Someplace special

A recent work-related conference placed me within an hour's flight of my hometown of Stockton, California. As the base airfare was less than $40 and opportunities to visit my parents and sister only arise once or twice a year, I jumped at the opportunity.

Some who are familiar with my hometown's many challenges might wonder why I'd bother. Not being a 'Stockton apologist', I recognize said problems and have even sung the blues about them. Problems aside though, there's a lot to like about Stockton that many (read “Forbes Magazine”, among others) either refuse to acknowledge or gloss over. After spending an extended weekend in the nation's easternmost Pacific seaport, I'd like to rectify that oversight.

Valley deliciousness

My first stop upon landing at Stockton Metropolitan Airport (SCK) was Chuck's Hamburgers, a family-run eatery dating back more than forty years. Though Chuck's menu includes a range of delectable options (e.g. milkshakes served up in the metal can, pancakes so large they're nicknamed 'manhole covers', etc.), this trip included two of my longtime favorites: A completely loaded club sandwich on sourdough and a half-order of onion rings. Yum!

The visit and related proximity to childhood memories also inspired me to make sopas (a traditionalPortuguese dish often served on or around Easter) for my parents and sister. Sopas made with fresh-baked multigrain sourdough bread from Stockton's Boudin Bakery made for yet another delicious Stockton memory.

Music and the arts

Second stop on this year's spring vacation to Stockton was the Haggin Museum. My parents and I enjoyed wine tasting, hors d'oeuvres and the blues, made possible by Friends of the Haggin (who organized the refreshments) and Ms. Lizzy and Her Cadillac Kings, the evening's talented performers. Sipping delicious, locally grown and produced red zinfandel wine accompanied by fresh California strawberries, all while listening to classics like “Sweet Home, Chicago” (a song about where I now live) made for yet another memorable moment.

The weekend's entertainment didn't end with that first night at the Haggin though. On Friday night, my parents and I enjoyed listening to local band “Bad Habits” while dining on delicious tri-tip sandwiches at Royce's BBQ. My mom and I then headed out to the Elks Lodge to listen to the classic rock n' roll stylings of “RB/X”.

[More]BBQ and Baseball

Yet another Stockton claim to fame is Banner Island Ballpark (aka 'The BIB', a minor league venue once recognized as one of the nation's finest ballparks). A quick stroll around The BIB quickly illustrates why it's a Stockton gem. Nestled alongside the headwaters of the San Joaquin River, just across the water from Stockton's downtown marina, with a host of children's activities and blessed with cool delta breezes and a plethora of dining options (I enjoyed a BBQ'd chicken salad and deep fried Stockton asparagus), I can't think of a better place to enjoy a ballgame... Which is no mean compliment coming from someone who's personally enjoyed 'The Friendly Confines' on a number of occasions.

Far away home, far away port

Watching the Stockton Ports' batters slam doubles and triples, seeing ocean-bound freighters loading up on molasses and concrete, enjoying warm sun and clear skies... Good times. Does any of that eradicate the specter of bankruptcy, high crime or Stockton's other challenges? No, of course not. That said though, I'd like to remind Stockton's many naysayers that, while the city's challenges are great, a thousand miles of sun-drenched waterways, countless acres of verdant farmland and plentiful vineyards all translate into someplace that, challenges aside, is still pretty dammed special.

Sopas

NOTE: This blog was originally posted to Xanga.com on July 12, 2005, a little more than four years ago. I'm re-posting it here because it's about what I'm cooking tomorrow, in celebration of the first day of the second decade of the new millennium.

