It’s around 7am, and I hear him make his way toward the kitchen, first stopping to collect the cat's water bowl. His commitment to the morning routine begins. He turns up the gas fireplace and I hear the lids being opened on the jars that contain the coffee grounds. A few scoops into the auto-maker and a "click" to begin the brewing. Off to find his shoes, followed by the sound of the electric garage door, and it's time to rescue the daily newspaper from the driveway. The smell of coffee begins to drift thru the house and my mother's nostrils perk up even though she is still sleeping.
Norman shows commitment in the true sense of the word. He readily admits that does not come from a history of practice and he has the entertaining stories to prove it! But the commitment with which he’s approached life and relationships for some time now comes from love, desire, and knowing who he is. Many people believe that if you have faithfulness, you have commitment. But there is so much more to it than that.
Back into the kitchen from the driveway, the newspaper headlines are already being read, and the sections separated. I hear the clank of a spoon in the sugar bowl and back into the coffee cup to stir – a few glugs of half 'n' half, and I know this cup of coffee isn't for him - it's for my mother. 26 years, and he enjoys this morning routine of making coffee, delivering a cup to her in bed with jam-smeared toast and a few sections of the paper…the headlines, the Arts, etc. He heads back to the kitchen to make his own coffee and toast and to start thru the Sports section. And it’s time for me to make some tea and join him.
Back when Buzzy’s Roast Beef inhabited a corner in Central Square they made a crazy and delicious breakfast sandwich called the “Hamma Jamma”. Of course, this place was known for its incredible roast beef, but for now, the focus is breakfast. At Buzzy’s in the early morning hours, with the city of Cambridge still snoozing for the most part, and the grill all fired up, there was anticipation for a tangy flavor explosion to start a person’s day.
The Hamma Jamma is simple enough but with a unique twist that sends different signals thru the brain in happy ways. It begins with sautéing onions on the grill (or pan) so that they are soft and carmelized, not blackened or dried out. This part is essential – the onions must laze around the ham in just the right way – they shouldn’t be stressed out. Next is frying a few slices of good deli ham. Blackened ham edges = okay; blackened onions = bad. It’s easier to build with the ham if you cut it up a little before cooking, either in ribbons or bigger pieces. Fry two eggs – broken yolks are optional. Melt cheese over the eggs.
Toast bun halves lightly and smear some jam on each half – Buzzy’s used grape jam and it was sinful and perfect for this sandwich. Can also use strawberry, blackberry, etc., but stick to a dark jam. Something about the combination of all these flavors is perfect!
aka: Sunday Gravy
When I was growing up, “Sunday dinner” meant the same thing to all of us in our family: my mother would be making my Italian grandmother’s recipe for sauce with meatballs and sausage. Known as “Sunday Gravy” in other families, we called it “the Sauce”, and we would pass by the big pot on the stove as it simmered all day filling our kitchen with the smell of Grandma’s house. Our job was to stir the sauce if we wandered past the pot - we’d of course “miss” the big note taped to the lid…written in my mother’s special determined hand-writing: “Stir Sauce!!” My mother had four kids so stirring the sauce throughout the day was to be a shared task. She could be on the other side of the house and her ears could still detect any one of us in the kitchen at any given time. Then you’d hear the voice bellowing, “Stir the sauce!” We would attempt to tip-toe into the kitchen to steal a meatball or sausage and…damn, she could hear that lid come off that pot from a mile away.
The sauce would cook on low for hours, turning from bright red into a deep color with velvety texture. The meatballs were made from a combination of beef, veal, and pork, and though they were nearly the size of baseballs, they were so light and fluffy. They would float from the baking sheet into the pot.
When at my grandparents’ house this meal was served with pasta and plain Italian bread. Garlic bread was that “fun” thing my mother would bring to their house at times and something my Grandpa loved, but they’d have never made garlic bread for themselves. Sunday dinner was a natural routine to them – delicious and served while it was still daylight. My Grandpa would make the salad from ingredients he “brought up” from his garden: lettuce that had distinct flavor, tomatoes with delicate skins – juicy – and that smelled like tomatoes, homegrown cucumbers, oil & vinegar, salt ‘n’ pepper. The salad had to be mixed by hand…by his hands …salad just didn’t taste the same unless hand-mixed by Grandpa.
It’s what we New Englanders call a warm winter day: 35 degrees in February, sunshine melting the snow off the roof, and it’s warm enough to fire up the grill. I can hear another hard-core neighbor using his table saw in the garage. The moment we can get outside, we do!
Grilled winter Cajun chicken – I buy chicken breasts and make my own “tenders” by flattening and cutting the chicken into strips. Dry-rub marinade of ground black pepper, ground chipotle chili pepper, chili powder, cumin, paprika, salt, and a dash of garlic powder. These delectable grilled strips go perfectly with homemade tzatziki sauce – the magical sauce of yogurt, chopped cucumber, garlic, and sometimes mint. I love to combine two ethnic tastes into one meal, in this case, Cajun and Greek. Homemade Chinese-style fried tofu inside a Mexican black bean burrito works incredibly well too.
