In Red’s Travel Blog last Friday, my travel partner told his story about our recent trip to Peru. Now it’s time for my side of the story and why we would fly down for a twelve hour tour of a winter drenched South American adventure.

For me, just a handful of dreary, gray Northeast skies were enough send me packing to become a full time Sunshine State resident. So why would this sun sponge travel to a vacation destination boasting six months of fog soaked skies with damp coastal breezes thick as chowder?

If you had to eat milk chocolate everyday, for every meal, every once in a while steamed brussel sprouts could look pretty darn good. So a break from the searing summer sun to revel in Peru’s mild winter climate while feasting on Peruvian delicacies was the all the reason I needed.

What did we eat?

Fresh ceviche, slurped down at a seaside restaurant perched on top of a black volcanic cliff. Anticuchos (grilled beef hearts) grilled over hardwood fire pits served proudly at a corner café. Purple Peruvian potato timbales topped with steamed Pacific octopus.

In twelve hours, we consumed more food than a rescued castaway turned out onto a Las Vegas all-you-can eat buffet. With each meal consumed, we could taste the Peruvian pride in their Andean potato farms, bountiful Pacific seafood and traditional recipes replete with ancient heritage.

During our twelve hour binge, we even had room to fill up on the politics of pisco and potatoes served to us by our friendly waiter. For years, Peru has been scrapping with its neighbor Chile over the true origins of pisco (a local grape brandy) as well as the famine fighting potato.

This culinary rumble rivals other savory scraps I’ve witnessed stateside. America is rife with delicious disputes like South Philly’s battle between Geno’s and Pat’s cheese steaks as well as the barbeque brawls between the Midwest and the South. These rows may provide fodder for Foodies, but this South American struggle affects regional clout and prosperity.

With a head full of history and a stomach stuffed with ceviche, we finally departed for the airport for a return home to sunny Florida.

So how did this sun-worshipper survive so far away from the Florida sun? Peru, even with its soggy wintertime skies, had its own way of warming me. I found warmth in the luminous smiles beaming from each Peruvian face I passed on the street and warmth emanating from the bright and vivid flavors of the Peruvian cuisine.

Cook’s Note: Classic Peruvian Anticuchos is usually comprised of organ meats like beef heart. Chicken is not as common, but for the backyard barbeque, I replaced chicken for beef hearts in case your guests might not prefer eating odd bits of the cow. This marinade features indigenous ingredients, including soy sauce which is influenced by the early Japanese and Chinese settlers of Lima.

PERUVIAN CHIMICHURRI ANTICUCHOS
(chicken skewers)

4 boneless-skinless chicken breasts, pounded, cut into chunks
1/3 cup soy sauce
¼ cup fresh lime juice
¼ cup white wine
¼ cup white wine vinegar
½ cup olive oil
4 garlic cloves, peeled
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 teaspoon smoked paprika (regular paprika can be used)
dash of cayenne
1 tablespoon fresh oregano
1 tablespoon fresh flat leaf parsley
1 tablespoon fresh cilantro

AJI VERDE SAUCE RECIPE

3/4 cup fresh cilantro
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/3 cup water
2 jalapenos, seeded, and diced
1 clove garlic
1/2 teaspoon red wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Pound chicken breasts flat, making sure the thickest part of the chicken is the same thickness of the narrow, skinny end. Cut into inch chunks. Set aside. Blend chicken marinade ingredients in a blender or processor.

Pour marinade in sealable bag and place chicken in marinade for one to eight hours. Remove chicken and pat dry before grilling on a medium high heat. Skewer the chicken with onions and red peppers.

Grill skewers for about three to five minutes on each side or until the chicken is cooked to 165 degrees. Blend Aji Verde sauce in blender. Serve with Aji Verde Sauce on the side.

–Shelly Connors, RED Editorial Staff.

Whatever you do, don’t call Carey Jones a shoeshiner. He’s a P.S.A., or Professional Shoe Artist, thank you very much, and he even has a copyright certificate to prove it.

While mere shoeshiners quickly polish your shoes, giving them a sheen that lasts a few weeks at best, Jones treats his customers’ shoes to a secret four-step process he created himself, which produces a clean, re-dyed, new-looking pair of shoes that will remain that way for the next year or so if you occasionally buff them with a damp rag.

