tricky happy

If one doesn't "believe in God" in the conventional sense, and yet one finds oneself praying, who exactly is it that one is praying to?  Moreover, if one doesn't "believe in God" in the conventional sense, and one's prayers are answered, whom, pray tell, does one thank?

Dilemma?  Perhaps.  But a sweet one.  A blessedly philosophically trivial dilemma, the type of which Deepak Chopra would encourage.

I have been writing these missives to my friends and self in the form of blog for over a year now.  In the shady back burner schematic mind set of mine, it was a year project.  Not completely non inspired by Julie and Julia, a year long project writing about us and what we are eating and the vague notion that even though times were indeed quite tough, we were still going to eat well and notice it.  And then, after a year, let's see what we have and where we are.

So, what have we and where are we?

A year ago I was in a kind of self induced agony and cursing fate because I had to take jobs that I considered tinged with the bile hue of failure in the catering food world, I had to help Jono with his party in Brooklyn.
Today I had to turn down helping Jono again because this year's party conflicted with a scheduled performance of Billy Elliot and I'm bummed.

A year ago catering Jono's party lead to working with Carlo for another party where I met Louis who is now the Chef for the Italian Ambassador at the U.N.
Today, I work for Louis as his sous chef whenever I can.  We have cooked for parties at the Ambassador's residence, a fire Station in long Island (that we nearly set on fire with some misguided sterno use), corporate events in Sag Harbor, and private residences in Long Island, Manhattan, and New Jersey.  Every time I assist this French Culinary Institute trained Chef who has become a dear friend, I learn more, my skill level jumps, and frankly, love it.

A year ago I hadn't even heard of Chef Bobo.  I started writing these things and my friend Sarah said, "Hey, write some children's books for me."  So I did.  She said, "Write this book about Chef Bobo."  So I did.  Chef Bobo.  Such a presence in my life now, hard to believe he wasn't always there.  Chef Bobo is the executive chef at the Calhoun School on the upper west side of Manhattan and one of the original school lunch program revolutionaries.  After receiving an post middle age training at the French Culinary Institute and being fired up after reading "Fast Food Nation", he revamped the lunch program at Calhoun, hiring young FCI trained chefs and bringing organic, fresh, beyond gourmet, delicious foods to those lucky, lucky kids everyday.
Sarah introduced me to him.  I spent some days watching the program and talking to Bobo to get his life story.  He hired me a couple of times to help with some events at Calhoun.
Today, he inspires me daily.   He taught me through his very being that stumbling and finding your bliss ain't just a pretty turn of Campbell phrase, it is a whole, valid, actuality.  Re-meeting Sarah and meeting Bobo changed my life.

A year ago, I had a conversation with Paul my father in law about four days before he died.  I told him that I was determined to get some culinary training and not ever have a year like the one we just had.  He said he thought is was a good idea and then asked me what caramelized meant.
Today, I find that I have made good on that promise or determination.  I felt, when talking to Paul, more than a little guilt at having failed to find the bacon to bring home.  I had the responsibility of providing for his daughter and his children and I hadn't been able to find a way to do that.

A year ago, I thought that working in any other profession other than my chosen field of theater, film and television was failure.
Today, I am on a delicious adventure wherein I have discovered all sorts of treasures that I hadn't even suspected existed.


A year ago, I stumbled.
Today... I am finding bliss.

A year ago, we had exhausted our savings and had to borrow from relatives to pay our mortgage.    Throughout the next several months we would eek by with tax refunds and some very generous friends who appeared magically out of the past to get us through the spring.  But by June we simply couldn't raise our mortgage and stopped paying.   We fell three months behind.
Today, with my blessed steady employment for the last three months we have set up a payment plan with the bank and have gained ground on our debt.  If, I am able to continue working, we might just pull even again by the spring.

A year ago, I had wondered if I would ever work in the theater again.  Wondered if I wanted to.  Wondered what I had done wrong, why I was being punished.
Today I work on Broadway in a production that challenges me in every way.  Physically, I have been transformed.  20 pounds lighter and in better shape than I, frankly ever thought I would be again.
Didn't even think it was possible. Moreover, I work in a production that is the rarest of all commodities on Broadway these days, a piece that is artistically valid and determined to keep it's opening night integrity intact.  I am blessed.

A year ago, I asked for what I have Today.

It has been very difficult to get this particular chapter of the blog out.  Not only is there the pressure of the "year long" installment, but the need isn't quite what it was.  It is harder to write when you are happier.

So listen, here is the biggest lesson:  No matter what, I can never think of myself as "arrived".  No matter what, I must not be "satisfied".  I have learned that the place where I considered my failure to live -providing food for people as a living, was actually the place where my happiness existed, and frankly, no one is more surprised than I. 

So, instead of saying, "Ah, I made it through it, I am on Broadway again!  Whew!  Hopefully, I'll never have another year like that again!", I am saying, "Thank God I am lucky enough to have another well paying TEMPORARY job in the theater.  Thank God I have learned that every job in the theater is TEMPORARY.   I will use every spare second to keep making the people food and finding away to feed my family by finding a way to feed everybody." 

And I do.  On nights off I have cooked with Louis at the Ambassador's residence and we just did a job on Thanksgiving cooking for 20.  The writing continues, the searching continues, the living continues.
The theater jobs come and go, but everybody wants to eat every day.

So I for one, plan to suck it up.

So, the answer is, I thank all the Gods.  I believe in the power of belief.  It got us through.

Gosh I love you people.

Happy New Year!

LEMON LINGUINE WITH ROASTED BEATS, ARUGULA, CREAM FRAICHE AND A DUCK STOCK REDUCTION

For Roasted Beets:
2 or 3 medium to large beets
olive oil
Kosher salt
Butter

Preheat oven to 400º.  Keeping skin on beets, brush on oil and sprinkle with salt.  Wrap each beet in tin foil and place on pan in oven.  Roast for 1 hour.
Let Beets cool, peel, and then julienne.  (I used a fancy mandolin with a julienne attachment.  The object is to get the beet the same width and thickness as the linguine so that it will incorporate in the pasta seamlessly.)
In a tablespoon or two of butter, saute beets just enough to melt the butter and incorporate throughout.  Set aside.

For the Duck Stock Reduction:
2 quarts duck stock
1 to 2 cups Chardonnay

In a sauce pan combine the wine and duck stock and boil about 30 to 40 minutes until greatly reduced and thickened.
Set aside.

For the lemon oil:
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 lemon, zested.
Combine the oil and the lemon zest in a small bowl and reserve.

For the Pasta:
1 lb. fresh linguine pasta
2 Tbs. olive oil
4 Shallots, chopped
3 Garlic cloves, minced
1/4 cup lemon juice (about 2 lemons)
2 lemons zested.
salt and pepper
1 bunch arugula
Creme Fraiche

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat.  Add the pasta and cook 2 to 3 minutes. 
Meanwhile, in a large heavy skillet, warm the olive oil over medium heat.  Add the shallots and garlic and cook for 3 to 5 minutes until soft but not browned.   Add the cooked linguine (take it directly from the water without draining so that pasta water still clings to the pasta), lemon juice, lemon zest, salt and pepper.  Using a mesh sieve, strain the lemon zest out of the reserved lemon olive oil and add oil to the pasta.  The zest can be discarded.  Toss to combine.

Plating:
Lay down duck stock reduction, add pasta, layer beets, layer arugula, top with creme fraiche and lemon zest.

Preserve Us

    Eric Gunhus (Cast member Billy Elliot Broadway):   So you're going on for Dad on Tuesday?

    Me:   Yep.

    Eric Gunhus:  You're not getting a put in, or run through, and you haven't trailed back stage?

     Me:  Yep.

    Eric Gunhus:  Good luck.

     Me:  Thanks.

     Eric Gunhus:  I meant for us.


    Sunday night on the commuter train home after the show.  11:03 P.M.  Writing this longhand in a yellow pad with a felt tip black pen while I wait on the rumbling train for lift off out of Penn Station at 11:11 when New Jersey Transit will chug me out of Manhattan to South Orange and home.   It's a latish train on a Sunday night, so it's quiet with plenty of seats.  No rowdy Saturday night drunks on this train.

 It's the end of the "5 show weekend."  One on Friday, Two on Saturday, and Two on Sunday.  Usually this is the end of the week and the Sunday show gets a bit giddy as it is the precursor to the actor's "weekend", Monday being the day off.  This particular week, however, Columbus day falls on the Monday, and the powers that be have determined that people may just buy tickets on this holiday Monday, which means we continue our workweek and perform on Monday night, and Tuesday night and have our "weekend" on Wednesday.

     The train is speeding through the tunnel deep under the Hudson River toward Secaucus now.

    On Tuesday I will go on as "Dad".   This means the principal role that I understudy (Dad) normally played by Greg Jbara will be vacant on Tuesday because Greg has a film gig in Alaska.  I will perform the Tuesday and Sunday evening performances and Joel Hatch, who normally plays "George" will play the other six performances.  I will bookend the week.  I will be the bread on the sandwich and Joel will be the meat. 

   So, the last night of my extra long week ends with the first attempt at a principal role in the Tony Award winning show in the Tony Award winning actor's role.  I haven't had a rehearsal for the role in weeks, although I will get a kind of crash run through with a skeleton crew of actors Tuesday afternoon. 

   We are out of the tunnel and into the New Jersey night.

     My mother and stepfather will be at the performance on Tuesday.  In an ideal situation, when shot out of the cannon and into the major role in the Broadway show, one desires a blind shot.  Strangers only in the audience please.  But Mom and Dave have been planning to come visit for months and the circumstances just worked out that it would happen to be the week I would be going on.  So... I am very happy they will be there.

     Secaucus.

     I alternate between being thrilled and terrified, and wonder what the difference is really.  I take comfort in knowing, from the times that I have done this before, that this is exactly how I should be feeling. 