Kitchen treasures are part of the home of our beloved family member who passed away last year – she was 85 years young, with farming in her family line, and the ability to bake, can, or cook anything into a tasty, savory experience. Dorothy never threw out any kitchen tool, baking supply, casserole dish, or appliance as long as it worked – it didn’t matter how old something was. Items lasted for her because she cared for the things that she had with meticulousness and respect…and just simply did not add to that. One wooden spoon in the kitchen was plenty for decades of cooking and baking. One wooden spatula. One rolling pin. At least seven antique bread loaf pans and pie pans. A grinder that looks like it could mince bone into paste. The evidence of cooking and baking for the hundreds and hundreds of gatherings for church events (where Dorothy had her own “gravy station” in the wide open kitchen), at the house with family and friends…at picnics, parties, holidays, birthdays. She used every item and utensil in her kitchen and yet she always kept the place immaculate, organized, antique, and classic.
The cabinet in the dining area showed a few heavy glass appetizer platters with their elegant shapely glass dividers – you could tell those platters were not just stored there – they were used yet cared for and stored in mint condition by careful hands. Carefully folded tablecloths organized in a flat drawer and I’m already thinking, “memory quilt”.
Recipe box goldmine: and there it was...the Holy Grail itself…Dot’s little avocado green tin recipe box stuffed with her chosen favorites - an exciting mini-chest of different mis-matched pieces that all go together. The box has seen some serious cooking time – if it could only speak! And it has some rust on it along with the signs of being lovingly handled and unintentionally spattered upon. Hand-written recipes, typed recipes, recipes cut from newspapers, magazines; an empty folded Lipton soup envelope with a recipe for Onion-Roasted Chicken & Vegetables; Aunt Frida’s broccoli soufflé; dozens of home-cooking casseroles; biscuits, bread, four different recipes for date oatmeal cookies, and at least ten different approaches to cooking cabbage. The recipes for “putting up” relishes, cucumbers, three-bean salad, cabbage ‘n’ peppers, jellies…tried and true and hand-chosen…I want to “can” my way through all of them.
“Thank you for everything you taught us and continue to teach, Dot!...We Love You!”
When it’s no longer a part of your daily routine, it’s invigorating to get up early with a purpose…take a shower and get dressed to go out there in the world where appts are made and you have someplace to be. Unemployment is the utmost break from the routine – deployment to an appt for the day is a break from the break. Today, I attended orientation at Cape Cod Hospital – what a great little hospital in the quaint part of Hyannis. New-hires and volunteers together hear the same presentation that hammers home the message of being compassionate and respectful of one another, being honest and open and ethical in all relationships, and really giving a shit about each other! It’s nice, and for a fun contrast I think of the egotistical self-centered exploitative oppressors I’ve worked with before – I think of them very briefly!
Heading out the door for an interview or orientation as a volunteer is such a different feeling than when you’ve just begun, or are trying for, a full-time position. But it really shouldn’t be. As a volunteer, you head to interviews with a happy and light feeling instead of anxiety, a confidence instead of worry, your bring your hot beverage in with you, you joke more freely, you’re more “real”. You feel courageous for showing up to orientation by yourself. You’re treated with welcome and gratitude that paid co-workers are not.
A Volunteer Coordinator can ruin a volunteer program fastest by being greedy with volunteers’ time and resentful of their desire for full-time employment – the best Volunteer Coordinator is one who understands you’re a volunteer (bound by desire not a paycheck) and they’re someone who encourages and helps you get placed as an employee if that is what you want. In that case, it’s an all-win situation of happy people and positive word-of-mouth. It’s no wonder why a small hospital like Jordan Hospital in Plymouth would have 250-300 active volunteers at any given time – it’s their Volunteer Coordinator’s attitude about the program that creates understanding, contentment, and loyalty.
But the best part of all is how a hospital workplace varies from a typical corporate workplace. Everyone is mandated to wear comfortable clothing or scrubs so that they’re concentrating on the right thing. No one is allowed to marinate in, or even dabble in, perfumes, colognes, smelly hair products, etc...one of my favorite rules! And all personnel are literally in it for the common goal of saving and bettering lives – as opposed to the corporate environment that pretends they’re saving lives so as to justify their trauma-center-style treatment of a co-worker. Oh, they’re so wrong. Should we tell them? (Would they listen?)
Fruity Chicken Stew
A perfect dish to make on a windy, stormy day in January…the temperature having climbed to the mid-50’s – it’s balmy, wet, and wild outside. A hearty stew but with fruity flavors to remind that spring is not far away…even when it’s easily three months away.
Hunks of peeled ginger add heat and flavor when cooked along with the onions, carrots, and many cloves of garlic – the hunks can be removed at any point. Squeezes of lemon for scent, orange juice for de-glazing, and slices of plantains…one happy-fruity family. And a roasted hacked-apart chicken cooks better than a whole one for this stew as it creates more browned bits in the pan for making broth. Yum!
cooking carrots, onions, and garlic...
with plantains...
with broth...
with chicken!
