Memorial Day in Camden

Memorial Day.

Before the tourists show up.  Before the mob scene in Thomaston every July 4th and before the giant commercial endeavor that is the annual Rockland Lobster Festival.  Memorial Day is an intimate, small-town celebration of heroes and each town honors its own.

In Camden, there is a small ceremony on the Public Landing

Then comes a parade, led by an Honor Guard and the Cub Scouts.

They paused here by the village green to lay a wreath at the veterans' memorial.

A moment of silence; a trumpet player stepped from the ranks of the high school band...

...and played Taps while the wreath was laid.

The rifle salute nearly caused Wilson the Agoraphobic Goldendoodle to spontaneously evacuate.

Then the parade moves on.  Thing Two is there in the center with the tenor sax.  By the time this day is out the kids from Camden Hills will have played for ceremonies in Rockville, West Rockport, Camden, Rockport and Lincolnville and marched in two parades.

There were old cars...

...and the Little Leaguers...

...and every single damn fire engine in the town department...

...and time to say thank you.

Recipe: Pork and Sauerkraut for the New Year

Gotta say this was a new one on me when I met Himself:  pork braised in sauerkraut until everything is falling-apart tender, mellow and soft.  It is not a New England thing, but it's very much a midwest bohunk thing, and as Himself is a midwestern bohunk, this is our mandatory New Year's dinner. 

(He's arguing with me about calling him midwestern because technically he was born and raised in a mid-Atlantic state.  Trust me, his family is midwestern.  His cousin Amy's wedding reception was in the Slovenian Home in a certain very midwestern city which was a mere two-hour drive from our Pennsylvania house.) 

In the areas of the country where pretty much everyone has some sort of ancestral German or Eastern European claim, the grocery stores lay in Boston butt roasts and bags of sauerkraut like cordwood.  Here, not so much.  It's usually a challenge to find a suitable roast, and nearly impossible to find good sauerkraut, which is why we make our own. 

This year the best roast the Belfast Hannaford could offer was an eight-pound picnic which wouldn't fit in my stockpot, so using the stovetop was out of the question.

Here it is with two quarts of kraut in my next-to-biggest roaster, ready to go in the oven for a nice long braise.   No worries; it's pretty tough to mess this up. 

Pork and Sauerkraut

• Well-marbled pork roast (Boston butt, blade, or fresh picnic) - half a pound or a bit more per person
• Sauerkraut, preferably bagged in plastic or from a glass jar rather than a tin can (half a cup per person, but overall amount will vary with the size of the roast and roasting pan, and how much luck you're hoping for in the New Year)

Season the roast with salt and pepper.  If you like, heat a bit of oil in a stock pot and sear the roast until well browned.  Or just plunk the roast in a stockpot and forget the browning. 

Cover with sauerkraut and add water to come an inch or two up the sides of the roast.  Bring to a boil, then cover tightly and simmer over very low heat, stirring every now and again and flipping things over to ensure the pork and kraut are cooking evenly.  Add additional water if necessary.  Depending on the size of the roast, it should take two to four hours for it to be done.

Serve this with mashed potatoes and a nice veg and you will have health and prosperity all year long!

...a white Christmas!

It was a perfect Currier & Ives Christmas, with several inches of new snow falling gently throughout the day, the fire crackling merrily, and far too much food.

Finally something upon which to ski

Weskeag oysters on the half shell

The table, laid for Christmas Eve, and the tree.  And Herman.

A piece of jewelry passes to Thing Two from her great-grandmother

Thing One wanted a jaw harp.  So damaged, that one.

A new apron.  Because every woman's chest should be a navigational aid.

I'm dreaming of...

I've griped mildly about a couple of early storms, but truth be told, we've had the warmest fall in memory.  Temperatures have been consistently in the 50's.  Just yesterday Thing One and the rest of the Nordic ski team were playing ultimate Frisbee in shorts (that, and running a 5K, is about all they can do without snow.)

But this morning, December 23, we woke up to this:

Fluffy, sparkly snow sifting gently out of the sky.  Two inches on the ground already.  And it might - MIGHT - continue long enough, and stay cold long enough, to give us a white Christmas.

At the very least, the Nordic ski team will not be wearing shorts or playing ultimate Frisbee at practice this morning.

Spatchcock Turkey Fail and Recipe: Amazing Gravy

First of all, I just want to state unequivocally that I derive profound enjoyment from the word spatchcock.

Spatchcock spatchcock spatchcock.

