If you did not know

Yes, I’ve been away from the blog for a while. Working on that Music that came out of the blue and grabbed me and owned me. Some of you got to see five scenes over at the Westport Library in the meantime I truly miss writing here in this space if you’re new here scroll down pick up a few of the reads from the past if you’re not new my apologies for not adding to this space.

DeSkToPsToRy was 25 years ago. Working title now is ScreenTime.

Me and Matt. He came in with his wife Mandy. In from Denver. Back when he was in high school Matt set up a wholesale operation for Double L. We sold most restaurants in Fairfield County.

Earth Days

Time on Earth. Counting the seconds, the minutes, hours. Days, weeks, months. Years, decades, centuries. Thousands of years. Millions. Billions and billions. I’m thinking. Thinking about my place in time.

This Earth with moon. This star, the Sun. This Milky Way galaxy we reside in. This expanding universe. Yes! You and me here on a planet, a special sphere —so luckily, perfectly placed and on a rare and intimate path determined by gravity’s pull and push; the harmonious chaos of it all. Come here! Look! Out there, the tide recedes, seemingly catching a slow breath before the crashing exhale of the next wave. Look again. A metaphor lies there.

Variations of life, the everlasting good and necessary struggles, as constant as sunrises, all, simple complexities my dear friend until that final dusk day.  But do listen. These are not sad laments, no, not in the slightest.  I am awe inspired by the bee and flower, the very garden we live in. Yes indeed! Nature’s fine examples; and may I say that this sun, most def —is no false idol, begetting all flower’s final fruits for our taking.

Apples, oranges and berries by name. A list far too long, of dedicated struggles, commitments, evolutionarily routines that we all share. Oh welcomed burdens! Treasured traditions called life. Let’s lust for next days light, be constant and content, for this is truly life’s fruitful face.

Again no! No mirrors needed. Clarity abounds in every grain of sand and in every held hand, for this land and more will exist far beyond our short place in time. Let’s vow, here and now, to try and be wise and do it well, until, our end in time..

Voracious varieties, torrentially tender and mighty in shape and form. Look around! Low hanging fruit within arms reach, each uniquely qualified to assist most mammals. I, for one, have a unique responsibility to search both nearby and far from here, for those formidably fresh edibles, laden with minerals and vitamins beyond compare. This task I take seriously, surely you see that I hope to make you happy, and of course healthy. My honest hope is that you approve of nature’s bounty

Busy as a what?

You’ve seen me. Busy. I’ve got a few blogs in the works, but they are taking their time. Patience is all I ask. Thanks and scroll down,

BIRDS & BEES

Little sticks, wind-snapped. Broken pieces of last years life thrown down to the ground. Minuscule pieces, fractured but useful no less for nest building birds, bound and determined to create crude cushioned comfort for fragile eggs holding offspring.

Little chicks, egg-chipped. Woken puzzle pieces of this years life, soon to fly above the ground. It never ceases, natural selections’ success. Nest building birds, sound a determined warbled tribute to their newborn and an unfolding Spring.

Nancy takes her tulips seriously, and picks them daily. This week, tulips abound. Don’t miss out. Variety is an understatement. Ramps, running rampant in the cool air, are in abundance also. Spring garlic and onions, new crop ramps, artichokes, New Jersey’s asparagus, sweet Florida corn are impressive. And yes, the Harry’s Berries plus all the usual berry suspects, remain in their famous forms. Abate Fetel pears perform. Citrus is at peak potential. Pink pineapples, unmistakably unique. A good melon can be found. Cherries here now. Peaches, apricots too. Mostly, you’ll find here that passion for what is fresh and good and wholesome. It hasn’t changed. It never will.
And hopefully, with Spring’s thaw my writing hibernation concludes. Fingers crossed, I do hope a mused inspiration has found me once again. I am truly sorry for the neglect. I love words, being here and sharing them. That said, I’m excited to show you a 360° Google view of the inside of the store. Follow this external link to get there, share or simply enjoy. If you have not been inside of late, I hope this link is enticement.

Yep. The center console is the home of new and interesting jars & bottles & packets. Check it out.

MOON SHINE

The moon, big and bright in a North East sky. Nearing 10:30 pm, I reset the alarm to 3:55 am. Tonight only, yes, the “early riser” tones from the alarm’s library. The coming eclipse peaks at 4:03, so eight minutes seemes like ample time to wake, get my mental bearings and find the moon before it goes black. The rain taps out Morse Code on the roof above, dot-dit-dit-da, but clear skies are in the forecast. And so we sleep. “Night Moon.”

Alarm tones. Up, and I find it! There! Window pane framed, a small bit of the moon. See it? A sliver, a slice? No! A teardrop of white light hanging there. As I watch, the earth’s long shadow wipes away that last drop of bright white.

Moonlight. Moonshine. Moonbeams. Mister Moonlight momentarily muted. Lights out. Darkness.

Upon reflection, where on earth would the moon be without the sun’s light? Yes, yes, I know, up there, but? And relatively speaking, a lunar eclipse is quite possibly more about the sun than the moon. And mind you, where would we be without this stars light? Would either of us be? The answer is quite clear. Light is life.

