Food: Kyma

Kyma **** - I was telling my friend David, who came with me to dinner, that I've rarely eaten Greek food since I lived in Greece a few years ago.  It wasn't because I had enough of it; it was because the places I did go to afterwards in the states fell way too short.  Kyma is the first Greek place in Atlanta I've been to in over a year.  It certainly looked promising: (1) its blue-trimmed white building is an homage to Mykonos and (2) it's a Buckhead Life Group restaurant.  This is true authentic Greek cuisine.  The menu selection remind me of menus in Heraklion and Athens.  The service staff were Greek.  Most customers were Greek.  The small tapas-like dishes brought back memories of family-style dinners we had on Crete.  The cheese saganaki brought me back to Heraklion: unbelievably delicious and nearly orgasmic (the way saganaki, done right, should be).  The "Saganaki tou Posidona" was filled with fresh shrimp and mussels: also delicious.  The pork pies ... Oh my.  It was as if I was eating the world's softest croissant stuffed with the world's most tender pork: fantastic.  The Greek salad was in fact that: traditional and quite good.  Now, Kyma specializes in seafood.  We split the whole-grilled Carolina trout, which was cooked with a mild lemon vinaigrette and wild greens.  This fish was the best I've had in a long, long time (yes, including Charleston), and certainly in Atlanta.  The trout was so buttery and light and fresh, it approximated ambrosia.  I can't remember the last seafood dish where I truly cherished and enjoyed each and every bite.  As for dessert, due to peanut limitations, I only had the orange sponge cake with chantilly: very light and not shy on flavor.  I don't think dessert was the star of the show, but I don't think they were necessarily aiming for that.  Now factor in the beautiful decor and live Greek band (they had the right light mood and did not drown out conversation) and you have a phenomenal dining experience.  I'll defend Kyma as Atlanta's best Greek restaurant.  I'll defend Kyma as Atlanta's best (non-sushi) seafood restaurant (the sushi honor goes to MF Sushibar).  I'll defend Kyma as one of Atlanta's best restaurants.  Superb.    

Food: Nancy's Pizza

Nancy's Pizza ** - Nancy's Chicago-style pizza may be the best non-gourmet pizza in Atlanta.  But I didn't think it was that great to be perfectly honest, and that speaks to the pizza deficit in this city.  I've heard great things and the reviews on the website were impressive but I wasn't impressed this time around.  I think their Chicago-style pizza is better than any NY-style pizza in Atlanta.  It looked and smelled good, but I found it a little stale and a little bland.  It initially tasted great, then the honeymoon period faded and fast.  I've tasted better garlic bread in the frozen section of Target.  I'm hoping this was an off day and I'll certainly try again.  But first impression, not so impressed.  It makes me yearn for Gino's East or Giordano's.  

Food: MF Sushibar

MF Sushibar **** - I went back last night and it was my first time back in over a year.  This is the best sushi in Atlanta.  The service is impeccable.  Everyone that works there truly enjoys being there and it shows.  Our waiter had a sense of humor; who knew?  The decor and ambiance is perfect.  Even the chopsticks are perfect.  Lobster tail tempura: immaculate.  I thought I had the best lobster at Chops/Lobster Bar; I've been proven wrong.  The edamame: burst with flavor, the best I've ever had.  I decided on the Godzilla roll, a roll I haven't had since Umi in Boston, which was one of my favorite dishes when I lived in Boston.  Yes, the Godzilla roll delivered.  Fresh, fresh, fresh.  The spicy tuna too.  This is the best dinner I've had since Charleston.  This is some of the freshest sushi I've had in the states.  Freshness is an issue I've had with sushi and seafood places in Atlanta.  But not at MF Sushibar.  They fly their supply of fish from Japan several times a week.  The price?  Okay, it may be steep.  But even as I paid the bill, I knew I got more than my money's worth.  Everyone in Atlanta should go here at least once.  This place deserves that.

Food: Joli Kobe

Joli Kobe *** - This is right next door to La Pietra Cucina, so I must say a few quick words.  First off, both these places are great, but their location ... not so much.  There's hardly any foot traffic where it's located and it's impossible to notice when driving by.  I heard a lot about both online.  Perhaps that's why both these places are nearly empty every time I go.  I like Joli Kobe a lot.  Their shrimp sandwich is the second best in the city, after the shrimp po' boy at Star Provisions.  Good food, quiet atmosphere, removed but in the heart of the city.  Maybe that's why I like it so much.

Food: La Pietra Cucina

La Pietra Cucina *** - Has anyone ever eaten black spaghetti?  I hadn't until I went here.  It's pretty freakin' cool!  From what I understand, it's regular spaghetti but given it's color with squid ink.  When I got the dish, I had to abandon all prior food knowledge.  The full dish was black spaghetti with rock shrimp, scallions, and calabrese sausage, and it hit the spot.  Visually, your mind is thinking "Black spaghetti?!  Really?  Black spaghetti?!" but the first thing you taste is the heat of the sausage.  For a moment, you wonder if you're eating spaghetti cooked in lava.  Yet it was so delicious, I probably ate it in about five minutes.  Prior to this dish, I had the chicken soup, which was nothing spectacular.  The complimentary breads were fresh.  The service was a bit confusing.  I was one of maybe ten people in the entire restaurant, yet three different waiters served me.  Friendly but confusing.  My wallet took a hit with this experience.  But I can see why it's the new favorite for fine Italian dining.  

 

Music: 02/25/11

From here-on-in, though the reviews will still focus on new music, I may throw in random reviews of past albums I've listened to, in particular, personal favorites.  Emma Roberts' Unfabulous and More (2005) *** - Okay, Emma sings about what a junior high girl should sing about (for example, she sings about new shoes, saying "New shoes!  You rule!").  This is teen pop and it's a fun album.  I'm not sure why I decided to listen to this album now and five years after its release but there you go.  Justin Bieber's My World 2.0 *** - Yup, it's teen pop and it's age-appropriate material.  And he sounds that age.  Very likeable but not necessarily memorable.  I can see the draw.  I still prefer Selena Gomez (see below).  Loudon Wainwright III's Career Moves (1993) **** - As funny as this man can be, either in verse or or on the mic, some of his best songs are the serious and introspective ones.  Lost in the humor is a gifted songwriter who can really play that darn guitar.  This is a live album (maybe that's why this is my favorite of all his albums).  It oozes with humanity.  I love this album.  The Low Anthem's Oh My God, Charlie Darwin (2009) **** - This album is worth buying for the first three tracks alone.  Between Conor Oberst and The Low Anthem, Americana is covered quite well.  The Low Anthem writes simple but beautiful melodies, often morose and introspective in tone.  I hope they are around for a while.  The Low Anthem's Smart Flesh *** - I really, really like The Low Anthem and I'm still upset I missed them when they passed through Atlanta last year.  This album makes me happy (though it's generally morose) because it's good and it means they'll be touring soon.  I still favor Oh My God, Charlie Darwin, but that may change with a few more listens.  No obvious favorites like I had on Oh My God, Charlie Darwin, but this flows better as an album.  Selena Gomez's Kiss & Tell (2009) **** - In the same way Taylor Swift is the best post-high school young adult singer songwriter, my vote goes to Selena Gomez for best in-high school performer.  What's striking is that unlike Justin Bieber, Selena Gomez doesn't sound her age: she sounds more mature and soulful.  The songs are delicious.  Sure, it qualifies as teen pop, but this is an excellent album no matter how you view it. 

