Note To Future Self

Alert the press. We’ve reached the “cheesy smile.”

As previously reported, last month we escaped the disaster zone for a trip up north to Golden Bay, the northerny-most bit of the South Island. The timing wasn’t entirely coincidental, we hoped to journey just far enough north to return to summer’s good graces before it left the Southern hemisphere altogether.

Overall, I’d say we succeeded admirably. Twas sunny enough many days for a splash in the ocean, though the wind was often quite cool.

Also, there was tramping.

Golden Bay is a bit of a land apart. By road, it’s isolated from “civilization” by the Takaka Hill, a steep 800 m plateau serviced by one steep and winding road. For whatever reasons it’s developed a near-perfect mix of hippy backwater, grumbling old farmers, and family vacation playland.

It also hosts two National Parks (Kahurangi and Abel Tasman), two Great Walks (the Heaphy and Abel Tasman) and two towns

We exercised the proper Kiwi option, renting a “bach” (someone else’s beach house) for the whole week. The perfect place to unpack, assign rooms to all involved, cook in the kitchen, relax on the porch and just sprawl without worrying about other vacationers.

We traveled the length and breadth of Golden Bay (all 40 minutes top-to-bottom), sampling many tasty treats, and our chief beach tester sampled many sandy beaches.

Golden Bay is one of those places where families decamp for months on end during the summer holiday. I think it would be near over-full in January.

It certainly wasn’t over-full for us.

… in our ongoing series of photo essays detailing all the ways in which dad rules.

Piggy pies and slices of apple and pear for dinner. Hm, and some dad juice of course.

Uh, and poor choice of depth of field. Check.

Of course it’s nutritious. It’s got the, uh, pig food group. And the raisin and dough food groups.

Now eat yer apple or I’ll make you do another hot salsa shooter…

Summer, where have you gone?

Try for a moment, dear reader, to imagine me dancing around the living room with a lampshade on my head.

Yes, that happy.

Well, our beans maybe gnarled and withered, and our lettuce bolts as soon as we turn our backs, but one thing we can grow is tomatillos. Boy can we ever.

Unfortunately, I only have two recipes that use them: braised pumpkin in tomatillo salsa and chicken and spinach tacos (in the land of disappointing corn chips, we don’t go through salsa like we used to) .

With over 64 ounces of roasted tomatillos already in the freezer, I need some other ideas. Help!