that it’s because she hasn’t tasted one in France.

She ate five or six plain croissants and two pain au chocolat. She also learned how to read French jam labels, though she thought the “orange” was orange marmalade and it turned out to be bitter orange. An adjective makes a big difference.

IMG_3928.JPGThe plane from Paris to Moscow was on an Airbus A318, a big change from the Boeing 777. I discovered this morning a lovely note from the TSA that apparently gave my bag a check before it left the States. Not that I noticed.

We navigated the Moscow airport with no problem and child kept trying to compliment the female customs agent on her pretty eye makeup. Overall, she’s a good kid but we’re working on NOT spurting out every thought in her head to the entire universe.

We even navigated the Moscow subway. The majestic tunnels, architecture and details in the stations. Every train looks completely different. Some old, some new. Very colorful.

We had Russian-style beef dumplings with a butter and sour cream sauce for dinner in a little restaurant off Red Square where to Lil Miss’s delight they had American music videos playing. Calvin Harris and the Disciples: “How Deep is Your Love?”

Child compared Moscow to an urban New York feel. Paris seems smaller and offers more recreation. She thought Moscow was more exotic while Paris felt more like an American town.

And the best so far–

“All I know about Russia is what I see on CNN and they don’t have nice things to say.”

That’s my baby. Now when you go back to school, set them straight.

 

 

Called a Chinese tourist 

My friends mock me for taking so many photos, and truth be told most of them get deleted by the end of the day.

This morning the idea that I might need an intervention hit home when a Djiboutian man pushing a wheelbarrow saw me taking photos in the street and greeted me with a hello in Chinese.

M’s main mission for today was to buy a simm card for his phone so we’d have a local number. After coffee, croissant and bread (yes, we got up before they ran out), we headed to Djibouti Telecomm.

The day started out at 79 degrees and 50% humidity. It honestly gave me a bit of a chill. Quickly, the humidity built. The sun came out and we began to bake and sweat.

M went into the telephone office and I opted to wait outside and watch people. I noticed that I can now distinguish some basic words in Somali, which with my abysmal ear for languages is impressive.

Only one man talked to me and our conversation, in French, went something like this:

Man: How’s it going?

Me: it goes

Man: You live in France
Me: No 

Him: You live here 

Me: No

Him: But you are French

Me: No 

Him: But then…

Me: I am American

At which point he departed. Abruptly, scratching his head.

We walked town a bit and stopped for coffee and juice at Bunna House. We freshened up at the hotel and went to the rotisserie stand in front of City Burger to buy a herbed, spiced roasted chicken.

  
We ripped that chicken apart with our hands, using tissues as our napkins, picking through skin, bones and the paste remaining of chicken guts. It was amazing.

We then went for a walk, knowing full well we were approaching the 1 pm shutdown of town. Let me say that if we attracted attention in the market at other times of day, today we learned that at 1 pm, we’re the only people out there and the locals descend upon us like vultures.

  
We took brief naps and then made our daily visit to Nougaprix where today we bought two “coconut brownies.” Very dry but tasty. The two of them cost, together, about 75 cents.

  

Novosibirsk: Pizzasinizza Adventure, part 2

Our adventure in Novosibirsk certainly didn’t turn out exactly the way we expected, but it was fun and showed us a totally different side of Russia than what we saw in Moscow.

We stayed at the Marriott near Lenin Square and the staff was amazing. They helped orient us to the city, arranged for cheap taxi, and even made sure we had a boxed breakfast when we left today at 4 a.m.

We have had two days of 4 a.m. wake-up times and in both cases we departed the hotel ridiculously quickly. Yesterday it took us 15 minutes. Today 10. And we left with sandwiches, fruit, juice, yogurt and muffins in our boxed meal. That clerk at the front desk was insistent we take breakfast since it came with the room.

But back to pizza. We took a preliminary walk around downtown Novosibirsk, focusing on a strange tiny church in the middle of the street, the opera house and a delightful park. The park had a fairly dense collection of trees, some flute players in South American garb, two dogs lying on a blanket wearing sunglasses (begging for money, which seemed odd to me. How exactly do canines panhandle?), a woman giving pony rides, kids driving mini battery operated cars and a kiosk selling some overpriced but hysterical political themed t-shirts.

