Posts Tagged ‘Ohio’

Delicious Transition.

January 23, 2012

One of my favorite Twitter hashtags is #firstworldproblems. For the Twitter uninitiated, it’s typically used when someone is complaining about bourgeois or tedious day-to-day issues that are not actually problems, a self-effacing nod to having the good life. So when I say that I needed a vacation from my vacation, I hereby acknowledge the ridiculousness of the statement. Nonetheless, it was true. After ten days of non-stop travel (during half of those one or both of us were sick), Ben and I needed a way to recover from our trip to London. We needed to rest. Luckily, I’d anticipated this happening, and booked a weekend stay at the Inn at Cedar Falls for the weekend after we’d return home.

This? It’s the opposite of the near panic attack I had on an over-crowded, over-heated Picadilly line where I accidentally stepped on a woman’s foot before hitting her head with my bag. And, happily, it’s only about an hour and a half from my house. In recent experiences, a trip to the destinations within the Hocking Hills of Southeast Ohio can seem like a trip to Disney World, with lines of crying children and gossipy octogenarians. And to be honest, Cedar Falls (which incidentally, has no cedars nearby), was no different.

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Itinerant Foodies Retreat: Ohio.

September 9, 2011

Jill: Continental Airlines has last-minute fare sales between Columbus and New York City every other week. They’re typically released on Monday nights. One of the few constants in life, these sales have aided in many a long weekend for the both of us, sometimes in New York, sometimes in Columbus. We recently decided to take advantage of the fare to hold our first annual Itinerant Foodies Retreat.

Maya: I was already on board with the prospect of a long weekend in Ohio, but when Jill promised to comp half of the cost of my ticket in food, I was sold—it was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

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The Three Bs.

February 1, 2011

My day job mandates that I write about food, and though I should probably think better of publicly admitting it, more times than not, I find myself publishing in a hurry. This will change when I receive my Fairy God Servant to help me edit and remind me of my meetings with chicken sales people. (I believe this perk comes after 15 years of service.) The three words that prove my incompetence at self-editing, more-so than any other cluster are beet, beer and beef. That final crucial letter means all the difference. (And yes, I’ve sent out an “e-mail blast”* talking about our upcoming beet tasting.)

This past Sunday, my three typo-tendency words came together in one meal, cooked for my friends Bill and Lisa. Bill spent most of our high school years following me around, making fun of the way I pronunciate certain words and telling me my feet smell. (He was also my first-ever real guy friend and always encouraged me to stand up for myself on the important non-pronunciation and non-feet related things.) His lady friend Lisa recently taught me how to draw. I wanted to thank them for their collective impact on my life by making them beet / beer / beef.

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I Dream of Dubbels.

January 26, 2011

This is heaven. This is what I thought two Sundays ago, as I sat at a giant wooden table surrounded by the smell of a wood-fueled fire and the sounds of Sigur Ros enveloping me. Directly in front of me were floor-to-ceiling paned glass doors that unearthed a view of snow-covered southeast Ohio while allowing in enough perfect mid-afternoon January light to make any photograph I took make me look ten times more talented than I actually am. Oh. And, I was surrounded by a small group of incredible people, including (but not limited to) Matthew Barbee of Rockmill Brewery. And he would not stop pouring his delicious organic Belgian-style ales into my glass. Definitely heaven.

Rockmill Brewery made its Columbus debut in September of 2010. I first saw their beers at an event at House Wine for Local Foods Week, and quickly started lobbying my own libations department to start carrying them. This lobbying was, it seems, to the detriment of both my checking account and my waistline, as ever since my dreamy Sunday afternoon, I cannot stop craving them.

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Baiting Bite.

November 16, 2010

One could safely say that the two most upscale restaurants in Marietta are owned and operated by immigrants to the area. The first, of course, being Austyn’s and the second being the Buckley House Restaurant. With a small amount of time sandwiched in between a film festival and the World Series game (Baseball Boy is Baseball Boy for a reason), we stopped into the latter for late-afternoon appetizers.

Buckley House is located in an historic house on Front Street about half a block north of the main area of downtown Marietta. The building, built in 1879, is across the street from the park that houses a sculpture by Gutzon Borglum of Mount Rushmore fame.

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Marietta in Pictures.

November 9, 2010

A few weekends ago, I vacationed in Marietta, Ohio. It seems that my leisurely travels within the state have mostly – in the past two years – led me to the eastern border, where Route 7 hugs the Ohio River.  Known both for its history and geography, I found the city stunning. I present a picture post of a few of the sights around both Marietta, Ohio and Historic Harmar Village.


The view from the Historic Lafayette Hotel. (more…)

Destination Erie.

September 8, 2010

A few weekends ago, I had an opportunity to spend an afternoon near Lake Erie with my roommate and her boyfriend’s family. I took it. Below are some images from the day-long trip.

I have a love-hate relationship with corn fields. They’re an integral part of Ohio’s landscape, but they’re also symbolism for big agriculture.

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Altering the Allergens.

August 26, 2010

Allergy season has been horrendous for me this year. To add to the drama of itchy watery eyes and waking up to a three-minute soliloquy of sneezing every morning, the 2010 ragweed season seems to have lined up perfectly with Ohio’s peak produce season. The means that typically ignorable symptoms of an itchy throat and swollen lips from fresh fruits and veggies become magnified, and I cannot fully enjoy the harvest in the time that it tastes its best. I’ve been popping generic Claritin like candy, in hopes that I can push though the season in a drug-enhanced stupor while somehow enjoying the tomatoes and melon that fall into my hands every Wednesday.

I’ve found that cooking my produce allows the allergens to break down somehow, and my reactions aren’t as bad. For now, cold soups, salsas and salads are put on hold, while recipes that involve heat take priority in my kitchen. Unfortunately, most of my seasonal cookbooks trend toward the colder entrees, so when I came across a recipe on Smitten Kitchen for sweet corn pancakes, I was a happy gal.

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Blueberry Reveries.

August 23, 2010

I spent my summers in western Michigan as a kid and teenager. Endless days of Lake Michigan’s shores, long and aimless trips to Meijer (grocery store as tourist destination is apparently a life-long habit) and trips to my Dutch Mennonite friends’ farmhouse on the outskirts of Ottawa county fill my memories. I remember a day with Rebecca and her brothers, in particular. We spent the afternoon picking blueberries (in abundance thanks to Michigan’s sandy soil) and walked back along dirt roads together, hoping to get home before her father would call us to dinner. I haven’t picked blueberries since, until this past weekend.

A few friends of mine have made it a goal to visit as many small food-related festivals as possible, and I was happy to tag along yesterday to the Lexington Blueberry Festival near Mansfield, Ohio. We started the afternoon out at The Blueberry Patch, self-proclaimed as Ohio’s largest blueberry farm, for some picking.

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Sweets on South Fourth.

November 19, 2009

After seeing a small crowd in Downtown Bakery in Steubenville, I knew I had to inspect. This South Fourth Street bakery is one of the two bakeries that provide the bread for Naples’ heels. When I wandered into this place, there was a line long enough to bring my total purchases to $16. With each passing minute, I mentally ordered another butter-laden cookie.

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