I couldn’t resist just one last post on the Plaza Art Fair. When I was growing up there in the 1970s, Brush Creek was just a narrow ribbon of water channelized in concrete. Now it spreads from bank to bank, though it’s still as restrained as Cherry Creek in Denver.
Note the boat pulled up there at the dock. Couples can rent a gondola from Ambiance on the Water. 
Check out my other posts about the art at the 2010 Plaza Art Fair, and about the food at the Plaza Art Fair.
The first artist whose work stopped me at the Plaza Art Fair: Suzy Scarborough.
I will remember Betsy Youngquist‘s art for its detailed beadwork and eerie quality. I had the idea that food writer Denveater would like it, especially Penguin Boy. 
I thought some of her pieces were stunning, but I have to confess: I don’t think I could have them in my house. If I’m alone in the house, and there is a statue on a table, I will start thinking it’s looking at me. Same for a painting with a face looking out. Nevertheless, I loved this pelican. 
Moving here from birds of the sea to sea creatures (though I’m not sure where the gnome fits into that, or the propane tank in the background, for that matter). Thanks, Fred, for making art from recycled materials. Go to his Sugarpost website and play Gnome-Be-Gone.
Is this Robot-Gumby, or some other character altogether? Most of all, I enjoyed the expressions on the faces of the people passing by.
Finally, you can’t have an art fair without free entertainment, via this violinist-busker.
The first post in this series presents some of the food at the 2010 Plaza Art Fair.
I left Kansas City the morning of November 8, driving down Antioch to Shawnee Mission Parkway, stopping briefly by the old mission buildings
that used to house Shawnee Indian girls and boys (the mission predates the Indian boarding school system of the late 1800s and early 1900s that was designed to strip American Indians of their culture and Christianize them). 
I would have toured the buildings, but they aren’t open on Sundays and Mondays.
Then I drove to Loose Park, just south of the Plaza on Wornall, and stopped by the Rose Garden, 
where roses kept blooming, and would, I suppose, until a hard frost stopped them. 
The wind, as usual, made close-ups a challenge, but I found some details that I liked.
And even signs of the changing seasons.
Loose Park’s other main attraction is its pond with swans, but I didn’t visit that today. I drove down to the Plaza, got another rosemary caramel latte at LatteLand, and meandered over to Highway 71, which took me to I-70.
By the time I reached Kansas exit 299 (featuring Tim’s Party cabin), I had seen 33 hawks, including some red-tails. The others I couldn’t identify at 70 miles per hour. I drove on to exit 275, otherwise known as Abilene, my destination for that day.
***
There’s so much more. I’ve lived away from Kansas City and my family for so long (3 decades, except for 1 year in the late 1980s) that I always have this nagging thought upon departure: If I could just go back and do one more thing, everything will be all right.
It’s not true, of course.
It was great to get reacquainted with the city where I grew up, see how much it has changed and grown. The changes out south are mostly sprawl, which I dislike, but the changes up north intrigue me.
Next time I come back, I’ll know where to continue my exploration. But now, here are a few of the places I missed: Extra Virgin and Nara restaurants (Crossroads), Trezo Vino (Leawood), Le Fou Frog (River Market), Plaza III (that old standby), Volker Park (near the Plaza and Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art), the Liberty Memorial (Crown Center), the Arabia Museum (River Market), and the jazz and Negro League museums (east of Troost on 18th). Not to mention the many historical museums that dot the city.
And to my shame, I must confess I ate BBQ only at Jack Stack’s. No Arthur Bryant’s this time for me.
As I mentioned in this post, trying to cover 6 Kansas City neighborhoods in one month turned out to be more than I could do. One of the casualties was downtown near the Missouri River, where I spent perhaps 1 day, or a day and a half, if I count my brief visit to the Power and Light District.
I wore what I thought were walking shoes, but my feet were killing me after an hour, which shortened my walkabout.
An article in Tastebud magazine led me to the Farmhouse, a block west of Main on Delaware.
It’s a lunch/brunch place divided into two long high-ceilinged rooms. The bar side, where I sat, had old wooden floors and black tables and was pretty empty on a weekday, but more tables were full in the other room.
I ordered the fall squash salad, which came with local butternut squash and pear, and spinach from Door-to-Door Organics, a Pennsylvania CSA-by-delivery company that has a warehouse in downtown Kansas City and also serves Colorado, Michigan, and the East Coast. The walnuts, blue cheese, and maple-sage vinaigrette were not local.
