Sarasota, Fla., we shall return to you
It's an endurance test: talking about Florida without talking about the weather. So why bother playing at all, which is why I'm just going to get it out of the way right here in the first graph. Yep, Florida ... it be hot. And sticky. And muggy. It's like walking through a sauna with all your clothes on. And your clothes are made of burlap. I blame all the water. It's everywhere. Puddles, streams, marches, swamps, canals — everywhere you look water is evaporating around you in these wispy vapor clouds. The state hovers over a teapot, I'm sure of it.
And all this coming from someone who lives in Arizona. I eat little bits of magma-flecked sun for breakfast. My fingertips are nearly immune to roasted metal seatbelt. Even worse, I’m a native Arizonan. Some people know where they were when JFK was shot; I know where I was when Phoenix hit 122 degrees. It was June 1990, and I had a Little League game. So it surprises me that when I arrived in Florida last week that I found the weather so ghastly hot. Not like my-blood-is-boiling hot, but more I-love-Arizona’s-dry-heat hot. Both are stifling, but Florida and all its gator-smelling humidity was noticeably excelling in the heat department. Congrats, Florida.
Heat aside — by the way, I exaggerate for effect only — Florida was a blast. After a night in New York City, because jetBlue doesn’t fly direct, Florida was a welcome surprise. First of all, it’s so very green and lush. There are parts of the Sarasota area, and probably all across Florida, that are literally overgrown with vegetation, some so thick you can’t even see through it. I’m talking palms, big frond things, Spanish moss, vines, lots of sand, big long-necked birds (and freakin’ PELICANS!!!), clingy green crawlers … it’s the closest I’ve been to a jungle.
Our first day there, Sara and I joined her good friend Krysta, Krysta’s husband John and their 2-year-old Shelby — they also let us stay with them — on a tour of the arty downtown area of Sarasota. We were on a quest for bakeries, and they knew of a bunch in the area. We struck the mother load. In that brief little walk we found more cozy little ma-and-pa bakeries than we did in New York City, and their treats were just as good. I had a single cupcake and was promptly full, but that didn’t stop us from buying other baked goodies. We went from store to store buying up new and interesting items. Tarts from a French place, cannoli and tiramisu from an Italian store, cakes, cupcakes, cookies … you name it and we bought it. In one Italian pizza place we got a sfogliatelle, which looked like a stack of Pringles chips, but flaky and filled with something. I had watched Tony Soprano eat one once, so it couldn’t be all bad, but it was kinda funky. It tasted like gym socks smell. (We need to try one from a better bakery possibly.) Also, I got Sara to eat a macaroon, which has coconut — she hates coconut. Anyway, we boxed up all our pastries and cakes and took them back to Krysta’s, where they sat in the fridge until two days later when we all sampled from everything. Sara loved an apple strudel; I was gonzo for the flourless chocolate cake. Mostly, though, we learned a lot about bakeries: good ones can survive even with competition around.
That night we met the rest of the family, including John Jr. and Kylie, both of whom became our good buddies quite quickly. The house was a little chaotic, but loads of fun. We had little John talking our ears off about trains, Shelby leading us around and telling us to kiss her robot-dancing teddy bear — when we wouldn’t do it she would say, “KISS IT!” in her sweet little Exorcist voice — while Kylie was chatting our ears off and three dogs were playing at our feet. Coming from a very quiet house with no kids, I loved this. So did Sara. That night we ventured out to Siesta Key and its beautiful beach for some more shopping and dinner. The sand on that particular key is very fine and very white, and when it gets wet it looks like soggy flour from a bread dough on your fingers. It was beautiful. Later, as an appetizer for dinner Sara and I ordered some raw oysters. I have had some before, Sara has not. And she loved them! 
The next day we hit Busch Gardens for roller coasters, zoo animals and lots of fun with Krysta and her family. Sadly, the little ones couldn’t ride the big coasters with us, but we made sure to ride some little ones with them. I loved the zoo/theme park hybrid: it’s the best of both worlds. At one point we saw gorillas, and 15 minutes later we’re dropping into a vertical plunge at 65 mph. More places should start combining attractions; I’d invest in a skydiving water park. 
Before we knew it, we were heading back to the Sarasota airport, which is quaint and simple — except for the leering, smiling conquistador who, judging by the painting in the main terminal, has just raped the entire indigenous population before carting away with all their goods. We would not leave with such smiles simply because our time had flown past (and we hadn't raped anyone, thankfully). I remember settling into our 9-hour flight back to AZ thinking, where did our Florida time go? It flew past us almost. Oh well, that just means we have to go back.
