Vancouver is a world-class city increasingly recognized for its world-class cuisine. In late 2022, eight restaurants received the city’s first distinguished Michelin-stars.  These were the Quebecois inspired St Lawrence, the Chinese iDen & QuanJuDe Beijing Duck House, the Japanese Masayoshi, and contemporary restaurants Public on Main, AnnaLena, Barbara, and Burdock and Co.   As one might expect, all use premium, locally-sourced ingredients, but other than showcasing B.C’s outstanding seafood, would any be out of place in Quebec, China, Japan, or among other fine dining restaurants worldwide?  No. If you’re looking for food of the land, food of the people, and food for thought, the restaurant to put on your bucket list is Salmon n’ Bannock.  Take a seat inside the only Indigenous restaurant in Vancouver, and stop and smell the sage bush.

Located on West Broadway and tastefully decorated with Indigenous artwork, there’s a big heart at the centre of this small restaurant, and a story with every dish.  It starts with a one-year-old girl swept up in the 60’s Scoop – a horrendous era when government authorities forcibly removed Indigenous kids from their homes.  Inez Cook was taken from her Nuxalk community in Bella Coola and placed within foster care.  Raised by loving white parents, she grew up with little connection to her Indigenous roots. As a flight attendant, she lived and travelled around the world, falling in love with cuisine, while nurturing a growing curiosity to learn more of her past.  Salmon ‘n Bannock, inspired by a road sign and a dream, is the result.

When the restaurant launched in 2010, Inez was welcomed back by the Nuxalk, and has used great food to bring people together ever since.  It’s a bold and confident act of what she calls reconcilli-action.   Her friendly staff and kitchen crew serve up a unique menu of dishes native to the region, creatively adapted for discerning and adventurous urban palettes. 
“Indigenous people used what was locally available,” she tells me over an alluring plate of appetizers. “Farm-to-table, the 100-mile diet, we were the OG trendsetters!”    
With glowing reviews and profiles in global media including the New York Times, CNN and BBC, Salmon n’ Bannock is a fantastic story that literally breaks bread across the cultural divide.   That said, you can’t eat a story, so what’s on the plate?

Hot smoked candied salmon with maple, cracked pepper, and delicate sweetgrass-infused cherries.  Light elk salami and rich duck terrine.  Citrusy salmon ceviche, double smoked cheese, homemade pickles, and the #addicitive wild BBQ salmon mousse. Baked bannock - which Inez corrects me rhymes with panic - makes a wonderful cracker, smothered with her updated version of traditional pemmican: smoked bison with sage-infused blueberries and cream cheese.  I wash it down with a refreshing Bella Coola soda, infused with hibiscus, rosehips, orange and apple.   No chance I’ll get to the bison pot roast, game sausage, Anishinaabe risotto, smoked sablefish, or urban sage-smoked salmon burger. One visit simply won’t cut it. 
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It’s healthy, sustainable and delicious, so when will Indigenous cuisine share a food court with Mexican, Thai, Greek, Vietnamese, Chinese, and other international cuisines?  This is not a theme, Inez reminds me. “It gets me from zero to a thousand in lividness when we’re called a theme restaurant.  Japanese or Italian food is not a theme.  Indigenous is not a theme. We are living cultures.” 

There are only a handful of Indigenous restaurants across Western Canada, but they’re winning both fans and awards.  Scott Jonathan Iserhoff’s Pei Pei Chew Ow café in Edmonton won Best Trailblazer in enRoute’s list of Canada’s Best New Restaurants.  You’ll find the Kekuli Café in Merritt and West Kelowna, Bear and Bone Burger Co in Golden, the Ktunaxa Grill at the Ainsworth Hot Springs and several others.  Those flying out of Vancouver can leave with a taste too: Salmon n’ Bannock opened up their second location inside the international departures lounge of YVR.  Business is strong, but there are still plenty of challenges.

​“You might have bad Chinese food one day, but that won’t stop you ever eating Chinese food again.  People have to get familiar with our food.  We only get one shot, and I want to build everybody up,” she says.    
Oh yes, Vancouver is blessed with dozens of fantastic restaurants (and we don’t need Michelin to tell us that either).  Yet crafting great food through an Indigenous lens and doing it responsibly with the full support of the community, suggests we’re heading towards a promising, and uniquely regional, culinary future.  Enjoy the feast. 