Second, I would like to report that I have discovered why the methods for spatchcocking a turkey on the interweb talk about a 10-12 pound bird.

My office gives out turkeys every Thanksgiving.  And they are just massive.  The one this year dressed out at 22 pounds.  Spatchcocking a 22-pound specimen is not at all the same as spatchcocking a 10-12 pound one.

The backbone yielded only to a meat cleaver - my heavy kitchen shears could not manage the job.  I did not sever any digits so figured it was going pretty well.

The first realization that this might not be a good idea came when I opened the bird up, and the realization dawned that there is not a roasting pan in the midcoast large enough to accommodate a butterflied 22-pound turkey.  (I never said I was smaht.)

But when it was time to flip it over and break the breastbone, that's when I had to give up.  I'm not a huge person, but even with my full weight applied - you will just have to picture me with both hands balanced on a slippery poultry carcass, elbows locked, feet dangling off the kitchen floor - that breastbone would not crack.

Out came the meat cleaver again.  A turkey is technically not spatchcocked if it's hacked into two pieces, is it?  Can I still say "spatchcock"?

In case you are thinking it's a little weird to recreate Thanksgiving dinner on a random December weekend -  you are thinking it - this is the lead-up to Christmas dinner, see.  We can never decide what to have, so this year I am making all of our favorites the week prior to Christmas.

Yesterday it was turkey with all the gooey self-indulgent trimmings - dressing, green bean casserole, yams with marshmallows, mashed potatoes, and Amazing Gravy (method below).

Later this week it will be ham, potatoes au gratin, and peas with pearl onions.  Christmas Eve we'll have our traditional lobster stew, and Christmas dinner itself will feature a rib roast with horseradish and red wine pan sauces, Yorkshire pudding, creamed onions, oven-roasted potatoes and Brussels sprouts.  Desserts will run the gamut from gingerbread with caramel sauce and whipped cream, to steamed date pudding with whiskey sauce, to cranberry spice cake, to I haven't quite decided between pumpkin cheesecake with bourbon sour cream topping or pecan pie.

The finished product (quarter is included for scale)

So back to my mangled turkey.  It fit rather snugly in my largest roasting pan and stewed in its own copious (about eight cups) juices, which kept the meat deliciously moist and provided the foundation for an amazing gravy.

This method produces an incredibly flavorful gravy, and it's the ultimate in Yankee frugality because one is utilizing things that might otherwise be thrown away.

Amazing Gravy

While your turkey (or chicken) is roasting, toss the wing tips, neck, backbone, giblets and other trimmings into a stock pot, add water to cover, and simmer, covered.

When the bird is done, pour off the pan juices.  Allow the fat to come to the surface, then skim the fat and do not discard - put it in a large skillet or saucepan and turn the flame to medium.

Whisk in an amount of flour roughly equivalent to the volume of fat.  Stir until it becomes thick and bubbly.

Gradually whisk in the de-fatted pan juices and additional stock from the simmering stock pot, if necessary; reduce heat and simmer until heated through and of the desired consistency.

Season with a bit of salt and pepper and serve.

Things I Have Inherited from my Mother: A Holiday Study in Three Parts

Part 1:  This photograph  of C. Clifton Lufkin (1879 - 1970). 

Uncle Clif built the house my mother lived in and was, at age 17 or so, the subject of this charcoal sketch by his brother, my grandmother's grandfather Will Crie Lufkin.

Part II:  This oak Morris chair which, to put it gently, needs some work.  The manufacturer's label on the back lists patent dates of 1899 and 1900, but mission-style models like this one were made more toward 1910 or so.

I have been hanging on to it because I can't bear to part with family stuff, and this was Uncle Clif's Morris chair which he loved and which my mother kept because she loved it too and always meant to fix it up some day.

Part III:  A small collection of Uncle Clif's clippings which run the gamut from snippets of genealogical information to fragments of correspondence to hand-copied hymn text.  In amongst random bits was this poem:

We have decided to omit the Christmas tree this year;
But we can just as much enjoy the presents and good cheer,
If in our hearts there is content, and on our lips a smile,
As on my Mother's table the Christmas gifts we pile.

There's presents there for Father, and Maude and Eva Jane,
And there's a token of esteem for Frank of Glencove, Maine.
And Clifton comes to get his share, and there's some things for me,
Oh! We should be so happy, as happy as can be.

Poor Mother broke her left arm, eleven weeks ago;
We gave her then a morris chair, and so our cash is low;
But for all that I chance to see upon the table there
Some packages marked with her name, besides the morris chair.

