I well remember the crumbling elevated rail (the Hi-Line) from 34th street to the warehouses, bakeries and docks 13 miles down Manhattan. To my teenage eyes in the 1960’s it was all part of the look and aromas of the exotic multi-ethnic, working class warrens of Chelsea and lower Manhattan. Forty years later the area still retains a touch of the exotic even if its present day residents vacation in the ancestral countries, eat in the upscale ethnic restaurants and live in multi-million dollar condos.
The 1929 Hi-Line rail link ceased in 1980 and crumbled until gentrified Chelsea residents created the Friends of the Hi-Line in 1999. In just ten years, this dynamic organization cut through the bureaucracy, gained powerful supporters, financial backers and opened the first of three sections of what is a unique urban elevated park.
The High-Line’s design is a deft melding of urban chic, live performance art, natural landscaping incorporating the essential rail road backbone, art installations, arts & crafts, cafe stalls and a tiered public plaza overlooking Tenth Ave.
Valerie Hegarty’s art installation actually hangs on the fence that separates Section One from continuing construction on the remainder of the park. A stroll on a pleasant autumn weekend afternoon was relaxing and stimulating in only a way great urban centers create. Yet where Central Park hides the visitor from the city, the High-Line provides a panoramic view.
Even if you just need to walk the ten blocks from Gansevoort Street on 10th Avenue in Chelsea up to 20th Street, then why not use the Hi-Line rather than street level. You might even meet up with a …oh wait…that was the 1960’s. This doll’s a great 1930’s jazz singer, on the Hi-Line.
“I’m not an artist; I’m not a wood carver!” Ralph was emphatic, “I don’t know how to take a piece of wood and make anything.” With strong calloused hands, Ralph Eyre held a gnarled silver gray piece of driftwood up to the light filtering through a sawdust caked window of the century old shed that was his workshop. “I just see the bird in the wood; I don’t carve it. It’s there.” His finger touched the smooth wood and traced the outline of the neck then the beak. “See, there’s its eye,” his finger pointed to a small dark knot then flowed down a graceful back to the end of its tail feathers. His blue eyes gleamed with a child’s reality of the obvious. This was not a metaphysical moment. The bird was in the driftwood, and I could clearly see its presence. After a dozen years visiting Ralph, purchasing many of his birds, watching him work and listening to his stories, I didn’t just believe him; I saw the bird before his finger touched the wood.
For forty years, with the assistance and fierce devotion of his wife, Winnie, Ralph Eyre found over 20,000 birds hiding in the driftwood roots of native Nova Scotia spruce, sumac, white cedar and barberry. I had the great fortune of interviewing Ralph and Winnie in 2002, their last year at the 100 acre farm outside Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. Winnie passed away in 2006 and Ralph followed in 2007 at the age of 90, but their legacy lives on.
Like living birds, no two of Ralph’s driftwood creatures are alike. “It’s nature’s way of imitating art. I just release them from the wood,” he said without pretension. Mounted on exquisite pieces of driftwood, they have found homes throughout North America, Europe, Japan, and “I know there are a few in Vietnam.” With no advertising, Ralph was living proof that it it’s good enough they will come. And they came back to the Eyre’s farm summer after summer, bringing friends, relatives and the friends of relatives. I know; I was one of them. I also know I’m not the only one who gave more as gifts than I kept.
Each bird began its life as a weathered piece of driftwood, 90% of which were tree roots. Ralph became fascinated with the intrinsic beauty of tree root driftwood in the late 1940’s while stationed in the Yukon. He observed the techniques and styles of several First Nation craftsmen. In the late 1950’s, while on a camping trip to Nova Scotia’s Lake Rossignol, Ralph was stunned by the quality and quantity of its driftwood. “It must have been stacked 20 to 30 feet tall on the shore.” While others were looking for First Nation artifacts, “I loaded my canoe. It must have looked like a crazy driftwood freighter.”
As Ralph and Winnie explained the process, I watched their eyes sparkle from both the pleasure they found in their work and the obvious love for each other – when Winnie passed away in 2006 they had just celebrated their 63rd wedding anniversary. Their tools and methods were simple. “I start with collecting tree roots that have been submerged in the lake maybe for 30 or 40 years. They’re dead but preserved. Many are riddled with worm holes. That gives them character and texture.” For at least a year hundreds of pieces lay on long wooden tables outside his workshop drying in the sun. He studied a seasoned piece of wood, discovered the bird and traced its outline using a black crayon. Depending on the size of the piece, he used a chain saw and/or hand axe to cut away the wood trapping the animal. A wood rasp and disk sander was applied to reveal its form. Winnie then joined the process by hand sanding, giving each piece a smoothness that rivals silk and highlighting the subtle shadings of color and grain unique to each piece of wood. After applying sanding sealer and roughing the surface slightly with steel wool, she used ordinary neutral Kiwi shoe polish that added a soft, rich glow. “No verithane,” Ralph said, “too glossy.”
Another piece of driftwood was carefully selected to provide the base. Nothing was altered on this piece, “I want a polished bird on a natural wood base. Maybe it’s a single bird resting, or ready to take off, or a family with the daddy bird off to the side protecting the mother as she looks at her eggs.” Eggs were beautifully painted nodules of sea kelp resting in a nest of hay in a natural hollow in the wood. “Selecting the right piece of wood for the base is important”, Ralph added, “It gives the bird a story.”
Stories were important to Ralph and Winnie. A back room of their barn/showroom was the “museum.” They discovered more than just birds in the wood. On one table was an exquisite driftwood shoe complete with the Old Women and all her children. Within a wire cage was a driftwood tree with dozens of swinging monkeys from its branches. A collection of mermaids and sea animals sun themselves on ocean worn rocks. An entire circus train with each wooden carriage containing animals is now part of the permanent folk art collection of the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia – the premiere museum in Halifax. None of these were ever for sale, but I knew more than one child that was gifted with a dinosaur or lizard while their parents perused the hundreds of birds on display.
Ralph’s vision didn’t stop at animals. He discovered the perfect piece of driftwood, weighted with just enough embedded rocks to make a fascinating lamp base. Or the correct oval piece, with a slight indentation, for a free form fruit bowl.
Their playfulness and joy in living makes using the term “National Treasure” trite, and they would have been embarrassed if I had insisted on that title. Yet the prices that they placed on their creations were an embarrassment. After 40 years (late 1950s – early 2000s) and 500 works of art per year, the average prices ranged from $10 to $25. On many occasions Ralph would tell me that few people would want to pay more for his simple birds. When I ask again, “Why do you sell the birds for so little?” Winnie jumped right in without hesitation and with genuine enthusiasm, “Because of all the people who come and visit us! We love the people. We get cards at Christmas from all over, and they come back and bring their friends. It’s just wonderful! They might not come back if we charge more.”
Many a business person would question this economic wisdom, but for Ralph and Winnie Eyre, they saw a treasure hiding in the driftwood that few people will ever discover – the secret to a life fulfilled through the sheer pleasure of following their passion.
The fire’s roaring in the kitchen of the 1696 Thomas Massey House, trying to take the chill out of the beautiful autumn morning in this 17th century stone house. Eight of us are gathered around a colonial cooking icon – Clarissa Dillon, Ph.D. I’ll refrain from using the word “legend” since I heard one well known Philadelphia chef recently reject that term when applied to him saying, “I can’t be a legend; I’m not dead yet.” Neither is Dr. Dillon, an octogenarian who next year on her annual trip to the British Isles will study whiskey distilling in Scotland.
Clarissa is one of the foremost authorities – and she’ll freely say still a “student”- of 18th century American Colonial cooking, farming, gardening and household activities. I’ll leave all the details to your exploration of her web site. Needless to say, she’s a stickler on authenticity – writing, editing and traveling extensively to get the facts and set the history books straight.
A life-long teacher, she conducts seminars, cooking and gardening classes at many 18th century historic homes that are the legacy of William Penn’s Pennsylvania colony – Pennsbury Manor, the Wyck and Morris Mansions, Pottsgrove Manor, Anselma Mills, Ephrata Cloister just to name a few.
On this Saturday morning we are learning about, and preparing, an autumn dinner on an open hearth using 18th century utensils with vegetables and herbs from the Massey House garden.