Proof? Daylight brings a honeydew’s sweetness. Sunny summers, then blossoms, then oranges, grapefruit, mandarins and more— all sun kissed. Apples too. Bananas too. Plums! Cherries! And grapes pleasantly persist, perfect persimmons insist, and you cannot resist the mangoes. None of this would exist, save for this sun. Oh yes, the list? It’s way too long. From here, to the moon! And back.

Looking forward to seeing you. Sunglassed?

RETHINKING THANKSGIVING

Yeah, fireworks for sure!
No, it’s not the 4th of July— sun laden, flip floppin’ family fun. Thanksgiving takes on ceremonial circumstance, boilerplate ballyhoo, ironclad irony. A smooth family sail on a calm glassy sea oft meets with strong homestead headwinds, careening into subtle sibling squalls and/or the perfect paternal storm— all, fashionably fit for Freudian speculation and interpretation. Shall we lie down on the couch?

Year in, year out, after a thorough roasting, Thanksgiving turkeys are sacrificed, stuffed with symbolism and sanctimoniously sliced with a guilt-edged knife that cuts both ways— Remember Rockwell and our fictional familial fantasy.What would Norman have rendered presented with the new vegan sensibilities of today?

The road to recovery? Let’s set the bird free. On second thought, let’s keep the bird and set ourselves free. Considering the symptoms at hand, an immediate relaxed attitude is prescribed. Attain this through thoughtful breathing, a flexible plan, perhaps a glass of wine. Lines drawn, plan in place, nerves of steel may still be required, but seriously, it’s just another meal.

The 15th
Set your boundaries and set a date for commitment from family and friends. Size matters when it comes to sharing the bird. We’d like to know what you want by the 15th, so pass that along to the clan. The sooner you know what’s up, the better we can be of support. Pies will be baked to order. Gravy and other sides will be calculated as well.

Besides the basic accoutrements, we are here to literarily chase down any special requests, be it big or small. Pheasant, quail, goose, duck, ham or lamb. Need a mountain of French beans? A ton of sweet potatoes? Wild exotic mushrooms? Basics or hard to find? We can even arrange delivery of a cord of firewood. You light the fire.

Joking aside, let’s revel in family. Food is just the sideshow of love and consideration of others, both near and far. I am grateful that I know you and appreciate the opportunity of assisting you in your holiday endeavors.

If you missed my article on Joe Bruno, I offer the link below. Hope you enjoy the read.

Notable Now: Figs, plums, grapes, honeydew, all berries, apples of course, .pears too. Asparagus, Brussel sprouts, bunch spinach, bunch watercress, broccoli, beets are a good bet, turnips, purple carrots, fennel and every kind of potato. Locally, it is truly a big, beautiful harvest.

HOW IT ENDS

Acorns hit and roll on an asphalt road, and then the snap, crackling pop under passing car tires. A rose, once a radiant pink perfumed beauty, wilts in a garden. A leaf, vibrant green with chlorophyll, suddenly morphs molten orange, lets go, and falling, waves goodbye to any and all. Nearby, a daisy loves me, loves me not. Loves me. Loves me not. Loves me?

Life— dawn to dusk, seasons, cycles, trends, routines Me, you, we’re living it. And like the air off a rising tide, we breathe it in. Yes we do, and all the while mother nature provides. From A to Z, and oh yes and as it is said, A is for Apple. Varieties? Winesap, Delicious, Mutsu, Macoun, Cortland & Ashmead’s Kernel, yes, you heard right, Ashmead’s Kernel, like life, spicy, complex, tart & intense.

Peaches, they said their goodbye a while ago, but beautifully sweet pluots remain for you to try. Persimmons debut, while figs continue to thrive. There are three melons. Count on all of them to wow you and your senses. And lest I forget, heirloom tomatoes, big and small, still reside and beckon basil and burrata or with salads, they lie. Yes! Lettuce picked, potatoes dug, carrots & radishes pulled, broccoli, cauliflower, fennel cut and on and on and on.

Breathe in, breathe out. Okay? Again. Breathe in, breathe out. We’ll get through. Nature will too. Once again. There is the beginning. There is the end. And there is the journey in between. That’s where we find ourselves, and it’s nice to be seen. Hello there, again and again.

Yesterday Morning

Just yesterday morning, green leaves clung to sunny summer memories and the mere mention of fall seemed downright distant. But here it is. Darkening days turned the many Maples yellow, and then suddenly Saturday, a steady, stiff Canadian air whipped bent branches bare.

Salad days give way to heartier helpings of hot soups and stews, so they say. Winter squash, roots, whole grain breads and roasted fowl appropriately align in our mind’s eye and with our planet’s tilt. And now, brisk morning walks invigorating mind and muscle, while wind kissed lips attest to nature’s rough embrace. Stay with me a while, winter’s weariness is nowhere near the two of us.

I, for one, have never been fond of hand moisture cream or lip balm— however, of recent I discovered a wonderful little jar of smooth beeswax created by a beekeeper up Vermont way. No greasy feeling, just soft skin. A wonderful little jar that travels easy. I hope you’ll try it.

