Cheeseburger in Paradise

In 1978 Jimmy Buffett's Son of a Son of a sailor album featured a song called Cheeseburger in Paradise. He says it's about a place in Road Town, Tortola, British Virgin Islands... I've heard it's about a great place I've been on Cabbage Key, Florida. No matter. The point is this: all up and down the Florida coast there are still these little untouched, old, wooden-shack burger joints. You can drive your boat up to most of them and get some of the best fried fish sandwhiches or made-to-order burgers you've ever had. You may have to fight off the seagulls, but if you sing the song loudly enough between bites you shouldn't have too much of a problem.

My Mom and Dad, Stefan and I made an afternoon of it recently, lunching at the New Pass Grill... and then visiting the Mote Marine Aquarium. You know how cops always know the best local places to eat? A group in uniform pulled their boat up to the dock while we were there.



This guy hung around nearby for a while then got up the nerve to walk right through all the picnic tables to pick through the garbage can. He was gettin' himself a little Cheeseburger in Paradise,too!

Mote isn't fancy like Sea World -- it's the real thing. Adults - $15, Children 4 - 12 - $10 Stefan got beautiful photos:


The two dolphins were rescued after they'd beached themselves -- separately, not together. One was younger and wanting to play soooooooo badly. She finally gave up on getting him to play and swam across the pool and brought back right in front of all the visitors a hula hoop. Then she swam around knocking it up in the air and hitting it on every fin she had. She was having a grand time.

For a fine, cheap day in Sarasota spend the morning at Mote, lunch on Cheeseburgers in Paradise at the New Pass Grill then head back out onto the water or the beach!

Bufalini ed espressi

Fine things are where you find them, and sometimes I find mine on the autostrada (highway). This is another fine thing I was led to by a Galloni, but Stefan reminded me of it a few years later.

Whenever we're on the autostrada in Italy, we stop into an Autogrill for a grilled Bufalino sandwich (I like the Gran Provolo, too) and espressi. Some of these roadside stops also have fine pasta and salad bars. On the way from Torino to Milano last year I had a great three-pasta plate with different hot sauces made while I waited.

Oh, and these you can definitely afford! 3 Euros 70, I think, for a Bufalino. Two weeks ago Stefan and I got big, crusty croissants filled with crema (vanilla custard) straight out of the oven.

Fine, fine things all...

The Chocolate Standard

I have often said that I'm not an addictive personality -- but don't dare take my chocolate and coffee! My love, affection and perhaps reliance on chocolate is so profound that when S and I had just started dating he confessed to me that one of his only concerns was that I talked about chocolate so much I would get very, very fat. Why I wouldn't have done so in the preceding 36 years I'm not sure.
I have recently tasted a chocolate bar that made me feel rich. Chocolate has done many things for me in the past, but this bar was so fine it was a whole different experience. It was a small taste of a DoMori Barrique bar. I was standing at the bottom of the stairs in my entry hall, an inauspicious place for encountering an entirely new yardstick for the quality of chocolate.

As both a chocoholic and cook, I immediately tried to guess what combination of flavors was in my mouth -- it wasn't just dark, rich (75%, as it turns out) chocolate. I tasted cinnamon. It was buttressed and enhanced by other spices, including pepper, but they were so scarce that they just made it richer; they weren't distinct flavors for me.

This particular DoMori bar came from the Manor grocery in downtown Lugano (a fine place); it sells for 6.80 Swiss francs there. That's about $5.50 for a 50g bar. I've seen them online for 2.45 GBP. For me, chocolate will never be the same.