Sometimes Eating is Better Than Cooking

Just when you were thinking to yourself (who else would you be thinking to, eh?), "Wonder whatever happened to Karen's blog?" here it is again. Those who know me well know that, while I enjoy cooking, I don't really think of myself as on vacation unless someone else makes my bed and someone else cooks my meals and then cleans up. Michael and I, therefore, had a lovely pre-Christmas vacation in New York City these past few days. We left Saturday morning for Baltimore, where we were served a lovely lunch by our friends Karen and Hugh, who live half the year in Balto and half the year on Islesford. Karen's mother, our friend Ann, was staying with them a few days, and Ann's grandsons, Marcus and Robin, along with Robin's wife Stephanie, had lunch with us as well. I suppose it was actually brunch, as we started with bloody Marys and mimosas, followed by sausages and a hard-boiled egg casserole and fruit salad. From there, we went to the 20-something annual music fest (can you tell the name escapes me?) at Gaucher College, where we were surrounded by the tones of guitar, hammered dulcimer, and flute. Then we went to the Chameleon for dinner. I had scallops and a beet salad; Michael had lamb. Several of us shared what was supposed to be the best chocolate cake ever, but most agreed that Karen Smallwood's chocolate cake is better.
After a quick breakfast at Elaine and Peyton's Sunday morning, we headed to Wilmington to catch the train. By 2:00 we were in New York, and by 3:00 we were checked it at 49th and Broadway. We took a walk up Broadway and stopped in at the Stage Deli for lunch/dinner. I had a "split knish with corned beef and melted Swiss cheese" and Michael had knackwurst and baked beans. There was so much to eat that we pretty much called it a night, though we did take a huge slice of coconut cake back with us. We did walked  to Langan's on 47th for a wee spot 'o Redbreast, the finest Irish whiskey, and then Michael walked across 49th to the Food Emporium for a quart of milk, which we had with the cake at bedtime.
Monday morning we walked up to 53rd to have breakfast at the Cafe Europa, where one can get coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, eggs, bacon, home fries and toast for less that $10 a person. And no tip.
We walked on to Central Park and Wollman's (I don't care what the Donald wants to call it) where we were ripped off by a sweet-talking con man. Or let's tell the truth--I gave him $10 for his homeless kids charity. Michael never believed he was legit, though we both hoped he was, since he used his dead mother to weasel his way into our conversation.
We spent a while at the holiday vendor fair, a combination of junk and fine merchandise in tents on Columbus Circle just outside Central Park, and then caught a subway down to West 4th. We visited several of our favorite haunts: Rocco's for coffee and pastry, Olivier and Sons for olive oils and balsamic vinegars, and Bleeker Street Records for CDs and LPs. Then we continued up Bleeker to the Village Tannery, where Michael bought me another leather handbag. I think I now have five from them. Each one is unique and they will also make bags to order.
On the way back to the subway, we stopped in the Pearl Oyster Bar and asked about dinner. The owner told us we'd beat the crowd if we got there before 7:30, so that's what we did. We went back to the hotel, rested a little with our feet up, and then duded ourselves up. We caught the subway back down to the Village and got to the Pearl a little before seven. We sat at the bar, which is where the action is, and started eating seafood. First, a large bucket of steamers, served with broth and butter for dipping. We pretty much hogged our way through those fairly quickly. Then Michael decided he wanted mussels and I had a bowl of clam chowder. We could see into the kitchen from where we were sitting, and we watched each item being cooked: the mussels were steamed in a large fry pan with another inverted on top; the clams were cooked and then added to the soup stock, which was then poured into another pan and finished with sherry. When these dishes arrived, YUM! Finally, we decided to split a lobster roll, because we couldn't bear to leave without having one, but we knew we couldn't handle one each. I don't know exactly what they do to the lobster and the buns at the Pearl, but their lobster roll is exquisite. We hauled ourselves out of there finally, and headed back uptown on the subway.
