Two Nights in Boise

Our friends Tim and Susan, fellow craft beer travelers, up and left us the first of July, moving to Boise and depriving us from our weekly fixes with their dog Cady. They left a good bit of their wine at our house with our promise that we would drive it over and have them introduce us to their new town. Prior to this trip, Boise was for us just a pit-stop on I-84 while heading elsewhere. Trying to wedge the trip in between doctor visits and other things that would keep us in Bend, we found a 3-day window starting Monday September 11, the 22nd anniversary of that date that neither Ann nor I will forget, both of us working close to the Pentagon.

Boiseans Love Their Town

With our sights set on meeting Tim and Susan at Mother Earth Brewing for a mid-afternoon welcome-to-Boise beer, we starting pushing east-southeast through the desert for the 345-mile, 6-hour drive that would see us cross over into Mountain Time. I never really thought about Boise being south of Bend until I looked at it on the map. Well, I'll be!

In this early fall season in the bright morning sun, we saw a veritable parade of rabbitbrush gleaming yellow on the roadsides leaving Bend where it and Antelope Bitterbrush dominate the landscape for nearly an hour of road time. Things start to change near the agricultural hamlet of Hampton, where the sagebrush really starts growing in earnest. Here, near the edge of a grass farm glowing unnaturally green in the desert because of irrigation, stood a lone pronghorn.

This was unusual in two respects. First, when do you ever see a lone pronger? They're always in small to huge herds. Second, I never thought about pronghorns residing in my own county. They have an affinity for sagebrush and in our county, the sagebrush doesn't really get started along US-20 until south and east of Hampton some 65 miles east of Bend. Interestingly enough, this would be the only pronghorn we would see on this trip and I think it may have been the first I have seen in Oregon. I'm kind of foggy on this; I have seen thousands upon thousands of them all over the west.

As we moved more into the sagebrush steppe towards Burns, the western junipers that are quite thick near Bend ceased to really have a large presence. But what was noticeable, even at 80mph, was a yellowish cast to the sagebrush which are just starting to bloom. They are not very handsome blooms as are those of the rabbitbrush nor are they terribly visible because they are so tiny.

Much more visible, however, are the sunflowers which are in full bloom now. From east of Burns just before we headed up into the Stinkingwater Mountains, we would see uncountable millions of sunflowers all the way to Boise. They were especially noticeable and beautiful on mile after mile of the benches and hillsides on either side of the Malheur River, their silver dollar- to baseball-sized blooms livening up our drive.

'Tis the Season for Sunflowers, Helianthus annuus, Ann's Favorite Flowers

Roadside Sunflowers at 70mph Along the Malheur River

About 25 road miles past Stinkingwater Pass, just shy of Juntura, the North Fork Malheur River appears on the north side of Route 20. On the eastern outskirts of Juntura, the North Fork merges into the main body of the Malheur, coming up from the south. Then Highway 20 crisscrosses the river for the next hour and a half into Vale and then on to Ontario where it empties into the Snake and ultimately the Columbia. The section of highway between Juntura and Harper is desolate, without cell phone signal, and austerely beautiful, the river and highway hemmed in on both sides by barren hillsides with really picturesque and often sheer escarpments. I snapped the following cell phone pics as Ann drove.

Entire Hillsides of Sunflowers

Sagebrush, Artemisia tridentata, and Sunflowers in the River Bottom

Continuing on east after the winding and totally gorgeous valley along the Malheur River, the land flattens out and is given over to agriculture. From Vale to Ontario in the Treasure Valley we encountered field after field of onions, sugar beets, corn, and grass. The area around Ontario is known for both potatoes and onions; Ontario is the location of the big Ore-Ida potato processing plant. But that said, it is currently onion season and we saw fields in all states from still green, to yellow wilted foliage, to stubbled with freshly mown onions waiting to be dug, to windrows of dug onions drying in the sun, to bare fields freshly harvested.

Growing up and beyond agriculture, Ontario, situated on the Snake River with Idaho on the far bank, is in recent years a very busy town. Known as the home of Tater Tots since the 1950s, it is currently a marijuana boom town. Just a short drive from the major Idaho population center surrounding Boise, Ontario is where Idahoans come to purchase their weed, it being banned in their bright red state. We Oregonians thank them for the tax revenue!

