Documentary, My Dear Watson

When the summer TV doldrums hit, which they still do, despite the kazillion shows we could watch, we turn to Heidi's favorite genre, documentaries. In the last week, we've spent some time back in 1984 and 85, learning about the genesis and unintended complications of Live Aid, and in 1988 and 89, sharing the sorrow and confusion of the people who lost loved ones when Pan Am flight 103 exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland. We also watched a series about the kids who were murdered at Idaho State University in 2022. The last two are not our usual fare, but somehow we got caught up in those sad stories. 

Maybe tonight? Something a little lighter and a lot more upbeat. It is Christmas in July over at the Hallmark Channel. 🤔

Movie Magic

A friend invited us to see the new Superman movie this afternoon, and given that temperatures were predicted to be in the 90s all day, we agreed. As the lights dimmed for the preview reel, that thrill of anticipation stirred, as it has all my life when I'm at the movies. 

There were actually a few things that looked promising as the teasers played, too, especially Project Hail Mary, based on the riveting book by Andy Weir (who also wrote The Martian) and starring Ryan Gosling. Christopher Nolan's take on The Odyssey, to be released in July 2026, looked pretty good, too, and so did part 2 of Wicked.

The feature itself was generally underwhelming. Despite generally positive reviews, I found it to be a cartoonish and campy version of the Superman origin story and his rivalry with Lex Luthor. The rest of the patrons in the full theater seemed to enjoy it, though, and when all was said and done, I didn't need to love it. It was a perfectly diverting way to spend a couple of hours on a July afternoon.

And? It was the movies!

Well, I Guess So

I've been reading a lot about summer coffee drinks, and I decided to pull the trigger and try the espresso lemonade I've seen in several articles. Everyone says pretty much the same thing: it sounds awful, but it tastes great-- complex and refreshing. When I thought about it, lemon and espresso wasn't really that big of a stretch, especially considering that the tiny cup of strong coffee is often accompanied by a lemon twist on the saucer when served in Italy.

The recipes I consulted offered several variations, which was helpful, since I don't own an espresso machine. Most agreed that cold brew, or Japanese iced coffee, made a bit stronger than usual, would be good substitutes. So, yesterday I made a pour-over using a decaf Kenyan coffee, and iced it. Then I added a splash of simply lemonde and finished it with cold seltzer.

It was pretty good! The coffee and lemon were surprisingly complementary, and the seltzer gave the drink a little buzz. At any rate, I liked it enough to play around with the recipe some more.

Bella Ciao

"Oh my gosh, I know this song!" I interrupted Heid and Mary at breakfast yesterday. I had been enjoying the eclectic playlist as we sat in the sunny dining room, identifying the Gypsy Kings and James Taylor playing quietly over the clink of tableware and the murmur of conversations at the tables around us.

The summer I was 18, I worked as a counselor at a summer school in England. A few programs were going on that summer: a high school drama camp, a couple of sports camps, and an intensive language program for English learners in grades 3-12. As the youngest member of the staff, I was the utility person, filling in and supporting other counselors and teachers as needed. I was also a dorm resident for the 10 high-school-aged girls. 

We were only in session for five weeks, but like any intense, residential situation when you're that age, we shared a lot of memorable experiences. The song that I heard playing at breakfast transported me to the center bench seat of a VW van on its way to Wales. We were going to hike Mt. Snowden, and one of the girls, Manuela, was telling us the story of her grandfather, who was a partisan in Italy during WWII. "There is a song we always sing when we hike with him," she said, "that was the song of the partisans."

And she began to sing the very catchy folksong, Bella Ciao. We all learned the first two verses, and we sang them at the top of our lungs up and down the mountain, as well as at dinner, and any other time it occurred to one of us to start for the rest of the summer. The version I heard yesterday was by the American cross-genre orchestra, Pink Martini, and the Italian lyrics came flooding back to me, so I sang along. 

Una mattina mi son svegliato
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Una mattina mi son svegliato
Eo ho trovato l'invasor 

One morning I woke up
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
One morning I woke up
And I found the invader

O partigiano porta mi via
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
O partigiano porta mi via
Che mi sento di morir

Oh partisan, carry me away,
O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Oh partisan, carry me away,
For I feel I'm dying

Influencers

"Oh my gosh! Jack's is closed today!" I reported in dismay. Mary had just settled in the back seat, and the three of us, wearing our matching breakfast club t-shirts, were about to embark on our latest adventure. (Regular readers may recall that after a Denny's disappointment last summer, Mary, Heidi, and I went out to breakfast once a week or so to compare local restaurants.) This year, we decided to focus on breakfast sandwiches, after a great one at Metro 29 Diner.