Food: Horseradish Grill

Horseradish Grill ** - I love the setting of this place: a ranch across the street from Chastain Park.  It feels removed from Atlanta, though it's only five minutes north of Buckhead.  It's quiet, it's peaceful, it's rustic, and it has a great patio.  If the food was only on par with the setting.  Don't get me wrong, the food was good.  But I expected more given the setting.  The she crab soup was good but it reminded me of grits more so than soup.  I ordered the pulled pork barbecue sandwich, which came with pickles and onion rings.  This plate was huge.  But halfway through the sandwich, I was still trying to figure out if I liked it or not.  I did ... I think.  All I know is that I was stuffed at the end.  The restaurant was relatively empty.  The service was a bit slow for my liking.  My waiter also seemed a bit snooty; I'll attribute that to him as the rest of the staff were quite courteous.  Maybe I got the wrong meal.  Or it was an off-day.  All I know is that I was surprised to be disappointed when I left. 

Food: Super Pan Latino Sandwich Shop

Super Pan *** - It's nice to have non-burger hype for once.  Super Pan is a hole-in-the-wall Latin sandwich shop connected to Pura Vida in the Virginia-Highlands south of Ponce, and it's no surprise why it's connected to Pura Vida: it's the brain child of Pura Vida's chef Hector Santiago.  When I'm given specific food recommendations from friends, I'm usually quick to take them up on the tip.  So I did.  I had a huge appetite when I went for lunch today.  Since every sandwich looked awesome, I often go to my Plan B: order two sandwiches.  My friend Conor recommended the Medio Dia ("crispy skin adobo roasted berkshire pork, niman ranch ham, chayote pickles, swiss, habanero mustard, and clove salt on a pineapple "submarino" roll") and I also got the BBQ Rib Bolillo (a "mayan adobo "bbq" beef rib, carrots, onions and cilantro, orange chipotle bbq sauce on a bolillo roll").  Both sandwiches were delicious and explode with flavor.  And it's not a loud blur of taste either.  You can actually taste every ingredient put into the sandwich.  And yes, the portions are generous.  I've made this a three-star rating for now; it's not yet in the sandwich class of Star Provisions or Alon's.  But I'll be making return trips.  There's a reason why this place is drawing attention.  

Food: Room at Twelve

Room at Twelve *** - After a recent sub-par experience at One Midtown Kitchen, Room at Twelve puts Concentric Restaurants back on track.  I was here for a work-related event, so admittedly I wasn't 100% attentive to the food.  But considering our last meeting was at One Midtown Kitchen and the food was memorable in a negative way, Room at Twelve did its job.  Room is a nice concept restaurant and immediately differs from the loud stuffiness of One Midtown Kitchen, Two Urban Licks, and Parish because it was, well, roomy.  For a group of about twenty, the restaurant easily accommodated us and the service was prompt and courteous, from being seated to the most difficult part of a group dinner, paying the bill.  The menu was bursting with wonderful sounding dishes.  The broccoli soup had a bite, which caught me off guard, but was otherwise very good.  The calamari was delicious too.  I went with the Atlantic Salmon with a celery root puree, green beans, and pomegranate reduction.  This was fantastic salmon and makes me wonder why I don't eat enough of it.  Speaking of which, I wish my entree was just a bit larger in portion.  (Several of my colleagues had the same reaction of "Yum!" but "I want more!").  It's sad that I hadn't ventured here yet since it's so close to work.  I wonder what the lunch is like.

Medicine: Dear UpToDate

Dear UpToDate,

F**k you.  And good afternoon.  Now let me explain myself.

I noticed my subscription renewal is due March 31, 2011.  I've found that during this month of February I've renewed many of my medical memberships.  I've also taken care of both my federal and state income taxes.  I've renewed my lease and updated my insurance policies on things like car and home.  I figured that I might as well settle the expense of renewing my UpToDate account.  I did this a few minutes ago. 

But why does the order confirmation state I have internet access available only through February 29, 2012?  In all due to respect, I believe this constitutes something called bulls**t.  In fact, it is high-grade, fulminant, and paroxysmal bulls**t.  Is it not reasonable for me to expect that I'm still covered until March 31, 2011 and that my renewal will add another year, say, to March 31, 2012?  I do not appreciate a month being stolen from me.  To be honest, I am glad I didn't do a two-year renewal, as I expect the expiration date would have also been February 29, 2012.  Perhaps future sections in your UpToDate catalog should include mathematics so I can review this knowledge deficit and see how you derive the length of your subscription terms.  Please add these sections by February 29, 2012 because my one-year renewal will end at the 11-month mark on February 29, 2012. 

Thank you for your consideration in this matter. 