Stewed duck with bacon and veal forcemeat
It’s confusing at first when I hear the word “receipt” used instead of recipe, but our modern word is, well, 20th century. For years, receipt meant cooking preparation instructions as well as accounts, and even Dr. Dillion says it’s often confusing until she sees the actual document.
Colonial American receipts were, for the most part, English, which makes perfect sense. After all, we were English colonies with very English sensibilities. Catherine Brooks, The Complete English Cook, 1762, was one of the popular sources for Colonial kitchens.
Brooks’ receipt for Stewing Ducks Whole: (all receipts are written in 18th century format)
Draw your ducks (pluck the feathers, etc.) and wash them clean, then put them into a stew-pan, with strong Broth, Anchovy, Lemon-peel, whole Pepper, and Onion, Mace and red Wine; when well stewed, put one piece of butter and some grated bread to thicken it; lay force Meatballs and crisped bacon round them and garnish with Shallots.
To translate: for 8 servings – 2 to 3 whole ducks covered with water or chicken stock. Add 5 to 6 chopped anchovy filets, peel of one lemon, 12 – 15 whole pepper corns, and one large onion chopped, 1 t. ground mace, and 1-1/2 cups red wine. Simmer until ducks register 165 degrees with a meat thermometer. Remove the ducks from the stock and keep warm. Strain the stock. Skim as much fat as possible. (If you prepare in advance, refrigerate both the ducks and the stock overnight. All the duck fat will solidify on the top and you can simply remove it.) Return to the fire, or stove, and add 1 to 2 cups of bread crumbs and ¼ pound of butter. Simmer until thickened.
Anchovy fillets, and other small salted fish, had been used since pre-Roman days as a salt substitute. Until the 19th century, salt was an expensive item commonly used for food preservation, not in a bowl on the dining table unless you were very rich!
Catharine Brooks’ Veal Force-meat Balls:
Take half a pound of suet, as much veal cut fine, and beat them in a marble Mortar or wooden bowl; have a few sweet Herbs shred fine, and a little Mace dried and beat fine, a little lemon-peel cut very fine, a small Nutmeg grated, or half a large one, a little pepper and salt, and the Yolks of two eggs; mix all these well together, then roll them into little round balls, and some in long ones; roll them in flour, and fry them brown.
To translate: for 8 servings – I’d use 3/4th pound each suet and ground veal. Buy suet from a butcher or good grocery store (DO NOT use suet for birds!!!) and chop very fine in a food processor. Add 1t. crushed dried thyme, 1 T. fresh minced parsley, 1/2 t. nutmeg, ¼ t. mace, ½ t. grated fresh lemon peel, ¼ t. each salt and pepper and the egg yolks. Roll into balls and coat with flour or bread crumbs. Fry in butter.
Bacon: Cut half a pound of sliced bacon into thirds and fry until crisp.
Presentation: Arrange the ducks on a platter, arrange the meatballs and bacon around the ducks and sprinkle with 2 sliced shallots. Serve the gravy in a separate bowl.
In the 18th century, pies were generally thought of as savory dishes whether made from beef and kidneys or fruit. Ann Peckham’s 18th century Cranberry Pie was meant to be served as a side dish. As a counter point to the richness of the Duck dish, the tart cranberries and flakey crust were terrific. In the 18th century, the crust was frequently so thick it was not meant to be eaten. It served as the “dish” from which the filling was spooned out.
Ann Peckham’s Cranberry Tart:
Roll a sheet of tart paste, put it into your dish, boil up some cranberries with loaf sugar; when cold put them in, and trellis them over with the puff paste, cut a border out to lie round your dish, and bake it.
To make the paste for tarts: Take a pound of flour, and half a pound of butter, rub the butter into the flour, two eggs, and a little water, and make it into a paste.
To translate: Make the filling by combining 1-½ pounds of fresh cranberries and 1 to 1-½ pounds of sugar. Place on the fire, or the stove, and bring to a boil. Simmer for 10 to 15 minutes. Drain through a colander. (Reserve the liquid, if you wish, adding ½ to 1 pound more sugar. Bring to a boil until reduced by half, and you have a cranberry syrup to use on pancakes, etc.)
For the crust: Cut the butter into the flour either with two knives, a pastry blender or in a food processor. In the bowl, using clean hands, lightly rub the flour and butter together to coat the flour with the fat, BUT don’t knead it together like bread. The heat in your hands will melt the butter and toughen the dough. Add the eggs and combine with a fork. If the mixture is not combining into a ball sprinkle in a little ice cold water just until the dough forms. Roll out 2/3’s of the dough and line a deep pie pan. After the cranberries have cooled to room temperature, pour into the crust. With the remaining 1/3 of the crust, roll out and cut into strips making a lattice design on top of the pie. Place into an oven at 375 degrees for 45 minutes until the crust is golden brown.
If baking on an open fire, place the pie pan into a cast iron Dutch oven and cover with the lid. Place on the coals of the fire, or better, on a cast iron trivet above the fire, and cover the top of the lid with coals. Rotate the Dutch oven after 20 minutes. Check the pie after 40 minutes by removing the coals from the top of the lid and checking to see the color of the crust.
Serve the pie as a side dish to the duck.
Carrots are carrots and even in this very late October day, they were still fresh in the garden. Scorzonera though is something else and you’ll not find it in any market. You have to grow it yourself. Known in England as Viper grass, its root is the only edible part, but it’s a very thin root. After scraping the skin off, what you have are very thin pieces of a root vegetable which was fried or steamed and frequently cream and butter were added. Its flavor is akin to a mild carrot. In the 19th century it fell out of the general cooking repertoire and was replaced by parsnips. Since the amount was so small we simply added them to the carrots and simmerd both over the fire for about one hour.
Hard apple cider was the beverage of choice for the common English/Colonial person for most meals and the major reason for cultivating apple trees in the first place.
As delicious as this dinner was, more fascinating were the tidbits of knowledge I was able to absorb at this first class.
The green tops of the carrots were used as a wool dye. After boiling, the wool turns yellow.
Claret, a common wine in English receipts, is French Bordeaux.
Suet for all recipes is the thick layer of creamy white fat that cushions the kidneys.
Kitchen gardens were first created by the Dutch and not adopted in England until the 16th century, even then only the affluent had extra land around their houses for a garden. Most kitchen gardens were for medicinal purposes – sage, turnips and potatoes being among the many forms of produce used for medicine. The average person gathered wild herbs, green onions in the spring, nuts etc. for cooking until the 19th century.
American colonial cooking was not in any way influenced by the Native American diet – with the exception of common vegetables such as corn. Native Americans, considered savages, were ignored and condemned. John Bartram, the famous 18th century Philadelphia medicinal gardener grudgingly served as a go-between with the Onondaga in order to increase his knowledge.
The Colonial diet was as far from organic, vegetarian and low-fat as one can imagine. Human manure was commonly used as fertilizer. Meat was devoured especially in winter and copious amounts of fat were used in all dishes.
Cheese was a summer substitute for meat since cattle was not slaughtered until winter – they needed the summer to fatten. Cheese and butter were made in late spring and summer when the grass the cows were munching on were free from spring onions and other weeds that would taint the milk sour. Most cheeses were of the soft, fresh variety. Obviously the wealthy could afford to preserve or import high quality, and harder, English cheeses such as cheddar.
Because hearth cooking made it difficult to keep food hot while waiting for the remainder of the meal to cook, dishes were frequently eaten at room temperature which often does not detract from the flavors. All dishes would be placed on the table at once – even those deemed “sweets.”
A very wealthy household with many servants frequently served three courses with an average of 20 – 25 different dishes per course – “buffet style.” Meats, fish, seafood, vegetables, pies and puddings would all be part of each course. The first course would be “hardy” – beef, etc. Second course lighter – chicken, small birds, etc. The dessert course usually consisted of fresh and dried fruits, nuts and chocolate coated nuts.
Wine was made from everything including turnips and parsnips and brewing beer was part of every houshold and farm. “Fresh water” for drinking was an anomaly. Wherever there were towns and farms, lakes and streams were polluted with human and animal waste.
This is just the proverbial “tip of the ice berg” when it comes to my knowledge of 18th century food preparation, but it was sufficient to make me desire more!
