Making Memories
August 6th, 2009 · 4 Comments · Posted in Blog
Daughter with friend Darren in the canoe
I awoke this morning with the new day a swelling orange glow in a tent window. No, we don’t camp out up here in Maine. But tradition requires that at some point the young girls–in this case daughter and her vacation pal, Alice–spend the night in a tent outside the cottage giggling and horsing around with flashlights and illicet food treats.
Only daughter was not quite ready to embark on this new sleeping-out adventure without an adult. That w0uld be dad, he spent a rather fitful night on the hard ground (no air mattress here), then heard a little voice in the middle of the night commenting, “Daddy, I’m cold.” And it was back into the cottage to steal a blanket from someone else’s bed.
At 5:30 am, as the sun was rising, our little piece of Casco bay was already a riot of wildlife sounds: gulls screeching, cormorants squawking, crows cawing. Far away, the noise from I-295 was a low din, but unmistakable. It’s impossible to completely escape the automobile culture any more.
Our first day here we were set to go sailing. It’s been a miserable spring and summer in Maine. Rain, rain and more rain. Crops have failed. No one’s been able to grow a tomato. But the sky seemed to be opening a crack so we made for the old Hinckley sailboat bobbing at it’s mooring. But then the fog rolled in and even a ride in the Boston Whaler had to be cut short.
Last night it was my turn to make lobsters and corn on the cob. Perhaps you’ve heard there’s a glut of lobsters these days. The international market for them has crashed in the recession. Lobstermen have been out hawking their catch on the roadsides. At the Harrasseeket Lunch & Lobster, where you can buy them live or already steamed–among other local fare–the lobsters are going for the unheard of price of $3.95 a pound.
We bought a dozen 1 1/4-pounders. I gathered a load of seaweed from the beach below the cottage, then set it to boil in a big pot on the propane burner outside. The only trick is to time the lobsters to come out of the pot around the same time as the corn cooking on the stovetop. I give myself high marks for perfect execution. (I had two lobsters, and lots of butter.)
This is the kind of place where our friend Meg, the professional baker, shows up just before dinner to drop off the topping for a blueberry crumble. We had a quart of wild Maine blueberries, and a limited amount of vanilla ice cream. This is one dish I only spectate–none of the carbs for me.
These are the things that bring back a flood of memories from our Maine vacations. But sometimes memories can be deceiving. Another tradition holds that a particular sandwich, called an “Italian” here, must accompany our sailing ventures into Casco Bay. These are eaten with quality potato chips and liberal amounts of beer. I recall the sandwich consisting of a pile of cold cuts on a “top-cut” bun, with olives and pickles and peppers. But since I am not eating buns these days, I picked the sandwich apart with a fork and discovered that the filling actually consists of one thin strip of provolone cheese and one thin strip of luncheon ham. The rest is mostly bun and the aforementioned condiments.
A real ripoff, in my book. So why did we ever consider them so special?
Dang, we hate to have our illusions spoiled. I have not mentioned my disappointment with “Italians” to anyone else in the party. Today I am contemplating turning some of last night lobster shells into an exquisite lobster bisque.
Dare I?
Absolutely you better make that bisque!
And most “old” food memories are best if they’re not truly dissected, I think.
There was a time that Tom was in for serious consideration at a job in Providence. I seriously would’ve had a hard time leaving the midwest but the thought of seafood in all its fantastic splendor was certainly something that would have cushioned the blow for me.
Don’t you wish you could haul some of that seaweed back to your compost and to mulch your tomatoes? Too bad you rented a small car! (Next year!)
have loads of fun, Ed.
Hi Ed,
Did you have a “whoopie pie” with your Italian?
Meg, funny you should mention that. We’ve been coming here for years and this is the first I noticed whoopie pies. Now I’m seeing them everywhere, even the local lobster shack. I’ve also been finding them inside the fridge in the cottage. When they go unclaimed, I toss them in the trash. Nothing like a few dessicated whoopie pies to put you in an eating mood.
El, the weather’s been so nice since we arrived, I hadn’t found any time until this morning to make that bisque. Someone trying to make room in the fridge had moved the lobster shells I was saving to a cooler. However, I discovered to my dismay that they had not put any ice in the cooler to maintain my shells. I took them down to the water and committed them to the briny deep whence they had come. Tonight is our last night here and we are sending ourselves off with more lobsters. So there may yet be bisque in or future. We’ll have to make in back in D.C.