I’m also tooting bone broth’s horn. This elixir of collagen is just one secret to good health. Nothing quite like a warm glass of broth to get the day going. North, from Nit Noy Provisions, keeps us stocked with wonderful broths from his mother’s recipes. I’m including them in my diet and can truly feel the effects.

Sunday night I sautéed sliced fennel in olive oil, then added zucchini. I also steamed beets, slow cooked ribs marinated in Congaree Gold, a BBQ marinade sauce recipe from a friend over in Darien. Last night, fennel & zucchini again, also a pasta with bolognese sauce. I also sautéed a wild mushroom.

Another favorite is SALAD SAUCE from Pasta Nostra Restaurant. Shake it up, add olive oil and your salad is off and running, and if you haven’t heard, Joe Bruno slapped up that name over his Bruculino sign and brought back his original PASTA NOSTRA menu. Go. That’s all I’ll say. Go!

BEST 4 LAST I’ve got a huge stash of that honeydew we’re in love with, Cavaillon melons too. Murray’s prosciutto would bring comfort to either. There’s also marvelous mottled pluots, a great vehicle to exit stone fruit season. And you have just got to take home a chunk of the Hen of the Woods mushroom— olive oiled, then in the oven 375° for 20 minutes or so. Yeah baby! Last chance. Gone Dead Train.

Organic rainbow chard with garlic, or colored peppers in a stir fry, dried beans soaking, chicken marinating, a big piece of cod tenderloin steaming— it’s all about variety. Not just because it’s healthy and good for you, yeah, that, but same ole, same ole… get what I mean. Mix it up, but stay simple. One-pan-it every chance you get. We’re all busy. Good food keeps us running. Love you all. Thanks.

POETRY, let’s try

As you looked up our eyes met. “Nice to see you,” came my reply. Or that other time, when you said to me, “See you later,” I then said, “Thanks for stopping by.” And then, I thought about how I missed your smile. Yes, I know you smiled under your modest mask. So did I. You do know I smiled back, right? Public spaces decry face to faces for in those places decorum’s duty resides. But once outside we just might reveal our true intent, and smile, naked faced, and say our goodbyes.

Nay! Back inside, my mask will not hide my excitement for this bounty of beauty. Make me smile, this encore of peaches as yon apples debut— peaches juicy, apples snappy— You will do yourself good to assort and compare their subtle nuanced differences. Pears, renewed too, they demand a cheese— a chèvre, or Brie, or triple cream. Humbolt Fog would do, stems of grapes anew. Figs figured in and with mere mention of cheese— mozzarella and burrata applauding tomatoes ensue. A standing ovation might be due the beefsteaks and heirlooms most true.

West Side honeydew melons, here, waiting for you to wrap them in blankets of prosciutto as the cool night air announces their scheduled departure, however, I’d like to announce a blackberry’s return. You will remember past encounters, no, addiction to this delicate berry. Mangoes are mighty fine, pampered papayas divine exotic nutrition and remind us of island vacations.

Vegetables are voracious & verified vital to our existence so why not partake? Peppers, colored and cool, with gems of lettuce. Mint makes the difference here. Dandelion braised, cauliflower & broccoli overdue. Think you might grill Salmon? Skillet a steak? Chop herbs, sauté, roast, steam— whatever it takes, to make & celebrate this life. To smile, and begin again.

If you have time, I love seeing you. If you are busy, I enjoy packing you a box for pick up curbside— and if you’re really busy, we’ll drop it off. Thanks for being there.

FALL BACK

A leaf blower’s faint banshee whine in the distance. The sharp and not so subtle pain of an errant acorn under a bare foot. The first sighting of burnt orange way up there, near the top of a tree, eliciting in each and every one of us that indescribable ache centered deep in our chest. The heartbeat of summer still a quick nearby memory as cool mornings memorialize family outings and brief get togethers. Wintry thoughts creeping in, when these early fall flames are barely embers of what’s to come. But listen, even squirrels and crows know that the harvest has just begun, is plenty big, and not nearly over. Nature’s summer bounty always says goodbye with a big heaping hello. So, what have we?

As you know, local farms & gardens are the backbone of Double L. A handshake or a smile is the only contract between us. Ten some odd years ago, maybe more, a lady named Nancy walked up to me when I was roadside in Southport, asking if she could grow for me. I said sure and through the years she expanded a large garden into a 4 acre farm. At the moment she is picking tender flat beans, squash, tomatoes, collards and chard, assorted peppers, eggplants too. I stop by her little farm every morning on my way in. She has a late crop of lettuce coming in soon.

And this isn’t the only story, there’s so many others. Alex, who’s got corn till frost, and Alec who forages for mushrooms up near Danbury, and Fred in Cheshire, with a late pick of peaches. Why, Jake, he’s picking peaches for us in Bethlehem, PA because his father retired there from Hartford and planted peach and apple trees on the side of a hill. Our tomatoes come from all over. CT, NJ, PA, NY- harvests abound. We support nearly 100 local farms and small businesses.

The point I’m trying to make? Come in with an open mind. Every vegetable and every piece of fruit is at its peak and picked by someone with a passion for what they’re doing. Throw away the menu, go with the flow, go with the pick. What do you say? Let’s make it up on the spot.

