Going To Mainland

Last weekend saw me doing a lot of driving, and in the ordinary course of things I wouldn't mind so much because I like road trips. Most people who live in the Keys seem to do so to escape time on the road but of course I have to do my own weird thing so I find I enjoy commuting on two wheels on a relatively easy road...and for me taking a trip to mainland Florida is no big deal. However my wife and I spent Saturday and Sunday in Fort Myers on business which was tiring. Monday I had a bicycle to deliver Up North. 

Mandy came to the Keys from the Midwest armed only with a bicycle, a dog carrier and a dog and I figured to get her going north again it would be better if she bypassed the whole Miami-Ft Lauderdale urban agglomeration. -What better way to do that than in an air conditioned car with her dog and her bicycle and trailer behind? This was a mitzvah in my wife's people's  language. Jews come in al stripes of religious severity and for some a mitzvah is a commandment from he who cannot be named, others say it is sort of religious requirement and for the less strict Reform shower like my wife a mitzvah can be interpreted as the right thing to do. I was a wide-eyed traveler and got lots of help years ago. Now I'm old I have to do the same thing for other young travelers behind me, so I did. But that meant traveling in traffic on Monday and Tuesday. Right after my working weekend in Fort Myers. Ouf!

We stopped for the dog run at the Pompano Beach rest area off the Turnpike and both Mandy and Mingus were quite taken by the fenced-in area. I was amazed to see some brilliant architect had put a short cut path through the flowerbed accepting the reality that most people want to cut corners. Why can't more architects get this right? I see tons of flower beds and hedges that refuse to accept this reality and expect people to walk the "long way" round and consequently the flowerbeds get torn up by impatient feet.

Mingus was entirely content to wander and sniff the dog run. I missed Cheyenne who had elected not to face the heat and stay home. She had had enough driving with the trip to Ft Myers and my wife wanted her company. I quite like Mingus has a tendency to flop in your lap at the least provocation unlike my stand-offish Labrador. 

We had a grand dinner at Denise's place in Briny Breezes with chicken and wine and conversation. And did I mention the wine?

Denise was the first person I met  whom I still know when I made my epic journey across the US on a Vespa in 1981. She was working the summer of 1981 interviewing tourists about their spending habits for a survey and she saw me at Long Key State Park next to my scooter reading Hemingway. I had bought a collection of short stories and I was struggling to come to terms with his view of the world before I got to Key West. She took me in for a month after I visited Key West and retired defeated by the little fishing village in the middle of nowhere. I lived with her and her boyfriend who lives in California now and with whom I am still in touch also. It was a surprising month for me in Delray Beach a few miles from this corner of Florida where Denise now lives. I met a lot of people and ideas (ozone holes, gays are not weird, and recycling) that started the slow process of getting my closed provincial mind to open. So when I suggested Denise take Mandy in to help her kick off her ride back north she saw the cosmic connection to the past. Mandy and Mingus liked the expansive beach and strong sea breeze (briny breeze!) of the Florida mainland.

 Unlike Mandy I had a routine to get back to so I took off Tuesday morning stopping for very little, except a quick breakfast at a Panera in an unremarkable giant shopping mall. By lunchtime I was back in the Keys...and ready to be. 

I was lucky with accidents on the Turnpike. On the way up Mandy and I saw one with a huge line of trapped traffic behind it. On my solo way back south it was the turn of the other side of the barricade to experience hopeless delay, blockages and stupid people who reduce speed to a crawl to stare at mangled cars.

 Poor buggers I thought to myself as I watched the cars sit still in their suddenly created parking lot. No wonder most people hate commuting. People look at me like I'm mad when I suggest the Keys can be a great place to work. Of course you do need a decent job and they are rare as hen's teeth. I'm lucky to have one of them, but given that, it is a great place to work. Consider the weather is never too terribly miserable, with a worst some wind and rain, no snow, no frost, no truly freezing mornings to push you out of bed in your socks. Traffic generally is reasonable so commuting isn't terribly burdensome (I enjoy my commute!). Dress codes even for work are mild and as long as you have committed co-workers, which is rare, your workplace can be an ethical and fun place to be. I'm lucky in that respect too. Then, after a day or night at work fishing and swimming is right there in your back yard. Year round. And next year, maybe, I will have easy access to the mountain roads of Cuba to ride.

