My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 3 con't

It’s time to board the train in Chicago, heading east to Depew, NY and home. Most of this leg is overnight, so I board with high hopes of getting some rest. It was not to be.

Although riding in coach wasn’t bad heading west, the return trip told a different story. I was seated near the rear of the car, close to the restroom, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it was a short walk when I needed it. A curse because of the occasional scented waft that told me next time, I should sit elsewhere.

It was also considerably noisier heading east. People played games on their devices, watched movies without earbuds, talked on the phone, and snored. I got off the train in Depew the next morning no more rested than when I got on.

Since the ride was entirely at night, I wasn’t able to take any pictures. I watched the scenery pass in the dark and truly missed the solitude and comfort of my roomette. Next time I do this, I hope to have enough money saved to have a roomette for the entire trip.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo - Union Station, Chicago, IL

 We pulled into Chicago Union Station around 5:30, and I dropped my luggage in the baggage storage area and went in search of something to eat. I didn’t wander too far. I still had sea legs from being in motion so long, and I didn’t want to topple over on the streets of Chicago with no one around who knew me to help me up. I’m not exactly known for my tremendous grace and coordination, so I didn’t take chances.

 

The restaurant in the station was closed, so I ended up with another pretzel from Auntie Anne’s and an iced chai latte from Starbucks. I went back to the Metropolitan Lounge to sit still for a little while and eat. The Game Show Network was on the lounge TV, and I quietly challenged myself to get a few right answers.

Around 7:45, I wandered into the main station and struck up a conversation with a couple of Amtrak police officers. Amtrak has its own police department, and they’re a visible presence in Union Station. I asked if the flowers on the ceiling, which looked like delicate rosettes, were painted on with shadowing or if they were actual pieces attached separately. One of the officers told me they were separate pieces. That fact alone made me wonder how they managed to keep the place so clean. Not a cobweb or dust mote in sight. That is not a job I’d want, even if I made a fortune in tips.

Union Station’s grand architectural centerpiece is the Great Hall, with soaring ceilings and textured Roman columns. It’s truly a space built to impress. The station has a unique double stub-end layout, with 10 tracks entering from the north and 14 from the south. Unlike most of Amtrak’s major stations, every train at Union Station either begins or ends there. You can’t just roll on through. If you’re passing through Chicago, you’re changing trains.

And if you're me, you’re also eating a pretzel, counting ceiling flowers, and yelling Jeopardy! answers in your head while trying not to fall over.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 3 con't

 

As my train rolled through Wyocena, Wisconsin, I finally saw some crops growing near the tracks—friendly green rows after miles of prairie stretches. For a brief moment, the land looked as though it might actually produce something besides train stops and dust.

Wyocena is home to just 756 people, according to the 2020 census, and it feels every bit like a small-town secret. In April 2008, it was struck by a tornado (an EF-1) that destroyed several homes.

Local legend has it that the village was named by Major Elbert Dickason, who said he dreamed about a bustling metropolis named “Wyocena,” woke up, and declared that would be its name. Sometimes, you just know what works, even if it comes from dream logic. Or maybe it was his medication.

The crops you glimpse from the window feel like a quiet contrast to the tornado’s damage and the intangible roots of a dreamer. It’s a place about patience and quiet harvest, both in soil and in community history.

Wyocena: tiny, steady, and nearly the end of the line for this train traveler.

The Chase by Candice Fox

Let me just start with this: if I worked in a prison and someone was holding my family hostage? I’d open every last cell door too. Good luck, world. My loyalty doesn’t extend past my own people, and Candice Fox clearly gets that.

The Chase kicks off with one of the most intense prison breaks I’ve ever read, and the story doesn’t slow down from there. With over 500 inmates running wild through the Nevada desert, the chaos could’ve been overwhelming, but Fox manages to keep it sharp, twisty, and surprisingly character-driven. I even found myself rooting for one of the escaped prisoners. Really.

That prisoner is John Kradle. Wrongfully convicted of killing his own family, understandably bitter, and stuck with a terrifying serial killer as his breakout buddy. He’s not exactly Mr. Personality, but once I saw his situation unfold, I was 100% in his corner. The guy just wanted to clear his name without dying horribly in the process. Reasonable.