     You know what?  I've done this before.  I've jumped into major Broadway roles before and the experiences have always wound up being some of the most cherished memories of my career.  Because they are great roles and this is one of the reasons that the actors playing them have won the awards.  This is no exception.   This role, "Dad", is a great role.

      I drift away from the yellow pad and the felt tip pen and doze on the train until it reaches South Orange.  I shoulder my bag and walk up the hill to our house.

          +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

     Monday at the theater, doing my usual performance.  Uncomfortable would be the word.  Every one I run into says something to the effect of "...this time tomorrow night."  Weakly, I smile.  I'm achy.  Anxious.  Scared.

     After a couple of scotches post show in the dressing room I exit the stage door and am thrust into a terrible rainstorm.  I attempt to get the 11:21 train but am stymied by the storm and huddle under an awning while genuinely frightening thunder cracks over head.  

     I smile.  The role is mine.  For the next 24 hours right or wrong, success or failure it is mine.  I laugh and walk the rest of the way to the station in the rain.   Anxiety gives way to eagerness... desire.  

    I rehearse scenes quietly on the train in my seat and on the walk home up the hill. 

     +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dawn Riffenburg Needham's ROASTED TOMATO SAUCE

Preheat oven to 425. Core 3 pounds tomatoes (beefsteak or plum, heirloom work too). Cut tomatoes in half, put on large parchment-lined rimmed baking sheet. Add 1 medium onion, halved and sliced about 1/4-inch thick, 2 carrots, sliced into 1/4-inch rounds, 4 cloves peeled garlic, thyme or herb of choice (fresh, about a tablespoon, dried, about a teaspoon). Toss mixture with 2 T olive oil, salt and pepper. Spread in a single layer, putting tomatoes cut side down, and roast until tender 45 minutes to an hour.

Using tongs if hot or your fingers if you've let them cool, pull off the tomato skins and discard . Transfer tomato mixture and any juices to a blender or food processor; pulse until you like the consistency. Freezes great.

** It's sometimes hard for me to throw out these yummy skins, so I dry in a low oven (200)  for a couple of hours, then crumble and keep them in a spice jar. It makes great topping for pizza or eggs or as a spice mixture, just use your imagination.

It Comes a Calling

Change has come to our home on College Place.  Dad goes off to work, Duncan goes to school, Shaw eats things, grows teeth, brushes her hair, gets jokes, makes jokes, kisses things, tortures kitty cats, Nicole does everything including making more dinners nowadays.

     The change in Duncan was immediate after his first day of school.  At dinner when he found out we were having brussel's sprouts he emits an "Oh yeah, Baby!"  New territory.  What child is this?

     It is an enormous thing to send your kid off to school for the first time - to consign him into the arms of the establishment that will sculpt him for better or worse for the next fifteen to twenty years.   He has known only family as an institution until now, and here comes this intangibly large beast called the education system with it's infinite influences of authority figures, peers and materials.  What Duncan will emerge?

     After his second day of school, Duncan came downstairs in his jammies to say goodnight to me.  We usually have a quick fight/wrestle or some other ritual game, I get the hug and the kiss and up he goes to bed.  Tonight he went straight for the hug and didn't let go.  Finally, he peeled himself off, gave me a kiss and went upstairs.  I mentioned the deep hug to Nicole and she told me about the remarkable conversation they had had during his bath.

     Duncan asked if it was true that he would die someday.  Nicole told him it was as gently as a parent can do when asked these inevitable questions.  Also true that she would die?  Yes.  And Dad?  Yes.  And Shaw.  Yes.  And the cats?   Duncan wept in the tub.

    Nicole told me all this.  I remembered my first week in kindergarten.  I was called "Andy" back then and sitting across from me at my table was another Andy.  Andy Petingale.  We made friends immediately because of the remarkable coincidence.  At the end of the week Dad was reading the paper while mom was making dinner. 

    "Do you know a boy named Andy Petingale?"

    "Yep.  He's my best friend."

     "Oh."   Says my dad from behind the paper.

     Andy had been riding his bike between two parked cars.  A car backed over him and killed him. 

     I remember a very specific night in my bed not sleeping yet seeing, or thinking I was seeing Andy's face and the face of our cat Tiffany who also had been run over by a car.  Seeing their ghost faces and understanding that they were dead and I would die too.

     So the next Monday I'm over at Pete's house for the Monday Night Football hang in his garage.  Pete has a daughter, Dakota, also entering kindergarten .  I tell him about Duncan's revelation and it turns out Dakota has had nearly the same conversation with Pete and Nancy about death. 

     We've certainly had our share of death in our house this last year.  Paul, Guy.   Both ripped untimely.  Both from cancer.   Reawakening the tenuousness of it all for all of us. 

     So.   Is the first lesson that one learns upon entering the education system the true and undeniable nature of our morality?  Is the first lesson of kindergarten not colors and patterns, not abcs and the first halting, sound it out, tentative steps into reading; alongside the smell of paste and crayons, the sound of the bell, is the first lesson of kindergarten death?


Suck it up:

SEARED "LOLLIPOP" LAMB CHOP WITH ROSEMARY BALSAMIC REDUCTION,  COUS COUS WITH SHALLOTS AND SAGE VANILLA MUSHROOMS, ROASTED ASPARAGUS WITH SHAVED PECORINO


Lamb and Reduction

1 Rack of Lamb, trimmed of fat and cut into indivudual "lollipop" chops.
olive oil
1 Tbs. chopped fresh rosemary
salt and pepper
1/2 cup Balsamic vinegar
1 Tbs sugar
splash of Orange Juice

 Let chops come to room temperature and coat with olive oil.  Sprinkle both sides with rosemary, salt, and pepper.  Let sit for 15 to 20 minutes.
Heat a large skillet over very high heat.  When skillet is very hot, sear lamb chops 3 minutes each side.  Set chops aside to rest.
Add vinegar to skillet and reduce heat to medium.  Add sugar, a pinch of salt, and orange juice, allow to reduce until half the original amount remains.  Spoon over chop and serve.

Cous Cous with Shallots and Sage Vanilla Mushroooms

Cous Cous
chicken or veggie stock
olive oil
2 Shallots
10 oz. sliced porcini mushrooms
1 teaspoon vanilla
8 whole sage leaves
salt and pepper

Prepare cous cous according to package directions using vegetable or chicken stock instead of water.
In a saute pan,  heat olive oil over medium heat and cook shallot until soft but not brown.  Stir into prepared cous sous.  In same pan, heat olive oil to to very high heat add vanilla, and porcini.  Brown on both sides.  2 to 3 minutes.
Remove mushrooms and saute sage leaves until crisp.  Season mushrooms with salt and pepper.

Roasted Asparagus with Pecorino

1 lb. trimmed Asparugus,
olive oil,
salt
shaved pecorino romano

Preheat oven to 400º.  Coat asparagus with olive oil and sprinkle with kosher salt.  Spread evenly on roasting pan.  Roast for 10 to 13 minutes, until beginning to brown.  Top with shaved pecorino and serve.
If you like, you can blanch and shock asparagus first which will eliminate some of the stringiness that might come with roasting only.

More O' Lesson

 So, at last, the one I've been waiting and wanting to write.  We are employed.  The Broadway company of Billy Elliot has hired me on a three month contract to execute a featured ensemble track ("Scab/Posh Dad") and to understudy Greg Jbara's track ("Dad")  Back on Broadway.   The relief is palpable.

     I began rehearsal a little over three weeks ago and had my "put in" into production performance last Saturday.   I have lost 10 pounds during those rather grueling three weeks, owing to  entering into a "training/rehearsal" eating regimen and the extensive physical training required of the members of this incredible company.   I haven't worked this hard, or have been asked to work this hard in a production since college. 

    I hadn't seen the show prior to being hired.  It's incredible.  If there is to be an entry for the intergalactic music theater competition from the planet earth, I nominate Billy Elliot.  We might just take Venus this year.   See it.

     I got a message from my brother Dave not long after receiving the call to work.

     " It seems like a frigging miracle, and I hope it indeed is. I tell you, though, I don't think you in any way deserved whatever lesson this was trying to teach you. In fact, it makes me believe even less in such things as these kinds of lessons than ever before."

     Oddly encouraging.  Revealing a level of concern and regard that my brother harbors for me that I find enormously moving.  One thing we have discovered over the last couple of years when our cupboards were very bare, was how deep our pockets truly were with family and friends.    The message also is very funny.

     So many of the congratulatory messages that appeared were along the lines of, "It's a miracle!"  "See, things always work out this way."  "... Closed doors, open windows!"  Etc.   All of these messages intimating an actor's religion of sorts.  A belief among artists in a great design, a higher power.  We do it all the time.  We need that faith. 

    I had a class at NYU called "Dreams, Dream Psychology and the Performing Artist."   One of the theories being - what we perceive as dreams when we sleep are nothing but random images from the subconscious.  It is only upon awakening and entering the conscious mind  that we manipulate these images into narrative, into stories.   Stories complete with beginning, middle, and end that we then actively apply meaning and moral to.

     I've come to the conclusion that us humans actively do this in the conscious world as well.   We constantly take the random events that occur in our lives and fashion them in story and utilize them.   There is no more valuable commodity to our collective and individual conscious than story.  Often folks with the best story win in politics, the arts, business, love.... life.

    In terms of our recent random events over the last couple of years the immediate interpretation is as follows:  We struggled, I had to dig deeper, suck it up, and was ultimately rewarded with this plum job.  I like this interpretation very much and will stick to this story as I have at other points in my artistic life when times were tough and was eventually rewarded.  

     Travel back with me to 1996.  There I was slaving away at three restaurant jobs at once in Manhattan with the Broadway gig of '89 and the TV gigs of  the early 90's already memory.   I had just started at the Blue Water Grill and was quickly developing bitter actor persona.  At 31, I was already the oldest waiter on staff and affectionately nicknamed  "papa" by the clever little tits.  It felt like my chosen career had completely evaporated and here I was back in the restaurants.  A failure. 

