Two little Boston Terrier girls bring their Momo & Mr.Momo to Paris for a long stay. These are the tales of their very fine adventures.

29.8.07

Road Trip part Duex: Off to Los Angeles




Ah, the city of lost angels. Were it only so, the trip could be much more enchanting. However, to get to Los Angeles, you need to actually get in the car and drive on the "5". Famous 5. Known for its.....boredom and brownness. Yes, seriously, brownness. Look at the photo! When the thing you look forward to on your journey is reaching the bottom of the grapevine (the twisty giant hill before you reach LA) where there is one lone Starbucks and a new (not open yet) In-Out Burger, sadly, your trip is mighty boring. You can see from the pictures that L&P had the same attitude.

Driving south on the 5 is very different than driving north. North is boring too, but at least we found a Peets Coffee which is far superior to Starbucks any day. Do you think it is fair that on the entire interstate that two decent coffee places could be placed that far apart? Perhaps it is to keep up hope so that you actually continue to drive through from one end to the other without hurling your car into the brownness never to be seen again?

There is a special special place on the 5. It is called Coalinga and if anyone reads this and is from this place, I certainly apologize in advance and wish you godspeed in getting your nostrils clean some day. It is home to Harris Ranch and the fond pack of steer that will someday be dinner. Until then, they linger right off the 5 on a long stretch where the road curves just enough to allow for trucks to slow down and block the free flow of fast moving cars. Always. So there is no quick escape past this torture. What torture you ask? Ah. Well, even if your air circulation vent is closed on your vehicle it does not matter. It will even awaken a sleeping L&P, noses arising in the air before bodies even get up to figure out why there is suddenly 534 pounds of shit in our car. It is miles and miles of cattle standing in overdone, overheated, dry aired, foul, extra-excrement and piss. You can see the waves of it poofing into the atmosphere from the heat and volume. It burns your nostrils - permeates your pores and fills your car with the stench for miles after you finally burn past this. That is if you can. There has been only one time that we have been able fly past not impeded by the big trucks. And that one lone time the air was moving in a different direction so the stench was milder. If one can call rotting poop by the ton milder.

This time we stopped after the aforementioned death-smell hole to gas up and Momo was sure it was far enough past to be rid of the smell. Apparently not. And apparently the little tiny poop flies needed to gas up too because there were thousands of them all over the gas pumps. As soon as you opened your door in flew the flies by the handful. It took a long time to coax them all out of the car. P thought that they place was pretty fine because she had her nose in the air the entire time it took her to pee.

And by the way fellow dog people. Just because you are traveling with your dog on a road trip does not mean you are exempt from picking up the poop! Especially the pile that looked like the dog was 240 pounds! Momo could not believe her eyes, and she could see the pile from the highway almost. Even P, who is known to love the poop would not go near that one. It was taller than she.

Drivers in the Los Angeles area are special special. They live in an area of the world where make believe is premier, so they make believe drive too. Some of them think that reading while driving is fine. Others prefer to chat on the multiple chat devices one can own these days, all at once. And others think that dining while driving is perfectly acceptable too, although they forget the chauffeur and stain free clothing. Momo is not talking about the snacking that we all do on occasion while motoring, but plate, napkin, utensils while driving and mind you, while wearing white. That takes a certain amount of belief in the make believe, don't you think?

Some like to drive at what they think the speed limit ought to be. That can range from faster than a speeding bullet to foot not exactly on the accelerator, but letting idle tootle you down the road. What you rarely see in Los Angeles are drivers just driving. The Momo family has seen it all. Dressing, and um, undressing. Dining. Chatting on multiple mobile devices. Reading. Mapping. Changing wigs. Everyone can probably say they have seen someone applying make-up while driving, but I bet you can't say you have seen both men and women applying products on the face, and um, elsewhere. Tanner too. It is LA after all.

L&P would care to not rate the drive as you can see from their expressions. Lulu would rather eat my hat. Momo would prefer to spend the trip with an inhaler, goggles, and perhaps some aroma therapy devices as well as nose plugs. Mr. Momo would like to either wear an ipod or turn the zippy music up to ward off smells, boredom and the "are we there " whines from the back seat. And ok, the passenger seat.

Stay tuned. We have only just arrived.

