We enjoyed dinner in the first night in our three-bedroom abode at The Lake House (the must-stay-at spot in Lake Chelan for the perfect home-away-from-home vacation). On day two, we were off to the wineries. Our first stop was Four Lakes Chelan Winery. Newly opened July 2009, we had to stop in and try their wines. A bit young they were… I would suggest giving them some more time in the bottle. The views, however, were spectacular.

Our second stop was Tildio Winery where we ran into an old friend… of sorts. We met Anton on our first official vacation to Chelan and he immediately recognized us when we walked into their tasting room. Check out their Tourmalet, a Pinot Noir, but snatch it up fast. They have ceased growing the grape and once this wine runs out, it is gone.

Hard Row to Hoe was our third stop – the name is a pun on the challenges of male miners in early Lake Chelan days and a nod to a tough harvest. It is fitting for viticulture and the history of the region, not to mention so ridiculously fun. This winery’s tasting room is dressed up as a brothel complete with room keys and kama sutra wallpaper. Don’t let the disguise fool you though; this wine is some of the best in Lake Chelan. The winemaker is a perfectionist and if a batch doesn’t aspire to greatness, it’s bottled under the Shameless Hussy label.

Saving our favorite for last, we ended our Saturday wine tasting tour at Benson Vineyards. We sampled through their new spring releases, tried a few old favorites, and some new red blends. Indecisive and feeling great at this point, we left a chunk of our paycheck behind in exchange for full case of wine. After tasting, we bought a bottle of Syrah and headed outside for picnic. We had packed a lunch with slow cooked ham, bread from the Anjou Bakery in Cashmere, and fromage from Mt. Townsend Creamery.

We had fun showing our family Lake Chelan and scoping out a spot to plant our vineyard. We will be back soon… in two weeks to be exact!

Upon arrival, we took the shell-covered and daffodil-lined pathway up to the longhouse where we were given a cupful of steaming clams in nectar. We tossed the shells onto the ground and crushed them with our toes, participating in the village’s sustainable landscaping.

Inside the longhouse, we watched a whole salmon being cooked over an alder-wood fire on cedar stakes in the traditional Northwest Coast Indian style. We were then escorted into an auditorium where we feasted on the salmon and accompanying side dishes like wild rice and mixed greens with blue cheese and dried cranberries.

As we finished the meal, the lights dimmed and we watched a stage show featuring the spirit of the Pacific Northwest’s coastal tribe. While interesting and captivating, being the foodie I am, I was most interested in learning how to prepare the salmon. We were given a demonstration following the show.

The native chef fit the cedar stake over the center of the whole fileted king salmon.

Then laced smaller stakes through the flesh to hold the salmon open and give it the most surface to catch the heat of the alder flames.

This is a technique, if feeling ambitious, my husband and I might be able to handle on a camping trip. Regardless of whether or not we use the preparation, I enjoyed learning a traditional method for cooking salmon.

After the demonstration and a short stroll around the grounds, the four of us headed back to the boat, gliding through the Puget Sound and Elliott Bay returning the Seattle waterfront. All of us truly enjoyed the holiday gift.

I have trouble finding my inner fair enthusiast. I don’t really want to buy anything, I’m not interested in the rides, and I try to stay as far away from the food as I can. Despite these initial feelings, I somehow seem to walk away from the event a happy girl.

When I was growing up, I was a Minnesota 4-Her. No, I did not show cows or wear a big belt buckle. I did live on a farm, but my interests expanded well beyond animals and agriculture. I baked, a lot – confetti cupcakes, corn muffins, and chocolate chip cookies. I sewed – tank tops, dresses, and skirts. I built circuits, dabbled in arts and crafts, and grew flowers for beautiful arrangements. I won a blue ribbon for demonstrating how to make my grandma’s home made noodles and I spread the 4-H word during my term as a Minnesota State 4-H Ambassador.

I often take for granted the ways these experiences have shaped my life, but I always seem to rediscover the memories at the Puyallup Fair. Last weekend, my husband, his mom, and I braved the heat and walked through the gates. We headed straight to the hobby hall in search of cooler air, but what we really found were giant pumpkins, home brewed beer, exquisite heirloom tomatoes, and wall-sized murals made with the bounty of Washington state granges.

After the hobby hall, we wandered into the fair museum. I was enthralled with black and white, aged photographs of grange displays from years past. I stared for what felt like hours at the memories, the artifacts – an old Sunbeam mixer, antique potato mashers, and a magic egg cleaner.

After I pulled myself from the museum, we walked diagonally across the fairgrounds to the 4-H building. We perused blue ribbon photographs, grand champion root vegetables, and watched as young 4-Hers scurried to get ready for the four o’clock fashion revue.

