Bunkum Extravaganza aka Halloween

Bawston - Home of the Red Sawx

Bahston. Boston. Beantown.

Total confessional: We've lived here nearly 15 years and I've always had such a conflicted relationship with this city. What began as a love-hate affair has most recently moved into a more like-dislike fling.

I love Boston's location and proximity to the coast. I love that it's just a 6 hour flight to most of Western Europe. I totally dig the diversity here of both the people and topography. I like how you need anywhere from 2 to 5 hours to get to a remote New England island, really good ski country or New York City. I like the age. I like the history and what Boston's contributed to the US. I like the academia. The intelligentsia. I like the mentality, for the most part. And generally, I like the people. In Brookline, Newton and surrounds, especially.

But Boston's definitely not a world city-try as it may. Restaurants are so-so and close around 10pm. I'm really not crazy about the fuddy-duddiness that pervades this city. There can be a real curmudgeon-y lifestyle here, totally void of style. Even with the hordes of young college students (mostly transplants from the mid-west and outer reaches of the US) there's nothing really edge-y or cutting edge about Boston. What's cool in NYC or LA is cool in Boston, 6 to 9 months later. And words like traditional and conservative (not politically, more in manner) come to mind that accurately describe Boston. I guess, it's a lot like a sturdy, reliable cedar closet loaded with moth balls and clothes for storage. Useful but a little smelly.

But I would say the biggest downer is that Boston's got this crazy provincialism. With the 1970's busing crisis these very segregated suburbs exist. Italian-Americans migrated to the North Shore, Irish to the South Shore. And then this fandemonium that thrives. The Bruins and the Celtics and the Patriots and the Red Sox. Crazy, insane, over-the-top sports fanatics. That seem to be everywhere. Lemmings, all of them.

So, with my snobbery I've always sort of fought the local sports stuff. Even though I come from a very long line of Red Sox fans (generations of New Englanders and New Yorkers) I've always looked down my nose at those people.

But this year was different.

And I decided not to fight the natural urge to join the fun.

Steps from my place of employment, the BAC, is Boylston Street. Boylston Street is where the Boston Marathon finish line is located. And Boylston Street is where every parade know to Boston's mankind tread.

And there was a parade yesterday. A Red Sox parade. Since they won the World Series and all. And I decided to lose the attitude and join the fun.

This team of rag-tag, misfit, aged and yet rookie, hairy, diverse athletes totally represents both the awesome and the less than awesome of this city.

And I decided that I like Boston.





















Boston's Finest.





Ticker tape, a hand and an old building.





















There's the trophy, if you can make it out.
























Kevin Youkilis. Surrounded in white light.....(cue: singing angels).

Quote no. 182

In the car, on our return from a very sugar-y, high-octane, high-energy, over-the-top birthday party. And Colby (spent, wasted, barely can lift his index finger to make this following point with me), was having a ball over-pronouncing and repeating words like Positano, Pedroia, Papi:

"Mommy. Just to tell you, I have three things to say. One, do not copy me and the things that I say. Two, do not mimic me.

and three,

Do. Not. Annoy. Me.

Ever."


(mmmkay. 'nuf said.)

Slumbuh Pahty

It's Thursday night. October 25th. No school tomorrow since there's some phony (insert air quotes) professional day for the teachers. Yeah. or Sha! as my friend Megan would say. So no school tomorrow which means tonight's like a Friday night.

And Maia, in all of her 9-year-old-4th-grade-glory, decides to have a dear friend over for the night. Her first overnight guest. Her friend happens to be a seasoned sleep-overer, so no worries there but all I wanna do is run movie after movie and drink red wine.

Great parenting. Totally engaged.

Like a barking seal.....

Last night around 8 o'clock, with Scott out of town, Colby hopped into my bed believing that he'd get a good night's sleep next to me, his mom.


A good night's sleep.

So, I turn in around 11 or so. I decide not to remove Colby's boneless, dripping body from my bed since it's just easier to keep him where he is.

And then........

It looks to be 1am and some nasty, ear-piercing alarm goes off some where in the vicinity of 33 Kent Street.

And then it's nearly 2am and my alarm goes off. Why? Not entirely sure. Have no recollection of changing the time....but off it goes like a bucket of ice water in my face.

Aaaaaand at 3am I hear a seal. Barking.

then I realize it's Colby with a croupy cough. We do the face-in-freezer trick and he slugs down some cold water and he's fine. Cranky but fine.

4am. I must be sleeping because I don't remember 4am.

Suddenly 5am. And my alarm goes off again-for the correct wake-up time-and I say out loud, "you've got to be kidding me".

Wo. It's 6am. I hear another seal, albeit a small and rather diminutive seal, down the hall in Maia's room. She's up. Smoker's cough or not, ready for school - since the Red Sox won, come hell or high water she's going to school -gawdammit....(she didn't say that I just thought it).

So, 7:45am the seals and myself are out the door, heading for school.

With other seals, I suppose.