Maude has a smile upon her face as she comes from her work.
She has a present from her boss.  She is a faithful clerk.
Now let us all be thankful for the gifts both large and small,
And wish a Merry Christmas, and happy day to all.

 - W. C. Lufkin

Wow.  The provenance of the Morris chair and so much more.

If my 1910 estimate is correct, Maude, my 37-year-old great-great-grandmother, was apparently putting her commercial college degree to use and working outside the home.  Eva, her daughter, was exactly my son's age.

Clif and Will's mother Sarah, wife of the last of the Zebulons, would have been 51.  Zebulon himself was ten years older and his brother Frank (the one who at the turn of the century was in competition with Will for Maude's affections) about 55.

This chair - this offering to a flinty Matinicus native who probably never before in her life had sat still outside of Sunday services, this gift with its deep cushions and footrest and high arms for elevating tired, wounded extremities, this luxury - it probably cost $10.  That's about $250 or $300 in today's dollars, no small sum for hardscrabble farmers who sold gladiola blooms and kittens to scrape by.

But being cash-strapped didn't stop this family from exchanging at least a few gifts, and it doesn't explain why this family with eighty-some acres of land didn't simply head out to the back 40 and chop down a balsam fir for Christmas that year.

And more questions:  How did Mrs. Z. break her arm that September?  Did she miss her footing on the farmhouse's narrow, steep staircase? Did she trip coming in from the henhouse or stumble under the weight of a load of wet laundry bound for the clothesline?

With Maude out clerking, Sarah's arm broken, and no other women in the house save the teenaged Eva (who must have been in school; she went on to Colby College and a teaching career), who managed the cooking and cleaning and household chores?

Ah, well, some things I'll never know, but what fun to piece together the fragments that I do have.  And what a nice Christmas story goes along now with that old chair.

Christmas by the Sea

And this dispatch, to be filed in the small-town feel-good stuff category:  Every year Camden kicks off the holiday season with a Friday-night street party.

Santa arrives at the town dock by boat.

Main Street lights up and stores stay open late.

Marauding bands of high schoolers sing Christmas carols in four-part harmony.

The Baptists put together not just a living Nativity but a recreation of the whole little town of Bethlehem in the church basement.

There's even a parade (perhaps a dozen emergency vehicles and a handful of floats bearing Cub Scouts and the swim team and the like), followed by a tree-lighting and fireworks over the harbor.

The sidewalks and village greens are mobbed, everyone knows everyone else, and even the atheists are in a good mood.

Does this all sound too Norman Rockwell?  I suppose it is, but once a year it's a worthy exercise to put aside one's cynicism and enjoy the spirit of the season.

Happy holidays, everyone.

Thanksgiving at the farm

Three generations

We're just back from a trek to Himself's family homestead in northwest Pennsylvania.  Two days of driving for two days there, but boy, was it nice to have everyone together.  My dear father-in-law; my mother-in-law, who, though in late stages of Alzheimer's is still home; Himself's older brother and his 17-year-old son; and his older sister, her husband, and their two boys, 15 and 19.

My kids are the youngest of the grandchildren.  Thing Two had to hold her own against all those young men.  Does anyone remember the book "Eight Cousins" by Louisa May Alcott? 

My brother-in-law's boy, the one in the middle, looks so much like my father-in-law did when he was 19 it's startling.






 
My brother-in-law and his son, who live in the old farmhouse, grow pumpkins and squash on the flats of French Creek, behind the barn, and sell them from a cart on the side of the road.

Himself's parents live up the hill from the old place.

The farm has been in the family for several generations. The narrative is remarkably similar to that handed down on my side: poverty, backbreaking and ceaseless labor, a certain grim, joyless faith (substitute Methodist for Baptist).

Story goes that Himself's grandfather dug a ditch, by hand, the length of this field behind the house.  I wonder if he enjoyed the view over the valley while he was at it.

Midcoast Maine and rural northwest Pennsylvania are, culturally speaking, worlds apart.  There's a shared love of the outdoors, but it's the difference between Cabela's and L.L. Bean.  Down there, deer season opens the Monday after Thanksgiving so it's pretty much all everyone was talking about. 

The older boys took Thing One deer spotting and target shooting. 

This almost - almost - made up for the lack of WiFi.

Thing Two enjoyed her first visit to a taxidermist.

Okay, perhaps "enjoyed" is not the best choice of word.

