After a slew of suggestions, I had a handful that pointed me in the direction of Claysville Store, 5650 E. Claysville Road in Hartsburg, located north of Jefferson City by the river and Katy Trail. I headed south on U.S. 63 and took a right at Claysville road down yet another winding path to find out what the rave was all about.
Written for the Tiny Town Tastes blog series for Vox Magazine, Summer 2016. Read more here.
Chim’s Thai Kitchen is my go-to place for pad thai in Columbia. Once upon a time, they had three locations — downtown, off Nifong Boulevard and down by the river at Cooper’s Landing. Last fall, I called to to put in my weekly order and the phone rang and rang. No one picked up. I drove to the restaurant, and it was vacant. What was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to get my pad thai? The other Thai joints had to suffice. I didn’t know where Chim’s went.
Part of the Tiny Town Tastes blog series for Vox Magazine, Summer 2016. Read the full story here.
Lula’s Tavern was recommended to me from the very beginning by my friend’s husband who is a Moberly native. Moberly is not a tiny town compared to Missouri standards, population roughly around 13,700, but Lula’s fit the requirement nevertheless. Upon research of this place, the words “warm beer and lousy service” kept appearing in contrast to it’s high ratings and outstanding comments. What was going on?
Written for Vox Magazine‘s Tiny Town Tastes blog series. Read all about Lula’s here.
I weave through the streets, turn a corner and there it is: One World Trade Center, the tallest building in this hemisphere.
At first, it takes me a moment to realize what I am looking at. The sun gleams off the glass tower and blinds all who look upon it. Below, a vast black memorial fountain embeds the ground, each spurt of water reminding us of each life lost.
Do you remember Sept. 11?
I was 8 years old. My teacher lined the class against the white wall outside the library. We had just finished our computer science class; I learned about Google. Something terrible had happened, she said.
I saw a TV screen in the corner of my living room as I curled up on a green leather couch. Planes crashed into two towers, again and again. Wafts of smoke filled every channel. I was torn between shock, sadness and disbelief.
I step off the street corner and out of my reverie. It might have been 15 years ago, but it’s all still real to me.
Source: Wanderlust: Remembering Sept. 11
After a nauseating ferry ride from Naples to Capri (what a way to learn that you’re prone to sea sickness), we finally arrived at the base of the famed Mediterranean island. We noticed that everyone was jumping into white vans that shuttled them off, but we opted to walk instead.
Four flights of stairs in, the city was still nowhere in sight. We trampled through makeshift rock steps that trailed up Capri, surrounded by white artsy beach houses (owned by the rich and famous, no doubt) with views of baby blue skies and cerulean waters. We emerged from another flight of stairs and came out into a road, where I spotted a local man. Centro? I asked, out of breath. He pointed up.
Hundreds of steps later, hungry and ready to give up, we were almost to the top when we smelled it. Warm sugary scents wafted down the stairs toward us and instantly, we picked up the pace. What was that smell? we wondered. Was it fresh baked chocolate croissants? Was there some new Italian delicacy waiting for us at the top of the stairs? We finally broke out into the centro of Capri and sped walked past the high-end boutique shops and restaurants when we saw it.
The source of those delicious aromas came from piping hot waffle irons, conveniently placed by an open window, churning out just-baked waffle cones for Buonocore Gelateria. In awe, I watched as they took those thin crepe-like waffles and rolled them into a perfect shape of an ice cream cone. It was the most memorable welcome to Capri.
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