hey jud

As a child, one of my favorite dinners was hot dogs and sauerkraut, so it should be no surprise to anyone that I order choucroute whenever I see it on a restaurant menu. I've tried it in many brasseries in Paris, and have always loved what was served to me. Last night however, I reached choucroute nirvana, dining out at the Central Kitchen in Cambridge. It was just on the appetizer menu, but that didn't stop me from making it my meal. No ham or sausage for this plate. Instead it had a leg of duck confit, resting on top of mild, but perfectly-flavored choucroute, with several slices of baked apples alongside. One bite, containing a bit of each, was perfection on the tongue. Being reminded of just how much I love this hearty dish, I might now be willing, on my next trip to France, to venture outside of Paris and follow the choucroute route in Alsace, where you can guess what the specialty always is. Fortunately I've got an old newspaper article listing the stops by town, because there doesn't seem to be any such write up on the web, or at least not in English. Until then, I'll be a Central Square regular, thinking globally but eating locally.

How different things looked on our trip to Nantucket this Saturday. As we left Hyannis, flat rectangles of ice were leaving with us, escaping from between piers that in summertime are full of boats. Once we got across to Brant Point, we left an open water trail through ice chunks. Farther into the harbor we saw sea lions lolling about, just relaxing and enjoying the sun on their undisturbed ice float, but they were too far off for pictures. Docking seemed to take longer than usual, as the ferry churned up the ice, which then floated off towards Children's Beach. The church steeple oversaw everything as usual.

Excited to find a pair of Isda khakis in the Vault at Filene's Basement, I hurried into the dressing room to see if they fit. There was a lot of bustling around and chatting going on, but I got my number and closed myself into the dressing room. As I pulled on my test pants, I couldn't help tuning in to the conversation in the next cubicle over. Whoever was in there was very practiced at trying on, and assessing, the look of her clothing choices (boring, not flattering enough, ooh this one could be good), running through a whole series while I tried on just the pants. Then there was a clue. She was speedy with the costume changes because she was Miss Massachusetts, and was shopping for new outfits to wear in the Miss USA competition. Two things give her my vote. She was confident and decisive about what she liked and didn't like, and she wasn't afraid to wear a bargain outfit in the big event. I only heard her, so I won't even recognize her if I see the competition on TV. Maybe I'll recognize her clothes though.

Everyone turned out for the parade. It was a number one day in Beantown. It's truly a dynasty now.

After fifteen years away, we're happily back skiing at Mad River. Incredibly, nothing about it has changed; not the lifts, not the trails, and not the snow. Even after 25-inches of fresh powder by Sunday afternoon the typical Mad River rock or ice spots were showing up to challenge us. That's what we like about it though. That and running into wonderful old friends who led us on our Sunday morning warm-up run on old favorites, Quacky to Porky. The sun was shining, there were 10-inches of powder from the night before, the bumps were just right and we wondered why we'd ever missed the last fifteen years.

You should be too.