All posts by Clif Graves

UNCLE CHUCK’S MAPLE REVOLUTION

On Saturday, we invited some friends over for a little “greens” party, which featured dishes made with the lettuce, spinach, and other leafy vegetables so abundant in Maine right now. We invited Chuck and Erma as well as Steve and Margy, who brought a delightful young man named Dareen—I’m not sure if I’m spelling it right—a student from the Ivory Coast.

This gathering followed the course of all our summer gatherings when the weather is nice. We started with appetizers on the patio, at around 2:30 P.M., and we finished with dessert, inside to escape the mosquitoes, at about 7:00 P.M.. My husband, Clif, and I take our cues from the French and the Italians, who love to host long, leisurely meals with friends.

Let’s face it. We live in a rushed, hectic world where everyone is pretty much on screech most of the time. If people aren’t working, they are doing chores around the house. If they aren’t doing chores, they are checking their emails and Facebook. Or sending instant messages. Or twittering. Or talking on their cell phones. At our gatherings, all those things are set aside for several hours so that people can eat, relax, and socialize. Basic human stuff that too often gets lost in busy schedules.

Clif served his grilled bread, which is always a hit, and the greens, made into salads and spinach pie (spanakopita), were also pretty tasty. But the real star of the gathering was a drink Chuck made that was so simple and delicious that we were all amazed we had never had it anywhere else or had thought to make it ourselves.

Here’s is what Chuck did: Using his own maple syrup, he poured about 1/4 of cup of it in a large glass. He added sparkling water and ice and stirred everything up until the drink had a lovely amber hue. And that’s it. Except this drink is so unabashedly good—it’s like drinking essence of maple—that we all raved and marveled for quite a while.

Margy said, “I’ve never had anything like this, and I’ve never seen anything like this in a store.”

“You could start a business,” Steve added, and Chuck smiled modestly. “But what would we call the drink?”

Several names were bandied about, but when “Maple Revolution” came up, everyone agreed this was a splendid name. Then, for the title of this piece, I added “Uncle Chuck’s,” and Clif thinks that’s a fine addition to go with “Maple Revolution.” He can visualize a logo where Chuck, somewhat defiantly, raises a glass of Maple Revolution. Perhaps there could even be the tag lines: “It’s time for a maple revolution. It’s sweet, it’s natural, and it comes from trees.”

So, readers, at your next gathering, make your own Maple Revolution. You will need three things—real maple syrup, sparkling water, and ice. I suggested using 1/4 cup of maple syrup, but this amount can be fiddled with according to taste. Once the drink is made, sit on your deck, patio, or lawn, and make a toast to summer and all good things that come from the earth.

 

 

 

FATHER’S DAY 2012: WOLFE’S NECK AND DAY’S TAKE-OUT

Last weekend was filled with friends and family, and I’m going to start with Sunday first because it was Father’s Day. (In the next post I’ll write about our Saturday get together and describe a luscious but oh-so-simple drink concocted by our friend Chuck.)

When the weather is fine on Father’s Day, my husband, Clif, always wants to head to Wolfe’s Neck Woods State Park in Freeport for a hike and a picnic. Sunday’s weather couldn’t have been nicer, and so to Freeport we headed, where we met our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike.

Wolfe’s Neck is a little gem of a park on the edge of a town that is dominated by a rather ugly cluster of chain stores. The park almost redeems this mess, and in Wolfe’s Neck there are trails that go by water and through woods. There is an osprey nest on a nearby island, and even without binoculars, the birds are visible. In late spring, the woods are abloom with lady slippers, and the smells of spicy evergreens and salt water are everywhere.

But before admiring the ospreys and walking the trials, we had to fortify ourselves with a little cheese and cracker snack that we had on one of the many picnic tables at the park. We also brought chocolate for dessert.

Clif and "the kids"

Thus fortified, off we went, and we got lucky with the ospreys. An enthusiastic young woman from one of the environmental agencies—can’t remember which one—was there with a high-powered telescope aimed right at the nest. Not only did we see the mother osprey, but we also saw her babies, their little heads just visible above the rim of the massive stick nest.

