Hawleyblog

A Relaxing Getaway to Washington

Tony and I took a quick trip to Washington from Tuesday to Thursday because he had a seminar on handling the media down there on Wednesday. I mean, he had a seminar on handling the media, down in DC. Not on handling the media down there. He was already quite good at handling this member of the media down there. *wink wink nudge nudge*

I think the last time I was in DC was for the Millennium March, in 2000. Back when Ellen was with Anne Heche. Tony's longtime friend Mark, who came to visit New York back in the fall, was sweet enough to take off work on Wednesday so he could show me around town.

I had decided the two places I most wanted to visit were the American Art Museum and the U.S. Botanic Garden.

Mark had never been to the AAM. It's part of the Smithsonian but is located a short distance from the Mall.

I wasn't captivated by the work of George Ault but I was quite taken with Andrew Wyeth's Night Hauling and Public Sale and Byron Thomas's Pine Trees from the exhibit titled To Make a World: George Ault and 1940s America.

I thought it was a fun coincidence that in Thursday's New York Times, which Tony and I received at our hotel room, there was a review of another exhibit Mark and I saw at the AAM: The Great American Hall of Wonders.

Tony and I stayed at the Hay-Adams, which was pretty darn nice and right near the White House. And we got upgraded to a junior suite. Sweet! (Tony can write off half of the cost of our room as a business expense.) I joked that the Hay-Adams was swankier than the last place I stayed in DC, the Hey Hey Hey Hey Adams.*

Mark's partner, Mike—whom I hadn't met until the four of us had dinner together on Tuesday evening—is into orchids, so Mark took a lot of photos of them at the botanic garden. I did too. And of various cactuses and other flowering plants. That's a nong nooch vine at left.

Tony and I ate well, twice, at Teaism, a very gluten-free-friendly place that was just down the street from the hotel. For lunch the first day, he got Plum Ochazuke, a rice soup for which green tea acts as the broth.

We had two phenomenal dinners with Mark and Mike, with the first one, at The Oval Room, being particularly outstanding. Mike, Tony, and I all got the Baby Beets With Passion Fruit, Horseradish, and Ice Wine Dressing. It was an amazing melange of flavors that couldn't have been improved upon in any way. The same goes for Tony's entree, which was the favorite among all of ours: Lacquered Aged Beef Short Rib With Fennel, Tarragon, and Blood Orange. I clearly need to learn how to lacquer meat now. Hee hee. Even though I wished I had ordered the short rib, I enjoyed my vegetarian main course a great deal: Herb Buccatini With Cherry Tomatoes, Smoked Ricotta and Lemon Oil.

For dessert, I got an enjoyable riff on a caramel Twix bar, with a blob of chocolate pot de crème and a scoop of butterscotchy ice cream, among other things on the plate.

On Wednesday night, we dined at Equinox, which was not a gym. For my first course, I got the "Chopped" Salad, which was topped with Candied Walnuts, Roasted Baby Beets, and a Quail Egg Hole in a Wall. Everyone else got the Red Pepper–Tomato Gazpacho, which would have tempted me a lot more if it hadn't been served with crab meat on top. For my entree, I got the BBQ'd Scottish Salmon With Roasted Sweet Corn, Backyard Basil, and Pommes Gaufrette. I looked up that last component on my iPhone and learned it's a fancy way of saying "waffle fries." As I so often do, I got the trio of ice creams for dessert, and I'm embarrassed to say that, four days later, I can remember only one of the three flavors: mint. (I'm also embarrassed to say that yesterday I accidentally deleted the electronic page of notes I had made on my iPhone.)

I was pleased with my wine selections both nights—and, thankfully, so was everyone one. I had checked out Equinox's wine list online in advance and had settled on the 2009 Masciarelli Rosé d'Abruzzo because even though Mike had said the night before that he's a red-wine drinker and doesn't really drink rosé, I thought this one would appeal to him because it's rather dry. (He hadn't said he hated the very thought of rosé. If he had, I wouldn't have suggested one.) I wanted to go with a rosé (Tony's favorite) that night because I'd chosen a red the night before at The Oval Office Room: a Patricia Green pinot noir that I don't see on TOR's wine list on the Web.

Tony and I got cocktails at the hotel's bar, Off the Record, before going to bed Wednesday night. He had a delicious Knobby Sidecar, which consisted of Knob Creek Bourbon, Cointreau, and lemon juice. And I had a stupendous David's Washingtonian: Absolut Citron, Limoncello, Chambord, and housemade Frothy Sour Blend.

It was a very relaxing and enjoyable trip for me. I slept like a rock both nights and had fun hanging out with Mark and eating like a king.