Now let’s talk about Trinity and Celine. I didn’t like either of them at first. Trinity felt like a wannabe playground bully who happened to get a badge. Who punches someone in the gut just to assert dominance? Are we twelve? She never won me over. Celine, on the other hand, started off cold and rigid, treating the inmates like they were less than human. But her backstory (surviving the massacre of her family by her grandfather) gave her layers. By the end, I could see her thawing, even recognizing the possibility that not all of her inmates were actually guilty. 

Fox’s writing style worked well for me: fast-paced, gritty, and unafraid to let her characters be deeply flawed. These people felt real. Not likable, necessarily, but real, and I appreciate an author who doesn’t feel the need to soften every edge.

I thought The Chase was tense, twisty, and unexpectedly thoughtful. I’d absolutely read another book by Candice Fox. Just… maybe not one where Trinity gets a spin-off.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 3 con't

 

Lake Pepin, WI

Next on the rails was Pepin, Wisconsin. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Nestled in a valley carved by glacial melt at the end of the last Ice Age, this little town owes its dramatic landscape to a prehistoric plumbing situation. After a tributary delta partially dammed the Mississippi River, the water backed up and formed what is now Lake Pepin.

The lake got its name from Jean Pepin, a French explorer who settled along its shores in the late 1600s after adventuring around the Great Lakes. In the 1800s, Pepin became part of the lumber industry’s log-floating highway. Freshly cut trees were floated across the lake, though let’s be honest, trees are not natural swimmers, so steamboats were often needed to help them along. Pepin is also the birthplace of Laura Ingalls Wilder, author of the Little House on the Prairie series.

But not all lake tales are so lighthearted. In 1890, the Sea Wing ferry capsized during a violent storm on Lake Pepin, claiming 98 lives. It remains one of the worst maritime disasters on the Mississippi River.

Still, today’s Pepin is peaceful and lovely, with a wide, shining lake that reflects both the sky and a surprising amount of history. You wouldn’t guess it just by passing through, but this sleepy valley has seen ice ages, French explorers, logging empires, and tragedy. Not bad for a town you can blink and miss if you’re not looking.

Homer, WI

West Salem, WI

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 3 con't

 

We next rolled through Lake City, Minnesota, which sits right on the edge of Lake Pepin. The views were Absolutely Stunning. The lake stretched out like a painting, and for a minute I forgot all about prairies.

Back in 1680, French explorer Father Louis Hennepin camped on the shores of this very lake. He named it Lac de Pleurs (Lake of Tears) after witnessing Sioux captors grieving the death of a chief’s son. That heartbreak echoed across the water, leaving a name as poetic as it is haunting.

But don’t worry, not all of Lake Pepin’s history is tragic. Fast-forward to 1922, when a local kid named Ralph Samuelson decided snow skis were too limiting and became the first person to water ski right here on Lake Pepin. Lake City proudly claims the title “Birthplace of Water Skiing,” and they throw a big annual party called Water Ski Days to celebrate that fact. As they should. If you invent a new way to be dragged behind a boat for fun, you deserve a parade.

Lake City was one of those rare places that made me wish we had more time. Gorgeous scenery, deep history, and just enough quirk to make it memorable.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 3 con't

 

After long stretches of prairie and farmland, the Mississippi River appeared…on my map, anyway. I never actually saw it, but I did see trees. Actual trees! More than I’d seen in quite a while. The view was gorgeous, and it felt like the landscape finally remembered how to breathe. Red Wing carries layers of history in its name.

Named after a 19th-century Dakota Sioux chief, Red Wing grew up near the Mdewakanton Sioux reservation. The reservation was established by the federal government in 1936, and the city developed around it. Early settlers quickly realized the land was perfect for growing wheat. In fact, before the railroads even reached the county, this little region outproduced every other county in the nation.

With the crops came industry. Immigrants from Germany, Ireland, Norway, and Sweden brought their skills and set up shop. There were mills and tanneries, boat-makers and brewers, brickworks and button factories. The town buzzed with craftsmanship and commerce. The historic St. James Hotel, still in operation today, stands as a charming reminder of that industrious past.