This salad was much better than a similar one I had at Le Central this year. The blue cheese was cool but firm, instead of sticky, and the salad was fresh and tumbled instead of carefully laid out. The dressing complemented the squash, although I would have liked twice as much of the latter.
As I left, I got directions to the Missouri River path, just one block north and one block east. The short walk gave me a chance to admire the brick buildings remade as lofts. At 1st and Main white irises were blooming as I headed toward the bridge to the river. Walking out scared me, but I was rewarded with this view. 
And this one coming back. 
At 3rd and Main I found the City Market, where people have been buying and selling since the 1850s at least.
The U-shaped building holds Al-Habashi Mart, a Mediterranean grocery, as well as Christina’s Produce, Global Produce, and even KC Produce, where I found carrots from Colorado. Those in search of prepared food can dine at Hien Vuong Vietnamese Restaurant, Tikka House Indian Restaurant, Winslow’s City Market BBQ, Blue Nile Ethiopian Restaurant, and Bo Ling’s Chinese Restaurant. Dos Hombres is up the street, and the Vietnam Café is at 5th and Campbell.
Inside, near Bo Ling’s, is a mini-museum detailing the history of the River Market neighborhood. It was in decline for much of the twentieth century, but revitalization efforts from the 1980s to the present have made it more attractive to homebuyers.
The best time to visit the City Market is Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday, during the year-round farmers’ markets. If you have time, you can check out the Steamboat Arabia museum across the street as well. I went there two years ago to see all the cargo that they dug out of the wreck (whose resting site had become a farm field).
As all good walkabouts must, mine led me to a bakery. I might not have noticed Babycakes but for the professional photographer and his assistant holding a reflector. And then I saw the sign
and scooted past them to get the peanut-butter-and-chocolate cupcake you see on top.
You know what? It made my feet feel better.
Friday evening began at El Patron, continued to Gallery 19, and ended with that ubiquitous Kansas City activity, driving down a many-laned road.
El Patron Cocina and Bar is located on Southwest Boulevard, 
across the street from Ponak’s. My friend and I sat on the roof, even though it was a breezy night in November, and the tequila master came out and helped me choose a tequila. The one he recommended, Clase Azul blanco, surprised me. I usually prefer aged tequila, but this blanco was really smooth.
I ordered Los Tres Grandes, and my friend had rather bland but creamy guacamole and a tostada. Of my three tacos, 
my favorite was the carne asada (left), which was spicy and a little burnt, followed by a tasty taco al pastor (right), and then the taco marinera, which had a sweet and spicy sauce. The fish was cooked properly, but the entire package didn’t come together for me.
By the time we finished, we were glad to get off that roof and into a warm car. We drove northeast to Crossroads, and I was stunned to see people filling galleries, crowding the sidewalks to listen to the bands scattered about, and tumbling into the streets. What a change from my weekday visits!
I’ve been to one or two First Fridays in Denver, but I don’t remember crowds like this, perhaps because Denver has several such events every month.
The only difficulty was finding a parking space (and then remembering where it was at the end of the night).
At the first gallery we visited, the theme for the night was established: brightly colored abstract art. 
We visited several galleries, including Blue Gallery, where a William Rainey painting reminded me of Denver-area artist Catherine Carilli’s Abstract Symbolist phase; Elements of Green, featuring countertops made from recycled material 
and an anemone by Margie McDonald;
and Kemper Gallery, where the minders in shockingly blue shirts reminded me of the line from Firefly or Serenity (I can’t remember which), “Two by two, hands of blue.”
My friend commented about Side Show 2009 by Keltie Ferris,
“I’m seeing a really advanced form of tagging here.”
My favorite artists were twin brothers Paul and Phil Gayter. 
I liked the self-conscious, playful aspects of their work.
Five galleries were my friend’s limit after a day spent watching six toddlers. But driving from Crossroads to Overland Park turned out to be a breeze. I can see why so many people live in Kansas and commute downtown; it took less than half an hour.
***
On an earlier trip to Crossroads, I visited Hilliard Gallery at 404 18th Street and loved this found-object horse by Guinotte Wise.
Turns out it’s a great way to get a weapon across state lines.
One reason I made the month-long trip to Kansas City was to road-test spending a month in an unknown city. Of course, Kansas City is not unknown to me, since I grew up there, but I hardly ever ventured north of the Plaza. Much of the territory I explored this past month has been new.