Sincerely, 

Disappointed Customer, MD
 

Music: 02/18/11 (Radiohead)

Radiohead's The King of Limbs **** - Remember when they released In Rainbows?  Pay what you wanted for the album.  It shouldn't be a shock that they decided to release an album on a Saturday.  Only to outdo themselves again and release the album a day early!  When I first listened to Kid A on the heels of the brilliance of OK Computer, it was jarring, incredibly disorienting, but it was a masterpiece in its own right.  It was the album that destroyed rock & roll.  I'm listening to The King of Limbs on the heels of the brilliance of In Rainbows and it's déjà vu.  Just when you think you've figured out Radiohead, they throw a curveball and laugh when you swing and miss.  They take all of their past albums and congeal it into a cohesive mass that is their next album, which somehow feels nothing like their prior works but is distinctly Radiohead.  I remember on Kid A how it was so odd that guitars didn't appear until the third song ("How to Disappear Completely").  On The King of Limbs, the first guitars don't appear until the seventh track (the guitar on the second track is so monotone and beat-like, this almost doesn't even count).  In fact, where did all the electric guitars go?  Alien electronica transitions into simple piano and acoustic-based numbers.  But you go with it.  Then take the song "Codex."  It's a song with beautiful and minimal horn arrangements.  Yet this is jarring because Radiohead uses horns for cacophony (think "The National Anthem").  All of their past albums seem to end on a lonely and often pessimistic farewell.  Not the case on this one.  The albums becomes progressively harmonious.  OK Computer and In Rainbows explode whereas Kid A and The King of Limbs are packed like sardines in a crushed tin can.  This is an album only Radiohead could make.  It's confusing; it's simple, it's complicated, it's hard to listen to, it's easy to listen to, it's familiar, and it's completely alien.  Above all else, it's strangely addicting.  It'll add to the great debate: What is Radiohead's finest album?  Finally, there's the rumor: Did Radiohead release only half of the album?  I eagerly await at the plate and wait for the next pitch.  

Music: 02/15/11

Bright Eyes' The People's Key *** - The songs are shorter, poppier, and a little more synthetic (compared to The Mystic Valley Band) though not necessarily catchier.  This is a great album, don't get me wrong.  But since Conor Oberst has set such high standards for himself, this is far from his best.  I eagerly wait to see him live on March 4.  Cut Copy's Zonoscope *** - Not as good and not as obviously likeable as In Ghost Colours.  It took a few listens, but this album grows on you each time.  At times, I felt like I should have had this album in the Caribbean.  Dream Diary's You Are The Beat **** - If The Pains of Being Pure at Heart played sunnier tunes with less distortion but more song variability, this is the resultant album: poppy awesomeness.  Nicole Atkin's Mondo Amore *** - I really like this album.  It's both louder and mellower than her debut.  She has a lovely voice.  This album is what I was hoping for; Ms. Atkins is here to stay.  The Pretty Reckless' Light Me Up *** - Lead singer Taylor Momsen has Avril Lavigne's attitude but is likeable (and prettier).  Album is sturdy, pushing the gas early ("Makes Me Wanna Die," the third track, kicks ass) before setting into cruise control and mellowing out ("You," the tenth track, is a sweet number).  Yuck's Yuck **** - Whereas Japandroids rock from beginning to end, Yuck's album has also a sombre side to their shoegazing.  The influence of Sonic Youth is there.  But Yuck is their own band; it's their sound.  This album is so good, nearly flawless from start to finish.  I can't wait to listen to this one again.  Given all these reviews, still, though, The Go! Team's Rolling Blackouts remains my favorite album of 2011 thus far. 

Food: Bocado

Bocado **** - I'll cut to the chase: This is the best burger in Atlanta.  Yes, I've been to Holeman & Finch, Grindhouse, The Vortex, Farm Burger, Yeah! Burger, Flip Burger, Five Guys, and Brickstore Pub.  The Blissful Glutton, my personal source of recommended eats in the Atlanta, adores this place.  I agree.  Like Holeman & Finch, it's not a burger place, per se.  I arrived at 11 AM.  I was the first customer.  They ramped up the music: Arcade Fire's "Rebellion" followed by Bright Eyes & Gillian Welch performing "Lua."  An excellent start.  The leafy greens were fresh and delicious, laced with enough goat cheese and vinaigrette.  The fries were perfect.  Ketchup wasn't needed, but it's a bonus.  (I've noticed with the burger movement there's also been a dramatic improvement in the quality of French fries in Atlanta.)  Then the burger.  You know when you deliberately eat something slowly savoring each bite until finally you are near depressed at the last bite?  Yup, that was me eating this burger.  It reminds me of my Top 3 burgers.  It reminds me of Louis Lunch in its simplicity.  It's not as sloppy but equally as juicy as Shake Shack.  It's surprising lack of toppings reminds me of how that is completely opposite to The Habit Burger.  I may have to change my Top 3 to a Top 4.  It wasn't until halfway through the Bocado Stack that I realized there was no lettuce or tomatoes.  Only cheese, a little bit of mayo, and house-made pickles.  That's it.  The two patties are the focus and rightfully so.  I ordered mine medium well and I found it leaner and juicier than any other medium well burger I've had.  Finally, bocado in Spanish means mouthful.  Amen.  For the ambitious, there's an off menu item called The Wimpy Plate: three Bocado stacks for $25.  Yeah, I'm thinking about it ...

 

Food: Fil-Am Star Cafe & Bakery

Fil-Am Star Cafe & Bakery **** - FINALLY!  A Filipino restaurant in Atlanta!  This is huge!  This place opened just a few days ago, and they actually had to close on Sunday because the demand had been so high; they actually ran out of food!  I haven't been the only Filipino yearning for such a place to open.  The reviews have been great so far.  It's in the Asian market, about a mile west of the Buford Farmer's Market.  I showed up at 11 AM, eager and hungry.  I was greeted and offered a seat.  I took note of the all-Filipino staff and clientele.  Everyone spoke tagalog (I don't); these were all good signs.  I ordered my go-to dish: the adobo.  Within five minutes, I had my face planted in delicious pork sinigang, a generous heaping of chicken & pork adobo, and (what would be) an endless supply of white rice.  I stuffed myself happily.  Delicious!  Man was it good!  And enough to satisfy a large craving that has grown over the years in Atlanta for a lot of Filipinos in the area.  At 11:30 AM, I heard my name being called.  Three nurses from my hospital, all Filipina, had the same plans I did.  Soon we were a table of four.  But then one of the nurses called her son to join; a table of five.  It became a blur of conversation and endless food.  More dishes poured in: fried tilipia, pancit, daing na bangus, cassava cake, and even more adobo.  It was all home-cooked traditional Filipino dishes.  All delicious.  And the menu changes every day.  I felt like a school-kid eating this stuff.  Each one of the nurses recognized at least one of the other customers.  Every time I looked up, everyone was moving around talking to one another.  Emails and phone numbers were being exchanged.  Rose, the owner, pulled up a chair and joined us at the table.  She asked if there's anything I'd like "off the menu."  I asked if they made ensaymada.  I told her I'd come back for lunch tomorrow.  She wrote down "ensaymada" on a random slip of paper.  We talked about the Philippines, mahjong, and karaoke.  This was Philippines through and through.  It was 2 PM when we all finally left.  I'm going back tomorrow.  I'm going back a lot.  