It's an endurance test: talking about Florida without talking about the weather. So why bother playing at all, which is why I'm just going to get it out of the way right here in the first graph. Yep, Florida ... it be hot. And sticky. And muggy. It's like walking through a sauna with all your clothes on. And your clothes are made of burlap. I blame all the water. It's everywhere. Puddles, streams, marches, swamps, canals — everywhere you look water is evaporating around you in these wispy vapor clouds. The state hovers over a teapot, I'm sure of it.
And all this coming from someone who lives in Arizona. I eat little bits of magma-flecked sun for breakfast. My fingertips are nearly immune to roasted metal seatbelt. Even worse, I’m a native Arizonan. Some people know where they were when JFK was shot; I know where I was when Phoenix hit 122 degrees. It was June 1990, and I had a Little League game. So it surprises me that when I arrived in Florida last week that I found the weather so ghastly hot. Not like my-blood-is-boiling hot, but more I-love-Arizona’s-dry-heat hot. Both are stifling, but Florida and all its gator-smelling humidity was noticeably excelling in the heat department. Congrats, Florida.
Heat aside — by the way, I exaggerate for effect only — Florida was a blast. After a night in New York City, because jetBlue doesn’t fly direct, Florida was a welcome surprise. First of all, it’s so very green and lush. There are parts of the Sarasota area, and probably all across Florida, that are literally overgrown with vegetation, some so thick you can’t even see through it. I’m talking palms, big frond things, Spanish moss, vines, lots of sand, big long-necked birds (and freakin’ PELICANS!!!), clingy green crawlers … it’s the closest I’ve been to a jungle.
Our first day there, Sara and I joined her good friend Krysta, Krysta’s husband John and their 2-year-old Shelby — they also let us stay with them — on a tour of the arty downtown area of Sarasota. We were on a quest for bakeries, and they knew of a bunch in the area. We struck the mother load. In that brief little walk we found more cozy little ma-and-pa bakeries than we did in New York City, and their treats were just as good. I had a single cupcake and was promptly full, but that didn’t stop us from buying other baked goodies. We went from store to store buying up new and interesting items. Tarts from a French place, cannoli and tiramisu from an Italian store, cakes, cupcakes, cookies … you name it and we bought it. In one Italian pizza place we got a sfogliatelle, which looked like a stack of Pringles chips, but flaky and filled with something. I had watched Tony Soprano eat one once, so it couldn’t be all bad, but it was kinda funky. It tasted like gym socks smell. (We need to try one from a better bakery possibly.) Also, I got Sara to eat a macaroon, which has coconut — she hates coconut. Anyway, we boxed up all our pastries and cakes and took them back to Krysta’s, where they sat in the fridge until two days later when we all sampled from everything. Sara loved an apple strudel; I was gonzo for the flourless chocolate cake. Mostly, though, we learned a lot about bakeries: good ones can survive even with competition around.
That night we met the rest of the family, including John Jr. and Kylie, both of whom became our good buddies quite quickly. The house was a little chaotic, but loads of fun. We had little John talking our ears off about trains, Shelby leading us around and telling us to kiss her robot-dancing teddy bear — when we wouldn’t do it she would say, “KISS IT!” in her sweet little Exorcist voice — while Kylie was chatting our ears off and three dogs were playing at our feet. Coming from a very quiet house with no kids, I loved this. So did Sara. That night we ventured out to Siesta Key and its beautiful beach for some more shopping and dinner. The sand on that particular key is very fine and very white, and when it gets wet it looks like soggy flour from a bread dough on your fingers. It was beautiful. Later, as an appetizer for dinner Sara and I ordered some raw oysters. I have had some before, Sara has not. And she loved them! 
The next day we hit Busch Gardens for roller coasters, zoo animals and lots of fun with Krysta and her family. Sadly, the little ones couldn’t ride the big coasters with us, but we made sure to ride some little ones with them. I loved the zoo/theme park hybrid: it’s the best of both worlds. At one point we saw gorillas, and 15 minutes later we’re dropping into a vertical plunge at 65 mph. More places should start combining attractions; I’d invest in a skydiving water park. 
Before we knew it, we were heading back to the Sarasota airport, which is quaint and simple — except for the leering, smiling conquistador who, judging by the painting in the main terminal, has just raped the entire indigenous population before carting away with all their goods. We would not leave with such smiles simply because our time had flown past (and we hadn't raped anyone, thankfully). I remember settling into our 9-hour flight back to AZ thinking, where did our Florida time go? It flew past us almost. Oh well, that just means we have to go back.
beautiful. keep it up.
ReplyDeletei made my first flourless chocolate cake yesterday. i will adventure into this cuisine again.
Why is Sara incapable of posting.. what happened in Boston!
ReplyDelete