Everything in Moderation (yeah....right)

I'm slowly becoming some food nut. Food obsessed. And not to eat, necessarily. To prepare. Create. Serve. And entertain.



I get a new Food & Wine mag and I get all panicky with ideas. I look through Cook's Illustrated to see how I can further improve an already triedandtrueandprettydamngood roasted chicken or broiled skirt steak. I thumb through a Gourmet and scheme up some highfalutin menu for me and maybe two or three others.



Call it a hobby. Call it something I hope to really perfect when the kids are gone. Call it the one creative avenue I feel confident about. I totally dig everything about food. And I love to cook.



And within this radar comes a focus on the simple or plain or prosaic in my food fixation. I'm all over this fleur de sel. Salt. Just plain salt - that happens to come with a wonderful and unique texture. Adding a very simple ingredient does wonders to whatever.



Now it's butter. Really good butter. We had butter aplenty in Brussels. Colby and Maia would have baguette avec beurre for breakfast. And this butter was amazingly gentle to the tongue. Unsalted, of course - because then you can add your own salt. It was and is all about just regular, daily butter. In Brussels it was President Beurre. This bewitching brick of butter was simply otherworldly.





And I happened upon this President Beurre at our local TJ's aka Trader Joe's aka Trader Ho's.





Suh-weet!

Wha?!? (part II)

Scene: Last night, bath time, Colby in a full tub
Me, in the other room

'Mommy, do we have any gobbles?'

'What?'

'Do we have any gobbles?'

'Colb, I'm not sure I know what you're saying....'

'You know, gobbles. Do we have any? The things that cover your eyes when you swim....'

'Right. gobbles.'

Mountain of Goodness

I love salt and savory. Give me salty-crunch over gooey-sweet any day. So, I'd like to introduce this amazing addition to the Sutton household. Have I you met my best friend from Europe, Fleur de Sel?

F l e u r d e S e l

"Fleur de Sel - [French] 'flower of the salt.' A rare sea salt harvested by hand in Brittany, France and available only in limited quantities. Composed of the natural crystal formations found on the surface of a salt marsh. the crystals are sun-dried only, thereby maintaining many of the nutrients not found in typical prepared salts. Fleur de Sel's unrefined nature lends itself to be served as a condiment, rather than a seasoning, adding both texture and flavor to a meal."

I brought back maybe 8 or 9 8oz. containers of this magical dust. I've given all but two away. I use it sparingly because it's a powerful salt, so you don't really need much.... and because I'll be sad when I go through the last bit. Especially since in Brussels a container ran only 4 bucks or so and here, in the US, the same amount costs anywhere from $12 to $20. As a finishing salt, it's the last thing I do before serving a dish. And, for a moment I pretend, with pinch and a flick of the wrist, that I'm concocting haute cuisine for my family.

I think what I find most appealing about this is that salt is such a very basic need or necessity in food, body, life. And this salt happens to be that much more unique with it's creation and production.

Did someone say, "Salt Water Farm"!?!?

Little Rhody (aka Rhode Island, smallest state evah) has got all these secret superlatives....like best beaches, best sailing, best Southern Italian hood, best clamcakes and chowder and best old Colonial salt water farms. Who knew such a tiny state could pack in so much? Who knew that just a little over an hour's drive to the South, we'd be in a little slice of heaven?

A couple of weekends ago, we spent a glorious chilly, cloudy day at Watson Farm, Jamestown, RI...which happened to be the day after we caught a swim at Narragansett, with above 80 degree temps.


Watson Farm is an historic saltwater farm, still in operation. Visitors are able to walk about the farm, which we happened to do with Scott's folks, Ed and Bev Sutton. Actually, we didn't really walk. We hiked about for nearly 4 miles, circumnavigating the entire property, which included a good 20 minutes on the shore skipping stones (and for the record, I believe I won the stone-skipping contest with a phenomenal 14 skips....even if other family members beg to differ).



The 280 acre farm has cattle, sheep, horses, a large vegetable garden and four miles of picturesque trails. The property includes salt water estuaries, swamps, woodlands, hay fields, ancient, enormous apple trees, orchards, and open pastures.










And wild flowers, galore.
And then we found a ginormous swing at the end of the trail.

F A L L K I C K - O F F : 2 0 0 7

I've finally accepted this new change of seasons. Finally can admit to myself that a swim at Narragansett won't happen for another 8 months. And that's okay because I've accepted this change with gusto. This past weekend it was all about Autumnal happenin's and doin's.

And I very nearly walked around with a sprig of hay in my mouth and my thumb hooked in some shaggy pair of overalls.


Saturday was all about securing the best, driest, most appropriate firewood for our fireplace. And naturally, it was Allandale Farm that won out (and may I repeat: only the oldest working farm in the city of Boston, let alone the United States of America).

So, even though the temperature in our living room was over 70 degrees....the fireplace was stoked with Georgia Fatwood and kindling and dry, cracklin' logs of wood. We did not have any banjos playing, however.


