On the rare summer day, my brothers and father would travel to Rock Hall MD, charter a boat and go deep-sea fishing with a group of men and boys. Evening would bring the country men home sunburned, with a mess of gleaming rock fish. I suppose Mother simply floured them and fried them in Crisco. However she did it, they were delicious! She would always urge us to eat them with a piece of buttered bread in hand to guard against bones getting stuck in your throat! I remember clearly the occasions the sticking happened and how terrified I was until they dislodged and went down the chute! So the rare fish was a mixed blessing.
Last night I had rock fish that tasted like that childhood derivative at a restaurant that just opened up in town. I'm hoping it wasn't a fluke because I'm up for many return engagements.
So, no bones, no sunburned relatives, no heroic stories, just lovely tasty rock fish melting in my mouth.
And no accompanying Sunbeam (with the little girl with golden curls piled on top her head, gathered together with a blue bow) white bread slathered in butter! Focaccia dipped in garlic oil somehow suggested a different era!
Friday, January 8, 2016
Thursday, January 7, 2016
The usual
There was the open menu.
Outside it was grey blustery cold and the thick mug of coffee felt as good to my nose as my throat. In front of me were delicious choices: French toast with apples, blueberry pancakes, maple syrup waffles, sausage gravy on home fries.....on and on. My appetite lingered on each one, savoring the concept but then with the rapid assurance of William Tell's arrow splitting the apple, I chose eggs! Always. Two eggs over easy, home fries, crispy bacon. I cannot pry myself away from that order - regardless whether I'm at Virginia Kitchen or the Hilton. That has got to be as pathetic as it is boring!
But for me, the day that begins with the golden flow of eggs on toast or crisp potatoes it the day that is sure to smile back at me. On the days when I succumb to sugar, after one bite I rue the choice.
There are just some things that shouldn't be messed with.
Outside it was grey blustery cold and the thick mug of coffee felt as good to my nose as my throat. In front of me were delicious choices: French toast with apples, blueberry pancakes, maple syrup waffles, sausage gravy on home fries.....on and on. My appetite lingered on each one, savoring the concept but then with the rapid assurance of William Tell's arrow splitting the apple, I chose eggs! Always. Two eggs over easy, home fries, crispy bacon. I cannot pry myself away from that order - regardless whether I'm at Virginia Kitchen or the Hilton. That has got to be as pathetic as it is boring!
But for me, the day that begins with the golden flow of eggs on toast or crisp potatoes it the day that is sure to smile back at me. On the days when I succumb to sugar, after one bite I rue the choice.
There are just some things that shouldn't be messed with.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
a rose is a rose, even in January
December courted Spring
but January turned a cold shoulder.
In my neighbor's garden,
whose house we are tending
while she's in Dublin,
a single pink rose
confused by the foreplay,
bloomed.
We snipped it
just before the mercury dropped,
and placed it in a blue vase on the window sill
backed by frosty panes.
Now amid the scarves, coats,
mittens, and caps,
we pause
and inhale
pink,
fragrant
summer.
but January turned a cold shoulder.
In my neighbor's garden,
whose house we are tending
while she's in Dublin,
a single pink rose
confused by the foreplay,
bloomed.
We snipped it
just before the mercury dropped,
and placed it in a blue vase on the window sill
backed by frosty panes.
Now amid the scarves, coats,
mittens, and caps,
we pause
and inhale
pink,
fragrant
summer.
Spares
I have a friend who has replacements of 3 hips (one surgery failed immediately), 2 knees, 1 shoulder (other one pending in a month) and 2 carpal tunnel surgeries. And her beautiful smile never falters.
When I realize how every scrap of these outrageously complex concoctions we call bodies can go wrong, I am numb with gratitude for my whole parts.
When I realize how every scrap of these outrageously complex concoctions we call bodies can go wrong, I am numb with gratitude for my whole parts.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Too soon
In the space of a day I learned of the deaths of three acquaintances.
One was a colleague who I knew only slightly but she had been in the library system for years. She was talented, beautiful and gracious.
One was a volunteer I hired and also was a member of my book club. Despite the uneven hand life dealt her, she had a dogged optimism. She lived goodness - it shone through her.
One was a library patron since 1993 and day after day he would burst through the doors and say "How are you, darling?" He read voraciously. His stories from the Foreign Service were endless. If you weren't smiling before he entered, you were by the time he left. He adored opera, his family, words, food, wine, travel, the world .... and tears came as easily as laughter. I just wrote to his wife - "I'm sure he's now a part of a great gladness somewhere."
Life.
Live it.
One was a colleague who I knew only slightly but she had been in the library system for years. She was talented, beautiful and gracious.
One was a volunteer I hired and also was a member of my book club. Despite the uneven hand life dealt her, she had a dogged optimism. She lived goodness - it shone through her.
One was a library patron since 1993 and day after day he would burst through the doors and say "How are you, darling?" He read voraciously. His stories from the Foreign Service were endless. If you weren't smiling before he entered, you were by the time he left. He adored opera, his family, words, food, wine, travel, the world .... and tears came as easily as laughter. I just wrote to his wife - "I'm sure he's now a part of a great gladness somewhere."