For two hours or so, we walked on the trails, and by then we were ready for the next part of Father’s Day, a meal of fried seafood at Day’s Take-Out on Route 1 in Yarmouth. Day’s Take-Out is small and white, the kind of nondescript place you would drive past if you didn’t know any better. In fact, not knowing any better, Clif and I have driven past it scores of time. But Shannon and Mike have been raving about the fried clams for quite a while, and Father’s Day seemed like the ideal day to check out those clams.

As the name suggests, Day’s is a take-out, and while there are a number of picnic tables on a grassy point overlooking a lovely marsh, there is no inside seating. Clif and I ordered a pint of clams and a large order of fries, and let’s just say that we will not be driving past Day’s Take-Out anymore. The fries were hand-cut, the lightly-breaded clams were fresh and just the right size, not too big and not too small. Both were fried to perfection, crispy but not overcooked. The prices were reasonable—under $30 for the clams and fries—and we’ll be heading back to Day’s sometime soon. In fact, the food is so good that it gets the “Good Eater Seal of Approval.” (Chuck, whom I mentioned above, has recommended that I start a Good Eater Seal of Approval list, and so I have, with the first being Day’s Take-Out.)

Delectable fries and clams

After those delectable clams and fries, we went to Mike and Shannon’s apartment in South Portland, where we gilded the lily and had strawberry shortcake made with fresh Maine strawberries from Cape Elizabeth.

All I can say is, what a day!

GUESS WHO ELSE IS LOSING WEIGHT?

For the past 35 years, it has always gone this way: I struggle with losing weight, with controlling my rather glutinous appetite. I diet, I exercise, I eat more fruit than a spider monkey, and I am a fiend when it comes to portion control. And lo and behold, I lose weight. It comes off slowly, but it comes off, and as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, over the past year I’ve lost 50 pounds.

But whenever I diet, there is someone else who loses weight right along with me, and that someone is my husband, Clif. On my current diet, Clif has lost weight with a vengeance, and when he recently weighed himself, he observed that his weight is the lowest that it’s been in a long, long time.

Now, in terms of absolutes, I am pleased for him. While Clif has never been hugely overweight, the way I have been, he has carried, from time to time, an extra 10 or 15 pounds that he’d rather not have, and it is good for him to lose this weight.

However, I must admit that it irritates me, just a tiny, teensy bit—all right, maybe a little more—that he loses this weight without the struggle I go through when I lose weight. With him, it just seems to come off.

“I’ve been careful,” he protests when I confront him with this unfair aspect of life.

“Yeah, right,” I reply. “You carefully go back for seconds almost every night at supper.”

“I don’t take that much.” Now there is a decided whine to his voice.

“And what about that bowl of peanuts you get every night?”

“It’s a small bowl. And besides, it’s better than having chips.”

I can’t argue with this logic. Nevertheless, it is galling to watch him eat more than I do and still lose weight. I suppose I have to lump the fact that men just tend to have faster metabolisms than women do. But, still.

At this point, it is time to stop my own whining and to put in a plug for the way we eat, which is essentially a plant-based Mediterranean diet with a bit of fish once or twice a week. We rarely have meat, and when we do, it is usually mixed in with the meal rather than served as the main event. We use lots of olive oil.

Just as important, we go biking almost every night and weekend, when the weather and the schedule allow.

And voilà! Off comes the weight. More easily for some us than for others, but off it comes, just the same, which is a very good thing.

LIFE IS GOOD: A BIRTHDAY AND A GRADUATION

Last weekend we celebrated our friend Sybil’s 82nd birthday and our nephew, Patrick’s, high school graduation. The two events were bookends to each other, a celebration of creativity at both ends of the human life span.

I’ve written about Sybil before. A former editor for the LA Times, Sybil moved to Maine so that she could be near her daughter and her family. She lives in Brunswick in an apartment that is close enough to town so that she can walk to most things, including the Evening Star Cinema and Gelato Fiasco. Sybil is very much involved with the Theater Project—in a recent post I wrote about going to one of Sybil’s shows—and she and another theater buddy (can’t remember her name!) are busy planning what they will be writing and performing next year. Sybil has had her share of hard times—I won’t get into them here—but those hard times have not diminished either her vitality or her zest for life. My husband, Clif, and I took her out to eat at the Great Impasta, and Sybil and I both ordered the same thing, ravioli with roasted asparagus.  How lovely it was.