And then Saturday became a day of menu planning for our
F A L L K I C K - O F F : 2 0 0 7, which was really just involved me, Scott and Scott's brother, Paul. The kid's had their dinner and a movie line-up so we adults could easily spend our time moving from our old habit of Summery-white wine consumption to our red wine consumption. It was an evening of Pinot Noir, Syrah and Zinfandel.

It was also an evening of some yummy food. I was also able to score some mighty fine cheese at Allandale. One particular yummy triple cream-dream by the name of Brillat-Savarin was a huge treat.




And then I roasted some root vegetables, sauteed some green beans, stuffed a 5 lb. chicken with some sage, rosemary, salt, plenty of olive oil and a couple of lemons in an oven for over an hour. And shazam! we had a toasty evening of good food, good family and good warmth.





And then Scott and I decided to dress up as Shields and Yarnell for Halloween.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs-Maps

A little gift for anyone that loves excellent music from an outstanding band....especially on a particularly rainy, dreary Friday.

Silent L

(8pm, bedtime)


"Maia and Colby, calm down now!"

"wha?..."

"Maia and Colby, I said, 'CALM down now!'"

(bouncing, jumping, running into each other, ramming into walls,
near death out of windows, etc. )

"Dammit, Colby! Maia! I said, CALM DOWN!"

"K - Ah - L -M"

(and then attempted in a quieter voice, hands on top of heads, face to face as I over-pronounce my next words) "Please. k-ah-ll-m - down"

Maia: "what did you say? CaLm?" "It's not CaLLLm" "callllllm?, since when do you pronounce it like that? calllllm? no one's ever heard of callllllm. It's a silent 'L'. Sigh-lent L, as in you. don't. pronounce. it."






and, in case you're wondering, it's not stri-ped (two syllables) it's stript. with a long i.

Cheaters, Charlatons, and Tricksters

We totally cheated. We completely beat the system. When no one was looking, we pulled a fast one.

It was chicanery at its finest hour.

We went about our days and weeks...September becoming October....Summer into Fall and we tricked and deceived Mother Nature.

Posing as a day in the middle of summer, Saturday, October 6th was spent at the beach. In the water. Body surfing.

It was a bonanza of a day!

Maia Alexander Sutton @ 10.5.98

You, of the athletically skilled, happy-go-lucky (for the most part), bouncy, flitty, fast and furious lifestyle.....

You and your social 'network' and love of school and books and chocolate and collecting rocks....

You and your complicated, tangled, hebephrenic emotions.....that always seem to land in a calm and settled place.





You, my first kid.























But also my first teacher of life and silliness and uncontrollable highs and lows.


You, my sweet, sunny child.......










Happy Birthday, Maia.

Nice Shot!

My friend, Linda LoPiccolo Ring (Physical Therapist, Photographer, runner and wife) stopped by a couple of weekends ago with her husband, Dave (not-a-photographer-but-man-of-many-talents, runner, husband and friend from my days as a professional, ) to say hello, break some bread and test some well-honed camera skills with the monkeys - I mean kids.


So, while I'm still pining for la cuisine d'Europe (or maybe I'm just hungry all the time) I thought I'd serve some fresh stuff for lunch that I picked up at our local Allandale farm (excuse me, but only the oldest working farm in the city of Boston, let alone the United States of America)


http://www.allandalefarm.com/




Heirloom tomatoes. Or pomodori freschi for those longing for hot days on the Mediterranean.















Meaty Cerignola olives with sliced lemon.

And Bresaola, arugula with shaved Grana Pedano. It's an Insalata classica Italiana (I type that with my eyes closed, eyebrows raised, with a very know-it-allish attitude).

What you don't see is this incredibly, amazing, fresh bread that Dave and Linda brought from their local Salem bakery, http://www.ajkingbakery.com/ Just unbelievable bread.

And we broke it.

And it was good.

and then we hit Emerson Park. Frolicked in Emerson Park, is more like it. Lots of fun on a warm, summery Sunday.

I haven't posted all that Linda took but I will post her link http://www.lindalo.com/

And I will say that she has the unique skill of capturing the natural, contemplative, spontaneous moment that encapsulates a child's feeling, thought, or action - not to mention her talent of making food look mighty savory.

She takes awesome pics.

Little Art/Big Fun

My dear friend Megan Samuels (www.beachbungalow8.blogspot.com) scores all these awesome finds, be it art, style, decor, etc. She's got a way to look at the most mundane and find beauty. And find what's believed to be beauty and find mundane.

She recently posted this on her blog and I've forwarded the link on to many.

And then I thought to just post the thing here. Scroll, read and enjoy.

Sixpence None The Richer - There She Goes (Live 2000)

This was big when Maia was born, nearly 9 years ago. Every time I hear it I think of this little whisp of a kid, 'racing through my brain'. And if I were really on the ball, I'd have a Maia vid streaming with the song...but I'm not exactly that much on the ball.

Still, super sweet song for a super sweet kid.