Au Naturel

The yeasty aroma of freshly baked artisanal bread, and exposed brick, surround me inside Fervere Bakery in Kansas City, Missouri's revitalized Westside neighborhood. Racks of rustic loaves flank the wall, and customers dip samples into herbed olive oil.

Owner, Fred Spompinato, has spent the last 7 1/2 years creating his over-sized, crunchy-crusted loaves using organic milled Kansas flour and a brick-limestone oven with a centuries-old French tradition. The only mechanized equipment that he and his two co-bakers use is a large mixer. Other tools of their trade include Belgian linen used in proofing and large wooden paddles that heft risen dough into the oven. While most of the world sleeps, they're hard at work creating incomparable loaves for appreciative customers who drive as much as half an hour to purchase and enjoy them.

Because Spompinato decided he would not be consumed by his business he only sells bread on Thursdays through Saturdays – until they run out. So you'll have to visit Kansas City to try Pain Complet, Ciabatta and Cheese Slipper, or Olive-Rosemary, Polenta and Grain Travel Breads. Fervere Bread is worth the trip.

Iced Elegance

Sunshine lovers might be surprised to learn there's plenty of sun beyond the coasts or the Southwest. While Seattle and Boston only see sun 164 days per year, Denver enjoys sunshine 245 days annually, and Kansas City enjoys at least a few rays 216 days per year.

After a massive ice storm, brilliant sun sometimes creates a sparkling fairytale world in the Kansas City area. We're infamous for the ice that arrives at least once each winter season - the result of weather fronts that collide at the country's mid-section in harsh yet beautiful ways. Our bushes and rooftops glisten with iced elegance as roads become impassable skating rinks and decades-old trees groan beneath the weight of frozen water. One late October ice storm toppled dozens of trees still laden with fall leaves and disrupted power for several weeks.

But when the ice comes and then sunshine arrives, neighborhoods become true winter wonderlands for a few hours and photo frames.

The Power of Two

Sometimes the greatest dishes are also a gift of simplicity. My husband happened upon this 'recipe' for the grill about a year ago and we've enjoyed it many times since. Chorizo infuses green cabbage with spicy goodness and tasty moisture in this no-fuss dish.

Chorizo & Cabbage
Makes two to three servings

1/2 pound ground chorizo
1 large green cabbage

foil


1. Remove and discard core from cabbage. Roll and shape a piece of foil into a coil that will fit the base of the cabbage and keep it level during grilling.

2. Heat chorizo briefly in a frying pan to release natural juices - about five minutes.

3. Pack chorizo tightly into cabbage opening and place on foil coil, in grill. Cook on medium low heat for approximately 50 minutes until chorizo is lightly charred on top.

4. Let sit for five to ten minutes. Cut in wedges and serve.

Winter Respite

Beyond my open door and balcony railing, tall palms rustle softly above manicured golf greens and grass-decorated beach as gulls sail above gentle swells. On my first morning at Amelia Island Plantation, the fireball sun cast a rosy glow across my wall, as purple surrendered to pale blue. The next morning, murky fog hid two-foot swells that crashed against the beach. On this last morning of my vacation pink and orange rays illuminate a pale blue sky and cast golden light across calm, still-dark water.

I snuggle into my robe, sip piping hot coffee and pull out my camera. Half a dozen shots later I turn towards breakfast - a fluffy frittata with perfectly cooked asparagus, baby carrots, and broccoli flowerets, and a generous serving of lightly cooked and seasoned red potatoes. A fruit plate bears eight slices of cantaloupe and honeydew, plus a handful of incredibly plump raspberries, blueberries and strawberries.

After breakfast I begin my final walk beside the ocean, calves straining against packed and shifting sand as my toes squish through liquid beach and dodge shell fragments strewn along the high tide line. By this evening, I'll return to Midwestern ice and snow.

Better Butter

In an effort to avoid trans fats we had switched from margarine to a soft spread that was loaded with omega-3 fatty acids – long before this became the prevailing nutritional wisdom. That the spread also had loads of omega-6s didn’t mean much to us - until I found information that omega-6s actually produce more inflammation in the body, which could possibly lead to increased incidence of blood clots.

Then I noticed there were far more omega-6s than omega-3s in our soft spread, which didn’t sound good because a family member had previously undergone heart surgery. Butter looked like a better option all the time, especially since we wouldn’t use a lot of it, but refrigerated butter was difficult to spread and butter left at room temperature might grow rancid.

Enter the butter keeper, a small crock that you fill with a little water before upending the butter-filled inner piece of the crock into it, to form an airtight seal. Change the water every two or three days, keep it closed unless you’re using the butter, and the all-natural spread remains sweet, fresh and, most of all, highly spreadable.

It was the best $10 I had spent in ages.

Albuquerque Flight Pattern

There's nothing like bubbly and donuts after your first hot air balloon ride. Our 'driver,' Brooke, offered both as he distributed flight certificates and lapel pins, and read the Irish Balloonist's Prayer aloud:

The winds have welcomed you with softness.

The sun has blessed you with his warm hands.

You have flown so high and so well that

God has joined us together in laughter and set us

gently back into the loving arms of Mother Earth.

A whoosh of hot air and whisper of breeze had ushered us into the early morning sky outside Albuquerque. With arm muscles bulging, Brooke deftly adjusted heavy-duty synthetic ropes that secured the rainbow-striped balloon to the passenger basket, and the burner that helps change the air pressure and balloon shape. Cameras clicked and whirred in every direction.

A smaller balloon to our right shimmered silver and blue against wispy clouds. The Rio Grande snaked below us, across the fall-colored landscape, and beneath a highway bridge where passing cars resemble ants. The balloon nearly skimmed the river’s surface before it rose to the treetops and traveled within several yards of upper branches.

Fifty-five minutes, three ground miles, and 1,700 feet in elevation later, Brooke slowly allowed hot air to escape through a vent in the balloon's crown so it could land in a field near where we started. We gently touched ground and departed the basket. Several passengers helped the crew squeeze air out of the spent balloon and then the festivities began.

Tasting Sonoma

Beginning in the late 1800s many Italian immigrants settled in the Sonoma Valley, which reminded them of their home country, and transplanted their wine making expertise to their new country.

Since that time, dozens of wineries have sprung up across the verdant valley where much of the wine experience is about small operations, small batches, and a family’s dedication to producing the best wine possible from one generation to the next. Today, travelers may visit hundreds of wineries throughout the region, for experiences that are as diverse as the wineries themselves.

Morning sun warms my face as I savor a heady Cabernet and watch the pruning of the vines, on a dew-kissed hilltop at Passalacque Winery – a fourth-generation operation. At Seghesio Family Vineyards, I taste and purchase a crisp and rare white Arneis from the Italian Piedmonte grape, as spunky matriarch, Rachael Ann Seghesio, tells the story of the family operation, which began five generations ago in 1895.

At Bella Vineyards and Wine Caves, owned by Scott and Lynn Adams, I sip a full-bodied syrah in manmade caves amidst 400 oak barrels and a rock-walled tasting room. At Dutcher Crossing the ’05 Merlot combines a weedy nose with soft tannins. Although I’ve barely scratched the surface my brief trip has ended, leaving plenty more tasting opportunities for my next visit.