Red Wing is one of those places where the past still whispers—if you take the time to listen. And I was glad I did.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 3

 

Tucked into the hardwood hills at the meeting point of the Mississippi and Elk Rivers, Elk River, Minnesota feels like it was shaped by both nature and imagination. The hills here are a gift from the last glacier that passed through the state, leaving behind coarse materials better suited for gravel mining than farming. As a result, the land doesn’t boast endless waves of grain.

Elk River pulses with artistic energy. The town celebrates its local talent with festivals, performances, and art shows, but it’s the murals that truly catch the eye. All around town, blank walls have been transformed into colorful tributes to Elk River’s past and present. One mural might show a steamboat churning along the Mississippi; another, a portrait of the Native peoples who first called this land home. The murals tell stories.

Elk River is nicknamed “Energy City” for its early adoption of renewable energy initiatives back in the 1990s.

Winding trails, wooded parks, and two rivers give Elk River a natural calm, while its artists add depth and color. It’s the kind of place where you can breathe deep, soak in the view, and then get drawn into a conversation about how the old water tower became a canvas.

Heat Lightning by John Sandford (Virgil Flowers #2)

Let me start with this: I appreciate a book that doesn't mess around. Heat Lightning opens with a dead guy propped up against a veteran's memorial with a lemon in his mouth. We’re not easing into the action. We're diving headfirst. Bless you, John Sandford, for skipping the fluff.

This is the second book in the Virgil Flowers series, and I liked it even more than the first. Virgil is still rocking the rock band T-shirts and doing his laid-back, sharp-as-a-tack investigator thing. The case this time is a series of killings tied to something awful that went down during the Vietnam War. And let me tell you, this one was twisty. Almost everyone involved was shady in one way or another, and half of them weren’t even who they said they were. Just when I thought I had it figured out, someone else got shot in the head and I had to start all over. I love that.

The plot does a great job unraveling layers of secrets from the past, all while juggling political strings, former spies, and a whole lot of deception. Sandford kept the pace moving, and there were moments where I found myself saying, “Wait ... what?” in the best possible way.

Now, about those steamy scenes. Look, I get that Virgil is supposed to be the charming, easygoing type who’s never too far from some romantic entanglement. But in this case, I could’ve done without it. The sex scenes didn’t add anything to the story, didn’t deepen any character connections, and frankly, felt like filler. Not every thriller needs the HBO treatment.

Overall, Heat Lightning was a solid 4 out of 5 stars for me. Gritty crimes, a historical thread that gave the whole thing more weight, and a lead character I continue to like more with each book. Just maybe next time, less bedroom and more boardroom… or crime scene.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 2 con't

 

Dodson, Montana might be the smallest place I’ve passed through so far with just 126 people as of 2024. It still manages to make an impression though. Set along Montana’s Hi-Line region, it’s surrounded by wide-open prairies, golden fields, and an endless stretch of sky that somehow feels even bigger out here. There’s something peaceful about a place where you can see for miles and still hear yourself think.

The town was named after a merchant who once ran a trading post and saloon here, back before the Great Northern Railway came rumbling through. I imagine him watching the horizon from his front porch, waiting for the train to arrive.

Each July, Dodson hosts the Phillips County Fair, billed as Montana’s longest-running county fair. Not bad for a town with fewer residents than my high school homeroom.

Today, Dodson feels like it exists just slightly out of time. No rush, no noise, just the hum of the wind across farmland. It’s a place that holds on quietly while the world moves around it.

Glasgow, MT

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 2 con't

West Glacier, MT

Shelby, MT

Havre, MT (still no harbor in sight)

Chinook, MT

 

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 2 con't

 

Coram, Montana may be tiny, just under 550 residents in 2010, but it’s a longtime neighbor to Glacier National Park. Named for lumberman William Coram, the community began as a logging camp back in 1905 and flourished when the Great Northern Railway laid its tracks through the area. The real boom came between 1948 and 1953, when the Hungry Horse Dam was built nearby.

