Great Expectations - The Publick House Provisions in Brookline

Last year Scott and I took the kids to the one restaurant in the greater Boston area that serves Belgian food. We did this as a surprise to them as we broke the news that we'd be spending the summer in Brussels.




Kids had frites. We had moules. We had Duvel and Leffe beer. Kids had bread and cheese. We dined on something like a potato dauphinois, a Belgian meat stew and a really memorable salad of endive and vinaigrette. The kids had bread. And cheese. And all but Colby dined of some of Belgian's finest chocolate for dessert. The meal was darn good and it was a treat to have what felt like an authentic Bruxellian dinner. And so.....





The owners of the Publick House, David Ciccolo and Ailish Gilligan, have in fact, done so well that they are extending their Belgian manifesto with Publick House Provisions, a gourmet grocer just doors down from the Publick House in Brookline.


As I've read in the Brookline Tab and elsewhere, my expectations of this joint were to find the following: a large selection of hand-picked, specialty foods to be available to complement their selection of high-quality craft beer. To quote:

"Specializing in local and imported artisan cheeses and Belgian chocolates, Publick House Provisions will offer everything from sauces, marinades, oils, vinegars, honeys and preserves to organic milk, fresh local breads, meats, pates, hot sauces and spices."

I was delighted to read about this forthcoming adventure. Brookline is so overdue for a gourmet grocer that I even wrote the owners a letter commending them on their entrepreneurial smarts, wishing them good luck and loads of business.

And so I happened into this Publick House Provisions one sunny day when I thought I should not be at work but better to walk the streets of Brookline.

And I found really none of the above. What I did find was a very surly, bald, bearded fellow who could barely give me the time of day (I was the lone customer in the store). I found loads of empty shelves, apparently waiting for the forthcoming Belgian specialty beers and ales. I found a very prosaic collection of hot sauces, chips, pastas, tomato sauces and condiments. Really the only legitimate Belgian foodstuff would be the limited amount of hard cheeses in a very small refrigerated case, and a very boring array of supposed Belgian chocolates that appeared to be made with more wax than cocoa.

When I asked my grumpy friend behind the counter what was the what, he mustered up enough effort to say, "waiting on the liquor license...then we'll get beer." And since I'm a glutton for punishment (and sort of a Chatty Cathy), I was happy to forgo his frowning silence and tried again get a little dialogue going.

I asked about other Belgian foodstuffs and the connection with the Belgian menu served at the Publick House....

and he replied, "Belgian food isn't really that good...it's not more than chocolate and beer."

Mmkay. So, my sweet shiny pate man, with that hard sell, what on earth would ever compel to return to your fine establishment?

Frankly, I prefer to visit my peeps at Wine Gallery for the chat and the Belgian six-pack any day.

Pure Flaky Crystals

I think I have a salt fetish. Or a salt obsession. Or a salt habit.


I love fleur de sel and love the feel and the texture of wet salt harvested from seaside salt beds.

But I have found another salt. Given to me by a fellow salt lover, this box of crunchy seasoning comes from Great Britain. It is not wet. It is flaky and light and offers up such a nice textural contrast to any dish that you might be preparing.


















And it can be found at Boston's Southend Formaggio for under $8.

Summer has officially begun!

MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND
BEGINS NOW.

Glorious summer has returned. My long, lost, BFF has come out from under its cold, damp, and dreary rock and blessed us with a spray of warm sunshine.

Sure, there may be another 45 degree day in our near future....and woolens will not be put away just yet. But according to my official book on seasonal deadlines, as of Memorial Day Weekend: SUMMAH'S HEAH!

Head Gear

What would you do if you put on some kid's batting helmet because you were bored watching a bunch of puppies 6 year old boys playing t-ball and realized that it was a little too small and that you had the following choices:

a) leave it on and pretend you're just a really enthusiastic mom

b) leave it on but try to cover it with a turban

c) take it off knowing that you'll lose an ear in the process

Basket of Goodness

It might be rather unconventional ...but if you're new parents and you're world travelers and you're creative and you tend to think out of the box and you're pretty keen on exploring new horizons wouldn't you love to receive a basket of global edibles for yourselves?

Maybe I buck the trend too much but I think these new parents (and dear friends) received enough onesies, blankets, and baby paraphernalia to last at least six months.

