FOOD EXPECTATIONS AND REALITIES

Yes, I'm wearing a bib. What of it?

Last week I promised I'd be writing about Disneyland this week. I lied. I want to talk about the American food I found on my recent trip instead.

Sorry if you came looking for Mickey Mouse. Even more sorry if you're sick to death of hearing about my holiday to California and Nevada. Just bear in mind, it's probably the most interesting thing that'll happen to me all year, so it's either my travel stories, or a detailed description of the unprecedented parallel park I managed to pull off yesterday morning. (Actually, I'm going to bank that one - that'll make an AWESOME glog)

I am a food lover. It's no secret. By that, I do not mean I am any kind of connoisseur. I just love eating. There's a word for that... food slut? No, that's right; glutton.

I'd heard wonderful things about the general nature of U.S. cuisine. And by wonderful, I mean horrific. Fries with everything. Massive servings. Whipped cream. Cheese in a can. Giant drinks. That sort of thing.

I expected fat people everywhere.

I couldn't wait to be disgusted and appalled. And well fed.

In some ways I was disappointed.

Firstly, I was not confronted with the much discussed American obesity epidemic on any grand scale. Yes, I saw people who were literally too overweight to be supported by their own legs, but I assume that's why Disneyland offers such a well-stocked range of mobility scooters to enable them to get around their attractions. 

Yes, I was a little worried when I took my seat in the front carriage of the Mummy roller coaster at Universal studios, not because I was about to experience a genuinely scary amusement park ride, but because the guy who got in next to me was so oversized, they couldn't lock the safety bar down into place - over EITHER of us. I briefly had visions of being forced to cling desperately to the underside of my seat or plummet to an untimely but spectacular death. Luckily, common sense prevailed and the 12 year-old responsible for keeping us all alive asked the man to wait for the next car so the could stick him in the XXXXL seats at the back.

However, these were actually the exceptions, not the rule.

Disney had plenty of fast food options, but on closer inspection the menus kept featuring fruit instead of fries and a range of salads.

MacDonald's kept advertising yolk-free breakfast sandwiches. In fact, things served with just egg-whites were everywhere.

Where was my grease-fest? I'd been training for this, overeating for months. I wanted my ridiculous mountain of food I could never hope to eat and I wanted it now.

My hopes were raised the night we ate at Red Robin, a dine-in burger chain offering "Bottomless Steak Fries" with every meal. That sounded more like it... except I actually had to ask for more chips. I thought they'd just magically flow down a chute onto my table, a bit like one of those automatic pet feeders. But no, turns out these Yanks are more civilised than I thought.

Universal Studios did seem to serve alcohol from most of their burger stands (not sure if that's a great idea immediately before taking on a pack of evil Transformers in dazzling 4D) but a can of Bud Light hardly constitutes the makings of a culinary coronary.

Disturbingly, we had quite a few really great meals. Most unexpected. What's more, four of these meals were at restaurant CHAINS and the best one was in a DEPARTMENT store.

4: Red Robin. Really amazing selection of burgers, the house wine was totally drinkable, fantastic service. Shame about having to ask for more "bottomless" steak fries.

3: Joe's Crab Shack. We ate here on our first night in L.A. Jet-lagged, hungry and desperate for an enormous beer, it was just what the doctor ordered. What could be wrong with a massive bucket of crab, lobster and mussels, a selection of specialty tools to break into them with and a bib? Oh, and the waiting staff all sing and dance for you every half hour as well, because... well, just because.

2: Rainforest Cafe. Saw quite a few of these around the place and on the surface, it seems a bit over the top. If you haven't been to one, what it is, is a cafe in a rainforest. It's not a real rainforest, you understand. There are snakes and gorillas though. Not real snakes and gorillas. They have a thunderstorm every now and again. Not a real one. There IS a humungous fish tank. The menu is full on. The kids are entertained. There are cocktails. We went to the one outside Disneyland. Very appropriate.

1: The Cheesecake Factory. I briefly mentioned this meal in last week's glog. I've left it till last because it was my favourite. Don't be put off by the name, there's a lot more to this menu than just cheesecake. In fact, it wasn't a menu at all, it was a novella, and there was a kind of lift-out colour supplement with the specials on to boot. I went with the Creole jambalaya with chicken and shrimp. Oh my god, my mouth is watering just writing this. Elder Monster ordered the chicken, biscuits and gravy. Yes, she realised American biscuits are not TimTams or Gingernuts, but more like our scones - therefore this dish represented her ultimate comfort food. Oh yeah, she was happy. Did I mention the location? We were on the terrace. On the roof. Of Macy's. Overlooking Union Square. (Yes, I realise I did all that last week, but I thought it worked)

Oh, as for the cheesecake, I'll let the picture do the talking...

The Red Velvet. Believe it or not, objects were larger than they appear

LEAVING MY HEART IN SAN FRANCISCO

The fog rolling in like a special effect. Not an effect, but quite special

I would not describe myself as being well traveled. I've never been to Europe. I haven't seen Africa. South America seems to be the hot destination right now... but I haven't done that one either. These are whole continents we're talking about and I've missed them all.

