People are funny when it comes to describing what their vision of heaven is. For some, it’s the proverbial pearly gates, angels cooing, trumpets blaring. For others, it’s whatever their personal vision of what peace and tranquility might be -- maybe a seductive, secluded beach or perhaps an inspiring and cooling mountain lake. My sense is a bit different. For me, it’s an eternal Mojito Challenge of the type just served up here in Charleston, just as it is every year when one’s thoughts turn to tropical drinks.
This year’s affair was set at the Charleston Aquarium, a brilliant choice for a venue when you think about it: a fabulous array of all things aquatic from sharks to snakes to seahorses to jellyfish and all things in between. Plus, the totally pleasurable option of the outside verandas where one can seek refuge from the teeming and wonderfully boisterous crowds who have come to share in the exact pursuit that brought you here -- the perfect mojito. What was once a simple and pleasing concoction of rum, simple syrup and some muddled mint now becomes a feverish (and highly entertaining) smack down among the city’s best bartenders to catch that special edge that will earn them the much sought after bragging rights of the best mojito maker in town.
And, make no mistake about it, these combatants will go to considerable lengths to get your attention. No fruit is left unexplored. You have your strawberry, kiwi, peach, watermelon, passion fruit, and banana, naturally. But, have you wondered what your mojito might taste like with a shot of elderberry, rosemary, cucumber, agave, dragonfruit, or --perhaps most exotic of all -- the yuzu? the yuzu? You know -- a Japanese fruit somewhat resembling the grapefruit. Somewhat. Introduce into this sublime ocean of vitamin C some ginger, a tannic lime meringue, or a poblano infused simple syrup or a simple splash of vanilla and you begin to see how demonic the pursuit of a prize winner can be. No stone is left unturned; no essence is left unexplored.
I concede my judgment may have become a bit clouded after sampling 14 different concoctions. My recollection is that they were all good. Some too sweet. Some too obviously gimmicky. Some bearing absolutely no resemblance to the mojito that inspired this event. But, what a fabulous evening.
Oh. The winner? A zesty concoction from “Coast,” a restaurant that has experienced more than its share of success at this event in the past. This year’s entry: a potion of strawberry, rhubarb and rosemary and -- the clincher -- a shot of strawberry pop rocks thrown in at the last moment that effervesce up your nose for a most memorable and sensory mojito experience. Ta da!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Enter Mojo
It was a difficult start. I mean, just imagine: you are separated from your family and friends; you are put to sleep and then awaken only to find that your balls have been cut off; you are in considerable pain; people come to greet you who are total strangers, but who act like they know you; you are whisked off to a strange place; you poop on the floor. Is this not the bottom, or what? And, so it was with Mojo the newest member of our family. Hello!
We should have seen it coming, but the next morning we saw a new dog: tail wagging, plainly happy to see us, eager to get outside to relieve himself there rather than re-enact his performance of the evening before. And, brandishing a furious appetite like any self-respecting lab puppy. We take him to the beach where he freaks out (although not really in a bad way) at the wave action at the shoreline, leaping straight up in the air as if the waves were electrically charged. Forty-eight hours later he is leaping into the waves, again, like any self-respecting lab. He is as black as night, his coat as shiny as a penguin’s. we are told he was thrown out of a car in the back roads of south carolina only to be rescued by a near-by hunter who sees this and who swoops him up and takes him to the local vet. He is fostered by a family and named Miller after the vet who saved him from a bout with parvo, deadly to most puppies.
A word on his name. No, he is not named as a cutsey salute to Austin Powers. Mojo is a throwback to old slave jargon meaning “black magic.” knowing what this little guy has been through, who can argue with that?
We should have seen it coming, but the next morning we saw a new dog: tail wagging, plainly happy to see us, eager to get outside to relieve himself there rather than re-enact his performance of the evening before. And, brandishing a furious appetite like any self-respecting lab puppy. We take him to the beach where he freaks out (although not really in a bad way) at the wave action at the shoreline, leaping straight up in the air as if the waves were electrically charged. Forty-eight hours later he is leaping into the waves, again, like any self-respecting lab. He is as black as night, his coat as shiny as a penguin’s. we are told he was thrown out of a car in the back roads of south carolina only to be rescued by a near-by hunter who sees this and who swoops him up and takes him to the local vet. He is fostered by a family and named Miller after the vet who saved him from a bout with parvo, deadly to most puppies.