Today, Coram is all about glacier access, rustic lodging, and quiet hospitality. You’ll find campsites, guest ranches, and a distillery, but mostly it serves as a gateway into Glacier Country. From my train window, Coram looked like a place I wouldn’t rush through. It looked like a perfect pause before the grandeur of a national park.

Just outside town lies the Coram Experimental Forest, established in 1933 for studies on western larch trees. Some of those trees are over 500 years old.

No grand downtown or sweeping views, just a quiet place anchored in natural beauty and glacier history, a whisper before the peaks.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 2

 

Some towns are born of ambition, others out of necessity. Hungry Horse, Montana is a little of both. With a population of just 828 as of the 2020 census, this tiny town rests near Glacier National Park. It sprang to life in the mid-20th century when the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation dropped more than a hundred prefabricated buildings into the wilderness to house workers building the Hungry Horse Dam.

Back then, the new community had a fittingly practical name: “Damtown.” But that didn’t last. In 1948, Flathead County commissioners renamed it Hungry Horse, inspired by a local legend. Two horses, Tex and Jerry, escaped their logging duties one winter and nearly starved in the deep snow along the South Fork of the Flathead River. They were found, barely alive. The tale stuck.

I took this photo in the morning, when the light was stretched across the land. There’s not a lot here, but it is quiet. It’s a place built to survive the snow, the wild, and time itself.

And really, you’ve got to admire a town that went from “Damtown” to legend in a single name change.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 1 con't

On our way back from the baby shower, Michael, Camille, and I made a quick stop in Leavenworth to recharge her car. I remembered this when I was on the way home and snapped this picture from the train. The view was all forest and mountains, completely hiding the charming little town. You’d never guess there was a Bavarian village tucked in there.

Leavenworth didn’t always look like what I would imagine a European postcard would look like. In the early 1900s, it was a timber town and a regional hub for the Great Northern Railway. But a series of devastating fires, followed by the railroad’s relocation to Wenatchee in 1925, left the economy in pieces. By the 1950s, Leavenworth was fading.

Enter two Seattle businessmen, Ted Price and Bob Rodgers, who bought a struggling café at nearby Coles Corner in 1960. Inspired by Rodgers' time stationed in Bavaria during WWII, they transformed the cafe into The Squirrel Tree and pitched a bold idea: remake Leavenworth into a Bavarian alpine village. Somehow, it worked. Today, the entire town center looks like it belongs in the Alps.

We didn’t stay long, but it made an impression…gingerbread trim, murals, and flower boxes everywhere, all hidden from the rails by gorgeous scenery.

My last photo of the day was taken in Cashmere, WA: 

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 1 con't

Skykomish, WA: 

My Big Adventure - Returning to Buffalo Day 1

Passing again through Gold Bar, WA: 

Then on to Baring, WA: 

As the sun started to head for the mountains, the train rolled through Baring, Washington, a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of place with a population of just 255, according to the 2020 census. It sits along a rare stretch of U.S. Highway 2 that’s surprisingly flat and straight, unlike the winding, dramatic curves that make up most of the highway through the Cascades. Locals call this part the “Baring Straight,” which made me laugh once I realized it was a pun on the Bering Strait between Alaska and Russia. My kind of humor.

Baring was originally named “Salmon,” which makes perfect sense. The Skykomish River runs nearby, and the area has a deep connection to the fish and the people who have depended on them for generations.

From my train window, Baring felt like one of those little places that lives quietly in the shadow of bigger, louder destinations. But there’s something comforting about that kind of stillness—something honest.

And here’s a fun fact: Baring was once home to a speakeasy during Prohibition, hidden in a log cabin deep in the woods. Apparently, even tiny mountain towns needed their moonshine.

The train didn’t stop in Baring, but I kind of wish it did so I could have looked around. It seems like the kind of place where time slows down just enough for you to catch your breath.

Leaving Washington

Time to go home. Heavy sigh.

I’ve really enjoyed spending time with Michael and Camille. Their house is so peaceful. Camille is so kind and generous, especially with her culinary knowledge, and Michael… well, Michael is the big brother everybody just wishes they had. I am so very, very lucky.

