Sunday, August 28, 2011

The side of the family I SHOULD have been born into

My maternal grandmother has a younger brother - my great-uncle L.

That's him on the right.

Uncle L retired to Florida 16 years ago (probably about the time this picture was taken) after a career as an English professor.  Shortly thereafter, he and his wife G started making summer trips to visit the Maine relatives, which is how my family reconnected with them after we moved back in 2004 - prior to that, we'd periodically exchanged warm correspondence but I hadn't actually seen them since I was a child.

During these annual visits, we - Uncle L, Aunt G and I - gradually came to realize we had something in common, something we kept silent about and hid from the rest of the family.

What I'm describing is basically gaydar for progressives.

You cannot imagine two more disparate groups of people than my grandmother's branch of the family and Uncle L's. 

My grandmother is a lifelong fundamentalist, college dropout and teetotaler who believes Obama is the Muslim Communist Antichrist, homosexuality is an abomination, salvation is predetermined and that anything Dr. James Dobson says is the God's-gospel truth.

Uncle L is a lifelong agnostic, PhD and enthusiastic imbiber who believes Michele Bachmann is an evolutionary throwback, the Tea Party is an abomination, homosexuality is predetermined and nothing anyone says is ever the God's-gospel truth.

Well, except for maybe Bart Erhman.  He likes Bart Ehrman a lot.

For her part, Aunt G is a delightfully irreverant and off-the-wall character who lives to corrupt children, torment telemarketers and ridicule religion and Republicans.  The fact that both of them were divorced before they married each other is a shame that my grandmother has yet to overcome, but that was 48 years ago and so far it seems to be working out okay for them.  Knock wood.

This year, they couldn't manage the trip to Maine.  Uncle L is 86, after all, and though the spirit is willing (this is one seriously sharp old dude), the flesh isn't quite up for it.

So that's why we went to Florida earlier this month.  We saw some of the sights and visited cousins I hadn't seen in thirty years (there are seven children, between his and hers and theirs; it can get confusing).  We sat up late talking about everything from family lore to politics and religion to literature and music. We did jigsaw puzzles and laughed a lot.  Aunt G did her best to corrupt the children, but they're already irretrievably damaged.

I'm glad we got to see them.  It was worth braving Florida in August.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Recipe: Oven-braised monkfish with seafood stuffing

My, but the Port Clyde fishermen's co-op has been hauling up a lot of monkfish this year!  Good stuff.

Yesterday's share was seven monkfish fillets, each about 6-8 oz.  Stuffed with a crab and shrimp mixture and braised in a white wine, mushroom and onion sauce, they turned out very flavorful and fork-tender.  And totally un-photogenic.  Garlic roasted potatoes, green beans and carrots from the CSA rounded out the meal.

Oven-braised monkfish with seafood stuffing

3 lbs. monkfish fillets
Two 4-4.25 oz cans crab and/or shrimp
1 egg
1/4 - 1/2 cup dried breadcrumbs
Dash each cayenne, dill and thyme
3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 yellow onion, sliced
8 oz fresh mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup white wine
Salt & pepper to taste
Additional chopped fresh parsley, for garnish

Slit each monkfish fillet lengthwise, from the top, to create a pocket - don't cut all the way through.

Combine the shrimp and crab, egg, cayenne, dill, thyme and parsley; add just enough breadcrumbs to bind.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Divide the seafood mixture evenly among the fillets, stuffing the slit pocket.  Place the fillets in a lightly greased baking dish.

Preheat oven to 425.

Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat.  Add the sliced onions and mushrooms and saute until tender.  Add the wine and allow it to cook down for a minute or two, then pour evenly over the fillets. 

Bake the fish, uncovered, for 20 minutes (longer if the fillets are particularly large).  Serve, garnished with additional fresh parsley.

Serves 6. 

Or three normal people and one teenaged boy.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Recipe: Grilled Mackerel


The kids spend a ridiculous amount of time fishing off the side of the boat.  They rarely catch anything, but we just in case, we usually carry fixings for grilled mackerel.  

Ew, you say.  Mackerel is so... fishy.

True... but when it's just been caught, and prepared this way, its assertive flavor is tempered.  Even people who don't like mackerel like it when it's cooked this way.  

My stepfather taught me how to do this.