Passing through Ontario, we merged sharply onto I-84 at an entrance ramp littered with escaped onions and ripped east at 85mph towards Boise. Around 2pm, we arrived at the Mother Earth tap house on 3rd St., quiet on a Monday afternoon. Tim, Susan, and Cady were already there because we texted them when we were 20 minutes from the pub. Cady loves people and was terribly excited to see us once again. Tim and Susan wanted to show us Mother Earth Brewing, their second favorite establishment in Boise, in part likely to demonstrate to us that they were not entirely crazy in moving away from the plethora of great beers in Bend. I joke, but a cold beer was surely welcome after the long drive to Idaho.

Cady was Happy to See Friends

Two beers on empty stomachs reminded us that we had not yet eaten and now at 4pm Mountain Time, we should grab a bite. After a quick trip back to Susan and Tim's house where we pulled our car containing their cases of wine into the shade of their garage, Tim, Ann, and I set out just across the Boise River to the Boise Fry Company for a quick snack of fries to stave off hunger until dinner.

To order fries here, we first had to select the type of potato (russet, gold, purple, red, sweet, and yam). That's a pretty impressive list of local potatoes from which to choose, the potatoes coming from a farm on the other side of nearby Mountain Home. On our drive across Idaho from Montana to Oregon when we were moving to the West Coast, Ann and I got to see first hand how much of southern Idaho is dedicated to potato production. With so much of the economy based on potatoes, the fries in Idaho should be damned good, don't you think? Don't you also think that there is no better potato in the world for fries than an Idaho russet?

The fries were delicious, especially since Ann ordered our russets cooked in duck fat and tossed with a little truffle oil. The potatoes, already blanched and sitting on trays in a bun pan rack, are fried to order and come to the table hot and unsalted. You take them to a condiment bar and toss them with a salt of your choosing (I chose rosemary) and select from a large variety of dipping sauces for them. I got roasted jalapeño ranch for mine, which seemed to me much more like a spicy green aïoli than ranch dressing and that's a great thing.

Apparently on Monday afternoons, there is some kind of BOGO deal going on and the cashier asked me if I wanted my second beer right away or if I wanted to come back for it. Damn, that's illegal in every other state I have ever visited, but OK! Still, there was no way that I was going to have a fourth beer, so as we were leaving I told the crew to have it for their shift beer. They seemed to be very surprised and happy.

Fried Russets, foreground, and Fried Yams

Salt and Condiment Bar

After snacking our fries–what a great breakfast!–we drove back across to the north side of the river and back in the direction of downtown to Tim and Susan's house. The evening was a casual affair involving a good bit of wine and Tim's delicious dinner of a chicken and potato stew and a golden beet salad, both delicious. It was an early night for all of us and I slept like a champ, something of a miracle in my older age.

Chicken and Potato Stew, Golden Beet Salad

Tuesday morning, although I heard Cady get up and walk around at 5:15, I was able to go back to sleep until 6:45, no doubt thanks to the very different light cues in Boise. Because of the hour time change and the house being situated west of a mesa, the light at 6:45 seems similar to 5:15 in Bend. I stumbled out to the kitchen for a most welcome cup of coffee to find out that Tim was out on his morning run, but would be back shortly and wanted to climb to the top of Table Rock, the mesa behind the house.

Tim, Climbing to Top of Table Rock

Walking out the back door, the vistas of Boise from Table Rock are two miles up the hill, a pretty easy climb of 450 feet of elevation gain per mile, the bottom and top portions much steeper than the middle. We were so fortunate that it was overcast and that the sun was behind the hill for the majority of the walk; it is nothing if not exposed and would have been brutal in the bright sunlight.

I was really happy to get outside and stretch my legs, if for no other reason than I got almost no exercise the day before. Besides getting great views of Boise, I also saw a new-to-me species of bird (Say's Phoebe) and three or four species of plants that I had not encountered before. Lots of photos in a subsequent post.