After I dragged my lazy butt out of bed around 10, I packed up my things and had a cup of coffee. I started browsing for audiobooks for the trip home while I ate an English muffin topped with the last of Bonne Maman’s strawberry preserves.

Then Michael and I sat on the deck, laughing at TikTok videos and chatting for a while. Truth be told, I can’t remember exactly what we talked or laughed about, but it was quiet and simple and memorable for the time spent together.

I had my leftover lasagna from Grazie’s for lunch, did a final sweep to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and before I knew it, it was time to head to the train station.

It took about half an hour to get to the Everett station through rush hour traffic, but we got there with time to spare. Michael waited with me until the train arrived—much too soon, if you ask me. I really didn’t want to leave, but I’ve got the cardiologist on Monday, so staying longer wasn’t an option. I really need to get to the bottom of the whole heart attack thing.

This time, my roomette was on the north side of the train, so the scenery was a little different on the way back. Greg, my car assistant, stopped by to let me know I had the 8:00 p.m. dinner reservation in the dining car.

And just like that, I was headed home.

Strawberries, Sauces, and Lemon Drops

Michael, Camille, and I went out to dinner tonight at Grazie in Bothell. I had never had lasagna before and now I know what I’ve been missing.

Michael said Grazie does lasagna right. I may have good lasagna in the future, maybe even one made from someone’s treasured family recipe, but it will never be as good as the lasagna I had there. They topped it with three sauces arranged to resemble the Italian flag: a red meat sauce, a white béchamel, and a green pesto cream. It was rich, filling, and absolutely wonderful … and I have plenty left for lunch tomorrow.

For dessert, Camille and I shared Strawberries Marsala: fresh strawberries nestled in a cloud of whipped cream, mascarpone cheese, vanilla, and marsala wine. I’ve never had anything like it, but I’ll definitely be on the lookout for it from now on.

Michael and I both ordered Lemon Drops—lemon juice, vodka, triple sec, and simple syrup served in sugar-rimmed martini glasses. Who knew lemon anything could be so good?

I am full, happy, and looking forward to sleeping very well tonight. Also known as “the food coma.”

The Passage by Alex Signore (Slate #16)

I just finished The Passage by Alex Sigmore, and I have questions. Not about the plot (that was airtight) but about who Emily Slate ticked off to get transferred to the New Mexico desert, where murder seems to be the local pastime.

This is book 16 in the Emily Slate series, and it might just be one of my favorites so far. It's fast-paced, gritty, and leans more into crime thriller than the usual crime fiction vibe of the earlier books. You can feel the urgency in every chapter. A woman’s body turns up out in the desert, and what looks like an isolated murder spirals into something way more sinister. I won’t give spoilers, but let’s just say the stakes get high, the bullets start flying, and Emily has no time to unpack her suitcase.

What I love about Emily is that she’s sharp, driven, and just cynical enough to make me laugh, usually at moments when laughing is absolutely the wrong thing to do. She doesn’t waste time on office politics, especially when lives are on the line, and I respect that. New Mexico proves to be a hostile environment in more ways than one, but she holds her own like the pro she is.

Sigmore’s writing is tight. Every chapter moves the story forward. There’s no fluff, just tension, action, and clever reveals. And the desert setting adds this bleak, isolating backdrop that matches the emotional tone of the case. You can practically feel the dry heat and hear the buzz of danger coming from just over the next ridge.

If you like a no-nonsense lead, murder in the heat, and just enough danger to keep you flipping pages at 2 a.m., The Passage delivers.

Bring water. And maybe a weapon.

Shower Time and Smoked Meats

When I first arrived, Camille casually mentioned that she forgot to tell me we were going to a baby shower. Well, that day has arrived!

Camille’s youngest sister, Alexis, has a son named Colby, whose wife, Natasha, is due at the end of September. Alexis is married to Doug, and Doug’s brother, Matt, and his wife, Darcy, built their own house; that’s where the shower was held.

It was a combination baby shower and family get-together, so men and children were also there, something that never happens at showers on the East Coast. It was fun!

Doug worked some magic with a smoker and made pulled pork the day before, then grilled hamburgers the day of. Potato salad and all kinds of chips and dips rounded out the menu. Everything was delicious.