Grilled Mackerel


Clean the mackerel and rinse it well.  Mix softened margarine (or butter) and mayonnaise in a 1:1 ratio; add garlic, salt & pepper, and any other seasonings that strike your fancy.  You'll need about a quarter of a cup of the mayo/margarine mixture for each fish.

(Clearly I overshot the runway on the amount necessary here.)






Stuff the cavity of the fish with some of this mixture and smear the rest over the outside of the fish.  

(Yeah, definitely made too much.)








Seal the fish well in foil.  Grill over medium coals, turning once or twice, about 15 minutes.  (It’s pretty hard to overcook this.)  

Serve immediately.  Careful of all the bones.

Summer Cruise, 2011: The Musical!

Not much of a story arc, more a series of tenuously connected vignettes...

Cast:  Himself; Herself; Things One and Two; various bit players on and off stage; a cat

Setting:  Harbor Road Veterinary Services; S/V L'Hérétique; Penobscot Bay


Overture (T-minus one week to T-minus one day):

Fly to Florida; spend three days visiting family and seeing the sights; fly home; spend one day at work; spend one day in Portland presenting at the Maine MEP conference; arrive home to discover one of the cats has had what the vet eventually described as a "neurologic event."

Act One, Scene One (Saturday). 

Curtain opens to reveal regular veterinarian is not available; on-call vet provides splendid, compassionate response and recommends hospitalizing cat to see if a bit of hydration and antibiotic could get her over whatever is going on.  Ka-ching. 

Himself and Herself finish packing food and clothing for seven days and load up the S/V L'Hérétique.  Thing Two exits stage right to board his schooner.

Remaining characters sail to Pulpit Harbor on North Haven.  Wine is consumed by those of legal drinking age while characters sing a ballad about a glorious sunset over the Camden Hills.

Pulpit Rock.  The osprey nest on top is at least 150 years old.

Act One, Scene Two (Sunday).  Aboard L'Hérétique;; cool and overcast; no wind.

As curtain rises, L'Hérétique is motoring north to Castine.  Characters note irony of using the engine on a sailing trip.  Receive phone call that cat appears to be recovering. 

Unidentified large biting insect attacks Thing Two's shoulder, resulting in unprecedented histamine reaction, including widespread hives and throat constriction.  L'Hérétique motors faster.


Arrive historic Castine; allergic reaction has calmed.  Cast disembarks and explores town.  Receives phone call that Grandmother has been readmitted to hospital with various ailments.  Returns to L'Hérétique, where more wine is consumed.

Act One, Scene Three (Monday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; decentish weather.

Characters re-fuel L'Hérétique at the dock in Castine, singing a light-hearted ensemble with boatyard workers about the comedies of parallel parking a 28' sailboat, then set out for Bucks Harbor at the top of Eggemoggin Reach.

Receive phone call that cat is released from cat hospital.

Once moored, characters observe the arrival of several schooners, including Thing One's.  Thing One rows over to L'Hérétique, drinks a quarter of the week's supply of milk, and rows back.  Himself and Herself celebrate with wine.

Act Two, Scene One (Tuesday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; cold, rainy, virtually no wind.

The soggy trip
Characters opt for longest sail motor on the worst day, weather-wise, of the week.  After a soggy trip down the Eggemoggin Reach, L'Hérétiquearrives at Mackerel Cove, Swan's Island and anchors as a high pressure system pushes the rain out to sea and the sun breaks through the clouds.  Cast joins hands and sings a spontaneous hymn of thanksgiving.

Thing Two catches and eats a fish.  The other two drink wine.


The sun breaks through


Act Two, Scene Two (Wednesday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; sunny, light winds.

L'Hérétique weighs anchor and sails - sort of - to Merchant Row, dodging thousands of colorful toggled bouys over some of the most active lobstering grounds in Maine, whilst the characters join in a clever patter song about how cruising yachtsmen ought, at all costs, to avoid pissing off Stonington lobstermen by tangling their gear with sailboat props.

Beachcombing on McGlathery

The L'Heretique drops anchor off of McGlathery Island and the characters foray into the thicket of spruce and blowdown in search of trails; hours later, scratched, grumpy and footsore, they return to their vessel.

Act Two, Scene Three (Thursday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; the day dawns thick-a-fog.

Herself awakens early and from the cockpit sings a quiet morning ballad describing her longing for land after five nights of cabin leaks, poor sleep, and wildly inaccurate weather forecasts; the refrain touches upon her nostalgia for the days when she was still charmed by sights of porpoises, harbor seals and ospreys.

