The Ash Creek Papers

We’re not talking about the Alamo here.  I’m not referring to where the Texans kept gun powder, cannon balls and other ammo.  We’re talking 25 Alston Avenue, and that small room wedged in between our kitchen and our breakfast room. 

I think Mom was responsible for identifying our downstairs bathroom as the powder room.  I’m not sure if I ever heard Dad referring to it that way.  And for sure, Mommie Soph didn’t it.  Looking back at it, the term had a certain Race Brook Country Club feel to it.  And clearly at Race Brook this room was reserved exclusively for women’s use.  I don’t know if there was even a toilet in Race Brook’s powder room!  I think of it as a place where ladies went to re-powder their noses, fix lipstick and engage in chit-chat with a friend.  I love the scene in All About Eve when Eve Harrington (Ann Baxter) and Karen Richards (Celeste Holm) use the powder room to spar & unsheathe their claws!

The powder room on our first floor was certainly open to men!  True, we did have counter space & a good sized mirror to the right of the sink, and a plush stool placed so it could be put to use for a lady guest to adjust make-up and such.  But there was only enough room to accommodate one person at a time!  Meaning, Boopie Grant and Selma Decker would have to seek other space to engage in a private convo!

Aside from the plush stool, the most distinctive feature of our powder room was the wall paper.  Not some flocked floral as seen in All About Eve!  But rather an Edwardian Wedding scene drawn by The New Yorker’s famed artist: Saul Steinberg.  The background was a light pink, with Steinberg’s characteristic simple line drawing spaced marvelously in a repeated pattern.  I loved that print!  It gave me something to look at while dropping a deuce (other than staring into the mirror)!

Not everyone was a fan of that print, however.  Gary Moss, for one, felt the wedding party was staring at him.  And I can see where that might cause a high degree of anxiety and/or embarrassment!

Mom eventually changed the wall paper to a black and gold flocked something-or-other.  Maybe Dad felt the wedding party was staring at him, too?  Sad.  We went from New Yorker clever to neo-bordello!

{This is the closest rendition of that print that I could find.}

n.b.  One other anecdote to share about another use of our powder room.  One night after dinner I developed a particularly toxic case of gas… farts that could singe your nostril hairs.  I decided that the powder room was the best place to do my homework.  I took my books, sat on the stool and while doing my homework I proceeded to unleash an impressive string of “silent-but-deadlies”.  I thought this was the best way to ensure the safety of the household.  Good thought.  But Dad needed to use the “gents” himself, and he opened the door to the powder room which immediately released the collected sulfur-based miasma and buckled his knees.  His reading glasses may also have slipped off his nose, too – although I am not sure of this final detail. 

While it is true that Mommie Soph’s “recipe book” had neither the volume nor diversity of a The Fanny Farmer Cookbook, there were elements in her canon that were true masterpieces.  And I am proud to say, nay… incredibly proud to say that I acquired one!  Sorry, it isn’t her gefilte fish, which by all rights should have won a Nobel Prize for Food. 

The dish that I have been able to replicate is her exquisite “Lox, Onions & Eggs.” This her one dish that I can truly say that thirds were never enough! I would watch her make it in our kitchen at 25 Alston Ave, the smell of the chopped onions frying in a healthy layer of melted butter was intoxicating.  Once the onions had moved from translucent to just turning brown, more butter was added, then a good portion of chopped lox would be added to the pan.  Once the lox turned from deep orange/red to a light pink, it was time to add some quantity of beaten eggs (and probably a bit more butter).  And the she would set to business scrambling up this superb assemblage!  I adored the finished product, and would scarf down two helpings in a blink of an eye, and would ready my plate for a touch more!  I could actually hear my arteries congealing!

When Mommie Soph passed I didn’t think too much of this cherished dish, until one day I saw it on Ratner’s menu in NYC!  Well, I assumed that if anyone could make a good version of Lox, Onions & Eggs it would be a highly regarded Jewish establishment like Ratner’s on Second Ave. Wrong!  It was a crushing disappointment!  They “shortcutted” it!  The Lox and Onions (raw, sliced, not diced!) were simply scrambled up with the eggs at the same time! 

And after that sad episode I decided that I was going to take-on making the dish á la Mommie Soph!  And be in mind that this was in the day when my efforts at cooking were restricted to flipping burgers & steaks on the grill.  Yes, I knew how critical it was to cook the onions and lox in advance of adding the eggs in order to successfully emulate the dish that Mommie Soph lovingly provided.  Although I didn’t know the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, I am confident that I created a dish that did Mommie Soph proud! 

n.b.  Over the years I have scaled back use of butter without negatively impacting the end result.  Even without the heavy handed use of butter, I doubt that anyone would mistake this dish as “full on healthy”.  So be it!

Her name was Dorothy, or Dora. Or, at least that was the closest proximity coming from her native Polish.

But before I get to that, let me expend a few sentences on “looking up”. Looking up to the both of you. Memory is a gift, and no gift is more treasured to me than remembering days when you were there, and your friends would come acalling to 25 Alston Avenue. I am sure there were more faces that are no more than a blur to me today. But then? Alan Cadan loved strawberries and sour cream. And then there was Bobby Galvin. There was one evening when he took Lynn and me out in his jeep… top down. Wouldn’t it be fun to pretend that the jeep had broken down on Chapel St, and then have me, the little kid, out on the street pushing the jeep along? Thankfully we were on a bit of a downgrade.

Yes, it was fun for me. Something that I will never forget, even though it may not be remembered by either Lynn or Bobby.

And so, Pancho. Dorothy. Looking back, we had a household staff! Sorta like West Wing, only better! We not only had Mommie Soph. We had a live-in maid. And then we had someone else to add supplemental hands to the necessities of the home. Enter Dora/Dorothy. She was Polish, and she conversed with Mommie Soph in the native tongue to both: Polish. And although there can be no pretenses about Mommie Soph being an “aristocrat”, Dorothy called Mommie Soph deferentially “Pani” (masculine form “Pan”). A Polish term reserved for respect to someone of higher station. Think “Lord” or “Lady”.

I guess it didn’t take long for Bobby, when visiting our domain, to keep hearing a volume of this pani, or that pani when he hung the moniker of “Pancho” on Dorothy. And it stuck.

Wonderful textures and tapestry of our life together.