Ghoulish girl

I really don’t have a thing for cemeteries. I prefer to think of it as ‘an interest in history.’ It brings history alive for me, no pun intended.

Turns out, I’m not alone. Lots of people like to tour old cemeteries, read tombstones and ponder the past. I talked my husband into going with me to a guided tour of the Old City Cemetery in downtown Sacramento.

It was free, an education about California history, and a great walk through beautiful gardens – if you don’t mind all the tombstones.

Around Halloween, interest in these tours pick up because volunteer docents offer special evening lantern tours. Because of the popularity of these tours, there is a $30 charge and there are 16 offered this year.

It’s not even October and all 16 tours are already sold out.

We went on a free morning tour called Saloons and Eateries, along with a few dozen other ghoulish sorts.

People jostled for position to hear about the wild Gold Rush days when bars might be nothing more than a tent and full meals were often served free to bring in more drinking customers.

For a time, bordellos were common but as the area became more of a family community, they were less accepted and finally closed for good.

 The cemetery grounds are on a slight hill, and before the region’s levees were built, this was safe ground when the rivers overflowed their banks and flooded the valley. This happened often. Sacramentans would pick up their belongings, trek up the rise to the cemetery grounds and camp out til the water receded.

John Sutter, of Sutter's Fort and Sacramento's founder, donated the first acreage for the cemetery and it grew over the years to 60 acres. Around 25,000 people have been interred here over 150 years.

Tours are led by volunteers, with donations used for repair and maintenance of the cemetery. In fact, virtually all the landscapers are volunteers too.

This is one of those places I had always meant to visit when I lived in California before but never did. Cemeteries aren’t about visiting dead people. They’re about thinking about living people – and so many of the people in this cemetery had fascinating lives.

Farmer’s market redux

 
Tomatoes, cilantro, bellpeppers, onions, half a blistering hot jalapeno. All purchased an hour earlier from the downtown Sunday market.

Jam into my salsa chopper.

Eaten along with a half bag of tortilla chips in 10 minutes.

Basil, garlic (farmer's market purchase), olive oil, pine nuts.

Saute the pine nuts lightly in the olive oil along with the garlic. Into the food processor.

Presto, pesto.

Cilantro, garlic (farmer's market), plain yogurt, vinegar, olive oil, squeezed lime.

Into the food processor. Delicious salad dressing I can't get enough of.

Tomatoes, onion, bellpepper, garlic (ditto), a splash of worchestershire, shake of dried red peppers, salt. Ground beef added for two servings of spaghetti sauce. Veggie meat product for another.

Peaches (ditto, ditto), peeled and sliced. Tucked into ramekins. Topped with brown sugar, flour, oats, butter. Peach crisp for dessert. Eaten too fast for photo to be snapped.

In search of a reason to eat breakfast

I’m a breakfast hater. Married to a breakfast lover. Over the years my husband has unsuccessfully tried to convert me to his side. Too many mornings launched by heavy omelets and greasy bacon has only solidified my view that a piece of toast and coffee is best until lunch arrives. Maybe oatmeal, plain, no milk.

Our move to Sacramento and more innovative cuisine makes my husband hopeful. He dangles the idea of exploration and adventure. A new Sunday breakfast location every week. At worst, these places would serve coffee and toast. Why not?

Our first Sunday is at a pleasant café in midtown called Bacon and Butter. It has an energetic vibe and the lobby is full. We are squeezed into a table for two and I assess the situation. This isn’t a lazy-Sunday-over-coffee-working-the-crossword kind of place. It’s loud and bustling – the kind of place you’d bring out-of-town guests or to meet friends. We talk loudly to be heard over the small table.

Nose down in the menu, I’m happy to see something beyond the usual. There were some hits and misses. Bee Pollen? That’s the menu item for agave yogurt, granola, fresh fruit, honey and bee pollen. It was just trying too hard. The Kitchen Sink is “lardon (bacon), potatoes, baby spinach, mushrooms, carmelized onions, two eggs.” It sounded ok but if you have to follow lardon with an explanation that it’s bacon, just call it bacon. Like the restaurant’s name implies, there is bacon everywhere. Bacon is in the sauce with the smashed fries, in the biscuits and gravy, even in something called a peach and bacon scone. Terrifying.

