December 6, 2013--Breakfast

For 30 years Rona and I, almost every morning, have gone out for breakfast. Let me correct that--not almost every morning but every morning.

It was less about the coffee and food than the people. At Balthazar, in Manhattan's SoHo, for nearly 15 of those 30 years, until last year, every day, at table 85 in the bar area, we would join friends who, like us, were seeking community and companionship.

Some days those friends could number more than a dozen and we would push tables together to accommodate all of us. Since the group included people from a variety of backgrounds, interests, and professional life--filmmakers, interior designers, book publishers, performance artists, Wall Street lawyers, anthropologists, novelists, chefs, actors, carpenters, opera directors--with breakfasters from such a wide range of callings, discussions ranged from the serious (what to do in the Middle East and the results of friends' colonoscopies) to the sly (gossip about who else was in the room--"Is that Yoko?").

It was sweet and stimulating, which, like other evanescent realities, succumbed to time and changing circumstances. For one, Balthazar became a go-to place for breakfast and brunch and it was no longer possible to hold so many tables because Jonathan Miller or Nigella Lawson had just arrived from London and might pop in to join us.

Then also, as with Rona and me, work realities shifted, schedules needed to be adjusted, and some of us were no longer so much in town. In our case, we essentially moved to Maine and Florida and retained just a loving, periodic connection to Manhattan and Balth.

In Maine there is the Bristol Diner, a perfect place for a simple breakfast and a gathering place, like Balthazar in its own way, for an even more diverse group of local and seasonable residents--from lobstermen to orthopedic surgeons to federal judges to telephone linemen. So, when there, we can be found almost every morning in one of  the Bristol's five booths, sometimes ensconced for two or three hours as friends drift in and out.

And in Delray Beach, we have a similar reality at the Green Owl. Breakfast in both places for us is an ideal way to emerge to full morning consciousness among people we care about and with whom each day we eagerly look forward to spending time and exchanging stories--some real, much made up.

But then, in New York, all of this has suddenly changed--we are having breakfast at home.

And loving it.

The other morning Rona said, "After nearly 30 years of going out for breakfast, which is very luxurious, having breakfast in my pajamas with the newspaper delivered to our door, feels really luxurious."

"And," I agreed, "we're saving a lot of money."

"That's true, but not really what's important to me. We're doing what we want to do. No pressure to get up and out. That's what's important."

"True. But still I like the idea that we're saving at least $15 a day. That really adds up."

Rona turned her attention to the Style section.

"Really," I said, "Add it up. What did we have this morning? You had an egg (which since it was organic cost about 30 cents and was cooked in maybe a nickel's worth of butter) and pumpkin bread toast (about 50 cents worth) and English breakfast tea (say, 25 cents for the teabag). And I had a--"

"Do we really have to do this? I was having such a sweet time and all you can think about is how much butter I used."

"We don't have to do this, but I'm only trying to make a point."

"Go on then. But please, make it brief."

"I had a croissant with jam (I think we paid $2.75 for that at Dean and Deluca) and a mug of Medaglia D'Oro instant espresso (which cost maybe 20 cents, plus about a dime's worth of warmed half-and-half)." Smiling at Rona, I said, "I'm done."

"How much was the jam and what about the gas and electricity we used to defrost the croissant and cook the egg? Did you figure that in?"

Not realizing she was making fun of me, I thought, "Maybe 15 cents for the jam--it's from France--and we'll see about the gas and electric when we get the next Con Ed bill. But don't forget we don't have to pay tax at home--what is it, about 9 percent?--or leave a tip. I think you leave at least $5.00 every morning." Rona nodded.

"So let me do a quick calculation." I went to get paper and a pen. "At Balth my double espresso is, what, seven dollars and the croissant $4.50. And your egg and toast would be at least $5.00, plus your tea would be $2.00 more."

"Two-fifty. And half a grapefruit, if you're crazy enough to order it, is $10. Ten freaking dollars!" Rona said under her breath.

"So at Balth the same breakfasts plus tax and tip would go for about $25; whereas here it cost us only about $4.00, not including utilities." Self-satsified, I smiled toward Rona who by then was buried in the crossword puzzle.

"I mean, in addition to being delicious and nice and so schmoozy to have breakfast in pajamas, we saved at least $20, which means, if we did this only five days a week (and at the moment we're pretty much eating in every day) we'd save more than $100 a week. Which adds up to real money."

"Agreed," Rona admitted without looking up.

"So what about tomorrow? What are you in the mood for?

"Must we? I'm just trying to enjoy this morning."

"Let's see, we have eggs of course and can make wonderful French toast from Agata & Valentina's pumpkin bread. Or have some of those terrific Bay's English muffins; or waffles--we have Eggos for old-times sake but also the ones we bought the other day at Fairway in Red Hook that are made in France; and we also have various kinds of bagels--you like bagels sometimes; and your McCann's steel cut oatmeal, which you've been serving with brown sugar and sliced up dried figs; and granola; even oat scones from the Balthazar bakery and--"

"Enough! I just ate and already you're talking about eating."

"I only . . ."

November 12, 2013--Midcoast: Ken's Fault

It had turned cold and we were huddled in a booth at the Bristol Diner.

"Body heat works even better than our propane heater," Rona said, snuggling closer to Ken. "But the Rinnai does manage to make our living room cozy."