“I want the world to know you can now have your shoes done, not simply polished,” says Jones passionately.

Jones plies his trade Tuesdays through Fridays, 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., in the lower-level men’s restroom in The Westin Columbus (Ohio). A rather quirky spot, but Jones doesn’t see it that way. “Some people look at this as a bathroom. I look at it as my theater. And besides, what’s the best place you can get to a man?!”

And get to them he does. This past May, Dick Wager, CEO of Nashville’s New Day Pharmacy, walked into the Westin restroom to use the facilities. His feet clad in a beat-up pair of dress shoes, Wager was interested in Jones’ offer to “do” his shoes ― until he saw the sign saying the cost started at $25.

To persuade him the price was worth it, Jones showed him some of the shoes he’d worked on, like the pristine pair of Allen-Edmonds’ on his feet (an incredible 37 years old). He also noted the majority of his business is now mailed to him from past customers who initially found him when they were staying at The Westin on business and, um, nature called.

Convinced, Wager left his battered shoes in Jones’ able hands. When he retrieved them a few hours later, he was stunned. “This is amazing,” he half-whispered. “It’s like a brand new pair of shoes!”

Jones works on leather, reptile and suede shoes ― Allen-Edmonds are his favorite ― plus leather coats, purses and the like. He also makes minor repairs. When he’s not working on shoes, he maintains the restroom, cleaning the sinks and marble floor, spraying pleasing scents and even polishing the wooden doors of the stalls as carefully as he does his customers’ shoes.

“When a man’s shoes look good, he feels good, just like a lady with her hair and nails,” Jones says. And while he’s proud of inventing the Shoe Artistry process, he says he’ll teach it to anyone ― if they purchase a franchise.

–Melanie Radzicki McManus, RED Travel Writer.

The act of getting stuffed into a cab is in no way a new concept. But when the cab in question is lined with metal fencing and the driver is separated from the passengers by a metal gate and stares at you and your traveling band of merrymakers like psychotically hopping monkeys flinging poo at some zoo, it tends to make you self conscious.

And that was exactly how we all felt as we bounced along in the mobile animal cage that was bringing us back towards Miraflores.

We had decided to splurge on a cheap (meaning free) flight down to Lima, the capital of Peru, for a 3-day vacation crammed into a 12-hour period. The plane lurched off the ground at 4:50 pm and droned along for the next 6 hours, gently banking and pitching around the furious packs of storms that dotted the Atlantic on our route of flight.

With a muffled arrival announcement, gentle thud of tires on pavement and a jolt of locking brakes at the gate, we arrived. We were looking forward to stuffing our faces with all the local delights and wanted to waste no time.

After hustling through check in and violating every principle of the Spanish language with my feverish attempts to find the closest bar, we settled on the hotel lounge, a brightly lit affair vaguely reminiscent of Bill Murray’s “Lost in Translation” bar, complete with a view of the demolished buildings across the street, trendy 70’s leather furniture and a dusty old piano so badly out of tune it made William Hung from “American Idol” sound like Pavarotti.

But no matter. The Pisco Sours, a local drink, made it all go away. Made with pisco, a distilled brandy that jackhammers your sobriety into submission, it is mixed with a frothed egg white, lemon juice, sugar and a hit of bitters for an ever pleasing mind bender of a drink.

A few of those and it was off to bed. We had sleep to catch up on and 12 hours to frantically cover Miraflores the next day.

Our excursion began under soggy skies with a ride out to the Blue Market, a large mall dedicated to putting the crimp on anti piracy efforts. DVD’s, cd’s, electronics. You name, they have it. And damned if they don’t all look like the real thing.

It is only upon closer inspection that you notice the little details that whisper “pirated” in their own subtle way. When was the last time Rolex slapped together a watch that spelled “oyster” as “oister”? Or a Celine Dion cd with its song titles and odd mix of Spanish and phonetically spelled English? Shady little buggers.

It was from the Blue Market that we were treated to the zoo-on-wheels ride. The driver blasted us around the city, wild eyed and intent, jerking the steering wheel back and forth around traffic as if he fancied himself driving the Indy 500. Death was only a stop light away.

