Comfort Foods and Indulgences

Lobster's back. First there was creamy lobster risotto for Father's Day. Now it's Lobster Fra Diavolo, a treasured Italian-American dish characterized by a spicy sauce for pasta or seafood.

Fra Diavolo, was the king of pasta in the 1990's. (I know this because it was Jeff's favorite entree to order at a "nice" restaurant when we were dating.)

The last time Jeff ate lobster fra diavolo, Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" was a number one hit. Though Jeff will always love lobster fra diavolo, he doesn't feel similarly toward Whitney, so I decided not to invite her to our lobster dinner.

I played Sinatra, our oldest and most favorite crooner, instead because Italian food always tastes better with ol' blue eyes.

I resisted Facebook for years, but the ease with which I could share and view pictures of a high-school reunion compelled me. So like most people my age, I found myself using the site to reconnect with a past I had previously ignored or forgotten. Then, when my husband passed away suddenly a little more than a year ago, Facebook became a strange lifeline during my first year of grief. Frankly, being on Facebook makes me think about what it must be like to be dead, floating like a ghost into and out of people’s lives, into and out of all the worlds we’ve inhabited. The compression and conflation of time that Facebook provides makes way for the beguiling draw of nostalgia.

Nostalgia, like grief, is essentially homesickness, and we tend to get homesick when we want to restore the parts of ourselves we think we are losing or have lost. Soon enough, I found myself looking up my old summer camps, my old junior high school (that’s what we New Yorkers called middle school), and inevitably I discovered a Facebook page dedicated to Riverdale, the small northwest Bronx neighborhood where I spent my formative years.

Growing up, we spent the month of August at a tennis resort near La Jolla, California. For me, it was like going to camp each year. The same families came back year after year and our days were filled with lots of tennis, stealing golf carts, movie night, and lunch at the “club house”. As a young child, sitting in the club house with my friends, drinking my “Tab” with lemon and ordering my own lunch was a huge treat.

I always ordered the same thing; grilled ham and swiss cheese on pumpernickel bread with a side of cabbage salad. It was grilled perfectly and all year long I would crave this sandwich. I did attempt to make it at home and although it was good, there was nothing better than eating it on the deck of the club house, looking down on center court – watching all the greats play.

I'm not sure who first decided to smoke an oyster or why, but it sure was a good idea. The texture of a smoked oyster is nothing like a raw oyster. It's firm yet still creamy, sweet and addictive to eat as candy.

The little ones that come in the can are often used as appetizers. Despite being labeled "colossal" they are anything but. They taste a bit like the oil they are packed in. While the canned ones are ok, they are impossible to go back to after eating fresh ones from the Pacific Northwest.

Recently I agreed to judge a contest and received a shipment of deluxe seafood to help me "prepare." I got two fresh steamed crabs, shrimp, smoked salmon and the most plump, sweet smoked oysters I had ever tried. While I had no problem coming up with ideas for using all of the other seafood, I was a bit stumped by the oysters.