The sea for me is a strong pull. Growing up I fell asleep to the lullaby of the waves crashing against the shore below my window. Some of my first recollections were of curling my small toes over smooth rocks while the cold waters of the Eastern seaboard flowed across my feet. Perhaps I yearn to go there lately because I’ve always found peace there, a feeling of coming back to a place so familiar as to be called home. Maybe it’s the reassurance that in an ever-changing and undeniably uncertain world, the undulating waves and shifting tides remain a constant. I wrote this poem a long time ago on a sailing trip after my husband passed away.

Waves

The ocean slowly rose and fell as it stretched before my eyes,
flocks of gulls strike silhouettes across the bright blue skies
A surge of wind puffs out the sails, the prow cuts through the foam,
at sea I put my mind at rest, at sea I feel at home

A thousand colored mirrors shine and dance across the peaks,
the still air only cluttered by the timber as it creeks,
I lay my head back in the wind and feel the gentle tears
of moisture spraying on my face erasing on my fears

Warm sun spreads across the breadth of my outstretched frame,
reminding me of other days, bringing back his name
His face cast upwards toward the heat as we sailed along,
the way his hair whipped at his face, the lyrics to our song

Memories flow into my head, like waves along the shore
swirling in and touching me, then leaving as before,
I feel at peace with God and life, and hope that I will find
someone to fill my heart again, but he is on my mind

Oysters Bienville

2 Tbsp. butter, melted
2 Tbsp. flour
2 cups green onions, chopped
1 cup fish stock (oyster stock or shrimp will work)
1/2 cup fresh mushrooms, chopped
1 Tbsp. fresh parsley, minced
3/4 cup dry white wine
2 egg yolks, beaten
3 dz. fresh oysters
1/2 lb. boiled shrimp, chopped
salt and pepper to taste
Parmesan cheese
Plain Bread Crumbs

In large saucepan melt butter. Add flour whisking as you do to blend well. Add green onions and cook for 3 minutes or until wilted. Add 1 cup of stock. Simmer with mushrooms, wine, and parsley. Add beaten egg yolks to mixture slowly, whisking as you do. On low heat simmer until thickened, stirring occasionally. Add shrimp and season to taste with salt and pepper. Arrange oysters on shells or in ramekins. Pour shrimp mixture over oysters. Generously sprinkle with mixture of Parmesan cheese and bread crumbs. Bake at 350 degrees until golden brown on top.

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I’m ironing today and watching To Kill a Mockingbird, my favorite movie, for the fiftieth time.  I believe I can do all parts by rote at this juncture. I don’t mind ironing occasionally.  It gives me a feeling of satisfaction when I’m done, and I can go out in public without looking like an unmade bed. 

While going through the baskets I’m sorting out my old size 2′s and putting them in a pile to donate.  Three years ago some of the tiny little shirts and kid-size pants were often two big on me, but these days I’ve gone up a size and there’s no way I’ll be back there again.  This, is a good thing.  Owning a restaurant is an excellent way to lose weight.  You never sit down, you work with food all day until you reach the saturation point, and the worry alone burns off ten Big Macs and a burrito in an hour.  It was a fun experience, but now I can say I’ve done it and move on without needing to do it again.

I did things a little differently in my life, I was a chubby little kid and a skinny adult.  As a child my grandmother, a fabulous cook and an amazing pastry chef, spent 98% of her time in the kitchen creating something outrageously delicious, mostly with me at her side.  Being slightly on the anorexic side (she wore a whalebone corset and topped the scale at ninety-eight pounds holding a pile of rocks) she didn’t indulge in the end result of all this baking and cooking, so I was a willing and enthusiastic guinea pig, with the emphasis being on “pig”.  Sort of Igor to her Dr. Frankenstein. The summer between sixth and seventh grade thankfully my hormones kicked in and I shot up and slimmed down, so I guess you could say that I wasn’t necessarily too fat when I was younger but simply too short for my weight. 

In high school my mother remarried.  My new “dad” was a high school principal who, considering his chosen profession, ironically found children slightly less annoying than cholera.  Dennis was a middle child of a New York Irish Catholic family of which the majority were either cops, nuns, or priests.   Growing up having to share his father’s meager income from the railroad among thirteen mouths you would have thought that once he had enough food he would have overindulged, but quite the opposite happened.  If asked after a meal if he wanted seconds, he always replied, “No thank you, I eat to live, not live to eat”, thus ensuring that any guests at the table would stop at their first helping.  Moderation in all things was his mantra, except in the case of Irish whiskey which he made a huge exception for.  Often we would find a bottle hung by a paper clip floating in the toilet basin or hidden in the clothes basket.  Mother was a bit of an overseer in this department, but Dennis was pretty good at flying under the radar.  When he was sober, which was mostly during working hours, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but buoyed with a few stiff ones you couldn’t shut him up with a roll of duct tape.  I entertained the thought many times over dinner, to myself, of course. 