One thing I learned: trying to cover 6 major neighborhoods, from downtown to the edge of suburbia (79th Street) is too much. Also, I’m writing this post from Denver. I haven’t restored the original title of this blog because I still have several Kansas City and driving-across-Kansas posts to write. The next time I spend a month in another city, I’m going to force myself to explore only as much as I can write about while I’m there. I dislike having an exploration lag. Just doesn’t seem right.
One of the neighborhoods I neglected is Westport, founded in 1833 and intended to be the eastern terminus of the Santa Fe Trail. 
(The California, Oregon, and Santa Fe trails all run through this area and meet up along Antioch at Santa Fe in Kansas.) There’s a “Westport Landing” sign in the neighborhood along Westport Road (about 39th Street), but the real landing is downtown, where Grand Avenue runs into the Missouri River.
I spent a few hours in Westport while I was staying way the hell out in Kansas with my best friend from high school (having given my sister a break after three weeks of putting me up). I found one block of Westport Road west of Main with restaurants all in a row: Papa Keno’s Pizzeria, Blanc Burgers + Bottles, Blayney’s Irish Tavern and Blues Cavern, Matsu Sushi, Jerusalem Cafe and Hookah Room, and 180. Just across the intersection were Kelly’s Westport Inn (which claims to be the oldest business in Westport) and McCoy’s, a brewpub.
(Note: Blanc Burgers has moved to the Plaza. There is also a location in Leawood, Kansas.)
When I sat in front of the window at Blanc Burgers at 5 o’clock, the long, narrow restaurant was nearly empty. 
By the time I left at 6, it was full. I was more interested in the wine list than the 150 beers available, 
partly because it offered varietals I didn’t know, such as Nero d’Avola (Sicily), Spatburgunder (Germany), Magnificat (a California Meritage), and Monestrell (I swear that was the spelling, but Google has Monastrell/Mourvedre). I tasted the Nero (tannic and a bit sour) but ultimately settled on the Juan Gil 2008 from Jumilla, Spain, which reminded me of a Pietraluna Negramaro I had at the now-closed Pulcinella in Lafayette, Colorado.
The Kobe burger, which I guess is a cliché these days, didn’t remind me of anything. 
It was scrumptious: greasy and juicy, crisp on the outside and pink inside. Although I couldn’t taste the mustard aioli, I did enjoy the truffle butter and watercress and port wine onions. I even ate the entire pickle.
Blanc Burgers offers many burgers: bison, pig + bull, pork, turkey, mahi mahi, lentil, and portabella. They make their own ketchup and use locally roasted coffee and Christopher Elbow chocolate.
As I waddled down the street afterward, I noticed that the other restaurants on this strip weren’t as full. For once, I picked the most popular joint on the block.
Normally I prefer self-guided tours of historical buildings and museums, but after my guided tour of the Wornall House 
last week, I’m rethinking that attitude. My guide, who is an intern at Wornall House, told me many wonderful stories.
John Wornall, one of the founders of Westport (the original town in the area, founded in 1833, and now part of Kansas City north of the Plaza), built Wornall House in 1858. In 1864, during the Battle of Westport, the Wornalls had to surrender to the Confederates and then to the Union Army in one day.
My guide showed me a balcony on the top floor from which John Wornall was almost hanged twice in those 24 hours. But all ended well: the family survived and surrendered their house for use as a Union hospital. The “informal parlor” (papered because that was cheaper than painting in those days) served as the surgery ward because it had a window through which resected body parts could be tossed onto a wagon. Isn’t that lovely?
My favorite thing about the formal parlor was not the old Steinway in the corner but the gendered chairs. 
Men’s chairs had arms and leaned back farther because men worked harder and therefore deserved to recline more. Do you suppose that’s why recliners and men go together in my mind?
When I saw this kitchen, however, I wondered if men had earned those chairs. 
That blue cone of sugar had to be broken up and then guarded in a locked sugar cabinet. This brick was tea, 
which was ground and then poured into the bottom of a cup to steep. (The original Boston tea-partiers threw such bricks into the harbor.) Everything (rotisserie, toast, soup) was placed on an open hearth, which must have been blazingly hot to cook meat without the benefit of full enclosure. Some meals could be prepared by piling coals onto these Dutch ovens; 
maybe you’ve cooked that way on a camping trip?
Slaves and children worked in this space. At the age of two on a farm, one’s childhood ended and work began. The youngest children had the worst jobs: emptying the chamber pots or doing repetitive work in the kitchen. As my guide said, making children turn the noodle-maker for hours was a good way to keep them from running around and breaking things.
My favorite item in the kitchen was the flytrap (honey goes around the opening in the bottom), 
followed closely by the rattrap.