    I had a waiter's nightmare of a day.  Absolutely and entirely in the weeds for hours, angry customers, sucky tips, the money completely not working out at the end of the day.

     Back at home in my Brooklyn apartment I lamented on the late night land line to my pal Funda.  "Where did I go wrong?  What did I do wrong?  What happened to my career?'

       Funda said, "How do you expect to make it work there (where you want to be) if you aren't making it work here (where you are)?"

      Bells went off.  I sucked it up.  I determined to become the best waiter in the restaurant.  I memorized the wine list.  I sold the most specials.  I sucked up to management.  I did more side work than was required.   Work was better.  Within two weeks I was cast in  the original company of Titanic on Broadway.  

     Aha!  Lesson learned!   And yet, 13 years later, time to relearn it and suck it up again.   There is a twist, however.

      On the recommendation of many friends, I read "Heat" recently.  Bill Buford's account of a transformed life working as a kitchen slave in Mario Batali's New York restaurant.   There is a section about Mario Batali, Bobby Flay and other cutting edge chef's including David Bouley meeting regularly for late night benders and binges at the Blue Ribbon restaurant in downtown NY in the late 90's before any of them had achieved the international stardom they enjoy now.  I worked for David Bouley back then as an Asst. Mait're 'D, and remember waiters and sous chefs asking me if I wanted to go to Blue Ribbon after work.  I remember turning them down because I would have rehearsal in the morning, or wanted to keep the restaurant world from consuming me completely while I was trying to get that next theater gig, so I could quit my day job.     You see, I only worked in the food world for the money so that I could pursue my goal of making a living in the theater. 

     13 years later, willing to give almost anything to time travel back and take those guys up on that offer to hang out at the Blue Ribbon, I find that I'm working in the theater for the money so that I can be with the food I love. 

      After the Blue Water Grill, "excellence in everything" lesson learned, I thought I had achieved the "happily ever after."  Now I work in the theater for the rest of my life, because I learned my lesson. 

     So much of my drive to succeed in the theater was to show and prove to various non believers in my past that it was possible.  It was my goal to raise a family and buy a house being an actor.  I find it therefore, pretty darn interesting that I ran into the work stoppage after achieving those goals.  More interesting, I'm not really so interested in what those non believers think anymore anyway.  I stalled and stumbled and found many treasures, and am interested in pursuing them not to show anyone, but because I love doing them. 

    I love making food for folks.

     Nicole and I worked very hard to not let our economic crisis rob us of our happiness.   To not let the fear of losing what we have overtake the beautiful moments we were actually in.   Now that the tone is lighter and we can funnel money to the bank to stave off the foreclosure notice that was but two weeks away at the time I got the job, we have an even greater obligation to guard our happiness and stay in the moment.

   So here's the thing.  In the past, when I've been saved by the big job, I've thought that that was the end of the story.... not this time.  I have had my horizons broadened by our "crisis".  I stumbled and found treasure.  I want all of the things I found.  So, while I work this very temporal job in the most temporal of the arts, I will continue to pursue the Underground Restaurant, Children's Book Writing, Book Writing, Blogging, Private Cheffing, Family Raising, Television Show Developing, Musical Writing, Violin Playing, Gardening Drew and make a dozen new stories each and every day.

Suck this up:

SPAGHETTINI WITH BALSAMIC GREEN TOMATO AND SWEET ITALIAN SAUSAGE.

2 Tbs. olive oil plus a little more
1 to 2 lbs. green tomato sliced thin
2 cloves garlic minced
6 Tbs. balsamic vinegar
1 Tbs. sugar
1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper
tsp. minced fresh oregano or marjoram
1/2 lb. to 1 lb.  sweet Italian sausage
16 oz. spaghettini
Grated Pecorino Romano


  Heat skillet over high heat for several minutes then add oil.  When oil is nearly smoking hot add tomatoes and sear over very high heat for 3 minutes.  Reduce heat to medium and add garlic.  When garlic turns golden, add Balsamic, sugar, red pepper, oregano or marjoram.

   Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to boil and cook spaghettini to al dente.

    In another skillet with cover, bring half a cup of water to boil add sausage links, cover and steam for five minutes.  Remove from heat and slice sausages on the bias.  Dump water and add 1 Tbs. oil to skillet and quickly sear sausage pieces over high heat.  Add sausage to green tomato sauce. 

    When pasta is nearly Al Dente, add to green tomato sauce in skillet, toss, and cook until pasta is tender.   Add 1/2 cup of pasta water to sauce, toss and serve with grated Pecorino Romano.

Suck It Up

I have to go to Michigan and give a violin concert.  10 years ago, flush with money made on the road with the National Tour of Cabaret and engaged to Nicole I decided to donate a thousand dollars to a new school for strings that was opening in my home town of Port Huron, Michigan.   The idea was put forward by my mother that we take the money to set up a foundation and get others to donate money as well and we could support students in need in the area where I grew up in Michigan.  We could help them get money to study the violin.  Because, as I remember, it isn't cheap.  

We would call the foundation The Drew McVety Heartstrings Fund and I would give a concert at the community college as a fundraiser.   I had been playing a lot on the road.  A lot.  I had committed the entire Bach D Minor Partita to memory and planned to perform that baby live on the crucifix of a stage at the St. Clair County Community College Fine Arts Auditorium.   I did.   It went pretty darn well.   We raised a lot of money for the fund.  Heartstrings helps kids get violins and violin lessons in Port Huron Michigan to this day.

And it is a difference.  There was no School for Strings when I grew up.  There was no string program in the schools.  I studied in Canada across the river.  In Sarnia, Ontario, London, Ontario and Toronto.  That's where the violin lived.   So now that the school is in Port Huron, let's help keep it there I say.

My mother runs the whole thing, I'm really just a figure head.  My brother is on the board as are several devoted and loyal folks.   It's really quite wonderful.

I have since given two more concerts when funds start running low in the Fund and at the end of August it's time for another one.

When  I think about the 10 year ago Drew, flush for the first time in his life, student loans paid off, money in the bank, money in the stock market, living it up in Brooklyn, marrying a BABE, playing the D Minor Partita, letting the ego swell with the fantasy of going back home and doing it for the kids, mythologizing himself right in front of your very eyes; when I think of that not so and yet far away Drew, I am tempted to be jealous of him.

But you know what?  That's just too easy.  It just doesn't work that way, and the sooner I figure that out, the sooner I'm going have some deeper, happier, day to days.

   So, I have to get ready for this violin concert right?  I haven't had a violin gig in a while and frankly I'm a little rusty.  Ain't gonna be pullin no Partita out of my bottom this time.  So I go over to my neighbor Pete's house to drink and play foosball with the guys.  I have several and tell Pete my troubles.  He's got some good advice.  "Suck it up."  he says.  "Go take your violin and play in the train station."

Pete is a fine painter and makes a buck every now and again by painting portraits of peoples houses.  Not painting houses, but... oh you get it.   Sometimes, he tells me, when times are tough for him, he will go set up his easel on the street and just start painting someone's house until someone asks him about it and he can give out his card... etc.  The painters equivalent of busking.  He sucks it up.  He thinks I should suck it up.

I think about how, every time in this last year I think that I am demeaning myself by a task that I think is "beneath me" I wind up learning and meeting someone who takes my life to a whole new place.  IE Louis Bavaro, the chef to the Italian Ambassador, who has given me extraordinary training this year as his sous chef when I "sucked it up" and approached him about maybe hiring me every now and again.

So, yes I say.  Suck It Up.  Put on your "Suck It up" T Shirt Drew. Make it your mantra.  Suck It Up.

The next day, 96º I take my violin to the train station.  I pick a place.  I figure, "I can practice here, if somebody kicks me out, then away I go."  Better than playing in the basement at home with zero acoustics and 100% humidity.

I play, and it sounds lovely.  Even though there is an industrial size fan no more than fifteen feet away somehow the wave lengths of the violin are not deterred and float above in a very lovely way.  I think, as I sway and play, how being a chamber instrument, your violin is only as good as your chamber... and the better the chamber the better the instrument.  People stop and turn and listen and smile.   A young African American teen drops in the first dollar.   I have to sort of stifle a cry when he does so.

In 1990 or thereabouts, I was awfully broke in New York city and had to raise rent immediately.  I went to Grand Central Station and played.  The first person to drop in a buck was an obviously homeless man.  It is always the last person you would expect who drops the first buck.

In the South Orange train station, I played away.  The policeman who had been checking the meters out on the street poked in his head and walked toward me.  "Uh oh.  Here we go."  I thought.

At Grand Central I had found the perfect spot to play.  A little alcove that naturally amplified the instrument so it sounded great just as you were walking up to the 4/5/6 train.  People already had their money out because they were preparing to buy their tokens.  They heard the violin and said, "Nice!" and dropped in a buck or change on the way.  A nun blessed me.  I made $125 in an hour.  A cop came up to me and told me I had to move.  I had to have a permit.   I went to the office and got a permit.  It permitted me to play in a designated location down a long empty hall in Grand Central occupied by no one but drug dealers.  I played a little, they glared at me, I left.

In South Orange, the policeman walked right up to me I kept playing.  He leaned in, looking right in my eyes, I leaned in and kept playing looking right in his eyes.

'What's the name of that piece?  That's lovely."   He said.  I told it was something I wrote for my wife about 10 years ago.  "That's beautiful."  He said and put a buck in my case.  He walked out the other door and gave somebody a ticket.

I played for the next hour or so, trying to figure out what I'm going to play for the concert.  I'm keeping it easy.  Stuff I like to play.  No crucifix this time.  I'm asking every student who receives funds, if they so desire, to play something.   And I'll play a little something, not too much, not too little.  Then we'll have all have some punch and cookies and go home.