Finally, he slowed long enough for us to hastily throw ourselves from his cab and land upright for a snack at a small, smoky skewer restaurant where seasoned beef heart and other odd cuts of meat were rammed onto a skewer and grilled.

They were surprisingly tender, and while I was not able to identify exactly what or they were from, they were indeed tasty. The locals call them anticuchos.

Next on our compressed tour was a ceviche, an intriguing preparation of raw fish and some form of acid, usually lime or lemon juice, that “cooks” the fish. More on ceviche in the next column.

Finally, a hasty stroll over to the cliffs that overlooked the Pacific Ocean and the black sand beaches. In the water, surfers casually paddled around aimlessly. Paragliders dove off the cliffs with wild abandon only to emerge a few seconds later on the top of a wind gust. Lovers, fully clothed, groped like flailing octopi in a small park dedicated to, of all things, lovers.

By then, it was time to head to the airport and call it a day on Lima. The drinks, the food and the people made this zip file of a vacation worth the achy legs and the feeling that a small sandy beach had gathered in your eyes as you flew home at 2 in the morning.

Maybe next time, we can get it all done in 10 hours somewhere else.

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff.

Just when we’ve gotten the hang of the Transportation Security Administration’s (TSA’s) guidelines for packing liquids in our carry-on bags, the airlines are making things difficult again by charging for bags.

With luggage space and weight at a premium, it seemed a good time to check out the new travel-wipe kits by La Fresh.

La Fresh’s TSA-approved travel kits are packaged in zip-top pouches that contain wipes for either one-day stays or longer trips. The women’s One Day Stay packet includes towelettes with hydrating lotion, deodorant, anti-bacterial cleanser and make-up remover, plus a dental finger mitt (think Oral B Brush-Ups).

The men’s packet includes deodorant, shaving gel, lens cleaner, anti-bacterial cleanser and shoeshine wipes, plus the dental finger mitt. The extended-stay kits contain larger quantities of most of the same products.

Before I even tried a kit, I knew what its main drawback would be ― it’d contain different cosmetic and cleansing products that, most likely, wouldn’t be of the same quality as those I normally use.

But if they worked adequately, the payback could be worth it ― no worries about remembering to pack my toiletries in small quantities in a specific-sized, zip-top bag; no worries about my toiletries exploding out of their bottles or tubes (a pet peeve of mine); and lighter luggage.

I tried the La Fresh for Her kit ($4.99) on a recent trip and returned with mixed feelings about its usefulness. On the plus side, the wipes’ cleansers and lotions were of higher quality than those I’ve found in budget motels or received as trials, and the wipes were thicker and softer, too.

I was pleased to learn they’re also biodegradable. On the negative side, they just weren’t my favored products, plus the variety of wipes didn’t cover all of my toiletry needs. I still had to pack items like hair gel, contact lens solution and toothpaste in the required one-quart, zip-top bags.

Nevertheless, I plan to purchase several kits to stash in my carry-on and in my car’s glove compartment. Why? They’re cheap insurance.

If I forget to pack a particular toiletry item or have the wrong size and have to ditch it at the security line, I’ll at least have the basics to keep myself clean until I’m home again or can stop at a drugstore. For $4.99, it’s worth it.

La Fresh kits are available online at www.LaFreshGroup.com and will soon be in airport kiosks nationwide. Additional kits contain items like sunscreen and bug repellant.

–Melanie Radzicki McManus, RED Travel Writer

It could have been the partially toothless and wild-eyed grin flashed at me as I weaved through the cabin door and glanced into the antiquated cockpit. Or maybe it was the common look of befuddlement that both pilots wore on their faces as they poked at buttons on the planes console like monkeys hopped up on LSD. Either way, my pulse ratcheted up a few beats and a fine trickle of sweat collected above my waistband as I looked at the drivers of this aluminum chariot. I was getting nervous.

The line of drunk and horny Sao Paulistas was bunching up like an accordion behind me. Turning around now was no longer an option. I pushed forward, limply waving back at the captain and shuffled to my seat like a prisoner on a slow march to the electric chair. I had paid next to nothing for the damned ticket, one of those low cost carriers popping up all over like annoying mushrooms after heavy rain. Now I had to take the ride.

I kicked myself for not drinking more as we lifted off. It was going to be ok. I hoped.

