High Tide in the Sea of Copernicus

Posted on August 14, 2013 by Jim

Carthage House
Chatham, Massachusetts
September 20, 1996

My Dearest Jimmy,

Now that my teaching days are well past, this is my favorite season.  It’s warm enough during the day to still enjoy our yard and a walk on the beach; but now the summer people are gone.  And to think that two decades ago Saul and I were summer people!  But even back then Saul and I tried to steal at least two September weekends (as long as the High Holidays didn’t interfere) to enjoy the quiet.

Our favorite time of the day was the evening.  We would put on light sweaters, go out back and watch the moon rise over the sea.  It was our time.  In my last few years with Saul, after we had both retired, these times were even more precious. We would sit in our Adirondack chairs down by the pair of Chinese Red Maples.  We had a clear view of the water and the heavens.

We would stay until our sweaters were insufficient against the early autumn air. Then Saul would take one long last look at the moon, slap his knees and say, “Well ol’ girl, it looks like its high tide in the Sea of Copernicus, time to bring the dory ashore!” And we would go in.

I am enclosing two letters that I think might be of interest to you.  I was putting together a carton of books to donate to the ChathamElementary School’s Book Sale, and I stumbled upon them tucked in a Civil War Atlas.  One is written in your hand, and the other is a typed carbon copy from Saul.  Both were neatly folded and pressed between two maps of the Battle of Chickamauga.  If Saul had mentioned the correspondence to me back then, I had long since forgotten its contents.

Thinking of those days — it was a difficult time for the country.  Upsetting in so many ways.  I know that from the time that you were a little boy you loved Saul; and it warms me to think that when you became a young adult you held his views in such high regard. Jimmy, know that Saul treasured you – he loved your sense of humor.  He always said that there was a spark of life in your brown eyes!

I am sitting at my desk looking out to the yard and to a three quarter moon suspended over the water.  The night is mostly clear with just a few wispy clouds tracing a path below the moon.  I think of you, I think of your Mother & Father, and of course I think of my Saul.  I do believe that the tide is high in the Sea of Copernicus.

Love, Always.
Aunt Meggie

—————-

Union College
October 7, 1968
Dear Uncle Saul,

I am writing to you for your good advice and counsel.

The election is looming ahead.  Where are we to go?  Who are we to support? I don’t like our choices.  It makes me sick to think of where our Country is going.  The divisiveness is horrible.  Generation against generation.  Father against son.  Those that served and sacrificed their lives in WWII set against those that are unwilling to do the same in the stink-hole of Viet Nam.

Viet Nam will go down as the tragedy of my generation.  And now we will have to choose between Nixon and Humprhey?

I ask again, “Where are we to go?”

Sorry to trouble you.  Please give my love to Aunt Meggie.  Remind her that she can send oatmeal raisin cookies to me via parcel post at any time!  Particularly during Finals!

I hope this finds you well.

Love,
Jim

————–

Kings House
Woodbury, Connecticut
October 17, 1968

Dear Jimmy,

I feel your concern, and I too am deeply troubled by our Country’s course.

My short answer would be support Humphrey.  He is a good man.  He has solid liberal credentials that have been obscured by his attachment to the Johnson Administration.  I believe, given the opportunity, he will establish his independence; and separate from the present Foreign Policy that has us mired in Viet Nam.

Remember this – regardless of who wins in the general election, we vote for the top 1000 appointments that the President makes.  These people are recruited from the “talent pool” from each of the Parties.  It is through these appointments that information is evaluated, policies are formed and policies implemented.

Even if Humphrey loses, we have seen the mess the Democrats have given us.  Maybe the bright guys on the Republican side have a better solution?

Something I have learned – no President, regardless of Party affiliation, is as good or as bad as he first appears.  Being a President is a real tough job, and it takes decades for history to weigh in with its judgment as to success or failure.

I have passed your cookie request to Meggie.  I can’t promise that her response will result in a “care package”; but I do detect warm fragrances emanating from the interior of our kitchen!

Stay well, study hard, keep your smile and never doubt whether tomorrow will be a fine day.

Love,

….
n.b.  Saul loved “naming” his residences.  He felt it lent a gentrified English tone to a home and it gave Saul a sense of remaining “connected”.  Homes were named for street locations… The Woodbury house followed his childhood home on Kings Highway, Brooklyn… and the Chatham home for the Woodbury home on Carthage Road.

Posted in Meggie & Saul | Leave a comment

Toad Hall Stew & Bodegs Olaga Reciente Rosé

Posted on May 4, 2013 by Jim

“’Oh, yes, yes, in there,’ said Toad impatiently. ‘I’d have said anything in there. You’re so eloquent, dear Badger, and so moving, and so convincing, and put all your points so frightfully well–you can do what you like with me in there, and you know it. But I’ve been searching my mind since, and going over things in it, and I find that I’m not a bit sorry or repentant really, so it’s no earthly good saying I am; now, is it?’”

