In which I delight in the city

I am not a city mouse. I hate crowds and tall buildings and paying SO MUCH attention to pedestrian-right-of-way and would much rather plod along a quiet, shady street and have enough space to maybepossibly grow some chickens someday when Hubs isn't looking.

But, I shelved the city-animosity for a nice weekend break in Chicago. You know, a holiday - a quick break is what I think I remember the UK-iest of sets calling them.

Please note the dude on the left of me. It's true what they say about Cubs fans - they're hot!

My lack of photographs from this excursion is at once sad (because it was a great hair weekend) and truly perfect (because it was also a weekend of great beers). I mean, we went to the Cubs-Sox game at Wrigley, and I, being a humble Cards fan (OK, fine, just a person from St. Louis), did my best to blend in with the locals, who seem impervious to all that frosty Old Style.

We wined and dined ourselves as much as humanly possibly because, c'mon, it was vacation. I even knocked back my first raw oyster at Gibsons. (I don't want to talk about it.)

Sunday, we wandered around like true tourists and hit the top of the Hancock. I also departed from my standby of empire-waisted day dresses and went for a true waist look. Thrilling and exotic life I lead, right?

We had a great time and if you're looking for a good place to stay in Chicago, I'd recommend the Sutton Place Hotel. It was all swank and swagger with a pinch of 1985. Who doesn't want a chunky black phone in the bathroom these days?

On the Fourth, we made it back to good old Iowa in time for some pool-axin' (pool + relaxing....? Will this one stick?), a quick bike ride to dinner and fireworks.

How was your long weekend? Whatcha doin' this weekend? Can I tag along?

Where in the world is BBB?

Surprise! While you all were feasting your eyes on the little soiree wherein one nutty Missourian married a frat boy turned scientist, the Bigger, Better, Best clan was traipsing the globe, eating food far too delicious for mere mortals.

This photo was taken on perhaps the most terrifying cab ride of my sea-level-lovin' life. 

We spent a few days in San Francisco before gobbling up half of Napa. I've got tons of photos and tall tales of sushi so fresh it smacked us and pastries so delicate, we didn't even eat them, we breathed them. 

Oh, kids. California might be full of steep hills and lots of girls in riding boots (I want some. I crave a pair. But, the rump says no. The rump makes me in those sweet, buttery boots look like a mean old Welsh farm matron.), but it stole our collective heart. 

We'll be reliving the party all week because frankly, this trip can't be summed up in even the cheat-iest One Thing Thursday. Unless that one thing could be eat until the button flies off your jeans in the posh (and thankfully one-lady-at-a-time) bathroom at Morimoto Napa, because that totally rocked. It's an experience I just shouldn't have to bear alone.

Basement Boogie: Bright Ideas

Lighting is one thing we won't be messing with in this re-do. Our ceiling is finished and has some pot lights scattered about and it works. But we need to brighten things up a bit. I was thinking along the lines of table lamps and maybe a rad modern floor lamp.

But then, I saw this:

Source

I love the lighted shelves! I wonder if we could recreate them. I'm thinking frame out the wall, have an electrician install florescents and pop up a diffuser? This could also look majorly sloppy.

Better ideas?

P.S. I'm hanging up my weekly One Thing Thursday hat. I've given you the run down on 33 exotic locales, from the land down under to long Midwestern drives and I'm about tapped out. I still have a few fun hold-outs (Amsterdam, anyone? How about Sydney? How about Bar-the-lona? In time, babycakes.), but they won't be coming each week anymore. Stick around, though, travel junkies - I'll get atcha.

One Thing Thursday: Madrid

One summer, I was itching for a big adventure of the independent lady variety, so I booked a plane ticket to Spain. Like most of my solo-gal trips, this one was part of a group tour of the rowdy US/Canadian/British/Australian twenty-something variety, but that didn't make me feel any less awesome when I landed and had to find my way to the tours meeting spot alone.

Me, on a bus at the Madrid airport. Likely soundtrack in my head:
Girl, I di-in't know you could get down like that; Charlie how your Angels get down like that? Throw your hands up at me.

One Thing to Do in Madrid: Navigate the subway

OK, I know this one is lame. But, the sands of time and a few too many sips of sangria whisked away most of my Madrid memories. However, I think that maneuvering through public transportation in a country whose language you claimed to know, but hadn't actually heard since senior year in Senora Ruiz' class; with a giant backpack; alone is a soul-building activity.