So here's the thing 10 year ago Drew... that's right I'm talking to you, : In many ways life has turned out exactly as you expected.   You now have a home and beautiful children.   If you expected that some how it would all be easy and there would be money flowing the way it was then, (and I know you were) well, you were wrong.  Turns out, life kept behaving the way it always did.   Quirky and sometimes downright nasty.  Suck it up.

While I was playing in South Orange,  I watched a woman get off the NY train and head for the exit.  She paused for half a moment listening, and then went out the door.  Moments later she came back, asked if I gave lessons and wrote down her number on a piece of paper.  She wanted me to teach her daughter who plays at the school but hasn't been keeping it up over the summer.  She said, "maybe even twice a week."

Ha!  I think.  Suck it up!  See!   Later I call the woman and explain who I am to her voice mail and leave my info.   I don't hear anything.   A day goes by.  I go to the train station again and play.  I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.  It is the woman's number.   I finish the piece and listen to the phone.  In my head I'm thinking how wonderful it is that she called back when I went to the station again.  The holy virtue of Suck It Up is now going to reward me with a little teaching job!   Isn't God clever?   The voice on the other end is the woman apologizing for not getting back to me quicker.  She has lost her job and will not be able to hire me.   She is sorry.

I hang up and laugh.   I suck it up and play some more.  I make money while I practice.   About $15 an hour.  Not bad.   I pack up my violin and take it to the market.   I buy some food for my family and I go home and make them dinner.

CITRUS CARAMELIZED TILAPIA WITH BACON AND BALSAMIC WILTED BEET SPROUTS, QUICK BRAISED BABY TURNIP GREENS, AND MUSHROOM SAGE FRIED RICE

TILAPIA

4 Tilapia filets
salt and pepper
flour for dredging
juice of one orange
1 tsp red pepper flakes
1 Tbs. white wine vinegar
1 Tbs. sugar
2 Tbs. Olive Oil
2 Tbs. butter

Cut each fillet down center line into two pieces.  Season both sides of filets with salt and pepper.  Dredge lightly in flour until entire fillet is covered.  In a bowl, combine the orange juice, red pepper flakes, vinegar and sugar.

Heat Saute pan over high heat until very hot.  Add oil and butter.  When butter is fully melted and oil very hot add tilapia fillet and let brown fully on one side.  When brown, flip fillet let cook for 2 minutes and then add juice mixture.   Allow juice mixture to reduce to about half, spooning sauce on fillet.
When fillet is dark brown on second side serve immediately.

BACON AND BALSAMIC WILTED BEET SPROUTS
1 bunch Beet Sprouts  (I don't know where you would get these, I pulled them out of my garden when I was thinning my beets.)
2 strips bacon
1 clove garlic minced
2 Tbs. balsamic vinegar
1 Tbs sugar.

Clean sprouts and dry them in spinner or paper towels.  Fry Bacon until very crisp.  Remove bacon to paper towel and break into small bits.  Add Garlic to bacon fat and saute for 30 seconds, add vinegar and sugar and reduce for 1 minute.  Take off heat.  Pour onto sprouts in a bowl, toss and serve.

QUICK BRAISED BABY TURNIP GREENS

1 bunch baby turnip greens ( again, I got these in the garden while thinning.)
Olive Oil
Salt and Pepper
Water

Heat saute pan until very hot.  Add oil.  When oil is very hot add greens.  Saute until completely wilted and changed in color.  About a minute and a half.  Add salt and pepper and stir until fully seasoned.  Add 1/4 to 1/2 cup of water and cover.  Reduce heat and braise for 10 to 15 minutes or to taste.

MUSHROOM SAGE FRIED BROWN RICE

1 cup brown rice
1 Tbs. olive oil
2 cups chicken stock
salt and pepper

1 Tbs. vegetable oil
1 egg
1/2 red onion finely chopped
1/2 red pepper finely chopped
1 rib celery finely chopped

1 Tbs. olive oil
5 ounces slice mushroom of choice
Couple of shakes of soy sauce
8 sage leaves

In a small pot heat the olive oil until very hot.  Add the rice and toast, stirring for 2 to 3 minutes until aroma fills the kitchen.  Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to low and cover 45 to 50 minutes.   Remove from heat and let cool.

In a wok, heat the vegetable oil to very hot.  Bet the egg in a bowl and then add to oil.  When firm on one side, flip.  When cooked through, remove and cut into thin strips.

Add a little more oil to the wok and add onion, pepper and celery.   Cook on high heat for 5 to 7 minutes  and set aside.

In a saute pan, heat olive oil until very hot.  Add the mushrooms taking care that each slice is positioned on the bottom of the pan so it receives a good browning.  Saute for 4 to 5 minutes or until brown.  Flip mushrooms and add sage.  When sage crumples from heat add soy sauce and toss in saute pan.  Remove from heat and set aside.

Heat vegetable oil in Wok until very hot and add rice.  Make sure that rice is cooked thoroughly in oil then add egg,  and the onion, pepper, and celery mixture.  Toss until heated through.   Add sprinkle or two of soy sauce.

When serving, mound fried rice and top with mushroom sage mixture.

Soba ring

Have been putting off writing another of these, because in my mind, in my projection, in my conception of the overall arc of these collective pieces, it is time, high time, past time for the turn in the story line.  It's time, high time, past time for the fortunate twist, the unforeseen stroke of providence, the kiss of hidden kismet.   I want to write that installment.  I wish I could.  I can't.  And yet... I have to write.   That's the deal.

    We're entering the murky world of missed mortgage payments and falling credit ratings.  I'm writing this from the South Orange library.  I have an hour before I pick up Duncan from his day summer camp.  Back in May, when we had a couple of hundred bucks, we plunked it down for his day camp before we thought about it too much.   He needs the activity and socialization and we need the time with him out of the house so that we can get some things done without having to find an activity for him, so the four hours a day are as much for us as for him.    

    We have run out of surprise tax reprieves and generous relatives and friends.   I have had several auditions.... nothing.  I have now not had a steady theater gig for a year.  The longest I've gone since, oh... 1995.  When I let myself wonder, I wonder WTF, in the vernacular of the day.  WTF?   I say.  WTF?   Is it me?  Is it them?  Was I just lucky all those years?  Did I have some sort of something that has since disappeared?  Is it something I can remanufacture?  Can anyone tell me?  

     I pick up some sous cheffing jobs and collect a few residual checks every now and then.  In the world of the self motivated recreation of my middle aged self as a secret restauranteur, children's book writer, TV show producer, and Broadway Musical writer, there has been much to be joyful about.  Each one of these ventures has found it's own particular angel who has blessed the validity of each distinct scheme and pledged to join me in the cause of bringing about it's fruition.  Can one of them hit in time to save us from losing our home?  Maybe.  Snot likely.

     In the day to day, thanks to my wife and her teaching, I know that when I begin to dip into a place of worry that I have the ability to stop.  That worrying never did nobody one bit of good.  I can choose to worry or not.   Didn't used to be able to to do that.... now I can.    When I'm conscious.  The worst is when I wake from sleep and am in the night panic that has taken me when I am not conscious.  When I drift into the river of panic while asleep and it shoves me awake.  That is the worst.   Happened one night in Missouri.  Again it was Nicole who calmed me down.  

    Shaw is crawling.  

    I know that I can find a way to question the whole thing.  I can find a way to realize that the whole complex that led me to a conclusion that The American Dream (happiness) equals Home Ownership, is a flawed and base system that would have me conscript myself to a particularly perverse formula whereby I would pay more than twice the price of the house that I am buying through a conveniently disorienting mortgage scheme that only benefits a corrupt banking system that would make the mafia blush.   But the fact is, if I could afford it, I would say, "Oh well, what you gonna do?"   It's only because it looks like I'm not going to be able to find a way to survive it that I bother to thoroughly excoriate the system's unfairness.

    We somehow find a way to keep getting food on the table.  And that is what this particular space has always been about.  The garden is the best it ever has been.  Tomatoes are just around the corner and beautiful.  

    I am very, very weary of all of this.   Weary of social calls where I can't really talk about how crappy everything is.  

    Of course, I just re read Angela's Ashes, and I know that things could be a lot worse.  In fact, our crisis isn't about the terrible current reality, it's about fear of losing what we have, and therefore, when I can realize that the day to day is still somehow, kind of beautiful, in fact incredibly beautiful.... of course that is the challenge... this is my lesson.    

I run about three miles every morning after I get up.   Then I sit cross legged in the back yard for fifteen minutes and listen with my eyes closed.  I hear wind and cicadas mostly.   Then I breathe a bit.

Give us THIS DAY.   Somehow, we still have this one.

CHAR GRILLED PORK CHOPS WITH LIME, SOBA NOODLES, SPICY ORANGE SAUCE, AND FOUR BASILS

adapted from Martha Stewart

Everyday Food

1/2 cup kosher salt
juice of 3 limes

1/4 cup fresh orange juice (from 1 orange)
2 tablespoons mirin (rice wine)
1 1/2 teaspoons soy or fish sauce
1 teaspoon rice vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons minced jalapeno or serrano chile
1/2  teaspoon peeled fresh ginger
4 nice pork chops
coarse salt
8 ounces soba
desired toppings - I used cucumber, red pepper, avocado, radish, scallion, peanut, mint, cinnamon basil, thai basil, Genovese basil, and lemon basil.

Add  1/2 cup kosher salt and juice of 3 limes to two quarts of water.   Soak chops in brine for at least four hours in fridge.

In a bowl combine orange juice, mirin, soy or fishsauce, vinegar, chile, and ginger.   Let flavors combine in fridge for several hours.

Take chops out of brine and allow to come to room temperature.

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook noodles according to package instructions.  Drain and rinse noodles with cold water.

Grill chops over direct heat charcoal flame, turning once, until interior temperature reaches 155º.   Let rest for 5 minutes.

