Good Riddance!!

 New Year's Eve has rolled around again and for the second year in a row I say, "Farewell and Good Riddance."  2020 was stolen from us by the COVID-19 pandemic, and now 2021 has been stolen by those too afraid or too ignorant to get vaccinated or to wear a mask.  And I am afraid the prospects for the new year do not appear very encouraging.  Let saner minds prevail and let us hope 2022 sees us turn the corner with better days (and years) ahead of us.

Desmond Tutu, 1931-2021

I was deeply saddened to awake the day after Christmas to the news of the passing of Archbishop Desmond Tutu of South Africa at age 90.  A man of peace and love who dedicated his life to the end of racism, injustice, and poverty at home and around the world, it was the voices of many nations that raised up to praise the long life and sad passing of a truly great man.  A dear friend wrote to me that same morning that she was struck most by Tutu’s joyfulness.  “For all that he stood for, had witnessed, and experienced, or maybe because of those experiences, his sense of wonder and joy shone through . . . I think we are all poorer for his passing.”  He was indeed a wonderful and inspiring individual and a true world citizen and a South African patriot.  Cyril Ramaphosa, the South African president, called him “a patriot without equal.”  “A man of extraordinary intellect, integrity and invincibility against the forces of apartheid, he was also tender and vulnerable in his compassion for those who had suffered oppression, injustice and violence under apartheid, and oppressed and downtrodden people around the world."  He was a man of good humor and always willing to offer up words of inspirations, yet he always sought to find the source of the ills affecting those downtrodden for whatever reason. “There comes a point when we need to stop just pulling people out of the river.  We need to go upstream and find out why they’re falling in.”  He was loved by all around him.  May he find peace in his rest.

Wishing Everyone a Very Festive Holiday Season!

Wishing everyone a very festive holiday season.  Let us hope and pray the new year will bring us a deliverance from the deadly pandemic and an end to hatred and violence.  Let's make 2022 a year of peace and compassion.  Tashi delek.

A Taste of Italy in Tucson - Eating Vicariously

   In Memory of Cecil Wellborn (1926-2021)

I just finished reading Stanley Tucci’s new memoir Taste and I have been salivating ever since I laid it down.  On top of that, I have been watching “In Search of Italy, his six-episode CNN series now streaming on HBOMax.  Tucci grew up in an Italian family (second generation) and was raised on the many family dishes brought to America from their native Calabria.  After a long and rewarding acting career he has come to realize at age 60 that he is now more defined by the food he cooks and consumes than the roles he plays.  How wonderful!

Growing up in a average white, Anglo-Saxon meat and potatoes Midwestern family, my exposure to Italian cuisine was pizza and spaghetti with meatballs and tomato sauce.  That was it.  My first real job was working as a busboy at the Blue Note Restaurant, in Richmond, Indiana, from the fall of 1966 until the summer of 1967.  Quin Tarquinio, its owner, hired me because he knew my dad who frequently entertained business contacts there.  The restaurant was once a mainstay of downtown Richmond, but in the early 1960s it moved to the Holiday Inn on the east side back when the popular motel chain featured restaurants and lounges.  The place served steaks and a few Italian dishes based on Tarquinio family recipes and I had an opportunity to sample some of these during my meal break.  Still, for the most part, I tended to stick with dishes I knew well which certainly limited my range of exploration.

This all changed in the summer of 1968 when I visited Italy for the first time (Venice, Florence, Rome, Pisa, Tuscany, Milan, Lake Como and in between) and I was introduced to an authentic palette of Italian cuisine.  I learned for the first time the myriad possibilities in crafting a pizza and the ingredients used.  And I quickly discovered that spaghetti was not the only pasta out there.  And what a wide variety of tasty cheeses that far eclipsed the pedestrian flavor of Kraft’s Parmesan.  Those who know me or have read this blog regularly know that I am a cheesehead from way back in my early Wisconsin days.  My eyes were opened wide, and my taste buds primed.

My tastes for Italian food changed appreciably after I moved to Tucson to begin my graduate studies at the University of Arizona.  During the week I stuck close to campus, attending classes and burning the midnight oil in the library.  I took most of my meals at the student union or at one of the campus dining halls.  That said, I was always happy to see Friday roll around with the promise of some free time to myself. 

