Waiting for Good Joe - the existentialist search for a decent cup of coffee

On one end of the accessibility spectrum are good coffee, fresh vegetables and unsweetened bread !  On the other, rather delightfully, are oranges, seafood and avocados.  Some of this polarity can be explained by agricultural limitations, by culture and regional tastes or by commercial drivers.  The reasons don't matter as much as knowing that all the stuff you need to make lemonade is around. And in fact, that you may even stumble upon some premium quality lemons you didn't even know you wanted.

Rather than stew in my disappointment and food snobbery, I rush headlong into appreciation of the
yin and yang of it.  What are we, anyway, without the balance of light and dark, good and evil, espresso and arabica.  In fact, it's this balance and opposition in the world that keeps us able to survive as a people.  Let's think about it.  (This is where those faint of tolerance step away from their screens for a moment of patriotism -just some soft apologetic patriotism: I am Canadian after all).  If Canada were not so cold and dark for so much of the year, we would be hot and overpopulated.  We might not be so famously polite as we elbowed people to get through the throngs that would invariably feature in our streets and subways.  Indeed, we probably wouldn't even have subways.  Here I am facing a similar balance question.  Maybe if Florida had good lattes and a native root vegetable or two, all these marshy miles between condo developments would be even more full of residents with long arms and aggressive elbows.

There's an expression my mother uses a lot as a metaphor for compromise "putting water in one's wine". I find that an appropriate turn of phrase as my current compromise takes the form of symbolically taking water OUT OF my wine.  Or more literally putting more coffee in my coffee so that it looks and tastes like coffee and not the water in which I would soak my paintbrushes...if I had paintbrushes.

As a result of having sussed out this first survival strategy (i.e. ordering a triple whatever at any coffee dispensing establishment from Tarpon Springs to Talahassee), I sit comfortably caffeinated and equipped to go on and tell you about the bread, the vegetables and other food yarns..... I found it downright foreign that no major grocery chain within three counties has bread that doesn't feature some form of sugar in the first three ingredients.  And as bread should only really have five or six ingredients, well, don't get me started. After what I believe to be thorough searches of boutique food marts, eco-elite grocery joints, health food shops, and artisanal bakeries, I have come up short again and again.  The upshot of all this is a monthly trip with a very specific list of things I can't find anywhere else - including sugarfree bread - to the distant far away land they call Whole Foods. Yes, it's quite a drive but making the long trek, re-useable shopping bag in hand, reaps bonus rewards.  That they have devoted a good 25% of retail space to an impressive collection of wines is only a small part of that bonus.  I look forward to the chortles and the resulting endorphins that are all released when I peruse those endless aisles of wine in knowing I will happen upon something like this:

or this playful red...

 or a fractious brew like one of these guys.....

Even without the extra diversion provided by label trolling, the long trip to Whole Foods can be justified by the fact that it's relatively lower priced than its shishi cousin in a posh part of the city back home.  There is something economically stabilizing about everything being housed in a strip mall. Rich or poor, we all shop within stuccoed walls.

So. Coffee and bread. Check.

As all my pals on the food security beat know, accessibility sometimes refers to availability and sometimes it refers to price.  Why such a vocal, almost litigious society would stand for paying an average of $3.50USD for a bunch of broccoli, I don't know for sure.  I can only speculate that it's because they don't eat it.  I'll save pedantic lectures about nutrition for another post (don't panic - I probably won't get around to it) but will just say, the shelves in the store are brimming - yes brimming - with fresh vegetables which everyone is passing by in favour of the aisles and aisles of endcap refrigerators. Albeit, they do contain pizza pockets and 'tater tots, they also contain frozen broccoli, brussel sprouts and peas (which will be on my shopping list so we can eat something that has grown in soil as opposed to shrink wrapping without declaring bankruptcy).  So, is everyone eating frozen vegetables because the fresh stuff is so expensive or is the fresh stuff so expensive because no one buys it and instead buy the frozen stuff?  Which came first: the frozen chicken nugget or the egg substitute?

Hold the phone - things are getting 'ugly'. I left my blogging for a minute when a message came in from a local grower about heirloom ugly tomatoes she is giving away to fellow Freecyclers.  Ahh tomatoes and community - what a glorious combination.  This new development dilutes what I have said above, somewhat.  So, take it with a grain of salt.... or a swig of coffee.

Time for the yang.  It's not as if fish and seafood grow on trees or anything but fresh good quality aquatic fare is obviously much more available here given the proximity to the sea.  And since seafood is something easily cooked at home, I can by-pass my neighbours' preferences for breading and frying everything and cook it up à la me. I don't deny Canadians' worship of fried food (we go one better and sprinkle the fried item with sugar) but I  have never seen the likes of this North of the 49th

In any case, I depart from my countrymen here when I declare my love for a plain grilled fish - gills and all over a breaded, fried one. So, even if you don't eat anything that still has its eyes, I am sure you can appreciate the sublime goodness of food that comes to you looking much like it did when it was harvested, soon after it was harvested, and from just next door - or close enough.  Not even a trip to my favourite fish market at home would promise such variety.

Oranges, tangerines and grapefruits - oh my.  It should not surprise anyone that oranges in Florida are available, not very expensive, varied and delicious.  I like oranges.  But what I have become really  obsessed with is my daily fix of FSOJ.  I have it so often now that I need an abbreviation (to save time saying it so I can spend time squeezing it!)  Freshly squeezed orange juice is something I would have splurged on occasionally at brunch at a hip Riverdale joint up North.  Here, I indulge every day in either FSOJ or FSRRGJ (fresh squeezed ruby red grapefruit juice).  I am nothing if not flexible.