The main wheels smacked down on the pocked runway like it owed them a fistful of money. Swiveling my head around, I saw we had all indeed made it. Bonus.

I got my Oceans Eleven cool back on and strolled out into the city of Rio. Somewhere out there was the perfect drink waiting to be made, a seductively smooth caipirinha made from cachaca, the liquor equivalent of Lizzy Borden, all sweet and smooth but more than capable of hacking you off at the knees later on.

The bars in Rio are lined with, well, beautiful Brazilian people. They are incredibly nice. Bartenders are friendly and each stakes his claim of being the best caipirinha maker in Rio. The main drags are on Ipanema and Copacobana, where beaches are well stocked with endless variations of a piece of yarn and 2 quarters.

Hell, there are even some one piece bathing suits as well, though usually hanging from a pasty tourist accompanied by some leering, banana sling Speedo wearer with a hefty gut spilling over the waist band and hiked up black socks with Teva sandals. Sights like that can savage a man’s soul here and handily crush even the finest of buzzes.

Back to the drink. The varieties of cachaca are endless. The upper tier ones are revered like fine bottles of Bordeaux, with nuances of cane and pepper coming from the barrel aging route they sometimes take, while the lower end ones, while cheaper and usually not aged, are no slouch. Though they may seem like the product of a bathtub deep in the favellas, or the poor neighborhoods, in Rio, when added to a well beaten lime, its juice, fine sugar and crushed ice, it rears up mightily and stands to make a good caipirinha.

The other variations and uses for cachaca come in many forms. There are batidas, fine, vitamin enriched drinks that are mixes of fruit juices or pulps, cachaca, ice and sugar, that give you a valid, though sketchy, excuse for your doctor when he jams that accusing finger in your face and says you are drinking way to much and not getting enough vitamins.

There is the Leite de Onca, a calcium packed juggernaught of flavor that deftly blends milk, condensed milk, cinnamon and, you guessed it, cachaca. A sippable little treat that almost begs to be poured over your Corn Flakes in the morning. Just before you are hauled off to the Betty Ford Clinic to dry out.

All in all, cachaca is indeed a handy little brew that lends itself to many uses.

What follows is a classic caipirinha recipe. Finding cachaca in the states is relatively easy. The best I have found is called Pitu. A steady handed pour of cachaca, use fresh lime over bottled juice, some fine powdered sugar and crushed ice. Score a ride home and Bottoms Up!

3 oz cachaca
1.5 tsp fine sugar
1 medium lime, cut into chunks
Ice

Muddle lime in glass with sugar. Add cachaca and ice. Stir and drink. Repeat as necessary.

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff

Countries steeped in ancient history can brag about grand pyramids, the Great Wall and Stonehenge. In America, the bar isn’t quite so high. Behold Carhenge, Foamhenge and Fridgehenge. Confused?

Picture the mystical alignment of Britain’s famous monument. Now instead of boulders, insert junked autos in Alliance, Neb., carved foam blocks in Natural Bridge, Va., and dumped Frigidaires in Santa Fe, N.M.

“These things start to feed each other,” says Doug Kirby, publisher of www.roadsideamerica.com. “It gets out of control.”

That, of course, is part of the fun. He and contributors have cataloged 8,000 of America’s oddest, overlooked or over-the-top attractions, from Amarillo Texas’s Cadillac Ranch (which likely sparked Carhenge) to rattlesnake museums, super-sized shrines and mermaids that have been putting on an underwater show since 1947.

You can design an entire getaway based on, say, goony photos by giant statues. Just try and resist posing friends looking up Ole the Viking’s skirt in Alexandria, Minn., or clustered around the bulbous noggins of bug-eyed aliens in Roswell, N.M.

For the most concentrated collections of quirky culture, head to historic tourist traps, such as Pigeon Forge, Tenn., Wisconsin Dells, Wis., along historic Route 66 or near Orlando, Fla.

If you are headed anywhere at all, just keep your eyes peeled. You can find almost everything in the middle of nowhere.

North Dakota’s Enchanted Highway east of Theodore Roosevelt National Park hooks travelers with a 78-ton, 110-foot-tall “Geese in Flight” sculpture along Interstate-94. Follow the highway’s 32-mile detour south to Regent, and artist Gary Greff’s giant metal grasshoppers, pheasants, fish and Teddy Roosevelt loom up from the lonesome horizon.