Tuesday morning we went back to the Cafe Europa and had the same breakfast (if it ain't broke) and then decided to go over to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree and watch the skaters there a little while. We did a little shopping at the Met Museum store and we tried to look for Legos at the Lego store, but it was packed with mad children and disturbed parents, so we hightailed it out of there. We decided not to have lunch since we had reservations at the Union Square Cafe for 6:00. We headed down to 14th street around 4 because they also have a holiday vendors fair, but nothing really caught our eye. Just before 6 we went in for dinner. The staff there is lovely, and we had a nice cozy table at a banquette. Sadly, the young man seated just behind Michael was apparently having a first date with a girl he was trying to impress, so he basically told her everything in the world, as if she had just been born, including things like "Scotch is a kind of whiskey, but I always thought it was just Scotch." I was lucky enough to be just far away to not be able to catch most of the words, just the nonstop voice.
The food and the service were both wonderful, though. We started with chestnut soup for Michael and a smoked salmon brushetta for me. Both were delicious, and Michael said the soup was "divine." Then we had our entrees: I had a cassouletta with sausages and chicken and Michael had lamb chops, which were cooked perfectly. We ended the evening with a trio of sorbets (me) and a chocolate mousse cake.
Wednesday morning started at Cafe Europa again, but this time we had egg-and-sausage sandwiches on everything bagels--even better! New York City has the best bagels in the world, and the best bagel bakery is H&H, which supplies almost all the restaurants and delis.
This time we headed down to Macy's Herald Square, which is almost always a mistake, but even more so four days before Christmas. Undaunted, we headed up by escalator to the 9th floor and worked our way back down, only to learn that Macy's doesn't really sell toys any more, except for a few plush teddies and other animals. Your child can, however, still meet Santa aboard Macy's choo-choo in Santaland. Relieved to be out of there, we headed back to the Village to actually buy our stock of cookies at Rocco's. We like to have a few for the party and some for Christmas eating. The ones we buy to take home are usually fig pockets and shortbreads, so we have things like chocolate lulus, babas au rhum, and lemon meringue pie while we enjoy the coffee.
We were in the mood for Chinese, so we stopped in the Marriott Marquis to ask the concierge for suggestions. He recommended John's Shanghai between 6th and 7th (I can't remember the street, but it was close) and it was great. We had steamed pork dumplings--not the best ever, but good--followed by Spicy pork with broccoli and chicken with eggplant and spicy garlic sauce. Once again, yum yum!
Ben&Jerry's in the room ended another day of eating.
Thursday morning we decided to go uptown to Sydney Greengrass, the Sturgeon King, (Amsterdam between 86 & 87) for a final New York brunch. We had coffee, nova salmon & cream cheese with onion on everything bagels, and a bowl of matzoh ball soup. The sandwiches were so good we had to take a dozen bagels to go. We took the subway back to our room, finished packing, caught a cab to Penn Station, and settled in to wait for our train.
Two hours after we boarded we were back in Wilmington and on our way home, with just two more stops, one at TJMaxx in Dover for a little last minute shopping, and Sonic in Bridgeville for a late night supper of hot dogs.
It was great to be home last night, and good to have bagels with brie for breakfast. I can cook for a long time on those memories. Oh yeah--the Rockefeller tree was really pretty, too.

