Fueled by the social media and popularized by Food Network’s The Great Food Truck Race, these roving eateries are motoring marvels.
Trendy? You bet.
Delicious? Count on it.
Cheap? Absolutely.
Mixing it Up with the Masses? What could be Better?
Last night, at my local wine & spirits hang-out, I got a beer and then ordered chicken tacos (recommended by a Truckee-Groupie) from Sloppi Jo’s, parked, for the evening, nearby. Tonight, same location, it will be Haulin Ball’s (Don’t Ask).
Mount Elden, Flagstaff, Arizona, Photo by Steven Cross
Seven-time Tour de France cycling champion Lance Armstrong and I have three things in common:
We both own dwellings in Aspen, Colorado. We are not neighbors and his house is far bigger than my condo. But, hey, who’s counting square footage?
Our favorite Aspen restaurant is Cache Cache. I had dinner there, with friends, two nights prior to Armstrong’s Saturday night, June 11, visit. My dinner was delicious, conversation delightful, and, evening quite peaceful. Unfortunately, there was a bit of a dust-up on Saturday night when Armstrong found himself dining in the same restaurant as former teammate Tyler Hamilton. You might recall that Hamilton had recently appeared on CBS‘ Sixty Minutes and accused Armstrong of using banned performance-enhancing substances during cycling competitions. Ouch. Cache Cache is small, no major potted plants to hide behind, and Lance was probably still a bit miffed. There were words.
Lance Armstrong and I are arguably the only two people on this planet who still believe he “didn’t dope”! I’m a leap-of-faith woman and I still trust the guy. Everyone who knows this also has a few things to say to me about the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. Little credit, please.
Tour de France Champion, 1999-2005, Lance Armstrong
Americans need to have heroes, both real and fictional, in our lives, and Armstrong has been one of mine. He won the Tour de France, a three-week cycling event typically covering 2,000 miles, seven times. Toss some serious health issues with the pressures of international competition into the mix and, in my book, he’s in “What–a-Guy” territory.
I just finished a fascinating book by University of Richmond professors Scott Allison and George Goethals, entitled “Heroes: What They Do and Why We Need Them”. The conversation in this book not only focuses on the heroes themselves but, more importantly, on those of us who need to have them. Generally, that’s Everyone. The truth is, it’s more important to me that Armstrong wear a White Hat than a Yellow Jersey. At my age, I’m afraid my Fallen Idols List is overwhelming my Heroes one.
According to the authors, the “Great Eight Traits of Heroes” are:
1.Intelligence
2.Strength
3. Selflessness
4. Caring
5. Resilience
6. Charismatic
7.Reliability
8.Inspiration
Honestly, Readers, who could possibly measure up? Lassie? The Lone Ranger and Tonto? Secretariat? No one human, for sure.
Based on my opinion and absolutely no science, I see this hero-business as very American. And, I am growing wary of it. Sometimes, it almost smells sinister as we hold these Heroes to impossibly-elevated standards only to gleam some satisfaction when they fail or fall. Whether a hero through activism, celebrity, politics, spiritualism, business, sports, the arts or war, there is a line every hero may not cross over. What’s so difficult about realizing that if you cheat, lie, dope, fake it, misappropriate, rig, steal, double-deal, deceive, pretend, or plagiarize, you are going to eventually, without a doubt, no question about it, get caught.
We may never be willing to expect less of our would-be heroes. After all, they are still enjoying the largesse, notoriety, rewards, and bounty of their lifestyles and talents. But, perhaps it’s time to expect less of ourselves, release the impossible, covet less, grow contentment, and savor the moment.
For the past two years I’ve adopted the “Good E’Nuf Doctrine”, giving my Type A/Peddle-to-Perfection behavioral pattern a much-needed furlough.
This all began on a gorgeous Arizona day when I planned to hike up Mount Elden, a 2395’ climb in elevation to its peak, 9299′ above sea level. Armed with food, water, sunscreen, good weather, and time, I was a happy woman. Until, I wasn’t. A few hours into the hike, having reached the tree line, I could go no farther. I was done. By the time I hiked down to the car, I’d morphed into a funk, carrying all the accompanying emotions of, what I perceived, a failure.
