On the Road

Locals say black wooly worms are a sign of cold winter to come.

I've been in Kansas City all week and jet off to Chicago in a few hours, then back to warm, sunny San Diego.

And, man, my bones are aching for it. When I woke at 5 this morning, it was just a hair over 40°F outside. I know, I know; that's not cold. But for me, it's on the harsh side of brisk. And, frankly, if I were to put on some socks and fire up the tea pot, I'd feel a lot more cozy. I'll get on that in a minute.

Meanwhile, I'm repacking and planning my attack on the Windy City, one sure to include cured meats, sausages, and distilled and fermented beverages. Ooo, and bakeries. San Diego may be warm, but we lack for solid, old-world style bakeries.

I'll be back soon. There will be a recipe for hangover dumplings, some food book news, and that thing I did with Chartreuse (or, rather, in which I was an all-too willing accomplice while watching cartoons at a Kansas City gay bar).