I remember getting off the plane, exhausted and with ankles like tree trunks, and examining the subway map. Rojo, azul, verde lines scrawled all over a huge wall in the airport. I consulted the little note card I'd jotted my tour information down on and found my stop. It didn't look that hard and I'd only have to transfer once. Off I went into the bowels of the Madrid public transport system.

I felt so proud as I stepped back into the sun right in front of my hotel. I may have celebrated with a slice of chocolate cake from a bakery next to the hotel we stayed at. I had come to Madrid and the city was happy to have me.

You know it was 2004 because I clearly thought a jean skirt, some Diesels and a little beer gut were in style. Weren't they?

For the rest of our short stay in Madrid, I led our bizarre little group through the subways to the bars they found in guidebooks, after the tour guide had gone off duty.  We had tapas and mojitos and danced until the sun came up, only to get up a few hours later to stroll through museums and soak up some culture. Despite all the good times I know I had in Madrid, the tiny victory of finding my own way around a strange place is what stuck with me the most.

If you have time for two things in Madrid, see a bullfight.

I'm in there, trust me.

Now, I hate to see an animal in pain as much as you, but dude, bullfights are amazing. They are hypnotic and graceful and at the same time, horrifying. The crowd watching is just as good as the fight, too. Families are there, just hanging out for the afternoon and having a great time. It's sweet.

So, there, I said it. I like bullfights. Please don't go hatin' on me. My cat is from a shelter and I  always buy free-range chicken and eggs. Does that balance out?

One Thing Thursday: Tremont, PA

My people are originally East Coast people. Back in the way-back times, they hung out in the hills of Pennsylvania, mining coal, farming like crazy and running a little bar that opened around 6:00 a.m. for all those thirsty miners. Now, they go to flea markets and dance polkas and hang out at the Legion because our family bar shut down. I figure if you're ever lucky enough to be in Tremont, PA, you might like a few things to do there.

One Thing to Do in Tremont: Grab breakfast at Behm's Family Restaurant. You won't find much anything online about this place, but it does exist and it is delicious. Order some hunky eggs (that's eggs, home fries, ham, onions, green peppers and kielbasa all mixed up together) and make friends with an old guy who can get you into the American Legion bar (the number two thing to do in Tremont). It will be fun, I promise.

Things three, four  and five to do in Tremont:

Hike your hieney out into the woods. If you're awesome models, like my two sisters, then go ahead and strike a pose.

Fend off any bear attacks and you just might find the falls. Pretty nice, right? (Stop judging me for the torn jeans. It was 2006 and times were tough.)

Wave hi to the family-owned bar that I'm named after (not really, I'm named after the guys the bar is named after) - Alex's Place (true story: before I was born, my mom's baby shower was held in this bar. Where else would it have been?). Next door is a pizza place that may or may not be open and if it is, I highly suggest you grab a slice. And a Yuengling, which is brewed just a town or two away in Pottsville.

Was that not enough to get your interest piqued? Check out this delightful Flickr pool I dug up, just brimming with pictures of Tremont.

Have you ever been to heard of Tremont? What are your small town picks?

One Thing Thursday: Wellington, New Zealand

For five months after leaving the hallowed halls of Drake University, I hung out on the opposite side of the globe, working two jobs, living below the poverty level and wearing turquoise suede boots in Wellington, New Zealand.

One Thing to do in Wellington: Grab a coffee.

Kiwis are dead serious about their coffee, man. As a fledgling barista (I put in a few good months at Caribou before taking up shop and brewing down under), I realized this like, real quick when disgruntled Wellingtonions would spit out the flat white I had just ruined. It took me at least four months of full time barista-ing at the national museum's cafe before I could pull a decent Kiwi-level coffee. It's just no joke down there.

I heard once that Wellington has more coffee shops per capita than any city on earth. Every corner has a funky little shop with highly skilled baristas ready to pump your veins full of caffeine. Truly making a good coffee is an art and I think Kiwis might know that better than anyone, even Italians. They steam milk perfect, they roast, portion and grind beans perfect. They tamp perfect. No wimpy press-a-button-and-BOOM-coffee machines down there. Just lovingly pulled perfect shots of roasty espresso and creamy milk (fun fact: skim milk in New Zealand is called trim milk. Isn't that adorable?).