The Thomas Massey House hosts authentic Colonial dinners, by candlelight, several times during the year, check their web site, and will host a Christmas house event on 11 December 2010 highlighting the food of the various ethnic groups that comprised Penn’s colony. Pat Martin is the very capable, and overly modest, chef of these dinners.
Oh…the church key. Clarissa said it soon will cease to be manufactured because few liquids these days are canned that necessitate the punch section of the opener. Except that in Colonial cooking, items such as canned milk are necessary. She urged that we all stock up on this simple and effective tool. Nothing, including Dr. Clarissa Dillon, ever loses its usefulness!
This is not what Marie Antoinette, the young ravishing French Queen had in mind when she spoke her famous “Let them eat cake” as Paris burned – or was that Nero in Rome? Doesn’t matter. “Cake” in the 18th century was the semi-charred bottom of a loaf of bread – at least the cook hoped it was only semi-charred – the result of thin sheet pans sitting directly on the hot bricks of a wood heated oven. The cook would slice off the charred bottom section and send the “upper crust” of the loaf to the dining table. The Queen was suggesting that the tens of thousands of bottom crusts – the cake – from the bread shops be distributed to the poor instead of going to the pigs…misinformation…it’s enough to make you lose your head.
The delectable 8″ lemon and raspberry cake, in the first photo, was purchased for $23.00 at the Night Kitchen, Chestnut Hill’s (Philadelphia) premier bakery, for my wife’s birthday. Prior to 1856, making such a cake would have cost dearly in real money, and it all had to do with the one simple ingredient of the egg white. Only rich households could afford the expensive sugar, flavorings and the hired help that would laboriously hand whip the egg whites in copper pans to produce the essential white foam required to help lift the batter into the light texture we so prize in a cake – not to mention getting the oven temperature correct. It took American ingenuity to bring this über luxury into the middle class home.
“An egg beater having a manually cranked drive wheel with opposed gear faces which are engaged by a pair of pinions keyed to the shafts of intermeshing beater elements whereby the turning wheel causes these elements to rotate in opposite directions.”
Why is this genius? What we take for granted as a simple device was, in reality, a seminal invention – a gear mechanism responsible for such essential tools as the hand drill for everyday home use, the oil drill exploring for “black gold” and the automobile transmission. But first it revolutionized the kitchen allowing for today’s bakeries, Dunkin Donuts and Mom’s birthday cakes for the children.
Ingenuity quickly ignited creativity with elegant cast iron designs – beautiful glass containers to prevent splatter, thin dashers allowing beaters to be inserted in jars and stands allowing them to stay up in a bowl. (Please click photos to enlarge.)
I was eleven years old when I graduated from box cake mixes and wanted to make real cakes. The dreaded egg whites where the killer. Coming from a family that enjoyed good food, at restaurants, but had no time for home cooking, it took a lot of trial and error before I mastered the technique.
To whip egg whites:
(1) always seperate cold eggs, dropping the white, one at a time, into a small bowl and putting the yolks into a seperate bowl.
(2) Check the white and make sure there is not even a speck of egg yolk in the white. Any yolk at all will cause the whites to fail. Transfer the whites, one at a time, to a clean, grease-free mixing bowl. Repeat this until you’ve seperated all the eggs.
(3) The egg whites must sit at room temperature for one hour – cold egg whites will not produce the necessary volume.
(4) Make sure the mixer’s dashers are grease free and clean. Whip at high speed until soft peaks form, hold but gently fold over as you lift the dashers. Do not over mix because the whites will become stiff and actually lose the essential air that’s been incorporated.
(5) If you are making a meringue, start adding the sugar once the whites begin to foam, but, sprinkle the sugar slowly as the whites are beating. Adding the sugar too fast will cause the whites to collapse.
My 140 egg beater collection (at current count) started some years ago. I always liked old tools, but it was an uncle that piqued my interest in the egg beater over 25 years ago when he gave me my first two antiques. Curiously the one on the left, above, is not based on the 1856 gear mechanism but rather the 3rd century Archimedes screw principle. This rare 1906 beater was considered by its inventor, George Flowers of Philadelphia, to be an improvement because of its lack of gears that could get out of alignment. In 1921 a patent was granted for a portable hand-held electric mixer. Hamilton Beach made the motor and Dormeyer marketed the beater. The motor housing detaches so the dashers can be washed. It still works fine.
Years later, as a Chef/Educator, student interest in old kitchen tools led me to explore antique markets, and ebay, where I discovered a new world – the enormous variety of eggbeaters, their ingenuity and fascinating industrial designs. From beating egg whites, inventors turned to simplifying other common kitchen tasks.
Heavy cream splatters when beating to create whipped cream. Although incorporating air into cream is necessary, it doesn’t require the volume traditional dashers provide. By the late 1800’s inventors were creating flat, horizontal dashers. The 1897 Lyon has a unique set of double dashers that rotate in opposing directions. The Dunlap Sanitary Silver Blade came with a dedicated ironstone bowl with an indentation that fit a tip on the blade’s bottom to keep the beater in place. Other designs were meant to fit into dedicated glass jars.
Everyone wants to avoid splattering their clothes. Putting a beater in a glass jar had been an idea since the 1880’s. Besides the rotary gear and the Archimedes slide screw, a basic spring coil that agitates the mixture is a common mechanism in many beaters. One ingenious device marries the Archimedes with a counter weight that spins a single dasher in continuous motion just like a child’s toy top – the 1939 Jiffy Mixer.
By the 1920’s, heavy cast iron egg beaters were losing their appeal. For a collector, the cast iron beaters are beautiful with elaborate and imaginative designs – the golden age. For the cook they were heavy, brittle and the gears needed constant lubrication and adjustment to stay aligned. By the early 20th century, tin and aluminum were replacing cast iron. Many tin beaters were inexpensive and flimsy – like early plastic – but the aluminum beaters were innovative, extremely light and high-end. Louis Ullman, New York City, patented his all aluminum American Beauty and created an instant success.
Clarence Elliott of Kansas City developed a high-end, sturdy beater sought after by collectors and known as “KC’s.” Inside the round dashers he placed additional round rings dubbed “soap bubbles” which aerated a mixture with great efficiency. His 1935 model with a folding side handle is a particularly nice design.
In the 1920’s less than 50% of the American population had electricity in their homes. Water powered glass jar eggbeaters were the high-end kitchen tool in these households. Operated by attaching a hose or tightening a faucet connection, water circulated through the cap turning the dashers – the water emptied down the tube. Even better for the thrifty farm cook, the mechanism attached to a standard one quart Ball canning jar.
Before 1860, making butter was a laborious process of aerating the cream by plunging a wood dasher up and down. The egg beater gear mechanism revolutionized butter allowing any kitchen to make fresh butter, and its accompanying butter milk, in “two minutes.” Actually, it took about five minutes when I use the 1914 Two Minute butter churn.
Mayonnaise has been a beloved sauce, especially in France and Spain, since the early 1700’s. Its preparation by hand, even today, requires patience, skill and time. Prior to the egg beater, the whole eggs had to be beaten with a whisk for a considerable amount of time while the oil was added drop by drop. Adding the oil too quickly – faster than a drop at a time – will cause the eggs to stay flat and thin because the oil will fail to bond with the yolk protein during aeration. Not only did the eggbeater lessen the hand drudgery, but the ingenious addition of an attached funnel allowed the cook to control the drops of oil by adjusting a valve.
The French created fanciful designs for their dashers, as evidenced by the above three egg beaters.
These Archimedes beaters, above, attest to both interesting designs and marketing. The second from the left, with the jar, is English, Horlick’s Malted Milk powder, created by the aristocratic Horlick brothers, but manufactured in Racine, Wisconsin for the American market. Their simple beater and jar, which included the mixing procedure, was frequently included for free when a customer purchased their first supply of powder.
Labor saving devices were the hallmark of the Industrial Revolution. The 1905 Universal Cake Mixer went one step further allowing the baker to combine all ingredients and gently fold the beaten egg whites into the batter.
The Yoder Food Mixer’s interchangeable dashers was revolutionary for a hand mixer. Its encased housing allowed easy lubrication of the gears providing, to this day, smooth operation for all mixing needs.