Serve pork and noodles with desired toppings and sauce.  

Golden Brown

Something's going on around here.

Earlier this week I received a phone call and email from the agent with an appointment for an audition for a play that I did in a workshop 5 years ago. Pretty great part. Play had problems. Now after 5 years, it is getting a legitimate production in a legitimate regional theater with it's eye on Broadway I'm sure. Would I audition? Sure I think. I know they were happy with my work. I know that I enjoyed the role.

I look at the breakdown that my agent has sent me for the audition. I am not auditioning for the role that I had played before. I am now auditioning for that character's father. In those long short five years I have aged from brother to father. Not nearly as great a part.

"Ha!" I said out loud. "That's funny." because it is.

I then spent some time plotting dishes for the proposed underground restaurant that I'm opening with a pal that I'm not telling you about right now, because it's underground. But the plan is great. Several courses, you need to sign a confidentiality agreement, know the password, pay in advance. It's sweet. It's exciting. It consumes me.

Then I spent some time working on the food history children's books that I'm doing with Kid Zenith. The start up boutique publishing house has hit a couple of bumps on the startup and is revising it's business plan. May go straight to app for Ipad, may go up as a pay website... there is a lot in flux, but still moving forward and gathering steam despite the hiccups. Sarah, the publisher and CEO has commissioned me to write two other books for them as well. It consumes me.

Then I spent some time working on the TV food show I'm helping to develop, that I'm not comfortable sharing the details of with you because it's such a great idea. The other creatives and I had a meeting in Central Park the other day that went swimmingly and was frankly exciting. We're raising the dough. Planning to shoot in July or August. It consumes me.

I spent mother's day as a sous chef in Long Island working for Chef Louis Bavaro who just this week began his new gig as private chef to the Italian Ambassador at the U.N. There was a lot of wind the night before and we had no power in the house, and yet we found a way to feed all 21 guest an 8 course meal. We used the gas grill creatively. It was like a Top Chef challenge. I wore the white chef's coat, and a hat. I liked it. There was candlelight.

The folks were very Long Island. The hostess asked me in her very Long Island, "Drew, are you from England?"

"No." I replied. "Just pretentious."

It consumes me.

I have other plans, all about food. All that could easily fly and make something. Maybe make a lot. I really like them. They consume me.

The great thing is, all these things, they bring me a kind of titillation, an almost naughty excitement that I'm cheating on the Theater God. But these are the projects that now occupy my mind . And it is much different than focusing on the phone that isn't vibrating because the theater world isn't calling. That way lay sadness and bitterness. I have a feeling this other way lay bliss. And ultimately maybe a way to enjoy the theater again instead of being pissed at it for not providing in the way I thought it should.

You see, I know that if I got that call and email from the agent a couple of months ago, I would've obsessed about the bad luck and the unfairness of it all, the fear of getting older, the fear of losing everything, the fear and the disappointment, the fear and the disappointment, and the fear and the disappointment.

Instead, I sort of laughed about it, and then forgot about it.

Something's going on around here.

When I was a young man, maybe 7 or 8, I would order American Seeds from the back of Boy's Life magazine. I would sell the seeds around the neighborhood and then return the money to the American seed company who would then send me a prize of my choice. I remember getting a fishing pole one year, and another, flippers and a mask. But I also remember feeling like a self made man. Like an entrepeneur. Like I was going places and knew how to make money.

I haven't felt that way in a long time. I like it.

The thing is, and I'm aware of this especially after losing the last big savior theater job a couple of weeks ago, the longer I go, the more I want one of these crazy schemes of mine to hit more than being saved by my heroin/theater addiction. I crave more power, I have really come to resent not having a real creative voice in the project when hired as the actor. I resent also the blue collar-ness of it... I want to get on the other side of the table. I don't ever want to go through this crisis again.

And one other thing. My food is getting really good.

Consume it.


CHEF BOBO'S FRIED CHICKEN (from his incredible book: Chef Bobo's Good Food Cookbook - buy it on Amazon)

1 2 to 3 pound chicken fryer, cut into 10 pieces
4 cups buttermilk
2 tablespoons fine sea salt
2 tablespoons black pepper
1 tablespoon hot pepper sauce (I used Clancy's from Ann Arbor. AWESOME)
3 cloves garlic, smashed
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon dry mustard
1 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin.
Canola or safflower oil

1. Wash chicken. Pat dry with paper towels. For marinade, combine buttermilk, 1 tablespoon of the salt, 1 tablespoon of the pepper, hot pepper sauce, and garlic. Place chicken in a larger container. Pour marinade over chicken. Cover and marinate in refrigerator for 24 hours.

2. In a shallow dish combine flour, the remaining 1 tablespoon salt, the remaining 1 tablespoon pepper, garlic powder, mustard, paprika, chili powder, and cumin. Take a pinch of the flour mixture and taste it - it should be a bit salty and peppery.

3, Drain chicken but do not wipe off. Coat the chicken pieces with the flour mixture. Preheat oven to 350ºF. Place a cooling rack in a large baking sheet or jelly roll pan. Set aside

4. pour oil into a deep heavy pot. The oil should not reach more than halfway up the side of the pot. Heat over high heat to 350ºF. Reduce heat to medium. Place the chicken, one piece at a time, in the hot oil. (Be very careful, as the oil will boil up and you don't want it to overflow.) Fry chicken 3 or 4 pieces at a time, until golden brown. Remove chicken from oil, and place on cooling rack.

5.. Once all the chicken has been fired, transfer the baking sheet or jelly roo pan holding the cooling rack to the oven. (This will help crisp the batter on the chicken and let much of theoil drain from the chicken.) Bake until fully cooked (180ºF), about 20 minutes.

BRAISED GREENS

2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 onion chopped
3 garlic cloves, chopped
2 pounds collard. mustard, or turnip greens thick stems trimmed, leaves coarsely chopped
2 cups chicken broth
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

Melt butter with vegetable oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Ad onion and garlic and saute until tender, about 6 minutes. Add greens and saute until beginning to wilt. Stir in broth; bring to boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer until greens are very tender, stirring occasionally, about 45 minutes. Stir in vinegar. Season with salt and pepper.

CRACK MASHED POTATOES

2 lbs. Red potatoes diced with skins
1 stick butter
Salt and Pepper

Boil the potatoes then drain. Combine with butter and salt and pepper in large bowl. Mash.

TOMATO GRAVY

2 tablespoons pan drippings from fried chicken
1 cup finely diced onion
1 large cloves garlic, finely minced
1 1/2 teaspoons salt, divided
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme (I used 1 tablespoon fresh)
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 pound tomatoes (peeled, seeded, and chopped into 1/3 inch pieces.)
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup heavy cream

Heat the pan drippings in a heavy non reactive skillet and add the diced onion. Saute over medium high heat for 5 minutes, stirring often. Add garlic, 1 teaspoon of the alt, pepper and thyme, and cook for another 5 minutes. sprinkle in the flour and cook, stirring well, for another 2 minutes. Stir in the chopped tomatoes and remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt, and cook 5 minute longer.

Slowly stir in the milk and heavy cream and bring to a simmer. Simmer gently for 5 minutes. Taste carefully for seasoning, adding more salt and freshly ground black pepper as needed. Serve hot.

Sin Tacks

I keep my laptop in the kitchen. It sits on the ledge of a cut out window thing between the dining room and the kitchen. The ledge is over the pastry rolling table. This means my keyboard gets very dirty very easily. I have lost the "s" key and the "w" key. there are only little nubs there where there used to be keys. Lately the laptop is behaving quite well, but when it gets tired, it goes like this: "sssssssssssssssssssssssss

sssssssssssssss", and I can't stop it.

This is the first day in a while that there is nothing slated on my calendar. I had a bit of a panic when I woke this morning trying to remember what it was that I had to do today, and there was nothing.

I am dealing with yet another disappointment from the show biz world. Came close, oh so close on a job that would mean significant income and relief for the next year or more and then informed that I was just too darn young. Funny, I feel older than I have ever have before. But, the folks assured my agent that I was "amazing" and "LOVED" (their caps) and that perhaps some day...

Thing is, and I get these maybe once or twice a year, it was a role that was in my bones. Everything about it was easily accessible; the rhythms, the dialect, the emotion.. all right there, and all right there in the audition which is a very rare thing. I felt that there was no hiding or masking to play this character, every blemish that I possess was perfect and only worked... no sucking in the gut necessary....

Besides all this, it's a great role. Role of a lifetime kind of role. But, as is my fashion, I'm letting it go.

Duncan had a rare afternoon field trip to the zoo and I drove him to school having just found out about this new level of the disappointment mountain. I dropped him off and smiled and waved. When I got back to the car I just sort of stopped and sat for a while. Then I went shopping for dinner.

My friend Maggie, years ago, had a shirt that she got in Little Tokyo in L.A. with a picture of James Dean and the phrase "When I feel Sad, I Go to Driving." The Japanese fascination with the look of the English language resulting in some wonderful syntax.

I was thinking through the day making the risotto and steadily feeling better, a slowly rising barometer, "When I feel Sad, I Go to Cooking."

Later after dinner, Duncan was particularly sad, because we had allowed him to watch a Dora episode and he "really, really, really," wanted to watch another, but was not allowed.

He was having a hard time getting over it. I explained that the best thing you can do when you don't get the things you want in life, because that happens a lot, is move on to something you can do that'll make you feel better.

It took some doing, but eventually Duncan, Nicole and I played a vigorous game of Candy Land. I suspect that our family laughter rose up through the stairwell and gently nestled into Shaw's dreams as she slept.

 GRILLED LEMON PORK CHOP WITH GARLIC AND SAGE

4 Thick Cut Loin Pork Chops with Bone
1/2 cup Kosher salt
Juice of 3 Lemons
2 Tbs. fresh sage leaves, roughly chopped
3 cloves garlic minced
1/4 cup olive oil
Fresh ground black pepper

In large bowl, dissolve salt in two quarts of water. Submerge chops in brine and let sit for four hours.

