Fresh-from-the-sea oysters are not often on our menu in landlocked upstate New York, so when Cormac offered to pick some up for veritable pennies, I enthusiastically supported the notion – especially when Suzie was offering up her shucking expertise (honed by restaurant work in Seattle, where she reportedly shucked oysters by the hundreds). As with so many of Suzie’s boasts, this one seemed tenuous at best, as I waited dozens of minutes between slurping these precious oysters. Cormac proved a much better shucker, and as the pile of half-shells grew higher, our stomachs grew fuller, and the sun began its daily descent behind the river, which marked my solitary sojourn to the dock while Suzie and Cormac finished their shucking business.
On the early Sunday morning of departure, I made my way to the diner nearby, Charlie’s, which has been in existence long before we moved in thirty years ago, and continues to provide comforting diner food for all early hunger pangs. On this morning, I opted for the Charlie’s Breakfast sandwich, and added some hot sauce for zing.
If I ever manage to retire and am able to spend more than fleeting weekends in Boston, this is the sort of thing I look forward to doing – hanging at the local diner with my favorite server, who welcomed me back to town and engaged in some early-morning banter amid several groups of misbehaving children.
“On Sunday morning we have a lot of hangover people or kids. I don’t know which is worse,” she whispered conspiratorially to me.
“Oh, kids,” I declared without hesitation. The hangover people just want some greasy food and to be left alone, and are thrilled with anyone who helps them accomplish this mission. Kids, and their indulgent parents, are rarely so easily satisfied, even with chocolate chip pancakes and powdered sugar.
She laughed at my instant response. “You just made my morning,” she said, setting off for a pair of youngsters still in their pajamas and jumping from empty diner stool to empty diner stool. She smiled at them and left them to their merriment.
It seems on this particular Sunday morning, Cholula wasn’t my only friend.
It was a delightful ending to a weekend in my beloved city, where other enchantments held me rapt for the days prior…
A grain and gluten free pastry that tastes delicious? Sounds like the stuff of dreams, but it turns out it’s the stuff of Ballston Spa, where The Sweetish Chef is offering some of the most delicious baked goods I’ve had in the area. If you hadn’t told me about the grain and gluten aspect, I’d have no idea – their stuff is that good regardless of the bonus healthy ingredients.
While I was on a recent trip to see my brother’s shop, a few doors down on Front Street was this cafe that advertised Keto and healthier pastry options, and when my brother later recommended it, I swung back and gave it a try. A sign on the wall gave the definition for the Swedish word fika: a social tradition and a break from the day to enjoy a hot drink, like coffee or tea, along with a treat such as a pastry or cookie. This sounded like a good theme for the rest of my life, and it seemed the happiest place to begin was somewhere between a cinnamon roll and a substantial piece of coffeecake.
Unable to decide between the two, I ultimately decided on both – devouring the cinnamon roll there and then, saving the coffeecake for home – and the plate seen here for being fancy. Grain free, sugar free, and low-carb – and somehow this I one of the most delicious coffeecakes I’ve had in years. Looks like I shall be returning to Ballston Spa more frequently…
Am I the last person you know to try an acai bowl? My niece and nephew seem to think so, and they are occasionally correct. It was Noah who mentioned them to me as we passed a store offering fruit bowls for lunch. Then I started asking around and it seems everyone has tried an acai bowl, and has been eating them for years. It’s not that I was never aware of them, they just existed on the periphery of my food journey – something like chicken wings or Orange Julius, ever-present but not a part of my life.
When asking around on what exactly an acai bowl was, the descriptions from friends were wildly off-the-mark and disparate; none of them made me particularly excited about the prospect of putting purple porridge into my body, especially if it was covered in blueberries, green bananas and granola.
As the universe would have it, down the street from my office a new cafe called ‘Blends and Brews’ had just opened, offering a multitude of shakes and smoothies, and about a dozen acai bowls. Taking a pic of the menu, I sent it around to friends and family to get their take on what my virgin acai experience should consist of, and I decided on the basic Acai Berry Bowl.