Oh - one more thing. The extensive time I have spent in Mexico without having picked up on this coupled with my deference for all things California make the following declaration unexpected: From this day forward ne'er a California avocado will pass my lips in favour of its flavourful, meaty Mexican cousin (that sounds dirty). They cost a buck or so each and the flavour alone makes all the nutrients you get hit with a bonus afterthought. So, I would like to add to my daily list of staples, along with juice, fish and industrial strength coffee, a beautifully hand smashed guacamole, salted and dressed with a squeeze of lime at its last possible unmarried moment before it is joined - in love -  with a crisp corn chip.  Ah bliss....

So, as long as abundance, ingenuity and compromise can run along the same path for a while, we will find a way.  Between navigating the grocery conundrums like fresh vegetables priced consistent with 14k gold and anemic coffee, I think we can make this little life of ours work here. Now, I will have to excuse myself to go and pack my day bag and some lunch for the long journey ahead. We're out of bread.

the prep - the trip - the border - PART II

The barometer for our sense of control over this odyssey was Luca's mattress.  Before we left, we gave Luca's crib away but felt a desperate attachment to the mattress.  Luca had been successfully sleeping through the night and for really long naps in the afternoon on this mattress. Besides, what better symbol of home is there than a bed? ...a good night's sleep; a place to lay your head to rest.  So, we thought:  it'll fit - we know he likes it -  why mess with a good thing?  Now it was the final item to be packed  - perched (initially...and then eventually tightly strapped and bagged within an inch of its life) to the top of our roof. 

I humbly amend Lao Tzu's famous quote, "...to become learned each day add something.  To become enlightened each day, drop something."  by adding, "...to en-lighten your car enough to reach the minimum speed  on the interstate, leave the toaster oven (and any number of other household items easily purchased at Target at your destination) at home!    To make sense of the task of packing the car that had become an advanced, life-size game of Jenga,  Gavin enlisted the help of our friends: the spatially skilled and vertically endowed Gilad and Jason.  I left the capable crew of three scratching their heads in the midst of what looked like a cargo hold's worth of personal belongings strewn about the car on the floor of the parking garage.  Three hours later, the team emerged thirsty and bleary eyed but triumphant.  I went down with Gavin to look at the car and saw a house of cards: simultaneously precarious and beautiful in it's engineering.  I was so proud of them and impressed.  I wanted to immortalize this success...this show of efficiency.  I wanted to gaze at it, photograph it and explore it.  I moved to open the back door to get a better view of everything stuffed (artfully) in there.  Gavin lurched at me, " I wouldn't do that if I were you!"

We left Monday morning, our collective mood uncertain and fragile.  After finally surmounting delays related to forgotten sippy cups, missed exits and a final fix of Commons' coffee (decidedly out of the way but so worth it!) we were on the highway.  After a few minutes of coasting we looked at each other no longer able to ignore the high decibel flapping sound coming from outside.  Gavin pulled over and got out to investigate.  He returned a few moments later, "...it's the mattress", he said.  "I am going to have to pull the straps out from the bottom of the trunk, double bag it and tighten it to the roof".  Ah - so just as for the mattress, we too would have to search inside ourselves, the deepest part of our "trunks" to find whatever tool we had that would tighten our resolve; that would make us  unflappable for what lay ahead.

After just a few hours of driving we reached the border - the apex of this road trip.  This was the point after which, we thought, everything would be actually and metaphorically - coasting.  The following dynamic is universal: it applies to everyone crossing a border and to every officer presiding over every border of every country.  WE are supposed to be nervous;  THEY are supposed to feel omnipotent.  This is the way it is supposed to be and should not be tampered with in any way.  WE simply have to remain nervous until we survive this uncomfortable (at best) interaction.  THEY have no choice but to behave omnipotently because backpeddaling and being magnanimous might get them fired and - worse - mess with the natural order.  So, we sail through.....to secondary inspection where we get through a series of challenges.  First, the officer does not want to allow myself, Luca or our stuff entry.  Then after agreeing that we would be entered as Gavin's dependents (ironically allowing us more time than if were were there as carefree tourists) he peruses the paperwork and we all discover that Gavin was issued the wrong visa by the consulate!  So, the now helpful officer waives the visa, agrees to let everybody through and is poised to stamp the final stamp in all of our passports.....then......he realizes...that we haven't paid some fee that was meant to have been paid after the visa was issued.  So, of course we agree to pay the fee immediately especially as that is the only thing keeping those double doors under the EXIT door closed to us.  But....the fee can only be paid online... and.... there is no internet access in the processing room.... and.... they are not allowed to help us in any way including jumping online for us.  So, we are given special permission to use the otherwise restricted cell phone to call someone who has internet access to go to the site and pay the fee for us.....get a receipt number to plug in....to get a confirmation...to fax to the officer who is standing 30 inches from us.

Three hours later we are "landed" in our new home. We have been through the wars and we have the wounds - and the spoils - to show it.  We decided to make that travel day short given the stress we had been through and the commensurate pallor of Gavin's face.  We check into our hotel still too far north to see any dramatic changes in the weather.  That night  - in the darkness that falls too early this time of year - from the window of our hotel, as the snow begins to fall gently,  Gavin's shadowy form can be glimpsed atop our car.  He is  repositioning the mattress and securing it tightening it and tightening it with a focus that is visibly unshakeable .  He had found the straps - that mattress wasn't going anywhere.