If you have time for two things: find a little round building down off Courtney Place near the city center and if it still a vegetarian cafe/coffee shop, get a chocolate cake and flat white. OH. GOOD. HEAVENS. I'll never ever forget that cake. It was my day-off ritual. Also, the reason I brought an extra ten pounds back stateside with me. But, I digress.

An extra freebie for you: for a third thing, admire Kiwi women's fashion. They are way, way ahead of us. They were rocking skinny jeans in 2005, at least a year before I saw them here. I don't know how they managed to lead the pack in skinny jeans and have that cake in their nation, bless their hearts.

One Thing Thursday: Reader Recs

I'm writing this post from a Hampton Inn, with my feet crossed on the bed just like in the commercials. I've got one of those businesswoman suitcases that folds in half and I shined my shoes with the free shoe mitt. You guessed it, I'm on a business trip.

In my new job, this will be a much more common occurrence for me - solo trips to the same slice of Iowa. While I've taken business trips in the past, the night times were usually full of get-to-know you dinners and activities because the trips were for retreats and group stuff. The trips I'll be taking now are a little more low-key. I've spent the past two nights lounging on a king sized bed, watching Bravo and "pampering" my face (hint: do not buy your facial products at the dollar store. Unless you like the red hot, scaly look. Then, go for it, you weirdo.).

While a little me-time is nice, I'm curious about what you hard-working folks do with free nights on business trips. Do you venture out for a solo dinner at a nice restaurant? Head to the mall? Watch a few too many episodes of Golden Girls (I swear I've never done this)? See the local sights?

What's One Thing I should be doing on business trips? Help a newbie out!

One Thing Thursday: Alton, Illinois

If you're from the St. Louis area, you know exactly where this one is heading.

Alton, Illinois is a little old town on the river, just a bit north of the city. It's cute and has lots of old houses on steep hills, but if the weather is remotely nice, that's not why you're going to Alton. Nope, you're going to hit up my One Thing.

One Thing not to miss in Alton: Fast Eddie's

Gotta getta coozie.

Fast Eddie's is amazing on so, so many levels. We'll start at the most basic and slither up from there.

Hubs, me and Miss D, patio-ing.

1. The food is good. The chicken wings are amazing and I'm not really a chicken wing girl. They aren't buffalo wings, but they come on a kabob stick and have some kind of hauntingly delicious dry rub. There's peel and eat shrimp, burgers and kabobs. When Alton Brown says it's good, you should listen.
2. The food is cheap. Like, we're talking the most expensive thing on the menu is $2.99 (it's the Big Elwood on a Stick - steak and peppers). When you can stuff your little Midwestern face for less than $5 per person and the quality is tops, well you know I'm happy.
3. There's a huge patio. With fans so you're never stuck in a sticky pit full of strangers, which I really appreciate.
4. There's live music, which means a lot of dancing.
5. There are characters galore. Fast Eddie's just pulls in all types. 

One of these ladies got her shirt as a gift from a gentlemen character we met. Hint: It wasn't my sister.

If you have time for two things: Go to Raging Rivers. You'll drive by a cool Native American mural and then, you get waterslides and Dippin' Dots. What more could you possibly want?

Who's been to Fast Eddie's? 

One Thing Thursdays: Savannah, Georgia

Almost ten months ago, Hubs and I got hitched than ran South, toward grits and shrimp and Yuenglings and pecans and greens. We spent a week in Savannah, where seafood and Southern food collide in a symphony of radness and moss drips from centuries old trees and antiques are hella expensive.

One Thing to do in Savannah: See that line? Get in it! Like now! Now!

Here we are outside the most delicious and amazing food experience of my life, ever. No joke. You see, there used to be this sweet little old lady in Savannah named Mrs. Wilkes. She ran a boarding house, which basically is like a hotel, except you get a home cooked meal every night. And Mrs. Wilkes had the best Southern spread in town. She passed away a while ago, but every day from 11 to 1, the staff uses her sweet old timey recipes (they include things like lard and canned ham, which is oddly endearing and disturbingly delicious) to feed throngs of hungry folks, like the two good looking specimens above.

