(More pics at Flickr.)

First of all, Skank Ham. Met the auteur in St. Louis last night at our Left Bank Books event. I love the Internet.

As I’ve mentioned in posts about guidebook research trips, it’s easy to get burned out on restaurant food, on hotels (no matter how glam) and on the glamour of air travel. On the flip side, any moment of non-business-travel experience can be mind-blowingly delightful.

For instance, last night in St. Louis, I was just delighted to ride as a passenger in a car driven by people who knew their way around the city and could tell us fascinating facts about it along the way. No offense to Tamara, who was great at the wheel of our rental cars in three cities, but that’s just not the same.

And when we arrived at Third Place Books for our first Seattle gig, we were served our very own food from the cookbook–a home-cooked meal we were totally not expecting. At that point, Tamara had blown her wad early, so to speak, gorging herself on fancy, vegetable-less, high-butter-fat dinners for the first few days of the trip, so she nearly wept with gratitude.

That’s not to say we didn’t eat some sensational food. At the beginning, it was the Trip of Righted Wrongs. In Portland, I finally got to go to Pok-Pok, after missing it last visit due to its inconveniently being closed the one night we had time. Holy shit, it was delicious. I cannot wait for our January Thailand trip. Ain’t no thing like a fish-sauce-marinated chicken wing.

Also had a fine dinner at Biwa, a Japanese-y joint. Deep-fried kimchi, people. Not so different from deep-fried pickles at your local pub. And a pleasure to dine with the lovely and talented Naomi Pomeroy, who I expect is wiping the floor with her competitor at Iron Chef even as we speak.

But the real bliss of Portland is that you can walk in nearly any old place and get a great meal. The day I arrived, with only a couple of hours before our event at fab Land, I only had time to stagger down to the hotel dining room. Where I ate oysters, deviled eggs three ways and a “salad” that was one big giant roasted bear, some velvety goat cheese and some berries. It was like the whole Pacific Northwest saying, “Look at what WE got!” I found out later that the Heathman Hotel’s restaurant is generally very reputable, so this wasn’t a fluke. But still.

In Seattle, I also righted some wrongs: ate at Salumi twice (to make up for the TWO times it was closed on previous visits), and went to the Rem Koolhaas library, which I’d missed on my last visit. This time, it was unmissable, kitty-corner from my hotel. By sheer coincidence, then had dinner at newly opened Ventana with the same man who’d sold me a $30 finocchiona at Salumi at lunch. I’ve got some crazy flavored salts in my suitcase from Ventana, and a strong memory of oxtail with chard, before the dessert wines blotted everything else out–all thanks to the brilliant social engineering of Seattle Tall Poppy. (Have I mentioned–I love the Internet?)

And I had a totally blissed out morning sitting at counter and eating Swedish almond-cardamom bread, drinking very milky coffee, reading the paper and listening to Mission of Burma from the doughnut stand next to my perch. It was gray and rainy out and just perfect. The day before, I’d eaten a pork sandwich from Maximus/Minimus, a bus shaped like a pig. I was wandering around hungry, and saw a flood of people walking down the street carrying some mighty fine sandwiches. Such good fortune to find the source of the sammies on the very next corner. And just hilarious that the pig bus sells vegan stuff too. Everything you expect from Seattle, really. (Also, buskers playing Nirvana on accordions.)

After all that, I took a weekend break in Albuquerque, where unfortunately I didn’t get to eat green-chile stew at the Frontier until a few hours before my flight out, but the 48-hour trip was nonetheless worth it. Just to be home and recharge, even if there was also some book signing and a great interview with the hilarious Gwyneth Doland, formerly of the Albuquerque Alibi, and Susan Loubet, the host of the show.

Back in Phoenix, I ate at Schlotzsky’s.

….

OK. I was going to skip on to the next topic, and make it seem like Phoenix was a desolate hole. But actually, I like Schlotzsky’s for some reason, and they aren’t really here in NYC. Am I crazy to think the original-style Schlotzsky’s sandwich is some kind of riff on a muffuletta? As I was walking down the block (after nearly getting run over, because no one walks in Phoenix), I found myself actually craving the boiled black olives and the cheese that weirdly melts into the cellular bread.

For dinner, we once again got to eat our very own food, made by the crazy-enthusiastic chef at Duck & Decanter, a wine bar I wish I had around the corner from me. Tamara’s boss from the IHOP showed up, in his IHOP jacket. Awesome.

And that brings us all back to St. Louis, which I’ve had the pleasure of visiting before, but hot damn, why did no one tell me about the doughnuts?! Also, those oatmeal cookies from Dad’s. Dangalang. All my teeth could fall out and my legs would fall off from diabetes, but I think I could live happily in St. Louis.

And now, just a few hours from now (three, to be exact–just enough time to think I have plenty of time, and then manage to be late), I’m off to Word Brooklyn, basically where it all began at the beginning of the month. Tonight, though, I’m talking about the rigors of writing guidebooks. And I will certainly mention how book tour was a total cakewalk compared with my usual guidebook gig.

And after that, I’ll more closely read a job offer for yet another guidebook gig that I just received yesterday. I think I’ll take it. Am I crazy?

(More pics at Flickr.)