Climbing Gorham Mountain

Yesterday was perfect. The high didn't reach 70 deegrees; the sun was out early. A few clouds were scattered across the sky. After a perfect mailboat ride to NEH, we grabbed a quick breakfast at the Mainsail and headed into the park. We were lucky enough to find a parking place in the Gorham lot and we headed up  the mountain. As usual, the views changed from good to great to magnificent as we ascended. If I had been worried about whether I would be able to climb easily this year, that worry disappeared with this climb. In fact, it seemed easier and shorter than we both remembered. Before we knew it, we were at the top, having a light lunch and a glass of wine. Mountain climbing is always easier with wine. We were the envy of all the families at the top, since we had no dogs, no kids and WINE.
After more than an hour at the top, including thirty minutes or so picking huckleberries so I can make a pie tonight, we climbed back down and headed to the Hanneford's in Bar Harbor to pick up a few groceries. We made the mail boat with time to spare and arrived home to skies that had clouded over.
We walked up to Ann's around 6:15 to have dinner with the whole crowd--Ann's meatloaf, Michael's fried squash, steamed kale from Ann's garden, and baked sweet and white potatoes. And wine, of course, for everyone but me.
After dessert--Ann's hard gingerbread with fresh whipped cream--we moved into the other room for music. Phin played guitar and Tony played banjo and the rest of us sang, mostly old folk songs: O Mary Don't You Weep, Keep on the Sunny Side, By the Waters of Babylon, and others. We sang until a little after 10 and then finally dispersed. Phin and Tony went back  to the boat house to get ready for the kids who came today. Michael and I walked home in the dark.
I was ready for bed, but Michael wasn't, so we started watching Moonstruck. Less than halfway through I decided that I was going to bed, so I left him sleeping on the couch. He came to bed eventually, and even though both of us awoke earlier, we stayed in bed until  10, when I got up and started breakfast. It had been pouring rain all morning, but by the time we wanted to head to Ann's to wash our clothes, the rain had stopped. Ann had a fire going when we arrived, and we've been sitting and chatting with whoever shows up ever since. Michael's gone back to the cottage to get the berries so I can make the pie for dinner. Jim will be making India food, and I'll provide dessert. It's not a pretty day, but it's a good one, as most days are on Islesford.

Lobstah, lobstah, lobstah

So last night we had lobster for dinner--again. How many times can you have it and eat it before you get tired of it? I don't know the answer to that question, but I'm willing to be a test subject. Nine lobsters for four people, nine lobsters pulled out of the ocean mere hours before we cooked them. Five were hard-shelled, and four were peelers, with a "soft shell" that still needed pressure to get into. The two that were not eaten last night will be chopped up into lobster rolls for a late lunch today.
Now  back to yesterday's title: Bread and Wine. We brought 16 or 18 bottles with us from Maryland, and bought more in NH, so we have boxes of wine to move to the cottage where we're spending the next seven nights. Whatever is left will be hauled back to Ann's next weekend as we prepare to spend our last few days with her.
As for the bread, Ann asked Phin to bring back a couple of loaves when he returned to the island on Thursday. Michael also went off on Thursday, and brought back three different kinds of bread from the farmer's market. Ann made biscuits, so now we're inundated with bread.
Some would call it a sign; we should be having holy communion at some point, but we're convinced that whoever is out there has blessed us beyond measure already, and we always feel as if we're communing when we eat, so all is well.
After dinner last night, when the dishes were finally done around nine, the four of us walked down to the dock to look at the moon and the stars. Seeing how lovely it was then made me eager to see the full moon next Saturday  night after the festival. Pray, whomever your target of prayer, for clear skies and enthusiastic but docile crowds at  the festival. Pray no one--dog or human--mars anyone's lawn with excrement.
In case any of you are wondering what else one does on an island, we have a charity buoy sale this afternoon to benefit the library, a charity bird sale tomorrow afternoon to benefit the neighborhood house, a bake sale from 10-2 to benefit the church,  a lecture about the mural that Maine's governor had removed from the state house, the town fair all day Monday, a town meeting Tuesday night, a movie Wednesday at the neighborhood house, and I'm not sure what else because I plan to be otherwise engaged hiking in the national park.
I need to stay longer just so I can get some relaxation in at some point. Temperature today at 2:25, 76.

Bread and Wine

So, last night's dinner was, like, pancakes and bacon and homemade peach ice cream. Like, we all were dozy and in bed by 10:30.

I don't know why I started that way, except that whenever I feel like starting a sentence with "So," I remind myself why I hate that when my students do it, yet we talk that way. Dilemma!