So, we waited in line for an hour in the rain, surrounded by obnoxiously chatty New Yorkers (bless their hearts) and I can still say it was worth it. Once we were sat at a table of eight other strangers/friends-to-be (everyone loves newlyweds, I guess, even if they are snarfing down country ham like the world is ending in an hour), the waiters started bringing out food. And they didn't stop. We had 36 dishes, served family style, and I guarantee you there was not one Hubs and I didn't try. Fried chicken, greens, cole slaw, cornbread, beans, macaroni and cheese, BBQ pork, biscuits, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and stuffing and more. We made friends, we got a taste of the South and we gained ten pounds in an hour. Signs of a good meal, right?

If you have time for two things in Savannah (and room in your gut): get some pralines. Then, eat them, preferably by the amazing house pictured below (it's part of the art school, so naturally those crafty folks know how to play up the awesomeness). Then, pass out from joy overload.

If you have time for three things or aren't hungry (who are you?), skip on over to Wormsloe Plantation for creepy pre-Civil War ruins, low swinging moss and the most impressive driveway ever.

Did I miss your favorite Savannah stop (if you want to say Paula Deen, just unsubscribe right now)? It's one of my favorite cities!

One Thing Thursday: Riomaggiore, Italy

When Hubs and I went to Italy a few years ago, we were looking for good food and good views. This led us to Cinque Terre, a collection of five tiny towns, perched on cliffs above the sea.There are hiking paths between the towns, plus trains if you're not looking for a long walk. We spent about a day in Riomaggiore, the first town we visited in Cinque Terre.

Isn't this exactly what you'd imagine an Italian seas-side town to look like?

One Thing to do in Riomaggiore: Take a walk!

Riomaggiore from the start of the Via dell'Amore.

The paths connecting the towns of Cinque Terre are one of the biggest tourist attractions; the views are just amazing. The "hike" from Riomaggiore to Manarola is the easiest; you're basically walking about a mile on mostly flat sidewalks. The first start of the walk is under archways, called the Via dell'Amore (Walk of Loooooo-ooo-ooove), which the good people of Italy cheesed up with some kissing statues.

Formaggio, no?

However, if you hike in the other direction from Riomaggiore, down the coast, you'll find a guard tower. This hike  was uphill and had some kind of treacherous ledges, which freaked me out in a good way. We spent some time walking up this side and then rewarded ourselves with gelato, of course.

Death-defying!

Of course, walking through town is lovely as well. There's castles and churches and some really steep hills. I don't know how the little old ladies do it. I was definitely huffing and puffing, which was wholly unrelated to the pounds of pasta I'd eaten the night before, I have no doubt.

I struggled with what I would deem my One Thing for Riomaggiore. I thought I'd direct you all to the best pizza I've ever had - a simple slathering of tomato sauce, basil and mozzeralla on a thick foccacia - from a little deli-type thing (it wasn't a restaurant, there weren't any tables or anything) on a hilly street. But, after I'd relooked over my photos from the trip, I realized that it'd be kinda silly to come out and say the pizza was better than the views. I mean, it was the best pizza ever in the history of man, but the views were even more amazing. So if you have time for two things - get a slice. 

Have you been? Did you find the magical pizza? 

One Thing Thursdays: Italian Train Stations

When our rental car got cancelled in Italy, Hubs and I decided to take the train from Bologna to Levanto. The trip took a few hours and required us to change trains twice and sacrifice our dignity as we raced across platforms, Hubs huxing our two Very Heavy Suitcases in an effort to not miss our four minute connection. That was ugly. We were taking out little old ladies (not really! I'm painting a picture with my words - just go with it) and getting all red-faced and sweaty in the way only nerdy Americans can. Someone might have cried. Someone else might have silently cursed his girlfriend for bringing 50 lbs of junk to Italy. Might have. Maybe. We may never know the truth.

Anyway, at the other stop, we had a little more time. Twenty minutes or so - not enough to actually leave the station, but enough to not make huge nuisances of ourselves. That's when we saw it - a lovely alcove full of vending machines, just waiting to satiate our travel-induced hunger with delicious Italian candies and weird flavored potato chips.

As it was lunch time, we needed something salty so it felt like a meal. This brings us to the One Thing you should do in an Italian train station: get Parmesan from a vending machine.