It was like a slippery frozen yogurt with icy bits, fruitfully tart with a decent amount of sweetness, and more about the toppings of strawberries, blueberries, granola and banana – a more healthy and colorful than a hot fudge sundae, but also a lot less fun. Give me that processed sugar any day. Still, I finished almost the entire bowl, leaving but one tainted blueberry. After it was done, I felt a little like I did the night I lost my gay virginity – slightly let-down, slightly satisfied, not quite hungry for more – the main difference being that I didn’t need to find a cab to take me home from an abandoned warehouse on the Mississippi river where it all went down. I digress…
{That was my fake look of disgust because blueberries were involved… and I won’t sully the end of this post with why I have an issue with blueberries – that’s for a rainier day.}
My friend Betsy gave me a box of Lucky Charms – Marshmallows only! – as part of my birthday gifts this year and it turned out to be one of the more pleasant surprises of the season. I haven’t had Lucky Charms in years – they were a mainstay of my early breakfasts at Brandeis, when I mustered up the strength and energy to make the trek to Sherman Dining Hall. (In later years I would simply grab a bite at Usdan Center instead of walking across campus for hot food.) Every once in a while I’ll pick up a box for nostalgia’s sake.
This gimmicky version was all marshmallows – which made for a cloying bowl of sweetness – proof that too much of a good thing is sometimes too much. While the marshmallows are indeed the best part of a traditional Lucky Charms bowl, having them alone proved an embarrassment of riches. It also turned out that all the milk in the house was bad, so Andy suggested I just use Half & Half in them, which didn’t really tone down the richness much.
Anyway, your kids will love this if you can find it, and it made for a sweet treat at the end of a trying day.
When summer is high, and the grill is on, Andy puts on a steak and cooks it just right. When the deep fryer is in effect, you sprinkle a few tater tots in until they’re golden and good. When the squash is tumbling off the vine, you slice and steam with some salt and pepper. It all makes for a delicious dinner, and in summer everything just tastes better.
A positive post in the midst of swirling negativity.
The grammatically-correct perfectionist I used to be would scoff at my embracing of these ridiculous sweet treats, called ‘Donettes’, and unexpectedly adored by Tom Ford. My decidedly imperfect current incarnation simply wants to enjoy their powdery, sugary sweetness, their simplicity and inherent unhealthiness, and the element of nostalgia they conjure. They’re somewhere in my childhood, but I can’t quite place where and when – and it’s ok to simply be moved backward in time, even if the precise placement remains unknown.
The weekly recap that usually populates this space on Monday morning will arrive later today, after I’ve returned from Boston. For now, a summer food offering to see us out of the month of June. There’s nothing very boat-like about this dip, and nothing truly island about our living, but both live and breathe in splendor this summer, despite our sea-free and landlocked state of reality. This dip recipe is simple and easy, and packs its flavorful punch thanks to two seasoning packages filled with what can only be awful things that taste good. I added a couple of chopped scallions for some color and freshness.
The recipe, as follows, is malleable enough for whatever suits your fancy this summer.
Boat Dip
1 package cream cheese (8 oz), softened to room temperature
Andy and I discovered the magic of burrata several years ago, and since then one of my favorite dishes that he prepares is this simple tomato, burrata and fresh basil combo. Drizzled with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and sprinkled with some sea salt and freshly-ground pepper, it is a magical summer lunch or dinner – it manages to be both light and substantial (especially when accompanied by some good crusty bread). Andy is always good at recreating the best dishes.
Summer dining should be fresh and easy, where the ingredients take center stage, and the exertions of a day in the garden or pool push the appetite into ravenous form.
Suzie said she lived on these Danish sandwiches during her junior year abroad. They are made of a sturdy base of rugbrod, a layer of creme fraiche, a sprinkling of capers (I used the kind stored in salt), then topped by a few folds of ham and some fresh dill. Sometimes the simplest things are the most delicious.
Despite being glamorized by Mame Dennis and her nephew Patrick in ‘Auntie Mame‘ – (as “fishberry jam” – it’s salty kind of but he liked it) – caviar never held much allure for me. Part of me also suspected I might enjoy it a bit too much, given my penchant for briny things – olives and capers and all things fishy. For those slightly contradictory reasons, I’ve avoided caviar all these years, happily not spending the extra money or indulging in such decadence.
That changed during our recent homage to ‘Babette’s Feast’ in which ‘Blinis Demidoff’ formed the opening salvo. Suzie put the caviar on sparingly for all the guests, so I was left with an almost-full jar at the end of the evening – which meant I could act a total fishery jam glutton and go to town the next day. The sea-like brilliance that was merely hinted at with that first trial, was magnified and made center-stage on a bed of creme fraiche, and I was instantly a caviar convert.