Life.
Live it.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Sauerkraut
Sauerkraut. I begin salivating at the mere word.
In my earliest childhood, I think it was associated mainly with hot dogs.... you know, a heated soft white roll, hot dog snugged inside and loaded with steaming sauerkraut and ketchup over everything. Nitrates, sugar, unmentionable animal parts and fat - absolutely scrumptious!
But in later years, sauerkraut became the vehicle to usher in your new year. Pork and sauerkraut dinners sprang up everywhere in the county. Fire-halls flashed marques with the tidings; churches tolled the news. And gradually I incorporated them into my kitchen. New Year= sauerkraut.
At first it was just the straight roast. Now I accessorize the humble swine and sauerkraut with apples, scallions, brown sugar, vermouth (or gin), shallots, a bit of hot peppers and lots of simmering time. When it arrives at fall-apart goodness, I serve with mashed potatoes.
Does it get any better than that?
The new year bows to such an exquisite culinary delight and the 364 following days just simply have to fall into pleasant lines.
In my earliest childhood, I think it was associated mainly with hot dogs.... you know, a heated soft white roll, hot dog snugged inside and loaded with steaming sauerkraut and ketchup over everything. Nitrates, sugar, unmentionable animal parts and fat - absolutely scrumptious!
But in later years, sauerkraut became the vehicle to usher in your new year. Pork and sauerkraut dinners sprang up everywhere in the county. Fire-halls flashed marques with the tidings; churches tolled the news. And gradually I incorporated them into my kitchen. New Year= sauerkraut.
At first it was just the straight roast. Now I accessorize the humble swine and sauerkraut with apples, scallions, brown sugar, vermouth (or gin), shallots, a bit of hot peppers and lots of simmering time. When it arrives at fall-apart goodness, I serve with mashed potatoes.
Does it get any better than that?
The new year bows to such an exquisite culinary delight and the 364 following days just simply have to fall into pleasant lines.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
grapes
I didn't dare write on January 1 because that would indicate resolve! I know far better than to assume that I will write faithfully every day of 2016 so I had to skip the first day for sure! Almost every day I think -" I should write about that" - and just as quickly that thought is replaced with another and - poof! gone!
Well, I can't change the sure-fire arc of aging, but I will try to be a bit more faithful. Its not that I think someone out there is holding their breath for my next dazzling insight, but I do feel that I owe it to myself to prime the literary pump.
And speaking of pumps, remember using old-time outdoor pumps? I especially remember the one at my Grandma Weaver's house that stood next to the grape arbor. Often the first time you pulled down on the handle -(and mind you, I was so small the upward motion lifted me off my feet!) - nothing would come out of the spout, at best a wheeze and gurgle. But when you persisted with a few additional pumps the water would burst out, with a gasp of air mixed in, and then finally that sweet, pure water would flow smoothly. What an amazing concept - to have to exert a bit of effort for the simple act of flowing water!
And while that water usually just slaked our childhood gaming thirst... or washed off the stickiness of the Concord grapes - "suck grapes" as we called them - that we had pillaged from the laden vines nearby, for my grandmother and mother it represented quite a different story. That water had to be pumped for everything, - washing dishes, doing laundry, cleaning, ironing, scrubbing floors and on and on. My back aches just thinking about it. Just the simple act of living took so much effort such a short time ago in our country and still does in many areas of our planet. Hard to think about.
So instead I will think about Grandma's grapes with their sweet nectar and the tart squishy green centers that lay on your tongue as you sucked out every bit of goodness and then tossed the useless shell. May 2016 be filled with such small delicious pleasures!
Well, I can't change the sure-fire arc of aging, but I will try to be a bit more faithful. Its not that I think someone out there is holding their breath for my next dazzling insight, but I do feel that I owe it to myself to prime the literary pump.
And speaking of pumps, remember using old-time outdoor pumps? I especially remember the one at my Grandma Weaver's house that stood next to the grape arbor. Often the first time you pulled down on the handle -(and mind you, I was so small the upward motion lifted me off my feet!) - nothing would come out of the spout, at best a wheeze and gurgle. But when you persisted with a few additional pumps the water would burst out, with a gasp of air mixed in, and then finally that sweet, pure water would flow smoothly. What an amazing concept - to have to exert a bit of effort for the simple act of flowing water!
And while that water usually just slaked our childhood gaming thirst... or washed off the stickiness of the Concord grapes - "suck grapes" as we called them - that we had pillaged from the laden vines nearby, for my grandmother and mother it represented quite a different story. That water had to be pumped for everything, - washing dishes, doing laundry, cleaning, ironing, scrubbing floors and on and on. My back aches just thinking about it. Just the simple act of living took so much effort such a short time ago in our country and still does in many areas of our planet. Hard to think about.
So instead I will think about Grandma's grapes with their sweet nectar and the tart squishy green centers that lay on your tongue as you sucked out every bit of goodness and then tossed the useless shell. May 2016 be filled with such small delicious pleasures!
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