Here are some more photos:

Those wonderful beets at TOR

The U.S. Chamber of Commerce is located right near the Hay-Adams. I did not throw eggs at the building.

I loved the mottled coloring of the elephant yam's "trunk."

A spidery cactus

Mark at the USBG

Me, looking somewhat Curious George**-ish, at the USBG

And Mark and Mike at Equinox

*I loooved Dee. And Shirley too. Danielle Spencer, who played Dee, was born in Trenton and is now a veterinarian. Shirley Hemphill died in 1999, as did Mabel King, who played "Mama." Fred "Rerun" Berry died in 2003. He was married seven times, including three times to first (and third and fourth) wife Franchesska. Haywood Nelson (Dwayne) is about a decade younger than his male co-stars, Ernest Thomas ("Raj") and Berry.

**Tony has been comparing my facial expressions to that monkey's lately. He means it as a compliment, and I'm not offended at all.

Happy Times, Part III

Over the 4th of July weekend, Tony and I went out to Fire Island Pines at the invitation of Buddy Lou. He has a wonderful co-op apartment one "block" from the beach that he usually stays at Thursdays through Mondays during the summer. At Lou's suggestion, Tony and I arrived on Sunday so the three of us would have a day together and then Tony and I would have some time to ourselves.

The trip out to FIP from the Village is long but painless. We took the 1 uptown to Penn Station and got the 11:10 Long Island Railroad train to Babylon, where we switched to another LIRR train right across the platform that took us five more stops to Sayville. We hopped on a van that drove us and the other Fire Island tourists who got off at Sayville (which was pretty much everyone) to the ferry dock, where we caught a well-timed boat to FIP. A little over three hours passed from the time I met up with Tony near the subway to when we hugged Lou hello.

We settled in and hung out at Lou's for a little while, and then he showed us the most amazing gardens of two couples he's friends with. The first one had a lot of water elements, and the second had the most peaceful-looking row of lounge chairs ever.

Lou went to a 1920s-themed party that evening. He looked great.

I lay out on the beach for a while on Monday morning, but the sky was awfully foggy and didn't really clear up until midafternoon, when I went out to the beach again. Tony joined me for a little while both times, and in between, we caught the annual Invasion of drag queens from Cherry Grove. I posted a lot of photos over at Queer New York. Here's one more—of a disco-balled doll seductively eyeing my camera.

All in all, and aside from the Invasion, it was a rather mellow 48 hours or so. Tony and I got a drink at Sip n Twirl Monday night. We walked around "town." We read. And we people-watched.

Most of the guys in FIP looked fantastic. The endless parade of huge pecs and tight tummies actually got old, to the point where I found myself admiring the guys who looked good but not too good—who looked like they enjoy the ocassional ice cream cone. (Or nondairy substitute. :-) )

***

The previous Monday, Tony and I had visited the Schultieses in Park Slope. Tony was once again Zane's favorite. Zane has started taking piano lessons, and both he and Abbe played for us.

***

The evening before we left for FIP, Tony and I took Jack to dinner at Commerce to thank him for staying at my place and tending to Rudy and Emme while we were gone. Jack had met the kids a couple of times before, and Rudy treated him like an old friend when Jack first arrived at my place, a little while before our reservation, so I could go over with him the finer points of basset and corgi wrangling.

The most-interesting part of my dinner was my opener, the BLT Soup, which was a mostly liquid version of the classic sandwich.

***

On Wednesday, another day I'd taken off, my sister and the 'phews came into the city to have dinner and catch a movie with me.

First up, we ate at Home, where I took the guys back in March. I was the only one of us to get an appetizer: a stupendous arugula salad with watermelon, ricotta salata, and walnuts. Tracey, Matt, and Mike all tried and enjoyed bites of it.

Mike and I both got a delicious pasta dish for our entree: papardelle with chicken sausage and tomato. He requested a smaller-than-usual portion, and the kitchen gave him one.

Matt got Home's outstanding mac and cheese, and Tracey got a burger and fries. For dessert, we had to split the chocolate and butterscotch puddings.

The main reason for the visit was so that we could catch the movie Buck at the IFC Center. Both of the 'phews like animals, and Mike in particular likes horses, so I thought they would enjoy this documentary about Buck Brannaman, the guy who inspired the movie The Horse Whisperer. We all did in fact enjoy it a great deal. Buck had a terrible childhood owing to his abusive father and the early death of his mother. He trains colts how to accept human riders not by the usual method of inspiring fear in them but by being patient and kind (and waving flags on wires).

