Trick & Fancy: Appalachia CT

Dear Mouse,

I think this fictional Appalachian Family Band might be on to something:

Yes that is me, up left. Objects on the warped left side of this picture are thinner than they appear.

"Oh, Hotcake, Flapjack, put 'em on a griddle

Hotcake, Flapjack, play a little fiddle

Put 'em on a griddle and you play a little fiddle and you

Have yourself a real good time

Oh have yourself a real good time

Don't pay your troubles any mind

Have yourself a real good time!"

- Don Chaffer, "Son of a Gun" (winner: 2011 O'Neill Lyricist Award)

Besides being amazacrazily catchy, this foot-stompin' tune hones in on the two basic ingredients of Bliss (aka Real Good Time):

1.Music (including but not necessarily limited to the fiddle)

2.Food (including but not necessarily limited to hotcakes and/or flapjacks.)

Ok there's at least one other important element I can think of, but this is a family blog after all.

So it's my birthday!! Again! Or was when I started this post! And I am so pleased and thankful to havve spent it where I did: back up at this idyllic oasis in CT, surrounded by emerging illuminati of american Music Theatre (I'll miss the Playwrights Conference this time; sniff) and some truly bad-ass folk/country/rock musicians out of Nashville and NYC, putting up a glorious show in (wait for it) "The Barn".

These people are rehearsing. AND relaxing. "Hearslaxing"? I'll come back to this.

Yes, Real Good Times were abundant both onstage and off. My birthday started with a return to this legendary joint for brunch (GET the corned beef hash even if you think you don't like it, and be warned that Doreen has ditched the guns in favor of making customers wait tables). In the evening we had a performance of the show followed by an epic jam session that ended with me picking shards of glass out of the smiling drummer's forearm as he continued to play). THAT's a birthday.

The title of this post comes from a conversation I had with this guy about his life as a fiddle player:

Obviously he's already past the flapjacks.

Turns out that in competitive fiddling (hee hee), there's often a division called "Trick & Fancy" in which competitors don't just play tunes, they, well, do tricks. Fancy ones. Like fiddling behind your head, or using an unorthodox bowing style, or showing off other unexpected feats of bravado and strength. I fell in love with this expression and immediately tried to think of a way to use it when talking about food (natch).

Gratuitous Clambake shot. July 4: chilled rose and free lobster. Not pictured: plastic bib, foolish grin, steamers, corn, the fact that I had already eaten an entire dinner before this.

You see, folks, when you're on the road, not every meal is a clambake. (Segue!) And even at the best of all Summer Theatre Camps, when it comes to cafeteria food it's generally agreed that the price you pay for - well, paying no price at all - is food that is barely digestible.

(Not true this year, I hasten to say. Apparently they brought in a guy from Whole Foods and it really worked wonders. However, three words to the wise: Instant. Starbucks. Packets. Put 'em in Yer Suitcase, Nothing Rhymes with Suitcase, Have Yerself a Real Good Time.)

I started thinking about the many Trick & Fancy tips I've heard from fellow performers over the years re dealing with Food on the Road. There's my friend MS, who swears she lived on instant oatmeal with peanut butter packets for many's a hotel room buffet breakfast on tour. (I now do that as well.) I remembered Dennis' neverending bags of nuts and dried fruit secreted in rehearsal room cupboards in Louisville. At the O'Neill, my new friend Elmadora would eschew the mysterious bins of salad dressing to concoct her own from honey, olive oil, balsamic, and lemon juice packets.

My goal was to have a blog post full of cafeteria survival recipes but I only got one, which came to me by way of the Khrusty Family Band's Drummer:

Would you drink something he made? Course you would.

This Nashville resident sports a keen sense of rhythm, a Zeppelin tattoo, and a love of iced tea strong enough to wake entrepreneurial instincts when he discovered there was no sweet tea for the non-coffee drinkers. I'm using his real name (a first) because I couldn't bear to change it. Weary travelers, I give you -

Billy Brimblecom, Jr.'s Cafeteria Iced Tea

Get a glass (big cup?) of hot water and a tea bag.

Steep tea bag in water to desired strength.

Get another glass (big cup?) full of ice.

Wait and watch.

Pour steeped hot tea into glass of ice.

Shake or stir.

Boom! Iced tea in the cafeteria!

So there you have it. What a summer so far! Oh, and speaking of Trick & Fancy, our whole cast received cups of this as a parting gift from one of the guys on the tech staff:

Bourbon Slush. I kid you not. Hold on, I will get that recipe if it's the last thing I do.