Until recently, I'd never even set foot on the United States. Well, I spent a few days in Hawaii once, does that count? Given I almost got arrested for jaywalking at one point, I guess it almost does.

What's more, I've never really harboured any great desire to visit the mighty U.S.A. There are pyramids, castles and natural wonders in many other places I would prefer to see before checking out the land of the free and the home of the brave.

However, America is where Disneyland is so that's where we went. Oh, I know there are other Disneylands in other places, but if you're going to go, you may as well go to the real one. But more on that next week, because we didn't just do Disney, and if you read last week's glog you'll be pleased to hear we didn't just add Las Vegas either. Our American odyssey culminated in San Francisco and THAT, I've decided, is a pretty damn cool town.

I don't know what you've heard about San Francisco, but essentially I was expecting dodgy weather and a lot of homeless people, so I was pleasantly surprised to arrive on a warm and sunny spring day. As usual, the airport is miles away from the CBD, but being the try-hard intrepid family we are, Domestic Manager, the two monsters and I decided to brave something called the BART to get us into the city.

The BART is a real live underground train, just like you see on the movies. If I sound somewhat overexcited by this, just remember I commute to Auckland every day from a small town north of the North Shore, so I've heard of trains but always thought they were just a myth. We figured out the money, bought the tickets, negotiated the turnstiles with our suitcases and away we went. I say, "WE" figured out the money and bought the tickets - of course, this was all left up to Monster Number One who had proven herself to be the only one of our party able to discern quarters from dimes and nickles and as a result, she'd been appointed chief vending machine operator.

We emerged on the intersection of Market and 4th, literally footsteps from our hotel. Now that's what I call public transport. There was even live entertainment, courtesy of the drum/bass guitar duo frantically funking for change on the opposite corner. Oh yeah, this city hums.

So easy to navigate too. Monster Number Two sometimes goes by the name Macy, so obviously a trip to Macy's department store was pretty high up the agenda. Whaddaya know? It was just a couple of blocks away, adjacent to the legendary Union Square. The evening weather was still co-operating, so we had dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. On the roof. Of Macy's. Under the actual sign. Surreal. And this was just our first day.

Subsequently we would ride the F-Line, tour Alcatraz, eat chowder overlooking live sealions, catch the cable car and generally see the sights.

Alcatraz was so much more than just another tourist trap. They've preserved it, rather than recreating it and the result is really quite poignant if not chilling. Great place to see San Francisco Bay from too - as long as there's no fog.

Perhaps that's another reason I loved San Fran; just as my spiritual home of Hamilton does, San Francisco has fog, and plenty of it. We saw it rolling in one day, like the smoke machine on the set of X-Factor, except on a slightly grander scale. Spooky, romantic, certainly interesting and something you have to see to believe.

While none the family are still exactly sure how to tell the difference between a streetcar, a cable car, a tram and a trolley-bus, we certainly caught several of them and they all got us where we needed to be with a minimum of fuss. We queued for a very long time to catch something that definitely WAS a cable car and it was well worth it, as I elected to ride as a "standee," gleefully clinging to a pole at the front of the vehicle, hurtling up and down the hills of downtown San Francisco like some kind of urban, rush-hour carnival ride. Crazy. Do it.

We spent a few hours on a guided tour of this amazing and historic town, learning which bits had been destroyed in earthquakes and fires and which beautiful buildings had stood through it all. We drove past where Janis Joplin used to live and the house where Larry Ellison still does. We felt like enlightened champions of gay rights when we visited the Castro district. We felt like flower-powered bohemian rock-stars as we shopped around Haight and Ashbury (and tried to find a cafe with a toilet). We crossed the Golden Gate bridge both with and without fog. I liked it both ways.

In short, we were tourists and we saw the sights, but sometimes you visit a place and then you go home. With San Francisco we visited and I pretended it WAS my home. I actually wondered what it would be like to live there, instead of being glad I don't. There aren't many other places I've felt that way - Melbourne would be one, but one of just a few.

Our final dinner was an intimate establishment we stumbled across in Little Italy which appeared to be run by the actual Soprano family. The kids ordered too much pizza, we got it to go and gave it all to the homeless guy down the street. It was a good night - for him and us.

Yes, there are homeless and no, it's not a tropical beach retreat... but those two things I'd heard about San Francisco are not the things I'll remember. I'll remember the buzz, the buildings and the feeling of a city alive. I'll remember streetcars, cable cars and whatever the  BART is. I'll remember burritos and Big Daddy Speakeasy Pale Ale and jambalaya on the roof of Macy's.

I'll remember all those things and I'll want to go back.

Not a street car or a tram. Or a trolley bus. Or BART

FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS - BUT MOSTLY FEAR...

Can you spot the "Exit" sign in this picture? No, me either

I've been back from the U.S. a week now, but I'm still processing a lot of our experiences. There'll be future blogs extolling the various and plentiful virtues of San Francisco. Perhaps I'll compare the menus of restaurant chains like the Cheesecake Factory, Rainforest Cafe, Joe's Crab Shack and Red Robin.