The fishing didn't happen because it rained, so Plan B went into effect. The funniest part was the making of the ice cream. The most important issue was having the freezer container in the freezer, and Ann had left it there since the last time we made ice cream up here, sometime in the fall, I think. We needed heavy cream, so I walked over to the store, but she had sold out of milk and cream for the day. Ann called her daughter Karen, who wasn't sure she had enough, but who suggested calling Dan at the Dock. Ann called and Dan said he had some, so she went down there and got it. I had already peeled and lightly sugared two large peaches, so as soon as she brought the cream I added milk, sugar, vanilla, and a drop of almond extract. Ann took the freezer container out, and then we went to get the rest of the ice cream maker.
Which was nowhere to be found. We looked in every cabinet large enough to hold it, in every cupboard where it ought to have been and where it would have been at any other time. The search was beginning to take on epic proportions, so I put the container back in the freezer. After searching for almost an hour, we realized that there would be no ice cream if we didn't move in another direction, so Ann called Karen again and asked if her machine was ready and available. We couldn't remember whether the ice cream makers were identical, so Karen decided to send freezer and all.Michael rode down on Jim's bicycle and came back riding with one hand, carrying a huge paper grocery sack in his arm. He said the gear missed during the ride and he  almost wiped out, but he did manage to get it here. Karen sent a small jar with about a quarter cup of peach schnappes to add to the recipe. All was well; the ice cream was ready for the freezer in 25 minutes or so, and everyone loved it. So Karen saved the day again. Pickles for the tartar sauce on Monday, and an ice cream maker on Thursday. Well done, Karen!
Ann's son Mark will be delivering lobster this afternoon for our dinner tonight. Nine lobsters, a mix of hard shells and shedders, for the four  of us. I'll make cole slaw, and that will be all we need. The rest is silence.

Life on an Artistic Island

Islesford is probably the most creative place I've ever been. The moment I step off the mailboat, I want to make something--write, Paint, crochet (what?!?), build a birdhouse--whatever. Today was the first session of our poetry workshop. Rick Benjamin, who teaches at Brown, vacations here and graciously conducts a workshop for 10-15 islanders and summer people several times a year. It's amazing what can come from the minds of people who are lobster fishermen, potters, housewives, and others. By the time two hours had passed, each of us had produced at least two pretty good poems. Mine are too personal to share in a blog; close friends will read them later. Suffice it to say, Rick knows how to give us poems and prompts that send us places we need to go to find the good stuff, often completely unexpectedly. We'll meet again tomorrow afternoon.
One would think that life on an island is quiet and boring, but there's little chance to become bored. There are meetings to attend, get-togethers to plan, and trips off-island to make. Grocery shopping can take either most of the day or one phone call, depending on what you want and how much you're willing to pay.
Michael decided to go off-island while I went to the poetry workshop, so he left on the 8:30 boat and won't be back til 2:30 or later. He was going to hit the Northeast Harbor farmer's market and then the grocery in Bar Harbor. The weather's been gray the past two days, so we're not inclined to go into the park. We might have to light a fire in the wood stove this afternoon if it cools off any more. The thermometer says 63 right now, at 12:45 in the afternoon.
Michael is going fishing around 4:00 for mackerel with a couple of the guys who are working at the Boatworks--Phin and Tony. If all goes well, we'll have a fish fry--more likely a fish broil--for supper. If not, Plan B is pancakes and bacon. Either will be followed by peach ice cream I'll be making this afternoon.
I'm trying to decide whether I should work on my syllabus this afternoon or just do crossword puzzles; I like having this time to myself. I've already finished one novel since I've been here--Kindred--and am looking around for another. I thought I had brought two, but apparently not. The library is pretty well stocked, so I'm sure I can find something to finish before we leave.
Time to make the ice cream!

Dinners on Islesford

We arrived on the island and, as usual, started cooking. It seems almost unbelievable to me that just a few years ago my credo was, "I'm not on vacation unless someone cooks my food and makes my bed." Here, Michael and I do a lot of cooking. Oddly enough, I don't really mind it. Sometimes we cook in tandem, as we did last night: he did the ribs and the potato salad; I made the coleslaw and the apple pie. We had Finn and Tony from the boat works in addition to the four of us currently a part of Ann's household, and everyone seemed to really enjoy themselves.
Monday Michael and I went off-island to begin to acclimate ourselves to hiking in Acadia, and we did some grocery shopping as well. We picked up a 3.3-pound salmon fillet, which Michael broiled Monday night. I made fresh tartar sauce, and we sliced several of the tomatoes we brought with us from Maryland.
Wine is an important part of our meals here; we brought 16 bottles from home. We stopped at the New Hampshire Liquor Store and bought more, including four bottles of champagne. I am being very careful about how much I drink so I don't have an a-fib incident.
Today we sat at the bar in the Islesford Dock restaurant and introduced Ann to the Dark and Stormy. The kitchen is full as Ann, Michael and Jim try to fix spaghetti with fresh tomato and basil, steamed sugar snap peas, and a spinach salad. There's simply no room for me--sigh.
Life is good.

