Growing up on the water . . .

Growing up, Memorial Day weekend was the beginning of what was known in our family as “boating season.” My parents bought their first ski boat when I was just two – and I spent almost every summer weekend for the better part of the next 20 years on the water. I honestly didn’t know that you could take a vacation that didn’t involve a lake and a boat until we visited Florida when I was in middle school.

Daddy skiing

I still remember those Memorial Day weekends and those first dives into bracing water that had yet to be warmed by the summer sun.  Some people would ease into the water, one foot at a time, trying to acclimate themselves to the cold water. Me? I always felt it was better to just jump in.

My first few years of “boating” involved being engulfed by a lifejacket with my ponytailed-head bobbing around the water like a little cork. When I got tired, they’d either put me down for a nap on the shore (another term solely used in boating season) or they’d tuck me in around a bunch of lifejackets under the front-end of the boat. By the time I reached four or so, my Dad would put me on the front of his two skies and we’d ski around Green River. It was also on that aptly-named body of water that I learned to water-ski on my own when I was six.

Rock Quarry at Kentucky Lake

I still vividly remember when I learned to water-ski on one ski – also known as slalom skiing. Our vacation each year involved going to Kentucky Lake for anywhere between a week and 10 days, and it was the summer I turned nine – on the last day of vacation – that I finally succeeded in learning to slalom.

That last morning of vacation we checked out of our cabin at Moore’s Resort and spent the day on the water. While I had tried all week to slalom, I hadn’t succeeded in staying up for long.  It grew to be late afternoon and since we still had to drive a couple hours home, we went back to the marina and Daddy started loading the boat on the trailer that Mommy had backed into the water (she was better than anyone else at that).  As I wiped away a few tears that were rolling down my cheeks because of my disappointment, my Dad looked around and after realizing the reason for my tears, announced we were heading back out on the water.

Our second boat - Daddy at the helm and
Mommy in the blue shirt

Kentucky Lake has this wonderful little cove called The Rock Quarry that is tucked away in a corner of the lake. Because it’s protected from the wind and other boaters, the water is usually calm. We zoomed back across the lake to the Quarry, my hair flying in the wind, and over the next hour my Mom and Dad worked with me until I finally succeeded in staying up on one ski for an extended time. Exhausted (all of us), we headed back to the marina, pulled the boat out of the water for the second time and headed home. I’m sure I was exhausted and probably slept most of the way home, but even today, I’ll remember that summer day as one of the best days of my life.

So today – as I thought about the true meaning of Memorial Day – I also took a few minutes to reflect on my childhood in Kentucky, think about those lazy summer days on the water, and remember that on that one afternoon – as daylight waned on Kentucky Lake – all that mattered to my parents was my success.  They were the best parents ever and we miss them so.

The secret to delicious potato skins

So I consider myself a fairly decent cook – but there are just some things that always taste better at restaurants. For me, one of those dishes has always been potato skins. Although I’m hesitant to admit, some of the best potato skins I’ve ever eaten were at Bennigan’s in Gainesville.  You’re sitting there saying, seriously? Bennigan’s? I actually think that’s what I had for lunch after Larry and I went to the doctor’s office that morning and confirmed I was pregnant with Dana.

I hope you know what I mean when I talk about perfect potato skins – the ones where the potatoes are hot, the cheese is bubbling - but not gummy - and bits of bacon peek out from under the cheese. There’s a scattering of scallions gracing the plate and alongside, a heaping spoonful of sour cream. I’ve tried to replicate this dish for years, but always felt there was something missing in my preparation.

I’m excited to share that I’ve discovered the secret to truly terrific potato skins and I found it in one of my favorite cooking websites: https://cooking.nytimes.com. There you’ll find a recipe titled “Serious Potato Skins.” Now, I know what you’re thinking: really, potato skins in The New York Times?

So what’s the key? Bacon. Well, of course. Bacon makes everything better. But here’s the secret part: to make potato skins really delicious, you don’t just add the aforementioned scattering of bacon, but you bathe the skins in BACON FAT before adding the toppings.

