I’ve got a new travel piece in the works, “The days we ate Seattle,” and thought I’d post a few of Peter Frank’s images. This was a trip we took last month, five days of coffee and Washington state wines, of trying restaurants that cook with local ingredients (red skinned potatoes, steelhead and halibut, leeks, ciders, cracked wheat, greens), such as the 30 to 40-seat Tilth with the young female chef, who since we ate there is up for a James Beard. We visited farmers’ markets for samples of soup and cheese, bread and milk, and then went out to a couple of the farms to see where the food was produced.

We boarded ferries, and we tried restaurants. There were a lot of high points, including our stop at The Monkey Tree on Vashon Island, a vegetarian cafe and bakery that serves huge portion open face sandwiches on fresh bread, bundt cakes, beet soups, much more. There were big mixing bowls on the countertops and flour in the air. You get to Vashon by ferry ride… a dreamy boat passage the day we went, on smooth water with sunlight at nice angles in window-lined passenger areas of molded aqua seats. We stopped, too, at the Loki salmon boat (west wall, Fishermen’s Terminal) to talk fish stories. And we ordered our toasted crumpets and jam in the cozy Crumpet Shop, watching the batter poured and baked.

I’d Seattle again anytime – the farm-and-sea-to-table scene is very cool to see, delicious to taste. Our article is due to be published in June in Charleston Magazine.

– Sandy Lang, April 2008

We’re in Miami for a few days, doing research for an upcoming story. Everywhere are women in high heels and looks-impossible-to-sit-down short skirts. Last night on Washington Ave. I saw a young woman grabbing tight to her boyfriend’s arm as she toddled painfully into a shoe store. Inside, she immediately plunked down on a bench and pointed to a rack of flat sandals.

Days, we’ve found Espanola Way, the beach at South Pointe and the secret patio gardens behind our hotel to be our favorite spots, away from the mad Lummus Park/Ocean Drive crowds (although the neon line-up there is pretty great at dusk). Instead of a car rental, we’ve been pedaling rented, fat-tired bicycles, which can often be a challenge in the sea of convertibles and buzzing scooters, many with cell phones at their ears. Best meals so far have been the coconut red curry lentils at Creek 28 and the cafe con leche and guava pastry at the Tropical Beach Cafe. We need to go back to Joe’s Stone Crabs for some claws… they’re kept on ice in the shiny stainless steel and glass cases, and once ordered, men in white aprons give each one a quick strike with a wooden mallet to prep the shells for ease of cracking into sweet claw meat.

– Sandy Lang, January 2008

Excerpt from a piece I wrote for Charleston Magazine, published as part of the “On the Road” series…

Maybe it doesn’t make much sense to drive all afternoon for a maraschino-red-tinted hot dog, just-seared on a flat-top grill and served with chili, thick-cut fries, and a tall cup of soda poured over flaky-crunchy ice. But every road trip needs a goal, and somehow the ad jingle of a 91-year-old middle Georgia hot dog joint – “I’d go a long way for a Nu-Way” – had kept us going for a couple hundred miles.

The destination was Macon, Georgia that sunny Thursday – for some music, history and sightseeing, and of course, to check out the narrow linoleum and chrome Nu-Way Weiners store downtown on Cotton Avenue. This southern river and railroad crossroads is a place I’d often heard of, but hadn’t yet had the chance to know in person. It’s one of those legendary music cities of the South, with a Memphis-style mix of urban and rural scenery. So ripe for soulful music, it’s said that here – 80 miles south of Atlanta – that Otis Redding, James Brown and Little Richard made some of their best performances. When you hit Macon, the Second Street exit will take you right onto Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd., crossing over the chocolate-milk looking Ocmulgee River and underneath railroad trestles as it leads into the downtown. Pretty soon you’ll see modern, hulking museum buildings to honor Georgia sports and music. (The next addition to the museum district will be huge new facilities for the Tubman African American Museum.) And you can stop into the Welcome Center at the base of Cherry Street, housed in a grand old train terminal. That’s where we went first, and where I picked up brochures and asked for directions to the Nu-Way. The desk worker said, “you should know they have a real different taste.”

Besides a cherry-pop red hot dog with chili (with a little grill grease, delicious), and a Coke with excellent soft-crunch ice at the Nu-Way counter, Macon really came to life when we found the music. Down on Cherry Street there’s a jazz supper club, where couples are seated at candlelit tables by a hostess and then served cocktails – and food if you like – while the live music plays. The night we were there, the Macon Blues Legends were onstage. Lead singer James Duncan told stories of the Macon music scene, sang “Dock of the Bay,” “Hound Dog,” “Mustang Sally,” and his own 1960s hit “Wet Pillow.” And before he finished his set, the smooth-voiced singer talked of the recent funeral of his friend James Brown.

“There were so many people lined up that I couldn’t get a seat until somebody sang this song,” he said. Then the band hit the first beats of “Sex Machine,” the supper club crowd went wild with shouts and dancing, and I couldn’t be happier that I’d finally made it to Macon.

– Sandy Lang, March 2007