Combine lemon juice, sage, garlic, olive oil and pepper in bowl and mix thoroughly.

Transfer chops to zip lock bag and combine with marinade. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours.

One hour before grilling, remove chops from fridge and allow to come to room temperature.

Grill over direct heat 4 to 5 minutes per side. Let rest for five minutes before serving.


BROCCOLI RABE

One Bunch Broccoli Rabe, stems trimmed
1/4 cup kosher salt
Ice
Olive oil
3 or 4 Anchovy fillets.
2 cloves sliced garlic
Shredded Pecorino Romano.
Salt and Pepper to taste.

Fill a stock pot with water and bring to a rapid boil. Add the kosher salt to water. Add Broccoli Rabe a little bit at a time so as not to lose boil. Cover and let blanch for 1 or two minutes until vibrant green. Remove broccoli from the water and plunge into bowl filled with ice water let cool completely.

Heat about two tablespoons of olive over med. high heat in a heavy skillet. Add garlic and anchovy and saute until fragrant. Add Broccoli Rabe and move about in skillet so that it gets coated with oil. Saute two to three minutes until Broccoli is heated through. Season with salt and pepper, sprinkle with Pecorino Romano and serve immediately.


ARRANCINNI DI RISO

Adapted from Giada De Laurentis


Vegetable oil, for deep frying
2 large eggs, beaten
2 cups Risotto with Mushrooms and Peas, recipe follows, cooled
1/2 cup grated Pecorino Romano
1 1/2 cups dried bread crumbs
2 ounces mozzarella, in 1/2 inch to 1 inch cubes
Salt

Pour enough oil in a heavy large saucepan to reach the depth of 3 inches. heat the oil over medium heat to 350ºF. Stir the eggs, risotto, Pecorino, and 1/2 cup of the bread crumbs in a large bowl to combine. Place the remaining bread crumbs in a medium bowl. Using about 2 tablespoons of risotto mixture for each, for the risotto mixutre into 3/4 inch diameter balls. Insert I cube of mozzarella into the center of each ball. Roll the balls in the bread crumbs to coat.

Working in batches, add the rice balls to the hot oil and cook until brown and heated through, turning as necessary, about 4 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the rice balls to paper towels to drain. Season with salt. Let rest 2 minutes. Serve hot.

(I preheated the oven to 250º and kept balls in there as they were completed, so that I could time out the rest of the meal. The mozzarella stayed stringy. These were a big hit. As many types of risotto that you can think of will be equal to the variations on this recipe. I'm thinking... jalapeno, seafood..... etc.)

MUSHROOM RISOTTO WITH PEAS

8 cups chicken broth
1/2 ounce dried porcini mushrooms
1/4 cup unsalted butter
2 Tbs. olive oil
2 cups finely chopped onion
10 ounces white or crimini mushrooms, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 1/2 cups Arborio rice
2/3 cup dry white wine
3/4 cup frozen peas, thawed
2/3 Parmesan or Romano
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Bring the broth to a simmer in a heavy medium saucepan. Add the porcini mushrooms. Set aside until the mushrooms are tender. About 5 minutes. Keep the broth warm over very low heat.

Melt the butter in a heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add olive oil. Add the onions and saute until tender, about 8 minutes. Add the white mushrooms and garlic. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the porcini mushrooms to a cutting board. Finely chop the mushrooms and add to the saucepan. Saute until the mushrooms are tender and the juices evaporate, about 5 minutes. Stir in the rice and let it toast for a few minutes. Add the wine; cook until the liquid is absorbed, stirring often, about 2 minutes. Add 1 cup of hot broth; simmer over medium-low heat until the liquid is absorbed, stirring often, about three minutes. Continue to cook until the rice is just tender and the mixture is creamy, adding more broth by cupfuls and stirring often, about 28 minutes (the rice will absorb 6 to 8 cups of broth). Stir in the peas, Mix in the Romano. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

4 Bear Ants

While cooking dinner, I drank a coke too quickly and had terrible bloating gas in my upper abdomen for about twenty minutes. We don't usually have soda in the house, water, juice and milk only. We had ordered chinese the other day and the soda was a bonus. It tasted good. I slammed it.

Nicole was doing schoolwork in the basement, Shaw was in the exer-saucer and shrieking like a pterydactyl, Duncan finished his movie and wanted me to access the special features with the remote ("Dad! Go to the videos!")

Funny how with the raising of the children, you can achieve certain levels of stasis in which one can actually be quite productive, certain luft-pauses when it all works, but then, like the house that is built of the cards, it can all come a crashing on down.

Ten minutes ago, Nicole was studying, I was chopping, Shaw was burbling and Duncan was absorbed. My stomach felt fine then.

Then, Bam! Fluttering lightly yet with violence, down they come!

I said, "Shaw, chill out! Duncan, do it yourself. You're a big boy. You can work the remote." I had serious Dad voice on. With silent inner savagery, I wished Nicole up from the basement.

I lay my spatula down and lay myself down on the kitchen floor on my left side as my cousin Janie told me to do in such times and waited, believing, despite the pain, that this too shall pass.

It did.

We are in special forbearance on our loans, we have modified our mortgage payments somewhat, Nicole is going to grad school on line, we have health insurance through New Jersey Family care, we had enough of a Tax refund to get us through the spring months, we are soldiering on.

Let's have some salmon burgers.

 Modified from Rachel Ray)

1 lb. fresh salmon fillets
2 egg whites, lightly beaten
Handful of parsley leaves, chopped
2 lemons zested and juiced, divided
3 cloves garlic, minced
3/4 cups bread crumbs
Salt and Pepper

4 anchovies, chopped
2 tsp. Dijon mustard
1 Tbs. Worcestershire Sauce
2 Tbs. plus 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, divided
Two generous handfuls Pecorino Romano
2 hearts of romaine lettuce, shredded
1 head radicchio, shredded

Take salmon fillets and pulse several times in food processor until broken up, but still chunky.
In a large bowl, add salmon, egg whites, the zest and juice of one lemon, 2/3 of the total amount of hopped garlic, the bread crumbs and lots of black pepper and a little salt. Mix together and for 4 large or 8 mini patties.

To a salad bowl add the remaining zet and lemon juice, remaining garlic, chopped anchovies, Dijon mustard, and lettucess to the bowl and tos to coat evenly. Season the slaw with salt to taste.

Heat 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil in skillet over medium heat. Cook salmon patties 4 minutes each side for large, 2 to 3 minutes for mini.

Serve over slaw as burgers with slaw as garnish.

As A Globed Fruit

TO WHAT PURPOSE APRIL, DO YOU RETURN AGAIN?

We have learned by our third spring on College Place to be sure to close the bedroom window afore the sun rises as the mockingbird who returns each year to perch in our silver elm executes his entire full-throated repertoire like some sort of insane ornithological car alarm as day breaks. And, while I can't help but thrill to our feathered friend's annual homecoming, between the six month old that occasionally calls in the night and the five year old who every now and again needs reassurance that shadows are not demons, every nanosecond of sleep is precious to this soon to be forty five year old.

BEAUTY IS NOT ENOUGH.

In my eighteenth spring, I had a friend who was a guest literature teacher at Interlochen. Norm Wheeler taught a class called Man's Search For Personal Meaning. We read Voltaire, Heller, Camus, etc. He took me and my girlfriend on a double date with his Swedish wife into Traverse City to go see Sophie's Choice. It was a magnificent spring explosion of a day. I had just read "On the Road" for the first time and was seeing Norm as a kind of Neil Cassady. He gestured at the trees as he drove.
"Imagine the actual physical weight of all these leaves that have opened up that weren't here a week ago. The weight of them! It must be thousands of tons! Thousands of tons of actual, tangible, palpable Spring mass that has magically appeared because of light and water!"
I can't remember if his wife spoke English.

YOU CAN NO LONGER QUIET ME WITH THE REDNESS
OF LITTLE LEAVES OPENING STICKILY.

I took out one of our tulips with the lawn mower. It was preparing to open. I didn't actually cut it with the blade of the mower, just rolled it a bit with the wheel. It was enough to lay it flat. I propped it back up with some of last year's mulch and hoped it would suffice.
After I finished cutting the grass and was back in the living room I snuck a look outside to see how the tulip was doing. It was lying flat again.
A little while later, Nicole came in with the tulip and a admonition about being careful with the lawn mower. I confessed all. We vowed to widen the beds so as to prevent further mishap and move on.
I gave the tulip a fresh cut and we put it in a vase. It has perked up and we hope for bloomage. Although Jeanie the cat has taken some late night bites out of it's leaves and puked them up on the stairs.

I KNOW WHAT I KNOW.

I opened the bottom door of the compost bin and loaded compost shovelful by shovelful into the wheelbarrow. Feisty red worms wriggled. I wheeled it to the garden and shoveled the fragrant load of veggie poop over the dirt. I took the rented home depot tiller and worked the compost in, my arms, shoulders and back straining.
Later at the kitchen sink the compost smell wafted through the window and I smiled. I imagined the neighbors turning quickly and asking, "What's that smell?"
I smiled again.

THE SUN IS HOT ON MY NECK AS I OBSERVE
THE SPIKES OF THE CROCUS.

I look up at my house as I finished my run the other day. The paint is peeling badly. The yard looks nice, but the house needs paint. Last Fall I got a letter from the village telling me to paint my house or face a fine. I wrote them back saying times is tough, and was a little indignant because it didn't look that bad. Well, this Spring I have to agree with the village, it does look that bad. I had planned on hiring someone to do it, but looks like it'll be me climbing the ladders and scraping. I need to google "repainting cedar shingled houses." A lot of the shingles need to be replaced. If I peer into the future, I see me cussing and wrestling with a job that grows the more it feeds on. One day the house will be a deep forest green and the pride of the neighborhood.