Some days later, a colleague who had witnessed the scene and its aftermath, said, as an afterthought and very calmly, “You know, Mary, sometimes things are “Good E’nuf”. And, that’s okay. You didn’t reach your goal. You didn’t accomplish your task. You didn’t get all you wanted out of it. But, it was “Good E’nuf.”
“Good E’nuf’s” have never been part of my vocabulary!
He’s right, however. Although there are some Peaks I’ll never ascend to again, wherever I can hike will be “Good E’Nuf”.
Americans have often found it difficult to be satisfied, always wanting more, bigger and better. But “less” is what lies ahead and the reality is that “Good E’Nuf’s” may become the norm. I have a plaque that says, “Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; But remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.”
It took some time for me to realize the power of those words.
As for Armstrong, there may be some road hazards ahead. In fact, this week-end singer Sheryl Crowe, Lance’s former girlfriend who dumped him when he wandered elsewhere, will be in Aspen to perform at the Jazz Festival. Perhaps Lance should play it safe, remain at home, and order a Brunelleschi’s Dome Pizza, (970-544-4644). It’s not a gourmet meal but it will be “Good E’Nuf”.
Roasted Rhubarb with Homemade Black Walnut & Vanilla Ice Cream
I’m an Iowa farm girl so I know a thing or two about rhubarb. The French have not cornered the market on this fruit. In the Midwest we called it Pie Plant. It often grew in residential alleys. When I moved to Colorado in 1988, I took some rhubarb roots with me and loved watching the stalks pop-up, after the last snow, in the late-Spring.
My Mother made the most sublime Rhubarb Meringue Pie. Her sauce was to-die-for and we loved it on, over and under everything! I miss you, Mom.
But, roasted rhubarb. I was a skeptic. Why do I doubt Dorie? The result was delicious. We ate it for breakfast, lunch, and finalized our Roasted Rhubarb Experience by pouring it over our homemade black walnut vanilla ice cream.
Sometimes, when traveling, you meet people who are memorable, who you want to hold close always. Such was the case, in April 2007, when I met Vivianne and David Bissix.
I was in France, for a month, to study at that country’s best immersion language school, the Institut de Français. Located in the South of France, each month, 80 “victims” from around the world, gather to toil 8-hours a day on a language that has 17 different verb tenses. Sweat and tears are daily occurrences.(http://www.institutdefrancais.com/)
Viv and David, an accountant, had just retired and moved from England, their home country, to France, their new one. He was living his dream. His wife was at the Institut to learn the language! Vivianne and I bonded “in our fright.”
During the past four years those of us in the Intermédiaire 2, 3, and 4, class levels have stayed in touch. In April 2009, we gathered together for a week-end in Paris. Two months ago, my colleagues, sans moi, again congregated in Paris. It’s my understanding that Vivianne, now jabbering fluently in French, had happily bought into her husband’s dream also.
After returning to Cahors from the recent Paris party, Vivianne developed some stomach pains that resulted in two operations, followed by a slow, continuing recuperation.
Please know, Vivianne, that your many friends, scattered across the globe, are sending you good wishes (in French, of course), positive energy, and love in every language. If you can conquer French, mon amie, you can conquer this!
Pick up this book. Snap to it. Trust me here. Written by Pulitzer Prize winner Gail Caldwell, this short (188 pages) memoir about a friendship between two women, is read-a-licious.
My friend, Ardyth, absorbed it in one sitting as an E-book. My paperback copy is dog-eared and tattered with a rippled-page affect that suggests “moisture”. On the inside cover is handwritten its own friendship journey:
This Book orginated in New York with Terry.
Then, Jane of Aspen, who read it at the Pool (thus the wrinkled pages).
On to Gretchen and Mary R. and Linda in Aspen.
Now, in my hands, in Nevada.
I hope to pass it on to my neighbor, Michelle.
The beauty of this book is that we all read it so quickly, it can travel rapidly!
