Molecular Gastronomy

No I am not in the hospital having a scope of my innards. Molecular gastronomy is actually a modern style of cooking that is gaining followers and critics at a rapid pace. I just recently discovered it myself while staying at a timeshare rental in Las Vegas, and I am still not sure what to make of it all.

As a bit of background, molecular gastronomy is really the science of cooking, rather than an actual cuisine. It attempts to observe and explain the chemical transformations in food when cooked, and then use this knowledge to make dishes with more intense, even unfamiliar flavors and textures. So rather than seeing the typical grill, range-top and ovens you associate with a restaurant kitchen, you might encounter a thermal immersion circulator, centrifuge, and syringes. And on your plate, don't be surprised to find foams, gels, and powders where you would normally see cuts of meat, sauces, and sides. And then there is the liquid nitrogen, lecithin, hydrocolloids, and transglutaminase - a.k.a. "meat glue". Sounds yummy, huh?

Even the name itself - molecular gastronomy - is off-putting, really. In fact many of the chefs who are associated with these techniques, reject this term entirely. Unfortunately, none of them can agree on what to call it, and MG continues to stick around. Whatever you call it, some of the chefs normally associated with this movement are Herve This (the father of MG), Grant Achatz, Ferran Adrià, José Andrés, Thomas Keller, and more. Many of these chefs have multiple locations around the country, and there is a good chance that a popular travel destination is going to have both timeshares and MG restaurants. Las Vegas, D.C., and New York in particular.

Beyond the unappetizing name and weird ingredients, the dining experience itself is quite different as well. Take the restaurant é by José Andrés in Las Vegas. Andrés is a Spaniard who trained under MG master Ferran Adria at his restaurant El Bulli, before branching out on his own. Andrés is credited with bringing the "small plate" or tapas concept of his native Spain to MG cooking. So it is not unusual to have 25 - 30 small dishes in one evening, rather than the usual soup, salad, entree, and dessert. That's right, I said 30 dishes. Now when José says, "small plate", he means it. In fact, some dishes don't even come on a plate. One dish - a flower made from yogurt and raspberries - was served on a white ceramic hand, cast from Andrés's own right hand. Another - Bocata de Piquillo (a type of pepper) - was served atop a shoe. I'm not making this up. If this all sounds too weird, get this: é itself is a "hidden restaurant" inside another Andrés eatery called Jaleo at the Cosmopolitan Casino. Jaleo has seatings (with reservations way in advance) like a typical restaurant. é only sits six people at a time, and dinner can take up to three hours. Are you kidding me?!

I have certainly focused on the bizarre and unusual aspects of this cuisine - so as to properly prepare you for it - should you choose to explore it. Imagine if you didn't know that head cheese wasn't really cheese, or that Rocky Mountain oysters weren't oysters at all. You did know those two things, right? Anyway, what I haven't talked about at all is the taste, and that would be a mistake. While I could have lived the rest of my life without ever eating off of a ceramic hand or somebody's shoe, some of the flavors I experienced during my experience were like none I have ever had before, nor expect to again. Certain foods when jelled or foamed seem to melt in your mouth. Whereas making a tiny caviar-like ball with others - called spherification - makes for a delayed burst of flavor. And don't get me wrong, it's not all foams, gels and powders. There were plenty of meats, breads, seafood, veggies and more; just in new and unusual combinations and preparations. And any flavor you can imagine: from sweet to sour, smokey to salty, and everything in between, is on full display, and somehow more intense then you have ever experienced them. It's certainly not for everyone, and depending on the restaurant, can be tough on the pocketbook. But if you find yourself in Vegas - and want a really different dining experience - try one of the MG restaurants you can find there. New ones seem to be popping up all the time.

Speaking of Vegas, I am staying at Grandview at Las Vegas, and cannot say enough about my stay. It's a 12-story resort on the south end of The Strip. My unit is a one-bedroom with a king bed, queen sleeper sofa, living area, fully equipped kitchen, washer/dryer, large-screen TV and DVD player and a jacuzzi tub. RedWeek members rate it 4.5 stars, and I can see why.