24.8.07

All Things Music - The Metro, Part Trois



Momo thinks of the Metro often. Even L&P miss the Metro. In Paris, L&P, if they could only speak French, could buy their own cartes and enjoy the Metro sans carriers. Here they are allowed on the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit - imaginative name, huh?) but they must be in an enclosed carrier. Yes, they can have air holes, but the whole thing must be zipped up - no cute heads peaking out, and they are absolutely not allowed to buy their own tickets. Actually they have no need for tickets because they would be considered our carry on bag where in France they often had their own seats and could walk on the train on all four little Frito Feet.

Momo and Mr. Momo decided one day to take advantage of our very own Metro-BART and travel into San Francisco by train. We typically drive into San Francisco, and it can take 45 minutes or 35 hours just like other big cities. In Paris, one can travel from one end of the city to the other quite quickly by train. Here, we must drive to the BART which is about 40 minutes away and then must wait for the train, get on the train, and stop every few feet until we get into San Francisco. This happens about 45 minutes later. While that might not seem outrageous, consider that it only takes 10 more minutes to drive into the heart of San Francisco after driving to the BART. Of course we could have taken the CAL Train to the BART. CAL is like the RER - the same only different. CAL train runs pretty often , but not as often as the RER, and CAL goes through many different towns before it eventually reaches San Francisco. It also travels on the surface streets right through many intersections so it is a stop and go kind of thing. More often than anyone likes, there are accidents at these intersections. Drivers who are stupid and stop on the tracks at a red light though it tells you to not do that. Or even pedestrians who manage to think they too can beat the train. They mostly don't. The RER is much more sensible. It was built not as a total afterthought, but as a serious means of transporting people into Paris. Parisians area much more sensible than Californians it seems. All except when it comes to high heeled shoes.

In New York City, the subway is much more similar to the Paris Metro. At least people rely on it to get where they need to be and it seems to work most days. It is also Momo thinks, the most similar to Paris in dignity (oh please stop laughing) and architecture. There are some gorgeous subway stations in NYC as well as in Paris. However, here in CA, the train stations look like a granola bar Metro. All angles and trying to be hip and cool. At some of the stops it looks like they forgot to finish the station. The only way you know it is open is that the BART stops there and people get on and off. As far as the CAL train stations go, they are mostly quite frightening. They look like a long forgotten train depot, the ghost of Harry Potter past perhaps.

CAL train does have something that both NYC and Paris don't though. The Christmas Train! Yes indeed. At holiday time, or should I say extended early holiday time, which by our calculations should be next week, a flat bed CAL train will arrive at certain stations in the evening with Santa, helpers, elves, and and even Mrs. Claus. And music. Very jolly music. And free candy. The whole event is staged to advertise the commuter train service offered by CAL. Since most of the people who come to see the holiday event drive and plug up the local traffic so that it is at a standstill, Momo thinks the message gets lost. But the music is festive. And the candy is colorful. L&P merely think Santa is odd because he won't give them candy, and they don't appreciate festive holiday tunes.

L&P prefer the music in the Metro. In Paris. One of the best parts of the Metro in Paris is the music. That's right. The music. If you travel around on the Metro on any one day you can be treated to French Horn music, opera, violin, and assorted other odd things. Even groups. We came across a really great group of musicians who were playing assorted instruments and singing. I think they call those "bands". Seriously, it was a little ensemble. They were even hawking self produced CDs. I liked the harmony and wish we had bought one. We never did get a chance because although we stopped to listen, P decided it was her calling and started joining is both barking and humming it seemed. From the frowns we were getting it was time to leave. That girl thinks she is a star. L, was appropriately peeved.

Another time, in fact, many other times, we came across a very good violinist playing some lovely music. She was always friendly and nodded and never lost her place even though her violin bobbed with the nod. I think she enjoyed L&P strolling by. They were never as impressed with the violin because I think what they heard might have been a little too much for their radar ears. But Momo's all time favorite was the French horn player who played Ave Maria in a loop for weeks it seemed. Every single time we were in that station there would be the mournful horn singing out Ave Maria over and over. It was haunting. L&P were startled at first, but soon, after the 6th week got quite used to it. In fact, P can still hum a few notes.

Here is the thing that makes music so beautiful in the Paris Metro. Acoustics. The place is made to carry sound in that haunting quality way. You certainly won't find that anywhere else I suspect. There are layers and layers to the Metro. Some lines are stacked 3 deep and are already way underground. You could come up on the other side of the earth if they layered it any deeper. The music carries and carries. You could be miles away and still hear the haunting sounds following you. And because the chatter in the Metros in Paris, for all the people traveling underground, is really quite quiet, the music is extra special because it almost floats over everything else.