THE SMELL OF THE EARTH IS GOOD.

Duncan and I put the first early spring crop. We laid out our rows of twine so that the seedlings would have a certain flow. We were very curious about how different the seeds looked from one and other: how different a chard from a lettuce, a lettuce from a green. I realized that if these were the moments that were elongated for eternity and called heaven, I'd be good with that. Me pouring perfectly round, tiny, red collard seeds from the packet into his cupped five year old palm. We planted mustard green, collards, kale, rainbow chard, swiss chard, rhubard chard, spinach, black seeded simpson, broccoli rabe, buttercrunch lettuce, romaine, and salad bowl. Three kinds of beans. We had dirty nails at dinner.

IT IS APPARENT THERE IS NO DEATH.

Erin and Geoff live next door now. They want to put in a vegetable garden in the back. We conferred with them and they have agreed to grow the root vegetables and we will grow the leafy greens and share over the fence. Grace and Gregory used to live there, and Grace had the most beautiful flowers growing where Erin and Geoff are planting root vegetables. We dug up the irises, the fennel bush, the columbine, the peonies and they all came over the fence and live now with us in the flower beds in the front and to the side of the house. We are thrilled. So far, no casualties in the transfer. We like to think that Grace would be happy that we have them.

BUT WHAT DOES THAT SIGNIFY?

Of course, Grace might be very, very sad about the whole thing.

NOT ONLY UNDERGROUND ARE THE BRAINS OF MEN
EATEN BY MAGGOTS.

It's been a tough year. But with children in the house, one must hope. And we're getting a tax refund that'll give us another month or two reprieve.

LIFE IN ITSELF
IS NOTHING,
AN EMPTY CUP, A FLIGHT OF UNCARPETED STAIRS.

I took a train to the city. I signed in my name when I got to the appointed address. I waited with other men in suits. When it was my turn I went in the room. I said my name and performed the tasks for the camera. I had to pretend like I was at a casino having a good time and that the man I was with was my friend. The whole exercise soup to nuts took less then ten minutes. Then I took a train home. I admired the new tulips on the walk up to the front porch. The one that I took out with the lawn mower will hardly be missed.

IT IS NOT ENOUGH THAT YEARLY, DOWN THIS HILL,
APRIL
COMES LIKE AN IDIOT, BABBLING AND STREWING FLOWERS

Maybe not enough, but something.

 Make this for dinner:

(From The New Basics)

SPRING GREEN PASTA

4 cups cold water
1/2 lemon
6 baby artichokes
1/2 pound thin asparagus spears, trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces
16 oz. orecchiette pasta
1 Tbs. olive oil
2 Tbs. unsalted butter
1/4 cup chopped scallions
2 cloves garlic, slivered
1/2 cup oil-cured black olives, pitted
1/3 cup green peas
4 Tbs. freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and Pepper to taste

1. Fill a mixing bowl with the cold water, and squeeze the lemon juice into it. Drop the lemon half into the water as well. Set the bowl aside

2. Using a sharp knife, trim off and discard the top 1/2 inch of each artichoke. Dip the cut tops into the acidulated water (to keep them from turning brown.)

3. Pull the outer leaves off the artichokes, leaving a core of tender green leaves. Gently pry open the artichokes: using a small melon baller, scoop out and discard the chokes.

4. Cut the artichokes vertically into three or four slices, dropping them into the acidulated water as you work.

5. Bring a large saucepan of salted water to a boil. Drain the artichokes, and add them to the pan. Simmer for 10 minutes. Then drain the artichokes, reserving the cooking liquid, and rinse them under cold water. Set them aside.

6. Bring the reserved artichoke cooking liquid to a boil, and add the asparagus. Simmer for 3 minutes: then drain, again reserving the liquid. Rinse the asparagus under cold water, and set it aside.

7. Bring a large pot of fresh water to a boil. Add the orecchiette, and cook at a rolling boil until just tender.

8. Meanwhile, heat the olive oil and 1 tablespoon of the butter in a saucepan. Saute the scallions and garlic for 3 minutes. Then stir in the olives, peas, reserved artichokes and asparagus, remaining 1 tablespoon butter, 1/3 cup of the reserved cooking liquid, and 3 tablespoons of Parmesan. Stir well, and cook jut until heated through, 2 minutes. Stir in 2 tablespoons of the pasta cooking water, and transfer the sauce to a heated serving bowl.

9. Drain the pasta, and toss it in the bowl with the sauce until well coated. Season with salt, pepper, and the additional 1 tablespoon grated Parmesan. Serve immediately.


SPRING
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers

To Us Be Blessed

I've had an outpouring of messages off of the comment thread. Private messages from friends. Friends who want to help. "What can we do to help?" Asked one of the messages from a friend. There are suggestions of ways to make money writing, suggestions of places to submit writing, suggestions of agencies to contact, suggestions of ways of securing health care for the kids, offers of more catering work, suggestions of ideas toI use my violin skills, teach, etc.

Psst. The reason Santa is so jolly is he gets to be the big giver. Ho.

When I had a birthday in high school up at Interlochen, I got a bit of "fall out" in the cards from my relatives, maybe a total of $30 or $40. I splurged my loot in Traverse City buying gifts for my high school friends. They thought I was generous. I selfishly basked in the light of being benevolent, of providing.

I had a fantasy for a long time of achieving wild, fantastic success and buying my Mother and Step Dad a sailboat named the "Mississippi Hot Dog" (after a well known Suzuki Violin phrase) as a symbol of thanks for all the sacrifice over the many, many years.

I suspect this is the root of all this cooking stuff too.

So, my immediate impulse was to thank friends kindly for help and deny it.

I felt embarrassed that my writing about our life could be interpreted as a call for help. I love it when people respond in comments how they are inspired by us.

"Huh," I thought.

"A tale doesn't have to be one of victory to be inspiring."

I love those comments because if feels like I'm giving something.

Every Sunday evening I find myself praying to some un-named God of Fortune/ God of employment, that this will be the week of reprieve. Even though that Judeo/Christian God and I are on unsteady terms, what with all the confusion about the holy writ interpretations, I figure an earnest prayer to God of Fortune/God of Employment won't cause too much of a ruckus up there in the firmament.

A week and a half ago, the Monday morning after the Sunday prayer, there was an email. It was an email offering help from some old friends who I had fallen out of steady contact with, but who had been reading the posts and offered financial assistance.

My immediate impulse was to thank and deny. Apparently my Fortune God /Employment God didn't quite understand what I meant by "reprieve". I meant EMPLOYMENT in a long running show or something similar in my chosen field that would get us back to making our nut and also allow me to secure a larger income base, such as culinary education or the like. I didn't mean for my friends to offer me money.

"Thanks but no." I wanted to say.

Throughout the day Nicole and I tossed it about. We talked of responsibility to our children, whether we're really ready to pack it up and throw in the towel on this particular dream, whether we're in a position to deny the help (which of course is love) from our friends, (simply because we'd rather be the ones offering), whether we wouldn't be smarter to accept what the God of Fortune offers because maybe there's a design here that we can't see yet.

Who am I to deny others the joy of giving, especially when, whether I like it or not, I have been asking? Maybe part of the issue that has got me to this point is that I haven't accepted the opportunities that have appeared, I've only taken the ones I've wanted. Maybe I've been holding too firmly to try to make the life I've fancied and not accepting the one I've been so generously given.

Maybe.

Humbling. Indeed.

We have accepted the gift. I thank you, my old, still loving friends.

I got a call from the agent. I have been offered a reading. 5 days, $100. Pretty good part. New musical by famous writer.

I got a call from my chef friend Louis. Catering a Seder, I get to sous. 1 day, $200.

The day of catering is one of the days of the reading.

I call the agent. "Is it possible that I could miss one of the days?"

"No."

Now, normally what I would do, and what I have done for the last 20 years, is tell the chef friend sorry, but I'm doing the reading. I would accept the financial loss as an investment in the possibility that doing this reading would lead to more employment and maybe even the role when and if it finally becomes a production.

I have decided to go another way. I turned down the reading. I will put on the chef's coat and cater the Seder.

Dear Friends Who Read These Posts and Care,

I thank you and I love you for every one of your kind and tender offerings. I promise to honor and utilize every one. There is nothing that would bring me greater joy than to turn the corner in this serial story and report the fortunate turn of events that I crave. But I allow that my fortune may not be in the form that I wish it to be, and that by following what is given rather than what I desire, well maybe, just maybe I'll find my bliss.

"Whatever you do may seem insignificant to you, but it is important that you do it,"
said Ghandi.

I think he was talking to me.

Try this recipe.

ROASTED SALMON WITH BEET RISOTTO

BEET RISOTTO

2 Large Beets with Greens
6 cups chicken broth divided
1 Tbs. olive oil
2 Shallots, diced
1 1/2 cups Arborio rice
1/2 cup dry white wine
Kosher salt to taste
freshly ground black pepper to taste
3 Tbs. finely chopped chives
4 Tbs. butter
1/3 cup grated Parmesan Cheese

Preheat oven to 450º.

Trim beet stems and reserve greens. Scrub beets. Wrap beets together tightly in foil. Roast in middle of oven for an hour or until beets are tender.

Unwrap beets and, when cool enough to handle, slip off skins and discard.

Chop beets into 1/2 dice. Slice greens into 1/4 inch strips.

In a saucepan, warm the broth over low heat.

Heat oil in skillet over medium high heat. Stir in shallots. Cook 1 minute. Add rice, stirring to coat with oil, about two minutes. When rice has taken on a pale, golden color, pour in wine, stirring constantly until the wine is fully absorbed. Add 1/2 cup broth to the rice, and stir until the broth is absorbed. Continue adding broth 1/2 cup at a time, stirring continuously, until the liquid is absorbed and the rice is al dente, about 15 to 20 minutes.