Well, I am off to the store to pick up some cold cuts and a Cuisinart. Before I was exposed to the world of molecular gastronomy, I just assumed that cultural stigmas would prevent my dream food from becoming a reality. But now, the baloney smoothie is as good as in my mouth.

It's the Real Thing

Have you ever kicked back with an ice cold Pemberton's French Wine Coca? Me neither, and you'd probably get hauled off to prison if you tried to today. But way back in 1886 coca wines were all the rage and were touted as treatments for morphine addiction, dyspepsia, headaches, impotence, and more. To be clear, coca wines were a combination of alcohol and cocaine, and Pemberton's French Wine Coca is known the world over today as Coca-Cola. That's right, alcohol and cocaine combined together can cure morphine addiction and impotence. Who knew? I am pretty sure it causes both as well, but that's beside the point.

Coca-Cola's original formula, developed by John Pemberton, was an attempt to make a non-alcoholic coca-wine. You see, Fulton County, GA - from where Pemberton hailed - had just become a dry county. Apparently drinking alcohol was looked down upon as a vice, but drinking five ounces of pure cocaine per serving was completely okay. In fact, the earliest version of Coca-Cola contained primarily cocaine and caffeine, derived from the coca leaf and the kola nut, respectively. Thus the name, with the "K" in Kola switched out for a "C". And it wasn't until 1904 that cocaine was removed entirely from the formula. To this day, however, coca leaves are used in the formula for making Coke. One company, located in New Jersey, is legally allowed to import coca leaves, extract the cocaine for medicinal purposes, and deliver the "spent" leaves to Coca-Cola for use in their product. Makes you wonder what might be in Mary Janes, doesn't it?

But if there is one product that is known the world over as an American icon, it's Coca-Cola. And the fellow who took it global was a man by the name of Asa Griggs Candler from the tiny village of Villa Rica, Georgia, from where I am writing to you today. Griggs bought Pemberton's formula in 1887 and began producing Coca Cola (no hyphen). Problem was, Pemberton also sold the formula to no less than three other groups. It became a legal mess which really did not get straightened out entirely until 1914. But by 1894 Griggs was bottling and selling Coca-Cola and he never looked back. Yet the town he called home, until very recently, remained a sleepy, post gold-rush village of no more than a few thousand people - despite its location just 35 miles west of Atlanta.

Villa Rica was home to the Creek tribe for thousands of years before the arrival of white settlers. The local Creek were hunters, and not warriors, and made what they thought was an alliance with the settlers in the form of a treaty in 1825. But gold was discovered in Villa Rica shortly thereafter, and you can probably guess how that worked out. With the Creek out of the way, and rumors of gold circulating, the usual suspects of prospectors, speculators, shopkeepers, thieves, prostitutes, and more, descended on the area. When we think of the Wild West, places like Wyoming or the Dakotas may come to mind, but in the 1830s, this was it. Andrew Jackson was president, one of the original signers of the Declaration of Independence was still alive, and Abraham Lincoln was just 21 years old. In other words, America was still a very young nation. Yet in the next half a century, a young man from this town would go on to become world famous for a concoction he bought from a pharmacist trying to cure impotence with cocaine and caffeine. What a country.

Villa Rica is famous for more than just Coca-Cola and the gold rush. It is also the birthplace of Thomas A. Dorsey, who is widely credited with creating gospel music. He grew up in the church, the son of a traveling preacher and a church organist. But he struck out on his own playing secular blues music as "Georgia Tom", eventually returning to rural Georgia to make spiritual music. His songs incorporated a bluesy "bounce" not normally associated with church music. These new versions of old spirituals widely became known as "Dorseys" but their creator preferred to call them "gospels". The latter name stuck. He wrote and recorded over four hundred songs, some of which were hits by Mahalia Jackson, Red Foley, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, and more. His childhood home is long gone, but the town honors him annually with the Thomas A. Dorsey Birthplace and Gospel Heritage Festival.

