First Page of Story

It’s been years since I felt the sand between my toes. Not just any sand. I’ve felt sand volleyball court sand. I’ve felt playground sand. I’ve definitely felt the sand that still lingers in my car even after a thorough cleaning. No, it’s the sand that is cool and damp to the touch as the warm water sweeps back and forth above the surface. It’s the kind of sand that holds the tiny little creatures where air bubbles unfortunately reveal their location. I miss this sand because it never fails to be accompanied by the crashing waves and chorus of birds and I miss this sand because I knew it far too well.

This place looks different as plants are now littering the once spotless beach. Fewer people come by and even the air had more of a chill to it. My daddy’s beach house still stands overlooking the cerulean ocean but my footsteps do not, only my memories. A new family enjoys the beautiful sunroom where I would go into every morning to remind myself of the ocean air. Their children are the ones playing in the small sand pit that was formed by the brush that encircled the yard and the adults would watch them from the wrap around porch that creaks along with the rocking of a rocking chair. A lot of lemonade was spilled on that porch due to my clumsiness when I was younger and it makes me smile to this day thinking, perhaps also hoping, that a faint smell of lemons continue to impress the noses of the new guests.

I want to just knock on that door; rather, I want to just open the door myself using the key we hid underneath the welcome mat. I know it’s not there any more but I figure the new family did something similar, if not the same thing. I always felt uncomfortable having that key under there. It was welcoming strangers into our house at any time. My daddy was never concerned. He would constantly say that if a stranger wanted to come in, he’d serve them a nice cold beer and a gun to their face. I wasn’t sure which one sounded scarier, a stranger inside the house or my daddy ready and willing to shoot their face off.

But I decide that knocking on the door would be the most stupid idea I could come up with. Not only would the family just stare at me when they opened their door wondering who I was and what I was doing there but the smell emanating from the house, a different smell, would reaffirm that this wasn’t something familiar to me any more. In my mind the new house would smell like vanilla and warm cinnamon. It always smelled like rice and soy sauce when I lived there. It always smelled like my daddy’s cooking that trapped itself into the pillows and couches. I miss that smell. I could never cook the way my daddy did. I never took the time to learn his recipes or even watch him make dinner. He wanted me to learn but I always just said, another day.

As I leave the beach, the sun begins to settle slowly over the ocean. A small candle, probably electric, began to shimmer in one of the upper floor windows of the house. I realized that that was my old room. I would have never had a candle in my room. Or I probably would but probably would not have admitted having wanted one. I look back and give a little smile. I can picture a small little child getting settled in their room watching the sunset and the sky dimming, pink being painted across the sky. I can imagine that same child wondering what they will grow up to be and what memories they will have in that home. I can imagine that child because I was that child growing up.

Coming back here was not my idea. My momma wanted me home. The house they moved to is only a few miles away while I worked in Washington. I always try to avoid coming home but when my momma asks, I know it must be something she really wants. So every time I come home, this is the first place I go besides my house. I know I shouldn’t come here, the sand sticking to my bare feet, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but return. It is a part of me, a part of my story. This is where my story begins.

Land of Milk and Honey Wine

So today, my friends and I planned on getting Soul Food on U Street in Northwest DC but overlooked the time the restaurant was open on Sundays. Fortunately, my car was parked in front of yet another restaurant that was on the Washingtonian list of Cheap Eats.

Today's Choice: Etete


What the Magazine says:
"This terra-cotta-painted dining room sits in the heart of the few blocks known as Little Ethiopia. Although it has plenty of competition, it remains the standard setter for long-simmered meats and brightly flavored vegetarian stews, all crafted by the owner's mother. All the while, servers keep the baskets of injera - bread used in place of silverware - coming."


What to Get:
"Sambosas, wide pockets of fried pastry filled with lentils; vegetarian platter with the red-lentil stew yemisir wat, a cool and spicy mash of peas called yekik alicha, a mustardy mix of green lentils known as azifa, and the collard greens called gomen; the area's definitive version of the chicken dish doro wat; beef-tartar-like kitfo with cottage cheese and a sprinkle of fiery mitmita powder."



Walking into the thin, long room of Etete, I was quickly warmed by the burnt orange and sienna walls that were illuminated by the low hanging lights that dangled above the bar. The walls were covered in their acclamations, like a mother's living room, and the tables sat snuggly next to each other. The table right at front, by the window, sat family style around a traditional Ethiopian basket table (probably to showcase to the passerbyers).

We began to scan the menu, my friends having already decided to order a glass of Honey Wine, tej, each to supplement their meal. The wine came out first and when I sipped theirs, a sweet ambered nectar filled my mouth. The delicate complexity came over my palette and I was pleasantly surprised by the smoothness of its flavor. We later found out that they made it themselves and that gave the restaurant more credibility.