Food: Panahar

Panahar **** - I finished my lunch at Machu Picchu.  But with Panahar next door, I had to stop in and get a mango lassi to go.  It's the best Bangladeshi in Atlanta.  But if you consider Indian restaurants too, I'd still choose Panahar above them.  It's a simple restaurant in the multi-ethnic Northeast Plaza on Buford Highway.  But it's oh-so-good.  Last time I was there, I had the Chicken Tikka and Tondoori Lamb; both were delicious and oh-so-tender.  I had at least two mango lassi.  I hear the quality of the service has been on a decline.  I'll have to pay a dinner revisit.  And soon.  

Food: Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu ** - I haven't had Peruvian food since I went to Cusco Peru in December (the name of the restaurant, not the place, in Forest Hills).  I was originally planning to check out a new Filipino restaurant on Buford Highway today but it was closed.  Machu Picchu was high up on my food queue.  Machu Picchu didn't come close to my last Peruvian experience.  No magical chicken of infinite tenderness.  No salchipapas.  I ordered the Arroz con Mariscos, a dish featuring calamari, shrimp, and oysters over rice and peppers.  The presentation was delightfully colorful.  The food was pretty good.  The seafood was a bit overcooked and rubbery.  Also, I question the freshness of the seafood.  But that's not specific to this restaurant; after having recently visited and Charleston and St. Lucia, that's an issue for most places in Atlanta in general.  I like the idea of a Peruvian place in Atlanta.  Many of the people in the restaurant today were Peruvian and it was clearly not their first time in there.  I'll have to try a non-seafood item next time.  

Two Dinners

Yesterday was a great day for eating.  I speak for myself and a few others too.  

See, yesterday was a big day for my brother Joel and sister-in-law Christy.  At least one month prior, they had made reservations to Per Se, Thomas Keller's restaurant in the Time Warner Center in Manhattan's Columbus Circle.  Now I enjoy my food, but my tastes are not discerning as Joel & Christy's.  I first learned of Thomas Keller and his flagship The French Laundry when I was in Napa a few years ago.  In the culinary world, Thomas Keller has achieved a status of immortality.  Both of his places are on Anthony Bourdain's list of places to eat before you die.  (There's a video of Bourdain's visit to The French Laundry.  A priceless moment occurs when Keller provides a customized dessert for Bourdain, involving crushed cigarettes to feed Bourdain's cigarette addiction.  Bourdain collapses in a fit of laughter and admittedly defeated admits the dessert is fantastic.)  Joel took me to Per Se a few years back; the previous night's dinner menu is available to the public for taking.  A Per Se dinner consists of about fifteen courses, focusing on enough-sized portions of the highest quality food, in a room overseeing the southwest corner of Central Park.  I distinctly remember trying to read the menu at Per Se and it reminded me of the first time I picked up a New England Journal of Medicine as a first-year medical student: What is this alien language I'm reading?!  Truth be told, Joel & Christy often frequent the place to grab menus and learn the language.  In a way only my brother does, dishes with which he's unfamiliar, he will find elsewhere in Manhattan, so he has a barometer for them and further expand his taste vocabulary.  

Needless to say, intense preparation characterized the weeks prior to this dinner.  Yesterday, I actually felt true anxiety over a meal I wasn't even having!  It was the same kind of anxiety that characterizes my fear of public speaking.  But it turns out Joel & Christy were feeling the same way.  Can anyone remember (outside of a stomach virus) the last time there were actually nervous about a meal (and not the people involved, just the meal) they were about to have?  I've never experienced that.  I was updated when Christy changed into a dinner dress.  I received a text when Joel realized he was wearing dark socks for the first time since the wedding.  The nervous excitement was palpable nearly a thousand miles away for me in Atlanta. I received a text when they first entered Per Se.  Never had I been so excited to receive a dinner play-by-play!  But when it's a once in a lifetime experience, you want to be in on the details!  I received a first picture of what looked like salmon scoops on ice cream cones.  I received a second picture of the two butters and six salts accompanying the broiche and foie gras.  Then the texts and pictures stopped coming.  And I understood completely.  Joel & Christy were undergoing a full sensory assault, rendering communication to the outside world useless.  I wasn't going to interrupt the experience.  Just eagerly await the details.  It's the morning after and I still eagerly await the details.  

While this was all happening, I was having a dinner of my own.  My friend Becca (a white girl born and raised in the Philippines) invited me (a Filipino boy born and raised in the States) over to have Filipino food.  Though in my mind, I wanted to have said, "Sure, I'll come over," it probably came out as "Yippee!  Filipino food!  Craving it!  Yummy!"  I came over.  Salad was being prepared.  Tinola was awaiting.  Chicken adobo was awaiting.  Becca had told me that she found lumpia wrappers and was eager to make lumpia.  And me too!  I was taught the technique once and was soon churning out a mass of lumpia.  I was salivating with each wrapped lumpia.  While we were preparing dinner, she told me of a new Filipino bakery/restaurant that just opened on Buford Highway.  She and several of her friends went the night before and told me things I wanted to hear: it was delicious, it was really good, and it was really busy.  Finally, the food was served: a fresh fruit salad with creamy vinaigrette, tinola, white rice, lumpia, and chicken adobo.  My craving was absolutely satisfied.  I hadn't had Filipino food since December, when Mila fed me daily at Pike Place in Seattle for lunch.  I had a blast catching up with Becca and her roommate.  At the same time, though, I was transported back to a distant happy memory of eating dinner with my family and my Grandma back on Long Island.  The dishes, the company, the food.  I stuffed myself with lumpia.  I stuffed myself with rice and soy sauce.  I stuffed myself with three full drumsticks of chicken adobo.  I didn't even get to the tinola.  We knew it was a great meal; we were rendered incapable of conversation and just dreamed of siesta.  I happily took home leftovers from a fantastic home-cooked Filipino meal.  For the first time I would have Filipino food for leftovers!  And plus, I had a goal for the next day: try this new Filipino restaurant!

I was telling one of my bosses at work that most of the programs I DVR tend to be related to food.  I've realized that food is more than just satisfying an appetite.  Or at least, that's what it should be.  In our culture nowadays, it has moved away from its cultural role of bringing together friends and family.  Breakfast and lunch in particular tend to be squeezed into our days, if they're lucky enough not to be omitted in the first place.  We feed ourselves conveniently and quickly with fast-food.  We often eat alone at work so we can move along with our tasks and duties.  Sometimes we eat alone at home because we're so tired from our tasks and duties.  Food, for me, is a game-changer.  When I have bad days, I think about the next meals because a good meal can make anything better.  I love food for what it is.  But ideally, others should be there to enjoy it with you. 

