Homeward, Briefly
We left Bloomington, fairly thrust eastward by an explosion of activity: the kitchen floor had to be mopped, the carpet had to be vacuumed, the whole place cleaned, furniture moved and disposed of, phone and electric services terminated, rental and utility agreements concluded, security deposits returned, California DMV to yell at, and people to bid farewell to. I don't know about Zina, but I was relieved to finally get on the road.
Believe it or not, the real registration for the Toyota showed up THE DAY BEFORE WE LEFT culminating over 9 months of trouble, expense and strife with the California DMV, whom both of us have come to loathe. Of course, it was 2 weeks too late to avoid the unpleasantness with the police, but let's not look a gift horse in the mouth.
Here's the funny part: after these months of struggle, we FINALLY got the forms filled out correctly and all of the correct forms sent (via the 5th or 6th FedEx package, all of which were sent with return FedEx postage pre-paid) so we could receive a replacement title and registration stickers with a week to spare before we left Bloomington. We were SO EXCITED when the FedEx package arrived that we tore it open, discovering within the fantastically wonderful sight of a freshly minted California Vehicle Title. That moment was short-lived as we discovered that there were no registration stickers in the package. I used up more of my precious cellphone minutes YET AGAIN to express my displeasure with my personal contact at DMV (that I have a personal contact should indicate something has gone horribly wrong). Fortunately, she wasn't available and I left what I think was a fairly civil message, given that I was red-faced with fury at the incompetence, ignorance, or just plain old inattention. They put the stickers in the REGULAR POSTAL MAIL, which was mind-boggling after we'd sent them close to $100 in FedEx packages. But, they did arrive on the last possible day before we left for home and yet another address which would have caused terminal confusion with the limited intellectual capacity for creative thinking at CA DMV. Even typing this short account of our epic has caused my blood pressure to shoot through the roof.
Friends and Food
Anyway, on to more pleasant things. Zina and I decided that since we have more than a week between the end of classes and when we need to be in Princeton, New Jersey for the beginning of our Luce adventure, we should go visit some friends on the way home. Our first stop is with Kirk and Sherry, who are among Zina's oldest friends, who were her first employers. They have since moved from California to Tennessee where they bought a pretty piece of property with a large garage, larger steel warehouse building, and even larger home. As I understand it, the reduced cost for their business office space nearly paid for the move in the first year alone. They certainly seem happy with the move -- less stress, NO traffic or commuting, lots of space -- both in their house and on their property, and they have found they have been well-received into the community. What's not to like!
Anyway, we arrived at their house in time for dinner and a relaxing evening catching up. It turns out that Kirk is also a fanatic about an on-line computer game called Diablo, and his character has become one of the few top-level players. We discussed strategy and he showed me some interesting tactics.
The following morning, we went to a really outstanding buffet. As a dedicated follower of Southern Cuisine, and being particularly fond of breakfast foods, over which Southerners have a comprehensive mastery, I was quite excited. I was not disappointed. The buffet is located in a former grocery store that is about equally-sized to a pair of basketball courts placed side-by-side. The hot food bar extended almost the full length of the long wall, and there was a cold food bar that was approximately half the length of the short wall. The hot food bar was laden with no fewer than 6 breakfast meats: bacon (of course), three types of sausage (one patty and two link styles), pan-fried ham, and chicken fried steak, the Southern all-meal meat product. While the selection of egg dishes was limited to the humble scrambled egg, there were a pleasing variety of toppings for said ovo-product. There were stewed tomatoes blissfully redolent of onion and pepper, cheese sauce, black pepper gravy and a diced ham topping also with onion and pepper. Moving down to the starch section of the bar, there were unadorned home fries that, frankly, were not up to the standard set by the rest of the bar as they were clearly of the dehydrated variety. However, this mattered not to me since I can get -- or make -- good home fries anywhere in my native -- and technically, but not culturally Southern -- Maryland.
What I'm really pleased with is the grits. They aren't the pinnacle of grit-dom, but they are a fine example of a decently prepared batch of grits. Now this bears discourse, the topic of grits, as many people have never eaten grits, and arbitrarily turn up their noses at the King of Southern Breakfast Starches. Others, done a grave disservice by some uncaring food preparation charlatan, were served criminally sub-standard watery grits, undercooked grits, or heaven forbid, watery, undercooked INSTANT grits, a true crime against humanity if there ever were one. An instant grit is a flavorless nubbin of semi-plastic texture to be avoided at all costs. An instant grit is not really a suitable substitute for real grits, or any other real food for that matter, and other options should be explored before succumbing to the evil temptation of convenience over quality. These poor deceived individuals should forgive and forget those who have trespassed against them, and allow for another audition of the magnificent culinary tradition.
