Love That Carbonara

Greetings:

TV Guide actually outranked National Geographic in my childhood home. I do not remember seeing even a single issue of the latter strewn on any coffee or end table. Perhaps the au natural joie de vivre of the dancers from the Dark Continent were thought to be an intimidating temptation no Catholic-raised boy could resist without incident.

Nevertheless, there was an exalted aura to that little media magazine. A critic named Cleveland Amory would write a weekly review of some trending show (wait we didn't trend, we had 'fads' and 'hit series'). Every once in a while,

though, Mr. Amory's column would be supplanted by other literary genre such as a cooking recipe.

On one such occasion I espied a recipe for 'Spaghetti Carbonara'. ...I did not know much of the world then...it was a simpler time...little did I know that I knew so little about the pedigree of this dish. Had I been more aware I would have avoided the nagging existential choice of cream or no cream.

TV Guide not only advocated cream but also required the schmoozing of bacon grease with more respectable ingredients. Within a few short years this grease was rejected for the bounder that it was and nothing more was said of it again.

It would be with similar disdain that a modern Italian chef would rain on me for my continuous use of this despoiler (“Out, damn'd cream! Out, I say!”).

So now that I stand culinarily exposed before you, I will describe this proletarian pasta indulgence and you can do with it as you will.

Decades of requests for this dish and subsequent digestive onomatopoeia (love those four vowels in a row) have created a pseudo legitimacy and desirability of my carbonara. It was requested for our son and daughter-in-law's wedding; it gave Gini a well-rewarded night off from cooking; it generated molto requests for its construction.

To prepare for this certain expected and some choice components need to be assembled.

A pound of fresh linguine (I recommend 'Mr. Pasta''s in Miami Beach – your own if possible)

A half pound of bacon (the cognoscenti are grumbling at this point since pancetta would be their choice and guanciale for most of those who have not read this far)

Three eggs (fresh, fresh, fresh)

A cup of grated cheese (Yes, grate it yourself, parmiaggiano-regiano or pecorino or half cup of each)

A teaspoon of black pepper (freshly ground)

Cream (Did I say that? (Heavy or whipped will do)(Usually a bit less than a cup but you decide)

The complete recipe includes:

Yes, that would be shaken, not stirred.

As you have probably assumed there is a significant amount of grating and grinding involved. Get your bacon going first and then proceed to the grating and grinding. Should you go the pancetta or guanciale route you can wait a bit longer.

Crack ice, place in shaker, count to two for every interested party while pouring your favorite gin (Bombay would be ours) and acquaint the shaker with dry vermouth. Run some olives through with something a little more creative than a toothpick and pour over ice for the majority and straight up for the purists.

As you serve these frigid phenomena also hand out the pepper mill and that block of cheese and grater. It should be quite festive at this point but keep an eye on that bacon.

Start boiling your water and set aside a colander in the sink. Timing is going to be crucial. Get to know the people in your kitchen a bit better at this point but avoid religion and politics. Beat three eggs with a fork, add the cup of cheese as you continue beating and the cream. Gather the cooked bacon in paper towels and crumble. Briefly cook pancetta or guanciale and reduce to small pieces if you are going that route.

As the water reaches a boil throw in some kosher salt. If you have real fresh pasta you are limited to less than a minute to prepare for the chemistry that needs to happen.

You are essentially trying to cook the eggs with the hot pasta. Too much heat curdles/scrambles the eggs. Drain the pasta into the colander and quickly throw it back into the pot. Begin to pour the egg/cheese/cream mixture into it. Using a large fork and spoon, lift clumps of pasta through the mixture and coat as much of it as you can – like all of it. Do not do this over an electric burner that was turned off recently – curdle city. Throw in the bacon, mix, and sprinkle the ground pepper. People should, at this point, be scrambling for plates, silverware and wine glasses. Chianti will do just fine. Caesar salad would have been a nice request for those wishing to bring something.

As for the cream...Mangia bene, ridi spesso, ama molto...Buon appetito.

Couch Parenting in Portlandia

Now let us get something clear here. Portland is a bit different; a “horse of a different color” as the denizens of Oz might claim. In fact it's in the same area code. So when one sees “Couch” on the street sign, one quickly discovers that it is pronounced “Cooch”. Therefore the punning never ends here.

At one time the Baroness and myself could have passed for cognoscenti, stable citizens of the world. Portland has changed all that. How we came to be couch parents is a bit hazy. It just happened; couch parents happen.