Back at the house, Tim and I set out for the Albertson's next to Boise State to grab a couple beautiful dry-aged steaks for dinner that evening. Although I knew that WinCo is headquartered in Boise, I did not realize that Albertson's was as well. This beautiful Albertson's with an in-store ageing cooler for steaks sits right by Boise State's Albertson's Field, as any college football fan can tell you, home of that crazy-looking bright blue artificial Smurf Turf. This flagship store is a far, far cry from the super mundane one that we have in Bend. Although I knew of a Basque presence in Idaho, I did not realize that Albertson's would have a Basque section in it: pretty cool!

Tim had planned a pub crawl along the Greenbelt, a linear park along both sides of the Boise River, for our Tuesday amusement and fun. He had mapped out a nice route including four pubs based on their opening hours. Most don't serve food, so we wanted to get some take-out food to take to our first location for lunch. We struck out on the first two places (not open on Tuesday) but Tim's third choice was gold. 

Food Land Market, north of the expressway in a section of town called Garden City, bills itself as a Mediterranean market and café, but it feels more Middle Eastern. Run by a charming Iraqi woman, it is a place that I could explore a lot as a source of interesting ingredients. I am jealous of Boiseans as we have nothing similar in Bend, a town bereft of any international influence.

We called in our order, shawarma, falafel, and baba ghanoush before we left the house for the 10-minute drive to Garden City. The shawarma in particular we would find utterly delicious, very tender braised lamb and pickles wrapped in a pita (that more closely resembled a flour tortilla) that was browned on a flattop.

Food Land Market

With our lunch in tow, we drove just a handful of blocks through Garden City to Western Collective, a brewery that Tim wanted us to sample for our first beer of the day. It's a funky pseudo-Western themed brewpub in a pretty industrial/commercial part of town, just a few blocks south of the river. We got beers at the bar and then walked out back to a picnic table to enjoy our lunch to the quasi-musical noises of the canning line.

How Many Brewpubs Have a Cat in Residence?

Delicious Arab Shawarma in a Wrap, Baba Ghanoush

Lunch and a beer in our stomachs, we headed back upriver into Boise where Susan would drop us at White Dog Brewing, the starting point for our walk back downstream to Garden City. Although it seemed a decent enough place as we walked in, the crappy beer was under-exceeded only by the shitty 80's hair metal on the speakers.

Unthinkingly, I ordered a West Coast IPA without asking for a taste and when I tasted it, I knew I could not and would not drink it. It tasted skunked (how is that possible in a keg system?). It may be that the draft lines are filthy. I don't know. With one beer down and two more breweries coming up, I left it sitting. If I were not going elsewhere, I would have asked for something different. Our bartender was oblivious.

I did experience something new there, however. I had never before seen a bar with a frost rail, a frosted highly refrigerated strip down the middle of the bar for the purpose of keeping your beer glass cold. We all wondered why then they would serve Tim's beer in a footed glass. Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it? I imagine the whole concept is more gimmicky than effective.

Stunning Bolivian Begonia Outside White Dog Brewing

Unappealing and Undrunk West Coast IPA on Frost Rail

From White Dog Brewing, with the gorgeous Idaho State Capitol dome to our backs, we walked down Capitol Street towards the river and the Anne Frank Human Rights Memorial, a beautiful and contemplative park along the river. It strikes me as terribly ironic that Boise has opened its arms wide to refugees and immigrants from all over the world while also being the capital of one of the most red of all the right-wing states which largely despise immigrants.

Boise River Greenbelt at the Anne Frank Human Rights Memorial

We did not linger long at the memorial for the sun was getting high in the sky and very warm. We departed quickly for the shady Greenbelt beside the river. Along the river, a wide variety of trees provided shade for us, among them black walnut, black locust, black cottonwood, various willows, and surprisingly, Doug Fir. This is a crazy assortment of trees. Black walnut and black locust are eastern species and Doug Firs are pretty rare this far south in Idaho. No wonder they call it Boise, from the French boisé, wooded in English.