My two personal favorites are the Aureluis Brothers triple dasher and the Maynard Master Mixer. The triple dasher is the only one of its kind manufactured in the United States. Even though the Aureluis Brothers Co. of Braham, Minn., made many types of tools, it was Eugene Aureluis who became fascinated with the egg beater. From 1926 through 1949 he designed and manufactured 4 egg beaters that were built to last. Although the company no longer makes egg beaters, it is still in Braham and owned by the second generation of one of the company’s first employees.
The Maynard Manufacturing Co. of Glendale, CA, made some of the finest manual eggbeaters ever. Once more, they were like tanks and used state-of-the-art materials such as stainless steel and nylon. The gears were encased in hard plastic with a hole to add lubricating oil. The 1950 Master Mixer was based on a 1923 design. The dashers minimize splashing by using hard nylon plastic. The Master Mixer was awarded New York City’s Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) award for industrial design and is part of their permanent kitchen tool collection.
Oddly, the beater to the left looks similar to the Master Mixer, but it’s a cheap knockoff. Perhaps Maynard sold this design to Stanhome, Inc. of Westfield, MA. It’s a flimsy plastic version that was a house gift for a Stanley Hostess Party, a 1950’s “tupperware-like” house party event for kitchen and household products, in the days before Wal-Mart.
The Soviet dominated East German manufacturing industry was infamous for making shoddy products and the Gloria, (below left) is a prime example. Despite its similarity to the Maynard, the plastic housing encloses gears that rattle and the beater would definitely not last long under constant use. The thin wire squeeze whip on the right, below, is of unknown origin and, hopefully, few were ever manufactured.
Ron Propeil, founder of Ronco Industries, was a true American marketing genius. Following a long tradition of traveling salesmen and hawkers, he created the TV infomercial that is the solace of so many people awake at 3:00 a.m. Versions of his inexpensive inventions remain on the market today – the Veg-O-Matic, the Chop-O-Matic and the Whip-O-Matic. Combining inexpensive plastic, Hobart planetary dasher design and marketing chutzpah, Propeil launched an empire, created an entire advertising niche and earned a devoted following among collectors and consumers looking for cheap products.
The egg beater gear design advanced the modernization of equipment for many professions. The 1931 Whip-Mix Spatulator, was, as stated by its inventor, “For mixing compounds for the preparation of molds in dental castings.”
The first electric egg beater, meant for commercial baking, was granted a patent in 1885. It was a huge machine with a fan belt running from the motor to the gears that turned the dashers. Yet it was not long before the lure of electricity was pulling the affluent household away from the ingenuity and beauty of many hand beaters. An interesting 1930 example was the Bersted mixer. Mr. Bersted was infamous for purchasing profitable companies and eviscerating their tools turning them into cheap products. He would then sell the company before his scams caught on. The Eskimo Co. had a reputation for excellent electric fans. Bersted simply took the fan motor, added a handle and shaft with a blender blade and sold it as a milk shake mixer. Few of his “reinvented” companies survived after he bailed out with hefty profits.
Herbert Johnson, in 1908, revolutionized the electric egg beater through his invention of “planetary action” in which an individually rotating beater travels in one direction around the inside of a mixing bowl while the dasher revolves in the opposite direction resulting in superior mixing. Johnson envisioned that his mixer could accommodate a plethora of attachments from beater, whip, bread hook, meat grinder, juicer etc. – a total kitchen appliance. When the Hobart company began marketing the KitchenAid in 1916 it sold for the very high-end price of $189.50 ($2,400 in 2010 dollars.) Today, an average KitchenAid sells for less than $300.
The world of the eggbeater is vast and this article simply introduces the story. It revolutionized home and commercial baking. From the 16 1/2 inch cast iron Dover Mammoth 300, weighing 6 pounds, to the Taplin child’s toy beater, the Betty Taplin, weighing ounces, the eggbeater is a true American success story. My use of the word story is deliberate, because what is ingenuity but the personal stories of visionaries.
I am on the shore of Lago Buenos Aires, in front of a crackling fire on a beautiful autumn evening (late April) in Los Antiguos. At a southern latitude equal to Quebec City (Canada) in North America, it is 70 degrees one month into Argentina’s autumn, but the fire feels nice now that a breeze off the lake chills the air. After a 13-hour bus ride from El Chalten on Argentina’s legendary (mostly unpaved) Ruta 40, through the near-desert steppe of Patagonia, entering this oasis of alumina trees (cousin to poplar), cone laden pines and the startling blue of Lago Buenos Aires is surprising. It doesn’t matter what you read, reality is always more intense.
Los Antiguos is one of the lucky regions on Earth – a microclimate – those areas that possess an environment warmer than they deserve given their latitude and/or altitude. In Los Antiguos’ favor this means a rich agricultural area for fruit with dozens of profitable farms. Being on one of the nation’s most beautiful lakes, Lago Buenos Aires, certainly doesn’t hurt.
A mere 1-1/2 miles from the Chilean border, in the foothills of the Andes, at an altitude of 700 feet, Los Antiguos is the cherry growing capital of Argentina. In January they celebrate with the National Festival of the Cherry. In October, their cherry blossoms blanket this village of 2,500 people. In summer, the population swells filling the modest number of hosterias in town with visitors from Argentina and Europe but less than 1% from North America.
Having visited a number of beautiful Argentine towns, I am surprised that Los Antiguos isn’t more developed for tourism. I saw only a small number of lake-side summer homes and a half dozen nondescript hotels in town. The Hosteria Antiquo Patagonia is the only hotel on this vast lake, at the town’s entrance, but it’s a gem! There is only one road into the village from the closest larger town, Perito Merino, with bus service from Route 40 making it not as attractive to tourism. From mid-May through September (the Andean winter) nearly everything related to tourism closes. Yet its climate remains moderate with winter temperatures rarely falling below freezing and summer topping out at 80 degrees.
It’s a paradox because this is a retreat, but if it was more accessible it wouldn’t be a retreat. There are no dramatic mountains to trek and, although I’m told there are some good restaurants open in the summer season, what is available now is nothing to write about – decent but not exciting. Yet there’s a peace that I would seek if I were a busy Buenos Aires professional who desired a mid-winter escape in front of a crackling fire on a beautiful lake…but you know what’s said about having fantasies fulfilled.
From September through April, you can visit most of the farms, the “chacras,” but I had the great pleasure on this beautiful late April autumn day of having a personal tour of Chacra Don Neno.
Dona Malu Cienfuegos met me as I walked into her garden. She was not expecting me. She simply saw me from the glass wall of her kitchen where she was jarring one of her many creations from the fruits and vegetables she and her husband, Walter Treffinger, grow on their 15 acre farm. Dona Malu is the 4th generation of Cienfuegos’ to own and farm Chacra Don Neno.
I already knew that Chacra Don Neno was one of the few Los Antiguos farms that remained open all year for visitors to purchase products. Naturally, seeing that in the first month of autumn so much of Los Anteguos was closed for the season, I assumed Don Neno would be a tourist store with everything but “real” food.
Assumptions are made to be broken. Dona Malu’s store is a small structure stocked full of several dozen chutneys, jams, conserves, escabeches, honey and liquors. Many are old family recipes. Everything, down to the herbs that flavor these incredible creations, is grown on the farm.
I set aside 7 items – (1) Escabache of Mushrooms with onions, tomato, garlic, herbs, oil and vinegar, (2) olive spread, (3) preserved cherries, (4) Dona Malu’s grandfather’s cherry liquor, (5) calefate berries in gin, (6) a marmalade of tomatoes and walnuts and (7) a mixed berry jam (all for $35.00).
Dona Malu asked why is an American visiting Los Antiquos? I explained my mission and handed her my card. She immediately beckoned me out of the shop to her fields. With her English as basic as I knew Spanish we communicated on a food level just fine.
My first question was about pesticides. “NO!” was her strong response.Pesticides, fungicides and non-organic fertilizers are unnecessary in this microclimate and rarely used by any Argentine farmer. Particularly in this microclimate there simply are no pests. Water for the fields comes from the Rio Mayo that’s fed from the glacier water of Lago Buenos Aires through a system of irrigation canals.