I was reminded of the ribbons I won, the lessons I learned, the friends I made, and the passion I felt every year at the Minnesota State Fair.

Despite the early rise, I must say it was the most productive four hours I have had this month. It gave me the opportunity to reflect on myself, my relationship, and my values; challenged me to think about where I want to go and what I want to accomplish in the next ten years. Would it surprise you that almost half of the items that made it onto my list are food-related? Depending on how well you know me, probably not, but it made me realize how incredibly passionate I am about the subject.

I have a few small, easy to check off goals like loading new songs on my iPod or learning how to can fruits and veggies.

Having kids is definitely a big goal and attending culinary school, a lofty goal. I have spent the last few years waffling on the latter. I do not want to be a restaurant chef, but I aspire to teach others how to cook (that is on my life list too).

This version of my life list is my 36 before 36, check boxes of skills and thrills I want to have and experience in the next ten years. Where do I start? What should I check off first? Before I worry too much, I decided that the first step is to declare it to the world. Here it is world (or slice of world that may happen to stumble upon this blog post). In no particular order, here is my life list.

• Take a hot air balloon ride.
• Taste wine in the South of France. (Charlie and I just booked a trip for next June. Where should we go?)
• Take a French cooking class, in France.
• Take a Spanish cooking class, in Spain.
• Take an Italian cooking class, in Italy.
• Keep a garden year round.
• Own and operate my own business.
• Help my mom launch her new product line.
• Take the 29gifts.org challenge.
• Teach someone how to cook. (Ideally an underprivileged family through a local volunteer organization.)
• Visit the west coast of Australia.
• Take a trip to Las Vegas with my family when my youngest brother turns 21. (So close.)
• Finish painting all of the rooms in our house. (My husband put this one on his life list too!)
• Prepare a multi-course dinner for my friends and family.
• Go to culinary school.
• Have 10,000 visitors to my blog.
• Publish an article.
• Dig for and prepare a geoduck.
• Read The Little Black Book of Style and follow as least five tips.
• Take a food and/or travel writing class.
• Have kids.
• Make a habit of placing worries in my God box, giving my fears up to the Universe.
• Take a yoga vacation, or keep a yoga regimen while on vacation.
• Join/assist with the Delridge Produce Co-op.
• Join a business networking group.
• Prepare my own lunch every day.
• Update the song list on my iPod.
• Keep our house clean and clutter free.
• Learn to can fruits and veggies.
• Sell our fruit wine at a farmers market.
• Reach our goal amount for our savings account.
• Travel to New York City. (Can you believe I have never been?)
• Visit New Orleans.
• Own and drive a hybrid or similar fuel efficient car.
• Attend a Minnesota Wild game at the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul, MN.
• Record the song I wrote for Charlie for our wedding.

If you happened to scope something out you might be able to help me with, raise your hand. I would be overjoyed to return the favor by helping you complete your own life list, food-centric or otherwise.

Whenever I go camping, it seems as though I leave my culinary acumen in the kitchen. I forget about farm fresh and stand idly by as my husband dumps cans of chili in the shopping cart. I watch as he hunts down a box of Cocoa Roos so he can fulfill what has somehow become a camping breakfast tradition. I hold my tongue, take a few deep breaths, and make sure to bring plenty of fruit and vegetables.

The bulk of our meals consisted of canned turkey chili and Johnsonville brats, Spaghettios and Tim’s Cascade potato chips.

We slightly redeemed ourselves with handmade turkey burgers (ground turkey, salt, pepper, and a couple of tablespoons of Sound Bites Lime Reisling Chimichurri), grilled wild salmon, and baby red potatoes that we wrapped in tinfoil and steamed over the open coals.

What would camping and a crackling fire be without s’mores? Hershey’s chocolate, toasty marshmallows, and Honey Maid graham crackers make an irresistible treat.

I snuck in some Crown S Ranch farm fresh eggs for breakfast one morning, ate my fair share of Washington cherries, and snacked on several handfuls of raw almonds throughout the weekend. It was a brief reprieve for the foodie.

Several days and layers of bug spray, sunscreen, and dirt later, I was craving a shower and the escape from having to decide, canned soup connoisseur or gourmet griller? I like my pots and pans, my bamboo spoons and spatulas, and my fresh ingredients. Perhaps I can pack them all up with me and take them on our next camping adventure.

