Destination dining in East Texas

A recent "Texas Monthly" article named The Stillwater Inn among its list of 10 little-known restaurants across Texas that "put big cities to shame." That said, you can imagine my delight when I realized the The Stillwater Inn resides only about 15 miles from Mr. Wonderful's hometown - where we happened to be spending the Thanksgiving holiday. Naturally, we stopped in with friends for a Friday night dinner at the 30-year-old French-inspired B&B, where owner Sharon Stewart greeted the six of us at the door in a neat black beret. The restaurant is housed inside a lovely century old Victorian home with lofty ceilings, hard woods and several cozy dining rooms.

Shared sides included crusty homemade bread and churned butter. A lovely salad of mixed greens and fried goat cheese. Roasted Brussels sprouts. Creamed spinach with garlic and Parmigiano-Reggiano. A goat cheese-stuffed portobello.

But the focal point - for me - was the escargot bourguigonne  recommended in the article. Ours arrived topped with tiny pearls of golden bread (pictured.) My first rodeo with snails was highlighted mostly by the fragrant garlic herb butter the critters were smothered in. Much like mushrooms, I concluded.

For a main course, the mister had a New York Strip with Bordelaise and blue cheese. For me, a beautifully rare filet with sautéed mushrooms and a side of creamy scalloped potatoes.

Dessert was a pretty average vanilla gelato with chocolate sauce. But the sweetest standout was the Stillwater Coffee - a decadent nectar of espresso, Kahlua, Bailey's and cream served with a dollop o' whip cream. I should have taken a picture because it was gone in 60 seconds.

The tree of truth.

That's our gratitude tree - a tradition we started last year to help the little dudes put our blessings into perspective. And oh what a difference a year makes! Last November, they would have rather brushed their teeth with salsa than read a book. A year later, "storys" and "chapter books" made the list. Huzzah! They even wrote EACH OTHER's names down. Score one for brotherly love.

The gratitude quickly devolved, however, from "Jezus" and "Fredum" to "Prity Pegasis." This did not surprise anyone coming from the twin who loves all things fantasy.

"What makes you thankful for the pretty Pegasus?" I asked A. "Well, without them, we wouldn't have candy," he tells me.

Obviously.

Take it as a compliment.

Conversations with The Little Boys Club: AC: "Dad, why do you get so frustrated about football?"

Me, butting in: "Well, your dad is very passionate about football. Why?"

AC: "I don’t like it when he flips over tables and chairs."

(Mr. W looks at me incredulously, shaking his head. I try not to laugh.)

Me: "Bud, have you ever seen your Dad flip over tables and chairs?"

AC: "No, but that’s what Thor would do."

Get out of your head and let the light in.

Sometimes I get way too far inside my own head and take myself a little too seriously. This morning, Mr. Wonderful walked me to my car like he does every day, carrying my laptop bag over his shoulder and handing it off with a kiss. I adore this ritual. "I'm gonna be an old bride," I told him, feeling sorry for myself. "That's OK. I'll still love you," he said.

"But I'm gonna be an old mom," I insisted. "That's OK. I'll take care of the kids when you're gone."

And just like that, I dissolved in laughter.

That's what he does to me - lifts the fog and lets the light back in. And sometimes that's all we need.

3-ingredient breakfast meatballs

I brought these into work recently for of a "breakfast narrative" -- which a very ad agency way of saying "let's eat and share stories." (It's what we do.) After a colleague tasted them and described them as a "religious experience," I figured I may as well share the love. There's nothing to 'em, really.  And since I like 'em spicy, I opted for a spicy sage sausage meatball. Triple threat. Yes, please.

Ingredients:

2 lb Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage, uncooked 5 cups Bisquick baking mix 2 lb shredded cheddar cheese

The type of sausage you choose is all up to you, but here's how it went down in my kitchen: Add 1 pound of Jimmy Dean sage sausage and 1 pound of Jimmy Dean hot sausage to a large bowl along with the Bisquick and cheese.  Knead it all together like you're makin' a meatloaf. Once it's all gelled together nicely, start rolling out your meatballs (about the size of a golf ball) and place them on a non-stick baking sheet.

Pop 'em in the oven for 25 minutes at 350. Makes 70. (Yeah, you read that right, so you might wanna cut this in half.)

The earth has music for those who listen.

It only took us about half an hour to hike the steep self-guided Big Tree Trail to La Mina Falls inside the gorgeous El Yunque National Rainforest. The 3-mile hike is a beautiful one, dotted with thick bamboo, giant ferns and bright mosses. Fortunately, the trail has several concrete sets of (slippery) stairs to keep you from losing your way, but not your footing. Step lightly! We noticed several "rest stops," or concrete picnic shelters along the path that provided benches and even charcoal grills! Say what? Smokey Bear would not approve.