In fact, the town does a tremendous job of preserving its rich past all around. The downtown features a raised sidewalk upon which you can stroll by impeccably restored structures, quaint antique shops and eateries, and numerous historic sites. And if golf is your game - it is mine - you can hit The Frog, a Tom Fazio designed, 18-hole masterpiece. I am staying in a timeshare rental at Wyndham Resort at Fairfield Plantation, which features its own championship golf course, a swimming beach, three outdoor pools, four tennis courts, picnic areas, and a recreation center. Plus Atlanta and Six Flags Over Georgia are just a little over thirty miles away. Heck, there's so much to do and see in this area, you might need one of those cocaine-caffeine concoctions just to squeeze it all in.

Well, I am off to the Pine Mountain Gold Museum. Not only was this the location of the first gold strike in the U.S., and the current home of a neat museum, but it is still actively producing gold. That's right, and some folks estimate that 80 percent of the "mother lode" in Villa Rica was never discovered. For $5 per person, you can try your hand at panning for gold that is 98% pure, a.k.a. 23 carat, and that's just what I am going to do. With the price of gold these days, I should have this trip paid for by nightfall. But heck, I'll be happy with a Coke and a smile.

Rabbit Rabbit

So here we are on the first of November. Have you ever noticed that the months September through December contain the Latin names for the numbers seven, eight, nine, and ten, even though they are the ninth through twelfth months on the calendar? It has something to do with the switch from the Gregorian to the Julian calendar (or maybe the other way around), and I am sure they taught it to me in school a million years ago. But something I had never encountered, until just recently, is the tradition of saying the words "rabbit rabbit" on the first of the month. Do you know about this? Apparently, it brings good luck to the speaker for the entire month. Clearly I am way behind the times (and down on my luck), as it would seem to be a tradition that is at least 150 years old (probably more), and can be found wherever British colonization has occurred. In other words, everywhere.

The expression, like a lot of folklore, takes on a lot of variations. Some folks say "rabbit rabbit white rabbit" while others go with "rabbit rabbit rabbit". But among all of the variants, the goal seems to be the same: to bring you good luck in the month ahead. You are to make this utterance as soon as you wake on the first day of a new month, before you do anything else. Seems reasonable enough, and doesn't take a whole lot of effort to remember, so why not?

Trying to make sense of this, or any folk idiom, is a bit of a wild goose chase (see what I did there?). The connection between luck and rabbits in English tradition is strong and time-honored. Think of a lucky rabbit's foot, which brings luck to the bearer, but not so much to the bunny. Yet in Hebrew tradition rabbits are a symbol of cowardice, like how we use "chicken" in English. Hey, did you know that in Chinese and other East Asian countries they see a rabbit in the moon, and not a man? Yeah, so sorting any of this out may be an exercise in futility. Especially here in the States, where traditions have been brought over with wave after wave of immigrants, and woven into the larger fabric of American folklore. Perhaps that's why I am only just now learning about this leporid luck-generating mantra.

Seems like the "rabbit rabbit" tradition in America is strongest in New England, which is not terribly surprising, considering it is the second oldest British settlement in North America. The island of Nantucket in particular seems to be a hot-bed of rabbit-induced good luck theory, along with Cape Cod and other coastal Massachusetts towns. Nantucket is of course famous for another expression - which I won't repeat - and may or may not be about luck, depending on your perspective. Although the pilgrims arrived in 1620, it was not until the 1640s that the British got serious about colonizing the island. Peter Folger, in particular, is viewed as playing a pivotal role in this expansion. He was living in Massachusetts as early as 1635, and was the original surveyor of Nantucket for the new proprietors of the land. He also happened to be Benjamin Franklin's grandfather on his mother's side. So was Franklin and his kin responsible for the "rabbit rabbit" expression making it to our shores? Could be. Franklin is of course famous for quotes (many of which he never uttered), and among them is "diligence is the mother of good luck". That doesn't sound like someone who believes in superstitions like "rabbit rabbit" but you never know. I say you rent a Nantucket timeshare and do a little field research for yourself. You won't be disappointed.