Natasha was glowing and beautiful while opening gifts, and Colby read each of the cards aloud. They were very cute together, and you could tell how excited they were. It will be a girl named Juniper.

Proof of Love: Salmon and Smoke

Today we finished clearing out Camille’s side of the garage. She was very happy; she now has more room to get in and out of her car. It took a couple more hours, and there are still a few things that need to be ‘gotten to’, but overall, Michael has a solid head start and may be able to keep his momentum going with the other garage bay.

I had a blast helping him. As we sorted through things (putting stuff away, tossing junk, and fixing a few odds and ends) I learned about tools, saw blades, and how to use a utility knife. I even got to show off a little when I used the power washer. That was fun. I managed to spray most of the cherries off the driveway… at least for now.

After all that, Camille made salmon for dinner again. She loves me. She doesn’t say it, but I know she does.

This time it was King salmon. We had jasmine rice and a Caesar salad alongside, and she baked a blueberry crumble using fresh blueberries from Jeff’s garden. It was wonderful.

She grills the salmon on cedar planks. When I told her Wegmans was all out, she told me I could just order them on Amazon. (Honestly, is there anything Amazon doesn’t have?) Once the grill is preheated to about 400°, you place the fish on the cedar planks, close the cover, and keep an eye on the smoke. You don’t want it to burn. It takes about 15 to 25 minutes, depending on the thickness of the fish.

Yep. Another culinary lesson. She loves me.

Grilled, Chilled, and a Little Tipsy

 When I arrived, Michael and I talked about a few things he wanted to get done during my stay, since he was on vacation. One of his goals was to clean out the garage. We decided to start on the bay beside Camille’s car and see how it went.

We definitely underestimated how long that would take. Like most people, he had a number of little projects that had been set aside with the usual promise: “I’ll get to that later.” In a few cases, “later” turned out to be today, more than ten years later.

Since I had no idea where things belonged or how to fix anything, the easiest way for me to help was to be his gopher. I brought things to him, put things where he directed, helped lift awkward items, and vacuumed where needed, things like that. We worked for about four hours, then called it a day. My highlight was getting to work the power washer. 

In the evening, we went to see Jeff. As it turns out, Jeff’s mom, Linda, was in town from Buffalo too! It was great to catch up with the two of them, and I finally got to meet Raquel, Jeff’s girlfriend. Camille grabbed a chilled bottle of Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc, and off we went!

Jeff said he was going to throw some things on the grill. Turns out it was Aidells Pineapple and Bacon Smoked Chicken Sausage. I have died and gone to heaven. He served it with Linda’s potato salad, and let me tell you, the potatoes were cooked perfectly. Linda makes amazing potato salad, and one of these days, I’m going to have to ask her for a culinary lesson.

Raquel brought out a bottle of Stella Rosa Black Cherry wine, which was also very good. It’s a sweet dessert wine, but it was the perfect finish to the evening. Camille and I both had a wee bit too much to drink, but hey, we weren’t driving, and Michael was fulfilling his Big Brother Duties.

Camille’s Leftover Magic

Well, before we get to Camille's Leftover Magic, we have to show Michael's Breakfast of Champions: 

I almost forgot to take a picture! This was the most moist cake I've ever had. The perfect way to start your day! 

Now. Camille's Leftover Magic. 

Fish tacos.

I had never had one before, but I’ve discovered that Camille is the master of turning leftovers into something that feels downright gourmet. And this was so easy!

On three 6” tortilla rounds, she added some broken-up leftover swordfish, a bit of leftover coleslaw mix (just cabbage and shredded carrots), some salty sheep or goat cheese (with the texture of feta), sliced avocado, and maybe a few chopped scallions. She served them with peach salsa and sour cream on the side.

Serving size was three tacos, and she was able to make nine total with what was left in the fridge. They were wonderful—simple, satisfying, and a great way to use up leftovers.

I will definitely be making these at some point for dinner. Or if I have leftover fish from dinner, lunch the next day!