Here are a few more photos from the last of my Happy Times posts:

A wooden lobster at Lou's:

Lou is growing a lot of caladiums:

The FIP waterfront at night:

Tony heading for the ferry on Tuesday morning:

And me:

My salad at Home:

And Matt posing with the Buck cardboard cutout at the theater:

My Portland Vacation, Part IV

On Sunday morning, I met Internet buddy Rick and his husband, John, for brunch at the Daily Cafe in the Pearl District. We talked about where we all grew up—John is a Jersey boy too—and why they think Portland is a better place to live than Chicago or San Francisco, even with the rain. Rick said a friend of theirs gets annoyed when people suggest the weather is a good reason to not live in their city. "Weather isn't community" is, I believe, the expression this guy uses.

After brunch, I somehow overshot Stark Street, crossed Burnside, and ended up on the northwest side of town. Since I wasn't too far away, I wandered over to Pioneer Courthouse Square, which I remembered visiting the last time I was in town, back in 1995.

I'd gone to Portland that time because of a trip with the Nature Conservancy, which didn't suck so bad back then. It was a hiking tour of the state that originated in Portland, and I had a great time. I came out a little early to spend some time in Portland before the tour started and fell in love with the city.

Here's a photo of the square:

And here's my "beaver shot" of some nearby sculptures:

I next walked over to the Portlandia statue a few blocks away. I may as well repeat the joke I made on Facebook when I posted this photo there: "The Portlandia statue so wanted me. I was all like, 'Back off, girlfriend.'" LOL!

If you hit the link above, you can read all about this cool statue. A couple of facts that were of particular interest to me: Portlandia is the second-largest copper repoussé statue in the U.S., after the Statue of Liberty. And you can't buy Portlandia T-shirts or refrigerator magnets—dammit! :-)—because the right to reproduce its image has been retained by the sculptor, Raymond Kaskey, who isn't one to cash in. Good for him.

I took a pic of the Multnomah County Library for my girlfriend Pat, who I figured would be excited to know that the library was open—and pretty busy—on a Sunday.

I didn't take a picture of the Apple Store for Bob, but he won't be surprised to find out it was very busy. I didn't stop in, so I still haven't gotten a freakin' iPad yet. *sigh*

I was going to be having a not-so-late dinner with Rodger and Mark, so I thought I'd just get a snack to tide me over rather than eat a sit-down lunch. I'd bought the most recent issue of Portland Monthly magazine at Powell's and so had read the article about the best ice cream shops in the city. I decided to make a trek to North Mississippi Avenue to Lovely's Fifty-Fifty, which is so named because it basically sells two things: pizza and ice cream. The guy at the desk at the hotel showed me how to get there using the MAX train and then my feet.

When I got to LFF, at about 10 to 3, it was closed. *sigh* Which seemed crazy for a pizza and ice cream restaurant. On a warm summer day! But LFF, I see on the website, does only dinner Tuesday through Sunday. So it's never open on any afternoon.

I was determined to salvage my trek and walked down Mississippi to find the cutest little trailer restaurant in a city of cute food carts and trucks, Moxie Rx. Here I go again with my Facebook comment from when I posted a picture of the place: "It was so cute, I wanted to move in. And the ice cream sandwich—gluten-free chocolate cookie and vanilla-bourbon ice cream—was on time. Like a fascist train schedule."

The place:

And the ice cream sandwich, which was the perfect afternoon snack, along with a glass of Blueberry Limeade Tonic:

And because the place was so cute, two more pix:

The next time I'm out in Portland, I'm treating M&R to lunch at MR.

Once I got back to the vicinity of my hotel, I walked around a little bit more and went into a few shops I hadn't hit the day before. Then it was time for me to meet M&R for dinner at Clyde Common, the restaurant inside my hotel, which turned out to be exceptional—easily one of the top five meals of my life.

The main floor of the restaurant has seating for groups at communal tables. We got a small table on the second floor, so we could look down on everyone else. Hey, I'm from Manhattan. Did you think I'd eat with the Portland rabble? Ha!

I got a flight of three rosés that the incredibly knowledgeable waiter selected for me. I can't recall his name, but he provided the best service I've ever had in a restaurant. I tipped him well, and I praised him highly on the restaurant's copy of the bill. He spoke intelligently about everything we inquired about, and we loved every dish he recommended. Now, before you go thinking (and I know you are!) that this guy must have been really hunky, I'll state that he wasn't. I mean, he wasn't bad looking but he wasn't my type. I'm judging him solely on his waitering skills. Honest to goodness.

We three guys thoroughly discussed which dishes we were curious to try, and we shared our three appetizers and three entrees. Even though Rodger generally doesn't care for beets, he loved the beet salad I selected for my first course. Those things that look like chunks of fish on the plate in the foreground at left are actually beets.

