Oysters, Scallops, Octopus, Lobster, Black Bass, Monkfish

That's what we feasted on last night at Le Bernadin. Known for its inventive fish preparations, fine service, and exquisite prices, the restaurant holds a special significance for us. It was the site of our 3rd anniversary dinner many moons ago.

We had a reservation last summer on our anniversary but it was canceled due to a power outage at the restaurant. We went somewhere else instead. A recent confluence of celebratory events worth spending a little cash for encouraged me to make a reservation at Le Bernadin. If I wanted to dine there before my next anniversary, however, I'd have to wait months for a weekend spot. I took a Monday evening instead, only 3 weeks in advance.

When we arrived, the Maitre 'D welcomed us and referred to our canceled reservation. When we sat down, we were offered reparatory glasses of champagne. After taking a course on how to order from the prix fixe menus, we requested our signature cocktails, which were made perfectly according to our elaborate instructions. The waiter brought over the bread basket which offered a choice of 6 different items. I just wanted something to put the butter on. I just wanted to eat the butter, likely produced by the happiest cow in the French countryside. The first course was raw. Marty had oysters with 6 levels of spice and I had sea scallops in a tangy emulsion of I forget. The barely cooked second course was fried octopus for Marty in a sauce so complex you need several high degrees to understand it. I had plain old lobster medallions with hearts of palm and a citrus sauce. Marty chose the crispy black bass for his main course. I had the monkfish. At this point we were so blissful, we could have been served a can of Fancy Feast and been delighted. I almost forgot: Marty had a glass of red with his dinner and I had white, I believe a chardonnay.

Dessert was small and rich. Marty had the coffee construction carefully built from 4 or 5 coffee-flavored components. It was a work of art that tasted good, too. I had the chocolate peanut tart with a tiny scoop of lemony ice cream. The waiter brought us a lemon tart with "Happy Anniversary" written in chocolate, a nice touch.

We walked out into the chilly Manhattan night and took the subway home. Who could afford a taxi after that dinner? Plenty of people but not us.

Sold!

The albatross is no more. We sold our house in East Greenwich to the lowest bidder, the only bidder. Unless you count the higher bid we spurned a year ago.

The house has been vacant since September. In addition to paying the mortgage, taxes, electric and oil bills, we have the anxiety of worrying about leaks, trees hitting the house, flooding--the usual suspects. Recently, my insurance agent informed me that a vacant house requires different and expensive insurance. Our total costs have been running about $3500 per month. Ouch.

We're due to close on or around April 26. I haven't been to the closings of my last two houses so this will be a treat. If I'm lucky, I'll get to see the crab apple tree in bloom one more time.

Snow Different

For the first time since December, there's no snow in Jeffersonville. The brook is flowing freely and there is no mud. There would be mud, but it's still too cold for that. It was 20 degrees Saturday night.

We began the weekend on the Upper West Side where we met Mark for dinner. The food was excellent. I had pappardelle noodles with wild mushrooms and black truffles, washed down with a fruity Riesling. Mark had lamb chops from lamb raised on the owner's farm. Marty had a trendy and delicious thin-crust pizza. Then, it was off to the country.

As soon as the house warmed up, I went to bed. I slept until 7:30! I did the usual morning rituals and headed out to yoga at 10. It was a great class. I walked home and got Marty for a trip to the market. While inside Pecks', my cell phone rang. It was the masseuse someone had recommended. The call was dropped so I went outside and she called me back. We made an appointment for next weekend. Do you know where I'm located? Look past the fire department and look for a woman waving. I waved back. I love this town!

I took a nap while Marty read. Then it was time for tea and babka, followed by cocktails and hors d'doeuvres, followed by grilled rib steak, baked potatoes and asparagus with home made hollandaise sauce. I didn't have lemon so I used grapefruit juice. Here's the recipe:

3 egg yolks
1/4 cup butter
juice of one lemon or other citrus fruit

Melt butter
Put yolks in blender and mix for a minute
Add the butter in a steady stream
Add the lemon and mix well
Salt and pepper to taste

After dinner, we watched the Graduate, a cult film at Swarthmore, and as Harry says, dark. We went outside to see the full moon, which as the whole world knew was the closest to earth in 19 years.

