Fear, Food, and Froth--my epic journey across Europe. Vol. 1.

I realize, dear friends, that I have not posted in many a fortnight (sorry, I'm stuck on tawdry romance novels right now, if only as a way to decompress after archiving all day long), but I am taking inspiration from my dear sister and blogging about my experiences traversing Europe (shameless plug: www.crabnebula13.blogspot.com is flippin' HI-larious).

We will start our journey (though my trip is nearly at an end) detailing the pleasures of the Queen Mary 2. And since this has mostly been a foodie blog, guess what?! Food will be involved.

My odyssey began nearly a month and a half ago now, while driving to New York. Some things to know before I go any further: 1) I have never been to New York state, let alone New York City, let alone New York HARBOR before; 2) having a paralyzing and extraordinarily limiting phobia (I leave fear in the dust, people) of flying, I have never been out of the country; 3) the one caveat to #2 is that I once went to Canada for 3 days when I was roughly 12 or so, so I do not really count this as international travel; and 4) I was heading out for basically 8 weeks, leaving my boys at home, ostensibly alone for 6 of those weeks.

Needless to say, my oldest son was NOT the only one who rather dreaded the trip. It's not that I didn't want to go. . . but I didn't want to go. More than anything, I wanted to be able to show my family exactly what their crazy mother/spouse/daughter/sibling/etc had been trying to do for the last [undisclosed] years in graduate school.

We stopped for a short time in Pennsylvania, in theory to get breakfast, at a truck stop. This particular truck stop sold a "food" item that seemed to defy definition: scrapple. You read that right. Somehow, though, I had a feeling that this food was NOT the offspring of a board game and an apple. I was right. Our server made a face and basically said that she didn't really know what it was but it involved pigs. Fine dining it was not. In fact, I'm rather surprised we attempted anything at all, but who knew when the next meal would really be.

We arrived at the wharf, and my first impression was one of awe. The Queen Mary 2 is truly an overwhelming sight to behold, and since we had spent the entire night driving in the mountains of Pennsylvania, braving homicidal trucks and rain, I'm certain fatigue had something to do with it. In any case, Cunard would not let Alex in . . .well, pretty much ANYWHERE in the terminal, so we took our leave quickly. A walk through customs, a flip of the passport, a scan of my baggage, and we were calmly awaiting our turn to board.

Of course, we DID stick out. We were not the, ahem, usual guests of the QM2, I'd imagine. Susan was rocking the pilgrims' pack, set to walk across Spain for 6 weeks, and my facial piercing and fire-engine-red hair was a bit hard to hide amongst the elegance. We boarded rather quickly, put our things in our stateroom . . . and ventured into the pub. Felt that a cocktail was in order, though I don't remember now what it was. A Cuban cigar, I believe. Tasty. On the return trip home, I will be certain to keep better track of my beverages.

We were off, after the necessary lifeboat drill and requisite "this-is-how-you-work-a-lifejacket" talk, sipping pink champagne, listening to a reggae band, and floating serenely past Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.

I will try to condense the next week of my trip, or this will take FOREVER to recount. Pub trivia = wonderful, pub beverages = even better (see future entry for more discussion), and the food = undescribable.

My blog readers generally know my love of a good cream sauce. Well, my friends, the richness of the food far surpassed my wildest expectations, and yet I felt no guilt. NONE. Not even when I ordered multiple desserts.

Some food completely stood out. Pumpkin soup! Baked Alaska! Salmon tartare! Salad with the most delicate vinaigrettes I've ever experienced! We're talking 4-star, even 5-star here. I've basically cheated and left out the details of the meals, but it is difficult to pick out a few to talk about.

And what's even better. . . . . . . . . I get to sample it all again!