The things on the plate at rear left were bruschetta-like and had the most amazing corn relish on top of them. The other plate consisted of fingerling potatoes with eggs and, I believe, ham.

Rodger wanted a glass of red wine with his entree, and he and Mark were stunned to see a wine* on the list they'd encountered on their trip to Italy last summer. The husband-and-wife chef-and-waitress in the Scuff Productions post I linked to own La Crotta winery. R&M ordered this wine after insisting on paying for the bottle. The wine was terrific, and what a wonderful coincidence that a wine from such a small producer in the Italian Alps ended up at Clyde Common in their city.

For our main courses, I got roast chicken with panzanella; Mark got steak with heirloom tomatoes; and Rodger got the pasta. It was all terrific. I can't recall what was in the pasta sauce, but it was tantalizingly spicy. The chicken was supermoist, and our waiter, after Mark inquired, said it had indeed been brined. For six hours. I've got to try brining the chicken next time I feel like roasting one.

Here are R&M showing off their entrees:

For dessert, we got a berry cobbler and—OMG—my second ice cream sandwich of the day. This one also had a chocolate exterior; the ice cream was vanilla (or maybe sweet cream) with peanut butter. So ding dang good!

After dinner, we wandered over to Scandals, where I shot some pool with a cute guy named Roscoe. He beat me twice, though I didn't fail too badly, thanks to coaching from the guys and even Roscoe himself.

The next morning, Mark was sweet enough to drive me to the airport. Thanks to an extremely early phone call from USAir, I already knew the first leg of my flight, to Phoenix, was going to be delayed enough to require me to take a later flight to Newark. At the airport, I inched forward in USAir's check-in line for about a half hour before all of us who were going to Phoenix were told to get into the "full-service line" instead. Which I decided was actually the "fuck you line." I got home about 12:30 a.m., about three hours later than I'd expected. Next time I go to Portland—and I doubt I'll be away for too long—I'm flying on Alaska instead.

*I believe that's the correct wine except it's the 2007 instead of the 2006 that we enjoyed.

My Portland Vacation, Part III

After lunch, Mark, Rodger, and I went to the Saturday Market, an arts-and-crafts fair that's actually held on both Saturdays and Sundays down by the river. The Willamette River, that is. I had loads of fun checking out the wares. I'm contractually bound to buy Granny a refrigerator magnet everywhere I go. And I typically get one for me too. Done!

I love homemade soaps, so it was inevitable I'd buy at least a couple of those, but I hadn't counted on finding handcrafted* boxer shorts, from Bonus Pants. I bought a pair with a banana design, which is called "... Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?" All of the various styles come with clever suggestions for whom they would be suitable, such as "Bananarama fans" or "Anyone who's appealing." Dagny Haug, the woman behind Bonus Pants who was working the table at the market, was delightful.

The "LOCAL TASTES BETTER" T-shirt came from the market; I got the running-strawberries T from The Pumpkin Patch's gift shop when Mark and I were there the day before. Mark got one too. The berry shirts were only 9 bucks, and sales benefited the Sauvie Island Grange.

By the time we got done checking out everything we wanted to check out in the market, it was time for me to check in to my hotel. Mark and Rodger would have put me up for four nights, but I didn't want to impose on them all of that time. And not just in terms of lodging but in terms of transportation. So I stayed at the Ace Hotel for Saturday and Sunday nights.

I dug my room:

After I'd gotten settled in, I went to Powell's Books and bought some magazines to help keep my dying industry from totally fading away and, of course, a book: The Christopher Street Reader, a collection of essays from Christopher Street that was published in 1983. Which I totally realize is magazine related as well.

I was torn about where to have dinner. I'd enjoyed Mother's so much that I was tempted to try Mama Mia, the trattoria that's also owned by ex–New Yorker Lisa Schroeder. But I wanted to branch out a little bit and so went to Mark-recommended Huber's Café, which bills itself as Portland's oldest restaurant. Huber's is known for its turkey dinner, so that's what I got. I enjoyed it, along with a glass of Eola Hills pinot noir.

And that should have been it for me for the night. Turkey and red wine? Lights out. G'night. But I was on vacation, so my gotta-have-fun adrenaline kicked in.

I first walked to Fox and Hounds, because I'd had fun there with Rodger and Mark and it was the bar that was farthest away from my hotel among the ones I wanted to hit. F&H was pretty dead, but a friendly guy named Tony chatted me up at the bar. Turns out he used to live in New York, though he's quite happy in Portland now. And you're never gonna believe this, but he's into Broadway too! So we talked a lot about the shows he saw when he was last in the city, about three years ago. I asked him if he'd caught 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, and he said he hadn't but he saw a fantastic local production earlier this year. Coolness.