In garden-like arrangements, Dona Malu showed me orchards of apple, cherry, apricot, figs, raspberries, strawberries, as well as Andean varieties that are cousins of these soft berries, quince, Andean melons, sweet and hot peppers, almond, hazelnut, rose hip, rosemary, basil, wormwood (the herb basic to vermouth), oregano, edible flowers, the plots for tomatoes, spinach, eggplant, onions, garlic and other vegetables, lavender, asparagus, anise, horseradish, grapes, fava beans, and thyme. All the plots are protected from any harsh winter winds by towering alumina trees, cousins to the poplar. Dona Malu cooks and jars her creations in a small, pristine kitchen with modern commercial equipment and showed me a new, larger kitchen facility under construction.
Organic is a word used for tourists; Argentines accept it as the norm.
We are driving on a sliver of land – a sand bar really – with the Atlantic Ocean and Sandy Hook Bay visible to our right and left. It’s a beautiful October day, breezy, bright sunshine, kite surfers in wetsuits and even one man swimming in a low 60 degree ocean. The beach is autumn empty, no crowds. The dune grasses glint golden in the sun. The leaves of low lying shrub plants are painting the seashore hues of red/purples and yellow/greens. Off in the distance, through a light haze the skyline of lower Manhattan, Staten Island, the Verrazano Bridge, Brooklyn and Rockaway Beach are all visible. Yet there are no “Mc Mansions”, or any beach house in sight for this is the protected land of Gateway National Recreation Area on the Sandy Hook.
Less than an hour drive from New York or a 40-minute high speed ferry ride from Wall Street, Sandy Hook has long been a playground for New Yorkers and Northern Jersyites. Yet only two-hours from Philadelphia, it remains a virtual unknown area for many Pennsylvanians (isn’t New Jersey from Atlantic City to Cape May?). The North Jersey coast is thick with forests, colonial villages, craggy cliffs and wide beaches.
Towards the end of the seven miles, Fort Hancock comes into view. From 1898 through the 1970’s the Hook was not always sparsely populated. During the Second World War, this end of the sand bar held a population of 20,000. Named in honor of civil war General Winfield Scott Hancock, construction on the Fort started the same year as the Spanish-American War (1898) and America’s acquisition of an overseas empire. The fort is a sprawling complex of handsome Colonial Revival buildings constructed from distinctive, local pale yellow bricks. It was a small town from the beginning with a theater, recreation facilities, clubs, church and, of course, housing. Enlisted men lived in large barracks, but married officers enjoyed spacious houses.
Officers Rowconsists of 18 waterfront houses ranging in size from 5,000 to 6,500 square feet. They were built at a cost of over $8,500 each in 1898 ($250,000 in 2010 dollars) with all the modern and decorative features of the day including fireplaces faced with tiles from Portugal. One – History House – is fully restored and furnished to reflect the life of an officer’s family during the Second World War years of the 1940’s. Excellent weekend tours are conducted by volunteers from 1:00 – 5:00 PM.
Naturally I found the kitchen interesting. An original Frigidaire refrigerator and Kelvinator stove are in working order allowing History House to host receptions utilizing this spacious kitchen. A walk through pantry connected the kitchen to the dining room. A unique item is the dining room’s steam radiator that was constructed with a food warmer top section! A servant’s staircase just off the hallway outside the kitchen attests to an era when the middle/upper middle class could afford hired help.
Unfortunately, due to lack of funding, most of the remaining houses have fallen into disrepair and face an uncertain future. It’s ironic that these solid yet graceful structures with their stunning views of Sandy Hook Bay would be worth millions anywhere else on the Jersey shore.
Many structures within the Fort serve the National Park’s work in administering the Sandy Hook seashore, historic lighthouses, some staff housing, as well as offices for NOAA (National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration). Fort Hancock is also home to the Marine Academy of Science and Technology, a four year high school operated by Monmouth County Vocational School District.
Yet walking the grounds past abandoned houses in the quiet of an autumn day is a melancholy experience. I have no idea if ghosts exist, but I can imagine they might, given the colorful history of Sandy Hook. Its lighthouses protected New York harbor from its earliest days in the 18th century both in war and peace. The Hook and protective cliffs of the Highlands harbored both busy commercial and fishing fleets as well as pirates and smugglers right through the Prohibition years of the 1920’s and 30’s. High up on the Highlands stands a unique 1862 “castle”, the Twin Lights of Navesink, a national historic site under the state park system. The lights no longer function but provide a commanding view. There is a nice museum, picnic tables and it’s possible to climb to the top of the north lighthouse. An 18th century cannon, found on the grounds, attests to the hill’s use by pirates as well as during the American Revolution – although that time it was loyalists protecting the British occupation of New York City.
The town of Highlands is an affluent community with a bustling harbor front still devoted to fishing, although today the fleet is more pleasure craft than commercial. It’s not all gentrified either with the harbor lined by a jumble of businesses, restaurants of different types and modest houses.
Two of the dozen or so restaurants stand out. Doris & Ed’s serves elegant seafood dishes in a relaxed atmosphere with beautiful bay views in a renovated 19th century former hotel. It is well established after over 30 years, but its preparations, presentations and quality remain high and have not gone stale by success. Prices are high, but fair, with lunch/dinner for two with wine/drinks easily in the $125 – $150 range. The Windansea is an equally good choice with great bay views and an even more relaxed environment. It has a dock right in front allowing boaters to tie up and walk right to the restaurant. In the summer there’s a lively outdoor bar/dining area. Preparations, presentations and quality are nearly as high as Doris and Ed’s but the prices are less expensive. Lunch/dinner for two with wine/drinks will run in the $50 – $85 range. For lunch we had Fish Tacos topped with a good salsa and Tilapia Francaise that was lightly battered with a flavorful lemon wine sauce. Both entrees came with a nicely seasoned rice pilaf. A salad of spring greens, walnuts, dried cranberries and crumbled blue cheese was generous and dressed with good balsamic vinaigrette. Both establishments serve only fresh fish and seafood – never frozen – and do offer meat dishes as well.
Unlike the beach towns of South Jersey, North Jersey doesn’t close up during the off-season. Its proximity to New York has ensured year round life and a permanent population the southern towns don’t enjoy. So, Philadelphians, get out and discover beautiful, vibrant, peaceful destinations a mere 1- ½ to 2 hours from your driveway.
I didn’t say that. It came from a Facebook exchange…no more explanation. Yet it got me thinking about this ubiquitous American “food” and the human love for cheese.
There are thousands of cheese varieties on Earth – that’s no exaggeration. France alone certifies over 400 different cheeses. We’ve been making cheese for at least 10,000 years and I’m sure a simple search will produce just as many recipes. Cheese turns highly perishable milk from cows, goats, sheep and buffalo (I’m sure there must be a few other animals…koala?) into products that are preserved for years.
We love its creamy texture, ok parmesan isn’t creamy. If most fastidious, ultra sanitized Americans actually knew what went into cheese over the centuries it most likely would cause the industry’s total collapse, so let’s just make ignorance bliss. Needless to say, we spend billions of dollars on cheeses each year.
Then why in 1911 would a Swiss, Walter Gerber, apply science to create a food – processed cheese? Perhaps Michigan State University has the answer.
“Processed cheese is made from natural cheeses that may vary in degree of sharpness of flavor. Natural cheeses are shredded and heated to a molten mass. The molten mass of protein, water and oil is emulsified during heating with suitable emulsifying salts to produce a stable oil-in-water emulsion. Depending on the desired end use, the melted mixture is then reformed and packaged into blocks, or as slices, or into tubs or jars. Processed cheeses typically cost less than natural cheeses; they have longer shelf-life, and provide for unlimited variety of products.”https://www.msu.edu/~mdr/vol14no2/ustunol.html
Basically if you can make it, why not? Yet it took American marketing savvy to change the perception of cheese for generations of kids. James Kraft was granted a patent for the process in 1916, and in 1927 he purchased the recipe for Velveeta, a cheap and easy food that brought comfort to many during the austere days of the Great Depression. The early 1950’s brought a real revolution with the invention of Cheez Whiz and sliced American Cheese. Processed cheese entered middle class bridge and dinner parties throughout the post-war suburban boom, not to mention millions of lunch boxes.