In this house, I saw a wreath woven from the hair of 60 women. I learned that the word “sink” comes from the zinc used to line the recessed counters that held bowls of water for use in the kitchen. I also learned that Jayhawkers were free state warriors from Kansas and that Bushwhackers were slave state warriors from Missouri. Or perhaps both groups should be called terrorists.
Going to the Country Club Plaza in Kansas City these days makes me miss how it used to be, so I was happy to discover a new restaurant in the neighborhood.
My sister and I met two of our cousins at Eggtc., just south of the Plaza. 
It was busy, as you would expect on a Saturday mid-morning, and we had to wait. We spent the time catching up on work and home lives.
The hostess seated us at the large communal table in this picture.
I ordered the sweet couscous, which resembled grits but had a different flavor, and an acai shooter.
I’ve now been to two breakfast places in Kansas City: Eggct. and First Watch, on 119th out south, which reminded me of the Egg and I in Broomfield but wasn’t as good. I do recommend Eggct.
Several times on this trip I have walked the Plaza by myself, remembering Woolf Brothers, a Kansas City department store established in the nineteenth century, and other stores that used to be here when I was growing up. There were chains then, of course, but they seemed a little closer to home. Or, perhaps, just smaller.
Of the stores I remember, Halls, the department store founded by Joyce C. Hall, who also founded Hallmark, still anchors the eastern end of the Plaza; and Tivol, a jewelry store, is located at 220 Nichols Road. I doubt I ever shopped at Tivol, having no budget for high-end jewelry. Eddie Bauer occupies the Woolf Brothers location.
The Plaza is still the area that gives Kansas City its reputation as the city of fountains (this mermaid fountain graces the courtyard outside Eddie Bauer). 
One Saturday night in high school, my friends and I collected all the change we could from the fountains on the Plaza. It was illegal, but we didn’t get caught. We used the money to buy a meal at Denny’s.
Winstead’s location just east of the Plaza on Main (opened in 1940) 
still serves square steakburger patties on a round bun, 
cherry limeades, and Skyscraper Shakes big enough for four. (Winstead’s was originally founded in Springfield, Illinois, but I don’t think that store exists anymore.)
Some things have even changed for the better. Brush Creek used to flow in a narrow channel hardly wider than a sidewalk, but now it has more room. 
Hard to believe it used to be a swamp before the Plaza was built in 1922, isn’t it?
Once I left Christopher Elbow in Kansas City’s Crossroads district on Friday, I headed west to Mildred’s Coffeehouse, 
hoping to spend several hours there copyediting. Unfortunately, Mildred’s, a well-lit space with a soothing vibe, closed at 4. 
One cannot live on truffles and mocha breve, much as one might wish to, so I chose YJ’s Snack Bar as my dinner stop. (Mildred’s has a small but enticing menu. I suggest going there for lunch.)
When I walked in YJ’s and asked them how late the place was open, the man behind the counter said, “Sunday.” I did a double take because I was expecting to hear an hour, not a day. Then he explained that they are open 24 hours on the weekend.
YJ’s is a tiny place at the corner of 18th and Wyandotte, and it was full of people, young and old, black and white. Now by “full” I mean there were about 15 people crammed in at-elbows. To get to the bathroom and get your advice for the day, 
you have to turn sideways and sidle by the people at the bar.
I asked about dinner, but it was a little too early for that. Counter-Man cobbled together a lunch plate for me: your basic ravioli, spicy sausage, salad, and grilled bread. 
Later I wished I’d skipped the ravioli and had more salad, but everything tasted fine and it filled me up.
One thing about Crossroads: it’s as splattered as a Jackson Pollock painting. It needs infill. Perhaps Denver Infill should open a branch office? There are lots of businesses on Main, Baltimore, and Wyandotte, on 18th Street, and on Southwest Boulevard (not to be confused with Southwest Trafficway). Not as much on other streets.
One reason for that may be the Power and Light District 
(named after the multicolored Power and Light Building in downtown Kansas City, north of Crossroads). One of the staff at Peruvian Connection lamented the city’s decision to pour a lot of money into Power and Light. City council brought in chains, she said, nothing related to Kansas City, and drove up real estate values so much that artists couldn’t afford studio space in Crossroads. According to her, they’re migrating to the West Bottoms, northwest of Crossroads, nearer the Missouri River.