More often than not I would join my colleagues in an outing to Gentle Ben’s, beer garden just off campus that had open three years earlier, in 1971.  The original location was built in 1908 as a private residence, and over the years it has served as the university president’s house, a boarding house, and as home to several different fraternities.  It would eventually morph into the first brew pub in Tucson. If we desired something more than liquid sustenance, we would often find ourselves wandering over to Caruso’s, an Italian restaurant and local institution on North Fourth Avenue, one of Tucson’s first historic commercial districts north of downtown since World War, I and it has been thriving ever since.  Known to locals as "Fourth," it features a street fair every spring and autumn and when I first arrived in early 1974 it was already known as the city’s bohemian or counter-culture quarter with shops and galleries, bars, tattoo parlors, bookstores, and some great and inexpensive places to eat. 

Caruso’s was opened by Nicasio “Caruso” Zagona in 1938 and it has remained in the Zagona family ever since.  He eventually passed it on to his son Salvatore Vincent Zagona who just passed away earlier this year at age 100.  I was immediately drawn to the place because it reminded me of what I always thought an Italian restaurant should look like.  A small dining room with rural Italian scenes on the walls and tables covered with red and white checked table clothes and a large bowl of pepperoncini peppers to snack on while waiting for one’s meal.  We would order a couple carafes of the house red wine and something to eat as we rehashed the events of the past week and what we could anticipate in the future.  I began to spread my wings and try new dishes . . . the house specialty Lasagna al Formo [baked lasagna] and the conchiglie ripiene di pollo parmagiana [stuffed shells with chicken parmesan].  And there was the pollo Afredo and the delicious homemade polpette [meatballs] that would almost melt in your mouth.  Almost everything came slathered in the house tomato sauce cooked in the large copper pot in the kitchen that had been there since the placed opened.  It was the late great Anthony Bourdain who once said, “an ounce of sauce covers a multitude of sins.”  I seriously doubt Caruso’s had anything to hide, but the sauce was wonderful, nonetheless.  I would return to Caruso’s almost forty years later and the place looked the same from the street.  And there was the familiar dining room up front, but there were more dining areas in the rear along with a large, covered patio.   But the food was just as good as I remembered.  That is all that mattered.

SallyAnn and I married in December 1974, and she joined me in Tucson for the next year and a half until I completed my Master’s program at UA.  We were living on two very modest salaries and so we did not eat out frequently.  But we did venture out occasionally and often found ourselves at Luigi’s, a small Italian café halfway between the campus and our small apartment.   SallyAnn worked at the campus library and at the end of the day I would walk there from the German department and together we would from time-to-time amble over to Luigi’s for dinner before heading home.  This was usually on a Friday, and I did not have to worry about hitting the books later.  It was a hole-in-the-wall place with probably no more than ten tables and a small counter with a couple of stools in the back.  And like Caruso’s it had red and white checked table clothes and in the center of each table an old Chianti bottle as a candle holder.  SallyAnn liked the veal parmagiana and I often ordered the linguini with white clam sauce prepared with finely chopped clams, garlic, anchovies (always a favorite on pizza), red pepper, and capers.  This was a reach for me at the time as I had never eaten clams before and I found it all terribly irresistible and it remains one of my favorite Italian dishes to this day, especially when topped with some freshly grated pecorino romano.  Unfortunately, Luigi’s and its building disappeared many years ago, but the memories are still clear, and I can still taste that clam sauce.

During our time in Tucson SallyAnn’s boss, Mr. Wellborn, would occasionally invite us to dinner at Scordato’s, at the time one of the trendier local restaurants along the old Saguaro Road through Gates Pass in the desert foothills of the Tucson Mountains on the city’s outskirts.  The Scordato family has run its eponymous restaurant in Paterson (later Hawthorne), New Jersey beginning in 1947, and a son, James Scordato, moved to Duncan, Arizona in 1963, and then to Tucson in 1967 where Joe ran a highly successful catering truck business and a sandwich shop.  He opened the restaurant in 1972.  The family constructed much of the building themselves and many thought they had made a serious mistake to build so far out in the desert.

Mr. Wellborn was a regular diner at Scordato’s and so we were given the VIP treatment.  I recall on our first visit we were given a table by a window with a fine view of the city in the distance while watching a squadron of javelinas (collared pecary) feeding on greens the kitchen staff had scattered among the saguaro cacti.  One of the treats of the evening was our tuxedoed server preparing a lush and creamy fettuccini Alfredo at our table.  I seem to recall that SallyAnn went for the veal parmagiana and I had the veal á la Scordato, a generous serving of veal Saltimbocca which was milk-fed veal scalloppine cutlets sauteed in olive oil with not too thin slices of prosciutto.  Like its name it was an eruption of flavors; it tasted as if it wanted to jump out of my mouth.  The owner came to our table to greet us along with a very nice bottle of Pinot Noir which was an ideal complement to a most memorable meal.  After the meal Mr. Scordato invited us into the kitchen where his two sons worked (a daughter played piano in the dining room) and the flavorful scents hung heavy and afterwards we received a guided tour through The Tack Room, Scordato’s high end wine cellar.   Who could not be sold on Italian cuisine after such a magical evening? 