Yet it wouldn’t be long before science did it again with the 1966 introduction by Nabisco of Snack Mate, Cheez Whiz in an aerosol can (and Spain’s Ferran Adria thought he invented molecular gastronomy). After Nabisco’s merger with Kraft we know this gourmet item as Easy Cheese. (I once had a catering client specifically ask for Easy Cheese on crackers as hors d’oeuvres).
Processed cheese, especially Cheez Whiz, has a fiercely loyal following. Here in Philadelphia there is no more evidence than two monumental debates (1) who invented the Philly Cheese Steak, and (2) is it best with provolone, American Cheese slices or Cheez Whiz. Both Cheez Whiz and Pat’s Steaks seem to win, but please, if you disagree – meaning you buy from his relatives that own Gino’s Steaks across the street, don’t put a contract out on me…
Here’s the recipe for 4 servings from Philadelphia’s Pat’s King of Steaks, 1237 E. Passyunk Ave
Philadelphia, PA 19147-5060 (215) 468-1547
Prep Time: 8 minutes
Cook Time: 8 minutes
Total Time: 16 minutes
32 oz. thin sliced rib eye or eye roll steak
6 T soya bean oil
Cheez Whiz, recommended
4 crusty Italian rolls
1 large Spanish onion
Optional: sweet green and red peppers sautéed in oil
Optional: mushrooms sautéed in oil
Heat an iron skillet or a non-stick pan over medium heat. Add 3 tablespoons of oil to the pan and sauté the onions to desired doneness. Remove the onions, then add the remaining oil and sauté the slices of meat quickly on both sides.
While the meat is cooking, melt the Cheez Whiz® in a double boiler or in the microwave. Once the meat is done, place 8 oz. of the meat into the rolls. Add onions, and pour the Cheez Whiz® over top. Garnish with hot or fried sweet peppers, mushrooms and ketchup.
It’s not just Americans that like processed cheese, even the French have The Laughing Cow!
In Canada, Quebec did not create a distinctive processed cheese but came close. Poutine has become a beloved national dish that I have never been able to bring myself to eat. Poutine is traditionally a combination of fresh cheese curds, a light gravy made from chicken, veal or turkey stock poured over hot French fries. What are cheese curds? At the very start of making natural cheese, rennet is combined with warm milk and allowed to rest. Shortly, the milk solids separate from the whey. Those milk solids are the curds. The average person would be most familiar with fresh curds when eating dry cottage cheese or mozzarella. In Canada, fresh packaged cheese curds are available in many grocery stores. For me, it’s the gravy part of poutine that puts me off. So if you want to make poutine, put fresh, hot French fries on a plate, top with the fresh curds and then the hot gravy. Serve immediately.
Whatever you do, please do not put any of this on George Washington’s favorite dessert: (I think it may be a federal crime…)
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup molasses 1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup buttermilk 1 teaspoon ginger
1/2 cup sugar 1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 cup softened butter 1/2 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 325 F. Grease and flour 9″ square baking pan.
Into large bowl, measure all ingredients except powdered sugar.
With mixer at low speed, beat until blended, constantly scraping bowl. Increase speed to medium and continue beating for 3 minutes.
Pour batter into pan and bake 1 hour or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool completely on wire rack. Sprinkle top with powdered sugar.
Too many people over cook vegetables to death leaching out all the sweetness. Many green vegetables, especially the cabbage, contain an element (glucosinolate sinigrin) that will remain no matter how long you kill them by overcooking. That element gives off the sulfurous taste and smell that most people hate when it comes to the cabbage family. Yet why do people love raw cabbage in slaws? No one has ruined it by over cooking and releasing the glucosinolate sinigrin.
Like most vegetables, Brussels Sprouts have been cultivated for thousands of years but received their current name due to increased popularity during the 16th century in the low countries of Belgium and the Netherlands. Loaded with vitamins and minerals, they make an excellent side dish with hearty red meats or pork. My wife created the following recipe that is our favorite preparation for this excellent Autumn and Winter vegetable.
Brussels Sprouts with Tamari Sauce – 2 to 3 servings
12 to 15 large, fresh Brussels Sprouts
1 teaspoon pealed fresh minced ginger
1 teaspoon minced fresh garlic
1 tablespoon minced fresh onion
2 tablespoons butter
2 to 3 tablespoons Tamari sauce – available in any grocery store’s Asian section.
Fresh ground pepper
(1) Place Brussels Sprouts in a single layer in a sauté pan and add an inch or so of cold water – do not cover the sprouts with water. Cover and bring to a rapid boil on high heat. Steam for no more than 5 minutes – they should not be fork tender.
(2) Drain the sprouts and reserve.
(3) Melt the butter in the pan and add the ginger, garlic and onion. Gently cook for only a few minutes until onion is soft.
(4) Add the Brussels Sprouts and Tamari Sauce and toss to coat well. Gently cook for 2 to 3 minutes, add fresh pepper to taste and serve immediately.
Just about anyone who lives in Philadelphia’s suburban counties knows about Peddlers Village, the faux colonial “town” of high-end shops and restaurants near the real historic colonial town of New Hope, in Pennsylvania’s Bucks County. Peddlers Village is well-known for its seasonal decorations and a nice diversion to walk around with the family. Currently the village has an interesting display of scarecrows. My favorite is the “deer in the headlights.”
The Cock n’ Bull Restaurant has never had a reputation for fine dining, although the interior is well decorated with colonial antiques, an impressive fireplace in the lobby and glass walls that overlook the village landscaping. The menu is predictable American fare. They do offer special menus and events during the year – colonial dinners, etc. – that can make the dining experience enjoyable. I have had the opportunity to eat at the Cock n’ Bull on various occasions and, although never wowed, I was not disappointed. Until yesterday at lunch.
I had never eaten lunch at Cock n’ Bull before and never will again. After a 30 minute wait for a table, at 1:30 PM, my wife, mother-in-law and I were seated. I saw why everyone in the lobby was waiting the same 30 minutes. Only one of the three dining rooms was open – less than 1/3rd of the seating capacity. Only a few wait staff was working this one dining room. I’ve been in the business long enough to know this was a simple, and unacceptable, “cost saving” for the restaurant – squeeze maximum profit out of each table no matter how inconvenient it is for the customer.
The menu was heavy on carbohydrates. I had what was described as a “Chicken Bruschetta Wrap.” It was sliced chicken lunch meat with chopped lettuce and tomato – no seasoning whatsoever. My wife had a “Chicken Pot Pie” that consisted of a couple chunks of chicken, a few peas and carrots, lots of canned gravy and a thick bread topping. My mother-in-law, not a big eater, had an appetizer of warm brie wrapped in puff pastry (the menu said Phylo dough, but it was puff pastry). It was drizzled in an overly sweet raspberry sauce and served with walnuts and crackers (crackers and puff pastry??). We did share the only good part of the meal, a slice of warm Pecan Pie with ice cream – I’m going to assume Cock n’ Bull didn’t make the pie. This lunch for the three of us cost nearly $50.00.
Peddlers Village does have some impressive, if expensive, shops. I was particularly taken with the Artisans Gallery that featured exquisite glass art, which, considering, was well priced in the $100 range.
I have two reasons to travel: explore and eat. I can accomplish this goal in my own hometown or 14,000’ in the Andes. Add an interesting dish or a great market, an elegant restaurant or a hot plate in a hostel and I’m the proverbial happy traveler.