If Momo sounds a bit homesick, she is. There just is not anything like the Metro in Paris anywhere else. L&P agree and would like to become honorary carte orange holders. We all rate the music in the Metro a big 10.

22.8.07

The Pharmacy is Green


Once upon a time a girl had a headache. She went to the cupboard and it was bare. She went to the Super Marche and it had no aspirin. Where was that aspirin, you ask? Silly silly people. Everyone knows the aspirin is at the Green Pharmacy. No. Not green as in eco-friendly. Far from it. Green as in giant neon flashing green cross above the entrance to said Pharmacy. The pharmacy is green. See?

You cannot find paper products at the Green Pharmacy, nor laundry products, or candy, food, or other odd stuff we find at the drug store here in America. But you can find tampons (sorry). And you can find beauty hardware products v. beauty products per se. Like mirrors, many many magnified mirrors, some with fancy lights. Every Green Pharmacy has them and most of them display them in the windows. The significance of this eludes Momo, but one would have to conclude that people in France like magnified mirrors and most of them are sight impaired if one goes by the magnification numbers. 10x. Who wants to see their face magnified 10x? That would be frightening. Almost as bad as seeing your neighbors naked by accident. Mon Dieu.

In America by contrast, a Pharmacy is not neon green. They are a variety of boring colors, and most are just simple beige or gray. A neon green cross is so much more entertaining. Aspirin - the wonder drug. You can find that yourself on a shelf in the American pharmacy or even in a Super Marche in America. Even a petrol station. Americans need access to lots of aspirin apparently. Even though CDG airport did not have any aspirin, it is ok. Every other airport has more than enough aspirin for sale to make up for that short sightedness.

In France you cannot buy Naproxen in the Green Pharmacy without a prescription. Oh oh. Another thing to know before you leave America. Bring your Aleve with you! But buy Advil there. It is available at the Green Pharmacy, but you must ask for it by name and then they will retrieve it from a special locked file drawer in the back. Otherwise you will get some generic variant and we Americans are loath to do that.

The Green Pharmacy is open strange hours. Momo never did figure out those hours, but you can be sure that it was closed when she tried to go there. Fortunately, there is one Green Pharmacy open (sort of like on-call) later than the others. In America, a pharmacy can be open 24 hours a day. Many are open 7 days a week and more than 12 hours a day. In France you have to pre-plan your illness in order to coordinate trip to a pharmacy - so if you intend to get sick or get a headache, you must make sure it is during Pharmacy hours, never on Sunday, and often not a good plan to get a headache or sick on Monday when many Green Pharmacies are closed as well.

L&P were very lucky. The never needed the Green Pharmacy. When they needed a little medication their French Vet was able to dispense what they needed. In case you were wondering, they needed eye drops. Paris can be very dusty before the men in green do their cleaning - especially when you are 12 inches from the ground.

Did Momo also mention that most Green Pharmacies are no bigger than our itty bitty Paris apartment living area. That would be closet sized. American closet size, not European size, which are very very much smaller. And the clerks wear white coats. There must be a universal pharmacy rule that requires white coats. Dispensing aspirin in a white coat makes the French comfortable it seems, makes the aspirin quite genuine. Here in America, aspirin sits on a shelf for you to pick yourself, and it can come in many packages, from the plain to the ones that are attached to free items like a new comb. After all, after your headache is gone, you might want to comb your hair. Thoughtful. Sometimes in these stores that sell aspirin in America, you can get a deal where if you buy one bottle you can get one free. Golly. Everyone needs 3,856 aspirins just in case you live to be 123, or you are supplying the neighborhood with salicylic acid. At least in France you will get a reasonable amount- maybe 20 pills. Why waste the stuff. After all, each headache deserves its own trip to the neon Green Pharmacy. Except on Sunday, Monday or holidays. Save some from your 20 packet!

Sorry, but L&P have nothing to say about the Green Pharmacy, except it might be the only place in France where they did not venture (they were not invited it seems). Are all French Green Pharmacies not chien friendly? Momo and Mr. Momo thought the Green Pharmacy was an interesting experience, but they prefer being able to buy toilet paper or a greeting card at the same time as their aspirin. And maybe a package of gummie bears as well. So, neon Green Pharmacy, you rate a very neutral 5. Better than Monet's village, but not nearly as good as the Pastry shops!