I was still fighting the idea of breakfast. I seize upon the breakfast blt, which is bacon, baby arugula, heirloom tomato and tomato aioli. If they were willing to serve me lunch (or sweetly, “lunchish,” on the menu), that worked. It was delicious. Curiosity led to a mistaken ordering of the peach and bacon scone – doughy, tasting of greasy bacon not fully rendered and lacking any peaches.

The nice thing about Bacon and Butter is it tries very hard to be a farm to table type of place. The ingredients taste fresh and the menu changes with the season and availability of items. We agree it's so-so overall and pretty pricey.

The next Sunday takes us to a Sacramento icon I haven’t been to in years. The Tower Café. It used to be next to Tower Records, but the store is now an empty storefront and since parking is in an old cracked pavement lot, I’m worried about this choice. Still, Yelp gives me confidence that this isn’t a mistake and there are raves about the French toast.

We round the corner and into a separate universe. The entry is a courtyard filled with plants and manicured mature trees. There’s a Buddha, maybe two. It feels very zen-like. Despite the rough-around-the-edges neighborhood, Tower Café has carved out a defined and most comfortable space. Inside is noisy so the patio is the place to be if you’re willing to wait awhile. We find it well worth the wait, cool under the trees and quiet enough for conversation.

The French toast is amazing, crunchy on the outside and creamy with custard on the inside without being overwhelmingly sweet or mushy. We split an order which is quite enough since it comes with two thick slabs, but my husband must have his bacon so we order a side of that too. I over-enthusiastically order a side of potatoes too. What has happened to me?

The side of bacon is thick and just the right texture of chewy, but the potatoes are just ok. Chunky but flavorless. That’s too bad since the side is the size of a small mountain. The French toast more than redeems this place and we return the next week with family in tow. Two thumbs up.

Sunday #3. A quick decision is made as we get in the car. Lucky Café, next door to Bacon and Butter, is a traditional place – omelets, hash browns and the like. It’s the kind of place I typically avoid. I quickly locate my safeties on the menu – oatmeal and toast. Instead, I’m talked into splitting a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, sausage and potatoes. A couple of dollar-sized pancakes, sausage and potatoes come my way.

The pancakes are passable, as in “I’ll pass next time.” They are both dry and gummy. The sausage, while greasy (what was I expecting from a sausage?), was delicious and the potatoes rank pretty high, sliced thin and fried lightly with onions and bell pepper and dusted with black pepper. Still, the food is heavy and not my favorite kind of place. One thumb up and one thumb down.

There are lots of Sundays ahead and it’s become less about breakfast and more about the search. I’m not sure what’s next but it’s a big city out there. The adventure is worth eating breakfast again -- at least once a week.

Dirty days of summer

We bought a brand spanking new house. Everything all shiny and clean. A blank slate for us to create a new home.

Also, an empty backyard. No plants, no grass. Just dirt and a few bent nails left by the builder.

We go out and stare at the dirt a lot.

It’s hard starting over.

Maybe I’m just a moody type of person but I find this a metaphor for where I am right now. Starting over in a few ways and trying to make it all work.

While we lived in this part of California before – a couple of times, actually – our house is in a city that’s unfamiliar. The kids have just graduated from university so we have moved onto unfamiliar territory – empty nesting. I’m retired, much earlier than expected, and trying to figure out what’s next.

Some days, I look out and it’s all bare dirt. Other days, I can appreciate the opportunity to create something new. Just feeling a little impatient for the future to happen.

Half Moon Love

Another blistering day. Another road trip west.

Davis, Fairfield, the Bay Bridge glide by easily. Traffic cooperates and we are in Half Moon Bay in the targeted 2 hours. My husband rolls down the window a bit and puts out a tentative hand before sliding the window down the rest of the way. Cool air fills the car.