"So why are you leaving so soon?" Al asked. Sitting next to him I could feel heat coming off him like from a wood stove.

"It's November 10th," I said. "This is the latest we've ever been able to stay."

"It's all Ken's fault," I said, winking at him across the table. He smiled knowingly back at me.

"Ken's fault?"

"Right. It all started about four years ago. It was late September and we were having an innocent enough breakfast, I think in this same booth, and Ken began to ask us about our fireplace. 'You have one, right?' "Yes,' I said, 'but we haven't used it much.' 'How wide is it? I mean, can it handle logs about this size/" To illustrate, Ken held his arms out about 18 inches apart.

"'That's about right,' Rona said. 'It would help a lot if you made a fire in the morning,' Ken said, 'It would for sure take care of the overnight chill.' 'We'll have to look into our firewood situation,' I said."

"I'm not following this," Al said, signaling to Amanda to refill his coffee mug. "Nice and hot this time."

"So the next morning," I continued, "I was in bed reading and Rona was just beginning to rouse. It was about 7:30 when we heard stomping on our front deck. It sort of frightened me," I said, "Since we weren't expecting anyone--deliveries or workers--and sounds of any human activity so early where we live are not only rare but unknown. Rona with a start woke fully and whispered that I should get up to see what was going on."

"What does this have to do with Ken?" Al asked, sounding impatient, "Or how early or late you've been staying in Maine?"

"I'm getting to that. The stomping was coming from Ken. He had backed his truck into our driveway and was unloading this beautifully split fire wood onto our deck. Stacking it just perfect. I knew then why he had been quizzing us about the size of our fireplace.

"I went out both to thank and help him, but he waved me off. 'I had all this firewood we don't need anymore. When our house burned down about 15 years ago we rebuilt without a fireplace. We didn't want any more fires in our house. But I thought you could use this. You can keep your house heated and maybe that would allow you to stay on a little longer.'

"And with that and a wave he was gone. I thought, sort of like the Lone Ranger who does his good deed and doesn't stay around for thanks."

"That was about how many years ago?" Al said, "And what does that have to do with now?"

"Well, through the years, each year Ken either did something or suggested something we could do to keep our place livable as the weather got colder. As you know we have a cottage--a real cottage--without much, actually any insulation. With the exception of maybe above the dropped ceiling in our bedroom. The rest is open, uninsulated rafters.

"So Ken three years ago suggested we get a Rinnai heater and have it installed in the living room. Between the fireplace--and his firewood--and the Rinnai, he speculated we could stay at least a week more even if over night the temperature dipped below freezing. 'With that,' he said, 'plus running the hose faucets at night--really letting them drip--there's not much danger of the pipes freezing. So if you're cozy inside and the spigots are slowing draining, you should be fine.' And we were and could stay until at least the first week or so of October."

"Amanda, can I have so more coffee. Steve here is only up to three years ago, and I suspect we'll be here until lunchtime before he finishes his Ken story."

I knew he was fooling with me--Al likes stories as much as the rest of us--"But I'll speed things up," I said. "So two years ago, Ken began to talk with us about things we could do to insulate the place. Not change its character by lowering the ceiling in the kitchen, dining room, and living room, or sticking insulation up in the rafters and then covering it over--that would change the look of the place. We'd rather be a little chilly than take away what we think of as part of the place's charm.

"'I mean,' Ken said, 'you have that open loft behind the fireplace, don't you? Well, half your heat from the fireplace and the Rinnai is going up there and doing you no good, unless you move up there as well.' 'So, what should we do?' Rona asked. 'How about draping the opening that separates the loft from the living room?' Ken suggested. 'With insulated drapes? They work pretty good. You can get them ready-made at Kmart or Walmart and then tack 'em up to fit the sloping ceiling.'

"We did that last year and it made some difference. Ken also suggested we put draft blockers at the base of all our doors to eliminate much of the cold air coming from outside and from room-to-room where some rooms are warmer than others. Like we have a really efficient electric heater in our bedroom but cold air comes through the closets that share a wall with the unheated guest room. We did that too and, boy, did that make a difference!"

"Can we get to this year already?" Al sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'm have an appointment and don't have all day like you guys to drink coffee and tell endless stories."

"Well, this year Ken has had all sorts of suggestions about what to do with the pipes under the house."

"Wrap them?" Al said, attempting to move things along.

"That was one thought," Rona said, "But he felt it would be better to see if our plumbers could build an enclosure under the house around the core where all the pipes are. This wouldn't change the look of the place--you know we have lattice around the house that's open. We don't want to seal all that up since it would change the look of things."

"The 'look of things' again," Al said, giving Rona some grief.

"You know we're serious about the aesthetics of the place. We don't want to--"

"Change the character of the pace. I've heard you kids say that a hundred times. Maybe a thousand." he chuckled.

"Well, the Pendeltons, the plumbers came over last week and said it wouldn't be that hard to do. And, again at Ken's suggestion, they liked the idea of having insulating foam sprayed up under the floor. By doing that, they said, and it's been confirmed by the Seal-It insulation people, the floor would stay warm and with all the other things Ken has been suggesting, we probably would have no trouble staying all the way til the end of December."

"And come back in early May," I added, grinning.

"I gotta go," Al said. "To tell you the truth, I've been playing with you a little bit," as if we didn't know, "But, if thanks to Ken, you can stay until then, that suits me just fine."

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.