After breakfast, the characters decide to stay put until the fog lifts; meanwhile, they take another crack at McGlathery Island, having somewhat better luck at finding a trail but ending up scaling some impressive boulders in order to get back to L'Heretique. 

In the late afternoon, they weigh anchor for a quick late-afternoon run across to Vinalhaven.  On a falling tide, Himself pilots the boat up a shallow, narrow, tricky passage to the head of Winter Harbor; Herself nearly has a heart attack when L'Hérétique's keel scrapes the bottom.  Himself tells Herself she needs to relax.  Herself has two large glasses of wine and spends the rest of the evening fantasizing, sotto voce, about marriage to someone normal.

Act Three, Scene One (Friday).  Aboard L'Hérétique; actually kind of a nice day.

Himself awakens early and from the cockpit sings a quiet morning ballad expressing his longing for another week of sailing.

After breakfast, the characters pile into the dinghy and motor up the shallows to the very mouth of the harbor, where a small river empties under a bridge.  They stow the dinghy and hit the road, singing an enthusiastic trio about how nice it will be to visit Carver Harbor which looks, on the nautical chart, like it should be just a hop, skip and jump away.

Swimming in the quarry
More than an hour later, they give up and hitchhike the last few miles with a friendly native.  They have lunch, visit the bookstore, and swim in the quarry before hitching back to the dinghy and returning to the vessel for wine and a second night in this anchorage.

Act Three, Scene Two (Saturday).  Aboard L'Hérétique  fog, of course, but plenty of wind.

L'Hérétiquesails home.  Really sails.  Characters rendezvous with Thing Two at the schooner wharf and all head home and the act closes with a joyful ensemble about terra firma, the cat, the happy news that Grandmother is home from the hospital, and a hell of a lot of laundry.

Curtain.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Notes from 32,000 feet

I dislike flying.

I used to dislike flying simply because it was a minor pain in the crotch.  Driving to airports, layovers, delays; these were the slight inconveniences of air travel.

Now, however, one is required to take off shoes and belt and display anti-wrinkle cream in a one-quart baggie; fees are assessed for seat-selection and baggage-checking priveleges; one gets yelled at by a TSA agent for minor infractions (like sending one's minor child through the line with her passport) and then one's underwire bra is subject to scanned or patted-down scrutiny.  Pain-in-the-crotchness is de riguer and no longer minor, but monstrous. 

But that's not why I dislike flying. 

I dislike it because the older I get, the more inclined I am to overthink things, and the whole idea of a pressurized metal tube hurtling through the air at 500 miles per hour, under the absolute control of a single individual who may or may not be well-rested and sober, gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies. 

Am I right?

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Recipe: Roasted Scallions

A backlog of two weeks' worth of scallions from the CSA prompted this side dish.  Sometimes the simplest things are the finest.

Roasted Scallions

Two bunches scallions (about 20), trimmed, with as much green left on as possible
Olive oil
Sea salt

Preheat oven to 400.  Place scallions on rimmed baking sheet, drizzle with olive oil and toss to coat thoroughly.

Roast, turning and stirring every five minutes, until bulbs are tender and green stalks are crisp and beginning to char, about 20 minutes but keep an eye on it.  Sprinkle with salt and serve.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Creative property management

The manufacturing facility where I toil in middle management sits on 27 acres of what used to be farmland.

We keep the grass around the building mowed, but that leaves about 25 acres untended except for the occasional brush-hogging to keep down the mouse, snake and coyote habitat.  (Not that I have anything against wildlife habitat, but two of the three aforementioned species have a habit of coming inside the building, which causes some people to scream and jump on top of furniture and that's just not a safe working environment.)

This year, however, I got a phone call from Farmer K who was looking for a place to graze his small flock of Katahdin sheep.  After getting the blessings of the city code enforcement officer and our corporate attorney (he just never knows what I'll be calling about next), and after my boss recovered from her fit of the vapors, we said sure.

So now we have these guys out back.


The pen is portable, so Farmer K comes every couple of days to move them to fresh grass.


After a couple of years of this the pasture will be restored, and then Farmer K can hay it if he chooses.

The land is being put to good use, my business is not paying to have it mowed, sheep spew less carbon than internal combustion engines, a local grower is getting his flock fattened for free, and it's doing wonders for employee morale.

I love it when a plan comes together.