Periodically we would de-couch. We initially tried familiar worlds we have known such as when we ventured out to a bakery for breakfast bagels. The clientele seemed comfortable, the fashion seemed nebulous, the ambiance was almost retro. Funky but within our weltanschauung (gezundheit!).

The Gay Pride Parade was family-oriented and joyful. This too was comfort food.

Not realizing what was looming, geographic orienteering seemed like the usual curiosity. The Willamette River became our orienting landmark in this city of roses and bridges. It divides the city into east/west. Burnside St provides the north/south demarcation. Chip and Alexa live in the SE quadrant in the Sellwood neighborhood near Milwaukie. Heel clicking will not bring you to Wisconsin or Kansas. They are excited about the new light rail station opening in a few months that will quickly connect them with downtown.

This is the most bike-friendly place we have ever seen in the US, not quite Amsterdam but close and pretty impressive. An amazing amount of streets have dedicated bike lanes while there is a bike trail (Springwater Corridor Trail) that runs for miles and miles through and away from the city. Chip and Alexa's backyard is a mini-bluff overlooking the trail.

Obviously this demanded bikes! Within 48 hours, thanks to Craigslist, 2 bikes, a pump, helmets and locks were obtained as housewarming gifts. Gini and Chris pedaled east towards Mt Hood on their first escapade:

There was actually a phase for bikes crossing on some of the traffic light cycles.

Other trips were taken along the Willamette towards downtown, then across the Steel Bridge whose lower level is dedicated to pedestrians, bicycles and trains. Cars dominate the upper level. Once across the bridge the world of food trucks becomes available. There are many dedicated lots throughout Portlandia for dozens of anchored trucks offering a choice of international cuisines. A few of our nights were just eating and hanging out with Portlandians at these sites.

One of our first entertainment outings was Soul Night. Arriving early was a great idea because, even though this was a weeknight, long lines quickly formed in hopes of being able to gyrate and strut to retro soul. The dance floor was packed, mostly with younger folk. The music was excellent in that it covered soul and rhythm/blues but was not the top 40 that you might remember but deeper cuts from that era. It was then that we met Kari who had known Chip and Alexa in Chicago and recently regrouped. The other tenants from Chip and Alexa's building also attended replete with James Brown buttons for all.

Many of our days included cavorting and frolicking with Kari.

Another regroup took place with a Newfound, NH graduate, Josh Larkin. He had graduated a year or two before Chip and had headed for the Pacific Northwest to ski and cast his fortune. Thirteen years later he and his partner Rhonda had established a business in Portland: Home Grown Apothecary.

 They had applied and received a medical marijuana license. The interior decoration provided a Victorian décor for clients to also peruse essential oils, teas, herbs and spices. As of October 1 of this year the license will also allow them to sell to anyone.

Just as in a doctor's office waiting area there was reading material. Snickering, as I recalled “High Times” and Head Comix, I thought it would be “cool” to read “Dope” magazine. Well, I might as well have picked up Scientific American since the technical jargon encompassed “receptor cells”, CBD, CBN and the familiar THC. Where have I been?

The Home Grown is eponymous. Another road trip brought us to Sandy, Oregon where Josh has his farm.

Josh took us to Clear Lake where we floated about on paddleboards, a kayak and a canoe. Mt Hood was breathtaking.

The couch awaited.

These volcano/mountains are a real signature for the northwest. They continued to make their appearance as we also traveled to Port Townsend, WA to visit Bonnie Masi who also hailed from the Newfound area. Mount Baker was the totemic icon this time.

Bonnie is a physical therapist in Port Townsend. This is a boom town from the 1890's that quickly lost its economy. For the past twenty years it has re-emerged as a healthy, cultural and artistic community where there is always something interesting to do. The victorian influence is strong with buildings from that era still preserved, maintained and utilized. Here is the B&B we stayed called the Quimper Inn and an example of a downtown building:

Bonnie outdid herself with entertaining us with dinner and a lunch. She also provided an interesting audience of friends to banter away the evening. The following morning we were also able to enjoy some outdoor music after a brisk walk on the shore of the Puget Sound.