Another place to look for rabbit clues is Vermont. Specifically in the Middlebury area, which upholds many British traditions from hand furniture making to craft beer brewing. Middlebury is home to the college of the same name, and the Vermont Folklife Center. The latter states as core to its mission "preservation of the spoken word," as it pertains to Vermonters and their history. So maybe the answer to the lucky rabbit lies in their extensive archive? Problem is, there are more than 3,800 recorded interviews alone in the archive. Seems like you'd need to rent a Vermont timeshare and devote some time to the listening room. Throw in some pure maple syrup, Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and world class ski resorts, and you've got yourself a serious research project. Who knows, maybe you could get a grant under the guise of furthering the pursuit of knowledge?

Other British colonial strongholds like Williamsburg, VA, Boston, MA, and Charleston, SC, are great places to look for the source of this tradition's lineage, and for great timeshare rentals. But if you want to get right to the source, check out a London timeshare and ask the locals what the "rabbit rabbit" business is all about. Just be prepared to drink some beer at a local pub as part of your fact finding. Shouldn't be a problem.

Well, I am off to perform another sacred monthly ritual: picking up my mail. As someone who travels for a living, it tends to pile up. I handle all of the important stuff online, like bills and so forth, but the junk still keeps coming. I reduced it some by joining that Do Not Mail list, but new offers keep coming to take the place of the old ones. Here's a tip I picked up a while back for any unsolicited mail that comes with a prepaid return envelope. Take the offer and cut it up into thousands of little pieces (I use my crosscut shredder) and stick it in the return envelope and mail it back. Works every time.

What to Wear?

Unlike a lot of folks, I never have any trouble figuring out what to wear to a wedding, funeral, or swanky event. For better or for worse, I have been the same jacket size since the Reagan administration, when I bought my first tuxedo. It's a traditional black, Clark-Gable-style monkey suit, with no frills or adornments, and a simple bow-tie. In other words, classic. I take it to the cleaners immediately after the event and store it in a garment bag, and think I look just spiffy, thank you very much. Halloween, on the other hand, always torments me. So many costume ideas, but I can only choose one.

Hey did you know that dressing up in costumes on Halloween is a tradition dating back over 2,000 years? Yeah, the Celts - who lived in what is now England, Ireland, Scotland, and parts of France - celebrated with a festival called Samhain (pronounced "sow-in") right around this time of year. It was more of a harvest festival, and a "let's hope we make it through the winter" type of affair than the high-fructose corn syrup bonanza we know today. They built great bonfires, offered up animal sacrifices, and dressed in costumes made from animal hides, heads, and other gruesomeness. Then they crossed their fingers and hunkered down for the winter. They also felt that at this time of year the boundary between the living and the dead was thin, like a veil, and evil spirits could slip right through and wreak havoc on the souls of the living. Man that's creepy! I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it.

Anyway, the Romans conquered the Celts and added their own rituals. Then Romans got religion and added Catholic beliefs to create All Saints Day. Then there was the reformation and Protestants added their two cents. And before you know it, everyone left and went to America and created entirely new rituals. Most notably among them was the idea of going door-to-door and begging for treats. Lots of people attribute this to the Irish which, considering the circumstance under which they left the Old World, makes a fair amount of sense. Whatever the case, once large numbers of Irish immigrants began flooding American cities, trick-or-treating began in earnest. And for me, that is what Halloween is all about. That and scaring the bejeezus out of the little kids that come to my door.

Which brings me back around to my costume conundrum. Thought I forgot about that, didn't you? I am not the type to buy a costume. I feel that any good costume, like any good meal, is one that is homemade. But I may be in a dwindling minority on this point. According to some recent statistics, approximately $1 billion will be spent on children's costumes this year, another $1.2 billion on adults, and get this, $310 million on pets. That's right: dogs, cats, ferrets, and anything else you can manage to wrestle into submission long enough to strap a costume to. Combine this with candy sales, and you are talking almost $7 billion dollars spent for this one day. If nothing else, it's comforting to know that in these troubled economic times, everyone has their priorities straight. For my part, I thought I'd find a dead animal along the side of the road, strap it to the top of my head, and go as Donald Trump. But the odor was off-putting, and the turkey vultures didn't give up on the carcass as easily as I thought they might. I kicked around being Mark Zuckerburg. All I'd have to do is wear a black hoodie, stuff my pockets with cash, and make uninspiring speeches all night. But that seems about as fresh as my Lady Gaga costume from last year. I took a bath on all of that prosciutto.

