Friday, May 20, 2016

Sometimes it's a great meal . . . Other times it's a meal with great memories

If we’re lucky, we have in our lifetime had great meals that we will remember for a very long time. Perhaps a fancy restaurant, or a new cuisine that opened a whole new direction in your foodie world. Maybe we can’t remember the exact meal or circumstances years and years later, but those special meals kind of rumble around in our heads, often popping to the forefront when we repeat a similar experience or setting.

I have indeed been very lucky. I traveled with my family to Hawaii and through Asia when I was 12 years old, dining on new and strange foods in strange settings. Of course that was strange (as in new) to a 12-year-old, but in reality, it was simply a new experience, a new view on not only food, but the people who made that food. So we had new things, like sushi, shark fin soup and various other things that, back then, sure were exotic to an American kid. Of course, that kid, much to the chagrin of his father, ran his fingers through the flames of candles in a Buddhist temple . . . One also remembers enjoying a Japanese dinner and in the side room some of the waitresses were enjoying their own meal . . . hamburgers . . . Really? Just thought it was funny . . .

Certainly, my life has been a bit (or more) too food centric, but food plays a role in a lot of the things we do, not only because of the food itself, but because of the memories we have of the meal . . . food . . . friends or family . . . an event.

Sometimes a great meal is made great not only by the food, but the place . . . Think future son-in-law’s bachelor party at the Peter Lugar steak temple, or several days in New Orleans with Lisa for a work event and dining at places like Commander’s Palace, Paul Prudhomme’s K-Paul’s Louisana Kitchen, or Pete Fountain’s jazz club.

While a product manager at E.F. Hutton, my assistant, Nicola, and I made it a point to hold a staff meeting (there were only the two of us) or a few at Nirvana, a wonderful restaurant overlooking Central Park in New York City. Nicola always got us a table next to the window and helped me wade through the menu filled with Indian delights . . . I had not much experience with Indian food, so a guide was very needed.

A vendor took me and Lisa to Jezebel’s in New York City, a delightful Creole/soul food/Southern restaurant decorated in an early 1900’s Louisiana plantation style, with wrought iron furnishings, porch swings and fancy crystal chandeliers, vintage posters and a warm, cozy atmosphere. We were hosted by a bank where Hutton had a few millions dollars in precious metals stored. One of our hosts was named Erin, which kind of steered us to that name for our Younger Child . . . We thought it was pretty, Irish-ish and was better than anything else we had come up with. Hey, Erin . . .

Sometimes, though, we have a meal that really isn’t all that fancy of great in and of itself, but somehow sticks in our minds . . .

I’ve enjoyed a burger alone at New Socials here in town . . . Dinner with Rebecca at Common Man . . . prime rib with mashed potatoes the last time (Fortunately she usually orders something I like . . . It’s a weird dynamic.) . . . Lunch there, too, with Erin . . . Kristin’s wedding at Round Hill . . . My two beautiful kids . . . Even just a sandwich here at home with them . . . It’s all about time. We catch it when we can.

Lone Star with friends again and again . . .Breakfast omelets at home and hand delivered to me and the Kilburns when Rebecca commandeered my kitchen on a visit . . . Or a special pizza that’s become a favorite when she visits to check on me and make sure I’m still breathing . . . (I am.) . . .

Sushi is often a favorite of mine . . . Sushi alone and enjoying the art on the plate, or with my sister and niece and enjoying the art on the plate and the company . . . Sushi with my former accountant and
enjoying the art, but not the sea urchin (sorry to all you lovers of the delicacy) . . . With Erin (who once misjudged the height of my truck when we went to pick up a take-out sushi order once) in New Jersey . . . Thanksgiving dinners, cooking the bird on the grill . . . Both girls laughing as I opened the umbrella on the deck and two bats fell out and flew away . . . I yelped like a little girl and apparently they enjoyed that very much . . . They still do.

Summer picnics at the Shakespeare Theater in Connecticut . . . Even canned chili for lunch at my parent’s house at Stratton . . . Those lunches with friends at the top of the mountain and in the Base Lodge were also fun. . . the bottles of Mateus didn’t hurt.

Or how about those Spam sandwiches at canoeing camp in Canada? We usually didn’t stop our daily travels to have a hot lunch, but Pete Morningstar (yep) and out counselors decided to stop and start a fire for a quick bite between long portages. That also lightened the loads we had to carry, so getting rid of a few cans was nice . . . Spam cans. Pete (our guide) started the fire and used a huge cast iron frying pans to cook slices of Spam . . . We took those charred pieces and slapped them between a couple of pieces of white bread and mustard . . . Damn were they good . . . We were tired, hot and sore from the portages and the paddling. It was a bright sunny day . . . I’m not sure I ever ate Spam after camp, but that day, whatever Spam is, tasted like the best meal ever.

When I was a writer at E.F. Hutton a bit more than 100 years ago, we'd been working on a rather arduous project and two of us decided to head to the small (very) diner at the lower level of 26 Broadway while we awaited final exec sign off on the job (an often arduous and political process itself). My friend ordered a cream cheese and grape jelly sandwich on raisin toast with fries . . . I seconded that and a picture remains in my head . . . flashing back more than 30 years. Freezing the moment.

Finally . . . hot dogs at the World Trade Center. I worked for Dean Witter for a couple of years and while we had a pretty good cafeteria, every once in a while a couple of us made the journey down the 72 stories from our offices to the street for some dirty water dogs from a vendor who also offered good sausages and homemade sides . . . Guess that’ll never happen again.

There are dozens of others . . .

I guess it often turns out that it’s not just the food, but who we’re with that makes some meals special. A place and a time. Every once in a while they get deeply etched in our heads. Time moves on . . . It’s relentless, and before we know it, those moments are gone . . . 

1 comment:

  1. This was a great post that made me think and recall some meals (great) and some memories made around meals (greater) that I hold precious. Thanks. I'm glad that I can share in some of your food memories. Little did I know when I made those omelettes what a big deal that was. I was just cooking, and giving you a break from serving... The Common Man. I recall how awkward it was the first time I ordered for you... and smile at how second nature it is now. That chicken ranch.. whatever it is Pizza we often get from Ramuntos is right up there in the "yum" category. The conversations, debates, games we've watched while consuming. good times! Remember that brunch at Common Man? First time I tried lamb. I think you enjoyed watching my reaction almost as much as the food! Other meals and times. You've made me some great comfort food meals... why do your sandwiches (usually ham and cheese with some fancy mustard for me) and soup always taste so much damned better than when I make them myself? One thing you didn't mention was your grandmothers sandwiches she ordered when you guys went out to lunch. I remembered that story fondly. Thanks for the culinary walk down memory lane... and ps, nice to see you blogging about something other than damned politics, even if this post WAS 5 months ago!

    ReplyDelete