June 14, 2008--Midcoast: Alte Kaker Checklist

John and I have a lot in common.

Though I am a little older, at this age, the few extra years I have on him do not make that much of a difference. We both have our aches and pains.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it. He, on the other hand, likely has a different perspective and probably thinks those few years do make a difference, quite a difference. He after all two weeks ago with a buddy drove 10 hours north to the Gaspe Peninsula and went salmon fishing in the Cascapedia River. In the rain and in a canoe, if you can believe it. His partner caught a 35-pound salmon the first morning out and John helped land it.

I, on the other hand, that weekend, did a lot of reading and napping.

So when we met at Chrissy's for breakfast after he got back--wheezing and coughing--we picked up on one of our favorite discussions--aging.

Another thing we share in common is the fact that we both had ancient mothers. John's died two years ago at about 105; mine nearly a year ago at 107. So, from that alone, we are authorities on the subject.

And thus in an attempt to inoculate ourselves from the inevitable, we try to make light of this otherwise terrifying subject. So after hearing about the salmon (and seeing pictures to prove he wasn't just spinning a fish story), I unveiled my latest idea--an Alte Kaker Checklist.

Though John is not Jewish and doesn't understand many Yiddish expressions, having grown up in nearby New Jersey he knows enough to know that alte kaker refers to us--gracefully-aging men.

"Give me an example of what would be on the checklist," John said, humoring me. He had more salmon-fishing stories he was eager to share.

After hearing a few more, I said, "For example, Do you have two-inch-long hair growing our of (a) your eyebrows, (b) your ears, (c) your nose, (d) all of the above."

Warming to this, John plunged in, "In my case, eyebrows for sure." He brushed them up to demonstrate.

"I also see one growing out of the tip of your nose," I said leaning toward him and squinting.

Noticing the squinting he said, "How about--"How many pairs of glasses do you need?"

"For me--three," I said, "(a) one of course for reading, (b) another for driving, and then (c) a third pair for middle-distance seeing. Like for watching TV."

"I only need two," he said, flaunting his superiority or to emphasize that three or four years difference in our ages does in fact make a difference. "But," he quickly confessed, "I do or did have a detached retina. In alte kaker terms that must count for something."

"Unfortunately, yes," I said, "Admittedly though it's not the same thing, I'm growing cataracts," I said, to one-up him, "I think in both eyes."

"I already had mine done," he said. "Also both of them. Remember that--two, three years ago?"

"Put that on the checklist too," I said, "Unable to remember things from (a) childhood, (b) two years ago, (c) yesterday."

"Or, how about (d) what you just had for breakfast?"

"I think maybe it was a croissant."

To play along with him, I tried to sound befuddled. Which unfortunately was not that difficult to do. "Clearly also coffee," I said tapping my half-full mug.

"Can we agree to leave aches and pains off the list?"

"I understand. That could be a checklist all its own--an aches and pains one."

"While fishing," John said already violating our agreement, "I developed this pain in my shoulder." Grimacing, he rubbed it, "I had trouble casting my flies into the river. And forget about driving."

Changing the subject, I said, "How about, (a) no longer drive after dark, (b) can't hear cars passing on the right or left, (c) drive in the left lane five miles an hour below the speed limit."

"I've got another one for you," John chuckled, "(d) ignore wife's driving directions."

"How about (a) wearing a belt with suspenders, (b) need orthopedic shoes, (c ) found myself wearing one brown and one black sock."

"Or, (a) can't bend over to tie my shoelaces, (b) . . ."

"Me too. These days I find myself preferring slip-ons."

"Need to sit on the side of the bed when putting on my jockeys and pants."

"How about, (a) wake up to go the bathroom, (b) wake up twice to go, (c) three times, (d) . . ."

"New rule," John said cutting me off.

"What's that?"

"I think we should agree not to go there."

"Go where?"

"How should I put this--below the belt, if you get my meaning."

I quickly did and agreed. "Indeed I do. This is supposed to be fun. In another minute it could get depressing."

"I'll tell you what's depressing," John said.

"What's that?"

"That you're thinking about wearing suspenders."

"Or your admitting you get up three times a night to . . ."

"I said no such thing. The situation is bad enough without needing to get too specific."

Beginning to get up--he still has a business to run--he signaled to me to turn my one good ear toward him and with a lowered voice admitted, "OK, maybe two times."

August 2, 2013--Croissants

Just my luck. At a breakfast place called Chrissy's in downtown Damariscotta, Maine of all places, after decades of searching, I finally found the best croissants in America.

They are bulky yet light and airy. Thick, dark caramel bands wrap them with blisters of tan revealing just how delicate each outer layer is. Tear off a piece and an internal view shows that the croissant is composed of seemingly hundreds of paper-thin layers and emanating from them is the sweet scent of toasted butter.

So wouldn't you know it, just as I was getting used to enjoying my good fortune—ordering two a day to consume with Chrissy’s homemade peach and cherry jams—according to the Washington Post, in rebel-held Aleppo, Syria, a sharia committee has just declared them--via a fatwa--symbols of "colonial oppression" and forbade their consumption. 

Nearly 100,000 Syrians have thus far been killed in the civil war between the government of Bashar al-Assad and various rebel groups and they have time to think about banning the baking and eating of croissants?

People are literally scavenging for scraps of food but there are Syrian religious leaders who are worried about the corrupting influence of these crescent-shaped delights?

I don’t mean to make light of this, but really.

But I do get it. It is because of their suspicious crescent shape. Could it be that croissants are made like that, these Syrian wise men ask, to mock the Islamic Ottoman invaders who in the early 1880s, attempted to capture Budapest? 

When they were repelled by the European infidels, what did the Hungarians do to celebrate their victory? According to the Syrian sharia committee, rather than organize a parade or a fireworks display like normal Western imperialists, life-loving Austrio-Hungarians that they were instead asked local bakers to come up with a new and special treat to commemorate their military victory.

The result, it is alleged, the buttery, flaky viennoiseria bread-roll with its signature crescent-shape, supposedly derisively derived from the crescent part of the crescent-and-star flag of the Ottoman’s.

The fact that this version of the croissant’s origins is apocryphal hardly matters—in reality, the croissant originated much earlier in the 19^th century and was concocted for the first time in Vienna, not Budapest, in what is now Austria. 

But what matters are two things—

First, this reveals that the Syrian rebels are becoming more and more doctrinaire and fundamentalist, recently having banned makeup and women’s tight clothing. If they manage to overthrow the Assad regime (seemingly less and less likely as time goes by), it may be that Syria will wind up more resembling Iran than Turkey.

And then there is my croissant problem: breakfasting on something that is the subject of a fatwa doesn’t sound like much fun. especially before I've had my second cup of coffee.
Note--

On the other hand, coffee is likely never to be fatwaed--it appears, thankfully, to have been first cultivated in the 14th century by Arabs.