It's almost enough to make me want to skip town and get away from it altogether. I could get a timeshare rental at Mayan Palace Acapulco and celebrate Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) instead. Or maybe hit The Hilton Club New York and watch the freaks go by down at the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade. Then there's always New Orleans, which pretty much has a parade and/or festival for every day of the year, not to mention lots of great timeshares.

But no, that would be running away from my problems, and what kind ambassador does that? I think I just need to hunker down, and go with my gut. Which means I need to get to the drug store right away and lay in as much Fake Bake Sunless Self-Tanning Lotion as I can get my hands on. If I am going to pull this Snooky costume off, I've got be as orange as a carrot by this time next week.

Ready for a Fall

Well it is that time of year again. No I don't mean your annual teeth cleaning, although that's not a bad idea. I am talking fall foliage road trip! If you read my blog (you do read my blog, don't you?), then you know that this is the time of year that I pay some neighborhood kid to rake my lawn and hit the road for this annual display of color, compliments of Mother Nature. Last year I learned exactly why the leaves change color, and would like to share that with you again. Those brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows are actually present in the leaves all year long. That's right, the carotenoids in leaves are responsible for yellows, oranges, and browns; while anthocyanins provide the reds and purples. But the chlorophyll used in photosynthesis by leaf-bearing trees has a dominant green pigment to it, obscuring the others. As the nights grow longer and cooler, chlorophyll production slows and the hidden colors are revealed; sort of like watching Paula Deen remove her face makeup.

Anywho, I've got a route I take each year, starting way up north in New England and finishing in the Great Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. I rent timeshares at some great resorts along the way, and catch a bit of the local flavor from the great towns and villages as I go. As you may have heard, there was some pretty whacky weather this summer and fall in both the north- and southeast, and it has had an effect on the color. Most of Maine has already seen its peak color, and if it is any indicator, this is not going to be a "super peak" year. More likely, you'll see trees that have lost all their leaves, trees in full color, and some that have yet to start changing. It's still gorgeous, and well worth the trip. Heck, I'd go to Vermont just for the maple syrup and to make sure everyone was okay after the terrible flooding they had. It's easy to forget about that when there are so many other things competing for your intention. Like Paula Deen, for example.

I like to throw in a stop in Beantown to get some chowdah, even if it is wicked ha'd to pa'k your ca' there. A timeshare rental at Marriott's Custom House is an excellent base for taking in all of Boston's historic sights, and getting out into the country to "peep some leaves". From there, I like to swing across Connecticut, catching more color and great antiquing along the way, and head into the Catskills region of New York. Villa Roma Resort Lodges in Callicoon provides me a front row seat for the colorful display, and is just two hours away from the Big Apple, should I decide to take in some "people-peeping". You know they've got a Naked Cowboy down there in Gotham? They've got everything in New York. You might just want to keep north of Wall Street for the time being, particularly if you are involved in banking or finance in any capacity.

Next up I like to hit Depuy Village at Shawnee Resort, in the Delaware Valley between New Jersey and Pennsylvania. I always seem to hit great color in this stretch of the Appalachians. Of course I have to make my yearly pilgrimage to the Crayola crayon factory in nearby Easton, PA, and the Hershey Chocolate factory, which isn't nearby at all. But when you start talking crayons and chocolate bars, reason just doesn't factor into the equation.

Then I turn it south and cross the Mason-Dixon line into the Old Dominion State of Virginia. The Summit at Massanutten puts you in the heart of Virginia's Shenandoah Valley and some spectacular fall vistas along Skyline Drive and the Blueridge Parkway. And if the America Civil War is your thing, there are fourteen battlefields in this region alone. Most of Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson is buried in his hometown of Lexington, VA; a lovely little town you should definitely check out. His right arm, which was blown off by his own troops, is buried in Orange County, VA, about 2 hours away. Seems like a bit of a morbid detour, but to each their own. Finally, I wrap it up at the MountainLoft Resort in Gatlinburg, TN. This quiet hillside community is nestled in the Great Smokey Mountains, and I can't think of any better place to wrap up a fall foliage trip. Of course if I get a hankerin' for some good ole country music, spandex, and rhinestones - which I am wont to do - I can head on over to Dollywood. That's right, Dolly Parton's got her own theme park in nearby Pigeon Forge, the town of her birth. How long before Paula Deen gets her own theme park do you think? Can you say butter flume and bacon bumper cars, Ya'll?

