Fall mornings

Fall mornings make me want Lángos (pronounced Laingoosh) -- a hungarian breakfast of fried dough, served with garlic, sour cream and cheese, best in my opinion with the first two of those listed accompaniments. A dish that reminds me of childhood, connects me to my ancestry, and makes me miss my grandfather Janos very greatly indeed. In my family, it is largely reserved for holiday mornings (mostly for health concerns - health professionals advise that deep fried dough on a regular basis can cause you to become fat) and has become an easy way to invite new family members and friends to sample Hungarian culture. Easily liked, easily stomached (other delicacies of my motherland are cow-brain soup and other heavy and heady delights) and easily concocted -- the warm melty-dough and salty toppings make just about everyone smile. 

Want to make it yourself? The cheater way (my favorite) is to lay out frozen bread dough the night before you plan to make the treat. Roll it out in morning (I put a few 'slits' in mine so the dough doesn't become a balloon), heat a skillet with some oil, and lay the bread to sizzle and brown on each side. Serve with preferred toppings, et voila!

We made it.

It looked like this (see below) and we listened to this while we ate it. 

Happy Fall. 

Fish Farmer for a Day

Leo Ray, who is featured in an article I wrote for the Fall issue of FOCUS (check out 'A Spawning Adventure' under words), is a pretty awesome dude. He has raised alligators, is starting a sturgeon caviar empire, and has helped revolutionize aqua-farming in Idaho. 

After spending the day with Leo, I probably have the info for a short biography, say 100 pages, but unfortunately magazine format could only devote two pages to the story. Most people have short attention spans, anyway. Below is the 'B' roll of photos taken on the journey. Who knows -- maybe all the stories in my memory from our adventure will culminate with me ghost writing his memoirs. To dream...

An Idaho Good Time (P.S. Guns are Scary)

We are having a family reunion of sorts. My dad's brothers and their families are enjoying a brief respite in Sun Valley, soaking up the bits of summer that are left before fall returns to claim us once more. My youngest cousin Robin has grown up too quickly, and is headed to 'Old Miss this fall, meaning I am officially old. As tour guide to these young souls, I thought it only fitting that we bring a quiver of firearms and ammo up a winding and beautiful dirt road to truly experience the un-tread Idaho. Besides one cut endured from the kickback of a WWII sniper rifle passed down to my boyfriend, we left unscathed and with some hearing left. I don't shoot guns or hold them or touch them (honestly they absolutely terrify me) but I did shoot my camera, and captured a few moments of these young men playing wild west. 

he had a fast car

Everything fun this past weekend happened in a 10-mile radius from the center of Ketchum, and it all seemed to start with the letter ‘C’. Camping, Cars, and a Concert. Amazing really, considering we are used to spending a certain amount of time getting to the vacation summer fun by car or plane or train etc. Not here, not now: everything is close at hand for you, friend (would say Yoda).  

Wood River Campground is a stones throw from the SNRA (Sawtooth National Recreation Area) visitors center (meaning you are hella close to some pretty sick mountain biking and hiking for the whole fam-damily), and it has lovely sites with nice bathrooms and tasty water. A short walk from the campground lies the base of phantom hill, the infamous spot where crowds gather to watch cars test their speed in the annual Road Rally to benefit the Wood River Drug Coalition. I actually hate cars. But — my extended family, including 3-year old Enzo that knows more about car belts and transmission than I ever will, start counting down the days to this event the minute it ends each summer, so I had to go. I will say, seeing a two-million dollar car go 247 miles per hour is exciting even to those people who find cars totally lamezo — ahem — me. 

Luckily, Sunday was my fun day. I packed a picnic and headed to Josh Ritter, the headliner in one of the concerts for the Sun Valley Center for the Arts series. The concert was great, albeit one small issue: it turns out, Josh (yes, we are on a first name basis) has a habit of grinning while belting sad melodies. My friend Katie, pictured below right, was largely disturbed by his inability to match emotion to song content (dude, she broke up with you, stop smiling). All in all, not a bad go for a weekend warrior. However, four bottles of wine among three women throughout the show mean the exercise class I teach Monday morning will be one long ride on the struggle bus. 

Brunchtime! The Stanley Bakery

The Stanley Bakery is my happy place. The staff is friendly and I dare say adorable, their menu with breakfast classics as well as bomb paleo and veggie options is delectable, and the cinnamon rolls are like little sugar balls of heaven. However, it is the atmosphere that sets the Bakery apart from the pack, unmatched in my experiences, and I have been a lot of places. 

The first time I encountered the deliciousness of the bakery my new Ketchum friends had taken me for a quintessential weekend north of town. It began with a ride of fisher creek on the drive up, followed by a dip and camping at Alturas Lake. Sunday morning, waking up early and achy, the Bakery was like a cathedral of awesomeness, calling to me with smells of caramelizing onions and coffee, the line out the door a mix of river rats, cowboys and general mountain enthusiasts. I sunk my teeth into an oatmeal pancake, and then enjoyed the quinoa breakfast of champions, ready for the next day of adventure, which included a rafting trip with a guide who looked like a combo of young Clooney and dreadlocked hobbit. Trust me, he was hot. 

Maybe your weekend isn’t that jam-packed, and maybe my memories enhance the flavor to elation, but if you haven’t tried the Bakery  yet, it is time for a brunch adventure. The scenery is breathtaking, the air fills your lungs with mountain essences, and the activities are endless. If you see a girl there Sunday mornings licking her plate with absolute joy, say hey — that’s me.