I recently read a book that has changed the entire way I think about wine. Passion on the Vine author, Sergio Esposito, grew up in Naples and immigrated to America with his family when he was ten. They were welcomed to upstate New York by his relatives with a bland, uninspired meal – far from the feasts and watered down Sangiovese he was used to in Italy. Despite the Americanized ways of his uncle, he was one of Sergio’s only continued connections to wine, starting with the jug or two of country wine he always kept beneath the sink. As Sergio grew older, he refused to succumb to the boring fare slapped down on a plate and the lackluster wines that everyone loved… because some high and mighty critic told them to.

He dug down to his roots and began intimately studying Italian wines, working at restaurants, serving as a personal sommelier, and visiting the vineyards of his homeland, ultimately becoming America’s foremost authority on the subject.

Armed with extensive wine knowledge and with America’s palate in need of a makeover, Sergio was inspired to open Italian Wine Merchants, a shop dedicated to bringing the most authentic Italian wines to the United States. His memoir includes one of his frequent trips back to his Italy where he introduces the characters behind those passionate bottles of wine. From a farmer who uses the rhythm of the moon to guide his crops to a prince who destroys his vineyards prior to his death so that his grapes will never be used incorrectly, Passion on the Vine allows us to discover the intense emotional connection that comes from pouring your heart and soul into every cluster of grapes.

Sergio brings to light that the first quality winemakers were priests and alchemists, men who believed that nature was central to all understanding. Their simplistic belief was that best wine came from the best raw natural material. From the ground to the barrel and into the bottle, the winemaker is a trusting parent letting nature take 90% of the course and nurturing only 10%.

In Washington State’s newest American Viticulture Area (or AVA), Benson Family Vineyards takes a similar approach. Eleven, possibly twelve years ago, Paul and Kathy Benson, along with their two sons, Jeff and Scott, purchased 30 acres of orchards in the hills of Manson, high above Lake Chelan. They dug up the orchards, posted weather stations, and for the first year and a half, they monitored every slope, every patch of dirt to determine which vines to grow where and which direction to plant them. Only when the vines began to produce fruit (3 years later) did they even think about entering the winemaking business. The Benson family touches every cluster of grapes from the vine to the holding tanks, to the barrel, the bottle, and even in the tasting room.

On a recent trip to Chelan, Charlie and I found ourselves returning to Benson in search of more Curious, one of their most popular white blends. After we tasted a selection of wines and the crowd began to thin, Charlie and I struck up conversation with one of the Benson sons, Jeff. The more we spoke, the more exciting the conversation became and eventually we were running outside for a better view of the crops.

From atop the hill, he pointed out every row of grapes and why they chose to plant them where they did. Cabernet Sauvignon, east to west to get the most heat, and Reisling north to south to catch the breeze to cool them down. He shared stories about him and his dad thinning the vines and testing the Brix in preparation for harvest. He pointed out the clearing in the vineyards where he and his wife were married two years earlier, and revealed his frustration with the Riesling vines, telling us of his plans to tear them out and create a fishing pond for his kids. He caught himself showing a bit of his emotional side and puffed out his chest for a moment – “…and then we’re going to turn the room downstairs into Jeff’s Bar.” In retrospect it was a short conversation, but it was just long enough for him to openly share his family’s passion on the vine.

Oddly enough, but perhaps not so, I am beginning to think this way about everything I consume. Where and how was it grown? Was it truly cared for? Was it loved? I get a passionate spark just from the simple act of cooking, but if I grow some of the ingredients, hand-pick any of the components, it turns that spark into a fire.

Unfortunately, I have long been distanced from family farm and I am currently without a full garden, so I have developed a habit of visiting my local farmers market. I seek out fresh in-season produce, free range chickens, Washington honey, and apple-fed chicken eggs. I enjoy striking up conversations with the vendors, feeling passion emanate from their chests. It makes me feel good about what I eat and drink, gives me an emotional connection to my food, invigorates my local economy, and saves my palate from bland, mass-produced ingredients.

It saddens me to hear of massive food companies plumping their chickens with salt water, chiseling down carrots in factories, and slapping “organic” “natural” labels on processed food… all to make a few extra bucks. The thought, the care, the love, has seeped out of our meals. The only way to bring it back is to start creating a demand for it. If you choose to buy farm-fresh chicken eggs, you are one less person mindlessly picking up a carton of perfectly white, flavorless eggs. If you buy a whole chicken from the farmers market, perhaps your neighbor will too. Get to know the vintners that produced the fruit or your wine and they will continue to nurture their grapes.

I won’t twist your arm to jump on my bandwagon, but I encourage you to open your eyes and open your heart, create an emotional connection, and feel your own version of “passion on the vine.”