Next, I went back to CC Slaughters for a little while. And then, on the way to Silverado, I passed by Voodoo Doughnut. And there was practically no line! VD is an insanely popular doughnut shop that had had a line around the corner late that afternoon, after the guys and I left the market. M&R said the doughnuts there are good but aren't so special that it's worth standing in a long line for. I figured I'd seize the moment and see what all the fuss was about. I was about the sixth person in the fast-moving line, so I made a snap decision to get the Orangutang, which isn't included on the menu on the website. And the doughnuts weren't described on the signage in the store. The Orangutang was flavored with Tang and had orange sprinkles on top. It was fun to eat.

And speaking of fun to eat, Silverado had some seriously sexy strippers. And it was Plunderathon night, when the bartenders and some of the customers were dressed like pirates. Which reminds me of yet another T-shirt I almost bought at the market that day.

After I felt like I'd given out enough fivers, I stopped in briefly at the Red Cap/Boxxes bar complex, which was right across the street from my hotel. When I got home, I took a mirror picture of myself with my iPhone. Just because.

*The label says "Made in the U.S." It's not clear whether they're all made specifically in Portland.

My Portland Vacation, Part II

When Mark, Mac, and I got back to their house, Rodger was home. One of his eyes had been cloudy since he'd gotten up that morning before the last leg of the drive from his father's house. We went with him to his eye doctor so he could have it checked out, stopping first for lunch at an Indian buffet restaurant.

When we got home, after Rodger was told his eye should clear up fine, we all took naps before making the raspberry jam.

Slightly smooshed red raspberries in the pot:

Mark showing me how to jar the jam:

The finished product, which Mark told me he mailed off to me today:

After a bit, the three of us went out on the town to do a little barhopping. We hit Fox and Hounds, which had a friendly crowd; the Eagle, which had two bears getting very friendly with each other over in one corner; and CC Slaughters, the crowd at which seemed to consist of about one-quarter straight chicks. The social-networking obsessed could send a text message that would be displayed on a screen in CCS's Rainbow Room. I texted: "Mark and Rodger: the hosts with the most. Hey, buds!" Rodger then texted: "Hey, Mark ... Bill's been watching us in the shower. Rodger." How did he know?! Ha!

I enjoyed these signs (one of which was poorly lit) outside the rest rooms at CC Slaughters:

In the middle of the boozing, we stopped at Hobo's for dinner. I enjoyed my chicken picatta, and Rodger enjoyed a little bit of flirtation with our waiter.

The next morning, the three of us took Mac for a hike in Forest Park, which sits right behind M&R's house and is accessible by a path that starts just up their road a piece. The only wild animals we saw were banana slugs, but the trees, shrubs, ferns, and wildflowers were gorgeous.

 
 

   

 

 

   

 

Rodger pointed out to me some nurse logs—fallen trees that, in their death, provide life to new trees that grow out of them, above—and the lengths to which trees will go to reach sunlight, below.

For lunch, I'd been hoping to go to Tábor, a little food truck I'd read about in "The Art of the Street Cart," an article from Bon Appétit's 2009 Restaurant Issue that accurately describes how food cart crazy Portland is and says, of Tábor's fare, "There may be no better sandwich on the planet than the Original Schnitzelwich." Yoinks! Alas, I couldn't weigh in on that assertion because Tábor is open only weekdays for the worker-on-lunch-break crowd. Gat dam it!

I was very pleased with the place we ended up at, though: Mother's, which was started by a transplanted New Yorker. (Warning: Music plays at the link.) I had the delicious House Salad and the classic Cheddar Cheese Macaroni & Cheese. Mark and Rodger had calamari for an appetizer. I tried a bit, and it wasn't bad. For calamari. *crinkles up nose* Mark got the special mac and cheese of the day, which was given a New Orleans–style kick in the pants. And Rodger got the chicken sandwich with prosciutto.

The dining room where we ate was so cute:

And so was the clientele. :-) :

My Portland Vacation, Part I

I arrived in Portland about 4 p.m. Pacific time on Thursday. My buddy Mark—whom I'd met, along with his partner, Rodger, at GB5—picked me up at the airport. Rodger had been visiting his ailing and now recovering father in California, and he got back home on Friday, while Mark and I were out at Sauvie Island, buying berrries and giving M&R's Chesapeake Bay retriever, Mac, some exercise in the Columbia River.

The first evening, Mark insisted on treating me for dinner even though he and Rodger were putting me up for two nights. I had a delicious burger and homemade fries, with a side of broccolini, at Pause. Mark loves the fruit cheesecakes at this place. I had a good flourless-chocolate-pistachio-cake dealie. We both took about half of our dessert home.