At the top of the list, Midnight Roma tomatoes are driving everyone wild; quartered, salted add oil. Next, flat beans, green or yellow, are sweet, cooked with onions, or try leeks sautéed in olive oil, drizzled with balsamic laying next o a NY strip steak, or try halibut crusted with herbs and baked. Or, how about a big piece of cod laid in a simmering sauté of fresh tomatoes, sweet peppers, onion snd kalamata olives? Patty pan squash, steamed or grilled. Roasted purple carrots, or beets, steamed and quartered, added to a salad of mixed greens and chèvre? Watermelon with feta and heirloom tomatoes? Sweet corn and lima beans! Escarole and bean soup, collards in garlic mashed potatoes; kale, chopped fine and blended into quinoa? Best of all, it’s healthy and good and we deserve it all. Yes, we do.

CLOSE CALL

Oh yes, she was fast. Maybe you’ve met a girl like that. Not 74 miles an hour. Not 100 or 125. Try one hundred and forty-five miles per hour… sustained winds. Cat. 5! It was 1961. Her name, Carla and she was a bad brute of a girl and we were dead center in her path, 80 miles inland off the Gulf of Mexico. Here she came, bending steel, dry docking a whole shipping fleet, sucker punching buildings, and, pouring a swimming pool worth of water into my house; our home, Carla left us to wade through two feet of standing water. Oddly enough, we never lost power, submerged light bulbs glimmered & glowed beneath the eerie ripples. The wreckage of a Titanic on land. Dressed to kill, now a prowling Cat 4, she pushed on, having her way and abusing all, only to slow and dawn her tropical attire at the Oklahoma state line and she didn’t stop the rain dance till Canada. Dang girl! Dang!

Like all good stories, there’s the subplot. And I undoubtedly did not mention yet another story unfolding, at a slower speed, but unfortunately unfolding no less. A story book. An illustrated book. One handed down through not just a few generations, but great grandmother to grandmother— my mother’s mother, who read it to her, then my mom, to me. Follow? The Picture Story Book of Peter Pan. The illustrations, beautiful color plates. And the story, Peter, the lost boys, and Wendy and Neverland, and you know, the part about never growing up? Maybe more about that some other time.

So there ‘s our house, remember the water, two feet deep. Well, Peter Pan lay under that flood, yes, that book drowning, there in a nook, weathered and worn and submerged and as the water receded it dried, and buckled and warped, until eventually a dark black mold set in. I was 10 and thinking about girls and baseball and school grades, long since having glanced at or even thought about those lost boys. I had let it go I thought, but somehow it must have hurt just enough. Just enough to matter, for forty years later, that massively minute memory washed over me with the tidal pull of a full moon. A piece of my heart ached for Neverland and that boy, Peter

And I found him, yes I did, to my surprise there he was, on ebay! I placed my bid! My first ever attempt on that site. Bid. Lost. Lost! Oh weary mind! So sadly sorry for not bidding higher. Oh heavy of heart, yet assured by yon seller and buyer that I would most certainly find him once again. That he would be there, if only I kept looking. And yes! There he was! Peter, that lost boy, at last came home.

COMFORT FOOD: Of late, I find comfort in much, if not all, that’s raw. Salads of all kinds, all textures and flavors— lettuce with endive and fennel add avocado or beets, goat cheese, and olives? Tonight, arugula, avocado, a lemony shallot dressing and chunks of chicken. The night before, simply salmon along side leeks (slow sauté, then balsamic). I’m often drawn to pastas, every which way, maybe mushrooms, or tomatoes, you know the routine— carbs comfort & console the soul. A nice bread with the meal. Yes? And I must admit, a bowl of rustic dried beans, soaked and slow cooked, a dark green thrown in. Corn tortillas or corn bread. Always, yes always, fruit for dessert— melons couldn’t be better, with procuitto, some figs, stone fruit, perhaps with a cheese or two, or a mix of berries, with kefir, to refresh. Food will find us, guide us. We are on a journey. We are not lost ♥️

THE S CURVE

It was dark out. The night air warm and humid and sweet with the fumes of diesel exhaust. Highway 495’s asphalt cut East to West, four lanes of traffic, two going this way, the others, going that. Speed limit: 50 miles per hour, even in town, making it too dangerous to cross except at a stoplight— lots of trucks, 14 wheelers mostly. And there’s a curve in that road, an S curve. Trucks slow down coming into it. Coming out, drivers rev their engines then power shift to a lower gear. The stuttering sound, well, imagine a traumatized trombone. Then you hear the mufflers backfiring, all this, within the Doppler effect.

I should also mention the house on that curve. And the pomegranate bush in the yard, up close to the road— really close. My friend lived there. His mother made these incredible stuffed artichokes, Middle Eastern style with rice & tomatoes & meat. She brought a pomegranate seed from Lebanon. She planted it on the side of the road. It was now a big thick bush. Her name was Matilda, his name, Slaimen, but his friends called him “Chunky,” so did his mom, especially when she was mad at him, but that’s another story. On this night we were on the side of that road, on the curve in that road, next to the pomegranate bush.