17.8.07

Literal Translations Mon Dieu - Including These Croissants!


One never stops to think about the amount of literal translating we do everyday. From our very own personal perspectives to our various cultural perspectives, we translate all day long. Ennui. It can get you into really deep merde de chien.

For example, why in the world would you voluntarily pay the identical numeric amount for an item in either country, France or America? If one was smart they would pick up as much of those same numerically-priced items while in America because our Thank-You-George-Bush-Dollar (TYGBD) is so friggin weak against the Euro.

But if you had half a brain, then you would not buy those identically-numerically priced items in France because your pretty colored Euro is costing you big time if your bank account is in America.

What is Momo talking about? In France, Bon Marche sells Origins products and guess what? They are priced exactly the same as they are in America. Even the sticker looks the same which was strangely comforting to Momo after getting whopped on the head with merde d'oiseau. That is, until I got my package back to the little itty bitty apartment and realized that I paid a surcharge of at least $1.35 cents on each dollar the item cost when I paid in Euros. Oops. Too bad I hadn't thought that one through before leaving for France and brought another suitcase full of the stupid stuff you need when on extended travel.

Oh wait. I remember why not. We would have been charged for an extra suitcase by the airline, and guess what again? En effet! The same price whether you are in Paris, or America. Just your airline trying to be fair and perhaps streamline their convoluted data system. And just in case you thought that was odd, how about the fact that L&P's carry fare was identical when we paid for it in American and then again in Paris. But even when we brought this fact to their attention that it was not really the same price because of the TYGBD, they just shrugged. In Paris, of course. Shrugging practice is mandatory starting in preschool in France. In America they just give you the "stare" which is also compulsory in school beginning in adolescence. They say it is perfected by age 12. I also hear that the "shrug" is aged like fine wine and is perfected when the French are adults. Those who excell in "shrug" work in the service industry.

How about food? Really, how about some food? Momo is hungry. I think I will take my Williams Sonoma mail order, frozen, ready for the oven, made by a French pastry chef, costs more than an airline ticket to France, croissants out of the oven now. These are my last best hope for true literal translation of all good things croissant.

Mon dieu! Not good. They are enormous and a bit squishy in the wrong way as you can see in the photo. A true French croissant is small, somewhat tidy, and never too greasy. And never never too sweet. Here we are with another literal translation gone bad. A French pastry chef makes "French" croissants for largely an American audience who expects them to taste greasy, sweet, and be huge just in case their next meal is 45 hours away. Sigh. Chuck Williams, can you hear me? Merde. That should be literal enough. This too: non bon. Non.

Can someone from France send me a pain au chocolat? SVP? Seriously!

While we are on literal translations, let us review why L&P were constantly referred to as Bulldog Francais. Perhaps because literally there are few Boston Terriers in France? Or is it that a close approximation is sufficient? Hum. A theme is now humming through my head. Oddly, it is called the literal translation of the song Literally........

Moving on. We cannot have a chat about literal translation without talking about language. If you translate the French sentence literally without moving it about to make it grammatically correct in English you have a comedy. Like Momo's new moniker: Madam Feet. Or consider some of the Google searches to get to this blog. "Madam feet" is one of my new favorites. I also enjoy "dog senile" and "dog to dog conversation" which Momo knows something about. But you know that these are Google's literal translations of someone else's language searches. Just like when Alta Vista Babel Fish translation tool gives a translation of let's say, damn in English to French. It gives you the translation for a dam, like Hoover Dam. Very funny. So perhaps that is why my encounter with the shoe saleswoman in Paris was so memorable, not for the shoes, but for the conversation. I bet that is how she came up with "shoes done, or shoes exhausted". Still, it did make my day.

But then I learned a new lesson. The literal translation goes both ways in hilarity. A French friend sent an e-vite to a party and I replied with a translation (again, thank you Babel Fish!) from English to French. And apparently it was literal, because while I thought I sent a heartfelt acceptance note in French, apparently I sent a comical reply worthy of a Jon Stewart-Daily Show laugh. A great big belly laugh. Needless to say, I never did that again.

So my literal translation lesson is learned. I take literal- anythings with a big soft sponge. Oops, with grain de sel, which we all know is de poisson. Ok, ok. Done. Fait. Fini.

Luckily, L&P and all those who Woof (ha ha) can literally translate. They give literal a big 8 cause we know that all Woofs are individual. Momo rates literal translation a big fat zéro with an accent on the e which is now in English, a long a and not at all literal.