That night, we hung out, chatted, and watched a little TV. (I must start recording RuPaul's Drag U. The dragulator is too much fun.) And I petted on Mac.

Mark had me give Mac a couple of Milk Bones when we first got home. Mac can be territorial, he said, and feeding him would immediately put me on his good side. I'm sure the snack helped, but Mac took to me right away. He knows a dog nut when he sees one.

I shocked Mark by sleeping in until 8:30, which should have felt like 11:30. I'd woken up about 5 or so, used the bathroom, and wondered whether I'd be able to fall back to sle—ZZZZZZ.

For breakfast, I had spelt toast with two kinds of homemade jam: raspberry and blueberry-marionberry-boysenberry. Both of them were awesome, but because I liked the raspberry slightly better, Mark said we'd make that kind while I was there. As regular readers of Mark's and Rodger's blogs know, they freeze and can lots of foods made from Oregon's finest produce every year. Late July to early August isn't the optimum time for berries, which is when I would have liked to have gone to Portland, but I couldn't really have gone earlier in the summer given my move.

Here's the jammy toast. (On Saturday morning, I had toast with strawberry freezer jam.)

After breakfast, Mark and I went to Sauvie Island. Mark threw sticks and floaty toys in the river for Mac to retrieve. It's what Mac lives to do; he gets all excited when you say the word river.

 

 

After a while, at Mark's suggestion, I walked up the beach to the clothing-optional area. It wasn't terribly warm yet, but I took off my clothes anyway because a) I didn't want to look like a lurker and b) it's been a long time since I've gone to a nude beach and I love the sensation of being naked outside. There wasn't much eye candy around. I thought I'd see some on the way back toward Mark and Mac because on the way out, I'd seen a promising-looking, bearish clothed guy walk out of the woods toward the beach, but he still had his clothes on when I next saw him. Maybe he was new to this and was shy. Or maybe he was waiting for it to get warmer. *shrugs*

On the drive from the beach to one of Mark's usual produce providers, we stopped to check out a nest with osprey in it. As regular readers of their blogs know, the guys enjoy bird-watching too. It wasn't the optimum time for that activity in Oregon either, but Sauvie Island is a great place for it.

I got out of the car to take a photo, and the momma osprey flew off the nest and kicked up a fuss. She didn't swoop down and claw at me—though I almost wish she had, because that would have made for a really interesting story—but she squawked a lot and even followed the car down the road a little ways. Mark said she must have been thinking, "I scared the shit out of those guys."

Mark said many pairs of bald eagles nest on the island too. The osprey often build their nests on manmade platforms above utility poles. The platforms were constructed there to encourage the birds not to nest directly on the poles.

We got our berries at The Pumpkin Patch, which felt like my kind of place. (As regular readers of my blog know, I'm a farmers market nerd.) Mark wasn't going to let me pay, but I threw my credit card down early, like he'd done at Pause. We got raspberries, of course, for the jam.

And I grabbed a box each of blueberries and marionberries, which I realize now I forgot to try. *sigh*

There were also some cheap, big-ass bags of beets suitable for pickling. Or making a vat of borscht.

An Update on Will and Mauricio

I just texted Will, who replied that they're about a hundred miles from New Orleans on their way back home. He heard from a neighbor that two sets of shutters were blown off, some window panes were broken, and the bathroom AC unit got blown into the tub. And he's not happy to be contemplating the rotting food in the fridge.

Will was so bored on his "hurrication" that he started a blog. The url he gave me a few days ago still isn't working for me. I'll post a link when I can access it.

And here's another UPDATE from Will via e-mail at 11:30 p.m., with the subject "back home":

The kitty is very happy.

We spent a few hours doing quick-fix repairs so we could sleep tonight. The fridge is cleaned out, and we've swept up all the broken glass. The vase of flowers you photo'd in your blog was blown into the sink and broke.

I guess it feels good to be home. I've already applied to FEMA to see if I can get a few pennies out of them. We'll see how that goes. I don't have high hopes.

More Photos From New Orleans

Here are many more photos from my New Orleans trip, starting with a pic of Will and Mauricio's cat.

They'd had the cat for only a couple of weeks when I arrived, and they hadn't settled on a name. But one day while I was there, I think Thursday, Mauricio declared that his name was Coco. Will had been calling him Poo Poo. I think they should call him Brownie, in honor of me. Or Poo Poo, in honor of me. :-/

W&M's living room

The kitchen

Their bedroom

The bathroom

W&M at Lüke, next to a piece of furniture Will was coveting

Chefs in motion at Lüke. We were seated in the back room, which was odd considering the front room wasn't at all crowded. It did give us a chance to see all of the activity in the kitchen, though.