I started my meal with a sampling of their Sambosas. The flaky golden crust pocketed the lentils that sat inside the warm casing. It was a delight even if the lentils were a bit dry for my taste.

When our main meal arrived, all three courses came on a single large platter of injera with collard greens, cabbage & carrots and potatoes accompanying the meats.

My friends ordered Bozena Shiro which was lamb stewed with garbonzo beans and Gored Gored, raw beef cooked in spices. I did not enjoy the first course as much as the lamb was quite dry and the sauce not so abundant. The latter dish had a very wonderful spice that hit the back of the tongue, but being in cubes, I had to distract myself from remembering that I was chewing on raw beef. The consistency of raw meat was still present but the taste was delightful.

What I ordered was my favorite dish on the platter: Yebeg Kikil which was lamb marinated in jalapeno, garlic and simmered in herb butter. There was plenty of the delicious sauce smothering the tender meat.


My biggest problem with Etete was the service. The waitress rarely came by and my water glass sat their empty for prolonged periods of time which, after stupidly eating one of the jalapenos in my dish, was a crucial thing to have (even though it only makes the effects of spice worse, I still wanted water).

My Ratings (1-5)
Atmosphere: 3.5
Food: 2
Satisfaction vs. Price: 2

Tip: Looks can be deceiving. Each of us ordered an entree and when it arrived it didn't seem like there would be enough to fill us up. We were wrong. None of us finished our meals even after trying to help each other out. Always order based on a 3:2 ratio (3 people: 2 dishes).

Do You Know the Muffin Man?

In addition to my travels, I've decided to supplement my blog with the interesting new places I dine at.

After picking up the June 2010 issue of the Washingtonian, highlighting CHEAP EATS, I've decided to make it an adventure to try as many of these places as I can this summer and see if, what they say, truly matches my experience.

Today's choice: Muffin Man Caribbean Cafe

What the magazine says:
"The muffins might be the big lure - the case up front holds two dozen colorful varieties - but this order-at-the-counter operation also boasts some of the most authentic island cooking around, from electric preparations of jerk to excellent overstuffed roti."

Magazine's Picks on What to Get: "Rum-raisin, carrot-cake, cranberry, and cream-cheese/streusel muffins; jerk shrimp; roti, including chicken and potato (the latter is lighter but doesn't stint on flavor or heat); stuffed shrimp with fries and coleslaw."

My Opinions:

It was a surprisingly easy drive to get to Lanham, MD and finding the store was as easy too. Situated next to a "CLUCK-U Chicken" (I must try that place sometime) and across from a "RITA's WATER ICE", the unimposing facade of the building matched every other store front in the strip mall. Entering the store, you instantly notice the display of muffins, being showcased by the bright light in the case and the smell of the spices and slow cooking in the air. Looking at the menu, I noticed the prices to be decent: Main Meals ranging from $9-$15 but I was quickly drawn in by the sheer variety of muffins. Ranging from Guava to Strawberry Streusel, from Chocolate Chocolate Chip to Sweet Potato, the muffins were a good size to enjoy.

The atmosphere was very basic with tables set up cafeteria style but the portraits of Bob Marley on the walls and the reggae music being played throughout the store added a bit of that Caribbean feeling that we expect coming to a place with such a name.

I decided on getting the Chicken Curry Roti with a Iced Carrot and Cream Cheese/Streusel muffin to taste later. My company all got different things too so I can discuss those items as well.
The wait was quick, the seating was plenty and the workers in the store were definitely friendly. It was obvious that MUFFIN MAN was a local treasure. Customers came in and were greeted and hugged by the workers. Some even helped out with the orders.

I picked up my plate from the counter, Order #37, and was surprised by the portion that was sitting on my plate. The behemoth trumped over the already large plate and I could tell that this was going to be a satisfying meal. The chicken was delicious and the curry wasn't overpowering the taste of the vegetables. I did wonder, however, what the powder stuff inside my roti was. It was unpleasant but none-the-less still a satisfying meal.

My friends enjoyed classic dishes such as their spicy, with a kick, jerk chicken and their brown chicken stew. Both dishes came with slaw and rice. The chicken fell off the bone and the meat was juicy and tender. The spices were interesting and probably not my favorite combination of seasonings.

MY RATINGS (1-5)
Atmosphere: 2
Food: 3.5
Satisfaction vs. Price: 3

Tip: Definitely save room for a muffin. They are probably the best part of the meal.

Northvale, NJ

Nothing says home more than the smell that overcomes our noses the moment we step into our house. In my home, it is always the aroma of Filipino food being cooked by my grandma slaving away at the old stove that somehow fits in the small corner of our laundry room.