A few years ago, my wife and I took our 4-year-old daughter and 18-month-old son on a 6-month adventure across Australia.  We did this because I was writing two books about travel Down Under, and because we are insane. 

Since our hard-earned experience might be of use to other parents, I thought I'd share some of the practical sections from my bestselling Australian book: 75 Must-See Places to Take the Kids (before they don't want to go).   It might save your soul and sanity, and no matter how old your kids are, will likely make you laugh.  

​Food has always been a vital component of travel.  Every meal is an opportunity to saviour new cuisines, sparking conversation and connection. It’s a special time to sit back, relax, and indulge.  When you’re travelling with young children, forget all that.   ​

The rule of thumb is that the more expensive the restaurant, the less likely your children will actually eat anything of nutritional value, and the more likely they will throw a full-tilt meltdown because their crayon isn’t the right shade of forest green.   

The formula of your typical family travel meal:

​Location:  A small town restaurant with a fridge buzzing at an almost intolerable volume, but which the owners don’t seem to hear or mind.   Air-conditioning a plus.
Enter:  Family of four, two kids under five.   After walking around looking for somewhere to eat for twenty minutes, if you even suggest finding somewhere else, your partner will call a divorce lawyer, or possibly, a hit man. 
High Chair:  Available in wood or plastic, with dried brown stains of mysterious culinary origin.
Kids Menu:  All major food groups represented, including fried chicken nuggets, fried fish, hamburgers, frozen pizza, grilled cheese sandwiches, and most importantly, chips.  Apple juice is from concentrate and somehow contains both sugar and high-fructose corn syrup.
Cost:  Exactly one-third more than you’d expect to pay, but the kids’ meal comes with milk or apple juice, and that sounds healthy.
Order:  Nuggets for the one kid, grilled cheese sandwich for the other.   Order placed immediately to get the kids fed as soon as possible.  
The Wait: Interminable.  What are they doing, processing the fake cheese, looking for a bird to slaughter?    Whines increase in volume and frequency until breaking point.
Length of time used up for washing hands:  Twenty minutes convincing your kid to do it, eight seconds when they actually do. 
Length of time used up for colouring books:  Four minutes and twelve seconds, including one full minute of your two year-old chewing on the crayon before you notice.  
Length of time used up for reading books:  Forty-five seconds.
Length of time used up with apps on phone or tablet:  No, don’t do it yet, wait until it gets really bad, or you need your hands to eat.
The Food Pt 1:  As your kids will gladly explain in high-pitched screams to everyone within the zoning district, they now want hamburgers and pizza, not chicken nuggets and grilled cheese sandwiches.     No amount of cajoling convinces them otherwise, including threats of starvation, boarding school, or withholding stuffies at night - all of which amounts to more punishment for you than for them.   Eventually you order the pizza and hamburger and realize that yet again, your partner and yourself will be dining on chicken nuggets and grilled cheese sandwiches.  
Reaction of Restaurant and Other Customers:  A coin toss between heaven-sent patience (they have kids or grandkids) and barely contained annoyance (they don’t).  
The Food Pt 2:  Ignored by both kids since by now they have raided the crackers and fruit you carry in the snack bag, and they are no longer hungry.  On the plus side, they had a healthier lunch than the restaurant menu anyway, plus you can always bag their food for later, when it can be enjoyed cold and soggy, just the way no kid on Earth likes it.
The Screen:  OK, use it, do it, just get a few minutes to shove that terrible food into your face so you don’t become over-hungry and lose whatever patience you still cling to.
The Bill:  Never comes quick enough, always costs more, and always makes you question why restaurants don’t put carrots, crackers and apple on their menus because that’s all kids want to eat anyway – at least until they see that on a menu, in which case carrots, crackers and apples will become instantly toxic. 
Length of Ordeal:  30 to 45 minutes, during which time you can count on at least one potty break, one diaper change, one smashed toy, and possibly, a broken marriage.

​Remember: sit back, relax, and indulge in the cultural connections of new cuisines.      
There, isn’t that better?

During our journey, we ambitiously took our kids to some wonderful restaurants, especially around Melbourne and Sydney’s Darling Harbour.   It was our sincere hope we’d be able to expand our kids’ culinary horizons, allowing them to graduate to mild spices and unusual dishes.  How proud I was when my daughter sampled crocodile, emu and kangaroo meats at the Adelaide Central Market (she drew her understandable limits at sampling citrus-nutty green ants from the Northern Territory).  
“This is dill-lish-shiss!” or a hearty “Mmmmmmm!” were not uncommon words out of her mouth.  We definitely had memorable meals, although we often deployed the screen to keep the kids occupied long enough for all of us to enjoy it.   Between eating in and eating out, it’s important to treat yourselves every once in a while and budget a little extra for good food.  At the end of the day, good food keeps you healthy, if the kids are behaving, meals can indeed be the highlight of the day.  
 