Afterward, we went to Gelato Fiasco, which is just down the street.

“Let’s take our gelato outside,” Sybil suggested.

No argument from either Clif or me. The day was beautiful.

As we set our gelato on the table, Sybil exclaimed, “Ah, life is good!”

Yes, it is, and so wonderful to be able to share this day with Sybil.

At the other end of things, is our only and favorite nephew Patrick. (As I’m fond of saying, he’d still be our favorite nephew even if he wasn’t our only one.) Is it possible that “little” Patrick has become “very tall” Patrick and has graduated from high school? It seems that it is. As an aunt, I feel as though I have bragging rights, but I will keep it brief. Out of 170 students, Patrick was sixth in his class, and he won several awards. From the time Patrick was young, he has had a passion for art and drawing, and he has become a talented artist. He’ll be attending the University of Maine at Orono, where he’ll be studying computer programming. Perhaps the most impressive thing about Patrick is his good attitude, his ability to weather the inevitable rough spots that come to every teenager’s life. Again, I’m not going to go into details, but here’s the thing: Patrick doesn’t waste one minute feeling bitter or sorry for himself when things don’t go his way. On he goes, getting the very most out of what’s available to him.

Our favorite nephew, Patrick

To paraphrase a saying that was common in 1990s: Wherever Patrick goes, his good attitude will go with him. And it will serve him well.

So here I am, at 54, almost exactly between these two extraordinary people—Sybil and Patrick—and inspired by both of them.

Happy birthday, Sybil, and best wishes to Patrick!

 

SUMMER IS HERE: OUR FIRST CSA DELIVERY FROM FARMER KEV

We have had quite a stretch of rain and gloomy weather, and quite frankly, I’m worried about my laundry, which has been on the clothesline since Friday. Last Friday night, I thought I would get the jump on Mother Nature by hanging the laundry, that it would have enough time to dry by the time the rain came on Saturday night. Wrong! The rain came early Saturday afternoon instead, and there hasn’t been much of a break. So on the line the laundry stays, droopy and wet, and it seems to me that there are few things more depressing than soggy laundry on a clothesline.

However, there has been a bright spot this week. We got our first CSA delivery from Kevin Leavitt, aka Farmer Kev. I’ve written about Farmer Kev before so I’ll be brief. Farmer Kev is an amazing young farmer who grows organic vegetables, which he delivers to an ever-growing number of CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) members. He started farming while he was in high school and has continued through his college years. (Kevin just finished his third year at the University of Maine at Orono.) Farmer Kev’s vegetables are beautiful, delicious, and so clean—he has a double-dip method of washing them—that they can be eaten without further washing.

Farmer Kev's first delivery

As my husband, Clif, and I live in the woods, there is not much we can grow here. I plant a few tomatoes—Juliet, which does well with limited sun—as well as some cucumbers. Herbs in pots do fairly well, too. But that’s not much, really, when it comes to fresh vegetables, and thank goodness for Farmer Kev, who delivers—that’s right, delivers—fresh vegetables to us all summer long. What a bounty!

This time of year, we get greens and radishes. Luckily, I am nuts about greens, and radishes aren’t too bad, either. To my way of thinking, there is no better lunch than a wrap filled with lots of greens and then sprinkled with other tidbits to add flavor. Those tidbits could be radishes, olives, pasta, leftover fish, cheese, tuna fish, hummus. Well, you get the point.

Last night, after marveling over the wonderful greens delivered smartly in a wooden box, I set to work snipping spinach, lettuce, and beet greens for our dinner salad. There was a baby beet that went into the salads as well as some of Farmer Kev’s radishes.

What a salad! Rain, rain, go away, and stay away for at least a few days. (We don’t want it to go away entirely. Then there would be a drought, which brings about its own set of problems.) But as a consolation, we have salad made with Farmer Kev’s veggies, and that is a consolation indeed.

Ah, salad!

