Last night, the usual suspects took a couple of taxis to Orizontes, at the top of Lycabettus Hill. The drive itself was wildly spectacular, as the little yellow car tore up narrow windy streets, lined on both sides with parked cars. Tragedies were narrowly averted many times during the ten minute ride. We sat quietly, jaws and fists clenched, while the driver shouted and gestured, backed up for a whole block to let downhill traffic pass, and avoided several massive collisions only by the grace of some Athenean god. Lycabettus is the highest point in the city of Athens, and once we stumbled out of our taxi, we queued up and bought tickets to take the last and steepest part of the ride in a little funicular. Orizontes is one of several restaurants and cafes at the end of the ride, the hill topped off by a small white church, Agios Georgios (Saint George).

The restaurant is very white table-cloth fancy, with large picture windows overlooking the city, but we were delighted as the hostess led us past the interior tables and out onto a large stone terrace. Our table abutted a low wall and was minimally lit by a light hung from an adjacent tree. Reading the menus was a challenge (we thought the waiters could offer miner’s helmets along with the wine list) but any difficulties were surpassed by the truly jaw-dropping view. We sat through a leisurely dinner in the sultry evening air with the lights of the city spread below us. To our right, communications antennas and their support wires looked like the rigging of a ship, which kept us in phase with the whole “Talk Like A Pirate” day vibe we were trying to maintain. Little bats flew in circles in the air above our heads. The food we ordered was just fine, and expensive – a goat cheese appetizer, some lamb shanks, chicken, a big salad. Better: the soup (potato vegetable with saffron, smooth and rich), the small scoop of lemon sorbet between courses, the two bottles of really lovely red wine. And fabulous: being there.

We walked down the hill, dozens of stone steps through a bustling hip neighborhood, and ended up at the same taverna next to our hotel where we spent Saturday evening. Our waiter brought us a round of Mythos, and then another, and we gossiped about our funny (as in odd) colleague Les (apparently he is having a fling with an archaeologist!) and tried to guess Steve’s age – he’s being awfully coy about it, for no apparent reason. I left 20 euros to pay for my share of the bill and apparently I left a generous tip – our seven beers totaled 14 euros. It all evens out in the end.

A group of us consulted the English menu at a sidewalk taverna here in Athens on Saturday, and ended up ordering olives, tsatsiki, “spicy feta from the oven”, and bread. Lindsay said, “You’re just ordering ingredients!” but it was a perfect combination of flavors, and just the right amount of food.

Her comment reminded me of an article I read last week in the San Francisco Chronicle. Noted travel writer Arthur Frommer detailed "12 tips to get the most out of your worldwide travels,” and item 6 is “take one meal a day picnic-style”. He adds, “I now make one meal a day out of the simple, cold ingredients purchased in a foreign grocery or delicatessen. In this manner, I not only eat sensibly, healthfully and cheaply, but I eat better, enjoying the local specialties in cold food that every country offers.”

The other great benefit to picnicking is the adventure of finding a place to eat. I’ve “done it” on the edge of the Grand Canyon, in a car during a rainstorm, near the zoo in Stanley Park in Vancouver, on a ferry on the Hudson River, in a bustling square in Salzberg, on the balcony of a hotel room overlooking Monterey Bay. Next week, I hope to spend a lot of time in Tuscan markets, gathering picnic supplies for meals "al fresco".

It feels right to begin a new adventure with a prayer. This one seems especially appropriate, and comes from The Hip Chick’s Guide to Macrobiotics by Jessica Porter. My friend Melissa loaned me this book, which is funny and, yes, hip. However, not to dis anybody’s trip, there is no “cheese” in “macrobiotics”; consequently, this is not a diet I could adapt for long. Regardless of our differences, though, Ms. Porter and I agree: “cooking is cool.”

Dear Infinite Universe:
I am a magician.
Through the alchemy of cooking,
I am turning this time into glittering gold.
I am building my body
And the bodies of those I love.
Instead of stagnation,
I am enjoying growth and forward motion.
Instead of hiding my light, it is glowing in the world.
It feels so good to be alive.
Cooking wakes up my senses,
Sharpens my intuition,
And warms my soul.
Cooking is cool.
Thank you for teaching me, through cooking
About your elements;
Fire, earth, metal, water, and tree
Which make up my body and all living things.
With you,
I am nourishing my deepest power
And my wildest dreams.
Let’s go!

P.S. From our office where we are stapling and collating, we have a picture window to Athens and the hills beyond. The hills are rocky, covered with little shrubs and big communications antennas. Yogurt, honey, and dried fruits and nuts for breakfast, with strong coffee.

So here are the relevant details: I'm signed up to begin school at the California Culinary Academy on November 13th. It's not like I was struck by lightning, exactly, but the decision was both sudden and obvious. David is reeling a bit but it can take him a while to integrate change, plus this'll definitely impact our lifestyle and our finances in unforeseen ways. I'm confident that he will be totally supportive once our dinner menu starts to evolve, and the budget pieces all come together.

It's been twenty seven years since I graduated from college. This time, I'll be wearing sensible close-toed shoes and carrrying an instant-read thermometer in my apron pocket. I'm used to lots of expensive books on the syllabus (Professional Cooking and Professional Baking at $130 and $114, respectively -- right up there with Shakespeare: The Complete Works), but it's a thrill to find "9" offset spatula" and "waiter's corkscrew" on the list of required supplies.

Mid-November is quite a ways off, though. I've done all the necessary school-related stuff -- lots of paperwork, FAFSA application, site tour -- the only thing left is a uniform fitting. Best to do that after our upcoming trip to Tuscany. Who knows what affect the pasta and gelato will have? Hopefully it'll be balanced out by plenty of walking.

For work, I'm heading to Athens tomorrow, where my client, a trade organization, will be holding its quarterly meeting. Then it's a short hop from Athens to Rome, where I'll meet David and our friends Steve and Marilyn for two weeks in a rented Cortona farmhouse. We're planning to sleep, eat, sit in the sun, sight-see, art-look, shop, and drink wine. No itinerary. When I get back, I'm hoping to transition into a part-time job with my current employer -- otherwise, I'll be looking for some new work that will fit in with my school schedule. Writing, cooking, eating, reading: it's the New Me (just like the Old Me, only different.)