Kirby says that while part of the fun can be stumbling upon unexpected oddities, gas prices make it wise to do a little research first, especially with difficult-to-find places or those that are vulnerable to vandals such as Carhenge and Fridgehenge.

Call ahead to check that museums are open, especially if it’s a mom-and-pop operation or site built by a singularly obsessed person. And if you drive through the albino squirrel capital of the world, know that least four other towns fiercely claim the same fame.

–Lisa Meyers McClintick, RED Travel Writer.
–Photo by Lisa Meyers McClintick.

There are those who have idyllic thoughts of a Caribbean getaway: sipping over-sweetened frozen concoctions while the sounds of steel drums hammer their mainland blues away. And then there are those who seek out true island authenticity. For the later, I offer you a daytrip to Isla de Vieques.

Puerto Rico’s “little sister”, Vieques Island, is big on rustic charm but small on the usual cushy comforts of a Caribbean getaway. Because it’s only a few miles off the southeastern coast of Puerto Rico, it’s a perfect day trip for the adventurous.

There are two ways of getting to Vieques. By air, a winged puddle jumper can take you on the ten minute flight. For the cash-challenged crowd, you can go by public ferry which takes about twenty minutes (and lucky for you, the wild ride from the rolling and rollicking waves is thrown in for free).

Once on land, you’ll want to rent a jeep. Don’t be surprised to find missing rearview mirrors, floor boards riddled with rust and brakes that work on island-time.

As you drive down the crater-riddled road feeling your flabby parts jiggle-the ones that should have been lost on your last crash diet-be sure to avoid the wild horses, dogs and pigs that may meander right into the road.

Take your jeep to visit one of Vieque’s many isolated beaches, former bombing ranges for the United States Navy. After years of protests, the Navy retreated and the beaches are ready for fulltime lounging and snorkeling.

Enjoy the private isolation of having a beach to your self, but be wary of the true pirates of the Caribbean-the local banditos hiding in the thick sea oats looking to snatch your belongings while you take a dip into the ice blue Caribbean.

Before heading back to the mainland, you’ll want to have an early dinner at a restaurant overlooking the subtropical scenery. As you dine on the local delicacies, the chirping Coqui’s-an indigenous frog the size of a pencil eraser-with serenade you an elegant and sweet song.

So back on the ferry or plane you go. Who says the true Caribbean has been lost? Visit Vieques for the day and maybe you’ll even find yourself.

Cook’s Notes: To evoke the memories of the Caribbean breezes, I’ve created a version of Grouper En Papillote that when opened tableside, this steaming package releases a sweet, spicy and salty perfume that will be sure to take you away to the islands. For added authenticity, you can use banana leaves to wrap the fish. Banana leaves will infuse your ingredients with a grassy fresh essence.

Caribbean Grouper En Papillote
Serves two

Parchment paper or tin foil
1 lb. fresh grouper or any other white flaky fish
1 cup dry couscous
½ cup black bean
¼ cup mango or pineapple, chopped
½ cup diced tomato
1 garlic clove, minced
½ cup red onion, sliced very thinly
½ cup coconut milk
2 tablespoons dry white wine
1 tablespoon butter
1 habanero pepper, sliced, seeds removed (jalapeño for the meek)
1 lime, zested
2-3 sprigs of cilantro
Salt and fresh ground pepper

Preheat your oven to 425 degrees. Lay down the parchment paper or foil cut into a rectangle large enough to fold over your fish and ingredients-about six inches on each side.

Place the dry couscous into the center and sprinkle the black beans, mango, diced tomato, red onion, garlic on top and season with salt and pepper.

Lay your fish on top of the couscous. Pour the coconut milk and wine over the fish. Season the filet with salt and pepper. Zest the lime over the fish then place the habanera slices, cilantro, and butter on top of the grouper.

Fold in the sides of the foil or parchment over the filet then seal the top by folding down like you would a lunch bag. Fold down until you almost reach the top of the fish.

Cook on a baking sheet in the middle of the oven for 15-20 minutes.

