New Salad, CT (Sisters are Doing It For Themselves)

"Art/Love is the desire to narrow the space between two people

To solve the only problem there has ever been

in the world:

That you are not me." 

-Aaron Jafferis, 'How to Break' (NY Hip Hop Theatre Fest, upcoming) 

Dear Mouse,

I often blithely tell people who ask about this blog that I'm what you might call the "field reporter". "I travel a lot for work," I'll say breezily, spilling coffee down my wrist. "The Mouse is the one who is doing most of the actual inventing and, oh, cooking. I'm the one who's usually posting about A Sandwich I Ate Once in Kentucky, or Best Vending Machine Snacks in DC."  I imagine they walk away either impressed with my self-deprecation or resolved to ... not to read this blog. Why don't I maybe stop doing that.

I have been thinking a lot about collaboration lately, and how important it is both to delegate clearly AND to be able to relax the roles. Right now, I'm composing songs for a show in the NY Hip Hop Theatre Festival... (here's where I usually pause for effect and then say "I know! and THEY called ME!") Composing, to me, usually means holing up in my Songwriting Cave and then delivering my Song Babies fully formed to the world.  Here it's sometimes taking place on my feet, guitar in hand, in the presence of a director, a singer, a lyricist, a loop machine and a guy holding a microphone against his neck. It's awesome. I'm The Composer... but I don't have to come up with all the answers alone.

Oh, and also, I went to New Haven.

                              

                               Admittedly terrible shot of Mashed Potato Pizza at Bar, New Haven

                                                                     I think I was eating with the other hand.

I spent a week up there workshopping a hilarious new play with these great people, and I was definitely looking forward to some blogworthy times. I already knew that The Have is a food lovers' town. (The Pizza! Oh my god. The adorable, competitive coffee shops! I tried four and was utterly charmed. The 'sweet cream' flavor at Ashley's Ice Cream! The menu at the bizarre, postmodern sushi joint everyone talks about! I planned to hit all of these up at least once in between rehearsals.) Oh, I'd find writing material for sure.

And I did... but not in any of those places. 

We had it all. The coffee at JoJo's  is reeeally good, though it didn't make me forget The Commons (or, for that matter, The Roasterie Kansas City... I'm just gonna have to order a case.) We had quirky rectangular pizza at Bar (tasty though it doesn't touch Modern), and Miya's Sushi ... ok, full points for creativity, but I don't want Havarti cheese anywhere near my fish. Ever. And, after we finished dinner there, my director turned to me and whispered "I ate here for lunch today too ... and I'm still hungry." Nuff said.

No, I'm proud and happy to say that the food experiences I'll really remember from this trip came from the folks around me. Proud because my 'collaboration' theme in this post is actually going to get followed through. Proud because what could be more A Mouse Bouche than artists thrown together by fate, eating with and teaching each other about food? And happy because now I know how to make this salad:

Watercress, pine nuts, red onion, clementine slices, oil, red wine vinegar, dried marjoram. Elegant, beautiful, easy, and tasting mysteriously somehow like there is bacon in it, though there is not. 

The awesome program directors took us - all - out to dinner at local haunts like Thai Taste AND brought Insomnia Cookies to our various rehearsal nights. My lovely Flatmate introduced me to 'broken-yolk' fried eggs and the concept of the Kale Smoothie (haven't tried it yet: almond milk, banana, kale, honey). But the definitive MouseBouche moment of the trip for me happened when The Dancer told me the Salad Story.  (The Dancer is not a dancer at all as far as I know, but her graceful presence and, I don't know, lithe - ness?, reminds me of a ballerina.)  We got to talking, I mentioned the blog, and somehow wound up telling her the story of your Husband making the Christmas Pork Roast for his family in Florida, a story I love because It Has Meaning On So Many Levels, blah blah blah. The Dancer totally 'got it' - "I might cry!" she said in her soft voice looking at me across the beer pitcher. And then she told me a similar story. One year around The Holidays it dawned on her that, as the Unmarried Sister in her family, there seemed to be a different set of expectations for her when it came to holiday meal prep. While her sister would get various cooking assignments, she said, "nothing was really expected of me." The Dancer didn't really consider herself a Person Who Cooks, but this didn't feel right. So she decided to get in the game. She would not wait to be asked, she would just pick a recipe, bring it, and see what happened. She chose a salad from Bon Appetit, and brought it to the party. And:  "I know it sounds silly," she said, "but my brother-in-law's mother asked me for the recipe. And it was So. Validating!" It rounded out the meal beautifully and got great reviews. Not only that, but the following year said mother-in-law's house burned down -!! - "not to be a downer here" - and she called and asked for the recipe again, having lost it in the fire. "So I know she really liked it", The Dancer said. "She told me she was only collecting the recipes she really wanted."

It's a great moment when you realize your voice counts, that you have something to offer, and that it is a valuable part of a whole. It's been said before, but we can do things in community that we can't - or won't -  do alone. For example: closing night of the workshop, the company threw a lovely party for us at a super-hip hotel in town. Beautiful nighttime views, open bar, and a TON of food. As the night wound down, we were staring at a mountain of untouched crudites, a basket of bread and crackers, another basket of prosciutto and huge chunks of cheese. One of the younger actors boldly asked for a to-go container and was denied - department of health regulations, blah blah blah. FlatMate and I locked eyes across the table. We knew what we had to do. We had napkins, bags, a guitar case, and each other. 

The next day we enjoyed a lovely picnic lunch on the Metro-North train home, which we were only too happy to share with our friends. 

Here's to collaboration, at and away from the table.  

Love,

The Boo

PS A shout-out to The Dancer for not batting an eyelash when I asked if I "could use butter instead". I thought she'd said "margarine" instead of "marjoram". She just suggested that olive oil would be better.

• WATERCRESS, ORANGE AND RED ONION SALAD
• via Bon Appetit
• 
  
• 4 Servings
• 2 bunches watercress, stemmed
• 3 clementines, peeled and sectioned
• 1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
• 1 tablespoon sherry wine vinegar (or 
• red wine vinegar) 
• (Note from The Boo: I used red wine, but I think it'd be better with sherry)
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon dried marjoram
• Salt and pepper
• 1/3 cup pine nuts
• Combine stemmed watercress, orange slices and 
• sliced red onion in large bowl. Place sherry wine
• vinegar in small bowl. Gradually mix in olive oil.
• Add marjoram. Season dressing to taste with salt
• and pepper. (Can be prepared 3 hours ahead. Cover
• salad and refrigerate. Cover dressing and let stand
• at room temperature.) Pour dressing over
• salad and toss to coat thoroughly. Sprinkle with pine
• nuts and serve

  

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.