So, I thought a big ol'basket of food might be the proper reminder that even though you have to learn to eat while holding a swaddling baby-burrito, you can still enjoy a fantastic meal of Italian cheeses, ciabbati, salami secco, pesto, a couple bottles of libations, amaretti and a wee box of Parisian macaroons.

Plus, the newest addition to 33 Kent Street (age 6 days) will have plenty of opportunity to be the recipient of other gifties.

Welcome to Earth, Miss Petra Aurelia!!

Latest Obsession

This past Friday night I had some reason (one reason, can't recall the reason, but it was a reason, a really good reason) to visit my guys at Wine Gallery.

And as I was collecting a collection of the latest Rosés for a Springtime dinner I was introduced to the latest buzz in the store.

Notice the bamboo-shaped bottle?

The noire lable?

This is Domaine de Canton. A ginger liqueur. Well, a combination of Cognac and baby Ginger. Whatever that is. Alls I know is that it tastes like a divine spicy sensation...gingery and yummy.

Mixed with tonic it's the perfect G&T alternative.

Besides, isn't ginger (even in its infant form) medicinal?

Just one more bottle of liquor to put under your hat.

The Apple Store arrived.



So. Apple's here.



In Boston.




Right around the corner from where I work.




Big splashy, glassy, uber-mod building which makes me think Boston has actually moved into a little more of a current-hip category.








I guess the folks at Apple blessed Boston with their 153rd store....but recovered the second-rate rating with the Biggest Store in the Country superlative.









Directly across the street to what will soon be the Mandarin Oriental Boston, this shiny, glossy store front was hummin' with life.

Big upgrade to Boston's Back Bay.

and one more reason to go for a *walk* at lunchtime.

Worth every bit of the hassle

Driving in the Boston area is really never any fun. Bad, yelling drivers abound everywhere. For me, I usually just avoid getting behind the wheel at all costs, even if that means something like the Death March of Bataan for me and my kids to run errands.



But there is one reason I'll get behind the wheel and it's the same reason I may just end up changing my name to Nipsey Russell - I will drive our enormously square minivan to visit the wine and beer gurus at the Wine Gallery in Brookline.


Often, I will think of any excuse to throw caution to the wind and take a trip to see my friends that sell these various libations. Navigating the traffic, pot holes, and maniacal driving habits of Bostonians, I don my driving helmet and hit the road.

I don't really wear a driving helmet, but I would if I had to to get to the Wine Gallery.



The Wine Gallery is the place for all sorts of beer, wine, and makings for cocktails. Two staff members, Kai McMurty and Spence, have this amazing user-friendly-layperson way about themselves so that if you arrive in a flurry, trying to figure out what the best wine might be for a broiled skirt steak (or roasted pork loin, or duck or goose or whathaveyou), they will calmly direct you to the right bottle(s). Further, Kai knows a boatload about beer, particularly Belgian beer. So, when Scott and I try to do the eyelids-half-shut know-it-all thing about Trappists ales, he can easily introduce us to the latest find of Belgian ale that's matured in the Champagne region of France (@ $30 a bottle). DeuS.



















The other super-awesome element at the Wine Gallery is a wine-juke-box.

I kid you not.

Without a quarter or any bad 38. Special blasting over furry speakers, you can enjoy just a swallow of a random selection of thirty or so wines. Gratis.

My friend Ted Burnes and I found ourselves a couple of years ago without kids in tow playing a game of Guess Which Wine.

He won. I failed miserably but I'd happily play again, if it's just to lose.
















And in case I haven't convinced you enough for reason to consider a death-defying drive down Route 9, Brookline, the staff at Wine Gallery knows how to recommend the superlative of hostess gifts -


- a bottle of St-Germain. A super-sexy French liqueor by way of the Alps. This elderberry concoction can be mixed with Champagne or white wine and club soda to create a nicely refreshing drink.

Ingredients

Ice cubes

2 ounces St. Germain

2 ounces Champagne

Chilled club soda

Why I love Jack Handey

Shouts & Murmurs

The Symbols on My Flag (And What They Mean)

by Jack Handey May 19, 2008

The bra and panties stand for women’s rights.

Davy Crockett shaking hands with Daniel Boone symbolizes how we need to put aside our differences.

The skull and crossbones, in the lower right corner, stands for pirates, and all that they have given us.

