I have been travelling a little bit this summer. Not the Istanbul kind of travel but the 1 or 2 hours on a plane kind of travel and sometimes I am only in my destination for mere hours. Sometimes it’s for work, sometimes personal but I see no reason why both can’t be a pleasure.  And to make it a pleasure, I make sure as many meals as possible are special.

“Special” doesn’t have to mean expensive but it does have to mean unique or memorable in some way. Sometimes that means the meal has a story, sometimes it is enjoyed with a special person but, for me, it has to stand out in some way to make an impact on the memory of the day. There are a few rules that I use to help this happen:

1.       Chain restaurants don’t make the cut.  Oh, I eat in them all the time, but if I have a choice and a time limit, I am going to chose an independent every time.

2.       A personal recommendation is better than a review.  Twitter has become my friend in this way; surely someone has dined here before and will say yea or nay to save my (locally raised, double smoked) bacon.

3.       A review helps as does a website but neither give me the opportunity to consider the source. Does the writer look for the same things as me?

Here is one encounter that went well: I was in Kitchener with colleagues looking for breakfast so I asked a local “where would you eat breakfast if this was your first time in town?” She kindly pointed to an established diner on a side street just out of our view called Angie’s.  I would never have found it if I hadn’t asked and had to walk right past a well established breakfast chain that would have been a default option to find it.  But I asked and it made all the difference.

Angie’s served local farmer’s sausage, homemade jam and homemade bread.  And by homemade, I mean imperfect, made from scratch, no kidding in the kitchen bread.  It is the kind of place that you see in the movies or in your mind when you think “homespun”. Nothing fancy, everything real. The food was honest, delicious and local. Not local like the trend local but local like, Chuck brings it in on Tuesdays local and his son before that dating back to 1962 local.  A hit!

This idea of making a meal mean something isn’t new but as the world grows smaller through social media and schedules grow tighter it has become even more important. Asking a person (whether on the block or the Blackberry) to share their tips links us. Sharing that meal with a person creates an experience that connects us.  Telling you about it keeps the circle spinning and joins us.  Which means that, even when I am travelling, I am never far from home.

My body feels like it has trekked the Andes but my spirit is full. I haven’t slept more than 5 hours a night for the past 5 nights, haven’t stopped talking (often very loudly) for one minute of those wakeful hours and haven’t laughed so hard for so long in my life. I have traipsed around in high heels for hours on end over concrete. I have eaten willy nilly and on the run everywhere from high end restaurants (whose stories will be told over time), buffet tables and street carts.  I have cried many times over memories, stories and a simple, delectable dessert. None of these things are recommended “health” activities, not one would be at the top of my list of things to do for a healthy life. And yet, I can feel a blossoming in my core that is irreplaceable.

I did not know what to expect from my first BlogHer conference but it wasn’t this.  Joining a handful of women I semi knew and 2,300 others for a meetup about blogging was a business choice that I hoped would help me understand this world a little bit better and make a greater impact when my book Ace Your Health (www.aceyourhealth.com) launches in December.  I guess I blog. But I call myself a writer with the goal being to inform.  Blogging seems like such a new world where people spill their guts in a way that turns me (and everyone else) into a voyeur. I was never sure that I would quite fit in with the over-telling masses. And yet here I was.

The learning came fast and furious but it didn’t come from the sessions I had paid for. (I did not go to one, not one.) It came from the women I bumped into, bunked in with or actively sought out. Genuine smiles turned into gut aching laughter as these relationships grew.  The girl with the curls who is smart as a whip and was fun to play with at parties became my guide and trusted bedmate. The “other” nutritionist who is way more intense about our field become a roomie/confidant/lifesaver with all her natural perk me up potions. The exotic-ly honest web editor/blogger became a friend who lives close enough and shares easily enough to have coffee with every week IRL. Beyond that, I met the food writers I wanted to know, some decision makers who will factor in to my career and hundreds of other women who quipped with me at every turn. All without making any effort at all.

See? There is something about women and birds of a feather who put themselves out there.  I thought they were hard to find but they were all right here all the time.  The other lunatics who research hard (whether it be their own feelings, their education or their topics) type fast, share well, tweet often, tell all, join easily, work much, raise families, love their lives and let me in were all here for the finding.

And then…we danced to quote Balki Bartokomus (google “tv show perfect strangers” if you are under 30, and, I hate you.) We danced up and down NYC in many new pairs of spiky shoes, we danced on the hotel ballroom dance floor, I danced in the hotel room while singing fiddler on the roof (don’t ask) and we danced into each other’s hearts and lives.

I am grounded, inspired and a little bit scared of what all this means to my future. It sounds ridiculous to say I am changed and equally ludicrous to say I just “had fun”. These five days that have ruined my feet and hurt my back have been healthy in ways unexpected. They have refueled my willingness to keep working this hard and forward my cause of making damned sure everyone I meet is a titch healthier than when I met them.  Even if that means that they now know where to find me for some good advice. On shoe shopping, fiddler singing, restaurant dining or finding one’s people to fill a soul. It’s all for the greater good.