I walked up to Power and Light late Friday afternoon, and I liked it. Yeah, there’s a Gordon Biersch, a Chipotle, and so on, 
but I liked the look of the buildings, and there were actually people strolling the streets (apparently, after I took this picture). A band was setting up in a large courtyard. It wasn’t crowded since there wasn’t a show at the Sprint Center, but I felt more comfortable walking around there than in Crossroads or downtown.
Kansas Citians also flock to the Plaza, which I’ve been mostly ignoring during this trip because I liked it better in the 1980s than I do now. It has upscale chains like Burberry and Marmi (there’s one in Cherry Creek North in Denver). It still retains local businesses like Hall’s (the family that founded Hallmark) and Winstead’s, a burger joint.
If I were to pick a Denver counterpart to the Plaza, I suppose it would be the 16th Street Mall. It too is chainified and busy. Other areas of central Kansas City (from the river to 79th Street) should more properly be compared to Denver neighborhoods like Uptown and Capitol Hill and Jefferson Park and the South Platte River Valley. Those areas don’t generally have crowded sidewalks, though people are out and about at certain times of day.
Kansas City also has a more intense car culture than Denver. I’m not sure why, because both had trolley systems until the mid-twentieth century and then changed over to buses.
I hope that more motley areas of Kansas City like Crossroads and downtown near the river will continue to develop and fill in with unique local attractions.
I’m happy to say I’ve found a chocolatier whose caramels rival Prazen Sladkor, the difficult-to-pronounce caramel covered with gold dust made by Wen Chocolates of Denver. In fact, that rival—Christopher Elbow (CE) of Kansas City—seems to specialize in caramel.
When I had a rosemary caramel latte at LatteLand on the Plaza, it was his infusion in the latte. He also offers caramel with Tahitian vanilla bean, citrus caramel (my least favorite since I dislike orange-flavored chocolate), strawberry balsamic caramel…and the list goes on.
It took some doing, however. After showing up in Crossroads a week ago Monday with an out-of-date map, traipsing down deserted streets searching for CE, and then, when I did find it, discovering it was closed, I had to satisfy my chocolate craving with the Sweet Guy (not a bad thing) until the Friday before Halloween. (Note: The Sweet Guy closed in spring or summer 2010.)
The chocolates at CE’s sleek shop 
were so pretty that I bought a 9-piece box, along with a cherry-flavored pate de fruit, and laid them out next to the Sweet Guy’s key lime and hazelnut truffles. 
If the Sweet Guy’s truffles look the worse for wear, it’s not the fault of their maker. I was carrying them in a bag in my pocket.
Yes, it’s time for another chocolatier comparison.
The word that best describes the Sweet Guy’s truffles: rich. The key lime (the patterned truffle) was rich and limey, and the hazelnut was rich and slightly crunchy. I was going to say it had a “quiet nut flavor,” and then I decided “quietly nutty” sounded better, and then I gave up and settled for this: “It tasted of hazelnut, but it didn’t beat me over the head with it.”
Sophisticated, that.
I would like to try the Sweet Guy’s pesto truffle sometime. And the pistachio. And the Anasazi. Pine nuts, anyone?
CE’s pate de fruit above tastes as dark cherry as it looks. It was the best PDEF I’ve ever had. Eating the banana curry (the brown, sparkly half-sphere in the lower right) 
was like sipping a good wine: the banana flavor came in, and then the curry took over. Same with the strawberry (upper left): first fruit and then a hint of balsamic vinegar. The Earl Gray truffle (top center) had a definite EG flavor, unlike most tea truffles, which taste vague to me.
There were some my sister and I didn’t like. The coconut, that odd duck truffle in the center, didn’t impress my sister too much, though she noted the contrast between the textured outer shell and the smooth yellow filling. I didn’t care for the Persian (bottom center). It had a marzipan center, which I liked when it was combined with pistachio in one of Dietrich’s truffles, but not when it was flavored with almond and wrapped in a ganache containing saffron, clove, cardamom, cinnamon, and orange blossom.
I appreciate your patience with my chocolate obsession. It’s one of the few food groups I feel I can discuss with any authority.
Christopher Elbow’s store, on McGee between 18th and 19th, also serves drinks and sells cocoa. If you go there, be sure to use the sink in the bathroom. 
It is the coolest faucet* I have ever seen.
*I still remember this rather abusive Englishman named James, who was one of my flatmates when I did a year at the University of Sussex. I made the mistake of saying the word “faucet” in front of him (instead of “tap”), and he made me repeat it while he laughed at my Americanism. Or was it a Frenchism? Anyway, I was afraid of him when I was 20.
The Crossroads neighborhood in Kansas City is an arts district.