Tip: We found food delivery services to be a family travel revelation, combining the ease of going out with the ease of staying in.   

Wherever possible, we preferred preparing our own meals in our holiday park cabins,  Air Bnb’s and rental apartments.  Even though we had to shop, cook and clean up, dinners are just simpler at home.  We can feed the kids meals they’d actually eat, keep ourselves conveniently close to bathtubs, toys, paper towels, toilets, and TV shows on ABC Kids.   Always on the move, we travelled with a box of condiments and staples, pickings up fresh produce wherever we went (our kids are constantly snacking on fruit and vegetables, which are abundant and excellent in Australia).  Breakfasts are particularly important, and given our schedule, were often rushed.  Cereal, smashed avocado toast, Uncle Toby’s porridge, Milo, eggs… and out the door.   
Lunches were usually eaten out, hence the overflow of nuggets, sandwiches and chips, with pies coming to the rescue on more than one occasion.     Home cooking have given our kids a taste for asparagus, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, mushrooms, and other vegetables I rejected as a child.    Butter, lemon, salt and garlic pretty much saves the day with every veggie, along with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.  Our kids love butter chicken, schnitzel, warm bread to dip into olive oil, hummus, and absolutely anything to do with cheese.  Don’t they all?  We didn’t always have time to prepare elaborate meals, but did have some go-to dishes, and pasta or rotisserie chicken available always in a pinch.   There’s much to be said for the quality of packaged meats, chicken and salads available from supermarkets these days.    In our household, Dad does the cooking, Mom does the baking, and everyone cleans up. There were occasional BBQ’s but unless you’re travelling with your own, they’re often a pain to clean up.
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If you need to make omelettes for dinner, do it.   If you need to eat leftover chicken for breakfast, do it.  
Do whatever you need to, because any food in the belly pays dividends when you avoid hangry meltdowns in an hour or two.

Bon voyage and bon appetit! 

Congratulations!  Each decade of your life is an accomplishment. Goals are realized, professions evolve, priorities shift, families grow and experience is gained.  This is also reflected in how we choose to travel, and where we choose to go.   Celebrating these important milestones, I've gathered inspiring destinations to suit this passage of time.  Of course, every journey is unique. You can turn these decades upside down, or mix them up entirely. A bucket list is as special and individual as the person who crafts it, and each life journey is one’s own.   As for the passing of the years themselves, I defer to the wisdom of Mark Twain:  “Age is an issue of mind over matter.  If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!” ​

In our twenties, we travel to relish in the excess.  All night parties, camping on beaches, intense relationships – all with a no-holds-barred commitment to the carefree abandon of youth.  It's a time to make the kind of mistakes you'll learn from, and sacrifices you'd only make when you're young.  Legends of Full Moon parties and all-night desert parties sound particularly appealing, and you don't mind sleeping on floors or eating instant noodles for a month if it means you can get to them.  Backpacking across Western Europe is a rite of passage, although it's also very expensive,  Stretching your travel dollar, you'll be drawn to budget-travel meccas like Thailand, Central America, India and Laos. You might be drawn to a Kibbutz in Israel or volunteering with animals in Bolivia.  Everything and everyone will be particularly vivid and intense, an opportunity to learn and grow and let your hair down.  You'll only realize just how big that opportunity was when you're further along your life journey. ​

At last, the kids are at summer camp, or old enough to join us on an adventure that's physical, but not too strenuous.   As careers stabilize and hobbies strengthen, perhaps it’s time to hike the Inca Trail, trek in Nepal, or spend our well-earned holidays on a multi-day bike ride through the valleys of Italy or France.  A fly-in fishing trip in Canada, a multi-day rafting excursion between the Grand Canyon,  or maybe just an epic road trip to explore the Oregon coast, Route 66, Yellowstone or Banff National Parks.   Consider a few weeks camping across Iceland, or taking a tour to pack in the highlights of Western Europe. Volunteering in a foreign country delivers a rich, rewarding experience.   Teaching kids, building wells, looking after rescued animals – making a difference in the lives of others makes a difference for us too. Old enough to know better and yet young enough to go with the flow, the forties is a milestone decade to follow our feet, and safely veer off the beaten track. ​