And that night? Surely, this was the first time I’d actually noticed a pomegranate. And at 9 years old? How could I have known or imagined how amazing this fruit might be as I pulled and it snapped free? I had no inkling that the red spherical object there in my hand could possess untold antioxidant powers. I too barely comprehended a stuffed artichoke. That these red bush baseballs hanging on the shrub we were hiding behind could actually lower the chicken fried steak cholesterol of the truck drivers speeding down this road? That it could also lower Chunky’s mother’s blood pressure when she caught us throwing them at the trailer trucks. All that red richness! Bam! Hitting the side of the truck! Antioxidants! Running down the side of the truck! Bam & Bam! Anti-inflammatory, improved digestion, and yeah, the pure potassium, that was the kicker, potassium, it’s always present— even in the juice. Ancient history not only mentions pomegranate’s prominence, but lists over & over again the medicinal properties related to cures for many physical ailments. Google it!

Later in life, long story short, twenty some odd years ago, I’d raid Stop & Shop of another pure pomegranate juice. It came from Israel, pure juice. One day it stopped. Nothing of note until now. Recently I met Mirella, she’s from Italy. Her juice is from Italy, organic too. Pomegranate & bergamot, and another with goji. I have it here at the store. I’m throwing no curves. I am obsessed. I drink it straight or mixed with sparkling water. Alcohol blends nicely too. I hope you’ll give it a try. I think you’ll like it.

OTHER OBSESSIONS: Melons, like the Sycanore orange flesh honeydew, the strawberries, the cherries, the peaches, plums, nectarines, tomatoes too, the lettuce, the corn, summer squash— the truth, we are approaching the peak of summer goodness. It’s all fresh, every bit of it healthy, so good for us in so many ways. It’s what we need for the curves that lie ahead on the road we will all travel upon.

Love seeing you in the store but if you’re ever too busy we’re still doing the curbside routine daily.

YOU GOT A MINUTE?

“You got a minute?” The question was a simple one. And this was not the first time she asked. No, it wasn’t. And how many times had my response been, “I’m running late.” or simply “Tomorrow.” All of which meant I did not have a minute, much less a few of them. But today the question compelled me to respond differently. Today time turned a corner, yes, slowed to a crawl. And so I replied, “Yes, I do.”

I followed that lovely smile of hers as she turned and led me under a dense arbor then through a tall wooden gate and down a short rough stone stairway. The green expanse of a manicured lawn lay before me. To my right, a formal garden. A garden with boxwood & peonies & lupine. A garden right out of a picture book. She delighted in pointing out the various blooming flowers: Poppies, iris, bee balm, day lilies & hydrangeas. Every plant perfectly present in this idyllic setting. “It's an amazing year!” She exclaimed as she led me out the side gate. Chalking it all up to a heavy snowfall during the winter that protected all the flora & fauna on the East Coast. She also mentioned she never failed to mulch, lime & fertilize everything. Further down and outback were vegetables, lettuce, tomatoes and the sort, apple trees on the far end next to rows of peppers & potatoes.

Time goes by, moves on, loiters for no one. Too much time is a misnomer. Taking time. Finding time. Finding moments; more importantly, meaningful moments in life requires perhaps a naive vigilance or patient presence, or for lack of a better word, curiosity.

Spontaneous? I have always been. Open? I certainly believe so. But do I get on the merry go round? I do! And the rat race? Time out! Let’s stop. Be. See. Yes— I look at you. You look at me. And with these curious new eyes, ears too, I’ll do my best to see and hear you. I will.

LOOKING GOOD: Local peaches & nectarines, especially the donut nectarines. Cherries, plums, pluots, we still have sour cherries! Try them, you will be surprised. Wild Maine blueberries, local blackberries, oh and figs- 3 varieties, and yes, there are still many marvelous melons. Tomatoes you ask? Yep, the time is now. And lettuce, squash, beans, beets. Yes! Beets baby, come on! Corn too! Local never looked so good. Never. And you know why.

CHEESE SHTICK

VELVEETA : Vel-vee-ta. Rolls right off the tongue. Vel - vee - ta! Trademarked. Manufactured. Marketed. Velvety smoothness. Described perfectly. A modern wonder, the gold standard for dairy alchemy. Chili con queso, never the same. The grilled cheese sandwich, elevated to new hallelujah heights. From sea to shining sea, American ingenuity distilled into that bright orange brick. Yes siree Bob! Versatile, compact, easy to use. Sliced, grated, or melted, this cheese crushes it. What more could you ask for? Well…

What might be in order? And by the way, chili con queso, the original recipe, was with a white cheddar. But please, nothing against the big V, it has its place in good ole American culture. Shredded Velveeta over a pineapple ring with a dollop of Miracle Whip! Own it. As we own & prefer that tempting triple cream cheese nestled near champagne grapes and then intimately spread on a French baguette. Or the granular sharpness of Tickler cheddar on your tongue, chased with a sweet crescent of succulent Sycamore honeydew blanketed in proscuitto. Shall I continue? Thank you.