Gimlets, Gratitude, and Golden Crusts

Today was a day to relax. (Not that I haven’t already been doing that, but I’ve got a good thing going here.) Michael decided he’d be falling down on his Big Brother Duties if he didn’t get me a little sloshed while I’m out here on vacation. So ta-daaa! Tabor’s Dirty Gimlets, here we come!

 

Tabor’s Dirty Gimlets (makes two):

Pour 2 oz. of fresh-squeezed lime juice and 2 oz. of vanilla-flavored simple syrup over ice in a cocktail shaker. Add 3 shots of Absolut Pear Vodka. Shake to chill, strain into martini glasses, and garnish with a compressed rosemary sprig. (To compress rosemary: place the sprig in your palm and clap once—hard. It releases the scent.)

You have not lived until you’ve had one of Tabor’s Dirty Gimlets. I’m seriously going to have to do some shopping when I get home.

For dinner, Camille showed me how to make her homemade pizza. There’s a little forethought involved, but it’s well worth it.

Use ready-made dough. Wegmans sells it near their café or bakery section. On the morning of pizza night, rub a light coat of olive oil on the dough ball and place it in a bowl. Cover it loosely with plastic wrap. The oil keeps it from sticking to the bowl and wrap. Leave it at room temperature to rise. When you get home from work, it’ll be ready to go.

Preheat the oven to 425°. Shred some Pecorino Romano. Dice up some fresh whole-milk mozzarella. Camille uses the pre-sliced kind because it’s just easier.

Flatten the dough into a 13x9 baking sheet. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but aim for a uniform thickness so it bakes evenly. Spread the dough with Rao’s Homemade Pizza Sauce. Michael has conducted extensive taste-testing, and this one is the winner. (I can confirm Hunt’s and Ragu are not in the same league.)

Spread the cheeses generously over the sauce, then top with sliced Margherita pepperoni. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until the cheese is melted and the crust turns golden brown.

As I discovered, it also reheats beautifully! Just place a slice on parchment paper on a baking sheet, put it in a cold oven, and turn it to 350°. By the time the oven reaches temp, the pizza is nearly ready to eat.

His Perfect Crime by Alex Sigmore (Slate #1)

Well, this one started with a bang, or more accurately, a body folded up in a metal locker. And from that moment on, His Perfect Crime didn’t let up.

FBI Agent Emily Slate is walking back into the job with the weight of trauma strapped to her shoulders like a flak vest. She’s grieving the loss of her husband and still reeling from blowing the biggest case of her career and now she’s being sent to Stillwater, where the local cops are more concerned with politics than, oh, I don’t know, solving a murder.

Emily gets pushback from the start, but she’s not the type to slink off quietly. She’s strong, resourceful, and absolutely determined to prove herself - not to them, but to herself. And when the good ol’ boys try to shut her down, she finds work-arounds. Every. Single. Time.

The pacing here is tight, fast out of the gate and building with every chapter until you’re practically yelling lock the doors NOW! by the end. I couldn’t guess who the killer was (though of course, I side-eyed the husband). But this guy? He was slick. It genuinely surprised me, which is rare.

Liam Coll was another surprise. At first, I didn’t trust him. He was too cozy with the Chief, and the Chief was sketchy from page one. But Liam got his head on straight and turned out to be the partner Emily didn’t know she needed. As for Chief Burke? Let’s just say he got exactly what he deserved. Perp-walked right out of his own office. I may have cackled. Just a little.

The real heart of this book, though, is Emily herself. Her trauma, the loss, the self-doubt, the desperate need to prove she still belongs, it’s the thread that runs through the whole thing. She’s not just solving a case. She’s clawing her way back from a place where a lot of people wouldn’t even try. That’s what made this one stand out to me.

This was my first Alex Sigmore book, and I’m already hunting down the rest of the Emily Slate series. The writing was smooth and smart, detailed when it mattered, clean and fast when it didn’t, and the suspense crept up so gradually that I didn’t realize how hooked I was until I was staying up late to finish it.

I highly recommend this book. Great lead, tight plot, solid twists. Hoping in the next book Emily is just as strong, maybe pulls Liam into the FBI, and once again opens with “Oh no! Someone is dead!” and ends with “RUN.”