Remove from heat. Stir in Beets, greens, butter, chives and parmesan. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

ROASTED SALMON

4 Salmon Fillets
Olive Oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Preheat oven to 350º

Place the salmon on a sheet pan, skin side down. Brush with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast for 15 to 20 minutes.

My Pleasure to Serve You

I dropped Duncan off at preschool and am at the library. Nicole is at home with Shaw and deep in some furious house cleaning. Nicole's mom Angela and brother Robert are visiting us in South Orange for the next few days to celebrate Duncan's fifth birthday on the 17th. St. Patrick's boy. Luck of the Irish, sure hope so.

So terrifically hard to wrap my mind around the young man that he has instantly become. All the parenting cliches come to mind. How fast the years go and you turn around and there are these people where babies used to be. Awfully true. He is long and lean, with a penchant for hiding games. He loves to disappear in plain sight. Putting his head up the back of my shirt and staying behind me, directing me to ask, "Where's Duncan?" I'll say, "I'm not sure where he is, I know he was just here and now I just feel this strange lump on my back and some icy cold hands every now and again."

If I get distracted while his head is up the back of my shirt, I'll hear a gentle reminder, "Say, 'Where's Duncan?'". And it will begin again, until I finally 'realize' that he was right here all along. I'll wrestle him to the sofa, much maniacal laughter, and go back to cooking. Soon I'll feel a head up the back of my shirt.

"Say, 'Where's Duncan?'"

In my lesser, more impatient moments I'll say something like, "Dunc look, I'm trying to cook here." He'll say, "Aw," and go to the sofa and read a book. I'll cook.

In my late night worry times, as I'm lying on my side of the bed, holding the radio to my ear and tuning instantly away from any advertisements that mention "foreclosure", I will suddenly see him behind my closed eyes and wince because I don't know what is going to happen with his future, because the ship certainly seems to be sinking awfully fast and he is blissfully unaware with a Dad who is all too aware.

Should I try to get a job at Target? Whole Foods? Home Depot? We're now at the point that these are the questions. No saviour acting job is appearing, in fact the situation only seems to be getting much, much worse.

Over Christmas, before we went to Missouri, I contacted a chef friend of mine, Louis who I had met through the internet. I sent him a message offering my sous services. He wrote back that he might have something the next week.

"Well, that was easy." I thought.

The next day, it was a Saturday, I got a call on my voice mail from Louis saying that the job he had next week had fallen through but I would be getting a call from another man, Jono who needed some help putting together a party the next day on Sunday. He needed someone to serve. Not cook anything, serve.

"Well, now I did it." I thought.

I can't remember what specific show biz disappointment I was reeling from that particular week, but an enormous battle of my internal ego immediately ensued.

I hadn't worked a catering job or a restaurant position since 1997. I had worked in restaurants and catering in New York off and on since I'd moved there and went to NYU in 1983. The story I had created went like this ( you might find it a familiar one): I would work my bottom off in any job I could in New York and take any theater job I could find until I eventually made my way as an actor and left the restaurants, light construction and catering jobs behind only to be resurrected as quaint stories (preferably on talk shows) of salad days employment. I would marvel at how hard I worked then and how it formed my character and enhanced the sweetness my success.

The fact that I had spent 13 years away from such employment made me think, certainly during those "six figure Broadway/tour - let's buy a house!" years, that the story was undeniably true. Because we were living it.

So there I was wandering around mid December South Orange, now several messages on my voice mail asking me to call Jono immediately because he needed to know if I could work the party and me completely unable to return the call and reverse the story that I had clung to since I made the plan on or about 1976.

There was a roaring in my ears. I found myself in that little children's park near the train station. A man in an overcoat walked up to the steel xylophone thingy and produced some mallets. He played a beautiful improvised melody. I returned the call.

There was nothing in my voice that betrayed the emotional distress I was going through.

I said, "Sure I can help you out."

I got the address, asked him what I should wear... etc.

I walked back home. I had something resembling resolve. I hadn't written this part of the life story in my mind, but here we were. The fact that I was taking the job was less painful than the paralysis of not returning the call.

I went and worked the party. I sliced up the ham and arranged the buffet table for Jono and his wife Elizabeth, movie and television producers who owned a brownstone in Brooklyn. I set up the bar and stationed myself behind it when the guests arrived.

At one point, one of the children at the party asked if she could have a soda. I said "Sure."

Then she said, "I want water instead."

I said, "Sure."

"You're the servant," she said,

I said, "Yes I am."

I took a break and locked myself in Jono's bathroom. I looked in the mirror. I remembered when I worked at Blue Water Grill in 1996/97. I was the oldest on the staff then at 31. One of the other waiters affectionately nicknamed me "Papa." I looked at my 44 year old self in the mirror.

I thought about Anthony Hopkins in that movie... I can never remember the title, the "I'm a butler my whole life and even though Emma Thompson loves me, I can't do anything about it" movie... Remains of the Day! Thank you.

I cleaned up after the folks had eaten and drunk their fill, accepted Jono's money and a gift of a bag of leftover meatballs, made my way from Brooklyn back to Penn Station and caught a late train home.

Jono called me to let me know that he had recommended me for another party; a brunch birthday for a friend of his on the upper west side. I was to call Jeffrey.

I called Jeffrey and worked the party. Jeffrey turned out to be Jeffrey Lane the writer/producer who I first met on The Day and Nights of Molly Dodd where I had a recurring role and he was the writer in 1989. I ran into Jeffrey again because he was the book writer of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. We shared cocktails and conversation at the opening party in Los Angeles when I did the tour in 2006/7. And now here I was serving his coffee and arranging his salmon for his guests.

I swept the floor of his kitchen in his magnificent Manhattan 3 bedroom on Riverside drive and did the dishes when the party was over. He gave me some cash and I took the train home.

It hadn't taken long for my worst fear in taking these jobs to materialize. I had hoped to remain exquisitely anonymous during my foray back into private catering, and it was blown on the second job. The business knew. Show business knew.

Late one night Nicole and I talk. Trying to figure out what to do. She's been attempting to find us health insurance. Going to the Medicaid office in Newark with the children in tow and presenting our papers, being told after three three hour visits that she's in the wrong office and directed to the other office, New Jersey Family Care. She starts over again and delays 5 month old Shaw's vaccinations until we can arrange some kind of coverage.

She's also trying to modify our mortgage with the bank, we don't qualify for the federal programs because it's an independent bank not backed by Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac. They do offer some moderate modification and we are in negotiations.

She is exhausted with worry. So am I. We are swollen with it. We talk about it in our bedroom as the kids sleep. It's not just the hours in the welfare office or the endless phone calls to the bank, the fruitless auditions, those are just tasks. It's the worry that we're attaching to those tasks and the fact that we're not taking equal parts joy in the moments around us, that's what's hurting us. We're not welcoming happiness. Not singing enough, dancing enough. We're not taking of what's right in front of us.

We come to the conclusion that if this "crisis" robs us of our happiness we lose. If it's really just about holding on to this overpriced old house, it's just a house and it's not worth it. That there will always be a crisis no matter what the outcome of the present one is and our job is not to "lose it" but to keep inviting the life that is waiting for us to appear. If we were rich, we'd never get to learn this lesson.

Let's find a way to love this terrible time. Then we'll win. And somehow, in a way we can't see right now, that is the lesson to learn. We need to guard our happiness and nurture it furiously for ourselves and the family. Because, for your kids, your life is your lesson.

If not now, when?

Chef Louis called me again. He has an idea for starting an underground restaurant in his house. Would I help by using sous skills and front of house skills?

"Sure, I can help you out!" Because, I have recently relearned, I can.

I noticed the other day when stopping by the Home Depot for a new light switch that they are hiring.


FOR THE CORNMEAL BISCUITS

1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup fine cornmeal
2 tsp. sugar
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. kosher salt
6 Tbs. cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
3/4 cup sour cream or plain whole milk yogurt
Milk

FOR THE RATATOUILLE

1 large eggplant (1 1/2 pounds) cut into 1-inch chunks
3 small zucchini (3/4), cut into 3-inch chunks
7 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp. kosher salt
3/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
3/4 pound Italian sausage, casings removed
1 large onion, cut into i-inch dice
1 red pepper, cored and cut into 1-inch chunks
3 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 1/2 pounds plum tomatoes
4 sprigs thyme
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley or basil

1. For the biscuits: In a bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Using a pastry cutter or fork, cut in the butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Fold in the sour cream. Gently knead mixture until it comes together in a ball, adding a drop or two of milk if necessary. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until ready to use.

Preheat oven to 450º.

2. For the ratatouille: In a bowl, toss eggplant and zucchini with 5 tablespoons oil, season with 3/4 teaspoon salt and 3/4 teaspoon pepper. Spread vegetables in a single layer on one or two large baking sheets (do not crowd vegetable). Transfer to oven and roast, tossing occasionally, until golden, about 20 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, in a large, deep preferably oven-proof sauté pan, heat 1 tablespoon oil. Crumble sausage into pan and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until golden, about 7 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer sausage to a paper-towel lined plate.

4. Return pan to medium heat and add remaining 1 tablespoon oil. Stir in the onion, pepper, garlic and remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt. Cook until softened, 5 to 7 minutes. Stir in the tomatoes and thyme sprigs; simmer gently until tomatoes are cooked and mixture is stew-like, about 10 minutes. Stir in the sausage, roasted vegetables and parsley. If you are not using an oven-safe pan, transfer mixture to a 2-quart gratin dish or baking pan.

5. Divide biscuit dough into six equal balls. Use your palm to flatten each ball into a 1/2 -inch thick disk. Arrange on top of ratatouille mixture. Brush biscuit lightly with milk.

6. Transfer skillet or pan to oven and cook until biscuit are golden, 25 to 30 minutes. Let cool 10 minutes before serving.