Payette Brewing

Our next stop was Payette Brewing where I had a nice IPA in the cool of the tasting room decorated with Octoberfest flags in preparation for their upcoming fest. Susan and Cady joined us after having skipped White Dog. From here, Tim, Cady, and I continued walking in the at times blazing sun, crossing the river, and heading up to about 33rd Street to Barbarian Brewing.

The girls, who drove, Ann becoming overheated in the sun, stopped at a nearby wine bar before joining us at Barbarian, the best of the day's brewpubs. I felt obligated to try a sour at a place that specializes in them, so I went with a blackberry sour which, like many sours, was a bit intense for me, so I had our bartender add a quarter IPA to it. It was delicious, but I could only drink one.

Tim and Cady Crossing the Boise

See Rule Number One

75% Blackberry Sour, 25% IPA

One thing I noticed on our tour of the Greenbelt is that there were scads of flies everywhere, something we just don't experience in Bend. According to Tim, it is known to locals that we are in the middle of fly season in Boise. We have bad mosquitos during the hatch in the spring, but flies don't register in Bend. For the Boiseans' sake, I hope they have an early frost.

Our pub crawl complete, we headed back to Tim and Susan's house to relax before dinner, those steaks that Tim and I fetched earlier in the morning. The steaks were in celebration of their closing the sale of their Bend house, set for the following morning after a lengthy stint on the market. Real estate buyers are scarcer and pickier than they were a year ago.

Ann and I do not eat steak very much so this was a great treat for us. I know Ann would like a little more steak in our diet, but if we're going to eat steak, it's going to be very good steak and we just don't have any place to find that quality steak in Bend. If we had that Boise Albertson's with the dry ageing cabinet in Bend, we'd splurge more often without a doubt.

To accompany the delicious steaks that we roasted on his Traeger, Tim generously opened a mini-vertical of Robert Craig Mt. Veeder Cab, 2006, 2007, and 2008. I'm so used to drinking Oregon Pinot Noir which demonstrates significant vintage variation that I have forgotten how consistent Napa vintages are. All three wines were extremely similar. I believe I speak for the group when I say that the 2007 was our favorite. After that, the 2008 struck me as just a bit finer than the 2006. I could only drink a little of each on account of our afternoon pub crawl.

2006, 2007, and 2008 Robert Craig Mt. Veeder Cabernet Sauvignon

Dry Aged Rib Steaks

Delicious and Tender, Steak is a Rare Treat

After that delicious dinner, it was well after dark and we were well on our way to bed, anticipating leaving Boise just after lunch so as to arrive home in Bend before dark. I am no longer comfortable driving long distances after dark; it becomes very hard to see anything at all and my depth perception is not great.

Wednesday morning, along with our coffee, we watched some of La Vuelta a España bicycle race that the Durango Kid, American Sepp Kuss, was leading and would ultimately win, giving his Jumbo-Visma team a sweep in the 2023 Grand Tours, a big thank-you from his teammates for his hard work in helping them win the Giro d'Italia and the Tour de France.

Late morning, after saying our reluctant goodbyes to a confused Cady, who reminds us how much we miss our dogs, we headed out for an early lunch. On Tuesday, Tim had wanted to take us to Ansots, the James Beard-nominated chorizo outpost in downtown, but it was closed, so we ended up at the Iraqi-run Food Land Market instead. Today, Ansots was open and our mission was to enjoy some of Dan Ansotegui's delicious chorizos for lunch before heading back to Oregon.

Accordingly, we headed downtown to the Basque Block, a single block in Old Boise celebrating the more than 16,000 residents of that heritage, possibly the largest concentration of Basques outside of Spain. Coincidentally and knowing that I had planned to make a paella for our anniversary at the end of September, I thought I would take advantage of Ansots to score a couple of sausages for that event. Alas, they would not sell them to me and pointed me in the direction of their Basque Market around the corner, already on my radar as my Plan B.

The menu at Ansots offers a few tapas/pintxos and several bocadillos. Ann ordered presa (sliced pork shoulder steak) and mixed croquetas (jamón, bacalao, and veggie) for her lunch, while the rest of us ordered sandwiches. On his bocadillo, Tim got a tortilla (chorizo and Idiazabal cheese omelet), Susan pork belly and fried egg, and I two chistorras (spicy sausage). Ann and I decided to get two sandwiches to go for our dinner, so we ordered the Latx (two different thinly-sliced chorizos and Manchego cheese) and the Txomin (jamón serrano and Idiazabal).

