Over the last few years I’ve noticed this strange phenomenon about going away on vacation - as soon as I get back, it feels like I never left.  No matter how relaxing the trip was, or how far out of my normal context I travelled, my life seems all too ready to greet me at baggage claim and fill me in on all the things I missed while I was away. Sometimes, though - if I’m lucky, the storm of emails and to do lists subsides long enough for me to briefly recall a memory of my former self, happy and on vacation. 

This most recent trip to San Francisco and Portland was especially lovely, filled with old friends, and new discoveries (especially the Shanghai Tunnels which, despite living in Oregon for two years, were a complete surprise).

One highlight, which came near the end of our trip, was a soggy hike up Lateral Falls just outside of Portland.  Actually, the highlight was not the falls themselves (there were two and they were both gorgeous), but the native flora that lined and dotted our path.  Everywhere I turned, I saw - food!  Redwood trunks split open to reveal crumbly, red velvet cake insides.  Intertwining vines formed a delicate lattice pie crust.  Water-smoothed birch branches twisted into the shank of a Pesach lamb bone. 

“You’re clearly in the right profession,” my friend Tyson said after about my tenth food reference on the trail.

While I waxed gastronomical, my friend Alison spent the afternoon pointing out various flowers (the bulbous purple flowers I thought were snapdraggons turned out to be “betch,” a relative to the pea), and edible berries (my favorite were the fleshy, orange-pink salmon berries) native to the area.  Honestly, she could have been lying all day and I wouldn’t have noticed or cared. 

We ended the day full from the trail but hungry for dinner.  After a quick stop at Wild Oats (which at this point shows no signs of the Whole Foods takeover) and one of the most beautifully and organically orchestrated cooking sessions I’ve ever experienced (one person stirring pasta, another harvesting fresh basil from the front porch, a third concocting a salad dressing, and copious tasting going on throughout), we sat down to a gorgeous meal featuring the kosher Tillamook cheddar I’ve raved about in previous posts.  It was even local - the Tillamook factory sits just northwest of Portland on the Oregon coast.

I’m now back in New York and back to hectic life.  Only this time, I’m resolved to take the trip with me.

(Thanks to my friend Tyson Gillard for the beautiful photos)