Jazz Takes a Holiday

When you think of jazz festivals, perhaps New Orleans, New York, or St. Louis jump to mind. But summer and the festival season are long gone in those places, not to return until next year. But in Clearwater, FL - from where I am writing to you today - they are gearing up for the 32nd annual Clearwater Jazz Holiday. For four days in mid-October musicians from all over the world, and from all genres of jazz, descend upon Clearwater and the greater Tampa Bay area.

Now I know that greater Tampa and jazz festival sound like they'd go together like peanut butter and codfish, but this free event has drawn such greats as Tony Bennett, Buddy Rich, Dizzy Gillespie, Dave Brubeck, Tito Puente, Stephan Grappelli, Stan Getz, Herbie Hancock, The Neville Brothers, Branford Marsalis, Natalie Cole, George Benson, and many more. Beyond the great line-up, the setting is just spectacular. As the rest of the country is raking leaves and winterizing their homes, Clearwater enjoys daytime temperatures in the mid-eighties, and evenings in the mid-sixties. Just three miles long, it is an island bordered by the Gulf of Mexico to the West and Tampa Bay to the East, with beaches Conde Nast Traveler calls some of the best in the country. Art Blakey, the great be-bop drummer, once said "jazz washes away the dust of every day life." Miles of pristine, white, sandy beaches with sunrises and sunsets over crystal clear waters don't hurt none either.

In fact, with the festival going on for four days, I am going to have a hard time squeezing in everything else I want to do in the area. For example, have you heard about that new movie Dolphin Tale? It's the story of a dolphin named Winter, and it stars Morgan Freeman, Ashley Judd and Harry Connick Jr., and presumably a dolphin. I am sure it's absolutely terrible, but the dolphin that inspired the film, Winter, lives right here in Clearwater. She was found at 4-months old caught in a crab trap. After being taken to the Clearwater Marine Aquarium, it was determined she would lose her tail. What in the wild would have been a death sentence, inspired a physician to spearhead the effort to construct a prosthetic tail for the marine mammal. I'm not making this up. It worked, and today Winter is the star of the show at the aquarium, where they also care for and exhibit other dolphins, sea turtles, otters, stingrays, sharks, and more. I can't wait to meet her, and secretly hope I run into Ashley Judd while I am there. I know, I know, but a guy can dream, can't he?

Then there's sailing on a 3-masted schooner with Classic Cruises, swimming with dolphins at Encounters With Dolphins, Murielle Winery (I know, peanut butter and codfish again, but trust me on this one), and the Sunsets at Pier 60 Daily Festival. Every single day of the year, starting two hours before sundown, you will find crafters, entertainers, food, and fun for the whole family at the end of historic Pier 60. This free, daily event typically includes a spectacular sunset as well. This is all without ever leaving Clearwater. But just minutes across the bay is the greater Tampa area, which includes Adventure Island (Tampa's only outdoor water park), Busch Gardens, Florida Botanical Gardens, Museum of Science and Industry (with IMAX), the Salvador Dali Museum, and more golf that you can possibly have time for. I'm definitely going to need a Jazz Holiday.

I am staying at a timeshare rental at Chart House Suites, right in Clearwater. You can also find timeshare deals in nearby Belleair Beach, Crystal Beach, and Indian Shores. If you are hoping to hit the 2012 Jazz Holiday, I suggest starting your search well in advance, and signing up for posting alerts.

Well, I am off to Tampa's famous Ybor City neighbrohood, a.k.a. the Cigar Capital of the World. Since the late 1880s billions of cigars have been rolled in this ethnically diverse neighborhood. And while it went into a steep decline for several decades, it has seriously rebounded in the last twenty or so years. The entire downtown district is a National Historic Landmark, complete with a functioning trolley system. I am going to hit the Ybor City Museum and then score some stogies to take to the festival with me. I've got my eye on some Tampa Sweethearts, but I hear good things about the La Herencia De Cuba, too. Fortunately, depending on your perspective, they let you smoke them right there in the shop. I may end up with some of each, since I have a lot of "dust of every day life" I need to wash away.