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We wandered to a local coffee shop, where the reality set it that no one around us spoke English. We managed to decipher the menu, and the prices were half what they were in Moscow. The cakes looked incredible. Travel always leaves me dehydrated so I ordered a “chai latte” (tea latte in English). In Russian, it looks like “yan (triangular staple shape)atte.” M stepped out on a ledge and ordered the mochachino.

My tea came in a pretty standard coffee shop cup with the types of coffee and add-ons written on the side. It had a lovely spice blend, I could clearly taste the ginger, and I’m not sure if they used a special local honey or if something about the milk made it so different and rich.

We also discovered one of those sidewalk drink huts that had a BIG bottle of water and it cost what I paid for the small ones in Moscow. That made me very happy. I have discovered my Russian vocabulary can only yield beverages. I can order coffee, tea, and water. And I can count to three.

At this point it was about 5 pm so we returned to the hotel to see if we had heard from our contact at Pizzasinizza. The answer was no. So we decided to wait until 5:45. We decided we had four options: get a cab, walk, phone them, or merely order the pizza for delivery. We had flown 7,000 miles for this pizza after all.

We consulted google maps, which implied that it would be an 8 km walk to the pizza place, a 15 minute cab ride or require three buses on public transportation. We used the map in the back of a magazine in our hotel room to translate the names of streets into a familiar alphabet, but this seemed not quite do-able on our own.

At 5:45 we had heard nothing so we headed to the hotel lobby. I at first asked for change for a 5,000 ruble bill. Russians seem to prefer exact change. And I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to use the equivalent of a $100 bill on the street or at a delivery-only pizza place.

Then, I launched into my more complicated of problems. I explained how I had come across this pizza place on the Internet but with our limited Russian I didn’t know if we could call them or find them. The front desk googled them. They tried to telephone but no one answered. They offered to call a car but seemed to think public transport would be easy.

The one clerk printed us a map, circled the metro stations and our destination address. He then drew a line for our walking path once we exited the station. “Take the red line,” he said. “To [insert Russian word here]. It is three stops, toward [more Russian words], that’s two words. You will see the river. Take the red line toward the two words at the end of the line. Then return to Lenin Square.”

He repeated the Russian words for Lenin Square a few times. He told us how much metro tickets would be and off we went. When we walked up to the ticket window, it was funny because I was only confident that I knew how to count to three. I think I know four— it sounds something like “chest” but I might be confusing that with the number six. We ended up with four tokens. And they were tokens that indeed went in a little coin slot. I don’t think I’ve ever used a token on a subway, always paper tickets or the smart cards.

The Novosibirsk subway has old cars and rides fast with the rhythm of an old wooden roller coaster. It was much easier to navigate than Moscow, but that was because we had some idea where to go, a familiarity with Russian subway basics and it was not rush hour.

We wove through the underground shops of the metro station and realized we had no idea what side to exit on to follow the map the hotel clerk gave us. We checked with some police officers. We had obviously picked the wrong side, so they added more arrows to our map to loop us around the block.

It got interesting because the streets in Novosibirsk aren’t labeled well, often not at all. We followed our map to where we thought we might need to turn, and asked (by gestures and pointing to the map) an older man in a military style uniform where to go. He pointed toward the street and told us a bunch of things in Russian we didn’t understand.

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We followed that street for a while and again got confused that we should be making another turn. This time we stopped in a little grocery store. We started down a cross street that brought us through block upon block of identical apartment buildings that represented the classic idea of how I pictured Russia in my mind. And the amount of garbage we saw along the streets reminded me of some of my experiences in Africa as if the West had merged with the developing world.

We had agreed that if we didn’t find it by the next major intersection, and if that street wasn’t a real commercial street, we would turn around. I had to use the restroom. Remember I said I bought a BIG bottle of water? That was ill-timed.

And then there it was. TWO pizza places side by side. We walked into the first, but despite the sign on the door, the hall seemed dark and as if it were private. We visited the second. That was Asterix Pizza. They directed us down the dark hall, which opened up to this bright little room where a woman was writing on pizza boxes with a crazy yellow seat beside her.