I’ve had the opportunity to explore Houston airport (George Bush Intercontinental) over a dozen times in the past couple of years making flight connections. Airport food, in general, is barely a cut above airline food and it’s over-priced. Yet occasionally there is a surprise. Pappadeaux, on concourse E, although part of a corporate chain, does manage to present Cajun/Louisiana style food that even my New Orleans born wife thinks is pretty good. In the past I’ve sampled lots on their menu including good Asian sushi type rolls, burgers and imaginative entrée salads. Portions are generous, the atmosphere is congenial – you forget you’re in an airport – and it has a lively bar scene. On my last visit just a few weeks ago, I had three sautéed soft shell crabs on a large bed of dirty rice. I’d never had dirty rice before and it was a nice combination of nutty/spicy, although my wife said it could have been more seasoned, but this is Cajun/Louisiana for the general public. My wife’s crab cakes were all crab held together with a crisp coating that had been lightly sautéed. The crab flavor was fresh, but we both agreed they lacked any distinctive seasoning (and she makes excellent Cajun crab cakes). It was served on top of an odd lemon white wine sauce with small crawfish that did not add to the dish, especially since it was served with shoestring potatoes – an odd choice. Dirty Rice would have been a more appropriate accompaniment, with or without the sauce, and it would have been interesting if the crawfish had been in the crab cakes. We shared Pappadeaux’s excellent version of a lettuce wedge salad with blue cheese and it definitely was a major improvement for this ubiquitous American favorite. A generous wedge of iceberg was smothered with sliced yellow and orange sweet peppers, scallions, crisp smoky bacon, chopped tomatoes and crumbled blue cheese. The entrees were in the $18.00 range and the salad was $9.00. I’ll be back in Houston airport in the near future and will return to Pappadeaux.
Seattle has no shortage of fresh ingredients, from its fruits and produce to the incomparable oysters of the Northwest Pacific Coast. Pike Place Market is a symbol of the region’s bounty and its dependence on the Japanese Americans who have grown its products and sell at the market. A sobering experience is both seeing the mural painted in their honor and the plaque that restates the infamous, and racist, Federal order of 1942 stripping all Japanese Americans of their civil rights, property and herding them into concentration camps for the next four years – a disaster for both the nation and the Market. Rapidly recovering after the war, Pike Place Market thrives on both abundant tourism and copious patronage by Seattle natives. (See my blog Seattle: Just a Tease).
Pear Delicatessen & Shoppe, 1926 Pike Place, is just opposite the Market. It’s a combination deli and gourmet shop. Every day it prepares superb, imaginative hot and cold sandwiches and salads for take-out and eat-in. Both sandwiches (click to enlarge collage and read the menu description) were excellent, and I’d return to have them again. Sitting at the counter looking out onto the constantly changing tableau on the street was great entertainment.
At first when I heard of Elliott’s Oyster House Pier 56 I thought “tourist trap” because despite my weakness for dining with a water view, I’m frequently disappointed with both the quality and prices of such establishments. Yet Seattle seems to be an anomaly. Not only is the waterfront a major tourist attraction, but like Pike Place Market, the waterfront and Elliott’s are a beloved gathering place for all Seattle age groups. Elliott’s not only has stunning views of Puget Sound but moderate prices and excellent fish and seafood. We ate twice and would come back for more, especially for the incomparable Monday through Friday Oyster Happy Hours (hours is correct: 3:00 – 6:00 PM). I am an oyster freak – raw, steamed, and baked – and Elliott’s features over one dozen varieties of Pacific Coast oysters each day depending on the catch. Beginning at 3:00 PM, the Chef chooses the variety of the day. Each person may order one dozen – or a maximum of three dozen per table – each half hour. The oysters come beautifully displayed on mounds of shaved ice with lemons and cocktail sauce. From 3:00 to 3:30 the price is $.50 per oyster! Each half hour until 5:30 the price increases only $.25/per to a maximum of $1.75 an oyster – still on an average $.25 less than normal Seattle restaurant cost.
When I heard of Elliott’s system, I devised a strategy that proved successful. I figured any deal like this at a very popular restaurant had to be sought after. We decided to arrive around 2:00 to have a late but light lunch. At that time, the dining area was two-thirds full. For $7.00 per person, I had a generous bowl of New England clam chowder, full of clams, thick with cream and the aroma of good smoky bacon. My wife had an equally flavorful bowl of seafood chowder. Both chowders came with Caesar salads. By 3:00 PM there was a waiting line outside the restaurant with all the outside/dockside tables full plus the bar. We remained until 5:00 enjoying a dinner of three dozen briny, ice cold raw oysters – all for a total price for the oysters of $21.00. A Happy Hour drink menu did have reduced price mixed drinks, beer and wines from their extensive bar, but the star drink was their signature, the Oyster Shooter. It’s an inspired variation on the Bloody Mary. In a double shot glass is peppered vodka, their fresh tomato Bloody Mary mix and one raw oyster – at $3.00 it’s so good, it’s dangerous.
New York City is considered to be the “capital” of many things in America including the food industry, and like most superlatives, it simply is not true. Having lived less than 90 miles from Manhattan most of my life, I have had just as many disappointing and over-priced restaurant meals in New York as I’ve had at interstate rest stops. There are always those finds when one explores. In the past few years I have discovered the neighborhood of Little Brazil in Mid-town Manhattan next to the Diamond District. After three dinners, where I’ve never been disappointed with either the atmosphere, quality of food or the price, Ipanema Restaurant is a true find. Brazilian cuisine, like Argentine, is heavy on beef – lean, tender aged cuts – grilled to perfection and seasoned with the classicChimichurri Sauce. River and ocean fish – trout, monk and cod – along with chicken are well featured. My wife had a tender breast of chicken smothered in stewed tropical fruits with creamy whipped potates. Side dishes include superb steamed collard greens, rice and beans and home-made lightly fried potato rounds. Prices are moderate – entrees in the $18.00 range – service friendly and professional and you will hear more Portuguese and Spanish spoken than English – always a good sign that the restaurant cooks authentic cuisine.
Philadelphia, my home city, was a culinary desert when I was growing up in the 1950’s and 60’s. Known for “rolling up the sidewalks” at 7:00 PM, Blue Laws that closed most restaurants on Sundays and overcooked vegetables, meat and potatoes. Everything changed in the mid-1970’s. A new generation of trained chefs tapped into a new generation of worldy clientele and the Philadelphia Restaurant Rennaisance was underway. Today it is difficult to get a bad meal – cheesesteaks are upscaled. Even ethnic restaurants delve deeper into their native cuisines to present the diner with authentic dishes. Rarely though does a dinner have the opportunity to participate in a 20 course Chinese banquet. Every first Monday of the month, the Philadelpia location at 108 Chestnut Street of Han Dynsty Restaurant does exactly that – and for $25.00 per person!
Before you reach for the phone, as of last week they had a few seats, of the 70 reservation maximum for each banquet, available for February 2011. It is worth the wait.
Han Dynasty Restaurant presents a Chinese “tasting menu” for 70 people (one sitting at 7:00 PM) but after 20 satisfying (aka: filling) courses I call this a banquet. The 20 Dishes span Chinese cuisine with nearly half containing an amount of hot peppers many Americans may not prefer. Yet keep two points in mind: (1) many of the tiny red peppers are whole and can be removed – some dishes are in sauces and you cannot, (2) the bowl or platter of food is served communally, the 70 diners are seated at group tables, so each diner controls their own portion size, (3) There are an equal number of soothing, non-pepper dishes. The structure of the 20 courses involves meat, poultry, fish, noodles, rice, spices, hot, cold, and vegetable – in small portions. That is the cultural ideal of a Chinese Banquet – the four elements (earth, fire, wind, water) and Han Dynasty achieves this goal. There is no set menu for the dinner, it changes each month and you’re going to know when it’s placed in front of you – be open to an adventure, and some noise since the downstairs room gets crowded.
I do have three recommendations for the excellent chef to take the expertise to a vaulted level: (1) each hot pepper dish should be followed by one without hot peppers, (2) even though it may raise the cost, the diners’ plates should be refreshed a few times during the dinner to exclude blending of previous flavors onto the next superb dish; and instead of fish for a final course (3) there should have been some dessert (sweet element) preferably chilled.
Han’s regular dining room menu is just as imaginative having eaten there previously, but the “tasting menu” is a true experience well worth the wait for a reservation. (BYOB, $25/person not including tip).
There is a small town on the Pacific Rim set within spectacular scenery – snow-capped mountains with glaciers streaming down to the ocean, thickly forested mountains, houses rising up the hill sides and 40 miles of paved road. There is no way out of this small town except to take a plane, boat or hike. The closest overland connection to the rest of the continent is hundreds of miles away. This must be a small town in a very remote area? It is – it’s the capital of Alaska, Juneau.