And now some shots from the Insectarium:

My sentiment exactly. If by " 'em," we're speaking of delegates at the Republican National Convention.

I'm always getting asked that question. It's a burden I've learned to live with.

And speaking of large objects, this big, mechanical spider lurched out of the wall in an enclosed area about life in the ground. It made me jump. I think it must be activated by motion sensors.

A metallic frog beetle

A beautiful butterfly in the butterfly room. There were several of this kind, with pink on the wings. It took me a while to find one that would sit still for a while, though.

In addition to the live insects and other invertebrates, the museum featured some gorgeous display cases filled with pinned-up dead bugs. Here are three of my favorites. I think the middle one contains only moths, even though some of them are as pretty as butterflies.

Banana slugs are the second-largest slug in the world.

And how's this for a segue? ...

A dwarf banana plant blooming in W&M's bathroom

A flower on a nondwarf banana tree in the French Quarter

Here it is again (or most of it, at least) from a different angle, with some bananas to give you an idea of its size.

And now, some scenes from the farmers market:

Cute and fuzzy author Ian McNulty was autographing his book A Season of Night: New Orleans Life After Katrina. I may pick it up, though I didn't that day at the market.

And speaking of cute and fuzzy, here are W&M classing up the joint at Meauxbar Bistro. If I remember correctly, Mauricio had made the breast-cupping motion unprovoked, but I asked them both to do it for the photo.

A Shortened Visit to New Orleans, Part III

On Saturday morning, starting when I got back from the bars, I checked the Continental Web site every so often to make sure my flight was still scheduled to depart at 2:50. And it kept saying the status was "On Time." I was still a little nervous, though, about the prospect of getting to the airport and finding out that it had been canceled.

And of course, I was feeling anxious for Will and Mauricio. I didn't want them to have to go through the days of worrying about their home and the hardship of evacuating. And I especially didn't want them to have to start over again on their house. As I left, the prospects weren't good for the city. Gustav was predicted to hit land somewhere near New Orleans as a Category 4 storm.

When I first got up on Saturday morning, I had some coffee, packed, printed out my boarding pass, and helped W&M do a couple of things around the house to get ready for the storm. Then we went to breakfast at the Cake Café & Bakery, where we ran into Joshua, a handsome and friendly go-go boy who's a regular at the Corner Pocket. If I'd known someone who looked like him was going to be there, I might have gone with the fellows to the CP the night before. Ha cha!

Then W&M drove me to the airport. At two different intersections on the way out of the city, we saw a wig and a chunky-heeled shoe. Will said you could create a whole drag outfit just from what you find in the middle of the road. Hah!

We saw Meauxbar Bistro being boarded up and a good many National Guard vehicles driving around. That was a relief to Will, who said he thought he was as afraid of looters as he was of the storm. We also saw a hooker walking down Airline Highway, which Will said is where Jimmy Swaggart found his whores.

After I said my good-byes to W&M at the airport, I looked up at the TV with the flight information and saw a flight to Newark marked as cancelled. My heart sank until I saw it was the one after mine. The 2:50 was still listed as being on time. Phew!

After a delay in boarding and a further delay while seated on the plane, we finally took off at about 4. I've never been so happy to get off the ground in my life.

I kept in contact with Bob, who said he'd make a late dinner of beef shish kebabs for me. And it was late: We ate at about 11:20. I had had to wait about a half an hour for the next NJ Transit train to arrive at the Newark Airport stop, and it had taken a while for a 2 or 3 train to show up at the Penn Station subway stop.

I talked to Will after I landed, and he told me that he and Mauricio had decided to go to Jacksonville, Florida, with their friends Chris and Lewis to try to make a little bit of a "hurrication" out of the experience. Will sent me an e-mail on Sunday night saying that Lewis, who's a pastry chef at Arnaud's, had made a fantastic dinner for Mauricio's birthday: "grilled salmon, veggies, pasta puttanesca, and a homemade peach tart with filo, caramel, and ice cream."

Thankfully, Gustav was only a Category 2 storm when it came ashore west of the city. Yesterday, Will told me that someone had told him the house was fine but tonight he said he heard that at least one shutter blew away and several panes of glass were broken. At this point, he's mostly bored. I'll keep you updated on W&M's return to NOLA.

A Shortened Visit to New Orleans, Part II

Friday was all about the Country Club. I always have a good time there. I arrived, via Will's bike, about 10:30 and claimed a primo chaise lounge in the shade of a palm tree. Since there were so few people there, I lay down in a second chair in the sun until it started getting more crowded and I'd had my share of purposeful tanning.