We’ve always wanted to go there.  We’ve always wanted to do that.  As we enter the seventh decade of life, we realize our bucket list destinations are not going anywhere, but we most certainly are. Fortunately, in an age of affordable airfare and such a diverse variety of packages, our dreams are more accessible than ever.   Cruise among the islands and abundant wildlife of the Galapagos.  On the plains of the Serengeti and the legendary Masai Mara, witness the migration of the wildebeest from the comforts of a luxury, or self-catered bush camp, and make friends with Masai tribesmen.  It’s not always easy, but we’ll put up with a sweaty trek for a face-to-face encounter with endangered mountain gorillas in the jungles of Central Africa.  Iconic landmarks like the Great Wall of China and the Coliseum, the Eiffel Tower and the Taj Mahal draw us like magnets.   Perhaps it’s also time to finally tick off that Alaska or Caribbean cruise, or visit long-lost relatives in the nations of our ancestors.   Let’s celebrate how far we’ve come, and appreciate the value of all that is to follow. ​

Prized for its unique rarity, when a peak experience jumps the shark, there’s nothing unique or rare about it any more.  Rather, it quickly becomes the domain of the unscrupulous cashing in on a phenomenon.   This is the case with the luwak or the kecak dance in Bali, and it is the case worldwide (see: every tourist trap you’ve ever been to).  Meanwhile, those poor civets in Indonesia must deeply regret the bloke who first discovered that coffee beans extracted from their faeces taste delicious.  They probably wonder why the guy didn’t just eat the coffee beans, crap them out himself, and give that a taste.  Perhaps the human digestive tract would have added an extra layer of smoothness too.   It certainly would add a layer of complexity to impress the coffee connoisseurs, the same ones that have rated kopi luwak poorly in several blind tastings. ​

It is my opinion, therefore, to leave the poor civets alone, and release kopi luwak from its dubious claim to be the world’s best cup of coffee.   Let the cats live in peace, and let's ignore the bright red coffee berries shining within their scat. A steaming cup of kopi luwak is certainly a unique culinary experience, although is probably better described as a steaming pile of something else. ​

I first visited the city 2005, and fell in love with it.  Unlike the congested, polluted mess that is Bangkok, Chiang Mai was friendly, peaceful and calm, beaming with golden temples, cheap eats, and guesthouses.   I returned a few years later to film an episode of Word Travels, and always thought:  “If I had to live anywhere in Asia for a while, this would be the place.”    With my family and Amy, our own travelling Mary Poppins-assistant in tow, we found a semi-detached house outside of the Old Town on Air Bnb, and prepared to settle into the neighbourhood.  The Thai – at least those outside of heavy tourist zones -  are just unbelievably, remarkably, authentically warm and gentle people.  They love children.   They smile a lot.  They are 95% Buddhist.   We weren’t off the plane for five minutes and felt reassured by the welcoming nature of the culture. .  Our house was at the end of a soi, an alley, off a busy road.  Everything was so different, so anything-goes, so jarring, so unlike Australia. ​ Like most Thai houses, ours didn’t have much of a kitchen (a gas burner, a fridge, some basic cutlery and utensils). Like most Thai houses, we wouldn’t be able to flush toilet paper down the toilet.   The beds were rock hard, the furniture basic, the shower pressure almost non-existent.    A rooster crowed directly across from us all through the night (more on the rooster later).  There was blessed air conditioning in the bedrooms, and just a fan downstairs.  Mosquitoes and flies patrolled the windows and the wonky screen door.   Inside the place was clean, but a little rough around the edges, softened each Monday when the cleaner would come and leave it spotless.   When we arrived, my wife looked at me like I was a madman for bringing us here.   But at least we wouldn’t have to unpack after a few days, and at least we didn’t have anything in particular to do.  We could just be. ​