At 5 o’clock, I scrambled to leave work as fast as I could. I wanted some additional time to pick up a few items before the event got under way. My first stop was at the Grateful Bread Company tent for a sample of their Struan multigrain and French breads. I was heading out to Chelan for the weekend and the French bread seemed like an ideal companion for a grilled steak, so I picked up a loaf.

Collins Family Orchard brought overflowing boxes of cherries to the market and I was more than thrilled to help them get rid of a few.

I introduced myself to Jason from Local Roots and snatched their last bag of “not so spicy” mixed greens. These eventually made their way into a cherry, goat cheese, and walnut salad (enjoyed with the aforementioned steak).

After one more look around and a quick contemplation of nut butters and eggs, it was time to reconvene with my fellow food bloggers at Queen Anne’s Eat Local.

I have driven by Eat Local more than a handful of times. I was intrigued, but didn’t quite understand what they offered. Verbatim from their website, here is the description: Eat Local is an artisan food store offering prepared meals made with seasonal, organic ingredients bought directly from local farms. Even though I enjoy cooking on a regular basis, I decided this would be a great option when I am low on time, but still want to consume a local meal. In addition to their frozen appetizers, entrees, and desserts, Eat Local also retails Washington wines, Rockridge Orchards cider, Bluebird Grains, Woodrings spreads, and local cheeses.

(I met and reconnected with a collection of fabulous food bloggers at this event, including Hungry Grrl, Mise en Place Seattle, and Nude Food.)

For the most part a chain restaurant city, we settled on Old Chicago for pizza and Minnesota microbrews. A stop at Marlin’s in the morning for cornbread sausage benedict (tasty, but laden with calories I’m sure) and we were in the car for a five-hour trip north for my youngest brother’s high school graduation. [Insert stop at Burger King here.]

My mom made fall-apart barbecue pork sandwiches, bok choy salad, and crab dip for the party. We ate while on our toes, chased the kids around, and chatted for hours with relatives and neighbors. One more night’s rest and we were back on the road driving five hours south to Minneapolis to witness my cousin Ben tie the knot. [Insert stop at Burger King here.] A ceremony and a celebration later, we were crawling back into bed. I was relieved we didn’t have to jump back in the car the next day, relishing the chance to relax, soak up the city, and sit down for a meal or two.

I lived in Minneapolis for several years and had walked by The News Room (on the corner of Nicollet and 10th) several dozen times, but never sampled fare from the bistro. Only two blocks from our hotel, it was the perfect choice for an outdoor lunch with my parents, brother, and his girlfriend. I was overjoyed, yet overwhelmed by the menu.

Should I get the meatloaf sandwich, the walleye and bulgar, perhaps the calamari salad?

I eventually settled on the Herb Seabass Salad and I was far from disappointed. Layered with mixed greens, candied pine nuts, bacon, and parmesan crisps tossed with truffle vinaigrette, the entrée, along with a glass of crisp Pinot Grigio, was just the contrast my palate needed.

Catching a Minnesota Twins game at the Metrodome that evening, we digressed. No Burger King drive-thrus, but we did settle on a Famous Dave’s barbecue sandwich, stadium-priced beer, popcorn, and cotton candy for dinner. Eh, we can’t be (or otherwise eat) good all the time.

Our last morning in Minneapolis, we ate a highly recommended breakfast at Hell’s Kitchen. I will go back to this place for the peanut butter alone… and for the sausage bread, the cornmeal pancakes, and the maple-glazed bison sausage. Yum! At the airport we skipped Burger King and stuck to a few pretzels and an apple as we waited to board our westbound plane.

We covered our Cannon Beach bases with the candy, confections, and local brew, but the foodie in me wanted to branch out. We’ve walked and driven past EVOO more than both our fingers and toes can count, but I never thought to take a cooking class while on vacation. The opportunity would not slip by us this time around.

Our mainstay cottage at Sea Sprite greeted us on Friday afternoon and we settled in by unloading groceries, walking the windswept beach, and curling up with books by the fireplace. Saturday was for exploration. We walked to town by way of sand, past Haystack Rock, and up away from the beach via Midtown. First grabbing a latte at Bella Espresso, we ventured into shops new and old, tasted vino at The Wine Shack, and visited EVOO, the setting for the evening feast. We met the featured winemaker, Michael Sebastiani, of Highway 12 and Cathedral Ridge wineries and introduced ourselves to Chef Bob and his beautiful wife, Lenore. Bob instructed us to immediately stop eating in preparation for the five courses up ahead.