Sunday was filled with reading, writing, eating and doing laundry, which we neatly folded and inexplicably left behind. Fortunately, we're going up again next weekend.

Tectonic Plates

I've mentioned my interest in tectonic plates. You might think it's a dry subject but it's quite explosive. I'm not at all interested in the death and destruction aspect of moving and shifting plates; I'm interested in why it happens.

Every time there's a big one, the media, everyday people and the doomsayers get on the same page. The experts are asked: will this happen again soon? Answer: maybe. Average Joe says: Boy there have been a lot earthquakes around the world. Guess we'll have another one soon. The Apocalypse now fold assures that it's coming soon as punishment for our sins.

The earth is made up of plates that shift. They cover a ball of fire. When the plates move, they left off steam, usually with no damage. Every so often, a volcano erupts in a big way. I've seen a number of volcanoes erupting and shooting hot lava into the sky. When tectonic plates move in such a way that a large amount of energy escapes, you get an earthquake. The strongest one I've experienced was a 7.1 that lasted for 40 seconds, nothing compared to the Japanese quake of 8.9 that lasted 2.5 minutes.

One more piece of plate info: plates can shift side to side, as the do along the San Andreas fault in California, or they can move under and over each other as they did in Japan. Either way, they can be highly destructive.

That's your lesson for the day.

To the people of Japan, my thoughts are with you.

Five Alarm Buffalo Wings

Marty tried to kill Harry and me last night. The chicken wings could be classified as "suicidal," the hottest there is in the Buffalo wing hierarchy. Why? Because he likes them that way, and the last few times he cooked wings he'd toned down the sauce for the wusses in the group. Thanks, pal.

Marty and I met at the State University of New York at Buffalo. Spicy chicken wings were invented at Frank and Theresa's Anchor Bar. They were served free at the bar to encourage steady drinking. No amount of drinking could quell the lip pain elicited from eating Marty's maniacal version of this bar food. Harry said milk is best with spicy food, but a glass of that didn't put out the fire. The classic side dish, celery and blue cheese dressing, didn't help much either. I was done after just 7 wings. Harry and Marty finished the rest because they're manly men. It's been said that Marty eats like a Mexican, meaning he likes his food fiery. He puts hot sauce on almost everything. Maybe his taste buds have been dampened.

If Marty offers to make you chicken wings, be sure and say you like them mild or medium. Some like it hot, but his idea of hot is torture.

The Boys at Becco

Last night we went to Becco, an Italian restaurant in the theater district. Marty wanted to being Mark and Harry there because they have an all you can eat pasta special, and they can eat a lot of pasta.

For $22, you get a choice of Caesar salad or antipasto and pasta. Last night's three offerings included a spicy red sauce with chopped basil on a bed of taglietelle, gnocchi made with bel paese cheese in a rich cream sauce and shrimp sauteed with olive oil over linguine topped with bread crumbs. The guys all got seconds and liked the red sauce the best. I limited myself to one portion and preferred the shrimp dish.

After scarfing down fresh biscuits for breakfast (recipe from The Joy of Cooking which I just purchased a new copy of), Harry and I headed for The Museum of Natural History. Harry had just finished reading Catcher in the Rye and said that it was one of Holden Caufield's favorite places to go because there's a certain permanence to these exhibits. We also discussed our impressions of the book, which Harry noted was about teenage angst. He also said he identified with J.D. Salinger's most famous character.

We spent 2+ hours at the museum, making sure to see the enormous suspended whale and the dinosaur exhibit. Harry wanted to see the native American Indian exhibit because that was Holden's favorite. He also wanted to see the Asian Peoples exhibit since many of his friends are from that neck of the woods. We decided to get authentic New York pizza after that and found an Original Famous Ray's. There are 100 original Rays in NYC, but Harry claims his favorite is Not Rays in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. Harry had two slices: a plain (because you have to start with a plain) and an everything. I wanted the fresh mozzarella and tomato pizza even though it came on a whole wheat crust. Whole wheat may be healthier, but pizza should always be on a white crust. We also shared an order of garlic knots.