–Shelly Connors, RED Editorial Staff.

At the Amarillo Tri-State Exposition in the Texas Panhandle, Ron Dutton digs into his plate of grub. “Do you mind if I ask whose food you’re eating?” I ask.

“The number 1 championship food wagon,” Dutton replies, scooping up more mashed potatoes and white gravy. “And now I know why.”

Dutton is one of 10,000 visitors attending the World Championship Chuckwagon Roundup each June in Amarillo. Dozens of restored 19th-century chuckwagons, each affiliated with a working ranch, surround the exposition grounds competing to serve the best traditional cowboy food they can: pan-fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, red beans, sourdough biscuits and cobbler.

Each competing chuckwagon team receives enough ingredients to cook 50 meals. Then the teams prepare the same menu following 19th-century methods: a mesquite fire and period cooking implements. $20,000 in prize money is doled out to those who make the most of their ingredients, awarded for the best steak, best cobbler, most authentic camp and other categories.

Donald and Shirley Creacy work up a sweat cooking over an open fire on this 95-degree Texas afternoon. Head cooks from the Wild Cow Ranch in Fritch, Texas, the Creacys, like everyone else, are gunning to beat the Gayland Ward team, winners of the 2007 Best Overall trophy.

“We go to chuckwagon events like this all over the country,” said Don. “The Chisholm Ranch Rodeo, Cheyenne Frontier Days. ” And, according to Shirley, it’s not unusual for their team to take home a prize, most often for their beans or their cobbler.

2008 marks the 21st World Championship Chuckwagon Roundup, part of a larger Amarillo event, Cowboy Roundup USA. The annual event includes live Western music, horsemanship and shooting competitions, horseshoeing demonstrations and a swing dance. A $10 ticket buys visitors a plate at the Chuckwagon Roundup, and the crews keep filling them as long as the food lasts. But while lunchtime officially runs until 2pm, most wagons are sold out by 12:45.

Finally, at 1pm, the Creacys and their team decide to call it a day and begin the work of cleaning up. There will be no hot running water or dishwashers to make the job easier. This part of the job follows 19th-century standards, too.

By day’s end the results are in: Gayland Ward once again wins the Best Overall Chuckwagon trophy, recipients of $1500 and another year’s bragging rights. But the Creacys of Wild Cow Ranch won’t go home empty-handed. They leave with fourth place honors for their cobbler, fourth place for their beans, and hopes for good luck at their next cook-off.

–Amy S. Eckert, RED Travel Writer.

As Dorothy gleefully skipped down the yellow brick road, she had only one destination on her mind: Oz.

Similarly, as my husband and I started our adventure down Las Ramblas, the famous pedestrian walkway in Barcelona, we had only one destination on our minds-the Mercat de la Boqueria, Barcelona’s outdoor farmers market for the food-obsessed.

But before our adventure could begin, much like the Tin Man who needed an injection of oil before his jaunt down the yellow brick road, our jet lagged bodies were in feverish need of an espresso. Luckily, in the alley just outside our hotel, a petite pastry and coffee shop was tucked neatly next to a small pharmacy and was constantly thronged with local Barcelonans in need of the same fix of caffeine.

Back in America, we would have forgone such a long line. But being the savvy foodies that we are, we knew we would have missed something good that even the locals were drawn to. After our caffeine and carb boost, we were fueled up enough to continue on to the famed market.

But suddenly, another distraction caught our attention - a stone mansion adorned with needle-like spires and brightly tiled dragon-like creatures caught our eyes. The sheer architectural excitement of Antoni Gaudi’s Palau Guell was enough to get even the Tin Man’s heart pounding. Although this was the first of many detours on our trek to the Mercat, we knew this was something we couldn’t pass up.

After several more unplanned stops, we finally reached our original destination, the Mercat de la Boqueria. Replete with glistening fresh seafood and baskets brimming with cured meats and ripe cheeses, it far surpassed the wildly colored and exotically scented Mecca of goodies I had built up in my mind.

Like ship-wrecked sailors brought home to a feast, we crammed and stuffed our mouths for hours, sampling, smelling and snapping pictures like madmen. We careened from stall to stall and flavor to flavor, drunk with gustatory excitement. With our bellies hanging amply over our belts we could only have resembled Dorothy at that point if she was a few months into being pregnant with the Tin Man’s love child.