Thanks, CT. It was a Real Good Time.

Love,

The Boo

There Will Be Brunch (New London CT)

Dear Mouse,

I miss Summer Camp. Remember those days where all we did all day was rehearse plays, eat inedible food off plastic trays, go swimming, crash on a narrow bed in a stuffy bunk next to a fan, and then get up and do it again? Those were the days. One can never go back.

Unless ... one happens to go spend a week at the Eugene O'Neill Theatre Center for the summer Playwrights Conference. Which is basically Summer Theatre Camp with a stipend and an on-site pub. (Cheap drinks and a van to take you home to your dorm.. "Long Van's Journey Into Night"; I kid you not.) I just spent a week there working on the latest from the pen of this wonderful playwright.

Remember also, how, no matter how much we loved being AT camp, which we did, kind of the best part was when you got to leave? A scheduled outing, a parental visit...all knowing you'd be able to come back...and how the best part of said outings was usually that you got to eat real food?

One outing which I'll never forget was our cast's tour of the 'Monte Cristo Cottage', Eugene O'Neill's boyhood home and the setting for that cheery crowd-pleaser, "Long Day's Journey Into Night". You can visit the very room where Eugene O'Neill's mom dosed herself with morphine, and sit on the very porch where young Eugene would contemplate how "the fog is the ghost of the sea".

And what better to do after all the fog, morphine, and anguished ghosts than ... go for brunch?

May I suggest this place? You can't see it here, but the cartoon rooster is standing over a broken egg and smiling gleefully.
What up with that.

The Broken Yolk Cafe in New London CT, offers, to quote their web site, "Spectacular breakfast and lunch diner fare with some creative sprinkles and off-the-beaten-path sides."

Like, say, mini-marshmallows, shot from a powerful (plastic) gun at your head, that land in your coffee. Pieces of toast that sail by you and land in the street. A bullet-like blueberry landing with startling precision (and audible "whack") on your collarbone. And the piece de resistance:

Doreen, Warrior Princess, the proprietress of the Broken Yolk,
with trademark watergun. Shooting, yes, me.

The spirit of the Wild, Wild West is alive and well and living in New London. (The Wild East?)

Doreen, WP, with mini-marshmallows. (They came out of a gun too.)

I mean, I've heard of themed restaurants, specialty restaurants.. I mean, there must be people whose idea of a good time is to gnaw on a giant turkey leg while watching people poke each other with blunt pieces of metal, right? Otherwise, wherefore 'Medieval Times'? And how can we forget the phenomenon of Conni's Avant-Garde Restaurant, for those who like their food served by a fictional subversive theatre troupe?

This place, however, is not called "The Broken Yolk Boundary-Crossing and Visceral Culinary Warfare Emporium", so the experience comes as complete surprise. When we arrived at the modest outdoor picnic area with visions of omelets dancing in our heads, we didn't expect to have menus flung at us like frisbees, or to have one of our party enveloped in an immense bear hug by Ms.D herself. ("Do you know her?" I whispered as we sat down. "Nope", he replied, quietly, as she was now perched on his knee. )

So maybe I'm ruining it for everyone else by blogging, but then again I can't imagine how I could. For one thing, I have no doubt that Doreen has a gazillion props and torments up her talented sleeve, and for another thing....

the FOOD

from the basic (eggs, bacon, perfectly buttered toast) ...

is INCREDIBLE.

...to the divine. An order of Chocolate-Cranberry Pancakes, for the table.
Also stunning; "Pina-Colada French Toast", not pictured here.

The menu is staggering; both the plentiful offerings on the actual thing itself and the wide variety of 'creative sprinkles' listed daily - ! - on the blackboard at the door. Doreen cooks everything herself, with one helper; you can watch her through the window. Now, this results in kind of a long wait for your food, and in people getting it at different times, whcih kind of drives me crazy... but also in careful, beautiful, delicious presentations that render all forgiven. Also, if you complain, she might shoot you.

In between lovingly battling guests and frying up eggs, Doreen also comes out to dish up philosophy and wisdom, as when my cast-mate/fictional love interest put his arm around me and asked DWP "Do you buy us as a couple?"

After a moment, this was the priceless reply.

"Sure - it's the Millennium. But you gotta hold hands. That's how you know couples that are really in love. They hold hands."

After which, she made everyone practice.

So, Mouse, let this be a lesson to you. Summer camp is still an option, always chase your morphine with pancakes, and remember to hold hands. If you don't, I'll shoot you with a mini-marshmallow.

Love,
The Boo

P.S. Photos in this post are all (I believe) by David Ross.