Our reward? The spectacular 35-foot waterfall that drops over a jumble of huge rocks into a chilly pool, where hikers can rest, take a dip or observe the natives in their natural habitat -- like the woman filming a Nair commercial in our photo bomb below.

No, but our car will get locked in for the night.

What are they gonna do? Kick us out? - Mandy, on our late-afternoon hike into El Yunque National Rainforest just before closing time

Meet Flamenco Beach

When she was just a girl she expected the world But it flew away from her reach So she ran away in her sleep and dreamed of Para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise Every time she closed her eyes

Drinking "Dracula" juice and other street food learnings

I sure enjoy fine dining. But when presented with coffee and a fried egg sandwich straight outta the back of a van in Puerto Rico, that's cool, too. In fact, on a recent trip to the airport -- that's exactly what we did. Can't be much different than a food truck, right? That's what I told myself, anyway. Mr. Wonderful and I were awaiting an early morning departure to Isla Culebra from San Juan when an old white van backed up to the glass doors at the front entrance of the airport. (I tried to imagine this happening in the States.) A man they call Domi is there every morning, according to the gate agent, so we walked over to the van in in search of caffeine. There, we found him cheerfully handing out tiny cups of coffee sweetened to high heaven with brown sugar. (This is how many Puerto Ricans take their coffee.)

Mr. Domi proceeded to offer me a sample of everything he brought with him on this overcast Friday morning. His salt and pepper mustache twitched as he mumbled through the menu: Café. Sopas. Jugos. Mallorcas. Every snack had its place behind the back seat, where he warmed my fried egg sandwich on a hot plate with jamon y queso. And then:

"Pruebalo! Pruebalo!" he urged, shaking a jug of thick red liquid he called "Dracula."

For some reason, I did not retreat when he offered me a cup -- even after that nickname. I wanted to be polite, so I gave the ole antibodies a quick pep talk and took a sip. Mr. W eyed me suspiciously. He knew what I was thinking.

Am I gonna be allergic to something in this? I'm totally gonna break out in hives. Manners will be the death of me.

The juice was thick and sweet -- a Puerto Rican V8, maybe? Lord only knows. I asked Domi what the drink was made from, but the only part of his response that I could make out was zanahorrias, aka: carrots. Now I've never met burgundy carrots, but I suppose I could have overlooked that booth at the Austin farmer's market.

After the questionable apéritif, Domi handed me a little Styrofoam cup packed with arroz con gandules, the island's national dish. Now we're talkin'. The soupy snack was chock full of rice, peas and thick chunks of what I can only assume was ham. Jamon is a part of nearly every dish in PR -- and reminiscent of many meals I had in España.

I gotta say, the unexpected sampler was quite an introduction to Puerto Rican street food. The airport snacks were surpassed only by the spicy chicken pinchos we bought at the park in Fajardo the next night from the guy who taught me how to dance La Plena -- a native folk genre of music with hand drums. I didn't tell him about the half a dozen years I spent in Mexican folkloric dance boot camp as a kid. I had to laugh at the surprised look on his face when I caught on.

It's all in the hips.

The man in the Panama hat.

A walk through the streets of Old San Juan led us to Olé, a tiny hat shop where you can get a custom-fitted hat on the spot. Contrary to popular belief, the Panama hat comes to us from Ecuador, and the owner's apprentice assured Mr. W and I that these were the real deal.

"It's an art," he told us.

Every Fedora and Borsalino hat is hand-woven with straw from the toquilla palm, which is native to Ecuador. Mr. W chose a traditional brimmed Fedora for himself. I picked out the handsome striped ribbon. Fedorable, ain't he?

What new plane smell?

Takeoffs are optional. Landings are mandatory. I present our Puerto Rican fixed wing, two-engine aircraft circa 1982, complete with leaky ceiling. We piled inside this musty old baby with 8 other passengers and the pilot for a 30-minute jaunt over the mainland from San Juan to Isla Culebra. During the short flight over the Atlantic Ocean, I soon forgot about the potential for disaster. I mean, really. Check out that view.

Puro paddle.

That's Mr. Wonderful looking fresh and rejuvenated after kayaking 3 miles round trip to the bioluminescent bay near Fajardo in the black of night. Excuse my strained expression. Our inadvertent Puerto Rican triathlon was a whirlwind of euphoric ziplining followed by a kick-your-booty hike through El Yunque National Rainforest. We capped it off with this pitch-dark paddle as a thunderstorm came rollin' in -- plus a fight to the death through mosquitoes and mangroves. Good times. Don't try this at home.

