Bringing The Heartland to GodZone. And Vice Versa.
I have been requested to cook something American. Not sure what to do, considering most things quintessentially American come from a can, bag, or jar (Rice-a-roni, Chef-Boy-R-Dee, Chicken Tonight) or are already ubiquitous the world over. You can be within spitting distance of Antarctica and still find yourself a nice bucket o' KFC.
Yesterday I bought six bottles of wine in Wairarapa with the hopes I'd be able to smuggle them back into the US without a fuss. I managed to do it with three bottles of whisky from Scotland last year and I'm praying that the customs gods are still on my side. Maybe I am pressing my luck.
Martha and I stalked Peter Jackson. Well, we drove past his house and managed to get a glimpse of some turrets, a railroad tunnel, a surveillance camera and some pretty impressive gates. Apparently he's got his own Neverland Ranch back there.