Oh, I wish we had photographed this moment. Hubs and I standing side-by-side, perusing the vending machine offerings up and down and up and down when simultaneously, our eyes landed on a shiny red and blue packet with a pale yellow triangle on the front.

"Is that cheese?" one of us asked. We looked at each other - eyes big and questioning. Yes, it was cheese. And yes, we were getting it. Nod in agreement. Drop in our change. Get the vending machine cheese. Oh boy.

Now, I'm sure this makes me some kind of bad person, but I'd never eat cheese from an American vending machine (although I totally eat squirty cheese when no one else is home, so figure that out). This was classy Italian cheese, from a classy Italian vending machine. And really, it was not too shabby. It also came with the ability to - when I'm old and gray - gather the grandkids around, turn off the lights, hold a flashlight to my face and tell them how when Grammy was young, she once.....ate....VENDING. MACHINE. CHEESE! Ahhhhhhh! Everyone scream! Scary!

One thing NOT to do in Italian train stations: use the ladies' room. You won't feel overly lady-like if you find yourself in this situation. Rather, you might feel like you just paid one euro to play a game called "Let's Not Pee on Our Shoes." Scary! Scream!

One Thing Thursday: Alice Springs, Australia

A while ago, I spent a month wandering around Australia, traveling by semi-myself, but with a pack of revolving Europeans on a bus tour. The trip started in Alice Springs. I flew there from Wellington, New Zealand where it had been wet and gray and winter yuck for the past five months. I remember touching down and hopping on a bus to my hotel and peeling off my grubby cardigans and finally feeling the sun on my arms. I felt like a whole new person, ready to do some adventuring.

Me, upon first arriving in Alice Springs. Even though my sleeping arrangements included a bottom bunk and my only snack option was crunchy peanut butter, I was so happy.

Alice Springs was not a place I expected to fall head over heels for. It's hot and in the middle of nowhere and kind of small (actually, a lot like Des Moines, except it's cold here). I'm still not even sure if it was the high of solo traveling or the actual town that got me all giddy, but having traveled alone to other places before and not had the same longing to go back, I think it's safe to say that the magic was all Alice's.

One thing to do in Alice Springs? Head out of town and camp.

In case you can't tell, this is me. Sleeping outdoors. Like 100-freaking-% outdoors. On my bag of makeup.

So, not technically in the city proper of Alice Springs, but amazing. Alice Springs is near Uluru, or Ayer's Rock. Somewhere, not too far from the Rock, our tour group camped. Like really, truly camped, which I'd never done before. As an alumnae of St. Louis' answer to Troop Beverly Hills, my camping experiences all involved cabins, high-pitched bug-induced squeals and the occasional pizza delivery. When I saw the tour director hauling out G.I. sleeping bags and nothing else, I may have panicked.

But, there was really no need. I slept outside, no tent and no major bug/snake repelling cocoon needed. After our bonfire went out, it was just me and nature, man. It was unexpectedly delightful. I slept like an outdoor hippie baby and woke with the sun. I may or may not have spent the rest of the next day in the campground's pool, but I roughed it for that one night. Which is one more night than I could have said otherwise. Boundaries = stretched.

Two things in Alice Springs? Get mistaken for a Latina celeb. Yes. I, whitest of the white girls, was told I looked like Mariah Carey. Totally not true, but I was flattered.

Showing my new friend Yuki a good time, as I am apt to do (aka request Nelly from the DJ and introduce people to the joys of Flippy Cup - ah, the cultural interactions of my early 20s!). All neck, zero cares in this world. Uber-disclaimer: I'd just eaten kangaroo.

You see it, too, right? Mariah, look out please.

One Thing Thursday: Golden, Colorado

About a year ago, Hubs and I headed west for my childhood pal's lovely mountaintop wedding. My parents and little sister were driving over from St. Louis and meeting us there. Since the wedding was on a Friday, we had Saturday to hang out and enjoy Golden, which might be the cutest little western town I've ever seen. (I've been in Colorado for all of 64 hours in my life, so clearly, I am an expert.)

Anyway, here's one thing you should do in Golden: Watch people tube down Clear Creek. Or, do it yourself if you like 35 degree water and near-drowning.