Don't forget to fly.

On our first full day in Puerto Rico, the Texas crew of adrenaline seekers traveled from San Juan to Rio Grande, just outside El Yunque National Rainforest, for an afternoon of ziplining through the densely populated Puerto Rican flora. Climb the ladder. Meet the platform. Greet the tree tops. And when you're ready, a guide attaches two lanyards on your climbing harness to a pulley on the zip line. Lift your feet up and let it ride.

That's how it went down for two hours through the 8-line canopy tour over the river and through the woods at up to 60 mph. Check that one off the bucket list.

It's always steamy in San Juan.

We arrived in San Juan on an extraordinarily humid Wednesday afternoon -- and soon learned we were just gonna have to embrace that 24/7 dewy look. Here's a snap of our gorgeous view from the apartment rooftop in Condado -- the oceanfront community where we spent the next 5 days.

Family traditions founded on food: Kid-friendly sushi and glow-in-the-dark Jello

So they're not the prettiest things you've ever seen, but I made these PB&J sushi rolls last month for The Little Boys Club in an effort to uphold what has become a new tradition in our house. Pizza Fridays are a custom that Mr. W started with his twins a few years ago, and I thought it might be fun to incorporate a post-pizza movie night that includes a nod to some kind of snack featured in the flick itself. On a recent night, we chose "The (original) Karate Kid" accompanied by these easy "sushi" roll-ups made with flattened wheat bread and smothered with PB&J. The little dudes tried to convince us they'd already seen the movie -- and we had to inform them that the Jaden Smith version does not actually count. Same goes for the Hilary Swank adaptation -- although I do appreciate the female athlete in a leading role. Nice work, Hollywood.

The whole movie idea started on a whim last December with "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" -- the Jim Carrey version. I whipped up a bright green batch of Grinch Punch. It was a hit. (The request for seconds tipped me off.) Then, when "Frozen" was released on DVD, we opted for a few snowman snacks: Olaf noses (baby carrots), Olaf arms (pretzel sticks) and a melty Olaf himself: vanilla ice cream dotted with a couple of Raisinets for eyes. It was a home run. They don't say much, but the awkward attempt to actually "build" a snowman inside the glass says something, right?

After the presumed success of the first few movie nights, Mr. W and I decided to introduce The Littles to some of our own childhood favorites, so we started with E.T. I was prepared with Reese's Pieces, which would have been plenty. Simple enough. But we got a little carried away. I decided to make glow-in-the-dark Jello. (Lime jello + tonic water = voila!) We needed something to stick our index fingers in for the "E.T. phone home" scene. Obviously. But we didn't stop there. Just as The Littles were attaching plastic glow-in-the dark stars to our living room walls, Mr. W. revealed the black lights and blinking LED alien balloons he'd picked up just for the occasion. Have I mentioned how much I love this man? He not only humors me, but actually participates in my movie-themed madness. It's a match.

We don't do this every Friday, y'all. Let's be real. But it sure is entertaining to re-watch some of our favorite flicks from childhood -- and exchange sudden glances with Mr. W upon realization that the movie you chose has just introduced your children to fun language like "penis breath." Heaven help us.

Recently, I overheard the boys tell their uncle all about our E.T. movie night and it made me smile. A moment of validation! So they DO dig it! They DO enjoy our cheesy little tradition! (I take every little victory to heart, guys.) And maybe they're just in it for the snacks -- but hey, I would be, too.

Sauteed shrimp and asparagus gremolata

With a pound of of fresh asparagus sitting in my fridge, I decided to try my hand at something of an Italian stir fry.  Gremolata is an Italian condiment made of chopped herbs and lemon zest, and I'll tell you what. I served this wonderdish alongside some good 'ole Uncle Ben's wild rice and called it a semi-homemade kinda night.

Ingredients:

Gremolata

• 1/4 cup finely chopped fresh Italian parsley
• 2 teaspoons grated lemon rind
• Dash of salt
• Dash of freshly ground black pepper
• 3-4 minced garlic cloves

Shrimp & Veggies

• 4 teaspoons olive oil
• 3 cups (about 1/2 pound) chopped asparagus
• 1 bell pepper, preferably red, yellow or orange
• 1 pound peeled and deveined shrimp
• Dash of salt
• Dash of freshly ground black pepper

For gremolata, combine the first 5 ingredients in a small bowl, stir and set aside. (I went with 4 cloves 'cause I love that intense garlicky flavor, but to each their own.)