Several weeks ago Suzie Ko and I slipped quietly into the 76 Diner, where we set up shop at a table hidden near the back, ordered some diner fare, and proceeded to plot out a seven-course meal inspired by the movie ‘Babette’s Feast’. Suzie has loved the movie since her childhood; I’ve avoided it for forty years, assuming it was some soft-porn piece more aligned with Suzie’s peccadilloes than mine. When it showed up on television a month ago I decided to give it a shot, and despite the Danish language (you try saying ‘rugbrød’ the correct way) I fell in love with it too. Happily, or unhappily depending upon why you’re here, the movie has less to do with porn and more to do with a feast prepared by a woman named Babette.
“I have been with you every day of my life. You know, do you not, that is has been so? And, I shall be with you every day that is left to me. Every evening I shall sit down, if not in flesh, which means nothing, in spirit, which is all, to dine with you, just like tonight. For tonight I have learned that in this world anything is possible.” –Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
We both agreed to forego an exact imitation of the fancy French dishes that Babette prepares (it was likely that nobody in our families would take kindly to eating turtles or quail) so we settled on a seven-course menu that provided enough to approximate Babette’s wondrous work while giving us something within reach of our culinary abilities.
“Grace, my friends, demands nothing from us but that we shall await it with confidence and acknowledge it in gratitude.” – Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
After picking Suzie up, we made a stop at the market to get the last-minute items for the opening salvo of the meal. I’d already prepared the almond dessert, curry dish, and a couple of batches of the Danish rye bread, Suzie had done most of the sorbet (with assistance from Pat and Milo), and Mom was bringing the show-stopping centerpiece of Cornish game hens. We just had to make the potato leek soup, blinis, and risotto.
“Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost!”~ Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
For the opening blini dish, the batter struggled in its race against time (we may have also forgot to do this part first), but it puffed up just enough to make the gray buckwheat carriage for the crème fraîche and caviar – and unfortunately I am now hooked on the exorbitant combination (another post celebrating that is on the way, courtesy of breakfast the next day).
The potato and leek soup came together more easily, thanks to a leek-top broth and immersion blender. Finally, Suzie’s recipe for an Instapot risotto defied the typically-sweat-inducing process of a proper risotto and resulted in the creamy and dreamy bed on which the Cornish game hens would nest.
Mom and Milo helped with the dish-turnover, and Andy helped with the dishwasher-loading, and by the time the evening came to a close, our appetites for comfort and culinary decency had been satiated. Suzette’s Feast had been a success.
“Long after midnight the windows of the house shone like gold, and golden song flowed out into the winter air.” – Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
In service of our homage to ‘Babette’s Feast’ – happily updated as ‘Suzette’s Feast‘ for our silly intents and purposes – I tried my hand at this simplified version of Danish rye bread (Rugbrød) – thank you Kristi – love the floral head wreath! Given my penchant for the occasional kitchen mishap, and Mercury being in retrograde, I was wise enough to do a test batch before baking the actual version I’ll be serving at dinner tomorrow. That proved fortuitous, as I made a fatal error in one of the ingredients.
If you look closely, or at the shot below, you’ll see some very prominent pumpkin seeds. The bag said pumpkin seeds, and the recipe called for pumpkins seeds, and I’ve eaten this sort of pumpkin seed (salted) after Halloween, but I didn’t realize, and didn’t think through, that I needed ‘hulled’ pumpkins seeds – the green meat within the pale shells.
The test version came out well side from this – heavy and dense and rustic with rye. I didn’t have a pullman lidded bread pan, so I just encased the regular bread pan with foil and topped it with a heavy cookie sheet for the first part of the being process. Once cooled and set, I sliced it up with a sharp serrated knife and piled on some toppings for a Danish open faced sandwich that Suzie had learned to love in Denmark when she was an exchange student there several decades ago. Perhaps this will bring it all back tomorrow…
Andy’s first attempt at chicken adobo – that classic Filipino dish – was a resounding success, despite my mis-remembering the exact ratio of rice vinegar needed (it’s a party forgiving recipe). Having him make this ancestral dinner was a surprising and heartwarming gift of a very long winter. When he took over the chicken curry dish I made early on in our relationship, he elevated and perfected it, so I’m looking forward to future adobo endeavors.
These little things that spark joy in our day-to-day existence are the true jewels of a life. Too often they seem incidental or mundane – those in-between moments that tie bigger events together – but they are the real events, if only we knew enough to honor them as they came.