I have occasionally been asked to describe grits to someone who has a genuine interest in, but no experience with grits. To these people, my first instinct is to say "they're like hominy, but smaller." I quickly realized my logical error: if a person has never had grits, then they will almost certainly never had hominy either. So, my revised tactic is as follows: "So, you've been to the movies, right? Do you buy popcorn when you go to the movies? Great. Do you like butter on the popcorn? You do, good. Grits are like buttered popcorn, except it's not crunchy." That's usually not such a good idea either because most people immediately think of soggy popcorn, which, in addition to sounding like the name of an '80s Euro-Pop Boy-Band, is a remarkably unappealing mental image.
The next approach isn't much better either: telling the truth. The full name of grits is "hominy grits", an acknowledgement of their origin. Hominy is created by drying white corn kernels, then using a caustic solution (originally lye, if I have my culinary history correct) the hull is stripped off, washed, and then dried again. For grits, the hominy is ground into a "grit" that I'd describe as half the size of ordinary grain of rice.
To prepare grits, one would bring a measured amount of water to boil, then turn the stove to a low heat, add the grits, and simmer -- stirring frequently -- for approximately 45 minutes until they have a consistency that is not too watery, but definitely thinner than their breakfast competitor, oatmeal. Proper grits can just barely be eaten with a fork. If they are too thin to eat with a fork, they should go back onto the stove until they reach the pinnacle of creamy goodness. Grits that are too dry break into clumps when stirred and stick to the bottom of the pan. In addition to making the pot difficult to clean due to the unfortunate buildup of wasted grits, the remaining useable grits have an almost burned and slightly acrid flavor. Additionally, this tactic does not allow the sweet, starchy liquid that binds the grits to properly develop, and adding water at the last minute simply cannot remedy this. When overcooked, the individual grit looses its structural integrity and contents of the cooking pot become a nasty gruel suitable only for hanging wallpaper. Instant grits have a tendency to be either over- or undercooked, with no satisfactory middle ground. Grits, either real or instant, that are undercooked have all the gustatory appeal of eating pea gravel.
Now, dear reader, assuming your eyes have not glazed over in a haze of breakfast food snobbery, comes the good and somewhat controversial part: how to prepare grits for actual eating. You may think, after that lengthy diatribe, that the steaming pot of perfectly prepared pale corn goodness would be ready to eat, but that would be an inaccurate assumption. It is inconceivable to me that anyone would even consider eating plain grits. That would be even more bizarre than eating air-popped popcorn sans accoutrement. Everyone knows badly cooked grits are to be avoided, yet there is no consensus on how to eat the blank canvas of well cooked grits. The most common variety of grit adornment is simply to add butter salt and pepper. The quantity of butter you add is between you and your cardiologist. Others swear by the addition of grated cheddar cheese, which I find produces a quite agreeable flavor but causes them to thicken dramatically, and there is the aesthetic problem of the cheese sticking to your fork. Another favorite is to crumble very crisply cooked bacon, possibly with a small spoonful of the bacon fat from the frying pan. Again, consult your cardiologist. One type of adornment that I've simply never grasped is to swing away from the savory category into the sweet: some folks sprinkle their grits with sugar and raisins, a bastard hybridizing of the oatmeal tradition, if you ask me. For the sake of brevity, we will ignore any traditions involving baking or what to do with leftover grits.
So, moving on down the bar, there are also heaps of french toast, pancakes, biscuits, sausage gravy (which may, at some point in the future warrant a similar discourse as grits have received) and toppings for the above consisting of melted butter (and why in the English language do we not refer to that as "molten"?) and, joy of joys, hot maple syrup, which I slathered liberally over my bacon and sausage. There were also a plethora of fruits, some luncheon foods since this was a Brunch Bar, not strictly a breakfast bar, and to the other side, a salad bar replete with the whole panoply of mayonnaise-based salads: potato, chicken, tuna and several varieties of pasta. I was oh, so happy for I truly believe traveling on a full stomach is the only way to go.
Back at Kirk & Sherry's, we gathered our belongings and said our goodbyes, getting on the road at a slightly later time than we'd anticipated. Our original plan was to go on to Raleigh, South Carolina to visit one of Zina's Fulbright friends. With our late start and well-fed reticence, after half a day of driving, we calculated that we wouldn't arrive in Raleigh until nearly 10pm, just about bedtime. We called and mutually agreed that it would be pretty silly to drive an extra 8 hours so we could spend, at best, an hour together at the cost of sleep deprivation.
