Fathers Day

lobsterrisotto.jpgI've got the best Father's Day gift idea!

– It doesn't involve neck ties or golf shirts.
– There will be no trips to Lowe's or Home Depot (you're welcome, ladies).
– You get to enjoy it too.

So what is it? Risotto made with fresh Maine lobsters from Sagamore Lobster.

Now that we live in Southern California instead of New England, we really miss fresh Maine lobsters. A couple of months ago, I wanted to make risotto with Maine lobster instead of with smaller spiny lobsters (which are plentiful here on the West Coast).

Not only did I have trouble finding fresh Maine lobsters here, but when I did, they were prohibitively priced -- about $50/pound. Thankfully, Sagamore has made it cheaper to buy live lobsters and have them shipped 3,000 miles than to buy them in a store here.

Though lobster is often best enjoyed simply boiled, there is something sumptuous about a creamy lobster risotto. That's because chewy Arborio rice is cooked to perfection in flavorful broth, dry white wine, and savory San Marzano tomatoes. Silky butter and aromatic fresh parsley only enhance the flavor of the succulent lobster meat. Dad won't soon forget this dinner.

Read more ...

sunshining.jpglaraine_newman_cameo.jpgYou want to know just how wonderful my husband is? Well, in 2004 my dad died and my grief was crushing. I gained 40 lbs. and cried at the drop of a hat for about 2 years.  Chad got a .mac account in my dad's name and starting emailing me as my dad during certain milestones like my birthday.  Not only did Chad completely capture my dad's way of speaking, but he kept up the derisive insinuations my dad would make about him just to make me laugh. Notice how he refers to Chad as 'what's his name' and 'Chaz'.

My dad's nickname for me was Pie. I don't know why. I still miss my dad terribly, but the pain isn't as bad anymore. These emails my husband writes are so vivid and represent my dad's sensibility so accurately, that for a brief moment, he is with me again.  How lucky can ya get?

Read more ...

michaelfrank.jpg If lonely J. Alfred Prufrock measured out his life in coffee spoons, for me, the measure has been in roasting, sautéing, and grilling, making meals for my family. As a parent, what your kids really think about you, is pretty much a mystery.

On my most recent birthday my sons, Frank (23) and Michael (17), decided I didn't need another pot or a kitchen gadget, because I pretty much have every kitchen tool imaginable. They decided instead to write me a memory about my cooking.

From Michael:
Every Thursday night when I was younger, doing homework, I would wait in my room for my dad to come home. He would bring home a whole chicken that he would marinate with rosemary and olive oil. My brother and I could tell when he put the chicken into the oven, because it made the whole house smell amazing.

Read more ...

shermanfamily.jpg We never really celebrated Father’s Day, perhaps, because, as the saying goes, every day was something akin to Father’s Day.  My Dad was both a simple and extraordinary man who enjoyed a good meal, a great ball game, and being with his family.  He was happiest when we were all home in our small upper west side apartment, doing whatever together.

There wasn’t a Sunday morning that passed when I didn’t wake up to the warm fresh smells of H&H bagels and fresh Zabar’s stacked up on the kitchen table. Although it was barely 9 am, my dad had already been to the City Athletic Club for a workout, a steam, and then back uptown to purchase the raw materials for breakfast.

Read more ...

happyfathersday.jpg My father, James Athanus, came with his Mother to America in 1914 from Albania, escaping from the torture and repression with just what they could carry and a whole lot of hope for a better future. They landed at Ellis Island and made their way to a small mill town in the center of Maine. My Grandfather followed them in the next few months and they set up a new life just like many in this factory town.

My grandfather was a baker so he baked bread, my grandmother pulled teeth so she was on call for those that couldn’t afford a dentist and there were many, and my father, as a 6-year-old, started shining shoes to help support his family. Life was hard, a new culture had to be learned, a new language, new food, new fears, new everything!  My Grandfather died a couple of years after arriving in America and my Dad was alone again with just his Mother. He shined shoes more hours a day to keep their life afloat. 

He soon hired other young men to help him out at his other “locations” outside factories and businesses. Shoes were a big investment and no one would have dreamed of wearing dirty, unpolished shoe so this young emigrant had a captive market and he could work! 

Read more ...