Back in the keys I spotted this relaxed touring couple whose dress code would give "serious" riders fits. Me? I like not having to hold other people's choices in judgement so I live and let live. I like not having to wear a helmet in Florida. Mostly I do, sometimes I don't. 

I couldn't help but think of Mandy on her wild ride, every day an adventure as I slipped back into my middle aged routine.

Back at work my CPR certification was up and I have to have it to keep my job. I hate tests and being tested and Officer Sims our trainer kept berating me for getting ahead of the class. Bloody type A personality. I took copious notes and studied them before the final exam which was closed book.

I passed. I'm good for two more years. I wonder where Mandy will be in two years, doing what? Ah youth.  

Briny Breezes

My wife and I have a couple of road trips planned this year, one in North Carolina in June and another going someplace in July. We will pack our dog and our tent and put the Fusion to the test. We don't want to get embroiled in spending vast sums visiting Italy this year, irony of ironies when the Euro is as low as it has ever been. So we are going to take three weeks out of July and drive around a bit, destination uncertain. We like driving together and Cheyenne did very well on her maiden trip to Birmingham a few weeks ago. So far, with 1200 miles driven in South Florida the Fusion seems to be doing okay.

After we bought the car we stopped by Denise's beach house in Briny Breezes. Denise was away so we had the place to ourselves. We brought a picnic dinner and sat out under the stars enjoying the sea breeze in her front yard. In the morning the dog imperative took over and I walked Cheyenne. Denise lives across the street from the Briny Breezes trailer park, a slice of Old Florida.It was hot and stuffy and breezy all at the same as we walked towards the water. I noticed some people will do anything to get an ocean glimpse. I can't imagine neighbors mean much to the owner of this ill- proportioned monstrosity...Trailer Park residents get to use this waterfront view point overlooking the beach.
This is stereotypical Florida, the one where old people come to spend their "golden years." I don't get to see much of this in the Keys. The trailer park is a haven for ordinary people in the middle of piles and piles of massive condo canyons along the waterfront. Membership has it's privileges and if you want to participate there is a trailer advertised for a cool $270,000.Bob popped out and asked about Cheyenne (not me). He noted down her name and city of origin because apparently he publishes the name of visiting dogs in the local paper. As odd an obsession as keeping a photo diary, one could say.I was proud of myself; I remembered to take his picture. Locally the way they protect the coastline is by making it as inaccessible to visitors as possible. Which is a shame.
A grand estate for you?Mind the chain link fence. In Florida beaches are public, so access is limited and parking is non existent. So either you walk or cycle or stay away. Friendly huh?
To be close enough to walk your dog makes you lucky. To own property that gives you access makes you a local. No bicycles?

These people have paid for their view and by God...etc.It's good to get out of town occasionally. It reminds you of the good and the loose at home. Not enough people leave the Keys from time to time to see how the rest of the country lives.

Eating Up The Mainland

A trip to the mainland is an opportunity to eat something different. It's not as though we are restricted to a diet of worms and bivalves, at least most of us who live in the keys aren't......but the wife and I like the opportunity to get some road food under our belts when we wander far from home. Cheyenne has a well developed desire to see distant places, which I expect is a product of too many years trapped in a yard, tried to a chain and producing litters of valuable Labrador puppies. We checked out the back of Bob's Bunz in Islamorada (a town that calls itself, rather pompously, "Village of Islands"):My wife told me to look for somewhere to eat breakfast in the Upper Keys, so the night before we left I got busy at work and rounded up this place, which garners rave reviews in TripAdvisor.It lies about a quarter mile north of World Wide Sportsman, a dreadfully boring place that sells fishing tackle and fishing "lifestyle" stuff. It is a well known landmark in Islamorada ("Village of Islands") the fishing capital of somewhere, the Florida Keys they say. Luckily the wife took charge of seating arrangements while I walked Cheyenne, for by the time we got back and the dog was watered and secure in the car a line was forming.
Bob's Bunz used to be known as something else and the old bakery sign still flies above the highway. I found my wife jealously guarding a table and a cup of coffee was waiting, alongside the largest basket of dairy creamers I have ever seen.One reason I was attracted to Bobs Bunz was the fish breakfast offered, as seen below. My wife had eggs benedict on muffins and a cheerful waitress kept the coffee coming.