Here’s my slightly edited version of The New York Times’ recipe:

INGREDIENTS

4 Idaho baking potatoes
8 ounces thick-cut bacon, diced
6 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, grated
1 bunch scallions
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup sour cream

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Rub the potatoes lightly with butter and bake them on the wire racks of your oven for an hour, turning halfway through and piercing each one once with a fork to release some of the steam. Transfer the potatoes to a wire rack and let cool for 10 minutes.

While the potatoes are cooking, assemble the toppings. Cook the bacon in a large skillet over medium heat until crisp, then transfer to a small bowl. Reserve the bacon fat (important step)!! Trim and thinly slice the scallions.

Cut each potato into quarters lengthwise to create four wedges. Using a small spoon, scoop the flesh from each wedge, leaving 1/4 inch or more of the flesh. (Save the scooped potatoes for another use).

Set the oven to broil. Place the wedges on a foil-lined baking sheet. Paint a bit of bacon fat on each, then top with cheese and bacon. Place under the broiler until the cheese is bubbling. Place the skins on a serving plate. Season with salt and pepper. Spoon sour cream alongside and scatter the scallions over the plate.

Trust me. These are amazing. 

Saying good-bye to Robbie and my Aunt Irma

Last Sunday in New York City was a glorious day. It was the first really warm day of the spring – over 80 degrees – and our favorite café along the Hudson River was finally open after a long winter season.  Our extended family of four – me, Larry, Dana and Nate – sat by the water for more than two hours, downing two bottles of Prosecco and a handful of Coronas. It was pure bliss.

It was during the latter minutes of sitting by the sparkling water that the first Facebook message came through sharing news of the death of a shining light of a man who had been a friend in our earlier Gainesville life. Robbie was just – it’s hard to explain – but he was just larger-than-life, with the most wonderful grin sharing space on his face with these marvelously twinkling blue eyes.  Robbie – along with his partner Dan – managed the wine shop whose door I often entered. He was one of a handful of people allowed to call me “Q” – and he gave me one of my more memorable nicknames: Chardonnay slut. I can still hear him yelling “Hey Q – I have several new bottles you HAVE to try.” Note: Thankfully, we’ve branched out a bit in our choice of wines, 15+ years later.

I still remember coming home from work and having my family (all of them – Larry, Dana and Jenni) sitting me on the couch and telling me they had awful news. I half expected them to share that someone had died. Instead, it was news that the wine shop had fired both Dan and Robbie – and that these guys who had become like family would help us no more. It took that wine shop a long time to recover – because Dan and Robbie had built a family of people who loved to shop with them. It was years before I entered its doors again.

We attempted to stay in touch with Robbie and Dan, but it was tough. Robbie battled demons – and after a while, news filtered through Gainesville that he and Dan had separated,and that Robbie had moved to a small Tennessee town where his family lived. We stayed closer to Dan - seeing him at a new wine shop he managed and having him handle the alcohol for the engagement party we threw for Dana and Nate. Later, with the wonder of Facebook, I connected again with Robbie and we’d occasionally chat online – sharing what life was like for him in a small, conservative town in Tennessee compared with my upbringing in an equally small Kentucky town. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him – can’t imagine any places more opposite than Gainesville, Florida and a rural Tennessee town.

Late Sunday afternoon – about the time I’d gotten my head around Robbie's death – my phone rang and my cousin Carla’s name appeared on the screen. While my cousins and I have done a better job of staying in touch over the past few years, I always figure when one of them is calling, it’s not likely to be good news. And it wasn’t.

Carla was calling to share that her Mom – my Aunt Irma, the wife of my Dad’s younger brother, Cecil – had died earlier that day. Aunt Irma was one of the two relatives from my parents’ generation – either side – still alive. She was a wonderful woman – who along with Cecil raised five children, the oldest a boy who died of muscular dystrophy at a young age. The only one left now from my parents' generation is Uncle Kenny’s wife, Florence. I hope this doesn’t sound mean, but Aunt Florence usually wasn’t at family outings because she didn't feel well, and my Mom – who could be quite feisty – said on more than one occasion that even though Aunt Florence never felt well, she’d likely outlive them all. She has.

