We spent a couple of days over the weekend tent camping for the first time in ages. I really don't remember the last time I went. Husband has an annual trip with our sons, but this was my first trip in ages. I hasten to add that I loved it. I adored slipping between ice cold sheets, tightly stretched over an air mattress, snuggling under heavy blankets pulled up over our noses. The kind of cold that. . . if you should let your arm outside of the covers for a bit, you know it when you tucked it back in, or in our case, my husband knew it when an ice cold limb sought his warmth . . . slept like a baby.
Our old angular, drab green, Coleman tent was nestled in the midst of a little community of the fresh out of the box, brilliantly colored dome tents of his family. We camped with my husband's entire set of siblings, several of their children and his folks.
{Who actually stayed in town at a hotel. Age does have it's privileges.}We traveled, some from North of Seattle and us . . . from the middle of California, the others, points in between . . . and met near Mount Shasta. It was lovely. Family members came and went, according to their work schedules mostly. Young and old. We hiked to the most beautiful waterfalls, giggled around a campfire, told stories we probably shouldn't have ;) and ate till we were sated. I think that might be what I will remember best, the food. Oh my, we are a bunch of foodies.
Driving a section of Interstate 5 while my husband snoozed, I read many a sign for
The Olive Pit in Corning {California}. Not wanting to wake him, but really,
really wanting to stop, enticed as I was by their tease of an Olive Tasting Bar, I resolved to make that a visit on our way home, and for once we actually did it. You know what I mean . . . the best laid plans, you know. It was oh, so very worth it. By way of apology for not taking you along, I'm sharing links with you. This is the stuff we couldn't leave behind . . . my tastebuds doing the happy dance like they were, and all . . . .
Were you one of the kids who grew up with the world's best fig tree growing in your Grandparent's back yard? I was. I do so love a nice, ripe fig.
. . .
and . . . I may never get over my Muffaletta sandwich! How is it that I didn't know such a thing existed? Muffaletta, ham, salami and provolone on ciabatta!
{roll eyes and moan longingly here} I see now that it is a pretty traditional recipe, New Orlean, I think, and I loved it! I ate half for lunch when we stopped, half of the leftover when we got home, and the last bit for breakfast this morning! Stretched it out as long as I could . . . did not want it to end! I found
this blog to share the recipe with you. I think you're gonna thank me!
{This is also where I got the idea that might be a traditional New Orlean recipe.}If you happen to be driving through Northern California on Interstate 5, and see the signs . . . it's easy off and on . . . you can spend ten minutes, or order lunch like we did, and I don't believe you'll be sorry. It's
very worth the effort.
You are most welcome. :)
Do you love it!? I do! Oh, I do! I can't get enough of it. It's a little bit, you know . . . kind of organic . . .
but it tells a story, and it's warm and embracing . . .
each piece is a miniature work of art . . .
. . . a miniature collage . . .
a memento . . .
a memory . . .
Reverse side of the my new charm. {The sweet little notebook that I've used in these backgrounds was purchased from Nancy Jamar of 
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