Upon reflection of our trip, I realize that the best vacation memories are when we look up from our maps and guidebooks to see a new culture pulsing around us. There will always be museums and monuments to plan our vacations around, but maybe it’s the trip down the yellow brick road that is more rewarding than the actual destination intended.

COOK’S NOTES: Orange Flavored Chicken (Pollo Al Sabor De Naranja), a common Spanish tapa, had been adapted as a meal in this recipe below. If serving as a Tapas platter, simply replace the two chicken breasts for a pound of chicken wings.

Grilled Orange Chicken with Walnuts
Serves 2

Orange Chicken Marinade
2 whole chicken breast, boned with skin
¼ cup fresh squeezed orange juice
2 garlic cloves, minced
3 tablespoons Spanish sherry
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon of sea salt
1 teaspoon of fresh ground pepper

Orange Walnut Sauce
1 clove garlic
½ onion
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 cup orange marmalade
1 tablespoon raisins
3 tablespoon orange juice
3 tablespoons Spanish sherry
¼ cup toasted walnut pieces
pinch cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon water
1 tablespoon fresh thyme

Combine all marinade ingredients and chicken in a sealable bag. Marinate overnight or a minimum of 8 hours.

In a small saucepan, sauté onions, garlic and olive oil on medium-high heat until soft. Add the rest of the ingredients and simmer for 2-3 minutes and set aside.

Remove chicken from marinade and pat dry with paper towels. Salt and pepper the skin and place on a hot grill skin side down. .

Once the skin has browned, flip the breast and cook on the other side. Cook till the internal temperature reaches 155 degrees. Remove from the grill and let the chicken temperature rise up to 165 degrees through carry-over cooking.

Drizzle warm Orange Walnut sauce on top of the grilled chicken and serve immediately.

A rusted cowbell serves as the security system for The Potato Head Restaurant in McCarthy, Alaska.

When guests open the screen door to the dining room, the cowbell clangs. Stephanie Miller, usually buried in the back slicing potatoes, pops her head out the kitchen window with a big smile that is as much a trademark of her business as the Mr. Potato Head toys lining to the counter of the six seater restaurant.

Later in the day, as the perky blonde walks home, the cowbell doubles as a bear bell, potentially warning grizzlies of Stephanie’s trek through the Alaska wilderness.

Stephanie is better known as Spuddy, and her business is the best place for espresso and any dish requiring potatoes. Of course, it’s also the only place that serves espresso for more than 200 miles, yet travelers from around the world have exclaimed their devotion on 3X5 index cards posted on the wall.

“I drink in the Potato Head the best coffee in the U.S.,” wrote Bruno from Switzerland. In a land dotted with quirky businesses in out of the way places, The Potato Head draws little attention among locals. But McCarthy is the quintessential Mother Lode of quirkiness.

Located on the opposite side of a foot bridge across the Kennecott River, at the end of a 60 mile long gravel-covered road in the middle of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, you‘ve got to work pretty hard to get to McCarthy, population 50.

In another life, The Potato Head restaurant was a 1968 step van painted UPS brown. Now sporting an awning style dining room and propane-powered appliances, the former delivery van delivers heaping portions of world famous Spudnicks.

A baked potato, sliced and fried, covered with sausage gravy served in an aluminum foil lined plastic basket for $7.50 is a heart-warming feast for hikers, campers and others coming in from the wilderness of Wrangell-St. Elias.

A Spudnick Supreme includes cheese and chili, and a Spudnick burrito is the whole commotion wrapped in a soft-shelled tortilla. This past season, Spuddy expanded her menu with the addition of a Philly cheese steak and a chicken sandwich. But spuds and coffee are her mainstay.

Open each day from 11 a.m. until 8 p.m. Memorial Day through Labor Day, Spuddy generates enough income in these three months, when the population of McCarthy soars to 150, to live comfortably the remainder of the year.

McCarthy is her haven, her dream in a world filled with too many people and too much activity. And for those in need of a good cup o’ Joe while exploring Alaska’s interior, the Potato Head is a dream indeed.

–Diana Lambdin Meyer, RED Travel Writer
–Photo by Bruce N. Meyer