Getting around was affordable and easy, something we really only appreciated when we arrived in Bangkok, where getting around was difficult and comparatively expensive.  Mobike, Chiang Mai’s public bicycle system, allowed us to rent bikes with handy baskets in the front, seemingly perfectly designed for the kids to sit up front.   Solar powered and blue-tooth operated through a phone app, the bikes could be left anywhere, so we basically just “borrowed” a few to use and permanently kept them outside our heavy sliding green gate.  It cost 10 baht (about 50c) for a half hour, although I got a 200 baht ($10) unlimited use for 90 days pass.   My fondest memories of Chiang Mai are riding the streets with Raquel or Gali in the basket, stopping at temples, waving to locals.   Chiang Mai is mostly flat, and the Mobikes – at least the orange ones we used and not the wonky silver ones – were super comfortable.    We never saw any other kids in the baskets, and neither had anyone else, which is why Gali and Raquel were instant rock stars on the Mobikes.    Smiles and laughs and waves came from every direction.   For further distances,  Grab Taxis is the local Uber, and they eliminated the constant haggle and rip off with tuk tuk drivers and taxi drivers.   The fare was always fair, and the drivers gave us no nonsense.   What a game changer!  We took a few tuk tuks, more for the experience, but between the Mobikes and Grab, we could get around wherever we needed to go.  On the last week, I hired a scooter, which was super fun, even if we had to wear a helmet primarily to avoid the bribes we’d have to pay at roadblocks (only foreigners get stopped if they don’t have a helmet).   Our underpowered bike didn’t make it up every hill, but we had a fun day lunching by a river, feeling the jungle breeze, and braking for elephants.   Raquel only fell asleep twice, on the scooter, in heavy traffic.  Raquel and I took a bigger bike for a 90-minute ride to the beautiful Sticky Waterfalls.  It was quite the adventure I hope she somehow remembers, racing 100 km/hr through the jungles of Northern Thailand, seated between my legs.   ​

“Hi-low Lay-dees!”  The local Thai ladies were besotted with the kids, especially Gali.   We never got their names and would not be able to remember or pronounce them if we did, so we just called them “the ladies.”  On our street, upstairs in an old wooden house was an old lady always sewing.  She always smiled and waved, and raced downstairs one day to give the kids handmade Thai clothes.   We printed out a picture of her and the kids to say thanks. When we said goodbye, she gave the kids teary hugs and some wooden Buddhas.    On our corner was the “chicken fried rice ladies”, working in their gritty local eatery a tourist wouldn’t go near.  We must have waved and greeted to them at least six times a day.  They made us the fine and tasty chicken fried rice that we ate a couple times a week.  Then there was the Thai Ice Tea lady, although we all had our favourite Thai tea lady.   The Plastic Lady, who provided us with plastic bins and knick knacks and spoke some English.  The Pad Thai ladies, another place tourists wouldn’t blink at but made a great 30 baht ($1.50) pad thai.    The Market Ladies, the Fruit Lady, the Temple Lady (above) who always cried when she saw the kids, the Pancake Lady, the Ice Cream Lady.   ​We did cook at home a fair amount and realized how much we miss an oven when we don’t have one.   We made do with pasta and deep friend chicken and eggs and toast in the morning, although usually had to watch out for the geckos jumping out of the toaster.   My wife took a Thai cooking class and came home to make a fantastic Tom Yum soup.   It was often more expensive to buy the ingredients than just grab a pad thai.   Without eating pork or stinky fish, it says much about Thai cooking that we ate chicken/rice/noodles in some configuration for 6 weeks without getting tired of it.   There was a local vegetable market  - more friendly ladies - around the corner, along with a Tesco Express and 7-11 (a mini supermarket),  and it all amounted to a situation that became dependably convenient – something we again only appreciated when we left Chiang Mai. ​

Although we tried hard not to be tourists, of course we did a few touristy things.  Art in Paradise is an interactive art museum that blew us away, putting us in the picture with dinosaurs and masterpieces.  The kids loved the Elephant Poo Poo Park, where dung is sustainably converted into paper (it's a lot more interesting than it sounds, and in case you're wondering, doesn't smell at all).  We visited a massive waterpark called Tube Trek, the Saturday Night Market, which was so much better than the overcrowded Sunday Night Market.  The Ginger Farm, where Gali fell into a muddy trench.  He had more luck at the Buak Hard Public Park, which had the only decent playground we could find. Of course there were all the amazing temples, and we had a beautiful moment with an elephant on the road without visiting an expensive and dubiously elephant park.   We made friends with wonderful locals and expats (and their kids), celebrated birthdays.  Along with the rest of the world, we anxiously watched the dramatic rescue of the schoolboys from a cave located a few hours drive away.  We joined hundred of Israelis every Friday night for a Chabad feast, and enjoyed the spectacle of the FIFA World Cup in Russia, washed down with tall bottles of cold Singha beer.  ​

