Tank Noodle and A Rice Fetish {From The Raving Dish}

When I got back from Indonesia last month, I developed a scary addiction to rice and was craving the starch every moment of every day. I'd wake up from a deep slumber salivating about nasi campur (rice with mixed veggies and meat), and I'd go to bed dreaming about rice with sweet long beans and tempeh. My fixation, though, was taken to a whole-new, more-dramatic level when I stopped into Tank Noodle (Pho Xe Tang) on one cold, sunless afternoon. Why, oh why, have I never gone to Tank before? I've always heard great things about it; it's in my neighborhood, and I love Vietnamese food, especially from restaurants that call themselves noodle houses.

The place was packed when I scurried in out of the cold. That's always a good sign. And my waiter was all buttered up with excitement since it was my first time in. Another good sign. I loathe when a waiter can't make simple suggestions without pure excitement, and this fella did not disappoint. He ran through the extensive menu like a champ, suggesting dishes that might work for my on-and-off vegetarian palate. After deciding on the curry tofu noodle bowl (bun ca ri tau hu), I rubbernecked the dining room, watching groups of Asians and Americans literally beam with joy while digging into their plates of food. Huge bowls of soup were being slurped down; giant platters of beef came out sizzling; and I was in a pure-white heaven staring at all the steaming bowls of sticky rice being doled out.

Trailer Park Living in Mexico

Life in a small trailer park in Mexico is pretty much the coolest thing ever.  It's cheap; you've got built-in friends with similar attitudes about life; there's free crazy fast wi-fi; and it's central to everything in  SMA.  I've parked Yatz right under a tree and really just couldn't be more pleased with my set up--I hear the church bells go off a gazillion times a day and there's some rock solid fried veggie tacos at the end of my street.  What more could I ask for? 

The RV camp (which holds about 12 compact RV's) is surrounded by a giant stone wall and is flanked by a couple of very busy tennis courts...I had no idea people played so much tennis...it's nuts!  The fellas who work on the grounds couldn't be nicer (always watering the flowers or working on some sort of construction project)...plus, someone comes by every few days to pick up laundry (mine was $4 and was turned around the same day) and the showers are hot...with better water pressure than my place in Chicago.  And, THEN...the best part is--I can just pick up and leave any time I want--creating a new homebase on any patch of land I deem worthy.  Pretty neat, eh?  And, how I pulled my trailer thru that red gate in the dark on such a small cobblestone street I will never know.

A Gal's Gotta Have Wheels....

See, here's the cool thing about having a tow-behind vintage travel trailer.  Once you drop the little mama and set up camp, you've still got wheels.  Sure, the bigger RV's might have all the perks (bathroom/flat screen/satellite) but try navigating one of those beasts thru the narrow colonial streets of San Miguel de Allende.  It ain't happening.

I, on the other hand, can just hop in my truck and scoot around town OR take a little side trip at a moments notice.  I can fly down dusty back roads where paved quickly turns to dirt or stumble into tiny never-been-heard-of villages no problem.  I've already lit out of SMA and hit up Dolores Hidalgo (a town famous for its shrimp, corn, avocado, etc... ice cream) and on the way, I tucked down some side roads that wound thru compact 15-house villages.  No matter the size every village has some sort of epic church/cathedral busting up out of the town center like a vision of beauty and the path getting to them is almost always picturesque:  big, blue skies; happy smiles, swaying trees; clean little bodegas.

In other breaking news, I had the most incredible goat cheese cheesecake with apple compote and fresh rosemary at my favorite health food store in SMA yesterday--Natura, just off San Antonio.  I wanted to cry it was so good.  Coulda eaten every last slice...and almost did.

Learning Spanish the Old School Way

Well, I've been taking some Spanish lessons here in SMA and I've gotta say...it's going swimmingly.  NOT.  Yeah...ya see, the thing is...I flipped into my one-on-one lesson at the gorgeous Instituto Allende on Day 1 after sucking down one really stout margarita and my instructor Tomas (see stunned photo below)--for some ungodly reason--came to believe that I understood and spoke Spanish.  Poor thing.  I just have a way of making people think I know what the hell I'm talking about...and trust me, Tomas was convinced that I was a long time Spanish speaker. 