A word on his name. No, he is not named as a cutsey salute to Austin Powers. Mojo is a throwback to old slave jargon meaning “black magic.” knowing what this little guy has been through, who can argue with that?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Meeting up with the king
I was about 8 or 9 feet from two 400 pound lions today. they were sound asleep. at first. but, when one of them raised his head, turned, and looked me straight in the eye, my fight or flight impulses raged out of control. it was exhilirating and unnerving all at the same time. I don't recall an event that so focused my senses. while I took the lion's stare with all the gravity owing in such encounters, I must say that the king of beasts was at best bored, and at worst absolutely oblivious. as much as I cared about where I found myself, he could not have cared less. total insouciance! shaun, our guide, was as calm and unconcerned as "big boy," as they called him. he assured us that as long as we didn't approach them head on (which they perceive as a threat), and as long as we didn't stand up or make sudden movements we would be fine. by staying seated, shaun said, the lions would not distinguish us from the land rover, which I guess is not threatening to them. standing up, however, would be a game changer. then, we would be perceived as humans and the rules would change instantly. I must have asked shaun several times about how these "rules of engagement" were agreed to. was there some memo that set all this out that the lions confirmed in some regal signing ceremony? how could he be absolutely certain it would work like this in all cases? in any event, as I sat in the very open and exposed land rover, I tried to become physically and psychically merged with my seat.
shaun stopped the rover and we watched these huge lions for about 20 minutes. I prayed the car would start when it was time to go.
shaun stopped the rover and we watched these huge lions for about 20 minutes. I prayed the car would start when it was time to go.
How to have fun and be nervous at the same time
we experience today what they call a "walking" safari. sounds simple enough. but, then again, maybe not. we are met by our guide, samson, a local tribesman who doubles as our tracker on our morning and evening safaris. I cannot help but notice the large weapon he is shouldering. I begin to appreciate the earnestness of the threat out there when he shows us his bullets which are larger than most toes. we are about to walk out into the bush and samson is our first and last line of defense. on today's walk, it's just samson, lily, alex and me.
samson tells us to walk single file behind him. when I ask why, he calmly tells me it's so he has a better field of vision should he need to shoot an attacking animal. my breathing becomes a bit shallower. alex and I jostle for position to see who can adhere as closely as possible to the back of samson's shirt. lily, however, thinking she's out for a walk on the beach -- head down, looking for the perfect seashell -- lags behind apparently content to become an amuse bouche for a lurking predator.
samson is delightful as he introduces us to his wide ranging knowledge of all things flora and fauna in the bush. under any other circumstance, this would be a joyful experience, but I get a stiff neck craning it in every possible direction checking to see if there might be a 4 legged beast tagging along, stalking. we are told that under no circumstances are we to run if we see one of the big guys: lion, cheetah, leopard, buffalo. apparently, that act rings their dinner bell. thanks for the heads up, samson.
samson tells us to walk single file behind him. when I ask why, he calmly tells me it's so he has a better field of vision should he need to shoot an attacking animal. my breathing becomes a bit shallower. alex and I jostle for position to see who can adhere as closely as possible to the back of samson's shirt. lily, however, thinking she's out for a walk on the beach -- head down, looking for the perfect seashell -- lags behind apparently content to become an amuse bouche for a lurking predator.
samson is delightful as he introduces us to his wide ranging knowledge of all things flora and fauna in the bush. under any other circumstance, this would be a joyful experience, but I get a stiff neck craning it in every possible direction checking to see if there might be a 4 legged beast tagging along, stalking. we are told that under no circumstances are we to run if we see one of the big guys: lion, cheetah, leopard, buffalo. apparently, that act rings their dinner bell. thanks for the heads up, samson.
Game On!
you gotta be kidding me! we're still on the airplane doing a slow taxi to the terminal in Hoedspruit when we spot 3 warthogs in the tall grass next to the runway. and, get this. they're being stalked by a cheetah! we see the tail of the cheetah as it makes its move -- a nano-glimpse of a high arching jump that we know to be the attack -- only to have the plane continue on toward the terminal, leaving the fate of the warthogs..........uncertain.
we leave our porcine friends to head out to the Pondoro Game Lodge, some miles north. on the 10 mile dirt, and heavily rutted, road to this private reserve we see giraffes by the side of the road, impala, wildebeast, and zebra. crazy. and, we have yet to go on our first game drive.
a word about the lodge: outrageous! check it out online (http://www.pondoro.co.za/). canopied beds in their 6 mini-lodges; a bath tub out on a deck overlooking the Oliphants River; a shower with a full glass wall revealing another nice view of the river; a shower head reminiscent of the one that almost killed Kramer; 3 gourmet meals a day; 2 4-hour driving safaris per day, one at 5:30 a.m., the other at 4 p.m.; a walking safari after breakfast; and a full menu of spa offerings. (alex gets his first ever full body massage and a pedicure!)