Two things before we begin.  The recipe described herein is indeed not “Toad Hall Stew” but rather “Frogmore Stew”… a wonderful dish whose origins trace to South Carolina low-country.  The variations of the recipe are many.  But essentially it is a one pot dish based on shrimp, sausage and corn on the cob. Once again I have selected a version for its ease of assembly and its superb tastiness.

Next… as the above quotation bears witness, I am a big fan of Wind in the Willows. There is something that has always drawn me to the character of Mr. Toad… a gentleman of high birth, living in a grand home, enjoying a life rich in leisure pursuits, dressing impeccably, a gracious host, full of bombast and knowing how to set a fine table.

“There he got out the luncheon-basket and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger’s origin and preferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes.”

So forgive me for deceiving you as to the name of the recipe.  But of this I have no doubt… it is a dish worthy of Mr. Toad.  This would be a repast that could grace the back patio of Toad Hall.  I can see Toad extending his hospitality to Rat, Mole and Badger… the friends enjoying the informality of the fare, watching the setting sun kiss the river bank, talking of adventure and sipping a chilled Rosé.

mr toad

The wine choices are several. Crisp to fuller whites would work. Alsatian Pinot Blanc or Riesling come to mind. Albariño from Spain would be a great choice, and if you are set on Chardonnay, select a more mineral driven version such as Chablis or Pouilly-Fuissé. A lighter red would also be fun… a slightly chilled Beaujolais from one of the Cru’s (Morgon, Moulin-à-Vent, Fleurie & etc.) would be the ticket.  Rosés for sure.  My favorites come from Provence; but for Toad Hall Stew I am choosing a fuller style of Rosé of Tempranillo from Rioja.

Bodegas Olarra Reciente Rosé ’12 (Rioja, Spain)

100% Tempranillo. Cold soak macerated prior to allowing natural yeasts to begin converting sugar to alcohol, ensures the fresh elegance of fruit is retained in the finished wine.  A classic saignée method employed by the producers in Provence for their Rosé’s. Crisp and fresh, this salmon colored wine is delicious offering up rose petals, hints of orange rind, raspberry and strawberry.  Clear, dry finish with a bright level of acidity making the wine a perfect accompaniment to anything served from your barbecue grill.  Or, excellent as a refreshing apéritif on a sunny afternoon!

 frogmore stew

Toad Hall Stew

Ingredients

6 ounces of Tanqueray Gin
½ ounce of Noilly Pratt Dry Vermouth
A goodly amount of ice
4 quarts cold water
¼ cup Old Bay seasoning
1 Tbs. kosher salt, plus more, to taste
4 celery stalks, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 yellow onion, diced
1 garlic head, halved crosswise
2½ lbs. small red potatoes
4 ears of corn, shucked, each cut into 4 pieces
2 lbs. smoked sausage, cut into 1½-inch slices
2 lbs. medium shrimp, deveined, in the shell

Directions

  1. Put gin and vermouth into a glass pitcher, fill with ice, stir vigorously while incanting, “You who know all, thank you for providing us juniper and all the other obscure ingredients responsible for creating this sacred liquid!” Strain into a pre-frozen Martini glass of admirable size.  Skewer the olives on one of those tacky cocktail swords, place in glass. Immediately begin consuming.  Now you can begin the food prep, and the cooking!
  2. In a large stockpot over medium-high heat, combine the water, OldBay seasoning, the 1 Tbs. salt, celery, onion, garlic and potatoes and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer until the potatoes are tender when pierced, 10 to 20 minutes.
  3. Add the corn and sausage to the pot and simmer until the corn is tender, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the shrimp and simmer until opaque, 3 to 4 minutes. Taste the broth and adjust the seasonings with salt.

n.b. I used a Vidalia onion.  I switched to jumbo shrimp (sorry, medium shrimp aren’t worth the effort). I also don’t devein shrimp (just a nuisance step that I find totally without merit).

glorius mr. toad

The world has held great Heroes,
As history books have showed;
But never a name to go down to fame
Compared with that of Toad!

The clever men at Oxford
Know all that there is to be knowed.
But they none of them know one half as much
As intelligent Mr. Toad!

Posted in Sandy's Table | Leave a comment

Zmartwychwastanie

Posted on March 27, 2013 by Jim

I remember this as if it happened yesterday. 

We were from a small isolated forest village near the Vistula.  Our village was so small that it made other small villages look like cities.  Maybe that’s why they didn’t send a lorry for the few of us, just two guards with mausers left over from the Great War, and two kapos with small truncheons. 