Now that I've talked about food ad nauseum, I'd like to end with coffee. A most disturbing article in today's New York Times says that coffee production in Colombia is down due to climate change. Colombia produces and exports arabica beans which are apparently more climate-sensitive than those produced in Africa and Indonesia. If you want to read more about this unsettling situation click here. All the coffee I buy is produced in Costa Rica by Cafe Britt. I buy in bulk so I save on price and get free shipping. I'm willing to pay more for Britt. I just enjoyed a rich cup of the the light roast.

Flood Watch

Marty stood at the back door all day yesterday watching in amazement as the usually serene Laundry Brook, due to snow melt and persistant rain, morphed into a raging river of mud. A huge rock he kept his eye on completely disappeared within an hour or two.

He checked the basement, which only had a little moisture near one of the edges. It's a dirt and cement affair with nothing of value in it. It was once used as a root cellar. We joked all day about fleeing the scene, which isn't at all funny since people do lose their houses (and their lives) to flooding. According to our broker, Laundry Brook has never overflowed its banks. There's always a first time.

I checked the weather today in Jeffersonville and there was snow in the report, one to three inches. That would be a pretty sight to see, a raging river of muck with snow falling soundlessly into it.

Marty starts his new job today. He's a little nervous, but I know he's going to do just fine, especially if he can keep in mind our picturesque country house.

Chowing Down in the Catskills

Our Jeffersonville house is near an all-inclusive resort called Villa Roma. They have a hotel, time shares, golf course (or "gulf" course as they call it), all kinds of sports, and different types of dining. It's in a lovely setting, and I've always wanted to go up there and explore it. I never expected much, but I figured the food was worth trying, once.

Harry, who's on Spring Break and whom we'd picked up at Vassar, was up for Italian food. We arrived around 6:30 and a valet jumped out and asked if we were registered. We told him we just wanted to have dinner. He'd apparently never heard of a non-guest dining there. Uh-oh. He double checked that it was alright and then led us to the dining room which was so bright I could've used my sunglasses. Harry said it reminded him of the banquet hall he worked in in Rhode Island.A large group from the Hauppaugue, Long Island Realtors Association came in and started giving toasts and speeches. Tomorrow night they were having a masked ball, costumes optional.

We were given menus which had no prices. The prix-fixe dinner included 5 courses. We tried to guess how much this was going to cost per person.

I started with antipasto, which wasn't bad. Then I had lobster bisque which was actually quite good. The salad was anemic but at least went beyond iceberg. My main course was an eggplant dish, a melanzane preparation. This was quite good if a little salty. For dessert, I had the lemon merengue tart. I washed it all down with a glass of nondescript pinot noir.

We got the bill and were happy with the charge which turned out to be wrong. They'd only charged us for 2 meals. Maybe kids ate free? No, we'd gotten someone else's check. Marty and Harry said we should tell our waiter because the mistake would come out of his pay. They're better than I. Total cost was $30 per person. I'd said it would be $19.95. It was worth it.

It's going to be a long time before I'm hungry again. I'm not sure I'll ever return to Villa Roma, but I have no complaints.

Just Kids

I just finished the Patti Smith's National Book Award winning memoir based on her relationship with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. Compared to Keith Richards, Smith is a saint. Not so much Mapplethorpe who died of AIDS in 1989. He used drugs freely and loved the seedy side of town. Reading this book right after the Richards autobiography made rethink my dream of becoming a rock star. It's amazing Richards is still alive. Smith offers a healthier model for stardom.

Smith writes beautifully if humorlessly about her life. She's so serious. Even the photos in the book show a glum woman. Maybe she has bad teeth. I've always identified with Smith because her name is Patti and she's a rock and roll icon in NYC. Once, we went to CBGB's on the Lower East Side. We were standing on line waiting to get in and the person behind me mentioned he'd seen Patti Smith there last week. I said she was named after me. He was so stoned he believed me. Smith is actually older than I am. CBGB's is closed now; it was quite the dive. The music was so loud on the night we went, Marty had to leave. I found him outside clutching his ears claiming he couldn't hear. Maybe that's why he can never hear what I'm saying.

In the late 80's, Patti Smith married a rock star and had two children. Mapplethorpe died in 1989. The book is an homage to him. It's also filled with Smith's poetry and lyrics, which make the book even richer. If she ever gives a concert in New York, I plan to go.