No one spoke English. But with the help of cell phones, we explained the situation and they let us order pizza. And I got to use the toilet.

The girl writing on the pizzas was checking Instagram to try and understand how this all came about, and I even turned on my cellular data so I could show her from my account. That’s when a message from our original contact pushed through. M texted whomever that person is on my behalf.

And we sat on a bench in a non-touristy neighborhood on the other side of the river in Novosibirsk waiting for our pizza. When it was ready, the cook made me count out exact change and handed me three pizza boxes and a wrap.

We embarked back to the metro station and to the hotel. We spread the pizzas out and ate on the floor. The pizzas came with some unusual dipping sauces: a not-like-in-America barbecue sauce, a cheesy-mayo like sauce and a sweet and sour sauce.

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We enjoyed our pizzas and were in bed by ten to rise early again today. Sadly, my contact messaged asking if we could get together for coffee before I flew to Moscow. I wish we had the time.

We felt very triumphant that we got the pizza. From the time we left the hotel to the time we returned was two-and-a-half hours. Ironically, there’s a Papa Johns about a block from the hotel. We enjoyed our pizza. More importantly, it showed us how truly sweet and helpful the Russians are and allowed us to explore the city.

Of course, M had proclaimed I am not allowed to pull a stunt like this again.

That’s okay. I can find something as equally crazy.

Hot Chocolate at the Pushkin Café

So we got up today again at 9 a.m. It’s a lovely, sunny Moscow day and the Lenins and Stalins are still hanging out in the area of Red Square, which, sadly is still closed.

I swung into the post office to buy a stamp. Each trip I try to buy a random stamp for my daughter and her teacher. They are usually cheap, unique and don’t take up room in a suitcase. My daughter now has France, Djibouti, Tunisia and will soon add Russia. I walked in, and without having any clue for the Russian words for mailing something, merely said the Russian word for “two” and I suppose she sold me two Russian airmail stamps. It cost me a little more than a dollar. But I paid with the equivalent of a twenty, so the clerk “huffed” under her breath and had to leave the room to make change. She made it a point to huff a second time as she counted it out to me. I was very
pleased with myself.

I went to a souvenir shop to buy a little something for my daughter. I won’t say what because she does like her surprises. It cost 150 rubles. I put 200 rubles up and the clerk shook her head. I sorted through my coins. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty… she counted as I counted. But I didn’t have another. I only have forty. She waved at me and said in Russian that ten rubles was nothing to worry about.

That also seemed like a win.

Red Square will definitely be closed all week. But we have gone down every day to see what we can see.

From there, we decided to begin our daily walk. We tend to wander with a loose goal in mind. Pushkin Café has been on M’s list because of the 1964 French song, “Nathalie.”

Today we finally found it.

This is not it.

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Neither is this, but this was next door.

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And then voilà, this IS it.

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The menu

Of course all we wanted was chocolate. And it was heavenly.

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Khachapuri: More First of May adventures in Moscow

This afternoon, we left the hotel and decided to wander toward Pushkin Café, with its hot chocolate and Nathalie fame. We never made it. We wandered into some sort of children’s shopping center with kids’ activities and just started walking.

We walked the park around the Kremlin, toured the World War II monument (and even watched an Asian tourist hog the monument as we tried to take pictures and my favorite, watched the soldier on guard whistle at folks who sat on the walls), and went for coffee.

In one of the pedestrian tunnels that connects to the underground/metro, I did some shopping. I bought water, a plastic bangle bracelet in leopard for a work colleague, and a small piece of bread with sauce and cheese that tasted a lot like Elios pizza.

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In our travels, we saw some Lenin and Stalin impersonators in full military dress and a tsar. There were also opportunities to wave the Soviet flag.

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But, by far, the real excitement happened in the evening. M had some trouble decided what he wanted for dinner. He had his guidebook (a French tour book on Moscow) and I had mine (a DK book on all of Russia). We read back and forth until he asked about Georgian cuisine and I had a place listed in mine called Khachapuri. He was all over it.