I spent the rest of that Sunday night trying to figure out how to get to Louisville for Aunt Irma’s funeral. I didn’t succeed. Thanks to the ridiculous system we have for air travel in this country, I couldn’t find a flight from New York to Louisville for less than $900 – unless you count the almost $600 flight I could take from New York to Orlando – yes Orlando – and then to Louisville. You can’t be serious!?

So, this Friday, I’ll think of my Kentucky family as they say good-bye to my Aunt Irma – and I’m sure somewhere in Tennessee, Robbie’s family will celebrate his life and send his sweet soul soaring. I hope both families will know how many people – whether there in person or scattered around the globe – will be with them in spirit, and hope and pray that their memories will provide them comfort.

To Courtney with love . . . from Mama Doris

Dana presenting Courtney with the quilt

There were many special items that belonged to our family that we had to sell or give away because they wouldn’t fit in our tiny New York City apartment, but the beautiful, hand-made quilts that were so exquisitely sewn by the women in my life were not among those things that left our side. Those quilts today reside in a cedar chest (that also found its way north) that belonged to my grandparents Dana and N.E. Jones that I remember gracing the front bedroom of their home on Frederica Street in Hartford, Kentucky.

The quilts in that chest were made by various women in my life: my Mommy; Honey, my name for the aforementioned grandmother Dana; and her mother, Grandma Fuqua. The bright colors, the intricate patterns, the purple cross-stitch flowers that adorn some the most beautiful quilts that Mommy made – all of them reside in that cedar chest, awaiting their turn to adorn a loved-one’s bed.

This weekend we gifted one of Mommy’s quilts to Courtney, one of our girls’ – and our family’s – most beloved friends. Courtney has been a part of our family since she and Dana met in the fall of 1999 as two equally-geeky freshmen in the Gainesville High School band. Over the years Courtney

has spent many hours with our family, from days at GHS and Florida State University – to exploring Italy individually with both Dana and Jenni – to standing alongside Jenni as Dana and Nate married in 2014. Equally important Courtney became close to Mommy – or as Dana, Jenni and their friends knew her – Mama Doris. When Larry, Dana, Nate and I were in Italy during Mommy’s birthday in May of 2012 (and Jenni was a Peace Corp Volunteer in the Dominican Republic), Courtney took Mommy to dinner. She has always been there for us.

So, we can’t imagine anyone we’d rather have one of Mommy’s beautiful creations than Courtney – and Brandon, her soon-to-be husband.  We can’t wait to celebrate their nuptials this June – in the gorgeous Colorado mountains. Courtney and Brandon, we love you – and thank you for being a special part of our family!

Ode to Miss Mary Lou . . .

There was an interesting post earlier this week on my Facebook feed that probably made many of us who grew up in Hartford, Kentucky in the 1960s consider what an amazing woman might have been in our midst. It was a post about Miss Mary Lou Smith, the Wayland Alexander Elementary School principal who many of us feared. Yet, it took a comment from someone who didn’t even grow up in Hartford to point out how amazing it was that in the 1960s a woman was our principal. I’d never really thought about that accomplishment and the challenges Miss Mary Lou must have endured in reaching that level of responsibility in those days.

Yes, we feared her. She roamed the halls of our  elementary school, paddle in hand. She had no problem swatting the back-end of any student who didn’t abide by the rules, but it was only because she wanted the best for her students. I still remember third grade when our class was trying to decide on an end-of-the-year gift for our teacher Mrs. Byers and decided to get together in our classroom prior to the school day starting (which was against the rules – you were supposed to go to the flag room where everyone went before the start of school). Miss Mary Lou discovered our meeting and lined every one of us – backs against the wall – all the way down the hall. Once the bell rang for the start of school, the kindergartners walked by us on their way to class, wondering what on earth those “old” kids could have done to have 20+ of us lined up against the wall. As someone who at that point was quiet and very shy, I was humiliated and figured my life as I knew it was over.

Recently though in this time of renewed interest in women's issues, I've come to the realization that in those early days in Hartford, Kentucky, we were surrounded by strong women: Miss Mary Lou Smith, Ernestine McConnell, Alice Triplett, Lucille Shapmire and others. They instilled in all of us – boys and girls alike – the love of learning and the importance of caring for others. It was a community before we knew what that actually meant.