The Long Drive
We got onto the soul-sucking Route 81 and headed north. I don't know what it is about 81 that makes it so damn depressing to drive. It's probably that it's a road that I associate with being "almost home", partially because Virginia and Maryland share a common border. The problem is that 81 runs diagonally across a very large state. At least when I cross Texas and the sign says "800 miles to the other side" it doesn't upset me because I KNOW Texas is supposed to be big. Virginia is just across the river from home, so it should be close.
Of course, the very southern tip of Virginia is anything but close to home. Plus, it seems like the whole state runs uphill. It's irrational, I know, but it seems that I spend a disproportional amount of time with my foot flat against the firewall wishing for another 60 horsepower as we attempt to pass yet another semi on yet another uphill grade. Another problem with 81 is that I'm generally damn tired of being on the road by the time I get to 81 and would rather be at home on the couch, sipping a cold cola with my feet propped up in front of the TV. All of this, of course, has nothing to do with Route 81, which is actually located in a really beautiful part of the world, (the photos are from a previous trip) but I'm rarely in the mood to enjoy it. Unfortunately, even with Zina in the car taking turns driving, this trip up 81 was not much more pleasant than the others. We arrived at my brother's home at 2:00 in the morning, just plain dead tired, having driven 14 hours.
Fortunately, they have the good sense to let us sleep: Jennifer mentioned that she didn't hear us come in, but had checked for us at 1:30 and we weren't there. I think we slept until almost noon. We had arrived a day early -- actually, only about 16 hours early -- because Zina's family was coming into Washington DC on their cross-country car trip. We had intersected with them in Chicago two weeks ago, and our orbits were crossing again. They had spent a few days visiting family in New York City, and DC was a day's drive away from NYC on their way south. They will arrive at about 7pm.
Zina and I agree that we will take our belongings up to Marg's house and unload the car. Marg has generously offered to allow us to use her basement apartment for the week that we will be in Washington. We can't use our own home because we rented it two months ago, and it's occupied. We wind up basically just heaping our stuff into the house and deciding to let it sit until we can sort things out. We have a long list of things that we need to take to J&J's to store in our RV, which they are storing for us, or in their crawl space.
Time Well Spent
Back at J&J's, we relax and wait for Zina's family to arrive. I am actually, genuinely relaxing: it is very soothing to me to again be in familiar surroundings among my family. I've only been gone for 2 months, and I found it difficult at times. This is really nice, and feels like a wonderful gift.
Zina's family arrive a little early, and Jennifer sees them sitting in the car waiting for 7:00 to roll around. We go out and greet them and exhort them to come in out of the heat: the air conditioning on their rental car has been acting up, and they didn't have AC for several days on the Northern leg of their journey. This is the first time the Zina's Mom's family has met my John and Jennifer. Unfortunately, they won't be able to meet Marg, who is still in Nova Scotia on her annual summer retreat. Zina's Dad did attend our wedding, and got to meet everyone.
Cold drinks were served, and we ate dinner. After dinner, we piled into J&J's Explorer SUV and took a drive around the sights of Washington. Our first stop was on the shore of the Potomac River where we shot off some fireworks. We imported these from Indiana where they are legal and are sold in mind-boggling, huge supermarket-sized warehouses. Our next stop was Gravelly Point, which is at the northern tip of Reagan National Airport. The park is only about 600 feet from the end of the main runway. Zina's brother, Sergei, is a huge fan of all things aviation. The incoming planes -- full-size airliners -- fly less than 200 feet over our heads, creating a huge roar and swirling wind that is just amazing. We stick around for one incoming flight, then get back into the car to continue with our Moonlight Car Tour of DC. We visit several of the most famous monuments and the Capitol. I share all the tidbits of DC history that I know -- which isn't much, really -- and we head back home. The following day, Jennifer made a nice brunch for us and we ate on their deck. After brunch, Zina's family left for Knoxville, Tennessee.
In the following days, we had the great pleasure of visiting Betty, my father's girlfriend, for Lunch. Betty is originally from Charleston, South Carolina and has not lost her charming manner of speaking. She is a natural communicator and storyteller, and often entertains us with tales from her colorful life. Betty and Marg are the Grand Dames of the Lapp and Murray clans -- it's just not a family event without them.
NOTICE: all contents copyright Alan Lapp 2002