The Great Pumpkin

Do you know what's orange, weighs 1810 lbs., and needs to be transported via flatbed truck? If you guessed my 1967 Volkswagen Beetle, you'd be two thirds right. The bug actually weighs 1900 (without me in it). No I am talking about the current record holder for world's largest pumpkin. That's right, Chris Stevens of New Richmond, WI, grew a pumpkin that weighed 1810.5 lbs. to take home the 2010 prize at the Stillwater Harvest Fest in Stillwater, MN. But if the last few years are any indicator, the gourd's reign will be short lived. Back in 1981, the largest pumpkin ever recorded was "just" 460 lbs. But Stevens's 2010 monster was more than 200 lbs. heavier than the 2009 winner. So it would seem that a 2000 pounder is is very real possibility this year. That's a one ton pumpkin folks. Are you kidding me?!

Of course most pumpkins are of a much more manageable size, at about 5-10 lbs. They are members of the genus Cucurbita, which is in the gourd family. These particular gourds are native to North America, and like many New World crops, the pumpkin's origins are unknown. Seeds dating from 7000 to 5500 BC have been found in Mexico, and remain the oldest evidence of the species existence. Once introduced to the rest of the world, their popularity surged and can now be found on all continents except Antarctica. They are used for everything from agricultural feed (chickens love 'em) to human sustenance like soups, breads, and of course pies. I for one cannot sustain without pie. Others of course are purely decorative, and are destined to be your Jack-O-Lantern in a few weeks - if not sooner. These pumpkins are typically of the Connecticut Field variety, and are familiar to just about everyone.

But the giant pumpkin varieties are in a league of their own. The story goes that giant pumpkins were first created by crossing hubbard and other large squashes with the kabocha pumpkin of Japan. The hybrids were then crossed back with rounder pumpkin varieties, and their size just kept getting bigger and bigger each time out. Eventually they were classified as Atlantic Giant, since most of this pumpkin upsizing was occurring in eastern North America (go figure). Then in 1981, Howard Dill of Nova Scotia (the giant pumpkin capital of the world) produced a 460 lb., pumpkin which shocked just about everyone who saw it, and made it the largest fruit in the world. For a time Dill actually held an exclusive patent on the Dill's Atlantic Giant seeds. Even today, all Atlantic Giants are derived from his stock, making him the Giant Pumpkin King. He should consider going into the giant pickle business next.

Anyway, all of the giants went into the ground back in July, and are just now starting to tip the scales. Growers from all over the world are getting ready to cut their trophies from their vines and see if they can top 1810.5. Just two days ago at the Ohio Valley Giant Pumpkin Growers Weigh-off, Carol and Dave Stelts hauled in a 1,807.5 lb. monster from Edinburg, PA. Not sure what you do with the second largest pumpkin ever grown, unless you also happen to own the largest chicken in the world, or can team up with the guy with the largest pie crust. Either way, it would seem that a new record holder will roll onto the scales some time in the next two weeks or so. Of course you can't count out Chris Stevens as the reigning champ, and keeping an eye on the Stillwater Harvest Fest in Duluth this weekend is probably not a bad idea. If you want to see it in person, you can get a timeshare rental at The Village at Izatys in nearby Onamia, MN. It puts you about an hour away from the festival and in a really beautiful part of the country.

Giant pumpkins are a bit too passive for me. Sure I'll place a wager on this year's winner (the over/under is 1950 lbs), but I am more into punkin chuckin. Do you know about this? Every year contestants from around the world descend upon the tiny hamlet of Nassua, DE, for the World Championship Punkin Chunkin competition. Contestants enter to see who can hurl a pumpkin the farthest via an air cannon. The current record, set in 2008, is 4483.51 feet, by a team called Young Glory III. That's 3/4 of a mile folks, and it is totally awesome! The technology does not yet exist (at least not in civilian hands) to shoot giant pumpkins with an air cannon, but when it does, I am so there.