Looking back over the years, I have learned to appreciate growing up in a small town where we were enveloped by responsibility, community and love.  Today, as a woman who has grown up in an era where we women strive to be considered as equals and hope to gain opportunities that were typically afforded to men, I now wonder how Miss Mary Lou and those like her who in a time where it was unusual just to work – let alone be the leader of the elementary school – made it to the epitome of education.

May we always remember to thank these strong women who came before us – and who taught us that we could do anything, be anything.

Grocery shopping without a car

So it’s been roughly a year and eight months since I sold my fire-engine red Honda Accord with a V-8 engine (yes, it could fricking fly and yes, it was just a little bit of my mid-life crisis car since I couldn’t afford a BMW) and we moved to New York City carless.

So you might ask how does one shop – especially for groceries –when all you buy has to be carried home.  Well here’s how we’ve made it work:

Citarella's seafood counter

First, we don’t necessarily go with the adage of buy just what you need today, but we’re close.  The nice thing is there are multiple places to pop into when you do just need a couple of items. Whether it’s the small grocery a 2-minute walk from my Barnard office with good produce and meat departments or the fruit and vegetable stand guys on street corners throughout the Upper West Side where you can literally buy five bananas for a dollar or a green pepper for 25 cents. Or I can pop into Citarella (still my favorite grocery, albeit also the most expensive) for seafood, cheese or an amazing cut of beef or grab a baguette from my favorite bakery on the corner as I exit the subway station.

Next, Amazon is our best friend.  All the staples or anything heavy – they all show up in our lobby for a quick trip up the elevator to reside on the floor of our bedroom closet (aka the pantry). Doesn’t matter if it's canned black beans, diced tomatoes or Cream of Chicken soup (Healthy Request version for a comforting chicken casserole) or boxed chicken broth, oven fried mix or Missy’s food.  It’s so much easier – and cheaper – to go to Amazon.

The Duane Reade (aka Walgreen in other areas of the country) has a great food selection –dairy, ice cream (my current favorite is Haggen Dazs Carmel Cone), nuts, frozen appetizers and a small selection of grocery staples and household goods.

When it’s warm we walk 20 minutes on Sundays to the farmers market near the Museum of Natural History for a wonderful selection of produce, locally-raised duck, and all kinds of jam, honey and other canned goods.

And finally, we have a Trader Joe’s literally a five-minute walk away – yes, I know there are people who are incredibly jealous that it’s so close – but it is so crowded – not just sometimes, but always, that we only pop in there early mornings or late evenings. 

Burrito-less Breakfast Burrito: a yummy low-carb breakfast

Since moving to New York City we’ve worked hard to reduce our intake of carbs (okay, with the exception of wine, but w/e). One of my favorite recipes in Gainesville was to make breakfast burritos (with various meats, veggies, garnishes, etc.), but tortillas are the epitome of everything that’s bad about carbs. So we had to figure out how to make a special breakfast while cutting back on carbs.

So I started developing – as we call it – a Burrito-less Breakfast Burrito. The fun thing about this dish is you can add whatever you love about breakfast into this versatile dish.  Here’s what I do for two servings.

INGREDIENTS
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 small onion, finely chopped
1/3 red pepper, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
6 large eggs
Splash of half and half
Pinch of salt
Pinch of pepper
½ cup Mexican blend shredded cheese (or shredded sharp cheddar)
1 avocado, diced
1 tomato, chopped, seeded and drained on a paper towel (or substitute drained salsa)
1 scallion, sliced thinly
½ cup sour cream

Wisk eggs with half and half and season with salt and pepper.  Add butter to skillet and saute onion, garlic and red pepper on medium low heat until tender. Add egg mixture. Once eggs are mostly set, but still runny, sprinkle shredded cheese on top, cover for a couple of minutes and cook until the cheese is melted.

Place eggs on the center of each plate and sprinkle avocado and tomato around. Dollop sour cream around the edge of the plate and garnish with scallion.

Note: Can add sausage or bacon to the plate – or play with ingredients you love in an omelet or breakfast burrito. The nice thing is you won’t even miss the tortilla. It’s so delicious and fresh.