But home isn't limited to the however many square foot house you might inhabit but also the town, the city, the locale, that might stake claim to that bit of property.

For me it's a 1.3 square mile little plot of land called Northvale in Bergen Co., New Jersey.

There really isn't much in this town of 4400 people besides housing, a school and a shopping center. Prior to the construction of the shopping center my town only had 2 traffic lights...now we have three. I guess the shopping center increased the traffic by 50%.

The picture below shows a sketch of the shopping center in my town. What I find humorous are the people walking so casually into the shopping center. They're walking without a care in the world. In real life, someone would have ran them over with their car (it's a busy entrance...and we're dealing with Jersey drivers here).

Living on the main road of the tiny borough, I always looked up and down the street thinking that it was nothing more than a drive through town.
"Nothing to see here folks, just keep on driving by" I would always think people would say in their cars as they passed (if they had nothing more interesting to talk about of course).

This little suburbia seemed like every other Jersey town: Great place to raise your kids, but oh boy is it boring. But I can't ignore the fact that the place I call home has its own history and has its own story to tell.

The first mention of a town existing where Northvale is today was way back in 1866 when the Bergen Co. Clerk named printed out maps with the area designated as "Carrieville" named after his wife. At this point, this area used to be a rest stop for those making their way to New York.
Can you imagine, during the 1800s it was a 2 day trip on stagecoach and ferry from Northvale to New York? Today, if I speed, I can make it to the Bronx in 25 minutes, and Manhattan in 40. I'm guessing a day trip back then was visiting the next town over to shop for fine linens and silk (or whatever dainty things they purchased back then).

On my way to school everyday I would pass the Northvale Auto Shop thinking nothing of it even as English Ivy crawled up the side of the pewter gray stoned building. I knew it to be a place of business...an old and decrepit building nestled between typical early 20th Century houses. But I didn't think anything else of it. It was there. It stood. It existed.
But then I found this old photo.
It was apparently the Waist Factory at one time or another. "Waist"? I wondered initially...did they mean "Waste" or was it a factory for the manufacturing of Waist Products. Searching the term on Google, I only happened to stumble upon the story about the Triangle Waist Company fire back in the day, which was a manufacturer of woman's blouses and linens. So I guess that's what they made...blouses.

But what I really noticed was the road in front of the factory. A dirt road exudes rusticity and romance. Also, an era when people pioneered this country and ingrained their dreams into each home they built. The road in the photo has so much to say, that I'm surprised that today it is like every other road...paved with a double yellow line.

Below is another view of the street where I live.


This photo is a view from the main intersection in my town (Livingston Street and Paris Avenue). The house on the left is now a PNC bank, the house on the right is a dentist's office and the right foreground corner is our lovely little Irish Pub, the Fox Hunt Inn.

So how has this small town shaped me? My town continues to be as small as it was back then just with paved streets and a few more traffic lights. Plenty of the houses still look the same as the ones in the photo and it is still quite nothing more than a residential place. It was a charming place to grow up...but it couldn't satisfy my desire to see more.

The idea of Suburbia has masked the histories of so many places where we live today. "It's just another suburb" people would say and quickly overlook the potential the place has of teaching us.

Look into your own town's histories. You might find something very interesting.
I leave you with this final photo:


My town had a beautiful ornate archway built with the names of those on the honor roll etched into it. I want an HONOR ROLL ARCHWAY! My name would be all over that thing...(except that one marking period freshman year... :-\)

Until next time:
~ Safe Travels but Travel Daringly

Von

And so it begins...

For the longest time I've talked about my dream show, "Von Voyage", and how I would be the next Anthony Bourdain. Now that I've graduated and jobless, I have plenty of time to really pursue this dream of mine. It all begins with a simple blog...a travel blog.

Von Voyage is not about the glitz and the glam. It is about your backyard and everything you're missing out there because society has told us that we ALL MUST GO TO ITALY (not saying there's anything wrong with Italy, I loved it). I want to share the diamonds in the rough. I want to explore places that are easily overlooked.

Because I barely have a penny to my name, Von Voyage will remain local: Washington DC.

After watching the movie, "Julie & Julia" I realized that there are million blogs out there. How am I going to ensure that mine sticks out? What I needed was a fresh idea. Something that the travel community has yet to experience. So then I thought...METRO.

There are so many metro stops in the DC metro area and yet few have really been explored. I will be making those adventures happen...and you will all experience it with me.

So throughout my summer of exploration and self-discovery, equipped with my sister's Flip Cam in hand, I will be documenting the local, in and around a different area of DC. The day life, the night life, the food. I want to see it all. And hopefully you'll all enjoy what I have to say.

~ Safe Travels, but Travel Daringly

Von