Clear Creek is made up mostly of run-off from the snow in the mountains and it's also the creek that makes Coors fresh from the Rockies. It's a short float from the library parking lot to the hopping out point, but it's a little rough and majorly cold, so I'm sure it feels longer than it is.

Little Sister Tubing, a Photo Essay.

Before floating, Nervy St. Nerverson:

During floating, smile pretty:

After floating, not dead:

Not even considering floating, looking forward to a Coors:

If you have time for two things: A quick stroll around Red Rocks Park/Amphitheater is cool. I wish we could have had more time to see a concert there, but it wasn't in the cards.

Disclaimer: I noticed that people in Colorado are just a smidge more outdoorsy and active than people in Iowa. So, I'm sure that if a person from Golden (a Goldenite?) was writing this list, it'd have things like "scale a mountain," "wrestle a cougar" or "kayak up a mountain." That's just not how I roll. Not. At. All.

PS: Did you notice I didn't mention food in this one? Like, at all? I'm proud.

One Thing Thursdays: Where are you going?

This here post is like, supah old in blog world, but I just found it and I think every single person ever should read it. It won't cure cancer or solve world hunger, but it will probably make you a more proactive person AND in the end, you get a hella sweet vacay. So, read away, my little pals.

PS I'm not out of places, just taking an itsy bitsy break from this OTT weekly jaunt to remind you that you, too, can spend three days shooing mice out of your hostel bed, eat roughly your own body weight in Indian food in the South Pacific, and decide that a solo romp around Spain is a grand way to spend a week or two.

PPS Didya see I'm famous? And full of cheapie tips should you decide to pack your bags and run away to Europe? No autographs, please. I almost never carry a pen.

One Thing Thursdays: Marlborough, New Zealand

After college, I high-tailed it to the Southern Hemisphere to lead a glamorous life of working two jobs, living below the poverty level and building a tiny short-term immigrant life that involved attempting to fit in by tucking jeans into boots and spreading the Gospel of Flippy Cup to a motley crew of Kiwis.

In short, it was a great five months.

But, about two weeks before I left, I went and fell for a sophomore with no car, aka Hubs. It wasn't long before he was planning a trip to see me down in New Zealand.

Which leads me to one thing you must do in Marlborough: Take a wine tour!

Marlborough is really well known for their wines, especially Sauvignon Blanc. It's also incredibly gorgeous.

We went with a half day tour that stopped at four or five wineries. I'm not entirely sure which company we went with, but I think it was something like this one. We left from Wellington on a boat and sailed toward Picton, where the tour began.

Heading into Picton.

We shared a van with an odd little couple from Arizona who started the day off barely speaking to each other and um, let's just say the wine made them a little less shy as the day wore on. Ahem.

In between awkward van rides, we hit Allan Scott and Cloudy Bay, plus three others whose names are lost to time and that extra glass of chardonnay. One was an organic winery, which sounded amazing but didn't taste amazing at all.

Hubs and me at the organic winery. Not sure where I was heading with this fashion statement. Not my finest moment.

The best wines of the day for me were a Gewürztraminer from an unknown winery and a chardonnay that tasted like melted butter from Allan Scott. Because my only problem with drinking melted butter is the lack of a buzz.

We also soaked up a lot of wine knowledge, which was fun as I'd never really done a real wine tasting before and it was amazing to get to try it for the first time in such an amazing region for wine growing.

If you have time for two things in Marlborough, get a coffee, specifically a flat white. Kiwis are serious about their caffeine and flat whites are silky little drinks that are kind of like a small, really wet espresso. In my five months barista-ing in Wellington, I can't say I mastered making them, but I can drink them like a champ.

One Thing Thursdays: Chicago

I love Chicago. The neighborhoods and public transportation just make me all giddy. Now, let's remember that I'm from St. Louis, so saying I love our neighbors to the north, harborers of those stinkin' Cubs, is pretty bold. But, I just don't think you can compare the two. Overall, STL wins, hands down. But, if we're talking about the city proper only, well, I've got to hand it to Chicago.

One thing to do in Chicago? Eat. Anything and everything.