The Columbia River Gorge, which divides Washington and Oregon, has some beautiful falls that we just started to explore. Here is one of the most dramatic but several will have to wait until our next visit:

And then there was bike smut. Who could pass up the opportunity to hang out with bike-riding, fun-loving Portlandians who have a penchant for cinema that depicts what can really happen in the world of biking? As a result, though, a bike repair shop and the accouterments of the trade will never look the same. Be still my derailleur.

Chip and Alexa took advantage of the recent bikes purchase to join in the Naked Bike Ride in Portland on a Saturday night. About 15,000 enthusiasts “protested” the indulgence of fossil fuels in exchange for fun and frolic au natural.

We had barely (sic) time to regroup to our couches before we all headed out for Sunday brunch at the Acropolis. This was a restaurant/bar that raised its own cattle, a la the Hilltop Steak House, charged $7 for steak and eggs and provided some dancing entertainment. It seems that clothing was considered optional by several of the employees but by now we just assumed it was Portland and sipped our brunch Bloody Marys.

The neighborhoods here are their own art form. It is not unusual to come to an intersection and the entire street is covered with a mural that spills onto the 4 incoming avenues:

There was definitely an otherworldliness to this experience (ya think?!) that may have been captured in one of the coffee houses:

That is not a mirror but a portal.

The trip had many other adventures that included rose gardens, Japanese gardens, Rhododendron gardens and more craftsman-style houses than anywhere we have ever seen. Alexa and Chip feel like they are among their peeps and we hope there will be a return visit. Chip is in a provisional job as a builder/foreman/designer and Alexa is headed for yoga instruction and whatever Portland offers her.

In all seriousness (whatever I am thought capable), Portland is the most egalitarian city I have experienced. There have been towns and communities that can make such a claim but we're talking about a major metropolitan area. Gini and I had watched the TV show Portlandia before arriving and our eyebrows were raised in a quizzical fashion. Keep 'em raised but know that everyone here thinks it's okay to do so.

Once In a Lifetime - Letting The Days Go By

Greetings-

Blog posts have now become less frequent than Mad Max movies but still a peculiar form of recidivism. Given that the blog was to be an exercise to ponder and express Baron and Baroness Von D'Lucci's Retroment, a recent incident has given cause.

Health and mobility seem to have risen to the top of the perspective charts. So trying to get one's life in perspective of the “long strange trip” seems to be less than monumental ...or necessary. One's beginnings, original game plan and current status might not provide the palette of a satisfying self-portrait, anyway. The aesthetic dissonance and ethical cacophony, alone, might generate complaints from neighbors, family or friends. The dying echoes of “Who cares!” would eventually fade in the presence of a whimsical smirk.

So I indulge my smirk. I always have.

Here are our heroes in their aurora glow:

Earth mother and her wayward son. Peace, love and birkenstock...don't Bogart that pose because no one remembers any of it anyway.

Yet I do remember Gini's gift of a Caribbean cruise being an existential dilemma for the socialist minded. There are also glimmers of Branch Street rallying of the Rodriguez Family. The Moody Blues provided idyllic ambiance to a simple life.

You would think after 10 years they could have done better than this:

Family life radically changed the game. In fact, it got pretty serious. Rodriguez was eventually subsumed by Von D'Lucci. The Talking Heads provided the beat, credit cards provided the cachet. The Circle Game was being elliptically morphed and AARP had more meaning than CREEP.

Living in a Miami Beach condo with a doorman, pool, Biscayne Baymbiance, and friendly fronds still has a jarring effect as the occasional flashback ebbs. How did I get here? My God...What have I done?

So now the glorious swan dive into the bourgeois bouillabaisse. Golf at the Biltmore!

Thanks to GolfNow.com, an affordable greens' fee made its appearance similar to the frequency of this blog's issuance. Gini was fully compliant.

In 1924, young land developer Merrick joined forces with Biltmore hotel magnate John McEntee Bowman at the height of the Florida land boom to build "a great hotel...which would not only serve as a hostelry to the crowds thronging to Coral Gables but also would serve as a center of sports and fashion.”

Johnny Weissmuller and Esther Williams were “employees”; trains from the NorthEast marqueed their locomotives with “Biltmore” instead of “Miami”. Thanks to a couple of partners in crime we have habituated High Tea, Sunday Brunch and afternoon mojitos at the Biltmore. Each visit would have a snooty moment of gazing at the golf course and sniffing the sour grapes of Shangdu. This would never be and...who cares anyway? Well, I guess we do and, oh, did we have fun:

Now about that yacht...