But for some reason, the listing didn’t have a map coordinate under the name. So, we entered the address into google maps. And the directions came up in Russian. And no matter what we did, we couldn’t get the anglicized names to read the map in the guidebook. So M read the names out loud and I marked the map. But some of the streets were too small to be on the map in the guidebook. I copied those (Yes, in cyrillic letters) into my notebook. And off we went.

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With M sounding out the street names and my notes, we found the place with no problem. I have linked to their web site: http://www.hacha.ru/en/menu/6/

I had an incredible pumpkin soup with smoked cheese on it.
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M ordered an herb khachapuri, but didn’t get the traditional one with raw egg on top. So that saddened him a tad, but I think his mandarin lemonade may have compensated. They made lemonade and put large pieces of orange in it. Very delightful.

This man came in and played accordion in front of us, including “Yesterday,” yes, as in the Beatles tune.

Then my dinner came. On that web site, it’s the third row down. First item. Baturi-style beef cooked in Georgian candori spice. Now I had told M that the soup was so good I wanted to eat a bowl every day for the rest of my life. The beef came out in this delicate paper wrapped, and the spices were both exotic and familiar. The beef was perfectly cooked and I cut it with a butter knife. There was roasted garlic and roasted onion on the side. I devoured the garlic. The food was so good I also tried the onion. AND I HATE ONION. It was fairly edible. But I just don’t like onions.

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M and I both knew we wanted to eat here again. So we made a reservation for tomorrow night. I actually mourned the end of my meal, because despite the fact that I was happy and satiated I didn’t want it to end.

We couldn’t believe our bill. Less than 1600 rubles. Or about $30.

There was a downpour on the way home. I ended up hanging my shoes and jeans on the heated towel rack. I can’t stop thinking about that meal.

Recreating morning (food) memories from Djibouti

Cross-posted with my cooking blog:
www.AngelFoodCooking.blogspot.com

Nearly everyday that we were in Djibouti, my traveling companion (M) and I visited the juice bar at Cafeteria Sana’a a couple blocks from our hotel. It was normal a late morning break, usually after our second walk around the city.

Around 7:30 a.m., we’d have breakfast on the porch of our hotel, a cup of café crême with a big cube of sugar accompanied by a basket of baguette slices and a couple croissants. The plates that came with the basket had a dollop of strawberry jelly and a large pat of butter. With my recovering broken hand, sometimes the butter started too cold to manipulate but within seconds it literally would begin to melt.

After this breakfast, we’d walk. With temperatures at 90 degrees F (even that early) and humidity around 85 percent, it didn’t take long to find ourselves drenched in our own perspiration. We’d return to our hotel to drink a liter of water and let ourselves dry out and then we’d repeat.

On the second morning tour, we capped everything off with a juice from Cafeteria Sana’a.

The first day I ordered ginger juice. I thought, since gastro-international issues can pop up during travels in Africa, ginger would help keep my insides healthy. It was fabulous. Spicy and zesty and refreshing, even 20 minutes later still walking around in the heat that ginger juice left and incredibly pleasant taste in my mouth.

The next visit they had run out of ginger. This afternoon, they said. I was heartbroken so I let M order me a mango. It was delightful but lacked the zip and surprise of the ginger.

We returned the next day. No ginger. Maybe tomorrow, they said. I ordered “melon.” I had no idea what type of melon to expect. I’m not a huge melon fan, but isn’t the point of traveling to expand your horizons and be adventurous? Would it be watermelon? Honeydew?

Cantaloupe. Served in a frozen mug. Not as breathtaking as ginger but a flavor I soon learned to crave after an hour or two in the hot sun. That day we had a second juice, lemon. Our server offered us lemon with mint, something not on the board, but at this point we may have become regulars. This became M’s pick.

The final trip to the juice bar we ordered large juices instead of regular. Still no ginger. So I stayed with my melon.

And today I made a breakfast that incorporates all of these taste memories:

– Take and bake Archer Farms baguette with Brie from Aldi and a chunk with butter.

– Simply Balanced green tea with ginger.

– Cantaloupe juice

My first attempt at my own cantaloupe juice smoothie included about 2 cups cantaloupe and 1/2 cup water in the blender. Suitable, but lacked the frozen mug.

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