The feldwebel who wore an ill-fitting uniform stinking of dirt and sweat and whose breath reeked of cheap spirits, formed us into a line of march.  It became clear that we shared something strangely in common.  He didn’t want to be assigned to this duty taking us from our homes.  And we didn’t want to leave our homes.  That didn’t stop the feldwebel from carrying out his assignment.

We were each allowed one small grip and we began our walk to shouts, insults and beating.  The kapos were intent on showing a servile gratitude to the feldwebel by conducting their beatings with added enthusiasm and cruelty.  We walked and walked in the early morning light.  The late March air was fresh and encouraging.  We fell into silence, only the sound of our heavy breathing, an occasional cough and trudging footsteps mixed with the sound of spring birds.

Now I could hear the nearby brook running over the rocks. I have always loved early spring days.  The brisk feel of the morning on the skin, winter in retreat and the hope of warm weather ahead.  Hope.  I glanced to my left, the rising sun throwing shafts of light through the stand of birch trees and pine that framed the brook.  I could see patches of lingering snow clustered in the shadows interspersed with fresh green bursting from the ground.  And the birds. Flying from limb to limb, tree to tree. In song and flying free.

The sound of the brook again.  I know that stream well. Swelled with winter run-off, icy cold.  I would come to the stream with my father on a day just like this.  A young boy with only one thing on his mind.  My father would hoot at me as I ran to the edge of the stream.  I would pick out a perfect rock to stand on, take off my boots, roll up my pants and step onto my rock perch in the racing water.  The water would sting my ankles and I would begin to count… one, two, three, four.  My father would be holding his belly laughing. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen… I would concentrate on keeping my balance on the smooth rock.  Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three… how long could I remain in the water? Maybe I would set the record?

To this day, I can still hear my father laughing.  The memory of his laughter faded as we walked deeper into the wood and away from the brook.

We walked and walked, no rest, we stumbled, felt a hard kick and endured the heel of a mauser.  Then a rifle’s report. Our blood stained the melting snow.

The gripping pain, I could not cry out.  And I heard my father say, “Do not fear.  You will soon find yourself in paradise, you will sit at the table with all your loved ones, see their smiles and you will know adonai.”

birch trees

— translated from the original in Polish

Posted in Stories & Brief Tales | Leave a comment

The Last Supper

Posted on March 25, 2013 by Jim

{March 14, 44 BCE}

CAESAR:  Calpurnia!  I’m home!

CALPURNIA: Waaaaaaaaaaah!

CAESAR:  What is it now Calpurnia?

CALPURNIA:  Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!  Oh, Julie I feel so horrible!  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

CAESAR:  Settle down Calpurnia and ‘splain to me what happen’.

CALPURNIA:  Well… I know that you were going to have a hard day at the Senate and I wanted to make you a very special supper and Little Julie was going to help me with cooking and you know how much he wants to please you and when I asked him to wash the arugula he thought I had said “Caligula” so he washed the cat and he didn’t mean to hold the cat under the water for as long as he did but he thought that it was the only way he could clean the cat’s ears and he was trying so hard to make you proud of him and the poor little dear began to cry when Caligula finally floated to the surface of the bath and after we made a funeral pyre and burned the cat that mean Senator Tillius Cimber who lives next door complained about the courtyard smelling like smoky egg farts and he said that he was going to tell our landlord Casca about it and have us thrown out even though we already want to move to that new development on the Appian Way and then I remembered that I left the ox-tails braising on the range and when I ran back into the kitchen I could smell the ox-tails burning and not just crispy the way you like them but dried out the way you don’t like them and when I went to see if there were any more ox-tails there weren’t any left because I had used them for Little Julie’s school sandwich and the only food we have left is marinated olives, a day old baguette and a half eaten strawberry-rhubarb pie and I didn’t want to disappoint you!  Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!

CAESAR: We hab’ no ox-tails?  Look… we can go out to dinner.  Now stop cryin’.  I’ve got a joke you never heard in your life.  I know a girl who’s so dumb she thinks a football coach has four wheels!  Ha, ha, ha!

CALPURNIA:  How many wheels does it have?

CAESAR: Never mine’.  Look, I’ll make a reservation at Club Babalu.  Brutus tol’ me they make ox-tails with black beans, saffron rice and habanero chilies and they serve it with a Vino Nobile.

CALPURNIA:  Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!

CAESAR: Wass wrong? You no like Vino Nobile?

CALPURNIA:  Casca made me so darn mad!

CAESAR:  Now what?

CALPURNIA: He said that he is going to hold us to our lease.  We have to pay him five month’s rent before we can leave.  I guess we’re stuck here!

CAESAR:  Well, now… that all depends.

CALPURNIA:  On what?

CAESAR:  On whether we can break the lease or not.  We are going to become the two most unpleasant, disagreeable nasty people in the whole world.

CALPURNIA:  How?

CAESAR:  We’ll force ourselves!

lucydesi

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