From Mocha to Mayhem: A Day Beneath Seattle

Today, Michael and I did the Underground Tour. We left the house at 10:00 a.m. for our 11:00 walking tour in downtown Seattle and arrived just in time… only to be shown to the waiting area where we did just that: waited.

11:15. Still waiting.

11:30. Michael got up and asked the desk what was going on. Apparently, there weren’t enough people scheduled for the 11:00 tour, so they bumped us to the 1:00 tour.

Why on earth didn’t they tell us? I failed Mind-Reading 101 miserably! Turns out they don’t do that kind of communication here—it’s a Seattle thing. No one really talks to each other. There’s even a name for it: The Seattle Freeze. In this situation, it meant we had an hour and a half to kill.

So we did what all self-proclaimed foodies do: we found a cute little café we’d never been to. It was a French café called Mirabelle by Orphée, complete with a gorgeous mural of a Parisian café and the Eiffel Tower in the background. 

Michael had the Madison chicken salad—arugula, chicken, caramelized onion, sesame seeds, mint, and a sweet-and-sour dressing. I went simpler: a baguette with salted French butter and Bonne Maman strawberry preserves. Very yummy!

We both ordered mochas, which were rich and creamy. Before we left, I used the restroom and saw a hilarious sign and poster that made me laugh out loud:

 Still with some time to spare, we stopped at another coffee shop across the street. Michael ordered another mocha for comparison purposes (purely scientific, of course). We honestly couldn’t say which one we liked better. They were different but equally delicious. I think I’ve officially become a mocha fan.

We got back to the Underground Tour HQ at 12:45, just in time for… more waiting. But then the fun finally began.

Apparently, they didn’t exactly do things smart in Seattle back in the late 1800s. For starters, they built their city using measurements taken at low tide. Genius. Naturally, flooding became a problem, not to mention fires, mud churned up by horses and wagons, and sinkholes the size of swimming pools.

The holes began forming so rapidly that instead of fixing them, they just started naming them. According to our tour guide, they often made things worse on themselves, like using sawdust as a primary fill material. (It was cheap. So was their judgment.)

Then there was Henry Yesler, an opportunistic machinery man who set up a mill in Seattle. Within six months of arriving, some questions came up suggesting he hadn’t exactly acquired the land legally. But did that stop him? Nope.

Henry was a scoundrel, utterly lacking in morals or ethics. So naturally they made him mayor. Back then, the mayor had the power to settle lawsuits. Henry, being Henry, would sue the city as a private citizen and then settle the lawsuit as the mayor.

By doing this, he drained the city coffers twice, and that was just during his first term! The good people of Seattle rewarded him with two more terms.

Apparently, when we do something stupid, we double down on it.

Here are a few photos Michael took during the tour:

Tour Guide

Broken Concrete

Watercloset

Steel Beams supporting the sidewalk and street above

Tourist walkway. Very humid here, with a strong smell of mold.

Discarded building materials. Some of this is sure to be cut from old growth trees.

Lighting for the underground

Lighting Panel from below.

Before the 1889 Fire

Exit Sign

Roots growing down from street level

Bathtub that was discarded into the street during construction. Also discarded during construction were hundreds of dead animals and general garbage.

Please don’t lean

After the fire, trolley rails are deformed from the heat

“Sanitan Washdown Closet.”

Late 1800s letterpress with an old manual typewriter sitting on it.

After the fire. Michael thinks the building in the distance was the first building constructed for the University of Washington.

Later that evening, Camille made swordfish for dinner. It was AMAZING. I’d never had swordfish before, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Here’s her recipe in case you want to impress someone:

 Camille’s Grilled Swordfish

• ¼ cup olive oil
• Juice from 1 lemon
• Zest from 1 lemon
• 1 tablespoon soy sauce
• 3 cloves minced garlic
• ½ teaspoon salt
• ¼ teaspoon pepper

Marinate serving-sized pieces of swordfish for at least 8 minutes but no more than 20. Grill on high for 5–6 minutes per side, or until internal temp reaches 135–145°F.

Serve with salad and Jasmine rice or rolls.