Today's offering though, is an effort to exorcise the demons of Las Vegas.

I know what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay there, but my first few hours scarred me emotionally and I feel obliged to share my experiences as a warning to other would-be revellers.

Las Vegas, it turns out, is in the middle of the desert. This means it can get pretty hot there, even in spring. We arrived after a week in moderate Anaheim to a blindingly clear, 35 degree afternoon. The good news here was our hotel had a wide selection of swimming pools available to us. The bad news was I'd left my board shorts in Disneyland. Bugger.

You know how it is; when you're living in a hotel room, the hunt is always on to find the best location in which to hang wet things. There are two basic requirements - you don't want dripping togs in your face and you'd quite like them to be dry in time for the next swim. I thought I'd discovered the ideal possie in our room in Anaheim... a rail running across the window. Lots of light for drying and tucked neatly out of sight behind the curtains.

The problem there, (which you may have already spotted) is things that are tucked neatly out of sight can be quite difficult to spot when it comes time to pack your bags. At this point I'd like to make a suggestion to any budding app developers out there. Can I suggest an app that might be called something like "RePack" which uses your smart phone to scan everything you take OUT of your suitcase and creates a checklist to ensure you put each item back in. I can't be expected to remember these things myself.

The point is, I arrived in the City of Sin one pair of togs down. As I'd only brought one pair of togs to begin with, I was officially screwed. "Don't worry about me, guys," I assured the Domestic Manager and the 2 monsters, "You go on down to the pool. We've got some outlet shopping scheduled in tomorrow. I'll be able to replace my board shorts then."

Domestic Manager and monsters poo-pooed this plan immediately. No fun could possibly be had aquatically without Dad. Who would be the crocodile in the crocodile game, for example? 

Therefore Plan B was hastily formulated. Domestic Manager and monsters would form an advance party pool-side, while I Googled the nearest ABC store in order to snare myself a cheap pair of swimming trunks. 

"There's one just around the corner on The Strip," I exclaimed as they headed off in their fancy schmancy bathing suits. "Give me 15 minutes and I'll be right there. 20 at the most."

My trusty Samsung Galaxy gave me excellent directions... once I was outside. What I SHOULD have asked it was, how to GET outside.

We were installed in Tower 2 of the MGM Signature, which is one of three towers about a block back from the MGM Grand, all connected up by an internal walkway, complete with travelators. After just 5 minutes or so I found my way into the MGM Grand, so that was a start.

Little did I know, my ill-fated expedition was only just beginning. 

There was a block of shops, (sadly, not swimwear shops) a food court and several restaurants. All part of the MGM Grand, and all before I even got to the main casino. According to the signs I'd have to traverse the gaming floor to make it to the lobby. By this stage my initial 15 minute mission estimate was looking wildly optimistic, especially given I'd already been gone 15 minutes.

Never mind, how big could this casino possibly be?

Oh, it's big.

And noisy. And crowded. And confusing. And all the walkways seem to lead to other bits of it. Some signs pointed to theatres, others to more bars and restaurants. Some promised the main lobby, but continued to fail to deliver me the main lobby. I was beginning to wish I'd set out more prepared - you know, food, water, backpack... maybe an emergency locator beacon.

By the time I was approaching the half-hour mark, I was completely disorientated and starting to panic. Then suddenly the lobby came into view. Quite a big lobby. In fact, there was a full-sized boxing ring in the middle of it to promote an upcoming fight. However, the main lobby's most redeeming feature was the large row of glass doors at the other side of it. Behind them I could see light, real light, DAYlight. Saints be praised! I was going to breathe fresh air again.

Cars, limos, bellboys, valets. Where was the street, god dammit? Where?

A staircase, a footpath and I'd made it. I was out. I couldn't remember my name or what country I was from anymore but I was out and now I just had to find the store, find some togs and hit the pool.

Except wait. This wasn't The Strip. The sign I was looking at said this was something called Tropicana Avenue. "Why aren't you Las Vegas Boulevard!" I demanded. "What have you done with my ABC store?" I may have cried a little bit at this point, it's not important. As I mentioned before, it was hot outside.

A walked aimlessly one way, then the other, mumbling like a drunk except making less sense and looking more dangerous to bystanders.

Finally I saw I yet another sign; "THIS WAY TO LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD."

I no longer knew how long I'd been gone. Minutes, hours, days maybe. It didn't matter. I was going to find that ABC store if it killed me. By now my desperate heart was beating so fast that possibility seemed all too likely.

More stairs. Then strangely an outdoor elevator. A pedestrian overpass. And...

I was back in the MGM Grand Casino.

I started crying again. The normal laws of physics do not apply in Las Vegas. I hadn't lost my money, just my will to live. And I'd only been there one afternoon.

I don't remember the details of my voyage back to my family. Like Hillary's decent from Everest, it wasn't the important part of the story.

A lifetime later I emerged blinking at the pool, confronted by a cocktail-sipping Domestic Manager who seemed confused by my continued lack of appropriate swimwear. "Just go in in your shorts," she said.

She's an ideas woman, that Domestic Manager.

Then even if you DO make it outside, you may regret what you see