Our house, on the weekends was always packed with people.  Out back was an olympic sized pool and a beautiful barbecue area. I planned my activities out of the house during these occasions if at all possible. Nothing worse than being the only one floating sober in a sea of drunken sailors.  Back then cigarettes were displayed in silver trays on the coffee table and you didn’t ask if your guest would like a drink, you handed them a glass with ice in it and pointed them towards the bar.  Different times. They were a likable bunch, however, and I remember it as being a colorful if not highly dysfunctional way to grow up.

Well, I went from ironing to overeating to my step-father in three paragraphs.  Must have set a record.  I made this dish the other night.  Haven’t had it in years but it was excellent.  My other half, who doesn’t particularly like fish, loved it.

Sole Dore

2 lbs. sole filets
2 cups flour
1/8 tsp. black pepper
dash cayenne
1/2 tsp. salt
4 eggs, beaten
4 Tbsp. butter
1/2 cup lemon juice
1 Tbsp. capers
2 Tbsp. fresh parsley, chopped
2 Tbsp. butter
lemon wedges

Mix eggs in 9 x 13″ casserole dish. Set aside. Mix flour, salt, pepper, and cayenne together. Pat filets dry and dredge both sides in flour mixture. Place in eggs mixture and coat. Leave in egg mixture and refrigerate until needed.

In large non-stick pan, melt 4 Tbsp. butter over med-low heat until bubbly. Add the sole filets and saute for 3 mins. on each side until golden brown. Keep warm in oven or on heated dish.

When done, turn off pan. Add remaining 2 Tbsp. butter, lemon juice, and parsley to pan. Whisk until butter is melted. Add salt and pepper if necessary. Add capers and gently mix. Plate the soul on heated plates and spoon the sauce over the top. Serve with lemon wedges.

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I went to the market yesterday, as I was out of a number of things I needed.  I left an hour later with a full basket and a receipt equal to my car payment.  At my SUV I clicked my key twice to open the door locks.  They unlocked and then immediately relocked.  Damn.  This had happened several times before.  Obviously, there was a short of some kind that needed to be looked at, but since I didn’t see any off-duty mechanics lurking in the area, my ice cream was starting to melt, and my car phone was in the center compartment of the SUV, another plan of action seemed called for. 

After clicking the key twenty-plus times, I heard a click.  The front and back seat doors were still locked but I could open the tailgate.  Trying once more to no avail, I rested the cart against the back fender and hoisted myself onto the tailgate.  Crawling on my hands and knees through the back, people were now starting to stop and stare, whispering amongst themselves.  Reaching the back seat I bounced over the top causing the car to move up and down, thus dislodging the cart.  Being on an uphill slant, it broke for freedom heading back towards the store on autopilot.  Having now attracted a large enough crowd that a hot dog vendor had set up his stand, some kind soul took pity on me and ran down the cart before it took out an elderly woman carrying a shopping bag and the entire floral section.  My humiliation complete, I loaded up my groceries and pointed the car towards home.  I may never shop there again without a rubber nose and fake moustache.

Got me to thinking of embarrassing car stories.   Reminded me of when I was in my late twenties.  Being a single mother at the time, I hung out mainly with friends in a similar situation.  Married friends tended to divorce you if you are suddenly unattached for fear you might covet their men or visa versa.  Three of us “singles” in particular used to gather  most weekends to go swimming or head to the park.  One weekend we opted for a day at the beach.  Between the five children we shared, beach traffic, sandy little bodies to be rinsed off, and a good dose of Southern California sun, we were exhausted when we got home.  Too tired to cook, we decided to pick up fast food.

Taking the children inside to order made more sense than trying to order through a speaker with five little voices chirping in, plus they had a great salad bar inside.  Getting the children burgers, fries and drinks we headed for the salad bar and loaded up three large to-go containers with mixed greens, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese, bacon bits and assorted other goodies all topped off with big globs of creamy bleu cheese dressing.

Gathering up bags, boxes and children it took an additional ten minutes in the parking lot to strap the children in their car seats and load up the bags of food.  The decibels of the hungry children now reaching ear-splitting levels, I started the car and headed out towards the road.  Two amazing looking young men, I’d say in their early twenties, began waving and shouting at us as we passed.  We waved back enthusiastically, and were busy congratulating each other on the fact that we still had it as I entered the flow of traffic.  A horn honked behind us and I was beginning to think we’d reached a near fatal level of feminine attractiveness, when I glanced in my rear view mirror.  The car behind me was swerving,  it’s wipers were moving furiously back and forth trying to remove the heavy load of cherry tomatoes, lettuce, bacon bits, cheese and bleu cheese dressing strewn across the windshield, while the driver leaned out the window to honor us with a one-finger salute.  Very nice.  Losing dinner wasn’t the worst part for us, however, but the fact that the gorgeous guys in the parking lot were probably waving to signal us that we’d left the salad containers on the top of the car, instead of acknowledging our magnificant selves.  Sigh.  Ah well, we felt the sun on our faces for a few moments.