The weather in Pennsylvania was unseasonably mild, while coastal Maine enjoyed a white Thanksgiving.  

Okay, perhaps "enjoyed" is not the best choice of word.

I am thankful for family, for family history, for a sense of time and place;

for the fact that my home decor does not include dead wildlife;

for the insurance which allows my mother-in-law to be cared for at home;

for having reached the point in my life where I can cook a turkey dinner for 12 in someone else's kitchen and not stress out about it;

for the friends we were able to spend time with, including my voice and conducting professors and the Rev. Dr. S., who even though laid up with a broken leg can still cream my kids at poker;

for audio books, which make almost thirty hours in the car go by faster;

and for the unrestrained joy with which our dogs and cats greeted us upon our return. 

Life is good.

Event Planning: A Titanic Party

I love my job.

Each January, the company throws a “Year Beginning Dinner.”   Roughly a hundred people need to be wined, dined, and, with luck, entertained. 

Our theme this year was Titanic. 

Though the event was geared for a large group, the ideas and activities could easily be scaled down for a dinner party or even an older child’s birthday party. 

Invitations & correspondence:

For this event I used primarily Legal Tender, Elephant, and Fairfax Station fonts (all free), which have a formal, early-20^th-century look.  Graphics of the White Star Line logos are widely available on line.  PaperDirect sells a nice heavy paper with a tear-off bottom which is perfect for RSVPs. 

Venue & Decor: 

The dinner was held at Amalfi on the Water, a fantastic restaurant which is literally at the ocean’s edge, so minimal decoration was required.  Nancy and her staff transformed the space into a first-class dining room – tables for ten with white tablecloths, low floral centerpieces (from Dean’s) and tea lights.  Dave created a wonderful ice sculpture of the ship’s stern as it plunged beneath the waves (shown here somewhat late in the evening, but you get the idea.  That's Nancy in the background.  That woman never quits).

Except for the nor’easter that blew itself silly until 4 p.m. the day of the event, the weather conditions closely replicated those of the night of April 14, 1912.  Can I take credit for that?

Menu: 

We didn’t attempt to recreate the final dinner on the Titanic, just let Dave do his thing.  There were five courses, each a delight.  I ate to my Spanx-imposed limit and beyond.


Course #3:  Haddock Chowder


Guests: 

Lots of people dressed the part – I counted two tuxedos, one velvet smoking jacket, a number of first-class ladies, a boiler stoker and a deck hand, among others. 

Activities:

“Become” an actual Titanic passenger.  Will you (and your family or traveling companions) survive the disaster?:  I provided a selection of passenger and crew identities, including biographical information, on a 4x6 cards.  Guests chose a card when they arrived.  At another place in the restaurant we stationed a corresponding (alphabetical) list of passengers with details about whether they survived (and, if so, how the rest of their lives turned out), so guests could find out if they were one of the lucky ones.

Notes:

·     Biographical information on Titanic passengers is available on the internet.  Pay attention to copyrights.

·     The master data was compiled in Excel and mail-merged into a Word template for 4x6 perforated postcards.

·     The survivor list was copied from Excel into a table in Word for easier formatting, then printed on 11x17 paper.

·     It was helpful to have more postcards than guests.

“Titanic Trivia” Scavenger Hunt:  This consisted of a page of trivia questions which could be answered by careful survey of the informational posters we had placed around the restaurant.  The winner got an iPad.

Notes: 

·     Posters were created in Publisher and printed in full color on 11x17” paper. 

·     The fonts were large enough and posters spaced so that people could read without crowding.

·     Copyrights again….

Party favors: 

I steered clear of the overpriced Titanic-specific stuff.  There are affordable and surprisingly nice nautical tchotchkes at http://www.handcraftednauticaldecor.com/.  At each place setting we put either a spyglass in a wooden and brass-inlaid box, a brass anchor paperweight, or a brass pocket compass. 

Everything else:

We hired a DJ for background music during cocktail hour and dinner, then we finished the evening with some serious dancing.  There were the customary speeches and few nice door prizes.  Taxi service was available at the end of the evening for anyone who shouldn’t drive.  We also make our corporate rate available to employees who wish to spend the night at a local hotel.

All in all, it was a very nice evening.

Christmas Day

Until about lunchtime we didn't even know if we'd be opening presents today.  It all depended on how my mother, who came home from Brigham & Women's late last night, was feeling. 

She desperately wanted to be here when the kids had their tree.  My stepfather desperately wanted Christmas dinner.

