Last Wednesday, my friend Dianna showed me the community garden in South Beach. With retro signs (community gardens are quietly beginning to be called Victory Gardens again across the United States) and a convenient location in the South of Fifth section, the garden boasts a waiting list years long and acts as a quiet hub for energetic locals.

An ideal way to find people who share your concern for thoughtful food,

in a way that Dianna’s Mr. Cecil approves.

Thursday night I flew toward another community garden in Portland, Oregon.

After Friday morning pastries from Boulangerie in the Northwest section (skip the croissants and tend toward the more complicated offerings), I unwrapped a pork belly banh mi off the Bunk Sandwiches board—

with perfectly toasted bread, melting pork belly, the right sort of red sauce, cilantro, and julienned carrots, perhaps the best sandwich of my life.

And so I fell silent for part of the Friday drive with my beautiful sister Kat to the Erath and Ponzi vineyards near to Portland,

where even Erath’s Pinot flight (the Reserve Pinot Gris that is only sold at the winery is lovely) was no match for Kat’s homemade cherry kombucha, and we headed out the next morning for other healthful local food at the Portland Farmers’ Market with Reid and their friend Nathania,

to marvel at incredible morels,

unusual snow morels (that almost look sculpted),

music all around,

prepared market food like asparagus pesto and bacon on a bagel, and breakfast burritos wrapped in fresh, thin tortillas.

Full of families visiting, eating, laughing, the Pickelopolis stand awed younger market shoppers,

baskets of rhubarb waited to be stewed, roasted, and baked into crumbles and pies, jams,

and Ranoculus and purple flowers carried the day.

Close to purple flowers, bundles of purple asparagus waited,

though we opted for local fried asparagus from Burgerville, the In-n-Out chain of the Pacific Northwest, (pick off the batter and dip the spears in the included aioli,)

and crossing the St. John bridge, we picked lettuces and onions from Kat and Reid’s plot in the community garden (I resisted picking dandelions).

The two explain what they’ve planted:

and we peered closer at the potato plants,

peas on a trellis Reid has devised,

soft lettuces glowing in the sun that hits parts of their plot,

and then Reid appreciated the smell of the freshly-dug onions in the backseat all the way to the Oregon coast, where even toddlers skate,

and the trees stand tall,

covered with moss,

and we waded over to the side where smaller waves washed into the shore,

and held forth with a picnic of crusty market bread, herbed chevre, wine, olives, and strawberries,

before returning to Kat and Reid’s apartment in Portland to simmer those morels in cream, sauté fiddlehead ferns and nettles with their onions, and roast parsnips, delighting in the way foods from this moment in the season play off each other.

Sunday, I visited Kat working at Cacao (where she introduced me to a fabulous new chocolate bar that tastes of blood oranges) and sipped drinking chocolate,

and after she closed the shop, we shared a spicy avocado sandwich with bread that did taste alive along with a bowl of beans, quinoa, and kale at Blossoming Lotus.

As yoga practitioners emerged from class in the adjoining studio, we joined them in breathing deeply as sisters and even closer friends…

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Two weeks without my CSA farm box (today’s box is heavy on the squash), and I was ready for Florida citrus, beans and tomatoes in season, and chard.

Go early enough and you’ll see the light play off the vegetables,

find orchids in conversation,

and fractal cauliflower and their leaves that my favorite farmer is anxious for locals to cook like collards.

He helped me set up a shot with the chard, cauliflower greens, purple haze carrots, purple spring onions, and beets that spilled out of my market bag (and sent me off with an extra tomato for good measure),

and I ran into my colleague Marika with her twins (one who has mastered Downward Dog, it seems) as I left the market headed for yoga and an afternoon of positioning local vegetables…

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My friend Holly wrote me tonight that she took the same beets I found at the Coral Gables farmers’ market on Saturday and made a beautiful carrot-beet-shallot soup and folded the beet tops into an omelet.

Inspired, I took out my guitar (I know, story for another time) and decided to work on my power chords.

And this led to bacon rendered for sautéed beets and bok choy, my power chord (bacon being the silent third, of course) for local Miami food tonight—and note the lower right of this image.

I have always disliked Canadian bacon because I expect stripes in circular form (imagine what a revelation pancetta was); wonderful then, are the interior mandala slices of chioggias, that, forked, reveal themselves to be other than what they seem…

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Yesterday, the delightful Rosental Alves, who directs the Knight Center for Journalism in the Americas, invited me to talk to his journalism class preceding one of the Knight News Challenge meetups I am in town to convene.