Next door was a Burmese family who prepared rounded fish balls over burning charcoal, the smell of which reliably wafted through the windows each afternoon.   Each night, and often during the day, the loud roosters would get started.  If they didn’t keep us awake, they invaded our dreams.  We spent long nights lying in semi-sleep thinking about how much we’d love to kill those damn birds.   I suppose it was revenge for the sheer amount of chicken we ate every day.  ​

The smell of the camphor/citronella mosquito spray.  The ants that would snake from the ceiling to the garbage bin in the kitchen.   The kids writing with chalk on the patio outside before the daily late afternoon tropical rain would wash their scribbles away.    Amy’s ongoing saga with the dodgy dentists of Chiang Mai.   The manual washing machine we didn’t use in the back, and the communal washing machines we did down the road.   The modern malls and dragon fruit.  The homemade ice-lollies with the plastic we bought from the Plastic Lady. To say nothing of Chiang Mai itself, with its bustling markets, and shiny golden Buddhist temples, orange robed monks, crazy traffic, and pungent fish-sauce fragrances.  The kids couldn’t enjoy our $15 hour-long massages in the dark but innocent backrooms off the strip next to the Doo Dee Bar, but they sure chomped down the surprisingly good biltong we managed to find, made by a Dutchman, and delivered to our front gate.  ​

We hope Chiang Mai is only the beginning of the amazing experiences to come in Bali and Vietnam (and a side trip to Singapore to see our old dear friends), as opposed to the pinnacle of our Asian adventure.    Because if I reminisce about it so fondly after being away from the city for less than a week,  memory will likely grow positively and brighter as the months and years pass.  My family spent 6 weeks in Thailand.  Not travelled in, but lived.   It was a culture shock, it was full of big challenges, unforgettable and wonderful moments, lovely people, and everything we hoped it would be.  Next up:  Bali. ​

Mozambique
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​The African birds-eye chilli was spread around the world by Portuguese seafarers, and for good reason.  Known as peri peri, the small birds-eye releases a chemical that has been proven to trigger a sort of culinary buzz.   You can’t get addicted, but after years of craving a steady fix, I believe I’ve come pretty close.   You can also chase the peri-peri burn in Portugal, Brazil, and at a top notch South African franchise called Nandos Chicken worldwide. ​

Szechuan, China
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Chinese cuisine is not afraid to use chillies, but the region most famous for its culinary heat is the Szechuan Province.   Perhaps its most famous dish is the hot pot, whereby different ingredients are added to a pot until everything is just right.  A locally grown “flower” pepper adds the heat the region is famous for. ​

SIDE NOTE: The World’s Spiciest Dish
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Phaal curry is made from various peppers, but there’s only one you should worry about.   The bhut jolokia, aka the nala jokolia, aka the ghost pepper, aka you-have-to-be-out-of- your-mind-to-eat-this-pepper pepper.   It’s been certified by the Guinness Book of Records as being the strongest pepper known to man, with a Scoville rating of over 1,000,000!   The thick Phaal curry is served in India and Pakistan, to diners who will shortly lose all communication with their oral cavity. ​

I was recently invited to speak at the annual leadership conference for Coast Hotels, which took place at the Coast High Country Inn in Whitehorse.   The theme of the event was Bucket List, and so naturally, I felt right at home.  Since it’s January, and Whitehorse is the most accessible northern city to see the aurora, especially from Vancouver,  I brought my Dad along for the ride.  It’s been his dream to see the aurora since watching an 80’s movie called St Elmo’s Fire, which doesn’t feature the lights at all, other than, as I write in my book, the “light going out of Ally Sheedy’s acting career.”   No offence to Ally Sheedy.  Or Andrew McCarthy, an actor in the movie who is now an editor-at-large for National Geographic.  #Everythingisconnected.   My Dad and I had previously spent five nights in Yellowknife and saw no lights, but we did kinda-sorta see the aurora (if you squinted just so) in Hay River after flying over with Buffalo Air, but never got the full razzmadaddle. Whitehorse would be another kick at the aurora can.   What’s more, Coast had arranged for attendees to tick off a full blown Whitehorse bucket list, including dogsledding with Muktuk Adventures (as featured in my books), slurping back the Sour Toe Cocktail brought down from Dawson City, and dipping in the thermal springs of the Takhini Hot Pools.   Throw in some elk sausage and Arctic Char from Burnt Toast, my favourite restaurant in the city, and you’ve got a comprehensive winter Whitehorse bucket list covered!  ​