Of course, people disagree on what art is.
And for some reason, artists aren’t content to have us look at their art. They want us to buy it.
Crossroads has some cool billboards (Abdiana is a real properties company)
and a bit of a skyline. (Crown Center hotel, which is south of Crossroads, is on the left; the billboard above is on the right.)
You can get to Crown Center, or the Liberty Memorial, or Union Station, via bike
or take this rocket if you’re in a real hurry (I believe that’s the old TWA building).
Crossroads has design covered. Besides the office of the AIA (under construction here), there are also two “green building” stores, Elements of Green and Straw, Sticks, and Bricks.
There are new lofts with ground-level retail (the Peruvian Connection there on the right is an outlet store that sells samples and last year’s merchandise; you can order full-price merchandise through their catalog)
and stand-alone stores like Michael’s that have been around for a while.
If you’re hungry, you have a variety of options. Bad Seed is a local farm. (I was hoping the actual farm was here at 19th and McGee, but no luck.)
This option is not as healthful but is probably open more often. (At the back of this photograph is a sign for the President hotel, although you probably can’t see it.)
You know the area will stay clean with women in charge of it (even if this woman can’t frame her pictures correctly). 
I know someone who will be hopping on a plane to get to this store.
Best of all? No bills are allowed. Everything is free. 
The best intersections in Crossroads (going north) are at 19th and Main and 18th and Wyandotte. There’s a tapas place off Main called Extra Virgin that I want to try this week.
In 2007, the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City added the Bloch Building. Steven Holl Architects designed it to fit along the east side of the museum, preserving the north entrance. I’ve gone in only through the parking garage, so I haven’t seen the entry plaza with reflecting pool, nor did I notice that most of the new building was underground. But I thought it was spectacular from the inside. 
So far I like it better than the new addition to the Denver Art Museum, but to truly compare them, I need to visit the DAM soon after I get back to Denver.
I headed first for the photography exhibit. The museum’s collection was expanded by a gift from Hallmark of 6,500 photographs dating from every period of photography since its invention in 1839.
I learned many, many things from that exhibit, but I’ll tell you this one: by 1889, Francis Blake had invented a focal-plane shutter that operated at 1/2000 of a second. The historical part of the exhibit also introduced me to early female photographers I did not know: Bertha Jaques (who photographed plants by placing them on light-sensitive paper), Anne E. Brigman, Margrethe Mather (a friend of Edward Weston), Hansel Mieth, Helen Levitt, and Gertrude Käsebier (who was well-known at the turn of the twentieth century).
Dorothea Lange is famous for this photograph, “Migrant Mother.”
When I’d had enough of photography, I wandered back through the Bloch Building and stopped at Without Place—Without Time—Without Body by Wolfgang Laib. In this photo detail, 5 mounds of pollen sit in the bottom right-hand corner of the photograph. The other mounds are rice. 
The entire exhibit was distributed by hand, according to Laib’s belief that repetition “is the most beautiful thing that exists.”
As I wrote in the guestbook, it was the first time in my life I’d wanted to hurl myself into an art exhibit. While I took notes, a guard came over and handed me a pencil, saying it was the preferred writing instrument in the museum. He sounded just like the replicant maker in Blade Runner.
If visiting the Bloch Building was a joyous experience of newness, passing through the jointure between the old and new building was like coming home. I passed this engraving
Erected
AD
MCMXXXI
and climbed the marble staircase. 
My favorite painting on this visit was St. John the Baptist in the Wilderness by Caravaggio (1604), which the museum brags is one of the few original Caravaggios in American collections. I don’t know if that’s true, but it was a spectacular work. In the same gallery, I took this picture, looking past The Entombment of St. Catherine of Alexandria by Francisco de Zurbarán (1636–1637) across the hall to Capricorn by Max Ernst (1948; cast 1963–1964). 
When the museum board decided to construct the Bloch Building, they also decided to renovate the old building and integrate its collections as the same time. Now paintings and sculpture share space with furniture, silver, ceramics and glass.
I’ll leave you with this amazingly tall Dutch woman,
from Fantasy Interior with Jan Steen and the Family of Gerrit Schouten by Jan Steen (1659–1660).
I drove my gas-guzzling Dodge Dakota to the 350.org virtual march for climate action in Kansas City. 
Why? Because I must think I do enough for the environment already.
It turns out there is always more to do.
On the way I stopped at the Waldo water tower (I never knew it was called that)
and Holmes Park, close to my first house. I walked to the roller hockey rink and wondered which home belonged to the family that also had a daughter named Beth and gave me my first cat. I still remember rushing past her to get to the kitten. Naturally, she was offended.