Well, finally after three days of some wildly intense Spanish-language-only lessons I'd kinda/sorta started to figure out the difference between el, la, ustedes, ella, ellas, etc...and after class I decided to download some awesome podcasts from rollingrs.com (bloody brilliant) that really break the basics down.  It  was just after I got my lessons transfered to my ipod that I decided to head on over to my local cantina to study for a bit.  Hmmmm...we all know what that turns into.  Lots of cervezas.  Lots of cervezas.  Oh, and lots of cervazas.

I learned more in my afternoon at that bar (Bar Casanova) that I did all week at Spanish class and I got a $3 bar tab and some tongue scalding bar food to go along with it.  This was much more useful--not because of my teacher's lack of skills, but because it just pays to chat with the locals--especially those wearing cowboy hats.  These fellas are the best teachers across the board and really, just straight delighted to converse with a chica rollin' sola.  As it should be.

MST's Kind of Food is Found in San Miguel de Allende...

Whew!  I have successfully located the street food in San Miguel de Allende.  I was getting real scared for a minute...because this little village is so rife with lovely cafes and beautiful courtyard restaurants, it's hard to decide where to eat.  Each place I've been to has turned out some pretty good food (shrimp drenched in butter sauce, beet and goat cheese salad, tamales stuffed with chiles y queso) but as we all know...homemade street food is the best.  It's usually just a dollar or so and it's a direct path into the soul of a nation.  Well, that and the local brew.

I've had some spine-tingling nopales (cactus) and frijoles gorditas from a corner shack.  I've inhaled some sort of fruit, cake and whipped cream dessert that made my eyes bulge dangerously out of my head.  And, I did pass by a tiny busted up cart boasting pulpo (octopus) today that I cannot wait to get back to.  The food of Mexico, the good stuff at least, is found tucked down deserted side streets and narrow alleys, is whipped out from steaming stew pots in the locals kitchen's and is draped across the edge of the dusty wide open countryside in always bustling sling-to's. 

There's something so blindingly simple about all of these small scenes that stops me dead in my tracks.  It's the same around the world...you just gotta get to walking//

Villages Just Do Me Right...

So...San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.  I've been reading about this artsy mountain village for over ten years and have been biding my time until I could make it here to take some Spanish lessons.  Who knew I'd be living in a little RV park/compound in the middle of town, though, when I finally made it down here.  Turns out I'm a village gal at heart and there is possibly no better one for me to have settled into for my first travel trailer excursion.  I have been walking everywhere the crazy twists and turns of the cobblestoned streets take me and have come across some amazing scenes.  The buildings are a riot of color and each corner I turn takes my breath away. 

Of course expats come here--who wouldn't?  That's the big debate--are there too many expats?  Is the place over run with gringos?  Nah...It's all relative.  I've met some lovely folks--from all over the world--but what I enjoy the most is when a friendly Mexican man/boy/guy attaches himself to my hip, matches my gait and wanders all over the village with me--as I zip around running errands (procure salsa, pick out fresh flowers, sample elote, etc...).  They're just wanting to make small talk, you know?  They speak very little English.  I speak even less Spanish.  Yet somehow it all works.  Yep, it works just fine.

On Mexican Time...Already...

The road to San Miguel de Allende was as flawless a journey as I've ever made.  It's straight Highway 57 all the way from Eagle Pass, TX to SMA and there wasn't a lick of traffic.  Of course, the roads were better than those in Chicago and I met some real friendly Mexicans.  I swapped some chocolate Snickers bites for some sort of addictive salty seeds--with a portly gas station attendant at a deserted Pemex (Mexico's gas station all the way down); I ate some killer huevos rancheros at a dusty puppy populated shack of a restaurant in the middle of nowhere; and I made it to cobble-stoned SMA just as the sun was setting.  I am already in love with this village, so expect some good stuff real soon... And, seriously, my finger LOOKS huge in that photo---just clutching the bag of seeds...Wow...I can't get over it...

And, There Goes Free 'n Easy...

I took this lovely photo from Lake Michigan this summer just after I'd dove off the side of my sailboat into perfectly temperate water.  The lake was so calm and sway (as you can see), we didn't even need an anchor and incredible day sails like this one are the exact reason to own a boat in Chicago.  The reason I bring this up now--busting in on the beginning of my massive road trip dispatches--is because I just SOLD MY BOAT!  What exciting news to get whilst on the road! 