We arrived via Air North, which is the only airline I know that serves hot baked cookies, refreshments at the gate, and affordable flights to a northern city.   Settled into the Coast High Country Inn (which is owned by the same folks who own the Best Western Gold Rush Inn, so they have you covered), we took off for our first shot at seeing the lights at a remote aurora viewing cabin.  Fire pits were burning, the tent cabins were heated and cozy, and the sky cleared nicely.  The aurora report gave us just a 4/10 chance at seeing a 4/10 display, but sure enough, green waves began to pop on the horizon.  No fireworks, but fine enough.   That we threaded the needle on our first night in Whitehorse is a testament to Coast marketing director Sarah Kirby-Yung’s delightful optimism trumping my Dad’s northern lights jinx. 
“Can we tick this one off Dad?” I ask?
“Yes we can.”  
And so we did. ​

Racing a dogsled on a frozen river is pure bucket list too.  I’ve had the good fortune to dogsled with Muktuk Adventures filming an episode for my TV show, and researching a chapter for my book.  The happiest puppies on the planet were lined up and rearing to go on our arrival, and off they go, running along the side of the Takhini River, pausing only for breaks and cuddles from Muktuk’s caring staff.  Go dog go! It was the highlight of the trip for my Dad, which speaks volumes about the quality of the experience (and perhaps the performance of the aurora as well). ​

After finally getting a decent photo of Whitehorse's iconic wooden skyscraper, Tourism Yukon's Jimmy Kemshead drive us along the Alaska Highway to check out the Mount Sima Ski Hill outside of town,  and the scenic taiga on the drive to Carcross. Our final night featured a soak in the Takhini Hot Pools, a natural thermal spring located 25 minutes drive from Whitehorse.  It was a late night soak, well enjoyed by all and spiced (and chilled) with a half-naked roll in the icy snow.    As usual, the travel buzz moment came when I least expected it.   Our bus got stuck in the ice in Takhini’s parking lot, and while the driver revved and tried to roll free, the cold night sky burst forth with stars, falling meteorites, and the wispy dance of the aurora herself.  Not quite green, but a large distinct light flickering across the dark sky.   Eventually we managed to free the bus by lining up and pushing it out in reverse.   Rescuing a passenger bus beneath the northern lights in the Yukon?    Now that’s bucket list.  ​

Peru and Chile have long battled over who owns the Pisco Sour, but regardless of its origins, anyone who gets the chance to enjoy it is a winner. The cocktail is made from the clear distilled grape brandy pisco, blended with fresh lemon or lime, egg whites, syrup or sugar, and a dash of bitters.   It’s refreshing yet a little sour, much like a margarita, and served in a short whiskey glass, any time of day.  The Pisco Sour is the national drink of Peru, who claim that Chile stole the recipe from them during a war in the 1800’s.   That being said, the best Pisco Sour I had was in Santiago, from a homemade Chilean recipe.  Perhaps it’s time both countries sit down and discuss the issue over a cocktail.  ​

Georgians don’t know which came first: Wine, or the people to drink it.   Archaeologists have discovered traces of wine in jars that date back 8000 years, implying that tiny Georgia, bordered by Turkey, Russia, Armenia and Azerbaijan, is the birthplace of wine the world over. The country has 200 endemic species of grape, producing many types of wine that are found nowhere else.   Toastmasting is a proud tradition, as is the cultivation and production of wine in underground casks that date back generations.    Saperavi is its most famous red wine, along with the white Rkatsitelli.   Both are sweet, almost dessert-like wines, high in sugar and alcohol.    At a traditional dinner, I watch four men pour out their lauded toasts, draining at least a dozen bottles without tipping over.  France and Italy may make the finest wine, but little known Georgia lives and breathes it. ​

Mampoer
South Africa ​

​Fermented Horse Milk
Mongolia

The chief of the nomadic tribe calls me into his traditional circular ger tent.   It’s pretty spacious considering it can be dismantled and packed onto horses in just a couple hours.  On the walls, made of fabric, are pictures of famous Mongolian wrestlers, embroidery, and cracked mirrors.  We sit at a table, and from a porcelain jug, he pours into a small wooden cup  some of his most treasured elixir.   I smile, maintaining eye contact, and bring the cup to my mouth.  A sour odour reaches my nose, the eye-watering stench of ammonia.   The liquid touches my lips, burns, the tartness stretching my tongue and forcing a muffled gag reflex.  I shoot it back, closing my eyes, somehow keeping it down.  I regain focus, breathe out a noxious gas, and silently congratulate myself.   The chief is so impressed, he immediately pours me another cup. ​