on our first game drive the afternoon we arrive, the giraffes, zebras, wildebeast and impala show up in earnest. they are simply everywhere. oddly, though, the comic star of the afternoon is a quirky bird they call the helmeted guinea fowl. apparently, these sorrowful birds are seriously contending for the honor of most stupid animal on planet earth. unlike most flocks of birds who flee in a flash when one of their tribe is either threatened (or even thinks he's threatened), these bozos -- we are told -- actually are happy to sit on a branch while the friend immediately next to him or her is shot out of the tree, completely oblivious to the notion of danger. we take note that as our land rover approaches them, it doesn't occur to them to get out of the way. no, no. they run -- imagine what a bird on fire might run like -- skirting the front wheels of the rover as if a place squarely under the tires would be the safest place to be! Darwin is definitely scratching his head at these evolutionary outliers.
as darkness falls, we spot a leopard, not an easy sighting, we are told. it's a young male. about 15 feet away. he's wary at first at our presence, but soon enough emerges from the bush to continue his nocturnal hunt. beautiful.
we leave our porcine friends to head out to the Pondoro Game Lodge, some miles north. on the 10 mile dirt, and heavily rutted, road to this private reserve we see giraffes by the side of the road, impala, wildebeast, and zebra. crazy. and, we have yet to go on our first game drive.
a word about the lodge: outrageous! check it out online (http://www.pondoro.co.za/). canopied beds in their 6 mini-lodges; a bath tub out on a deck overlooking the Oliphants River; a shower with a full glass wall revealing another nice view of the river; a shower head reminiscent of the one that almost killed Kramer; 3 gourmet meals a day; 2 4-hour driving safaris per day, one at 5:30 a.m., the other at 4 p.m.; a walking safari after breakfast; and a full menu of spa offerings. (alex gets his first ever full body massage and a pedicure!)
on our first game drive the afternoon we arrive, the giraffes, zebras, wildebeast and impala show up in earnest. they are simply everywhere. oddly, though, the comic star of the afternoon is a quirky bird they call the helmeted guinea fowl. apparently, these sorrowful birds are seriously contending for the honor of most stupid animal on planet earth. unlike most flocks of birds who flee in a flash when one of their tribe is either threatened (or even thinks he's threatened), these bozos -- we are told -- actually are happy to sit on a branch while the friend immediately next to him or her is shot out of the tree, completely oblivious to the notion of danger. we take note that as our land rover approaches them, it doesn't occur to them to get out of the way. no, no. they run -- imagine what a bird on fire might run like -- skirting the front wheels of the rover as if a place squarely under the tires would be the safest place to be! Darwin is definitely scratching his head at these evolutionary outliers.
as darkness falls, we spot a leopard, not an easy sighting, we are told. it's a young male. about 15 feet away. he's wary at first at our presence, but soon enough emerges from the bush to continue his nocturnal hunt. beautiful.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Riding an Ostrich vs. a 4x4: Compare and Contrast
All kidding aside, surmounting an ostrich who has other plans is no mean feat. they may be incredibly stupid, but they know what they don't like, and that includes having homo sapiens on their backs. first, ostriches do not provide the same level of comfort as most other modes of transport, such as the 4x4. Instead of the nice wide soft seat in the 4x4, the ostrich offers a bony, narrow "saddle" area. In the case of the ostrich, I seriously underestimated its ability to accelerate. While I similarly underestimated the power behind the throttle of the 4x4, I never sensed its desire to throw me from the vehicle. rather, I felt firmly astride a very grounded machine with a low center of gravity and which had many fewer feathers. I was tossed almost immediately by the ostrich. he quite literally zoomed out from under me. I had no chance. with the 4x4 I couldn't fall off except with great effort on my part even as we flew up deeply rutted hills and down steep embankments occasionally pocked with hubcap high water hazards.
When riding an ostrich, one must grab hold of its wings and lean back, almost like water skiing. with the 4x4, you grab the much more user friendly handle bars around which one can easily wrap one's fingers without wondering if you're choking the bejesus out of it as was the case with the understandably stressed ostrich. with the 4x4, you gently hit the throttle and easily control your rate of speed. In contrast, the ostrich simply can't wait to get you off his back.
but, in the end, there's no denying that the 4x4 just doesn't have those long eyelashes so prominently visible on the ostrich. it's tough not to like these critters even if they do want to kill you.