Food I like in Chicago:

• Portillo's hot dogs with their cute poppyseed buns and snappy little pickles, how could you say no?
• Deep dish. I'm partial to Giordano's, but really anything that involves spicy sausage swimming in melty cheese is A-OK in my book.
• Specialty stores. We just don't have enough in Des Moines. Near Hubs' parents' house is a highly nifty Italian shop wherein I could probably spend an entire paycheck on cheese, salumi and olive oil.
• Taste of Chicago is still going on this weekend and I'll never forget one ear of corn I had there two years ago. For starters, it got points for being organic and roasted in the husk (steam = extra yum in my book). The stand had a huge vat of melted butter (!) and the guy dunked the corn right into it. Then, he asked if I wanted it spicy and I obviously said yes, so he piled on chipotle salt. Heaven. Heaven on Earth dipped in butter, covered in spice.

Sometimes, eating isn't pretty.

• This Italian restaurant downtown stole my heart. Mostly because it had bathrooms straight out of the 1920s with white subway tiles and little dispensers of Borax for your hands. Precious. Also, delicious. Hubs and I went with his family for lunch once and I vowed to return someday when I'm not wearing skinny jeans. The menu has lots of little things perfect for sharing, which I love and Hubs hates (it's not this bad, but it's close).
• I've never been here, but I will someday. And Rick Bayless will live up to the hype, I just know it.

If you have time for two things: You'll probably need a nap after all that food. Or, you could see that bean in the park. I know it's touristy, but that bean is cool.

PDA, OMG!

Chicago, speak up. I only visit the city once or twice a year, so I know I'm missing some good stuff.

One Thing Thursdays: London

I'll be honest - I'm not a fan of London. I'm not much of a hustle-and-bustle type of gal - I like elbow room and quiet and not being run over by hipsters on Vespas. Now, I only spent three days in this city, so maybe I was judging it a bit harshly. I arrived at 3 a.m., sporting both a backpack and a front pack and as my arms fell asleep, wedged between the two, my travel companion and I realized we'd been forgotten by our host and were lost and locked out, so that probably didn't help. But all that aside, I just didn't click with London. I think that happens sometimes - just like with people. Sometimes you hit it off and others you just don't.

Miss S, my travel companion and general bad influence, and I in front of a bridge in London. Not the London Bridge.

So, one thing to do there? Get to Gatwick and take the first RyanAir flight outta there.

Seven (gah!) years ago, in my own travel hey-day, RyanAir offered one-way tickets for $1euro. Amazing. These days, the lowest fare is closer to $10euro one way, but still not a bad deal. It gives you a great starting point for a cheap European trip because you can often find cheap flights to London. Sure, you are herded like cattle in the plane, but c'mon - it's cheap!

If you insist on staying in London, I have two suggestions: get a candy bar. The British know how to make sweets, so you can't go wrong with your choice. Also, see a play or something, you lame, uncultured American.

One Thing Thursdays: Lisboa

A few years back, when Hubs and I spent a few days in Italy, I made sure to get the most bang for our buck by including a 23 hour layover in Portugal. Sneaky, right?

View from our hotel room in the fanciest Marriott in the world.

Lisbon was so lovely, but despite our long layover, we really had just six hours of usable time once we factored in going through customs twice and sleeping. So, it was a mad dash of tourism. We wandered through an old fort, saw the Christo Rei from afar, peaked into a church, accidentally stumbled into a block party and bought some new shoes.

Castelo de Sao Jorge 

But, one thing you must do in Lisbon? Eat chorizo.

As the sun was setting, Hubs and I found ourselves on a street that was quickly being deserted and we were getting hungry. An English pub sat across the street from us, but we weren't really looking to eat British food in Portugal, so we kept walking. As it got dark, the streets really started to clear out and we were afraid we'd wandered into a bad neighborhood. (This story is going somewhere, trust me.)

The Alfama neighborhood, where we felt nice and safe. These apartments are covered in tiles! So sweet.

My hungry little brain was racing. I wasn't really in the mood to be kidnapped by Portuguese gangsters or have my last remaining euros jacked. I wanted Hubs to find us a restaurant and fast. My eyes scanned the street ahead: coffee shop (closed), ice cream shop (closed), shady looking convenience store (open), hooligans on the corner, spooky stairs, Hermes, that stupid English pub - um, wait. Hermes - the fanciest of the fancy shops? First: big relief, we were not in a Portuguese ghetto about to be stolen away forever! Hooray! Rejoice! Second: OMG, I've never even been anywhere classy enough to see an Hermes store. I think I've arrived as a lady.