The day’s goals are simple. Toes in the Pacific. Fish and chips for lunch. Walk around aimlessly. We are outrageously successful.

The first stop is downtown where little shops offer fresh bakery items, stone buddhas for the garden and expensive cookware. We ooh and ahh our way through one very artsy furniture store where the handcrafted wood pieces are unique and exquisitely made. It’s late morning and the town is starting to wake up. It is pleasantly busy but not overrun.

It would be easy to spend another hour here but the ocean is calling. Suddenly, we can’t get down to the marina fast enough. It’s a short car ride away, across Highway 1. Fishing boats are in with the morning’s haul but first I spy a sign: “Barbara’s Fish Trap.” My stomach growls.

Both TripAdvisor and Yelp have great things to say about Barbara’s. I mention this to my husband and, lo and behold, he’s suddenly hungry too. We swoop in.

It’s 11:30 but the place is already packed with fish and chip lovers. The wait is about 20 minutes and then we are escorted into a small and crowded dining area that overlooks the Pacific. As we wait, I watch a young teen tuck into clam chowder, then a huge platter of fish and chips, then a heaping side of cheesy garlic bread. His grandmother labors to keep up but it’s too late. He reaches over and starts in on her meal too.

Then our meals arrive and it’s all quiet at our table for the next 10 minutes. My husband comes up for air and announces, “This is the best fish I’ve ever had.” I have to agree. By this, we mean the best fish as part of a fish and chips meal. Nice plump pieces of cod, fried crisp but not greasy. The fries are passable but forgiven for being mediocre since they accompany the perfect fish.

Stuffed and happy, we stroll out to the marina and watch bags of freshly caught salmon get marched off the dock by tourists and locals alike. The fishermen won’t clean and fillet the catch here because of some rule or another, but a little place at the end of the pier does it for a fee. A line there snakes out the door. We would be there too if I had thought to put a cooler in the car.

One more goal to hit. We drive down crowded Highway 1 a few miles and then snag a parking spot along the road. A decent beach is directly below. Sandcastles, dogs and Frisbees, couples hand in hand and the beautiful music of crashing waves. The water is freezing but no matter. Shoes are off and we’re in. I lose track of time for awhile.

My husband dozes as I navigate back -- Highway 1, Highway 92, I-280, I-380, Highway 101, then finally the simple straightaway that is I-80 to take us home. There's a reason we only visit the greater Bay Area.

"You know what?" my husband asks, his eyes opening for a moment. "This is the best day I've had in a long time."

That makes my day better too.

Have a rotten day

Sacramento was recently named as the 10^th rudest city in the country. I get it, I guess. Having lived in both bigger and smaller cities, there’s definitely a difference.

Las Vegas? Ruder. Boise? Nicer.

Go figure.

Sacramento is a big city. Cram more people into a finite space and they might get a bit prickly.

Wasn’t there a study where they did that with rats too?

The question is, I suppose, is whether Sacramentans are innately ruder people. Or is it something in the water? Take a reasonably nice person and transplant him to Sacramento from, say, Oakdale, and will he become a son-of-a-@#$%?

The study is likely reflecting the evils of city life. Traffic is an issue. Longer lines at Starbucks (that makes me cranky, for sure). Things are a bit more expensive.

One on one, I’ve met some pretty nice people here. My new neighbors have taken the time to stop and have a little chat, and I’ve met more neighbors here in two months than I did in my last small neighborhood in 7 years.

While it took me three frustrating visits to the DMV to get my new registration and license sorted out, the clerks there gave me a couple of “beat the system” tips. (Hello, DMV, even your own employees know your system is broken.)

Maybe a grocery store clerk could have wished me a good day in a more sincere tone. I don’t know. What was the study looking for?

All in all, it takes more patience to live in a bigger city – to drive on the freeways, to wait in longer lines, to live among 2 million people. Seems like common sense to me.