The angel holding the sword represents how guns are nice but swords are more of a “heavenly” thing.

The plow with the four-leaf clover symbolizes the luck of the farmer.

The quicksand represents the travails of life. The hand sticking out of it is so you know it’s quicksand and not just a dirty spot on the flag.

The bat stands for eternal life, through our lord Dracula.

The sheaf of wheat symbolizes the bounty of the land, and the hope that soon more things will come in sheaves.

The parrot represents the need to communicate, even if it’s only squawks.

The tin of paprika stands for paprika, a spice I hope to learn more about.

The triskelion indicates that I know what a triskelion is.

The sun on the horizon makes you wonder, Is it rising or setting? And is it our sun or a weird invader sun? The five rays coming out of the sun symbolize the five times that I have had sex.

The big word “NO” refers to the boy running with the pair of scissors. If you look closer, you can see that he also has a pair of scissors sticking in his thigh and another in his belly. This symbolizes the need for kids not to run with scissors, especially if they’ve already been stuck by scissors.

The bulldozer pushing over the pine tree stands for progress. And the bluebird flying out of the tree symbolizes the way bluebirds fly off when you knock down their trees.

The rose stands for blood. So does the sparkling ruby. And so does the bucket with “Blood” written on the side. All hail Dracula!

The eagle, you will note, is the centerpiece of my flag. It symbolizes freedom. Also the ability to see far away, so you can spot somebody doing something fishy and get him locked up.

In his talon, the eagle is holding a clutch of arrows. This symbolizes the growing problem of Indian litterbugs. Wrapped around the eagle’s other talon is a big ball of fishing line, which represents my love of fishing.

The banner in the eagle’s beak, if you can’t read it, says “Courage, Valor, Dignity, ANTS!!”

It’s easy to tell what some of the symbols on my flag mean. The tweezers symbolize tweezing. The dog symbolizes doggies. Good boy! Good doggie! But the meaning of other symbols is not so clear, even to me. What does the T. rex stepping on the Martian mean? Perhaps scholars can figure it out.

My flag started out as nothing more than the word “NO” on a blank background and has evolved over the years. Recently, my friend Don told me that my flag had too many symbols, that it was “cluttered.” I wanted to punch him, but instead I ran out into the howling storm, fell on my knees, and railed against the night. “Why me, Lord?” I sobbed. “Why me?” Then I saw my flag, illuminated by my spotlight and my rotating Christmas color wheel, flying proudly above the tool shed. As the flag snapped in the wind, some of my symbols, which I guess I hadn’t sewn on too well, flew off like leaves. There were also some real leaves blowing by, but mostly it was symbols. And I thought, Maybe Don’s right. Maybe I do need to “thin out” my flag. So I wound up removing some of the symbols, leaving only the ones you see here today. If it’s still “cluttered,” then so be it. I would rather have a cluttered flag than one that has no meaning whatsoever. ♦

Newport, RI

Saturday, May 10, Newport, RI.

We're off to a little Mother's Day Eve dinner out.




















First stop: The Inn at Castle Hill for drinks, a Shirley Temple and Apple J.



















Castle Hill is our fave of all spots in Newport to go for a pre-dinner drink. With a huge, sprawling lawn that goes right to the Bay, you can sit, enjoy a sunset and watch all kinds of boat traffic go by just yards from the Inn.





















Kids roamed, jumped rocks, hung out...



















while Scott and I just chilled with some wine, the setting sun, the bay and some amazing early Spring boat traffic.




















No longer the home of the America's Cup Sailing Race, Narragansett Bay still has some of the world's best sailing to be found.



















Turns out that this enormo sailboat that we spotted is the Puma 70' mono hull sailing yacht that is used for the (formerly known as the Whitbread) Volvo Ocean Race....



















The sailing race that circumnavigates the globe in just over 6 months.....



















apparently grappling with the spinnaker....



















more grappling.....




















Mighty yacht, this thing. Quite a sight to see, just maybe 300 yds. from the edge of where we were seated.




















And once the sun set, we were off to Puerini's. Quite possibly the best home-made pasta joint in Newport.

And quite possibly the nicest way a mom could enjoy Mother's Day Eve.