To prepare the rest, heat a dutch oven or large skillet over medium heat. Add about 2 teaspoons of the olive oil to your pan and let it heat for about half a minute. Add your chopped asparagus and peppers to the pan and sauté for 3 minutes, stirring frequently. (I chose half a red bell pepper and half a yellow bell pepper for color.) Once cooked through, remove the asparagus and peppers from the pan and set aside.

Drizzle the remaining 2 teaspoons of olive oil to your skillet and let it heat up again for 30 seconds. Add your peeled shrimp, sprinkle in the gremolata and sauté for 3-5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Your shrimp should be bright pink when ready. Add the asparagus and peppers back, along with a dash of salt and pepper. Stir together until thoroughly heated.

Serves 4

In dreams: A joyful revelation

Wela was beaming. She described all the colorful desserts to me in Spanish, waving her arm across the spread on the table like Vanna White. My grandmother had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I'd ever known. We were celebrating a new baby. I knew this somehow without question. She smiled, serving me a slice of something topped with almonds. (I guess I'm not allergic to nuts in my dreams.) When I was awakened abruptly by that scene last fall, my mind lingered there, refusing to let go of the image of a much younger Manuela, standing tall and thin with a huge grin. She shows up like this every few months, in the wee hours of my sleep, to say hello. That's the only thing I can figure. It was September 12. I wrote it down.

A baby dream, I read, can often symbolize new beginnings. I couldn't imagine what, but I didn't spend too much time trying to analyze it because a few weeks later, it was clear as a bell. You see, my brother told me soon after that he was going to be a father. We shed a few quiet tears together, and I listened as he talked himself through this new life-altering realization.

"It's going to be OK." I told him. "You're going to be a great dad." "I'm here for whatever you need." "I love you."

Earlier this month, my nephew was born. I held him carefully in my arms that first day, staring in awe at that tiny face full of light.

"Welcome," I whispered. "I'm your tia."

I thought of Wela in that dream so many months ago. She knew. And she was getting a head start on the celebration.

Independence Day romp on the swamp

I snapped this picture of the droopy bald cypress forest  at Caddo Lake a couple weeks ago on a day trip with Mr. W and his family. We spent the Fourth of July hanging out on a dock overlooking the lake named for its former inhabitants -- the Caddo Indians -- who settled here in the 1600s. The wetlands wind through the northeast border of Texas and Louisiana for over 26,000 acres, calling both states home. We're told alligators are commonplace at Caddo. Thankfully they stayed out of sight on our visit, but a pontoon boat ride through the bayous and ponds did reveal some unsuspecting turtles hidden among a labyrinth of lily pads. Good 'ole gator bait, I'm afraid.

Two pigs in a pod

With another six hours on our hands before departing Chicago, I decided we needed to fulfill the final two food stops on our list so we headed for Lincoln Park. Soon, we were sharing a train car with a host of red, white and rowdy Cubs fans on their way to Wrigley. Good times.

Our first stop was the The Bourgeois Pig for a chicken parm panini and a ginger molasses cookie to share on the shore of Lake Michigan. We sat there for a good hour, admiring what a gorgeous day it turned out to be.  In front of us, a swarm of sailboats peppered the water. Behind us, a group appeared to be doing tai chi on the grass. Plenty of people were sunbathing. And there was no shortage of runners along Lakeshore Beach.

But we weren't done dining. Our next and last food stop was The Purple Pig on the Magnificent Mile. The Mediterranean spot came highly recommended so we made our way there for Second Lunch, hoping our off-hours arrival time would thwart the usually long waits we'd heard about. It worked. It wasn't long before we were sampling the charred cauliflower with toasted breadcrumbs, cornichons and parsley. The pork neck bone gravy with ricotta. The octopus a la plancha with green beans, fingerling potatoes and salsa verde. And the chorizo-stuffed olives.

Until next time, Chicago. Hogs and kisses.

Parks and recreation

The morning after taking in a Haim show at the Riviera Theater in Uptown, the girls and I strolled through parts of the 25-acre urban space on the north end of Grant Park known as Millennium Park. The last time I saw this place was on a weekend jaunt from NYC for Lollapalooza in 2007. Daft Punk. Muse. Black Keys. Pearl Jam. Things haven't changed much on the festival circuit, eh?

After admiring the amphitheater and the cancer survivors garden, our last stop inside the park was "The Bean." The mirror-like sculpture is made of stainless steel that reflects the city's skyline. With that, the essential Chicago photo op was complete, and we had to say adios to half our foursome.