When riding an ostrich, one must grab hold of its wings and lean back, almost like water skiing. with the 4x4, you grab the much more user friendly handle bars around which one can easily wrap one's fingers without wondering if you're choking the bejesus out of it as was the case with the understandably stressed ostrich. with the 4x4, you gently hit the throttle and easily control your rate of speed. In contrast, the ostrich simply can't wait to get you off his back.
but, in the end, there's no denying that the 4x4 just doesn't have those long eyelashes so prominently visible on the ostrich. it's tough not to like these critters even if they do want to kill you.
The Jump
Thirteen years ago, when we were in New Zealand, we permitted a 13 year old, jesse, to bungy jump. It was his driving ambition (to the extent someone of that age can have such a thing) and we, caught up in the moment, the so-called adults (lily and me), permitted this insanity. I recall that after our return, people whose judgment we normally trusted looked at us agog and muttered that Family Services or the ASPCA or someone in authority should know about this.
We flash forward now to 2009. alex is 22, hoping to see 23. In front of us looms the allegedly highest bungy jump on earth. this would put it at about 216 meters, or roughly the same as jumping off a 65 story building. It's located in Bloukrans along the southern coast of south africa. let me tell you, it is one thing to contemplate a jump like this, and quite another to stare into the maw of the endless descent that awaits you. yet, here we are and alex's bravado is now tinged with a trace of "oh, my god. what was I thinking?" charlie, alex's traveling buddy, who joins in on the mayhem, appears to be preternaturally calm, but admits to an elevated pulse rate.
lily and I join the two masochists as sane holdout witnesses. the jumping off point is the underside of a bridge that spans a deep-cut gorge. It is the largest bridge in south africa. to get to the jump, one must first traverse a walkway that inconveniently has only a widely spaced metal grate for a floor, so that with each passing step, if you look down, you see the increasing depths, both literal and figurative, alex and charlie are about to jump into. I unconsciously find myself holding on too much to the mesh "walls" of the walkway.
as the time arrives, alex and charlie are bound up with harnesses, braces, ropes and pads. the similarities to an execution are too numerous to ignore. with their legs bound together, they must literally hop to the precipice where they await the mercifully short countdown. alex, unconsciously grasps the sleeve of a staff member who instantly orders him in no uncertain terms to let go. alex holds his arms wide and, in his best effort to replicate a swan dive, he steps off into the nothingness. my stomach flip flops.
we watch a live video feed of his descent and hold our breath as he recoils several times with skyward bounces each time the bungy cord is fully stretched. I am aware that I am breathing again. when he is back on the bridge, his grin could not be wider. you know, the kind of grin one can only have when you feel you have cheated death.
later that day, I am introduced to a wonderful Cuban rum. I conclude that the two events are not entirely unrelated.
We flash forward now to 2009. alex is 22, hoping to see 23. In front of us looms the allegedly highest bungy jump on earth. this would put it at about 216 meters, or roughly the same as jumping off a 65 story building. It's located in Bloukrans along the southern coast of south africa. let me tell you, it is one thing to contemplate a jump like this, and quite another to stare into the maw of the endless descent that awaits you. yet, here we are and alex's bravado is now tinged with a trace of "oh, my god. what was I thinking?" charlie, alex's traveling buddy, who joins in on the mayhem, appears to be preternaturally calm, but admits to an elevated pulse rate.
lily and I join the two masochists as sane holdout witnesses. the jumping off point is the underside of a bridge that spans a deep-cut gorge. It is the largest bridge in south africa. to get to the jump, one must first traverse a walkway that inconveniently has only a widely spaced metal grate for a floor, so that with each passing step, if you look down, you see the increasing depths, both literal and figurative, alex and charlie are about to jump into. I unconsciously find myself holding on too much to the mesh "walls" of the walkway.
as the time arrives, alex and charlie are bound up with harnesses, braces, ropes and pads. the similarities to an execution are too numerous to ignore. with their legs bound together, they must literally hop to the precipice where they await the mercifully short countdown. alex, unconsciously grasps the sleeve of a staff member who instantly orders him in no uncertain terms to let go. alex holds his arms wide and, in his best effort to replicate a swan dive, he steps off into the nothingness. my stomach flip flops.
we watch a live video feed of his descent and hold our breath as he recoils several times with skyward bounces each time the bungy cord is fully stretched. I am aware that I am breathing again. when he is back on the bridge, his grin could not be wider. you know, the kind of grin one can only have when you feel you have cheated death.
later that day, I am introduced to a wonderful Cuban rum. I conclude that the two events are not entirely unrelated.
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