Seriously. Got fromage blanc covered. But I really need a real chocolate croissant!

10.8.07

Pretending That Déjeuner in America Can be French and Joyeux Anniversaire Miss L


So far the Momo family has been underwhelmed with being able to duplicate the food of France in our home in America. L&P are certainly disappointed in us. They were totally expecting the sidewalk buffet to continue, but unfortunately there are slim pickings in suburbia even if is masquerades as a metropolitan megalopolis call the Peninsula and Silly Valley (or as some call it, Silicon Valley). Yes, techies eat lots of junk food and drop it all over the place, however, no one walks outside anywhere here so the only sidewalk buffets would be found in the halls of Silly Valley companies, or their autos. Sorry, L&P!

So not only are they missing the daily fun with the sidewalk buffet, open 24 hours, but with their daily dose of fromage blanc and jambon. We have been jambon free since coming home and even Momo misses it. There isn't even anything to say about the baguettes and pastries including our very favorite croissants. We have tried everywhere to duplicate those, but it just is not going to happen. First, the flour itself, must be differently milled because even with the same ingredients the baguettes and baked goods taste nothing the same. In another post I already mentioned the football sized, heavy croissants that have everything except peanut butter in them. And the n there are those giant pastries with gizmo layers that could have been made by a five year old. French pastries are so delicately assembled that you imagine the pastry maker up all night putting together one concoction, whereas here, they could assembly line produce most pastries - with kindergarten children and the pastries would never fall apart. And one would feed an entire family of 10.

So we have gotten inventive. Searching for fromage blanc for example. Whole Foods stocks a couple of varieties and we should give them a big A for effort. However, the result is that they may as well just not bother. It isn't really French fromage blanc. It is their version of what an American might think of French Fromage blanc if the American were visiting France, and then imagined fromage blanc and then what might taste right to an American. If you reread that sentence, then you know what I mean. Totally idiotic.

One taste from American Fromage Blanc makers on both coasts, tell us that they didn't spend much time tasting the stuff in France. Their result is more like a ricotta or cream cheese. And that is so not French Fromage blanc in any form. Fromage blanc is smooth, custardy, has whey hanging around in the container when it is first opened, and is tangy but not tart. It is very similar to yogurt, yet not. The same only different.

So, Mr. Momo had the bright idea that we should make our own. Momo thought that meant getting a cow and when she mentioned it, L&P got delightfully excited. Another black and white pet. Yay for us. Well fortunately it only required us to order fromage starter from a cheese company, New England Cheese Company, who also had kindly included the directions for making the cheese along with a little side note from a gentleman who spent enough time in France to know that their recipe was going to be too dry so he included his own instruction. Voila! So off we went to purchase our organic gallon of whole milk and with our tiny package of starter we began the process of cheese making at the Momo family cheese factory.

Did you know that a whole gallon of milk makes a such a tiny amount of fromage blanc? We were worried that we would be stuck with mountains of the stuff. Fear not. The milk apparently leaves the room, the house even, and leaves us with a tiny jiggly slush that drains for just a bit and then you have fromage blanc. It is decidedly similar to our French tastings so we were very happy. There are some slight variations we are going to have to implement to help it be more similar, but we know how to do that. I know two piggies who are very pleased with their Momo's efforts. L&P love the fromage blanc. You can see the light in their eyes, the smile upon their little muzzles, perhaps dreaming of France when they have a bit of fromage blanc. Happy happy L&P. Happy happy Momo and Mr. Momo.

Let us talk a bit about jambon. In America, jambon is boring, salty, usually tasteless and decidedly not very creative. Until we visited France, the Momo family was not at all familiar with the 845 ways one little piggie could be prepared. But since we now know this we have been on the lookout for it. And guess what? We can only find 67 ways a piggie is prepared here. Up until the other day when Mr. Momo sent Momo an email with reference to a Piggie book called Pork & Sons by Stephan Reynard from rural France. Of course we have sent for this book tout de suite. And then this morning, Momo came across another reference called Charcuterie and French Pork Cookery by Jane Grigson. Another must for the jambon lover. Honestly, these books came our way without us looking for them, so someone is paying close attention to nudging our brains in the right direction. Now we will have good references for not only finding great jambon, but how to prepare good charcuterie should we wish! Absolutely, L&P will be delirious. Since it is L's birthday tomorrow, Momo will wrap up the book for her, in her honor so to speak.

