Blog Archives
You’re from away, aren’t ya?
Your guide to vacationing in Maine this summer
Eat in or take out!
It was recently brought to my attention that in my last post, Welcome to New York! Now get out of my way, I may have come across as a bit, how shall I say, strident. Some might even say elitist or xenophobic. I don’t know, I’ll leave the choice of adjective to you. In any case, in the interest of fair play (and as part of my ongoing commitment to tourist safety), I’m taking the quite possibly unprecedented step of rebutting myself on this one with some advice for New Yorkers who plan to visit the great state of Maine this summer. Why? Well, for one thing Maine has fairly “relaxed” gun laws, and those objects you see bisecting the rear windows of pickup trucks are not golf-club racks.
Finger Rolls: The Superbowl Party MUST
Triumph in my search for the most elusive of rolls
Certainly a finger roll, but not the one I mean. Via celticsgreen.blogspot.com.
Some of you may recall that in an earlier post I expounded on the many merits of the finger roll, not the least of which is it’s ability to absorb vast quantities of alcohol. It’s real rumble food, folks. And now that the Superbowl and all it’s bone crushing, Belichick-genius-or-madman glory is nearly here, I’ve once again taken up the quest to find finger rolls in the metropolis, where the munchkin of the bread world is about as easy to locate as a native New Yorker in Times Square.
Gold Medal Bakery's finest
And so I am thrilled to report that the good folks at the Gold Medal Bakery are still fighting the good fight and putting out these little gems. They assure me you can reliably find them at Stop & Shop grocery stores, and lo and behold there’s one a mere three miles from my house! So I called them and arranged to pick up two dozen TOMORROW which will give me plenty of time to whip up the requisite batches of ham salad and egg salad to accompany the baked beans and cole slaw for my Patriots party menu. And beer of course. I’ve been saving up my carb allocation for three weeks, my friends, and on Sunday at last beer and bread will be back on the menu. I am beside myself.
We are SO ready. Courtesy AP
The Marking The World Project
I stumbled upon this project and immediately marked my home state of Maine with the word beans though I suppose I might just as well have chosen Italian sandwich or fat-ass-in-a-glass. There’s a rich cultural heritage up there in northern New England. Anywho, if you’ve got a word and a story, why not make your mark?
Saturday night is bean night!
wicked good beans!
In Maine, back in the Bronze Age when I grew up, it was traditional to have Boston baked beans on Saturday night, and by this I mean every Saturday night. Now, there were families that just heated up a can of B&M, dumped some coleslaw from Shaw’s into a bowl, steamed up the brown bread and called it a night. Not mine. For us, baked beans represent serious tradition. Grammie Sue baked her own, as do my parents, and so do I. In the past, I have even made my own brown bread, but I cannot in good conscience urge you to do so; just buy the can. Making brown bread is a pain in the bean shoot.
Why Saturday night?, I’ll bet you’re wondering. Well, I can only guess, but my hunch is that it has something to do with the Puritan mania for mortification of the flesh. Let me explain.
Kitchen Slattern 