Perhaps that's why yesterday was a great day for eating.  My brother and I had tremendously different dinner experiences but were equally memorable.  A memorable meal can be a Valentine's Day dinner with your wife prepared by a master chef whose attention to detail can make you forget your view of the Manhattan skyline.  A memorable meal can be a home-cooked meal with good friends and good conversation, which not only answers a simple craving, but also ties you back to your heritage and distant happy memories of your childhood. 

Food: The Village Tavern

The Village Tavern (The German Restaurant) ** - I pass this place every time I head to Stone Mountain.  Last week, I bought my yearly pass to Stone Mountain.  I went to hiking again today and as I was driving home, I decided, You know what, f*** it, I'm going!  Recently I had a patient who was a true foodie and recommended that I go to this place for lunch.  I arrived at 11 AM and they were only serving breakfast.  The breakfast was not anything life-changing.  It was good though.  The German apple pancake was a foot in diameter, generously loaded with Granny apples, cinnamon, whipped cream, and syrup.  Bacon was good (when is it not good?).  But the star of the show: the side of bratwurst.  Last time I had bratwurst this good was in Milwaukee, of all places.  (The bratwurst at Miller Park, home of the Brewers, was so good I ate at least five.)  I will purposely start my hikes later in the morning so I can try the lunch menu.  We may be on to something ...

How To: Reattach a Smoke Detector to the Ceiling

There was a note on my door this evening to call my apartment's main management office.  So I did.  It turns out I had to make an appointment for an annual walk through.  I happily made the appointment.  I hung up the phone and then turned to the next order of business: reattaching the smoke detector to the ceiling.

A few months ago, my parents had visited me in Atlanta.  I was taking a nap while my parents were cooking when I was jarred awake by the mechanical chirping of the smoke detector.  The smoke detector is extremely sensitive (a good quality, now that I think of it).  I jumped out of bed, opened my bedroom door, and with the precision of a plastic surgeon, I punched the smoke detector.  It sail ed across the apartment and landed onto the floor with a victoriously dull thud.

You know when you buy a stack of blank CDs or DVDs, you access them by rotating the cylindrical plastic container?  The same principle anchors the smoke detector to the ceiling.  Unfortunately, my technique of silencing the smoke detector broke off the plastic juts (I don't know how to exactly describe them, but you know what I mean).  That's why I haven't put the detector back.

Until now.

Equipment needed: two (2) bare hands, a Pilot Easy Touch click pen, crazy glue, a sharp knife, and time.  First, you snap off the part at the click end of the pen.  You know, the part that allows you to steady your pen in a breast pocket.  (It's also the part of a pen you tend to break off as a nervous habit.)  Take a sharp knife and divide that in two.  Apply crazy glue to back of smoke detector.  Mount broken pen parts to create new juts to anchor smoke detector to ceiling.  Wait a few minutes for crazy glue to dry.  Attach smoke detector to ceiling. 

Does it work?  Yes.  But how long will it last?  Until the next time I punch it off the ceiling.

Food: Farm Burger

Farm Burger *** - The burger movement in Atlanta is absurd.  It's an observation, not a complaint.  At least I know I can find a good burger in Atlanta if I want one.  Farm Burger and Yeah! Burger are pushing the organic movement: 100% grass-fed beef.  There are already camps defending their burger choice in Atlanta.  I haven't committed to one just yet.  My take?  Yes, Farm Burger does belong in a discussion with The Vortex, Holeman & Finch, Grindhouse Burger, Yeah! Burger, and Flip Burger.  After having hiked twice up Stone Mountain, I felt like a burger was the right reward.  I went with the burger topped with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, cheddar cheese, and bacon.  My friend Jason convinced me to omit the fried egg.  Is it better than my three favorite burger places ever (The Habit in LA, Shake Shack in NY, and Louis Lunch in New Haven)?  No.  I liked the beefiness of the burger (a quality missing from fast-food chain burgers), but it could have been juicier (and I ordered mine medium).  I was underwhelmed by the toppings, especially the bacon, which was overcooked.  Compared to the Atlanta joints?  I favor it over Flip.  What about Farm Burger vs. Yeah! Burger?  Round One goes to Yeah! Burger.  The difference may not be in the quality of the beef; rather, it's in the toppings.  But it's still a damn good burger.  I can't wait to try Round Two. 

Bring It On, Stone Mountain!

It was one week ago today that I climbed up Petit Piton.  

I am still feeling the aches and pains of that climb.  When I reached the top, I remember I had no regrets.  Except for how sub-par my cardiovascular status was.  Ever since that Sunday, I've doing an hour of exercise per day.  Stone Mountain is not Petit Piton.  But it does contain the word mountain.  I've climbed this mountain before, several times in fact, during residency.  It's a great hike with a great view.  It's not too strenuous, if you take it easy.  If you choose to attack it with a brisk pace, it gets challenging towards the top, as the grade steepens dramatically.  It may not be steep enough to warrant rope climbs, but it's steep enough.  

I made my way over and attacked the mountain at 10 AM.  I decided to time myself.  Motivated by The Academy Is ...'s Fast Times at Barrington High (one of my go-to albums when I need to pick up my tempo), I started the hike.  I picked a reasonable pace and kept it.  Time to the top: 21 minutes and 50 seconds.   And without stopping.  This may be the fastest I've made it to the top.  It's not a world record, sure.  But it's certainly the best I've felt once I've made it to the top.  I still have memories of my first hike up Stone Mountain  years ago; during the time I made it to the top and back, someone had run up and down the same distance three times.  Three times!  I'm nowhere near there.  But who is?  I was quite content with my pace.  Once 11:30 AM hit, my friend Jason met me at the base of the trail.  By 12 PM, I had made it to the top a second time.  Booyah!

I bought a yearly pass to Stone Mountain.  To Petit Piton, thank you for getting my ass back into gear.  As for you, Stone Mountain, bring it on!

Food: One Midtown Kitchen

One Midtown Kitchen ** - I've been here several times.  When it has been memorable, it has been due to the company, not the food (Thank you, Dr. Malebranche and the rest of my Grady wards team when I was a third-year resident) or service.  I went again, with work colleagues, and I must say, the food really wasn't that great.  The ambiance is great.  Fantastic even.  But then it stops short.  Service is okay.  I was refused a drink menu, which has never happened to me before, and then I realized I was served by someone without people skills, to say the least.  As for the food?  The salt load in each and every dish was incredulous.  It's as if it's heaped onto every dish and that would make the dish go from good to great.  I joked to my peers that there was enough salt in our dishes to have thwarted the ice blizzard earlier this year in Atlanta.  Will I be back?  I'm not so sure ... Two Urban Licks and Murphy's are more consistently great and are probably the best of the Concentric Restaurants.

