And now I'm home. Sitting at the computer, latte on the left, kittens snarfing down food in the kitchen on the right.
I have so many stories and pictures, I wondered how to compress them and hold your interest. Then I realized the common theme of my vacation is food. What I ate and who I ate it with.
As so many good stories do, the tale begins on Cape Cod, where the houses are shingled, the gardens are full of billowing hydrangeas and everyone is tanned and healthy.
The weather channel had promised me a week of blue skies and temps in the low 80's. The weather channel lied.
But we made the best of it. We worked out at the gym, saw a movie or two, got the best massage of our lives, walked dogs, read books, drank coffee and ate.
And then cooked and ate some some. Lobster rolls, salads with vegetables from the garden, eggplant dip, roast pork marinated for hours in lemon, oil, garlic and fresh herbs, sauteed scallops in a sauce of white wine, lemon and capers, and cod topped with red onion, tomatoes, Kalamata olives and handfuls of spinach. There was Susan's homemade granola for breakfast and the ripest berries and sweetest peaches I had eaten all summer.
On the coldest day of the week, dressed as if for July, we took a ferry over to Martha's Vineyard. It was more like October on the island. We by passed the people hawking rental cars and bikes and headed for The Black Dog, after purchasing a fleece jacket, and now looking like everyone else on the island, foraged for food.
Properly bundled and full of clam chowder we strolled off to investigate the gingerbread houses of Oak Buffs. And I found where I had come from.
Where I was now.
And what I hope to find at the end of the yellow brick road of this trip.
Ah, well, that was then, this is now.
Back to the laundry.
Still to come the food and friends of Boston, Maine and NYC.