Endive and friseline, both— bathed in lemon juice & a young olive oil followed by a heavy dusting of parmigiano reggiano. A textural tryst. Or the marriage of burrata or ovolini to an heirloom tomato? Royalty! And the feta cheese crumbled by my hands, arugula beckoning from below. we’ve all been there. My memories of Meredith Dairy’s herbed & marinated feta pressssed onto a sea salt cracker. The two textures were meant to mix. I could go on, but it’s getting late & and I want to get this out, I’m a few days behind. I ‘ll leave you with this. Our friends over at Murray’s Cheese have plenty of substitutes for the velvety one. I have tried more than many and I would love to share them with you. I look forward to it. Until then, please stay safe. In store shopping or curbside.

MURRAY’s STAND OUTS: Young goat Gouda, Bulgarian feta, Old Chatham sheepherding Camenbert square, Grafton Truffle cheddar bar, Fromager d’Affinois triple cream… see ya when I see ya!

LONG JOURNEY

FAR and AWAY: Like all storms, they start off in the distance. Way out there, near the horizon. Funny how they sneak up on you, those far off rumbles before the roar. Dark as lead and just as heavy, a cloud coiffed more than a mile high— big ole cumulus hairdo. Carrying untold tons of water, the strong westerly winds straining to push it along. The cloud grumbling the whole way. From our vantage point, well, moments ago it didn’t even seem to be moving, but here it was, right smack dab in front of us.

But hold on just one minute! That’s not the only thing headed this way! What the? Oh man alive! I’m not believing this. Hundreds, no thousands, no! Make that millions! Monarchs by the millions! Monarchs flying right at us and then all around us. And we’re running with them and they’re riding gusts and drafts of wind. I don’t know who was having more fun, me & my friends or the butterflies. In that moment, all of us, all— as free as the wind. And Mother Nature, hot on our tail.

We ran fast, real fast. But wouldn’t you know it? We couldn’t keep up with those migrant monarchs. Nope, and no sooner than you could say, “hasta la vista,” they were out of here, heading down Mexico way. Us? We were left to play in the warm wetness of the rain. And rain it did— hard, heavy, punishing, pelting rain. Us? We were left to run and jump and splash in the big puddles. Luckily the butterflies got away. They got out of here. They’re safe and hiding out in the hills. But they’ll be back. You can count on it. After a nice hibernation vacation, they’ll turn right around and come back across that border. Risk it all. Generation after generation, year after year, they make the trek. Life’s like that, a journey. No matter if you’re a butterfly or a kid, a boy or a girl., a man or woman. We do what we gotta do, make the long journey to get to wherever we’re going. And like the butterflies, sometimes we get a vacation.

LOCAL PROVISIONS: get the calaminth, Nancy’s sala nova lettuce, Fava beans, heirloom tomatoes, fresh fish including day boat scallops from RI, local sriracha ketchup, bbq sauce too, heirloom eggs, have you tried them?

Peaches, sour cherries, nectarines, apricots, plums, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries.. You know the score. Bulgarian sheep feta, Ben’s cream cheese Make the journey and I’ll see ya when I see ya, along the way.

BIG APPETITES

How does one fit it all in? How do we see everyone we’d like to see in such a short time? Foremost, one fits in family, & then if time allows, finally find dear friends. Modern culture, unlike the plentiful previous societies, flings family members in all directions. Physically, no one is near. iPhones bind us. FaceTime reminds us. Of late, our fate, all— doomed to Zoom. And with all this, I say truly, “there’s no place like home.”

Agrarian society savored a close knit clan and mannered members remained on the farm. Only black sheep wandered off. Kings, conquerers snd explorers traveled to far off places. Serfs never surfed. Cowboys moseyed about, the natives revered reservations. Marco Polo’s? Face it, there were few. Then, as we industrialized, curiosities were not just temptations, they became considerable considerations. The 20’s roared, leaving the past in our rear view mirror. We rarely looked back. Decade after decade adventures advanced. Fantasy into reality. The only limit, our imagination. Finding one’s way back home is a not so obvious odyssey, but a journey nonetheless.

Reunification often includes delectable edibles. Together is never without a meal, ok, rarely. We celebrate and food is at that altar. In sadness, food consoles. Symbolically, food means much more than mere sustenance. Food finds meaning in disparate occasions, often times expansive events, very often lasting over a period of consecutive days.

Workdays maybe begin early, sipping coffee in bed, digesting digital news & interacting with social media before a shower. For some it may be tea and newsprint . Breakfast however, might celebrate weekend rites, or much more. Example: You honor someone with their favorite dish.

We drink water and consume healthy food for obvious reasons, by the same token we avoid others, but when it comes to family, friends, love & and affection, all rules are off! Right? Ah yes, breakfast in bed, birthday cake, apple pie a la mode! Thanksgiving, New Years, recently the 4th of July. Home is where ♥️‘’s are. (I’m still working on this ending.)

FOOD as FIREWORKS Andy’s apricots & cherries, Kiss melons, Murray’s Cheese, Little Bear watermelons, Hummingbird tomatoes, Arethusa ice cream, Maple Hill Kefir, Cocojune vegan yogurt, Antidote chocolate, Simon’s bread. Welcome home.

