I Bang My Head

     

I bang my head.

Yesterday as I got into the 2001 family Corolla, I had left the driver side sun visor up and out.  Full force of my mid life weight swinging into captain Toyota chair, then: Bam! Direct to the right temple.

I moaned my head blow “ow” sound and sat in the driver’s seat for a bit with the ole coconut hanging and cradling my temple waiting for the obligatory 15 second pain period to pass on it’s drip, drip ,dripping, pendulously slow junket.

I bang my head. 

It is my number one recurring accident.  Earlier in the day I cracked my noggin on the edge of the kitchen cupboard I had left open as I swooped in to chop some onion.  That one sent me to the floor.  

At least once a day, I bang my head.  I also stub my toes, bang my elbows, knock my knees, fall on my ass, but hands down, I mostly bang my head.

Some folks are toe stubbers, I am a head banger.

Some of the incidents have been spectacular.  A tremendous Greg Luganis-like incident.  A far braver than I today, 12 year old me executing a back flip gone awry from the 3 meter board.

There was blood.

In my only bar fight so far, Jesse, the assailant, cracked me soundly on the noggin not once but twice with a vicious pool cue.

Serious blood.

Running full speed round the corner of my driveway as a 9 year old, I cracked my bean directly into the steel propeller blade of the upturned outboard motor of our parked boat.  My feet flew, very Tom and Jerry, up and out, and the concrete of the driveway greeted the back of my noodle with a bone melon sickening thud.

Lots of blood.

As I say, spectacular.  But most of the head bangs are extremely pedestrian and as I said, frequent.   Cupboards, book cases, kitchen doors, car doors, garage doors, attic, bathroom and bedroom doors, coffee and dining tables, desks, baseball bats, tennis racquets, golf clubs, hockey sticks, tree limbs and stumps, hoes, rakes, spades, decks, beams, luggage racks, ceilings, floors, rocks, the car trunk, etc.

My Native American name would be “Bangs Head A lot”.

When I work cheffing in a new kitchen, I will inevitably bang my head on a new obstacle; often a vent that I didn’t expect over the stove, or the heading over the sink.  This usually happens within the first 15 to 20 minutes in the foreign kitchen.

If I’m on my game, I note the first head bang and avoid the second.  Off my game and I’m in for four or five times.

I try to see it this way:  “The new kitchen is trying to tell me something.  I need to be aware.”  I thank the kitchen for the bang, if it’s a polite thump and not a wallop.   In such a case, of course, I curse.

I attempt to view all of the bangs as a kind of wake up call from the universe.  I think, “Okay. Why did the universe just smack me?”  

Answer generally is: “Look! Look up!  Look out!  Keep your eyes up.  Look out and up!”  Always looking down when I get these wallops.  So I never see it comin’.  Possible exception is the bar fight, I was looking right into Jesse’s eyes when he swung that cue.  Still didn’t see it coming.

In a more philosophical light, I also think of it as a way for the present to remind me to stay in it.  “No past dwelling or future fretting.  Be here now.”  Whack!  “Got me?  Because I’ll do it again!”

Often times though, I think the universe is merely a cruel bitch that just gets off on pegging me when I least expect it.  And being as the universe is gonna make it far past the tenth round of my time here, I throw in the towel graciously. 

Of course it’s the infinite firmament behind all the noggin knockin'; if you don’t keep looking at the stars, she’ll make you see them.

RIDICULOUSLY GOOD FOCACCIA 

Sponge:

1 1/2 cups "00" flour

31/2 tsp. dry yeast

1 cup warm to hot water

healthy pinch or two of salt

Dough:

2 1/2 cups "00" flour

tbs. sugar

!/2 cup warm to hot water

salt and freshly ground pepper

Bake:

4 tbs. olive oil

Sponge:  In a mixer with paddle place the 1 1/2 cups flour and the salt.  Dissolve the yeast in the hot water and slowly stream into bowl with mixer at medium setting.  Cover bowl with towel and let rest in a warm area of your kitchen.  Let sponge proof for one hour or until doubled in size.

Dough:  Attach dough hook to mixer and start kneading, incorporating remaining flour, sugar, and water.   When almost all the flour is used, add a little more salt and pepper.

Grease a small sheet pan with 2 tbs. of the Olive Oil.  Lightly stretch the dough and transfer it to pan and continue to stretch to size.  Brush remaining olive oil over dough and cover tightly with plastic wrap.  Let dough rest in warm place until doubled in size again.

Bake:  Preheat oven to 375º.  Bake focaccia for 40 minutes.  Remove from oven.  Let rest in pan for 10 minutes.  Serve with olive oil.

Variations:  

Add 2 cups boiled and riced potatoes to dough.  

Mix walnuts into dough and top with rosemary.

Mix shallots into dough.

Substitute milk for warm/hot water..

doing the perpetuity walk

Permanent.  I have been made permanent.   I have an open ended contract at Billy Elliot on Broadway now.   The prayers have been answered by whoever does the answering.  “Here you are, a long running Broadway show.  Have some salary, get caught up on that mortgage, pay off that credit card debt, get some money in that college savings account for those kids, and never, NEVER, let those last couple of years happen again.  Now, run along.”

Billy Elliot is a Broadway “machine” that will keep chugging for the next couple of years at least.  It is not unlike Wicked, Lion King, Phantom, etc.  It is designed for the long, long run. Given my Dad status and family ways, given my life choices, I have always wanted to be in one of these Broadway “government jobs”, and now I am.  Hooray.  My turn.