At breakfast before class, he explained his surprise at his ‘migaddiction’–he especially likes the migas at Kerbey Lane near campus:

This morning I discovered more Austin surprises when I followed a sign to the Umlauf Sculpture Garden.

Striking sculptures, mostly from a decade I also like vintage from,

were positioned near pink waterlilies rising from the pond that centers this peaceful park.

To keep things interesting (and appropriately Austin), there is a warthog across from…

Eve.

A likelier (and auspicious) combination followed at the South Congress Cafe, an establishment that has perfected the art of brunch: crab cakes and tomato-stilton soup.

Across the street from the cafe is the Hey Cupcake truck, home of the Michael Jackson cupcake, and I considered it.

And then, I decided to get on up and explore other vintage neighborhood scenes, happening upon Sugar Mama’s cupcake shop:

Sugar Mama’s has a James Brown cupcake. That easily trounced that other one.

If you need a refresher course on funk moves, the Godfather of Funk illustrates:

As I watched the darkening skyline at the Uncorked wine bar on 7th Street tonight, I thought about sunsets, swan songs, flights, and one of my favorite James Brown dance moves, the robot (it’s in the video above).

Tomorrow and Sunday, I will be surrounded by robots and inventors and creative energy at Maker Faire; here’s to the sexy machines of the immediate future—

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The food is as satisfying as the great typefaces in the logo, and Pilar tells me everything is made in the restaurant:

My favorite is the “americana” empanada—smoked panceta, mozzarella, and plum—and Pilar and Juan’s mother both approve of my choice, as it is a traditional Argentinian combination.

The empanadas can be ordered baked or souffléd; cleverly, each is stamped to distinguish the type.

I think my regular order will be two empanadas (an americana and an onion) and a dulce de leche pastelito. As I’ve discovered, the only way to improve the caramel-like goodness of dulce de leche is to warm it inside a crispy pastry shell.

Many congratulations to Pilar and Juan on their new restaurant and being small business owners.

I now plan to bring all my Miami visitors to Half Moon so I can order dulce de leche pasteles—er, so they too can experience this heavenly empanada shop.

Half Moon Empanadas, 1616 Washington Avenue, Miami Beach, FL 33139, 305.532.5277 (delivery in South Beach)

What’s your favorite empanada? Any you’d suggest as new flavors for Half Moon?

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She smiled as we heard the sounds of things uncivilized approaching…

and an ATV trio rumbled past in their mudded glory.

We stopped for local fruit on the side of the road (more on that when it ripens),

and continued on to Bee Heaven Farm in Homestead where Jenne gracefully shook the avocados.

We tested the farm’s raw honey (wildflower was my favorite), I procured fresh bee pollen that will keep well in the freezer, and on we drove to the Homestead flea market produce area.

Two girls were taking pony rides together, and shortly, saddled with bags of local vegetables, we two drove back to the magic cottage to toast our adventure into the Miami afternoon…

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Awash in the interesting mix of high and low culture, we arrived at Robert Is Here, the fruit emporium that began in 1959 as a roadside stand.

Perusing stacks of sugarcane that look like weathered book spines,

I thought a tall sugarcane would be an excellent walking stick for the food expedition ahead. (Read the rest after the jump.)

The fresh guavas were a brilliant green;

the mangoes were subdued, almost blushing.

Then, Jessica and I found the alarmingly large jackfruit (she’s holding a mango for size comparison).

Wikipedia suggests that jackfruit tree heartwood dyes the robes of Southeast Asian Buddhist forest monastics the traditional yellowish-brown shade, and I believe any tree that supports fruit this large must be imbued with quiet power.

Behind the fruit area a menagerie wanders,

including an ostrich that patiently poses,

and a spunky little turtle reaching out

that Jessica gracefully acknowledged a connection to—

I returned to the magic cottage, butterflies brushing by my knees,

and, just in time, ducked under an expansive web spanning native plants that surround the yard.

What do we almost miss as we go our usual routes? I returned to the gate and walked the path again, glancing up to see another web, another spider spinning,

I looked down to see one of the yellow flowers I often pluck from the gravel to fasten behind my ear as I leave;

trained to reach like our new turtle friend, the flowers fall from the trellis,

making way for a new cycle of growth to begin…

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