FAMILY TREE

YESTERDAY Yes! It could have been yesterday, but he ran like there was no tomorrow. Despite the effort, she was fast & and very close to catching him as he turned his head to look back and make a quick U-turn around the tall palm tree, one of the many that lined the edge of Fireman’s Park. Playful teasing mixed with innocent flirtation between young cousins oftentimes evolves into a heady chase scene. This time was no different. Oh yeah, and the chase was on, both kids laughing and screaming hysterically. “Gotcha!” and he was pulled to the ground. Trying to catch their breath, both giggling hard, their lungs heaving with air, she rubbed the wild buttercup flowers into his freckled cheeks, leaving telltale yellow pollen streaks just below his eyes. Adrenaline fired and out of breath, he pushed away, both jumping to their feet. Well— that was that.

That was FOUR O’CLOCK on a Sunday afternoon. Eighty miles west of the warm waters of the Gulf Coast, ten miles from the Mexican border. July 4th weekend & every relative within a hundred miles showed up at Fireman’s Park, just off Highway 83. Part park and part staging ground for firefighter practice drills. There was Uncle Frank & Aunt Bernice, Aunt Ernestine & her brood of 12, yes twelve. Arnold & Betty, Don & Marlene & so many more, mostly kids of all ages. The smoky scent of barbecue filling the air. Picnic tables full of varied pot luck dishes. Longneck beer and cups of white wine. Timmy rightfully nursed a Lone Star beer. Heck, he’d come early to slow cook ribs & chicken in his smoke pit made from a 50 gallon oil drum. He threw on chorizo sausages for good measure & had help from his brothers & sisters on the other grills. Hamburgers sizzling as hot dogs plumped, blistered & cracked open. Betty brought her cole slaw, Cynthia made some mean baked beans that she had doctored up with brown sugar, mustard, ketchup & lemon juice. Real nice. Aunt Mary, renowned among friends & family for her German potato salad, also held title to Sunday organist at church. And today ranked as a holy event for this clam, for many had not seen each other in a long time and it would be a good while before another reunion might be planned. This 4th of July, not just any day, but one where family & friends gather to celebrate freedom & independence & so much more.

FOOD FIREWORKS are here! Pies, corn, watermelon, avocados for sure. You know the score, but don’t miss the Kiss melons, Sugar Kiss & Summer Kiss, both. Skylar Ray cherries will explode with flavor along with all the stone fruit: Peaches, plums, apricots, nectarines— are abundant. Tomatoes, red, ripe & delicious go with local basil or local lettuce greens. Steaks, hamburger, hotdogs… Heck! Don’t get me going. You know what’s here and it’s good to be back. Thanks again for being there. It’s great to see you again, to say hello and to simply celebrate each other. Gonna get out the sparklers!

SOUTHERN SUMMER

Seven years old. School over. Summertime. I was taking off on a DC9 for the very first time. The beginning of a relished ritual. Like clockwork, proceeding summer after summer.

She lived in Arkansas, I, Texas. She was my grandmother, my mother’s mother and she lived across the pond from her sister. Her name was Amy, polite friends called her Miss Amy. Her sister answered to Gertie, Southern slang for Gertrude, so I was told. When I think back, my opening memory is always of mammoth magnolia trees, two of them. out on a front lawn. The scent of the big white blossoms often lingered in the humid night air. Then this: The round pond, the two homes, the neighborhood, all, carved into a dense pine forest; homes, gardens, yards, forest, in that order. Red bricks, side by side lying on 45° angles, lined garden beds. Monkey grass too. Prickly, red berried holly bushes, manicured boxwood & free-form juniper, not the least bit arranged, but mulched with pine needles & corralled by the red brick border.These are just the tip of my iceberg of memories.

Indoors, aromas of food and the relaxed unhurried tedium of cooking. Food stuff arrived from the store in boxes. Imagine that! We sat and shelled beans and peas, peeled potatoes and carrots. Collards & cornmeal & grits were menu staples, as were string beans, cooked cabbage, sometimes Brussel sprouts. For breakfast, oatmeal always. On weekends, the yolk from eggs, sunny side up, rivered near crisp bacon and pooled in the warm cheese grits. Special days included pancakes stacked 3 high, amply buttered, maple syrup drenched. A tall, cold glass of milk or a small fresh squeezed orange juice. Yes, indeed. Life was good.

Dinner time? Fried chicken so crispy, and the garlic mashed potatoes! I’d pat down the center and lay in a slab of butter, throw in the fresh peas and as the butter melted I announced it my “bird’s nest.” Catfish was popular, with flat beans cooked in onions and bacon fat. Okra, dipped in egg, coated in cornmeal, and yes, pan fried. There were biscuits with gravy, cornbread and cornmeal hush puppies. We’d pull them open, add butter & strawberry jam. Offhand, I’m not remembering dessert. I’ll think on it and get back to you. I do remember this though. After watching a little television, she’d tuck me into bed and always left me with the same one remark: Make good dreams.

WE HAVE: Dreamy Limon Kiss melons & golden honeydews. There’s okra, flat beans— fresh garden peas too. Harry’s Berries are still with us, along with all the other berries, jumbo blueberries included. Stone fruit: Cherries, peaches, plums, apricot and nectarines— all excellent. Hummingbird tomatoes are at their peak. Curbside or inside, we aim to show you what we have learned of Southern hospitality.