But between the pain and the medication therefore, her condition was not, as it turned out, such as to allow her to make the eight-mile trek to our house - or even to get out of bed until this evening.  Around noon we decided (mutually) that the kids should go ahead with presents (the other options being, truck everything - spiral ham, steamed pudding, and gifts - to her house and hope she was well enough to function; postpone Christmas until such time she is feeling better; or some combination thereof). 

We opted for Door #3.  The four of us had our family gift exchange, made dinner, then packed up some food and went to my mother's house, where we made a plate for my stepfather (my mother being not so interested in eating just now), delivered presents, and visited for a bit - Mother being through some combination of willpower and pharmacological assistance able to sit downstairs.  Then we came home for warmed-over ham and au gratin potatoes.

I have to hand it to my kids - they are troopers.  Especially Thing One, who had no presents from his grandparents because the last three shopping days before Christmas were spent in the hospital. 

We were all just glad to be together.

Christmas Eve

On this day in 2010: 

Oysters on the half shell

 Learning new vocabulary with Dad while he shucks the oysters

Emergency run to Wal-Mart to get seed for the bird feeders (OMG, bad idea)

Lobster stew... with buttermilk biscuits, salad and pecan pie



The kids open one present - cozy new pajamas and a book for each

Two phone calls between here and Brigham & Women's

Tracking Santa on Norad even though we started putting air quotes around "Santa" three years ago

Watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

The next-to-last bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau

Putting all the presents under the tree

Trying to identify contents of said presents

Reading new books in new pajamas by the fire

Stockings hung by the chimney with care

Leaving out a gin and tonic for "Santa"

And to all, a good night.

Christmas Eve Eve tradition #2: Lobster Stew

Actually this is technically a Christmas Eve tradition - the eating of it, anyway - but the making of it should happen the day before.  It has to be cooked very slowly and gently and then it has to sit, you see.  Something wonderful and miraculous (which my children are too young to know about) happens overnight.

First, get half a dozen or eight (depending on the size) lobsters.  I like soft-shell lobsters because hard-shell shells are really hard on the old hands.  (At this point you can choose to introduce the lobsters to your housepets.  Or not.)

Boil a couple of inches of salted water in a big water-bath canner, then plunge the lobsters – two or three at a time – in headfirst.  Cover and cook for 15 minutes.  Remove the lobsters set aside until they're cool enough to handle.

Note:  Lobsters do not scream while being cooked.  They don’t have vocal chords or respiratory systems, both of which are required in order to phonate.  That noise people talk about – which I have never ever EVER heard in many years of cooking lobster – is steam escaping from the shell.

Pick the meat, cut larger pieces into chunks and set aside.  

Confession:  Everything up through this part is messy.  No pictures.  Camera + steam + lobster juice = bad combination.

Before:

After:



Now melt a cup of butter in a stockpot, then stir in the lobster chunks.  Simmer on low heat for ten minutes, stirring frequently.  

While the lobster is getting to know the butter, heat three quarts of half and half in a separate pot.  It should get hot but not too hot. 

This is my secret ingredient.  

Dissolve a good-sized glop (about 3 tablespoons) of lobster base in the cream.

Over very low heat, slowly stir the hot cream into the buttery lobster.  Season, then put in the fridge uncovered (lest it curdle as it cools) and forget about it until the next day.

 

Reheat gently and serve with oyster crackers, salad, and biscuits.

Here's the recipe written out:

Lobster Stew

6 1-1/4 lb. new shell lobsters

1 cup butter

3 qts half and half

3 tablespoons lobster base

Salt & pepper to taste

Paprika (optional)

Steam, cool and pick the lobsters.  Cut large chunks of meat into bite-sized pieces.

In a 5-quart stock pot, melt the butter.  Gently cook the lobster meat in the butter for about 10 minutes.  

While lobster is warming in the butter, in a separate large saucepan heat half & half and lobster base until it is hot but not simmering.

Over low heat, gradually stir the hot cream mixture into lobster, stirring constantly.  Season with salt and pepper to taste and add paprika for color if desired.

Remove from heat and allow to cool, uncovered, then cover and refrigerate overnight.

Reheat gently, uncovered. 

8 servings.

Christmas Eve Eve tradition

Let's call this one "Introduction of the Animals" or "Inter-species Fellowship." 

It has everything to do with the spirit of the season and nothing at all to do with mildly antagonizing the cats.

And nothing at all to do with harassing the lobster.

The lobster has long since come to terms with his fate - he is about to give his all for lobster stew.  Watch this space.