Food: Miller Union

Miller Union *** - I've finally made it here.  The West Side keeps growing in Atlanta.  Modern American is growing in Atlanta.  The burger movement is growing in Atlanta (think Holeman & Finch, Flip Burger, Yeah! Burger, and Farm Burger).  I've heard fantastic things about Miller Union, from reviews and friends alike.  I agree.  Their American cheeseburger is one of those rare burgers that I didn't need to embellish with ketchup (always a great sign).  Even the French fries were perfect (without need for condiments).  Their Sea Island red peas were fresh and delicious.  Service was pleasant.  Price?  Much cheaper than anticipated.  Ambiance?  Feist's Let It Die played overhead.  Miller Union is new and fresh.  Unique?  No.  But it's definitely good at what it does. 

Music: 02/05/11

Avi Buffalo's Avi Buffalo ** - A good indie debut but not mind-shattering.  Die Antwoord's $O$ * - This is absolute garbage.  The Gaslight Anthem's American Slang *** - The best description is from Spin: they are the "new Bruce" of 2010.  This summer will be playing next time I'm driving a convertible.  Glasser's Ring *** - A lovely, mesmerizing debut for fans of Bjork & Bat for Lashes.  The Go Team's Rolling Blackouts **** - This album reminds me of recess during elementary school.  Their best album to date.  Best album of 2011 thus far.  Iron & Wine's Kiss Each Other Clean *** - A little more experimental than in previous.  Always consistently great.  But it'll be hard to top The Shepherd's Dog.  Regina Spektor's Begin to Hope (2006) **** - Don't know why I'm just getting to this album now.  Fantastic.  A cross between Fiona Apple & Sara Bareilles.

Trips: St. Lucia (Day 6)

Monday, January 31

I woke up and I couldn't walk.  I couldn't use my arms.  I had flexed and extended muscles with such intensity during Sunday's ascent of Petit Piton that I was utterly useless on Monday.  And with a full day of air travel ahead, my plan was simple: I would do nothing. 

I ate breakfast with my new friends from Sarasota.  I told them about my hike.  We exchanged tales of travel.  I recommended to them going to Santorini, next on their to do list.  They recommended Kauai during my future trip to Hawaii.  I also gave them my voltage converter, as promised.  We exchanged information.  We entertained crossing paths either at Yankees Spring Training in Tampa or Jimmy said to me, "Or hit up Siesta beach, let us know, and we can take you around on my boat."  We'll see if that plays out in mid-March.  Gotta love meeting new friends!

I laid in bed and relaxed all morning.  I grabbed a quick lunch and Kester picked me up at 1:30 PM.  He insisted on picking me up and taking me to the airport.  "I left another couple at the mineral baths," he told me.  "I've known you since you arrived; I want to take you back."  We sped down the Southern Road back towards Vieux Fort.  Another beautiful day.  "You come back for the Jazz Festival?" he asked.  I told him I'd love to.  "If you're back in Soufriere, you know how to find me."  I knew he meant that.  

The airport at Vieux Fort was small.  There were eight gates and it seemed like all eight flights were departing at the same time.  The overhead speaker system made announcements with muffled  words, to add to the confusion.  It was a mad dash to the gates and to our planes. 

The plane was full of tan people, saddened to return back home.  I slept for the majority of that leg.  I landed back in Miami, where I had to go through the long process of clearing passport control, and customs.  We landed at 7:10 PM.  The path from our arrival Gate D45 to passport control seemed like two miles in length: an endless maze of flat moving paths, long tunnels, and frustrated passengers, aching their way along.  New turns were greeted with spurts of curse words.  An hour passed and I found myself going back through security.  Over an hour later, I was at my connecting gate: Gate D43.  How a difference of two gate numbers spanned an hour is beyond me.  I ate away my frustrations:  two Nathans hot dogs, half an Au Bon Pain club sandwich, a bag of Cape Cod potato chips, and an orange Gatorade.  

I was unconscious for the flight back to Atlanta.  We landed at midnight.  

I hopped back in my car, initially weirded out by having the steering wheel on the left side of the car.  I pumped up the music and navigated my way home through the fog.  I grabbed my mail.  I got into my apartment.  I took a half hour shower.  I started laundry.  I covered myself in a thick-sooted layer of Gold Bond Powder to help soothe the mosquito bites.  I fell asleep at 2 AM.  I had to report for work at 10 AM.  

One of the best trips I've taken.  Incredible.

Once, I asked Kester why people on St. Lucia were so friendly.  "It's simple here," he told me.  "You live, you love, you listen to music, you chill, but above all else, if you're friendly to everyone, the world is a happy place."  Amen.

Trips: St. Lucia (Day 5)

Sunday, January 30

Wow, I’m really really tired.  Where to begin ...

I woke up, went to the bathroom, and found yet another disappearing bar of soap.  Second time this has happened; I’m guessing it’s due to those small geckos.  I went for breakfast and figuring that I needed to load up on carbs prior to this Petit Piton hike, I went with the French toast doused in maple syrup, with two scrambled eggs and fresh fruit.  I rested in the room, while I waited for 9 AM to roll around.  At 9 AM, Kester and I waited for this newly arrived couple from Florida, but they were nowhere to be found.  I spoke with three new guests (a married couple and their best friend), desperately trying to find a voltage converter.  I offered them mine once I depart on Monday.  We planned to meet for breakfast Monday morning.  Kester went to find the couple; he found out they were still exhausted from their travel and were still in bed.  I talked more with the best friend.  His name also was Jeff.    

Kester and I drove to the base of Petit Piton.  It’s the tallest of the Pitons (you would think Petit would be smaller than Gros but that’s not the case), at 2461 feet above sea level.  Unfortunately, during the drive to the base, I noticed that Petit Piton seemed to be getting larger and larger while we seemed to be diving lower and lower, towards sea level.  We parked the car in a small field at the base.  I had to remind Kester to change from flip-flops to sneakers.  I asked him how fast he has hiked this.  “One hour and fifteen minutes.”  My mouth dropped to the floor.   During this hike, he would tell me that he’s been hiking this since age 13 and does it “quite often.”  “You’ll do okay.”  I couldn’t tell by his chill delivery whether this meant to be encouraging or sarcastic.  