Charlie and I drove back into town at 6:45pm, well rested from a nap, and dressed for a dinner party. We were escorted to our reserved seats and congratulated on our anniversary. After mingling and wine pouring, Chef Bob dove into the first course; emphasizing the importance of mise en place in keeping the event enjoyable for both host and guests. The first course was a grilled halibut with saffron risotto, carrot and green slaw, apple kim chee, and candied walnuts. The combination of fresh and bright, earthy, and sweet flavors played back and forth with its pairing, a Highway 12 2007 Chardonnay.

The Cathedral Ridge 2007 Pinot Gris played more of a backseat against the house made falafel with chive pita crisps, garlic-yogurt sauce, cilantro pesto, and tomato jam. The seemingly overwhelming elements of the dish played very well together. The cucumbers in the yogurt sauce calmed the acidity of the tomato jam and the pita crisps balanced the gentle texture of the falafel.

Sebastiani’s Highway 12 2006 Estate Syrah was fruity on the nose, but subtle in flavor, complementing the tender confit of duck leg with house made paparadelle noodles and pine nuts. Garnished with braised capers, olives, and spicy pepperonata, this dish was a standout of the night.

Course number five was a rosemary roasted strip loin of beef with tarragon mash and blue cheese demi. When I heard Oregon Blue, my taste buds positioned themselves for a luscious blue cheese flavor, but they were disappointed when it did not come forward in the dish. On the upside, the strip of loin was tender and moist, the rosemary jumping forward with each sip of Cathedral Ridge 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon.

The finale was a hazelnut chocolate tart with white port poached pear, mascarpone, and toasted pistachio. I savored every bite. While the Highway 12 Aleatico pairing was on the sweet side, I found that a warm cup of coffee was this dessert’s true companion.

Feeling satiated, but light and satisfied we retreated to the Sea Sprite with a newfound Cannon Beach tradition. Perhaps our cotton anniversary will consist of an apron, a chef’s hat, and the two of us gathered in the kitchen at EVOO.

We left work early, but two hours after the first carload headed east. My husband insisted on driving the whole way so I, bored easily, played with my iPhone, sang karaoke-style to the songs blasting from my iPod, and struck up a new conversation every 20 minutes or so. I was hungry by the time we hit Cle Elum so we stopped at Dairy Queen for ice cream and chicken strips. My body yearned for vegetables, but deep-fried protein was all it would get for now.

We arrived in Chelan at the tail end of dinner. Our three friends had already broken in the grill with a filet of salmon and roasted vegetables. Still hungry and craving produce, I ate up the last few bites of food. Wine drinking, popcorn eating, and board gaming soon followed.

The next morning I whipped up a batch of whole wheat drop biscuits and my husband cracked and scrambled eggs alongside sizzling bacon. We brewed green tea and ate plump red grapes. We (I mean, the girls) laid yoga mats on the sprawling deck and met the sun with salutations. It was a glorious morning.

The five of us squished into one car and headed to the north side of the lake in search of a tasting room. Driving past Wapato Point Cellars we got lost and started following signs for Chelan’gra La Winery. We accepted the fate of our wild goose chase when we discovered an old, empty-looking house with a large sign boasting “Winery” and quickly turned back around. Tildio Winery was the first official stop of our wine tasting afternoon. Cross your fingers that Anton is pouring if you decide to go. Knowledgeable, witty, passionate – his connection was a definite highlight.

We hit up six wineries that afternoon – Hard Row to Hoe (burlesque-style tasting room), Wapato Point Cellars (including the classy Winemaker’s Grill), Benson Vineyards (delightful family and beautiful old vines), Lake Chelan Winery (we signed up for their wine club), and Vin du Lac (delicious French onion soup).

By the time we finished sipping and swirling, we were ready for some grilled red meat.

My grill master husband made a spicy dry rub for Chris and Renee’s New York Strip, Lisa’s chicken breast, and our cheapo Safeway cuts of Bottom Round. When the stainless steel propane apparatus was hot enough, he threw the five pieces of meat on the rack, monitoring closely to achieve the perfect doneness.

I was ok with our inexpensive cut of beef… until I saw Renee cut into her New York Strip from A & J Meats and Seafood on Queen Anne.

I think she saw me drooling over her piece of steak so she offered up a bite and I eagerly accepted. It melted in my mouth; the dry spicy rub complementing the tenderness of the meat. I was in heaven. At the same time, I was sad. I went back to my steak and cut a thin, fatty piece. There was no flavor, just dry spicy rub. It was uninspired, lackluster, and old. I wanted more wine. I needed it to wash away the blah steak.

Overall, the weekend was exactly what I had hoped for, minus the beef. Would it be possible to have a do-over on the first official barbecue of the season?