Sopas Because sometimes it takes a village to feed a village I sometimes joke that my family's lineage is like a Steinbeck novel (or two Steinbeck novels, actually). You see, my mother's parents drove to California in an old black Ford, strait out of the dustbowl and the pages of "The Grapes of Wrath". A few years earlier, using both legal and, er, 'less than legal' means, my father's great-grandparents arrived from the Azores and found jobs in Monterey, California, on "Cannery Row". Though I think of myself mostly as an 'okie boy', having grown up in the unincorporated 'Okieville' neighborhood of Stockton, California, I also have plenty of childhood memories of my Portuguese heritage , one of which was the attending of my first festa. Festas are held throughout Northern California every year, are sponsored by the local Portuguese Club and Catholic parish, and are a custom leftover from 'the old country'. In the Azores, a group of islands more than nine hundred miles from Portugal, festas were held each year for one very important reason... To ensure that, for one day out of the year, no one in the village went hungry. For poor Azorian villages, feeding all and sundry was probably a very daunting task, and inspired the creation of a dish called "Sopas" (or, as we pronounced it in my family, "soupish"). Sopas relied on one village patron to donate an animal, which was then cooked up in such a fashion as to maximize the number of people that could be fed. Traditional sopas consists of, at a minimum, the most inexpensive cut of beef and a pot of water and spices, all of which are cooked up together (sometimes for days), until a palatable, soup-like mixture is achieved. Trays are then arranged with thick slices of bread topped with mint leaves, upon which the soup-like mixture is then ladled onto before serving. There are a number of common variations to the 'recipe', sometimes in the area of the spices used, sometimes with additional ingredients such as onions, tomatoes, or possibly even cabbage added to the mix. When one arrives at a festa, one is first expected to pay tribute to The Holy Mother and local parish with a donation, paid at a shrine at the festa's entrance (only those who can pay are expected to, and, as a kid being raised in a Baptist church, that shrine was like nothing I'd ever seen before, let me tell you). All are then ushered into a large hall where everyone is fed. In the early days of Portuguese immigration to California's Central Valley, the local Portuguese Clubs would advertise their festas in the local papers, in an effort to continue the tradition of attempting to 'feed the entire village'. I believe this practice has diminished over the years, however, though festas still vary from the most modest of affairs (as described herein) to more elaborate events that host 'bloodless bullfights' and other activities. The history of the festa aside, sopas has become a cherished tradition in our family, one I perpetuated just this past Sunday for a visitor from Alaska. The recipe I cook up these days is a little more elaborate than you'd probably find at a festa (and is mostly the work of my Aunt Pricilla [who is Portuguese] and my mother [who is not], though she cooks like she is (smile)), but its lineage can still be traced back to a poor little village on an Azorean island called "Pico". Here it is, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do: Recipe for Sopas: Assemble in a pot one lean round roast (approx. 2.5 lbs), two sliced yellow onions, the contents of a small jar of pickling spices securely tied up in cheesecloth, two 32oz. cans of crushed tomatoes, a half to a full 32oz can of extra water, a 1.5 liter bottle (or two 750ml bottles) of burgundy, between two to four extra bay leaves, and a dash of cumin. Bring to a boil and then lower flame to a low simmer. Cook for six to eight hours until the meat of the roast falls apart (after around five hours, you can help the 'falling apart process' with a spoon, the final goal being that the meat is as evenly represented throughout as possible). When the pot is ready, take several loaves of fresh baked bread (I used sourdough back in California but, now that I've moved to Illinois, I often use Vienna loaves instead), slice the loaves into pieces that are approximately an inch and a half thick, arrange the pieces of bread in large pans (I use the bottom of broiler pans, though lasagna pans or other large pans should work just fine), place several fresh mint leaves on top of each piece of bread, ladle the soupy meat mixture over the trays of bread and serve (YUM!!!). 2012 addendum: I've been enjoying a healthier version of sopas for several years now, where I've substituted a boneless turkey breast roast (sans skin or extra fat) for the beef roast, up to 64oz of water (versus 16-32oz) and fresh-baked whole-grain loaves for the Vienna or sourdough loaves (on the unhealthy side, I also sometimes add a dash of fresh-ground sea salt to taste). I think it tastes just as good, if not better, and it's definitely lower in fat and higher in whole grains. Enjoy!