Happy SMother's Day

Ten Reasons Why sMothering is a kick



1. Always someone with whom I can play a variety of board games,
card games, pranks, and gags

2. Great, endless, and repetitive knock-knock jokes

3. Realizing that a toddler is not likely taking a bath with brown play-doh

4. That warm bath water is a good cure for constipation

5. Public scrutiny is much more difficult to ignore in another country

6. Whirling dervishes are not limited to Turkish dancers

7. Receiving gifts of flowers, shells, lego creations or hand-written notes

8. Getting a more honest reaction to what I'm wearing (and whether or not it 'works')

9. Nothing in the universe smells better than warm, morning, skin

10. Not having to have to hire a *Life Coach*

More Coping Mechanisms

Mornings come a little hard, especially the morning after soccer practice. So, one way I like to deal with fatigue is simply ignoring any requests to get out of bed. It's fun to see how angry I can make family members. In fact, my expertise in playing possum has earned me the nickname, 'Possum'.

Speaking of nicknames, I've been called JoJo Salami, Flounder, Jerky Jones, Grumpy Pete and Burpee. I think I was called Fecal Face at one point but I'm not really sure. I couldn't get a straight answer with some follow-up questioning.

Aaaaaand speaking of something related to the bathroom, if I have to go, I like to race up and down our hallway. Just up and down, up and down.

I also find it rather liberating when I announce to all that I have to go 'poop, poop, poop!'.

I usually have loads and loads of questions in my head. Lately, I have questions about wars and guns and cannons. In fact, for a while now I've been obsessed with the Revolutionary War, the Battle of Bunker Hill, muskets, General George Washington, how the American flag was created and how battles were fought with the Minute Men. Sadly, after the eighth or ninth question no one seems to be interested in discussing this topic with me.

On rainy days I build elaborate, intricate, detailed battles between my dark army green little plastic men and my light army green little plastic men. The dark army green guys usually win.

I have two favorite pairs of jeans. I wear nothing else. And on warmer days, I have two favorite pairs of shorts. Again, I wear nothing else. Highly dramatic weeping allows me these preferences.

As a youth, I preferred my cowboy boots to any other shoe. Even in the dead of summer. With my shorts.

I also have a penchant for wearing shirts backwards and would prefer no one mentioning anything about my being shirt backwards.

In the morning, when I have finally managed to get out of bed, I must go directly to the Globe and the Sports section. Even though other family members could really care less about the day-to-day Red Sox stats or Celtics wins/loses my day is not complete without knowing the latest news.

I enjoy vanilla yogurt, milk, apple juice, garlicky chicken, anything with ketchup, only some vegetables but unfortunately I find nearly all fruits repulsive. When I'm sad, a nice bag of potato chips will do nicely.

The Dodos - Fools

New fabuloso music discovery. I recommend downloading both albums, Visiter and Beware of the Maniacs.

A thousand thanks to Meighan O'Toole of http://www.myloveforyou.typepad.com/ .

Now I can stop listening to Radiohead.

In YOUR face.....

Facebook.

Just one more application to manage, view, update, read, check....essentially another reason to ignore my kids (and the rest of the world). What is Facebook you might ask? It's a *social* networking thing. With air quotes and all. Actually, it's more like a public journal for all to see, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Other networking apps., like LinkedIn is strictly professional. MySpace is more about youth and all of their youthfulness.

And so now there's Facebook. Maybe more of a cyber gathering of sorts, with loads of opportunities to connect with old friends, former friends, not-so-good friends and just non-friends. In a very friendly environment. With friendly games and daily stats and photos.

One might even say just a real nice way to check out what your friends might be up to without them ever knowing.....

(from Wikipedia, the non-reliant, never fact-checked, pseudo-pedia):

Facebook is a social networking website launched on February 4, 2004. The website is owned and operated by Facebook, Inc., a private company. The free-access website allows users to join networks such as a school, place of employment, or geographic region to connect and interact with other people. Users can add friends and then post messages for these friends to see, and update their personal profile to notify friends about themselves. The website's name refers to the paper facebooks depicting members of a campus community that some American colleges and preparatory schools give to incoming students, faculty, and staff as a way to get to know other people on campus.

Spring arrives at last!

Verdant.

Lush.

Full.

Superabundant Spring.

Is here. At last!

Shut Up and Let Me Go

When I die I wanna come back as a psychedelic dancer for Apple.