There’s nothing quite like seeing South Korean businessmen on a soju binge.   This vodka-like drink, produced from rice or other starches like potato or wheat, is poured into a shot glass, and after a toast, consumed in one gulp.   Etiquette dictates that you must not fill your own glass, that it must be held with one or two hands depending on status, and poured and received in a particular manner too.  With all the rules, dating back to the 1300’s, it’s odd to see basic courtesy go out the window as the soju takes hold, and men descend into a state of alcoholic madness.   I saw suits and ties passed out in the bushes on Seoul, or carried unconscious over the shoulder by colleagues, all on a weeknight!   Korea’a Alcohol and Liquor Industry reckons each Korean adult drinks more than 90 bottles of soju a year, where it is viewed as a positive energy source for the country. ​

After the comfortable flight into Brisbane via Auckland on Air New Zealand, well deserved of airlineratings.com Airline of the Year Award, I breathe the warm, tropical coastal air of northern Queensland on my patio at the Thala Beach Resort.  Humidity hugs me as I gaze out over the forest canopy and picturesque bay, listening to the songs of birds and frogs.  Parrots flutter about in the trees adjacent to the windowless dining room, with the natural assets of tropical north Queensland on full display.   My first introduction to the Great Barrier Reef is on Quicksilver’s wave-piercing catamaran, which delivers tourists to a permanent pontoon on the outer barrier reef.   Beyond snorkelling, I soak up the time in a semi-submersible boat ride, an underwater observatory, in the skies with a helicopter ride (the view is extraordinary)  and my personal highlight - on an underwater platform with a fish-bowl like helmet on my head, petting a friendly and unnervingly large Maori wrasse.  Well, that’s one way to experience the reef.  Another is by sea kayak, launched the following day from Thala Beach in the early morning hours.  Sea turtles pop their heads out the water to see what the fuss is about,  but I’m more distracted by the lush costal mountains framing the coastline. ​

This is me opening my fridge to reveal some of my favourite condiments from around the world.  Open yours, and let me know what tickles your own taste buds. ​

The best condiments start with a homemade recipe, and the devoted and addicted sauce-makers who receive so much acclaim from friends and family they dare to dream, what if?   Such is the case with Marie Sharp out of the small Central American country of Belize.   Combining grapefruit or orange with local habanero peppers has created spicy greatness. One Belizan joked it could be the country’s biggest export.  I brought back 14 (!) bottles of Marie Sharps back with me from Belize, which says all you need to know. Beautiful country, beautiful hot sauce. ​

​It would be simple to describe Pickapeppa as a steak sauce, an HP or Worcester substitute.  Condiment connoisseurs know the fruity flavours run much deeper in this brown sauce, brushed with the faint heat of scotch bonnet pepper that lingers on the tongue.   Jamaica is famous for its jerk sauce – a sweet and spicy marinade that turns nondescript meat, chicken, veggies and fish into supermodels.    Pickapeppa is not a jerk sauce, but the complexity of its ingredients perfectly captures that sweet and spicy world of the Caribbean.

Call me biased (I was born and raised in South Africa), or call me a knowing insider.   These sauces are now available worldwide and for good reason.  Nandos African birds eye peri-peri sauces come in dozens of delicious guises.  Their cooking sauces, most notably the Sweet Apricot or Roasted Red Pepper, make casseroles all they can be.  Slather the sauces on your order at Nandos restaurants while you're at it, which serves what is hands-down the world's greatest chicken.  Mama Africas, which began in a small suburban house,  is a thick chili relish of varying heat, and is to a cheese or meat sandwich what air is to our lungs.    Finally, Mrs Balls hot or peach chutney is my must-have condiment, as a dip, sauce, or cheese accessory. ​

Rooster sauce, far more pronounceable than Huy Fong Sriracha, is a common condiment throughout North America.  It’s originally from Southeast Asia but produced wherever it is sold. The “rooster” sauce you know is produced in the United States, and used commonly on buffalo wings, even on hot popcorn.  With its bright red colouring, it’s not my go-to sauce, but it does have an acceptable heat and consistency for sandwiches, not to mention its best asset – the no-mess easy to squeeze bottle. ​