Seafood Fettuccine

1 cup green onions, chopped
1 1/2 Tbsp. butter
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 lb. large shrimp, deveined and peeled
1 lb. sea scallops, muscles removed
2 cups half-and-half
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/2 lb. lump crabmeat
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
8 cups cooked fettuccine, hot
1/4 cup parsley, chopped
Parmesan cheese for garnish

Melt butter in large non-stick skillet over med-high heat. Add onions and garlic and saute about 1-2 mins. until tender. Add shrimp and scallops. Cook 3-4 additional mins. until done. Reduce heat to med-low.

Add half-and-half, salt, pepper, cayenne and crabmeat. Cook 3-4 mins. until heated thoroughly, stirring constantly. Gradually sprinkle 1/2 cup of cheese over mixture, stirring constantly for an 1-2 min.

Remove from heat. Combine pasta and seafood in large bowl. Plate in pasta bowls. Top with sprinkled Parmesan cheese and parsley.

8 servings.

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At twenty-nine I found myself a widow with two young children. We moved from a four bedroom house to a two bedroom condominium and started to rebuild our lives a day at a time.

Fortunately, I had a good job and my parents were living about ten miles away so also had a support system. Learning to be on my own, however, was a bit of a challenge. I had never changed a tire, pumped my own gas, balanced my checkbook, or used a tool of any kind other than a butter knife. I could most probably build a 747 from scratch with a butter knife, actually, because until this day it’s my tool of choice for everything probably the least being spreading butter.

After we had settled in and started once again the process of getting on with living, I began to take an interest in decorating our surroundings. My first purchase was a large hanging plant in a macrame hanger that I wanted hung in an alcove over our television set. I headed to the hardware store to get the necessary equipment to make this happen, and came home with a screwdriver and a toggle bolt. The salesman was kind enough to explain how the bolt worked and how to make the hole in the ceiling with the screwdriver. Two steps, bing, bang, hanging plant. Sounded simple enough. Up on the ladder I made the appropriate hole, and inserted the bolt. Being heavy, the plant was awkward to manage but somehow I got it on the hook. About two hours later while having dinner there was a huge crash followed by definite sounds of breakage. Running into the living room I discovered the plant and broken pot on top of the TV with dirt everywhere, and looking up a hole you could pass a washing machine through in the ceiling. My neighbor knocked on the door to inquire if we were possibly testing jet engines in the living room and surveyed the damage. On inspection it appeared that I had inserted the V on the toggle bolt upside down so it slowly closed and dropped the plant and the ceiling as one unit. Men are so clever.

Not long after I got the ceiling fixed, the chandelier on the tier level in my stairway needed several bulbs replaced. Feeling confident that I had conquered the toggle bolt, I felt screwing in a few lightbulbs should be child’s play. Taking out the trusty ladder and inserting a bulb in each pocket I climbed to the top. The chandelier was higher than I’d realized so I had to stand on my tiptoes to unscrew the burned out bulb, but got it done. Reaching to put the new bulb in was a little trickier so while squirming, the ladder went out from under me and I was now hanging from the swinging chandelier fairly high off the ground. My daughter came down stairs after ten minutes of my yelling her name, and knowing me well didn’t seem the least bit surprised to find me in this position. The ladder was too heavy for her to pick up so she went for help. Meanwhile my weight pulling against the chain was too much for the ceiling and the chandelier came down with me underneath it. I wasn’t hurt, luckily but we had yet another hole in the ceiling. My landlord would just stand and scratch his head and stare at me, saying nothing. I appreciated that.

Next I had to change a tire. I was in the middle of an industrial area and had no one to call. After looking pitiful for a while with no cars coming by I realized that I was going to have to do something. Taking the jack out of the car I got the rear jacked up, this in heels and a dress by the way, and using the tire iron got the flat off. Piece of cake, I thought to myself. Removing the brand new spare from the trunk I aligned it on the rim and picked a lug nut out of the hub cap to screw on. At that moment the jack gave way and the tire was crushed under the back fender. I believe in angels because, as my other half is always saying, if there weren’t any I’d be under the ground by now. So, new tire ruined, jack under the car, a truck driver stopped to help me. Circling the car several times, he removed his ball cap and scratched his head, not saying a word. Must be a guy thing.

Stir Fry Spinach and Shitake Mushrooms

4 scallions thinly sliced
3 Tbsp. peanut oil
12 oz. sliced shitake mushrooms
3 garlic cloves, minced
12 oz. baby spinach leaves
2 Tbsp. dry sherry
2 Tbsp. honey
ground black pepper

Heat the peanut oil in preheated wok or heavy skillet.

Add the mushrooms and stir-fry over medium heat for about 5-6 minutes or until softened.

Add the minced garlic and spinach leaves to wok and cook for an additional 3 minutes or until spinach is wilted.

Mix the dry sherry and honey in small bowl until well blended. Drizzle the sherry and honey mixture over the spinach and heat thoroughly. Stir and toss to coat.

Transfer to warmed serving dishes. Sprinkle with scallions and freshly ground black pepper.

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