You're HOW Old?

I can't believe how long it's been since I posted; I had to go back and re-read my last blog to understand how negligent I've been. In my own defense, I left for Louisville a few days after the last post, and I made the decision not to write while I was gone. I went south (not exactly--Louisville is actually north from here, but it feels like the South) and Michael went north, to Maine, the next day. Paranoia made me think I shouldn't divulge that we were both out of town at the same time. So sue me.

I went to my forty-fifth high school reunion yesterday afternoon. I missed the last four--and the sixtieth birthday party three years ago--for various reasons. Thus, it had been at least 25 years since I had seen almost every one of those people. The two I spent the most time with at the 20th reunion are both dead now; I wasn't sure what this one would be like, but I was determined to go.I had in my mind that now that we were all 63, the old insecurities would be gone, and I was right. At this point, who had held what job, who had gone to what college, who had made a lot or a little bit on money, who had maintained a physique and who hadn't, didn't seem to matter at all. People I barely talked to in high school, because we were in different classes or ran in different circles, came up to me, happy to see me, eager to know what I'd been up to. Girls who had been good friends were friendly, cordial, occasionally indifferent. Guys I wouldn't have spoken to in school out of awe or simple shyness were affectionate, animated. We talked about grandchildren, retirement, our parents, our future plans. We spent half an hour remembering the 24 (out of 175!) of our classmates who are dead now, and we tossed a wreath in the river in their memories. We ate crabs and hot dogs, drank beer and wine and soda, danced a little to an oldies band. Mostly, though, we talked, and talked, and talked. We talked to our classmates and we talked to their spouses or significant others. We joked about our common ailments and shared our happiness that we weren't among the twenty-four. We exchanged email addresses and phone numbers, urged people to sign up on Facebook
I don't think Michael really wanted to go; he never said that to me, but he acted as if he was fulfilling a duty as he got ready. In the car, he was angry because I didn't know the exact address or even which road to take to get to Dan and Ginger's estate--and I do mean estate--on the river outside of Cambridge. Not too long after we got there, however, Michael began to talk to people I introduced him to and then to a few of the people he knew already. I've often said he's never met a stranger, and that's pretty much how it went all evening. At the 20th reunion we were joined at the hip; yesterday we were apart more than we were together. Occasionally we would make eye contact, just to ensure that the other person was all right with the way things  were going. At one point we decided to leave, but then we were sidetracked by new people and conversations. For a little while, we just sat and looked out over the river, but then people came to us and the conversations started again.
All the way home Michael questioned me about this person and that one. What were they like in high school? Which one was he? What did so-and-so do after high school? Luckily, the reunion committee had put together a booklet with our senior portraits, our current names and addresses, and blurbs and photos that we sent in to update everyone. As Michael said this morning, "You would think it was my high school reunion considering how much I care about these people." We've both pored over the blurbs and photos and portraits, trying to put faces and names and memories together.
It was a good day. As I told several people last night, and as they told me in return, whether we stay in touch outside of these reunions doesn't really matter; what matters is that these were the people with whom we spent some of the best and some of the worst times of our lives. We shared early fun, teen angst, identity crises, little victories--unforgettable memories. And since each of us has his/her own memories, sharing them becomes an exercise in humility, revelation, and hilarity. There were few regrets, but there were some. There was an acknowledgment of the unforgivable bullying of one classmate and his total forgiveness of it.
Many of us acknowledged not being comfortable in high school, but all that was wiped out by our comfort with each other today. I couldn't be happier that I was there. I'll attend the fiftieth if I'm able, and I hope the 24 won't have grown, not even by one.