Renewed in our confidence, we decided to eat at the restaurant at the bottom of the spooky stairs across from Hermes. I've Googled my heart out to find the name of this place, but I couldn't find it. If you're ever in Lisbon, find Hermes and then find some suspect stairs and get ready to be very happy.

The chorizo was brought out with the bottle of red we ordered. It had been sauteing in some kind of hot sauce and was served in a tiny bowl that we quickly devoured. It was smoky, a little spicy and had a kind of gelatin quality. I don't even remember the rest of the meal. I think I ordered mussels, but I'm not sure. That chorizo ruined me for all other cured meats.

By the bay

Time for two things? Hail a cab. In Lisbon, every cab we used was a Mercedes and every cabbie wore a suit. Bonus points for wearing big sunglasses and carrying a high-end bag. Nothing beats playing a fancy-pants rich lady for a day!

One Thing Thursdays: The other D-Mo

Since getting back to Des Moines, I’ve been in a BBQ state of mind. We hit up Shane’s Rib Shack for lunch last week (surprisingly good and snappy vinegar-based sauces – I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting much) and have grilled numerous times, dousing my burgers in Sweet Baby Ray’s. But, no BBQ can live up to my gold standard – ribs from Dexter BBQ in Dexter, Missouri.

And that is why my one thing you should do if life ever places you in the boot-heel of my home state is head straight to Dexter BBQ.

It doesn’t look like much. In fact, it looks suspiciously like an old KFC. But, my friends, you aren’t there to gaze upon the glory of southern Missouri architecture. You’re there for some pig.

The ribs are dry-rubbed and smoked, so there’s enough flavor that you don’t need any sauce. It’s life-changing. Because they are dry, they also travel really well (hint hint to those of you enlightened readers who may be road tripping this summer). Even cold, these ribs kick the ass (?) of any other rib I have encountered. There’s another BBQ restaurant across the street, the Hickory Log, but don’t be fooled. Dexter BBQ or bust.

In short, I’m hoping Hubs buys a smoker soon and can make peace with having a wife who eats a rack of ribs daily.

If you have time for two things in Dexter, get your teeth cleaned. My uncle’s the dentist in town (and a loyal blog reader – yay for those!).

One Thing Thursdays: A Day Late and Peso Short

Darling readers, I'm back in Des Moines! Yes, just 48 hours ago, I was here:

You have no idea how early this bird had to wake up to catch this juicy worm of a hammock set.

Ah, yes. Living it up on the lovely beaches of Cancun with my sister, best friend and her sister. Delightful, as evidenced by this photo of me sporting my Derby turned sun hat. Do I not look delighted?

Pardon, that's clearly my serious model face. Having just witnessed a mob of ladies holding an hour long photo shoot of themselves doing lame fabulous things like crawling in the sand, I suppose I was inspired to one-up them. Aaaand pout.

Anyway: one thing to do in Cancun? Hop on the Lupita!

We set out for a day-long excursion on the trimaran, Lupita. The crew was amazing and hustled to bring us fresh rum runners as we needed them (so, every 20-30 minutes, give or take). The sail included an hour-long snorkle off Isla de Mujeres, which was great. Lots of coral and schools of tiny fish. Wanna hear something snobby? Having only snorkeled at the Great Barrier Reef, I was kind of afraid this wouldn't measure up, but there was plenty to look at.

After the quick dip, we had some time to shop. I hate bartering, but I did get a sweet skull ornament. I love Dia de los Muertos figurines.

Then, we stopped for lunch (included, as was the booze) on a private beach and wouldn't you know it - my chicken sister and scardy cat self held an honest to goodness shark.

It was $1 to do this. A tad lame, not very PETA-friendly, but do you have a photo of you and your youngest sister holding a shark? No? I do.

Plus, we made Canadian friends (who doesn't love a pair of Canucks? I've never met a grumpy Canadian. Ever) and the best part - we spent $62 per person for this whole day. Not a bad deal when compared to the other excursion options.

If you have time for two things: Spend a whole day doing nothing but sipping your Dos Equis and listening to the waves roll in!

Or, you could knit on the beach.

I am not ashamed. Not of the swimsuit, not of the floppy hat and certainly not of the knitting.