As I cruised the back roads of Texas Hill Country (just stunning) and made my way down 57 in Mexico, I was plotting my next sailboat purchase (of course).  As much as I love little Free 'n Easy, this next boat will be out in LA where I can keep her in the water year round.   It's just the natural flow of things right now....

To Mexico I Go....

OK...since I know that my posts are only gonna get bigger and better the deeper I get into the interior of Mexico, I am going to have to make this one a little recap of the past few days.  We've no time for lagging behind...I've gotta stay up to date and in the minute.

So, as I sip my icy cold cerveza in a sprawling village deep in the Mexican highlands , let me just lay out some stats for ya...

Miles driven thus far:  1500+ by way of the Natchez Trace in Mississippi (camped), Louisiana (pit stop to visit friends working on a movie there), Austin (pit stop to visit a pal I've not seen since I drove to LA when I was 20), and TX Hill Country (1000's of pitstops to poke my toes in creeks and run across fields to fiddle with cattails).

Number of times I've had to back up the trailer:  Once.  I got a little confused in Eagle Pass, TX where I crossed the border.  Went to the wrong place and after 6 border agents situated the traffic behind me, I had to back up the trailer---which is a hellish task.  They were so happy to full abandon their jobs and dedicate a 1/2 hour to help steer me my little trailer.  After many laughs and much small talk whilst navigating the trailer, turns out everyone knows someone in Chicago.  For the record, I do not like backing up.

Border troubles had:  FREAKING ZERO!  Everything I read online was outlandish compared to the ease I had crossing the border.  I freaked everyone out by presenting them with a swath of copies, originals, and more copies of birth certificates, titles to travel trailers, insurance (US and Mexican), old registration forms, passports, drivers licenses, etc...that nobody EVEN noticed that I didn't have a title to my truck nor did I have any current registration form from the City of Chicago.  They were just happy to get me the hell out the door. (More on this later).

Number of times pulled over:  Once.  Ummm yeah.  Seems I blew thru a red light doing about 60 in a 35.  Interesting.  The cop saw me roll thru, took care of his business at a 7-11 and about 1/2 hour later caught up with me hauling ass down 57.   We even waved to each other as we both noticed me breaking the law.

Number of bribes given:  One.  The above scenario was quickly settled with a pretend mass confusion from both parties and a quick flip of $30 USD.  He was delighted and I was on my way...

Number of drinks had in 1400 miles:  Hmmmmm...not that many, I swear.

Number of wildfires witnessed:  2.  Had an officer lose his shit on me about 10pm just outside of Eagle Pass.  As I pulled around what I thought was just a trail of curious onlookers, I was stopped and then, to the horror of me and my trailer, screamed out.  His exact words rang a little something like this--"DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH TRAFFIC, MA'AM???"  I feigned ignorance and was told to just move on.  As I peeled out, I felt real bad as I watched all the other trucks sit in traffic.  Suckers.

Number of good meals had over past 4 days:  Round about 3.  Had some awesome Indian in Shreveport, LA and scarfed a pretty decent pimento cheese sandwich in Fredericksburg, TX.  So far, only beans, tortillas and beer in Mexico.  Delicious though---it's all in the lime!

That's about all for now...more soon.

On the way to Mexico via The Natchez Trace~

I'm not real sure if you've heard of the Natchez Trace.  I say this because everyone I tell that I just spent the night there is like, "Where!?"  Even in all its winter gloom, I'm here to say that this ribbon of road is just plain lovely.  It's like heading back in time a century or so.  I camped the night in Jeff Busby Park, a free spot along the Trace where tenter's and RV'ers can set up.  I pulled in 'round about 8p and it was PITCH BLACK--not a single light around (kinda terrifying), but when I woke up the next morning I was delighted to see a big deer hangin' out just behind my trailer.  I also was privy to some bald eagle cawwwwing (at least that is what I'm thinking it was) as I did some sun salutations and drank hot tea.  Cruising down the rest of the Trace, I maybe passed 10 cars and one old man weaving about on a rickety old bicycle.  It was a shock to get back on 20 West headed toward Texas and Mexico.  So many lights...so much confusion...blasts of intense rain in a tornado watch...my little trailer flip-flopping behind me...and of course, a funky meal (for real) at the Waffle House.  Welcome to America!  Cannot wait to scram across the border...to massive amounts of sunshine and tropical environ's.