My body feels like it has trekked the Andes but my spirit is full. I haven’t slept more than 5 hours a night for the past 5 nights, haven’t stopped talking (often very loudly) for one minute of those wakeful hours and haven’t laughed so hard for so long in my life. I have traipsed around in high heels for hours on end over concrete. I have eaten willy nilly and on the run everywhere from high end restaurants (whose stories will be told over time), buffet tables and street carts.  I have cried many times over memories, stories and a simple, delectable dessert. None of these things are recommended “health” activities, not one would be at the top of my list of things to do for a healthy life. And yet, I can feel a blossoming in my core that is irreplaceable.

I did not know what to expect from my first BlogHer conference but it wasn’t this.  Joining a handful of women I semi knew and 2,300 others for a meetup about blogging was a business choice that I hoped would help me understand this world a little bit better and make a greater impact when my book Ace Your Health (www.aceyourhealth.com) launches in December.  I guess I blog. But I call myself a writer with the goal being to inform.  Blogging seems like such a new world where people spill their guts in a way that turns me (and everyone else) into a voyeur. I was never sure that I would quite fit in with the over-telling masses. And yet here I was.

The learning came fast and furious but it didn’t come from the sessions I had paid for. (I did not go to one, not one.) It came from the women I bumped into, bunked in with or actively sought out. Genuine smiles turned into gut aching laughter as these relationships grew.  The girl with the curls who is smart as a whip and was fun to play with at parties became my guide and trusted bedmate. The “other” nutritionist who is way more intense about our field become a roomie/confidant/lifesaver with all her natural perk me up potions. The exotic-ly honest web editor/blogger became a friend who lives close enough and shares easily enough to have coffee with every week IRL. Beyond that, I met the food writers I wanted to know, some decision makers who will factor in to my career and hundreds of other women who quipped with me at every turn. All without making any effort at all.

See? There is something about women and birds of a feather who put themselves out there.  I thought they were hard to find but they were all right here all the time.  The other lunatics who research hard (whether it be their own feelings, their education or their topics) type fast, share well, tweet often, tell all, join easily, work much, raise families, love their lives and let me in were all here for the finding.

And then…we danced to quote Balki Bartokomus (google “tv show perfect strangers” if you are under 30, and, I hate you.) We danced up and down NYC in many new pairs of spiky shoes, we danced on the hotel ballroom dance floor, I danced in the hotel room while singing fiddler on the roof (don’t ask) and we danced into each other’s hearts and lives.

I am grounded, inspired and a little bit scared of what all this means to my future. It sounds ridiculous to say I am changed and equally ludicrous to say I just “had fun”. These five days that have ruined my feet and hurt my back have been healthy in ways unexpected. They have refueled my willingness to keep working this hard and forward my cause of making damned sure everyone I meet is a titch healthier than when I met them.  Even if that means that they now know where to find me for some good advice. On shoe shopping, fiddler singing, restaurant dining or finding one’s people to fill a soul. It’s all for the greater good.

My friend’s a jerk chicken master. So when we were invited over to enjoy some of his special hot and spicy jerk chicken we didn’t hesitate. However, no amount of questioning and cajoling could pry the recipe from him. His marinade was very spicy, intense and flavorful which makes sense since he says he marinates it for two days! I left with a full belly but empty handed.

So when Sobey’s challenged food bloggers to try some of their new recipes, and their Sensations by Compliments Caribbean Jerk Marinade was on the list of foods they would send me, I jumped at the chance. Hoping it would be that easy to recreate the real thing was a bit naïve, I guess. 

The bottled sauce just did not have the kick of a real jerk but it was quite pleasant.  I’d call it Caribbean pork and enjoy it often with its smooth tingle of sour sweet. I’d even feed it to kids, it was that mild.  But for a more jerk experience, I found a few enhancements made the dish much, much better.

Cheatin’ Jerk

1/3         cup                         Sensations by Compliments Caribbean Jerk Marinade

3              tbsp                       lime juice

1              tsp                          dried thyme

1              pinch                     clove

1              pinch                     red pepper flakes

1-4          pinches                                cayenne pepper (to taste)

6                                              boneless centre cut pork chops

Mix together marinade, juice and spices. Pour over chops and refrigerate as long as you can up to 48 hours.  BBQ over med-high heat until pork reaches 160F.  Serve with salsa below.

Tropical Salsa

1              tbsp       extra virgin olive oil

1              tbsp       honey

1              tbsp       malt vinegar

1              tbsp       Sensations by Compliments Caribbean Jerk Marinade

1                              mango diced

2              tbsp       fresh mint, minced

Toss ingredients together and serve on the side.