Near these trees was a teeter-totter.
I fell off it once and bonked my head. Perhaps that’s why it was removed and replaced with poles for a volleyball net? 
The synagogue down Holmes is now an academy; the Jewish Community Center where I learned to swim is Paul Robeson Middle School; and J. C. Nichols, where I went to elementary school for one year, is the Academie Lafayette, a French-language immersion school.
And the Plaza, where the 350 event took place by the J. C. Nichols Memorial Fountain, 
is also changed, but more on that some other day.
At first I was unimpressed by the number of people at this Kansas City gathering (100? 200?), 
but when Missouri senator Jolie Justice noted that Missouri is last in the nation for energy efficiency and clean energy, I decided I was being too harsh. Still, there were as many people in Kazakhstan as in Kansas City. There were even 3 pictures from Mongolia. And 1 or 2 from Afghanistan.
Jeez. I have to pause to cry here. With hope. Here’s my favorite picture from the 350.org site.
Students from the KC Art Institute painted this sign,
and the Quakers loaned their generator. Why does that amuse me?
The organizer annoyed me at times, but then he handed me this gem: “Our history books say almost nothing about how ordinary people have changed the world.”
Perhaps ordinary people should have emptied this trash can.
Many ordinary Kansas Citians have pledged “Five Green Things,” so I did too, even if I don’t live here any more.
As we marched down the Plaza, the “symbolic heart of capitalism in Kansas City,” 
I dropped out at LatteLand, after about 2 blocks. If it’s any comfort to you, I asked for a china cup and then sat in this booth. Or interrogation room. 
I’m not sure which. The latte, made with rosemary steeped in caramel, had a delicate herbal flavor.
I stayed there for a while and then went to Barnes and Noble to read magazines for free, because that way someone else can reuse them, not because I’m too cheap to buy People.
Finally the reason for all this waiting and reading began: WaterFire, 
a fall celebration on Brush Creek in Kansas City. The night was warm and dry: the opera singer made me wish I would have brought my father, though how he would have got through the crowd I don’t know; and everything was peaceful.
And then I drove home.
Last night my sister and father and I had dinner at Avenues Bistro at the corner of Wornall and 63rd in Brookside, which is considered a top restaurant in Kansas City. I wanted to go there and I decided to take them because I worried that the dinner would be expensive, but it was $150 for three dinners plus tapas, desserts, and a bottle of wine. That was a reasonable amount for very good food—not quite as artisanal as Frasca in Boulder, but not nearly as expensive either. In any case, Avenues Bistro tends toward French- and German-influenced dishes, not Italian.
We sat in the second room, beyond the bar. Behind us a large party celebrated something: a wedding, perhaps, or a well-lived life. We were rather quiet because of the background noise, which makes it hard for my father and me to hear conversation. I think the high ceilings absorbed much of the sound, but not quite enough for us.
The sommelier brought us Jade Mountain 2007 Syrah as a compromise between the red zinfandel I prefer and the merlot my father has been drinking lately. It had an aroma of blackberries and was light-bodied and soft on the tongue. He brought us 3 Riedel glasses so my sister could have a taste.
Since Avenues Bistro offers tapas as well as full-sized entrees, I ordered the ceviche, 
and the filet tips and the mushroom Cabreles. The ceviche was fish-forward: I couldn’t taste lime or cilantro, which were supposed to be seasoning the lobster, shrimp, crab, and tomatoes. But it was refreshing against the marvelous grilled ciabatta. The filet was wonderful;
I loved the blue cheese taste of the sauce and the silkiness of the meat.
By the time we got our entrees, we were getting full, but we soldiered on. The Black Forest Jaeger schnitzel, which the menu calls “a Swiss-German specialty,” was topped with Black Forest ham, bacon, caramelized onions, and mushrooms in a white wine cream sauce. 
It made me feel like the queen of bacon-gooeyness. When I had the leftovers for lunch today, they were still good. But I would not call this dish subtle. Is there such a thing as a subtle schnitzel?
We still didn’t stop. We ordered the flourless chocolate cake, which had the consistency of a dark mousse, 
and the German apple cake, similar to carrot cake. 
As we drove home, I wondered if it were responsible of me to feed my elderly father so much food. But other than an occasional complaint about how full he was, he didn’t seem to mind.
***
I was having trouble deciding whether to review Brio Tuscan Grille on the Plaza. I didn’t really like the food at this national chain where a high school friend took me. (Apparently there’s one in Centennial, Colorado.)