I tapped the map app on my phone and searched for "breakfast near me." The first place it listed was Del Ray Cafe, not two miles from where we were, and off we went. The restaurant was welcoming from the start: located in a converted home just off the main thoroughfare, we climbed wide wooden steps to the front porch and pulled open the screen door. Inside, we were greeted by friendly staff and led upstairs to a bright dining room with farmhouse tables and a natural wood ceiling open to a skylight at the peak. Red and white gingham napkins and porcelain coffee cups were at each place setting.

And it only got better from there. Our waiter was charming and efficient, and the French-inspired menu with house-baked pastries and locally sourced ingredients was interesting and inviting. We all quickly settled on our orders, and as we sat there, another patron stopped by the table on her way out. "This place is fantastic," she told us. "If you've never been here, you'll love it. I eat here about once a week." Then she told us she loved our Breakfast Club t-shirts and asked how to join.

Our food did not disappoint, and we had all agreed on our first-ever straight five-star rating, based on food, service, and ambiance, when our waiter offered us a complimentary dessert. A short while later, he brought us six mini profiteroles, dusted with powdered sugar and served with house-made raspberry sauce, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. 

We wondered if it was the t-shirts, the other diner, or the pictures that Mary took and posted of our food that may have led him to believe we were more important than we might be, but it didn't matter. The dessert was delicious, and we will definitely return to Del Ray Cafe! 

And you should, too!

I'm Never Gonna Stop the Rain by Complaining

On the night we arrived at Heidi's mom's house, we made a calendar of things the three of us wanted to do in Buffalo over the next five days. "I'm a planner," Louise likes to tell us, and so we made a plan. Lobster rolls at Olcott Beach were on it, and so were the movies and replacing those screen doors. The final item on our list was to visit East Aurora and have brunch at the Roycroft Inn before shopping at America's largest five and dime, Vidler's, which is what we did yesterday.

The Inn is part of the Roycroft Campus, one of the early centers of the Arts & Crafts movement of America. The architecture and furniture are lovely, and the food is fine, although we were soundly reminded that all-you-can-eat buffets are not a good value for three women over 50. 

Even so, the highlight of the day for me was when we came out of the beautiful old building to find a torrential downpour. Rather than dash across the street to the car, we opted to take seats in some mission-style rocking chairs on the enormous porch and wait out the storm. As I rocked contentedly in the warm, humid afternoon air, considering the enormous raindrops splashing into puddles on the sidewalk, I couldn't remember the last time I sat outside and watched it rain, but I was sure I would find the occasion to do it again soon.

A Shopping Excursion

Since we love to do so at home, we thought it would be fun to shop at a local farmers market while up here in Buffalo, and a nearby Saturday market seemed like just the ticket. 

The village of Williamsville is one of the many suburbs that flow into each other on the outskirts of Buffalo. It is one of the older of the many hamlets in the area, settled in the mid-1800s around a mill built on Elicott Creek. The architecture along the tree-lined streets is mostly early 20th-century eclectic, much like that of Arlington, and unlike the midcentury colonials, ranchers, and prairie-style tract homes that populate Heidi's mom's subdivision.

We felt at home as we parked in front of one of the several small independent businesses on Main Street and walked over to the city hall parking lot, but it quickly became clear how far north we are. There were no tomatoes or peaches, but they still had winter apples from last season, as well as lots of greens, onions, a few ears of corn, and some small zucchini. But the most surprising thing to us was that it was a cash-only market, which left us out since we are accustomed to the mostly cash-free economy in the DMV. 

Oh, we could have gone back to the car to tap the emergency money we have hidden away, but in the end it didn't seem worth it. We ducked into the local coffee roaster and snag a bag of single estate beans from Huila, Columbia before driving a mile back up Main where we found a locally-sourced green grocer. Still no tomatoes, but we bought a quart of housemade chicken stock and some pickled red onions before heading home, not unsatisfied in the least.