CRAIG

 

 

Craig Claiborne and Pierre Franey

 

As a young chef, there were two people that had an enormous impact on me. Craig Claiborne, the New York Times restaurant critic, food journalist and cookbook author and his sidekick, the famous French chef, Pierre Franey were that for me. I think I bought every one of their books (and there were many) and looked forward to his articles in the NYT Wednesday Food Section and in the Sunday Times Magazine. If I had a food idol, it was Craig. He embodied everything I was about at the time. His recipes were so meticulous and he never let chefs pull the wool over his eyes. When I was living in Grand Rapids, I remember driving to the airport each Sunday to buy a copy of the Sunday Times so as to not miss anything he was doing.  He was always breaking into new trends, his recipe writing was exacting and intelligently done, and he didn’t let chefs hide their secrets.

 

In 2000, when he passed away, he gave his entire estate to my alma mater, the Culinary Institute of America. Many chefs at that time would put out beautiful cookbooks and the recipes that these books would contain were sad, incomplete versions of what they actually did. Craig had a very specific way of interviewing chefs and their dishes. He would invite them into his kitchen in Amagansett in the Hamptons, sit down at his typewriter that sat right on top of the center kitchen table. (see photo above taken the summer I met him there). Pierre was always right next to the guest chef watching every move and every ingredient.

 

I remember buying Chef Paul Bocuse’s beautiful cookbook and making his Chicken with Tarragon, Tomatoes and Vinegar. It came out awful! I then produced the same recipe as Craig recorded it when Bocuse was in his kitchen. Fantastic! With Pierre watching so carefully and Craig recording everything so perfectly, I realized Bocuse had to finally give up the goods!!

 

When I had my restaurant in the Hamptons, Craig heard I was there and invited me to meet both of them. They had invited a chef friend who was then the chef of “Bobby Vans’s” an East Hampton longtime hangout and eatery and myself to come to his home and watch our former teacher make some charcutiere for them. It was such a thrill to be there and be part of that day

 

The meeting was later featured as “A Kitchen Soloist’s Homemade Sausage” from NYT Nov 4^th 1981. Jacques F. de Chanteloup, was a chef instructor at the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park and was renowned for his charcuterie. He would always say ''The most important thing I can teach them, is quality, the difference between what they should use and what big industry uses. They should use pork butts because they contain an ideal amount of fat for sausage making.”

Robert

Remembrance of Stores Past

 

This week was full of more disappearances. The New York Times headline, April 23, 2023 read: ”Bed Bath & Beyond Files for Bankruptcy.”  The alliteratively-named store that was a standby source for hangers and hot gloves, tablecloths and towels, gadgets and gizmos was closing its doors at all 300 plus locations. The ubiquitous 20% off coupons that piled up in my car door pocket, ready for the purchase of whatever I needed plus some things I probably didn’t, were voided and thrown into recycling. I was saddened to read about the demise of the much-visited store. I closed the newspaper and headed out to another much-visited store, where I needed additional kneadable erasers and 6B pencils for my art class.

I pulled into the parking lot of my local Michaels, my most convenient art supply store. There, painters, not the artistic kind, were obliterating the store logo with a thick layer of white paint.  Through the display windows, an emptied store loomed. I sat in my car, mouth hanging open, to recover from the surprise. No warning. Was it just this store? All the stores? There was nowhere nearby to purchase my art supplies. I pulled out of the empty parking lot, feeling abandoned. Another store gone. Was my neighborhood becoming a retail desert?

I drove off frustrated. Made my usual left from the LIE, down Main Street. As I slowed to stop for a red light, I received another surprise. The old, local Main Street Movie theater was shuttered. No more discount movie-going there. Another source of comfort and entertainment eliminated.

Three stores in one day! The familiar and dependable, gone, almost like a departed friend. The loss recalled other retail establishments from my childhood and young adulthood that disappeared. And so, here, a remembrance of stores past . . .

*****

In 1970, as a newly-fledged college graduate, working in the Big City, for the first time, I suddenly had the income to choose the gems of retail that would help define who I was becoming and who I was to become. Miniskirts and hotpants versus silks and tweeds. Maybe a dash of this and a swag of that. Near my place of employment, I was drawn to the goods in the Plymouth Shop and recognized that they were a little more exciting than the Lower East Side and Macy’s brands I was used to buying. Then, a little further south, I could enter the old-world floors of B. Altman and feel the hush and splendor of the palatial place. So quiet, so civilized. Politeness edging toward the stodgy since 1906. I loved it there. I was greeted respectfully, even though I was just a novice purchaser. I slid my inexperienced hand over the soft down of cashmere and the solid seams of tailored suits, none of which I could afford. At both these stores I learned how to establish my style and wait for a sale.