If Alaska was an independent nation – sorry AIP it’s unlikely – it would be the 17th largest in the world, but with less than 700,000 residents it would be one of the least populated on Earth (1 person per square mile). If you want to drive to Alaska from the lower 48, you will start at the Canadian border just south of Vancouver and travel over 1,700 miles through Canada’s British Columbia and the Yukon to Skagway at the northern end of the Inside Passage – same starting point for the Yukon Gold Rush of 1897-1899. To Anchorage it’s another 800 miles.
I had never taken a cruise. I had never wanted to take a cruise for the same reason that I have never wanted to stay in an all-inclusive resort. Not that I don’t enjoy luxury with all the pampering that goes with that experience, but travel for me is discovery. I want to walk and explore. Six hours in port is not exploring, unless the port happens to be no larger than the suburban towns in which many middle class Americans live – Juneau, Sitka and Ketchikan fit the bill.
Yet I knew that if I wanted to experience the breathtaking beauty of Alaska’s Inside Passage I had few choices – travel by floatplane, fishing boat, the Alaska ferry service or take a cruise. Frankly, the cruise was the least expensive – if less adventurous – mode.
Holland America Line’s Rotterdam is the sixth in an over century long line of flagships designed for trans-ocean travel. It’s not a mega-ship holding just 1300 passengers. Its Dutch officers and Indonesian/Philippine crew are superb with a terrific sense of humor (I now must visit Indonesia!). Passenger demographics cover a wide cross section of society and the world but basically fall into two categories: those interested in travel and those interested in consuming enormous quantities of food, drink and bingo.
A passenger can eat 24-hours a day (I am not exaggerating), and fortunately there are many venues where fine food with sensible portions are available. The Lido buffet was not one of those venues. Upon boarding the ship in Seattle, lunch was available only at the buffet. My first experience watching a woman in front of me eating from her plate, on the line, while waiting for the next plate was enough. The La Fontaine main dining room was spacious with both excellent service and sensible portions with imaginative menus – grilled quail, lamb chops, and ethnic breakfast items. The premium Pinnacle Grill ($20/per person surcharge for dinner) was elegant but a 22 oz. (size was not indicated on the menu) aged steak was overcooked and absurdly large. Twenty-four hour room service, a pizza parlor and an all day taco buffet – as well as many drink bars – were all available. Passenger behavior on the ship ran the social scale as well – from T-shirts and shorts in the dining room at night, propping bare feet on polished tables in the lounges, complaining about the Indonesian/Philippine accents, to appropriately dressed and behaved people enjoying the stunning scenery, the library and the many cultural opportunities Holland America provided. I believe there is a “time and a place for everything” but watching some passengers act out “The Jersey Shore” does not make me comfortable.
Shopping is another issue. It’s endemic both on and off the ship with too many passengers. I lived in the Caribbean for nine years in the late 1970’s and 80’s. I became well aware that the waterfronts of most otherwise beautiful Caribbean ports were identical – the same jewelry, souvenir, clothing stores and themed restaurant/bars no matter the island. I was surprised, perhaps naïvely, to find the same stores (literally still some of the same companies) lining the ports of Juneau, Sitka and Ketchikan. Six hours in a port is just about enough time for the average shopaholic. I was told by a number of independent tour guides that cruise lines either own the companies or receive significant royalties on sales. I was also told that with the excpetion of the capital, the port cities literally close up between October to May! (What to people do for a living??)
Profits also flow to the cruise lines through excessively expensive excursions – from $400/person helicopter flyovers of glaciers to $55 bus trips to areas within a few miles of dock – the public transportation to the same areas cost a couple of bucks.
Once I learned to ignore boorish behavior and excessive marketing, enjoying the unique beauty of Alaska’s Inside Passage and its villages – hardly cities – dominated my mind as the reason for the cruise. Juneau (31,000), Sitka (8,900) and Ketchikan (7,400) have a rough and tumble history worthy of a frontier – Juneau being the state capital still has a “rough and tumble” present… Cars, especially trucks and SUV’s, choked the streets even though each town has an average of 30 miles of paved roads – and not that many unpaved ones either. I was reminded that several years ago there was significant national controversy over the “Bridge to nowhere.” That happened to be the proposed Gravina Island Bridge that would connect Ketchikan to Gravina Island – which contains the Ketchikan International Airport – much safer than Juneau’s which has been cited as one of the ten most dangerous on Earth (jets take off and land facing a mountain that’s way too close!) I guess any bridge would be to “nowhere” unless it happens to take you home, or to the only airport, without taking the heavily subsidized Alaskan ferry service – but, what do you want, that’s politics. Each of these three towns has several ultra-modern bridges connecting the main town to what seems to the casual tourist to be “nowhere” – forested mountains – obviously this one was just another political football.
Juneau has one reason to visit – I’m ignoring the shopping or the incongruous Victorian wooden Governor’s Mansion – and that’s taking the Mt. Roberts Tramway up 2,000 feet ($27.00/round trip) to learn about the slaughter of Alaska’s Eagles and see an informative film. The Raptor Center is a non-profit organization dedicated to rescuing as many as possible of the over 100,000 Alaskan Bald Eagles that are shot for sport by Alaskans every year (interestingly Alaska tourism does not like this getting out – I was told this information by a volunteer at the Raptor Center. The tourism office wants you to believe they were hit by cars…?). Several miles out of town (a $6.00 public bus ride rather than the “many times more” cruise excursion) is the rapidly retreating Mendenhall Glacier – fortunately there are still 100,000 Alaskan glaciers, not all retreating. If you’re never going to see a glacier again in your life, it’s worth a visit to this very small example. (I do not understand why the National Park Service charges admission to the Visitor’s Center?).
Sitka has a bit more history having been the capital of the Russian Empire’s Alaskan territory until its sale to the USA in the 1870’s. Same shopping, but it has a lovely waterfront park walkway that takes a visitor to the National Park Service owned early 19th century Russian Orthodox Bishop’s residence, and you can continue to walk or ride an inexpensive public bus to the Sheldon Jackson Museum – stunning collection of Tlingit art – and the Sitka National Historical Park with its excellent film, exhibits of North Coast art and history, Totem park walk and beach site of the 1804 victory by the Tlingit’s over the Russian invaders.
Unique in Alaska is the presence of a considerable number of Russian descendants of the original settlers that form the congregation of the all wooden St. Michael’s Cathedral. Now don’t think “cathedral = large.” St’ Michael’s is not only very modest in size, but the current building is a reconstruction after the great Sitka fire of 1966 that destroyed much of the town. Miraculously, Sitka residents rescued all but one of the priceless 19th century Russian Orthodox art objects – including decorated doors and panels – before the church was consumed by flames. Across the street is the very simple, and equally old, Lutheran Church which was burned three times before reconstructed in concrete.
Ketchikan is interesting in two aspects: Alaska’s most famous and former, Red Light District, and Saxman village – the heart of the Tlingit totem pole art revival. As a rough and tumble fishing port, Ketchikan was known for over a century as the place where both “salmon and fishermen came to spawn.” Creek Street Historic District (the old Red Light district is an elevated series of 19th century and early 20th century wooden structures of tourist oriented stores and excellent, but very expensive, art galleries as well as the Dolly House Museum dedicated to its own history and honoring the “working girl.” The policeman’s ball sign in the collage is accurate. Saxman village, a couple miles out of town by public bus, is dedicated to the art of the totem. Mistakenly, and tragically, identified by Christian missionaries as “pagan idols,” these monumental visual genealogies and historical essays – in cultures without written languages – survive only 100 years on average in the very humid environment of the North Pacific Coast Rain Forest. Antique survivors are in museums only. The continuation of the totem tradition is both inspiring and maintains Native humor as well.
Floating slowly past pristine landscapes is the reason to take a cruise along Alaska’s Inside Passage. Having seen and walked quite close to glaciers in the Andes Mountains, I was surprised that a ship as large as the Rotterdam could sail within ½ mile of the vast Hubbard Glacier – still growing. Running commentary by both National Park Service rangers and Tlingit elders made the cruising tour the highlight of the trip!
After several hours of observation, the ship turned away from the glacier and I entered one of its hot tubs. I must admit, sitting in a hot tub, with a chilly breeze on my head swirling the hot steam while the Hubbard Glacier retreated in the background seemed a perfectly normal justification for luxuriating in total sensual decadence.