Next we shall move onto the effort and education required to duplicate the art of French dinner eating. We thought we had it down pretty cold. But apparently since being back, we have slacked. We are now eating at the unheard of hour of 6PM or 7PM. We regularly skip the cheese course, and sometimes we forget the wine. This is unforgivable. We need a refresher course in good French eating. We must return to France to practice once again!

L&P are grateful for our supply of Fromage Blanc and hope that Momo will start learning more than 67 ways to prepare Jambon really soon now. Momo and Mr. Momo are too happy eating Fromage Blanc to worry about Jambon just yet.


6.8.07

Road Trip



In America, a road trip means something special. It means really special bad coffee or four hundred McDo's three minutes apart, or hours of fun watching RVs and trailers try to navigate their loads with underpowered autos, or my personal favorite, the ever changing speed limits. It means even in a very nice automobile, your rear end is guaranteed to hate you. But mostly it means putting up with the craziness of state speed limit laws.

Yes indeed, there is a federal speed limit, but don't tell the individual United State's that! After all, the sovereignty of the states would be at jeopardy if they all acquiesced to a cooperative speed limit on major highways. What fun would there be in that?

So for example let's talk about interstate route 5 which was our road trip from CA to Seattle. CA understands that central valley (no offense central valley people) is so very boring and that 70MPH on Interstate 5 is a nice little gift to make the countryside disappear faster. And everyone knows that speed limits in many places are simply guidelines. Just don't go too far over and you should be just fine. Unless of course, it is the end of the quarter, the month, or a bored highway patrol car is following you going 78 in a 70MPH zone.

Oregon, attached to CA in the north is like the pesky little sibling with an attitude. The speed limit on Interstate 5, on the same highway mind you that you were just zooming about in CA, drops to 65 which is how you can tell you have entered Oregon. Then it continues to drop to 55 then 50 as you approach a big city, like let's say Eugene which we all know is far larger than, oh, how about Weed, CA? Yes indeed, we would not want the city traffic to have to speed up on the highway since they might miss one of the three exits for Eugene. Seriously, Eugene is a very pretty city, but come on, really - do they actually need to go 50MPH to be sure to not miss an exit?

Then we pass through beautiful Portland, land of not ports, but bridges. Many many bridges. They looked and felt sound to me, but they sure are pretty high up there, and a bit curvy for bridges. Now, there a 50MPH speed limit makes some sense. Portland still goes by quickly if you are passing through, even at rush hour at 50MPH.

And then you drive into Washington where it feels like a nice day for a quick drive. Back to 70MPH for the most part, and even on long stretches of the 101 coastal highway, the speed limit is a generous 55 to 65MPH. Washington even has a "welcome to Washington" sign like they are glad to see you. Thank you Washington.

This is a photo of what the L&P do while being chauffeured in the auto on a long road trip. Thankfully they don't require many bathroom breaks. Momo and Mr. Momo need breaks more often, and L&P were happy to oblige. Mr. Momo can tell you that there is very little good coffee along that route. Actually no (real) cafe express and that is sad. With one exception. Somewhere along the road near Vancouver, WA there is an exit that will dump you into a parking lot, and voila! Peets. Anyone who loves coffee knows that Peets is fabulous and is a gift to those who are craving a cafe express, like Mr. Momo. In France along the very long and boring toll highways you can at least stop anywhere and ask for a cafe express and get one. Mostly tasty ones too. And not one McDo.

Does everyone who drives on road trips actually get up the morning of the first drive day and say, woohoo, a day filled with roadside McDo? Does no one want to stop at a place that sells not only good cafe express, but decent food? Someone ought to apply for a grant to study the drivers who frequent these roadside heart-attack shacks and measure the cholesterol of those on those highway routes v. those on the highways of France, for example. Just guess who might need some statins? There is a fortune to be had in someone's ability to pop up a million roadside good food and good cafe shacks next to America's super highways.

The Momo family gave up on stopping for food and bought supplies at the grocery to carry us through the trip. With one celiac, two BTs and one crabby Momo, it was to our advantage to have some good food with us. The only thing missing was an espresso maker. Does anyone make one for a car? I would buy it. Seriously.

The beauty of the Northwest gets a big old 10. Who can be in a bad mood with that view whizzing by? L&P rate the car ride a big fat 6. They would seriously have preferred that we stop at McDo's or at least had burgers. Route 5? Who knows. Maybe someday it will be a coastal highway and worth the asphalt it is paved with.