 

Fish With Parsley Sauce

A year or so ago, I posted this recipe inspired by our British friends “from across the pond.” Simple though it is, fish with parsley sauce is tasty enough for company, as my husband, Clif, notes each time I serve this dish. It also gets his Yankee seal of approval: “Pretty darned good.”

Over the year, I have tweaked the recipe a bit, adding more butter and flour for a thicker sauce and adding a bit more parsley. Also, Clif has since added a recipe feature to this blog so that the recipes can be presented in a traditional format.

Therefore, with the changes, I decided to feature fish with parsley sauce again. Here’s to all things British—to tea and scones and dogs and literature and theater and even Queen Elizabeth, bless her, on her Diamond Jubilee.

 

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A BRITISH WEEKEND: PART TWO—SNOW WHITE AND THE HUNTSMAN

In yesterday’s post, I mentioned that over the weekend, we saw two British movies with very different approaches to the subject of aging. What I forgot to note was that our British weekend coincided with Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee. What good timing!

Anyway…yesterday I wrote about The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, a straightforward look at aging in today’s society. The other movie we saw was Snow White and the Huntsman, which, as the title suggests, is based on the fairy tale “Snow White.”

When most people think of Snow White, I expect the Disney version will come to mind, a beautiful classic in its own right, with a touch of evil—the queen—and quite a lot of folderol and cleaning—Snow White and the seven dwarfs. For avid readers, the Grimm version will come to mind as well.

While Snow White and the Huntsman is more Grimm than Disney, it forges its own dark way, blending modern concerns of aging with a mythical, medieval setting. Those concerns were always there, both in the Grimm fairy tale and in Disney’s cartoon. After all, the desire to be “fairest of them all” implies youth not old age and wrinkles. But in Snow White and the Huntsman, the evil queen (Charlize Theron)wants to be young with an intensity that is truly chilling. Vampire-like, she not only sucks the life force from young victims, but she also drains the life away from the land, leaving it bleak and barren. Her obsession with youth is a death sentence for all that is around her.

The movie, filmed in Wales and Ireland, starts out in happier times, and the early scenes, full of color and vitality, do a nice job of illustrating how good rulers—Snow White’s mother and father—are good for the land as well as for the people. Then Snow White’s mother dies, and things go downhill fast. Enter Charlize Theron as Ravenna, who quickly becomes the new queen and just as quickly murders Snow White’s father and takes over the kingdom with her own army. Theron has the sort of cold beauty that can easily be used to portray evil, and that’s just what she does in this movie. When she was on the screen, it was as though some malignant, poisonous creature had burst forth, and Theron certainly commanded attention.

Unfortunately, Kristin Stewart of Twilight fame, was less effective as Snow White. Stewart’s rather goofy looks combined with her wooden acting style make an odd combination, and “the fairest of them all” is not the first thing you think when you see her. However, the movie gets around this, to some extent, by suggesting that beauty resides primarily within. Still, an actress with more snap, if not beauty, would have been better as Snow White.

The dwarfs, on the other hand, were brilliant, to borrow a term from the Brits. Bob Hoskins, Ray Winstone, Toby Jones, Ian McShane and other British actors played them to perfection. As A.O. Scott put it in his New York Times review, these dwarfs were portrayed as cockney thugs who definitely did not whistle as they worked. No, they didn’t, but they certainly brought a lot of life to the screen, and I wish there had been more scenes with them.

With his scruffy good looks, Chris Hemsworth did a fine job of playing the huntsman. The movie suggests that he, in fact, might be Snow White’s true love, and it’s easy to see why this might be the case.

I don’t think I’m giving too much away by revealing that in the end good overcomes evil, and death comes even to those who are obsessed with youth and eternal life.

Snow White and the Huntsman is not a perfect movie by any means. More care should have been taken with the story, which has some serious plot holes. Nevertheless, good fantasy movies are far and few between, and this one is worth seeing. Our society has practically made a fetish of youth, and Snow White and the Huntsman captures this fetish and shows us how ugly and damaging it is. The cinematography and special effects make this a big-screen movie, and fortunately, they were not a distraction, the way they are in some big-budget films.