Now the task at hand is to not get injured.  The fellow who originated the role that I’m doing wound up with a herniated disc, a permanent leave from the company, and a settlement.  I would rather that not be my fate.  Such are the physical demands of this show, however, that that particular injury story is repeated often among the men who run the tracks of the Billy Elliot ensemble.  These are tales of ruptured discs, fractured feet, knees, ankles, and necks.  People taking extended disability leaves, learning the byways of workman’s comp that over time proves to be a more treacherous trail than the track the got them injured in the first place.   Some of the fellows make it back to the show after healing, others don’t.

Permanence has a price.

Grady Bowman, one of the original members of the company; Grady, the other day as I was going on about trying to stay ahead of the injury curve by keeping in as good a physical shape as is possible on my 45 year old frame; Grady, looks at me through his “I have seen it all at Billy Elliot” shaded and jaded eyes; Grady mutters, “You’re nothing but a herniated disc waiting to happen.”

“Oof.”  Says I.

Bless you Grady.

Which makes me wonder, where is the cooking now?  Where is the food?

I began working at Billy Elliot in mid August. Training in the roles for three weeks and then joining the company along about September 12, roughly half a year already.   Some days we have two shows, some days there are rehearsals and then a show at night.  A schedule of 8 shows a week with one day off on Monday results in a lot of time spent in Manhattan, and one has to eat.   And, food in Manhattan, like jujubes in the movie theater lobby, doesn’t come cheap.

So I take it with me.  I make commuter meals in the morning, and store it in some  reliable Tupperware. They are super balanced meals that I portion properly and eat every three hours. 

I figure I have saved thousands of dollars in the last six months, and have kept the cooking thing alive.  I make enough in the morning to provide for myself for the family left in New Jersey that night then load up my backpack and catch my commuter train.

It means hitting the ground running.  It means planning, it means time, and it means keeping the cooking alive.

I am adjusting, slowly after a bit of transformative giddiness, to becoming accustomed to the idea of not being a victim, to not being oppressed.  Conversely, and wisely, I am attempting to not don the fanciful mantle of Teflon coated victor.   The irony of having a “permanent” position in an art form that is temporal by it’s very nature, it’s actual composition, must not be lost on me.   This job, however perpetual my post, will evaporate one day, and this time I must not be without the floor when the rug is pulled.

And of course food is the answer.  To that end, I continue make the food everyday. 

When I was unemployed and leaking conviction, I upped the food game for several reasons: to comfort myself, assuage “dad not bringing in bacon” guilt, to find a way to literally keep food on the table everyday, and to make that food extraordinary as a kind of lifeline to hope. 

It worked.

Now, in the six months at Billy Elliot, I have bought exactly one meal in Manhattan and prepared my own food the rest of the time.  Co workers notice, I bring in extras.  I cart around tastings of stuff every now and then, turnip latkes, peanut noodles, risotto, and the sausage night party.  I’m getting a rep.  People associate me with food.  All sorts of possible business ventures cross my mind:

Courtesy of Stephen Hanna, my dressing table neighbor, he came up with it.

mcvEATy’s ™

Commuter meals?  School lunches?  Catering?  Menu consultation?  Private cheffing?  Underground restaurant? 

Yes.

Now, for all of you who might think that now that I’ve had some prayers answered and have seen a bit of light that I must be happy as the proverbial clam, understand that even with the good fortune, I am still a petulant little bitch.  I have days where it still all sucks and I’m a dick about it.  I drive the people I live with up the wall.  Up and down I go.  The only thing to do is lean into it and say “Whee!”.  

Holy discontent keeps me writing.

Suck up one of my commuter meals.

                                     CHEESY FRIED RICE WITH BACON

1 cup sushi rice

peanut oil

1 1/2 cups chicken stock

Heat enough peanut oil to cover the bottom of a 2 quart sauce pan over medium high heat.  When oil is hot, add rice and toast for one or two minutes.   Add stock carefully, as it will splatter when added to the oil.  Reduce heat to low, cover and let cook for 20 minutes.   Remove from heat and let sit covered.

peanut oil

1/2 lb. smoked bacon cubed

1 small red onion chopped

1 carrot shredded or chopped

2 cloves garlic minced

1/2 cup chopped mushrooms

1/2 cup or more frozen green peas

1 egg beaten

soy sauce

2 tablespoons dijon mustard

small bunch chives chopped

grated parmesano reggiano

black pepper

Meanwhile, chop bacon and vegetables and heat a wok over high heat.  When wok is hot add bacon cubes and cook until crispy.  Remove bacon to paper towels and reserve fat for another use.

Add peanut oil to wok and cook onion and carrot until soft but not brown.  Three to four minutes.  Remove to a large bowl.

Add more oil as needed and wok mushrooms and garlic.  When mushrooms and garlic and nearly cooked, add green peas and cook quickly until bright green.  Remove peas, mushrooms and garlic to the large bowl with onions and carrots.

Cook egg in the wok with a little peanut oil.  Keeping egg in one sheet, remove it to cutting board and cut into strips when cool.

Add rice to wok and peanut oil as needed.   Turn rice several times in wok, add two to three tablespoons of soy sauce and dijon mustard and then add other vegetables and bacon.

Turn and stir until hot throughout and then remove to large serving bowl. 

Top with strips of egg, chives, grated  black pepper and grated parmesan.  

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.