The seasonal bruschetta reminded my friend of pizza,
when it should have been more like the ceviche mentioned above. And the roasted tomato and chicken risotto with prosciutto and asparagus was to risotto
what this blurry picture is to photography. It lacked the density of risottos I’ve had, in which the rice was a match for the sauce rather than drowning in it. I did enjoy the fluffy crab and shrimp cakes
but not their too-sweet sauce, which my friend said tasted like Miracle Whip. I’ve never had that (at least, not willingly), so I don’t know how it tastes.
***
The presentation of food was adequate at both restaurants, though the cakes certainly took the … well, you know.
Until the summer of my eleventh birthday, in 1973, I lived in a house near 70th and Holmes in Kansas City. That neighborhood is called Waldo, and I’ve been hanging out there the last two days.
Waldo’s center is 75th and Wornall, so our old house is perhaps a mile away. I try to drive by it every time I visit, but I didn’t take a picture because bushes and one of those huge Kansas City trees obscure the front. I wonder if the current owners covered up the “Jesus Loves You” and “The Beatles” signs that my sisters painted on our bedroom wall? Or could they still be concealed by the 36-year-old wallpaper my father put up right before we moved?
When I planned this trip I thought I would start in central Kansas City and move north, but I forgot about Waldo and started in Brookside, which is at 63rd and Wornall.
I really like this neighborhood. It’s at least 100 years old, having been annexed to Kansas City in 1909, and in my opinion it’s the last urban neighborhood before the strip malls take over in south Kansas City. 
I’m writing this post in the Sweet Shop, a couple of doors down from Kokoro Maki House where I had edamame and a New York roll for lunch.
To give you an idea of the scale of Kansas City, let me explain that 75th Street is about 150 blocks south of downtown (each number has a street and a terrace). If I were to superimpose a map of Kansas City on a map of Denver, with the downtowns overlapping and south KC pointing north of Denver (where I live), I would guess this area is roughly comparable to, say, Highway 7 (Baseline and Arapahoe) where it runs through Lafayette. The second house I lived in, near Wornall and Red Bridge Road, is in the 110th block. I’m not even sure where 220 blocks would be north of Denver. Longmont? Niwot? So when I was growing up, downtown was a rumor where my father had his law office, and I seldom went there.
Another thing I noticed in this neighborhood: “South Side” signs. In the 1930s, when my father was a boy, his father was a minor political boss for the South Side Democrats. That was the Prendergast era, but my grandfather worked for a rival politico named Shannon. In those days, the South Side was the white neighborhood and African Americans lived farther north (for example, around 18th and Vine). My father lived near Troost, a north-south street that today is the dividing line between white and black neighborhoods.
I don’t remember my paternal grandfather, who died when I was five. He was notorious for having run off with another woman while still married to my grandmother. Because of his political connections and because he took “mortgaged property” (a ring) across state lines, he was arrested and dragged back. The story made the paper, and I have been told that my grandmother learned of his bigamy that way. Whether that’s true or not, that abandonment certainly shaped my father’s life, and the lives of his siblings.
I was driving around in Kansas today, just west of State Line Road, and meditating on the vast distances in Kansas City. I didn’t realize it when I was growing up, but I know now I’m just not cut out for suburban life. Especially in a town with all these huge houses on even bigger lots on street after street of suburbia.
When I’m not here, I miss my family, and I miss the trees. But really, that’s about it.
Though I do hope to discover some new things to miss on this trip.
On a quick trip to Brookside on Saturday, I discovered a magical place, a bookstore for children where I wanted to spend hours.
Reading Reptile is Kansas City’s oldest independent bookseller and (according to the bookmark, anyway) is known across the country for its inventory. While I was there I read a father-son book by Will Smith (you know, the Fresh Prince). I bought a book titled Wreck This Journal by Keri Smith, which features hands-on activities like “Glue Random Items Here” and “Lose This Page” and “Space for Negative Comments: What Is Your Inner Critic Saying?”
But it was the decorations that really wowed me. Papier-mache creatures hung from or sat in every available spot. 
I walked through the doorway, which I think is a crocodile, 
and immediately wanted to take pictures.
The back of the store was devoted to craft activities for kids.
I even got a picture of the book cat, who was a calico rather than a Cheshire cat.
Brookside, one of Kansas City’s trendy neighborhoods, is located a few blocks south of the Country Club Plaza. Reading Reptile is between Brookside and Wornall on 63rd.