I spent the rest of the day jumping from the pool to the hot tub to the shower to the shade, applying sunscreen liberally and being careful not to get too much sun, especially in places that don't usually see it. ;-) And for lunch, I had a nice flatbread pizza, which Will had recommended, with fresh mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, and, unfortunately, garlic. And I drank a couple of refreshing frozen passion fruit daiquiris, which came in non-environmentally-friendly-but-fun plastic buckets.

I caught up with supersexy Dirk from Minneapolis, whom I'd first met at the Country Club two years ago. He needled me about being chicken for having changed my flight to Saturday and claimed forecasters had no idea where the storm was really going yet. I told him to shut the fuck up and get back to licking my parts.*

My palm-chair seat was next to ones settled in by Rick and Dwight, two fellows from Tennessee who'd driven down for Southern Decadence. I also met a nice guy named Maurice who told me about his experience fleeing Hurricane Camille back in 1969. He said people were complacent as Camille approached because they'd already had to evacuate twice that summer. He said "we" (maybe he and his partner, whom I met, or some other, unknown person) fled in a compact car with a rag top after they noticed the patio furniture had blown away. Enough wind-driven salt water got into their car to kill the radio, and Maurice had to promise his traveling companion that taking back roads through the woods was preferable to being stuck in traffic on major highways.**

After I'd had enough fun for the day, I rode back to Tremé. Both the ride to the Country Club and to the Insectarium had been pretty easy. Take St. Philip into the French Quarter. Then turn left onto Chartres for the Country Club and take that to Louisa. Or turn right onto Decatur for the Insectarium and take that to Canal.

For dinner Friday night, W&M and I went to Meauxbar Bistro, where I'd had a memorable meal last year. The food was just as good this year, though I agreed with Will that it was odd for Meauxbar to have already switched to its fall menu. The menu wasn't completely new for the new season, but it seemed a little early to be featuring some made-for-fall dishes.

To start, we all got French 75 cocktails. I had the Roasted Beet Salad with Pear, Toasted Pecans, Red Onion, and Crumbled Goat Cheese for the first course. W&M split—and I tried of forkful of—a frisee salad dressed with a sugar cane vinaigrette. Both salads were delicious. For my entree, I got the Spaghetti Bolognese with Red Wine, Bacon Lardons, Beef, and Pork. Like my day at the Country Club, it was satisfyingly meaty. Heh heh.

We skipped dessert because one of W&M's neighbors had dropped off a chocolate chip cheesecake for Mauricio's birthday. I'm usually not one to get excited about cheesecake, but my mouth is still watering at the thought of this one even today. It had a chocolate chip cookie base, and it was super.

After we changed from our dinner clothes to our bar-hopping clothes (which are 75% sluttier), we went to the French Quarter to, duh, bar hop. We started at the 700 Club, which I found to be all sorts of fun on this second visit. There was a nice mix of people, including a group of boisterous hairy guys, and the music was terrific. When I got back home to Brooklyn, I bought a few songs on iTunes I'd heard at the club: blast from the past "Rock the Boat" by Hues Corporation, which I remembering hearing on the radio while at the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey, as a kid; "I'm Really Hot" by Missy Elliott, which I would have gotten the video for had it been available; "How Many Licks?" by Lil' Kim featuring Sisqo, which I bought the video for without realizing it was the stupid "clean" version (The word thighs is erased! Sigh.); and "Wind It Up" by Gwen Stefani, whom Will described as one of the most underrated divas.

I got to meet a bunch of Will and Mauricio's local friends at the 700 Club. After a while, W&M and their entourage moved on to the Corner Pocket, which generally features young, skinny, and hairless go-go boys. That's not usually my type, so I stayed at the 700 Club for a while longer before wandering around the Quarter a little.

In the entryway to Cafe Lafitte, I ran into a young otter who'd chewed on my nipples at the Country Club like they were made of rawhide and he was a schnauzer. He said that he'd left a bag of his stuff in the hotel room of a bunch of guys he'd been hanging out with at the Country Club, and now he couldn't remember where they were staying, so he was hoping to spot them. He said someone had told him he'd seen them at a certain bar, but he was waiting until that place was no longer charging a cover to get in. If I'd been in a more giving mood, I would have given him 5 bucks and told him to go find them already, but I wasn't. My nipples still hurt a little!

At Good Friends, I got to second base with Steve and Stewart, two sexy longtime friends from California who were hoping to be able to catch a flight to Denver on standby the next day. Then I took a cab home to W&M's place, in anticipation of my own flight out the next afternoon.

*That part of the conversation may not have actually taken place.

**In a related conversation, Will told me that he and Mauricio kept sane while stuck in traffic fleeing Katrina by singing Whitney Houston tunes with made-up lyrics since they didn't know all of the words.