Kester forgot to mention several things during this trek.  First, how the trail wasn’t very well paved.  Sure, this is my fault.  I shouldn’t have expected the most tourist friendly path.  (Gros Petit is noted have a more tourist friendly path.)  Second, how steep the trail was.  As a barometer, I have Stone Mountain in Atlanta.  Petit Piton is about three times steeper; it appeared to be pushing forty-five degrees for the entire hike.  I knew this because fatigue was setting in at a rapid rate.  Plus, I found myself using my arms for most of the trip, whether it was grabbing the ground in front of me or pulling on tree roots, and in fact it was what saved me as I was able to pull myself up regularly to help relieve the strain on my legs.  I lasted about twenty minutes before I need to take regular breaks.  Kester was not phased at all.  “It gets easier.”  Either I misheard him or he has a different definition.  What I found was, three, the trail seemed to be getting steeper.  The appearance of ropes at regular intervals started to make me think, What did I get myself into?  It was tiring.  Though my legs were holding up during this uphill climb, from a cardiovascular standpoint, my heart was near red-lining.  I managed to survive the rope climbs, though I got nervous since my running shoes were losing traction.  Kester gave me simple advice like “Use both arms” or “Use both ropes” or “Make sure not to fall.”  I was finding it so ridiculous that it became funny.  My shoes were punctured by trees.  I walked face-first into a stray branch.  It was more and more slippery; it must have rained overnight.  I found myself dependent on all fours, essentially rock-climbing the final half of the hike.  I was pulling with my arms and pushing with my feet.  Thankfully, after one-and-a-half hours, I saw the trees fade away and the view I expected to make it all better came into view.  And made it all better.  I saw down, way down into crystal blue waters, overlooking Soufriere, with the other mountain ranges of the island appearing.  We were terribly high up.  A rainbow appeared.

At about 1500 feet above sea level

The first rope encounter

Steeper rope climbs

Kester enjoying the view

I'm enjoying the view too

Blue everywhere

The view from the top (note the rainbow)

The way down really sucked.  I remember the magnificent Samaria Gorge on the island of Crete, and hiking about twenty kilometers straight downward over five hours.  Marvelous yes, but we all had knee pain and effusions at the bottom.  I thought the steepness of our hike up Petit Piton worried me on the way up; it fucked with me on the way down.  One missed step and I’m done for.  I was wary about landing softly to protect my knees (a lesson learned from Samaria Gorge).  I found myself spider-walking my way down, which proved a dirty toll on my once white shorts and a painful toll on my quadriceps.  At the halfway point, I could feel my knees buckling.  Kester was motivating me by singing “Superman.”  But he was singing Eminem’s version.  At one point, I tried sitting on a boulder to catch a breath.  Only for the boulder to starting loosening and sliding; I quickly got up before it progressed and took us both out.  The way down my legs were dying.  We finally got down to the bottom.  Wow.  I felt like I had to relearn how to walk. 

Kester drove us to a mineral bath.  “All your problems will go away.”  I paid the entrance free and bought us a couple of beers to drink.  We had negotiate about fifty total steps (up and down) to get to the mineral bath.  I was struggling here.  The different motor muscle groups in my legs were struggling to coordinate.  Then we got to the baths.  And let me tell you, all my problems melted away. 

The mineral baths are a natural spring and bath derived from the caldera on which this part of the island sits.  I had visited the Drive-In Volcano.  Surely, those baths were boiling.  But the path the mineral water took, by the time it reached these mineral baths, reached the perfect temperature.  I stood under one run off area: it was the perfect shower, with the perfect temperature and with the perfect massage-level pressure.  Then you realized you were in the open, in the rain forest staring into the Pitons.  For a while, I didn’t have any thoughts in my mind.  It was heaven.  It was the best shower I’ve ever had.

We chugged our Piton beers then made our way.  I asked Kester to drop me off at Ladera.  While we pulled up, I realized a new pain: hunger pain.  I scrambled to Dasheene, hoping to squeeze in lunch before they closed.  I did.  They had a seafood buffet.  I asked for their best seat.  They sat me with a view facing Petit Piton, the mountain I just conquered.  My first plate included the tossed salad, fresh island fruit, macaroni and cheese, roast beef with creole barbecue sauce, and red snapper with a garlic sauce.  I sat down at the table.  I took a picture. 

A picture is worth at least a thousand words

Food after the hike and a view of the mountain I had conquered while I ate the food: magical.  I wolfed down the first plate.  The second plate I went for red snapper again and added some barracuda.  Fresh and delicious.  I enjoyed the view for an hour.  I powered back numerous drinks.  Kester was right; I felt ten years younger.  I paid and relocated to the bar, just one level down.  These next few hours were a blur.  I remember having a few drinks, some lava flows, waters, and Cokes.  I never fell asleep.  But was at best half conscious.  I sat in a chair under the shade, admiring the view and listening to Agaetis Byrjun by Sigur Ros, and faded into a state of heavenly uselessness.  Once 5:30 PM rolled around, I snapped back into consciousness so I could snap some more sunset pictures.  That occupied my next half hour.  I won’t bore you with these details.  But this sunset was as good as the previous night.  (During this time, Joel and I were texting.  He seemed frustrated that he was injured more during his one-block hike from his apartment in New York than I was during my strenuous several-hour journey up Petit Piton.) 

Another magnificent sunset

Kester picked me up and took me to my hotel.  He told me he’d pick me up at 1:30 PM since he wanted to take me to the airport.  I got into my room, changed, and went straight to the dining room.  I was hungry yet again.  The waitress laughed at me when I ordered something disproportionately large for a person my size.  But wen I told her I hiked Petit Piton, she said, “That makes sense.”  Later, when she saw me rubbing some mosquito bites, she said, “I’ll get you some limes.”  (And quite the home remedy, might I add.)  The pumpkin soup was good.  The island seafood fritters with dipping source were divine.  The roasted chicken with olive and tomato sauce, with sides of string beans, rice, papaya, and eggplant was just what the doctor ordered.  Literally. 

What an excellent day.

Trips: St. Lucia (Day 4)

Saturday, January 29

It wasn’t the best night of sleep. 

This one particular bug liked hovering by my ear all night.  And though I was lathered in insect repellent, it’s likely the case that this insect had the mutation conferring resistance to such repellent.  But if that’s my biggest complaint of the day, then can I really complain? 