Bob is a pastry chef by trade and a large part of the business is selling baked goods. We were advised to order our pastries first as his cinnamon rolls sell out early and we ate breakfast while jealously guarding our little cardboard box. I am quite partial to orange flavored pastry and these bizarre "muffin tops" were quite delicious, even without the body of a muffin underneath:They were somewhat sponge-like resembling thick cookies but crispier than a sponge cake and quite excellent. Mango turnovers? What's not to like?

The worst thing about the restaurant is the tedious theme of Bob's buttocks, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, a sort of parlor game play on words that I found rather tiresome. The food at Bob's Bunz (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more) is worth a second visit. Maybe a third too.

Key West has some excellent eating out but ethnic varieties are in somewhat short supply. Which explains why we frequently get Mexican in Homestead or Indian wherever we can. Vietnamese is something we miss also, especially as we used to live near San Jose, California, home to a vast Vietnamese expatriate community.

Green Papaya in Miami Lakes helped fill the void. I wanted pho, the traditional broth and noodle soup but it was just too hot of a day so we settled on pork with noodles and a pork chop. We usually indulge in a cup of Vietnamese coffee, brewed at your table with a drip filter that drops coffee into a glass of evaporated milk.

On this occasion we went simple though I did order a helping of Mama's Pudding a starchy not-too-sweet concoction of tapioca and yucca that I enjoyed thoroughly (so much so I forgot the camera) and which my wife thought belonged in an English boarding school menu. She put her spoon down and wrinkled her nose as I chased the last scraps round the bowl. Cheyenne is a creature of habit and because it was getting dark it was long past her dinner time, so I whipped out the bowls and got busy after her last walk of the day.For dinner we bought the makings of a picnic, bread salami cheese and Pinot Noir and had dinner al fresco outside Denise's beach house in Briny Breezes. Denise herself was on vacation in Ecuador so we had the house to ourselves. We were stuffed after twelve short hours on the road.

My wife watches the Food Channel when she works out at Pirate Wellness Center on Cudjoe Key. And, because we have no television reception at home she goes on line and downloads recipes and addresses of places she wants to visit. It turns out a highly desirable Jewish deli is in Boynton Beach. Actually it is located in a nondescript strip mall seven miles inland from the ocean:

Luckily for us she had the address stored in her iPhone and we had no trouble locating the deli:American Jews of a certain generation are, in some fashion I cannot quite explain, easily identifiable. For my wife every visit to a Jewish cultural institution, be it a cemetery or a deli is a reminder that she is not alone in a Gentile dominated world. We would have been lucky to be alone. The place was absolutely packed.

It didn't take long and soon we were passed the owner who entertained the waiting line of customers with his own line of patter ("Move forward please. I don't want anyone walking by to think that we are too busy."). At our table we got coffee and, unasked for, coffee cake to eat while we struggled with the million item menu.

My wife settled on an acre of Matzo Brei, a concoction she likes to make at home consisting of scrambled eggs mixed with wetted unleavened bread (Matzo) and in this with some smoked salmon flakes thrown in as well. It was delicious.

We agreed my corned beef hash was the best we'd tasted, and naturally there was far too much of it.

It wasn't like I needed the toasted egg bagel either. And because there was a crazy two-for-one special going on our entire breakfast including coffee came to less than eleven bucks.

I looked around and my wife, who grew up in the Quad Cities, or more precisely Rock Island when she was an infant said the people in the place reminded her of her grandparents' generation. She spent almost her entire life assimilated in Northern California hippie-dom, but she still remembers the Jewish community in Rock Island and she says it looked much like this.They had a lavish pastry section of course and we bought some.

I cannot stand Jewish deli food like whitefish and vinegar and sour cream dunked products. I think eastern European delicacies are, on the whole, revolting.I must confess I did want to try the fish spam on display. I wondered what gefilte fish made properly and not out of a jar might taste like:

A treat perhaps for our next mainland trip, when seeking out what we cannot get at home is the name of the game. Even if it is gefilte fish.