We really enjoyed the opportunity to sample dishes that we cannot get at home. Though I have made and eaten many a chorizo during my life, this was my first time ever eating chistorra (txistorra). We all thought that the bread from nearby Acme Bakeshop in Garden City was delicious and well-toasted. It's hard to make a great sandwich with subpar bread. Each of our plates was garnished with delicious seared green peppers in the style of padrones, but they are of a shape that I do not recognize. Too bad we were there for lunch before driving: a bottle or two of Txakoli would have really hit the spot!

Chorizos on Display at Ansots

Chistorra Bocadillo, Bonus Points for the Seared Peppers as Garnish

Croquetas Mixtas

With our to-go sandwiches from Ansots in hand, we walked past the Basque Center and Museum to the Basque Market in search of chorizos. As we neared the store, I noticed a lot of people occupying the shaded tables out front on the sidewalk. And as we got closer, my nose went on red alert as I saw a guy finishing up a largish paella in a four-handled enameled paellera.

Apparently, the Basque Market prepares a paella on the patio at noon each Wednesday and Friday and it was our good fortune to drop by on a Wednesday, right after noon. I can just hear the Valencians (reputedly the devisors of paella, but come on, people have been eating rice dishes long before Valencia was a thing) muttering about the Basques and cultural appropriation. But really, paella is the de facto national dish of all Spain and the Basques are as welcome to make it as I am, a WASP through and through.

Twice-Weekly Paella at the Basque Market

No stranger to making paellas, I chatted with the chef for a few moments and inquired how much rice it took for this paellera (a good measure of size). Mine takes a kilo and a half of rice; he said he used three kilos. We also discussed paella pans briefly, chef to chef. I understand why people use enameled paelleras (much easier to maintain), but I like my raw steel Garcima Pata Negra pan instead. I believe that using a raw steel pan, you can get a better socarrat, the crunchy bottom crust that is the ultimate goal in making a paella. And yes, you do have to clean it carefully and oil it as you have to do with any steel or cast iron pan. Or non-stainless steel knife. Like any tools, you have to take care of them.

Inside the crowded store, I got a couple of hard Ibérico chorizos to take home for my own paella. It was hard to move around in the cramped confines because of all the people jammed around a long table, awaiting their serving of paella. After waiting on line to pay for my chorizos, it was a good bit of a slog to get through the crowd of people huddled around the paellera, plates in hand and figuratively drooling in anticipation of lunch.

Sadly at this point, it was time for us to get on the road and head back home and so we took leave of Tim and Susan. While they headed home, we headed the opposite direction taking the 184 expressway in the direction of I-84 westbound towards Ontario. We wanted to take advantage of the lower gas prices in Idaho to refill our tank, so we stopped in Caldwell at a truck stop with $3.99 gas. Compare that to $4.49 across the Snake River in Ontario. That's $10 cheaper for our 20-gallon tank.

The trip back, the reverse of the way we came, was pretty boring, though incredibly beautiful, and seemingly lasted forever. It was the trip that would never end. Psychologically, you think you are getting close to home when you re-enter your own county, don't you? I know I do. But on the Central Oregon Highway (US 20), when we hit the southern border of the county before the hamlet of Hampton, it's still another 65 miles of empty desert to get to the eastern edge of town and another 15 minutes to get home from there.

It's hard for people on the East Coast to picture how vast the West is. Our county, Deschutes, is one of the medium-sized counties in Oregon and at over 3000 square miles, could engulf over 2-1/2 Rhode Islands, a pittance compared to the abutting Harney County at over 10,000 square miles which is larger than six of our states by itself and is the 10th largest county in the lower 48. Alaska and its boroughs are a whole other deal!

Tim and Susan, thank you for your hospitality and congratulations on closing the sale of your house in Bend. Best wishes in Boise and we'll see you soon enough.