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
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 . . .
