in Miami, have the tire patched in that area within wandering range of neighborhood Cuban restaurants, where they serve roasted pork with soft red peppers, grilled onions, the whole plate filled with the good pieces you usually selectively unearth and save for last—

and progress to the black beans and rice and the sticky plantains, too much by far (especially for seven dollars), but nice to attempt as the cars race down 8th Street in front of you.

Then, in my opinion, you should meet a good friend at a good bookstore and sip bubbly things while you plan for trips to other destinations with decidedly different transportation options and cuisines, leaving holes for chance excursions, literary inspiration, and lazy afternoons.

I firmly believe Sunday afternoons should be sparkly…

Setting the banana bread on the ledge to cool, I listened to the birds singing and sipped fresh buttermilk—the lagniappe from making butter yesterday (recipe).

As it keeps, new butter weeps into the parchment paper wrapper—throwing off milk droplets—and it melts gracefully into warm bread with a crispy crust.

Steadying food for a morning after floating through courses at Sra. Martinez in the Miami Design District last night with Jessica, who is one of my favorite people to explore menus with:

Look beyond the cheese plate (Manchego, Valderon, Murcia al Vino) to the crispy artichokes, quartered with their stems and just right with a Lavender Sidecar—a reminder that something fried with a light touch is a good beginning to a series of small plates,

and then there was a salad with dark roasted beets (think how beautiful this would be with Chioggias), purpled apple slices (I imagine, like the Murcia cheese, soaked in wine), a piped star of blue cheese and almonds.

The kitchen sent out spiced corn, a vegetable dish to rival the beets (don’t bother with the brussels or the sweet potatoes on the menu), and then a chocolate cake that, as Jess explains, we saved until most of the yogurt ice cream had melted into the accompanying basil oil and tomato marmalade—that, like Miami at its best, was strangely beautiful and a surprise…

Saturday morning at 12:01 a.m., my (invisible) plane touched down in Nashville and America/Americana Day III began.

Cava is always involved with America Day celebrations (see America Day I and America Day II), and a cork soon popped at the apartment; Stewart, John, Ben, Michael, and I toasted to the revelries ahead:

Then, there was Mothership Wit on draft at the Riverfront Tavern, and stellar huckleberry vodka that led to some of us not waking as gloriously as the tulips,

that waved near the Noshville diner, where Lady Liberty waited on the roof (you can see her in the distance above), whole pickles unnerved us on the table, and the server wanted to take part in America Day.

Stewart and I both ordered the ‘We Dare Ya’ breakfast, a dare we lost to pancakes the size of flying saucers,

and afterwards, we began incorporating all the elements of country music songs: reverence, wine, and Baby Jesus,

a nice day for (any kind of) a white wedding,

casually perplexing proposals (I found a large ring with a white stone that we needed to fold into the America Day narrative and Wonder Woman costume—so, this is the America Day where Wonder Woman becomes engaged to a hot Nashville musician).

Michael analyzed what Wonder Woman’s ideal wedding gown would look like in reference to cupcakes,

Ben disappeared to find coffee (which should be a country song),

new leaves heralded Spring,

and dogwoods bloomed in front of the Nashville Parthenon, where this scholarly group was bound.

I circled Stewart, John, and Ben with my Lariat of Truth,

before deciding to lasso a saxophone player instead,

and in this place of learning, we noted that really all of America rests upon what’s written on the bench:

We drove to East Nashville’s Hip Zipper vintage,

discovered I Dream of Weenie was closed and our weenery dreams were to be unfulfilled,

so we bought scratch tickets at a gas station and headed toward Cowboy fashion on Broadway.

As is America Day tradition, Ben met a bachelorette,

Stewart lit a cigarette (seriously, how gorgeous is my Facebook husband? Note the vehicle in the background) while John stood by in a very serious black cowboy hat,

Ben evaluated Michael’s boot choices,

I liked the boots I was wearing,

that prompted this wonderful Linda Carter story from a sales clerk.

We were welcomed in American Apparel,

where Ben Superman and Michael contemplated truly blue jeans,

though I liked the lettering on Hatch Print Shop posters more.

We five decided B. B. King’s was appropriately American, taking the long walk back to Section D,

extending the pickle motif with fried pickle chips and horseradish sauce along with Blues Brew.

I ordered a Porktato (yes, I take implicit menu dares as well, and I think a Tofutato would also be great),

before the boys gave each other direction in matching sweatbands,

and we headed out for an American dance party at Mad Donna’s,

with Michael reminding us that Girls Just Wanna Have Fun across the street at Lipstick Lounge,

and we suffered through terrible karaoke before returning to Riverfront Tavern in America Day stripes by Ryan (at left) and plaid (Matt, to the right of John).

Ben was reunited with his bachelorette,

and there was more of that lovely huckleberry vodka.

The next morning, we brunched in the sunlight at Mad Donna’s,

with Michael’s French toast swimming in double doses of syrup and caramel,

and Ben’s unusual, colorful Cap’n Crunchberry French toast serving as a metaphor for our merry Day encrusted with bright flecks of Americana.

As this fantastic four dropped me at the airport, I glanced back with love—I will meet them anywhere for next year’s America Day IV (Chicago? New York? Los Angeles? Where do you think?)—

and we do hope that those of you that couldn’t join us this year will rejoin us or experience the magic of America Day for the first time next year…

View the entire Flickr set with additional photos and videos here.

Sometimes you see people training for their next jobs while walking through parks in Washington, D.C.

Late yesterday afternoon, I met with Justin, Jon, and Brad of the Aten Design Group (they are building the next phase of Knight Pulse) over paninis at Busboys and Poets (Brad Jon, a fellow foodie, also chose a peanut butter + banana panini).

Later, I convinced Drupalers (it’s DrupalCon this week) to meet at Biagio for a Madecasse tasting. The fabulous Liza shares her opinion:

Ian countered with this comparison:

Then, I was enchanted by Annie’s art in Andrew and Annie’s beautiful kitchen:

We drank home brew (always a good idea) from a friend of theirs,

and cooked dinner talking about Andrew and Annie’s upcoming travels, the importance of taking vacation, Annie’s stellar site launch checklists, Andrew’s vision of progress through science (read the blog), and the delightful eccentricities of family gatherings.

And then Ian and Liza convinced me to head back over (ancho caramels are quite motivational) to a rooftop in Adams Morgan, and there was blueberry beer on the table, 12seconds uploading happening, and all sorts of code-related antics were being planned at neighboring tables, small droplets loosely joined in this place newly filled with hope…

The best way to see Chicago skyscrapers might just be from a gondola on the ferris wheel at Navy Pier.

John and I ascended to see the late Friday afternoon skyline, which John perhaps would have preferred to see from the ground,

(Read the rest after the jump) More »»