So, if time allows, and you like dark fantasies, go see Snow White and the Huntsman.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A BRITISH WEEKEND: PART ONE—THE BEST EXOTIC MARIGOLD HOTEL

Last weekend, we saw two very different movies about aging—The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and Snow White and the Huntsman. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is considered a “realistic” movie. All of the events featured in the film could have happened, and while all stories involve some contrivance there is no huge suspension of disbelief required to enjoy Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. On the other hand, Snow White and the Huntsman is pure fantasy, and a disturbing one at that.

In today’s post, I’ll cover The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and in the next one I’ll write about Snow White and the Huntsman. Now, I’m not sure it’s accurate to state that Snow White is a British film as the two leading actors are American. However, the director originally comes from Great Britain, it was filmed in Wales and Ireland, and many of the actors—notably the seven dwarfs—are British. So I’m calling it a British film.

And, in keeping with the spirit of England, I’ll conclude with a recipe for fish with parsley sauce, which I made on Sunday. It’s one I’ve refined over the year, and Clif deemed this version “company good.”

Best Exotic Marigold Hotel includes a dazzling cast of some of England’s finest albeit aging actors—Judi Dench, who can do anything; Tom Wilkinson, Maggie Smith, Bill Nighy, and Penelope Wilton. The story explores a subject that is a major concern for many people and is only going to get larger in the upcoming years. That is, as people age, how do they make good lives for themselves, lives that are full and meaningful rather than ones that are filled with loneliness and boredom? Especially when they live on limited incomes and have flats so small that they can be cleaned in a half-hour. What to do with the rest of one’s time?

In Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, the main charters set out for India. They have been lured by a brochure that only has a vague connection with the truth—there is a Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, but let’s just say that it’s somewhat shabbier in reality than in how it’s presented in the brochure. As Muriel, Maggie Smith’s character, indignantly observes: “The hotel in that brochure was photo-shopped.”

Yes, it was. Unlike the gleaming hotel that was advertised, the real one is dirty and falling apart. One of the rooms doesn’t have a door, which leads to a comical situation. However, the hotel is the way it is not because of malice or laziness but rather because the young owner, Sonny Kapoor, played extremely energetically by Dev Patel of Slumdog Millionaire, has no money for its upkeep. However, Sonny really does yearn to run a beautiful, refurbished hotel, and it is this sincerity, at least in part, that keeps the travelers at his hotel. (Also, there is really nothing for them back home in England, and most of them don’t have enough money to move elsewhere.)

All the travelers have come to India for various reasons, and in the course of the movie, they find their footing and have small but meaningful epiphanies brought on by the astonishing vitality of Indian life. Some of the transformations are more believable than others, but the movie is so beautifully and movingly acted that I was was willing to overlook this and can without hesitation recommend Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.

Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is probably not a young people’s movie. However, it certainly resonates with the over-50s crowd. I went to see it at Railroad Square Cinema, a small art cinema in Waterville, Maine, and the house was packed, but let’s just say there was a predominance of wrinkles and gray hair in the audience. According to the staff at Railroad Square, almost every showing has been packed, and on the night we went, the audience applauded when the film was done.

In the upcoming years, there are going to be many old people, too many to ignore. While not all of us can or indeed should go to India to find our footing, we really do need to give some thought as to how we are going to live the last part of lives. Best Exotic Marigold Hotel chronicles this exploration and leaves viewers with a sense of hope. Perhaps the movie will encourage viewers to have little epiphanies in their own communities, where they can remain active, vital, useful, and connected for as long as possible.

 

JUNE 1, 2012

Today is the first day of June, and what a beautiful day in the neighborhood. The sun is shining, and in our backyard, there are layers and layers of green as our lawn—and I use this term loosely—meets the woods. Patio days are back, and every day that the weather allows, I eat my lunch outside. The hummingbirds, dragon flies, and, yes, the mosquitoes have returned, bringing with them the rhythm of summer.

Sometime between last night and this morning, one of my favorite irises bloomed. (In fact, irises are one of my favorite flowers.) So today, on this first day of June, I thought I would post this beauty in honor of some of my favorite people who have June birthdays—Sybil, Kate, Andrea, and my mother.

What a lovely month in which to have a birthday!