I’m remembering the desserts. Crumbled strawberry shortcake, lemon meringue & key lime pie. Banana cream pie made with ‘nilla wafers. Peach cobbler & vanilla ice cream. Triangles of watermelon or fruit salad.

DAY BREAKS

Oh cool breeze, oh rustling leaves, rain in a shadowed forest. Oh— the blue sky over bright beach heat— these are the days that come. Metaphoric symbols of humanities rites. My dusk meets your dawn as we say hello & wave goodbye out on horizon’s highway. Let’s not fool ourselves. We’ve missed each other, but wear loneliness well. I hugged my daughter today. It had been awhile. We both cried desperate tears and held on. That is what all of us do. Hold on.

She lives in Brooklyn, my daughter. Across the street, a neighbor keeps homing pigeons. We watched from her window. I brought food, brunch fare. Sono sourdough bagels, Ben’s cream cheese, CATSMO Smoked Scottish salmon, red-ripe Hummingbird tomatoes, and yes, a red onion. She supplied the ground pepper and the cold brew, Grady’s. Liked it a lot, it’s now in the store. Try it. We ended with Michelle’s Macs. You have got to try these too. They are adult Mounds.

Beside brunch, I surprised her with a box of some of her favorites, white ripe peaches, some bing cherries and jumbo blueberries, and yes, plums and a few nectarines. I included a smooth, mellow olive oil & a young, grassy version too. She enjoys cooking. I put in a nice piece of sushi grade salmon, kept (I thought) cleverly cold with a frozen Joyce Farm boneless chicken breast. I laid a few peonies over the attractions and covered with paper. This all reminded me of the mornings making her school lunches a ways back in time. It made me smile.

Everyday feels like a family reunion of late. Would you agree? And what’s up with homing pigeons? See ya when I see ya!

HEAT WAVES

DAYTIME Dad said, “You want money? Go make it!” Those lines, over & over in my head. Just finished my sack lunch, then 20 minutes of serious siesta time; even the cicadas were up for a nap in what little shade was made available. Cicadas! Hundreds— clinging to thin mesquite limbs that tossed & turned in a steady coastal breeze; an occasional chirp or solo buzz, no harmonizing, not even a duet. Only the faint hum of a single engine Cesna passing above. Damn it was hot! That Sophomore year, summer break & making pocket money packing watermelons ten miles from the Mexican border. The migrant workers taught “us gringos” the finer points of living. Lunch then a nap, a siesta. But today something wasn’t right. I spoke some Spanish but I couldn’t keep up with this conversation. Next thing, they were off and running. Then dust from a Border Patrol vehicle breaking next to us, doors flung open, the black boots, the pursuit. The celery green color of the government jeep matching the color of the Cesna. Lucky the cicadas were quiet. And they knew to run.

NIGHTTIME The lights were on. Three fields lit bright. Chalked lines, red clayey dirt, green Johnson grass and the cicadas. Cicadas! Drawn here by the big banks of flood lights. Cicadas! Thousands upon thousands, maybe millions, they came to watch and cheer along with the tight jean halter topped girls sitting in the stands, snow cones in hand.

And me. Chewing Double Bubble! I’m out there, uniformed, playing short stop. Cleats dug in, legs spread wide, leaning in towards home plate and with the pitcher staring down the batter the cicadas’ electrified chant begins. Like a lopsided flywheel beginning to spin, slowly picking up speed. Faster and faster and we join in, mimicking the cicadas, everyone but the pitcher, “ying-ying-ying-ying-ying!” Still faster and faster, the cicadas, the team, me, “ying-ying-ying-ying-ying,” the pitch! And, “SWING BATTER!”

HOT DAYS Packing watermelon we always managed to drop a watermelon or two, scoop out the heart meat, then get back to packing. Win or loose the game, girlfriends were always waiting by the snow cone stand.

Hot days demand watermelons, honeydews & Cavaillon melons. Mangoes & papayas please, consider lemons & limes added to cool water. Stay with peaches & nectarines, yellows or whites. Bing cherries are on a roll, grab ‘em! Harry’s Berries, jumbo blueberries, raspberries & blackberries are in good form too.

EATIN’ RAW It’s easy, tomatoes & mozzarella & basil. Right? And Nancy’s lettuce heads have never been bigger, so salads rule the day. Everyday! Add radishes, micro greens, sweet carrots. Wild asparagus is a raw delicacy. Remember romaine hearts, watercress, arugula, Arcadia mix? What about endive? Tre-color salad! Need protein? Tuna in oil, raw tuna too. Sardines be sooo-ok good for you.

GRILL TIME if you’re gonna cook, go with the grill. Grilled broccoli, zucchini, sweet potatoes, heck, grill some peaches. Salmon, halibut, shrimp or scallops— all love the grill. Throw on chicken, or ribeye steaks, pork chops, lamb chops, and duck, half a duck, it’s the new kid on the block.

MUST MENTION New! Michelle’s Macs, an adult mounds. A chocolate covered delight. Six flavors. Ain’t no stoppin’ us now…

CURBSIDE Continuing curbside for you, but please, best to order the night before and no later than 12 noon the day of. And thank you.