I had breakfast back at my spot.  The pancakes were bland but thank goodness for maple syrup and Chantilly cream.  I waited the obligatory half hour before jumping into the empty pool by my room.  A nice half hour spent.  I worked out for an hour (this was driven by an idea of possibly hiking the Pitons on Sunday).  I showered, relaxed on my balcony, and checked out.  A taxi had been arranged to take me back to the Mago Estate.  I went to The Cliff to grab lunch.  It opened at 12:30 PM so I arrived promptly.  I ordered within 5 minutes.  Yet 1 PM arrived and no food was served.  I quickly ran to the front desk and saw that my taxi driver was already there.  I apologized and told him to wait ten minutes, explaining the situation.  I went back to the restaurant, waffled back the fish fritters and then had my jerked chicken and bacon wrap put in a to-go box.  I paid and ran back to the taxi driver.  He was very understanding. 

This taxi driver’s name was Charlie.  He was also born on the island.  I asked him what was his favorite island in the Caribbean.  He said, “Saint Lucia.  It’s my island.”  He says he travels all throughout the Caribbean to play squash.  As we drove the hour-plus to get back to Mago Estate, he fills me in on some details about his island: like how the roads were shut down for 12 days during the November hurricane or how magnificent the Saint Lucia Jazz Festival is.  “Come back and bring your friends,” he insisted.  “Wonderful music, weather, food – everything!”  I’ve added it to my list.  If it’s a music festival, I’m interested.  If it’s a music festival in St. Lucia, well then ... 

Back at the Mago Estate

I checked back in to Mago Estate.  They couldn’t give me an upgrade again, but instead offered me the original room I would’ve had the first time around.  Again, I was happy.  Basically only three walls with the fourth directly open to a balcony into the rain forest.  I immediately unpacked and went back to the front desk so I could get in touch with Kester.  He met me at the hotel in no time.  I told him I wanted to go back to Ladera for drinks and a good sunset.  He obliged.  We caught up and he liked my idea for the night. 

I got to Ladera and perched at the bar.   I took out my camera and took pictures, and took out Harry Potter and read.  I drank a lot.  Lots of mixed drinks, but also waters, Cokes, and Piton beer mixed in-between.  It was a marvelously peaceful way to spend several hours.  Sunset had been arriving at 6 PM on the dot.  My iPod was surprisingly dormant for the majority of this trip.  I elected for waves, winds, and rustling leaves over music.  At 5:30 PM, I started on my picture run.  I asked the staff if I could roam the main dining area to take pictures.  Wow.  There are three times in the past where I’ve been truly this picture-happy: sunset in Santorini, sunset at the Grand Canyon, and sunset at Malibu Beach.  The sunset I saw this night had me in awe, just like in Santorini, the Grand Canyon, and Malibu.  There were only a few clouds in the sky.  The sun was setting between the two Pitons.  Boats were alive in the bay below.  My viewpoint was at altitude, a key component of underscoring the colors of a good sunset.  Suddenly, the Pitons became massive silhouettes.  The sky lit up in shades of red, yellow, orange, and blue.  It was a surreal experience.  I wasn’t the only one taking this in.  Numerous people were soaking in this incredible sight.  One of these pictures will undoubtedly be enlarged, framed, and hung in my apartment.   

 

 

 

I settled my tab and Kester picked me up promptly at 6:30 PM.  “Hell of a sunset,” he told me.  I agreed.  He took me back to Mago where I had dinner.  Cabbage and ham soup was good.  The fried lamb soaked in soy sauce and local spices with rice, carrots, string beans, potatoes, and celery hit the spot.  Toby, one of the workers on sight, came up up to me and said, “I’m going to the down.  What do you want for pleasure?”  I respectively declined the offer. 

I went to bed, realizing I needed to sleep well.  Kester and I were going to hike Petit Piton in the morning.

Trips: St. Lucia (Day 3)

Friday, January 28

I am proud to say I did nothing on Friday. 

Cap Maison was so wonderfully relaxing that I had no desire to leave it.  I know I have a reputation for picking up and going.  Yes, I’ve flown to Kansas City on a whim because of a barbecue craving.  Yes, I’ve flow to Philadelphia on a whim because of a cheesesteak craving.  I was told the most beautiful beaches were only fifteen minutes away from Cap Maison.  But I had no plans to leave the estate.  Why leave?  I had a lounge chair - under a palm tree with a glorious view of the ocean, sky, and Pigeon Island - with my name written all over it.  I had my own private beach on the other side of the estate.  I could order room service and eat on my balcony.  I was happy to stay put until check out on Saturday afternoon.  That’s exactly what I did.   

En route to breakfast

I got ready and headed back to The Cliff restaurant for breakfast.  They sat me at my table.  Scrambled eggs with tomatoes, bacon, sausage, tomatoes, and mushrooms.  Yummy.  I changed into my bathing suit and climbed down the sixty or so steps to get down the private beach on Smuggler’s Cove.  I was the first one there.  A white sand beach isolated by cliffs on either side.  I pulled up a chair under a thatch umbrella.  I read some Harry Potter.  A few hours later, a few more people came down to the beach.  A stray dog somehow found its way down.  One of my favorite pictures from the beach involves the dog just gazing into the ocean. 

My chair on the beach

The dog's probably thinking what I'm thinking

The sun starting to really come out

Cactus = hot weather

My spot on the estate

My chair

I decided to order room service for lunch.  I opened the two doors leading onto my main balcony (yes, I had two balconies) and sat at the table, reading the magazines that came with the room.  Half an hour later, it was as if they knew I’d be here.  See, there are two entrances to Room 38: the main one and finally a separate set of stairs leading to this main balcony.  My lunch was laid out for me.  If there’s anything better than a good meal, it’s a good meal with a good view.  I chomped on my light, refreshing, and scrumptious jerked chicken and bacon wrap with the island seafood chowder (again).  How good was the chowder?  Well, I ordered it and ate it despite the ninety-degree weather. 

View of main balcony from my room

Hello, room service!

I digested.  I headed back to my spot by the vegetable garden.  This time I noticed it was also a spice garden.   I took a relaxing dip in the pool.  I watched the sunset again.  A good sunset is good for the soul and never, ever gets old.  Like the night before, I ran around the estate snapping pictures galore.  I found myself at the bottom of the estate at the table on the rocks, right on the water. 

Nap time

Pool time!

I caved and did room service for dinner too.  I enjoyed the fish fritters with the pineapple chili sauce and the mini burgers with fries (really the closest thing to an American meal all trip).  I showered.  I laid down.  I slept.