When Plymouth Shops and then B. Altman went out of business in the 1980’s, I felt as if a familiar piece of me had fallen into an abyss. These were knowable, reliable, stable places, in the way a safe childhood home can be. It was time to reluctantly move on to other options.

 I felt even sadder when Alexander’s closed. It may not have been as “classic” as B. Altman, but my family had always shopped there-- first in The Bronx, and then in Queens and Manhattan.  My grandmother bought a silk scarf for me there. Ballerinas pranced along the edges, and my five-year-old self almost leapt for joy. My face conjures a gaze of pleasure and love in those grandmotherly eyes that shone back to my own, as she murmured “Wear it in good health, Mamashayna.” The scarf, though no longer worn, is a beloved artifact in my ever-growing scarf drawer.

For decades, Alexander’s was also the place my grandmother bought stockings for my mother and herself. It didn’t matter that my mother was a working woman in her fifties. The first time my mother bought a pair of stockings after my grandmother’s death, I noticed her eyes momentarily well up with tears.  The purchase of my own much-anticipated first pair of stockings produced a totally different emotion. It signaled part of my passage from young girl to teenager. This was pre-pantyhose when a pair of stockings was still a “pair.” And so, a store and its stockings became part of our intergenerational story.

When I was a twenty-something “working girl” (as they called us then), Alexander’s is where I and a newly-made pal from a few floors up shopped for my first set of mugs and other necessities to set up my apartment. Two of the original cups are still in my kitchen cabinet, well-used, unchipped, and standing proud amongst all the other blue mugs I have bought since-- a testament to my first forays into adult living, as well as the durability of a 45-year-old friendship.

Marsha

Running into It

 

I was never into competitive sports as a young man. Baseball bored me to death and I was too short to really enjoy basketball. I found that individual pursuits made me very happy though. Long hikes, bicycling, weight training, ice skating and archery were where I would gravitate towards.

When I hit 40, I decided I needed a different kind of physical activity. I had a desk job at the time and was just getting too sedentary. My best friend at the time was a runner and was about to run in the NYC Marathon. In support of this incredible effort, I decided I would cheer him on from various points on the route and attend a party afterwards to celebrate his victory. Watching those tens of thousands of people from every background you can imagine reached deep inside of me and I resolved to participate in the next year’s race.

Every day after work I would run for as long as I could endure it. At first I could barely run a few blocks. I bought books on training strategies and realized that there was quite an intense journey ahead. Each day I would try to push a little further until I got to the point where I was doing at least 6 miles a day and 13 miles every Saturday morning. Stretching and diet became very important. The shin splints at times were excruciating and Advil was always nearby.

This daily routine though became a type of cleansing ritual every day. No matter what happened during the day; here was an opportunity to shake it all off. It was so therapeutic and somewhat addicting.

Eventually my weekly mileage hit 40 miles, and then 50 miles. When I totaled all of my running logs for that year I realized I had run 830 miles just to prepare for this race!

Three days before the marathon, my maternal grandmother passed away. This woman was a huge influence on my life and we spent countless hours together. I was a disorienting blow but I decided I would still do the race and keep her with me throughout.

On race day, I just relaxed into it. I knew that I had done everything I could to properly prepare and I was just going to enjoy it. It was a wonderful, painful, exhilarating experience. So many friends and coworkers came out to cheer me on; it meant the world to me. Each neighborhood that we ran through had such a different vibe. There was a clear sense that came up in me immediately after the race. If I can do this, I can do anything.

Richard

Embracing the Preciousness of Time

 

Time is transience and irreversible, time moves fast with unwavering determination. Time’s path is irrevocable; when we look back, we can only reflect on our journey.  The moments we spend today are the molding of our character and memories of tomorrow. When major events visit us like the birth of a child, a medical outcome or getting older we see that every minute holds intrinsic value. Time is fleeting.

We do however, have unlimited opportunities for personal growth and development. We can gather knowledge, rack up experiences and live up to our fullest potential. Every day we can explore new ideas and pursue our dreams. When we recognize the value of time, we can spend those precious moments with conviction and determination.

Relationships are profoundly affected with time. We create many bonds and create lasting memories with loved ones. Knowing time past is irreplaceable we are motivated to invest in people who enrich us and spend time improving you.

In current moments we often are caught up in the elusive future or replay the past. True power is in the present moment. We rise above the perceived limitations of time by staying in the here and now. In the present moment we can live intentionally and be awestruck by the miracle of existence.

Our lives are quite short in terms of time. Let’s make every moment count. Let’s not waste another moment and grow, make connections and lived a true life well-lived.

Georgia