I ate at Scordato’s on my own during a business trip to Tucson a few years later and it was just as good as I remembered it.  Sadly, on my last visit I found it closed and the building sitting vacant and rather forlorn as more and more development was encroaching on its once outlier location.  Evangelos Vassious, another Tucson restauranteur bought the Scordato's in 1999 and remodeled and updated the once venerable restaurant.  Evangelos served dishes from Spain, Italy and Greece.  Vassious claimed he also bought the rights to the Scordato name and sued James’ two sons Joe and Daniel from using the family name in association with the popular Vivace and Trattoria Guiseppe, restaurants they owned and operated in Tucson.  Vassious was awarded limited damages in 2004 and eventually went out of business suffering mediocre reviews.  It’s not the name.  It’s the food that counts.  Trattoria Guiseppe has since changed ownership and Joe opened the upscale Scordato’s Pizzeria in 2010.  Daniel Scordato has owned and operated Vivace since 1993 and I enjoyed a meal there on my last visit to Tucson.Daniel credits his father with teaching him the value of hard work and what it takes to make the customer happy.  The success of Vivace is testament to that.  On my visit I was sad to see that the fettucuine Alfredo was not on the menu as I suspected it would have been just as good as I remembered it from those many years ago.  The menu did include osso buco which was a specialty dish at Scordato’s, and so I order it.  I started out with grilled asparagus with Parma prosciutto mixed greens with shavings of parmigiano reggiano.  The large veal shank was served in a vegetable-tomato sauce over polenta.    It all took me back to that first memorable evening at Scordato’s.   The father taught his son well.

There is a saying that the trouble with eating Italian food is that five or six days later you're hungry again.  It seems like that at times.  There is a common misconception that Italian food is tasty because there so many ingredients.  In fact, the reason why it's so mouth-watering is because there are less ingredients than in most other cuisines.  It is pretty basic when you get right down to it.  Too many people have tried to over-complicate it.  Italian food is extremely simple. What makes it unique is there are so many different variations to consider . . . Tuscan, Sicilian, and so on.  “Italian food really reflects the people.  It reflects like a prism that fragments into regions.”  Each of Italy’s 20 regions has something unique to offer.  The bottom line is simple.  It’s tasty and national.  It’s colorful and makes you happy.   What more can you really ask for?

Does Someone Out There Have a Problem with Me???

There is an old Asian saying that tells us that when we sneeze someone is saying something good about us.  And if we sneeze twice in a row?   Well, not so much.   Hmmm.  Either way, if you believe this, it seems that folks are always talking behind our backs.  I am not so sure I ascribe to this bon mot, just as I give no credence to the claim that if you sneeze with your eyes open your eyeball will pop out of your head.  Blood pressure does increase when one sneezes and closing one’s eyes during a sneeze is purely reflexive.  Personally, I seldom close my eyes when I sneeze and they have always remained right where they belong.  Others say the heart skips a beat when a person sneezes yet signals from the brain control heart rate and this is not affected by any physiological changes that might occur when a person sneezes.  The question has also been frequently asked whether sneezing will shorten one’s life.  Sneezing is simply a natural reflex.  Nothing more, nothing less.

We all sneeze.  The average person sneezes roughly four times daily.  It is a common reaction when our nasal passage or sinuses become irritated.   And multiple sneezes are common and can mean the irritant has not been removed or it is simply a reaction to a reaction.   Colder weather can also cause an increase in sneezing.  It all makes sense to me.  Yet now it seems I always, and I mean always, sneeze twice in quick succession.  It makes a person wonder.  They come on quick and are frequently violent enough to set my entire body a-quiver.  They often scare me and any others in my general vicinity with their explosive suddenness and deserve at the very least a double Gesundheit or two blessings from God. 

It never used to be like this.  I have had asthma and allergies for years and I think nothing of an occasion sneeze.  But now they seem to be more frequent . . . and louder . . . and always in twos.   Always!  So I am starting to wonder if this sternutation might hold a deeper significance.  Perhaps it is an admonishment that I may be suffering from bad karma?  Or something I have said or done has offended and people are talking about it unbeknownst to me.  Or is it just a couple of sneezes?

Doctors and researchers have concluded that non-allergic rhinitis can increase as we grow older and even more so if one suffers from allergies.   So this may explain why I now always sneeze twice.   Structural changes occur in the nose causing nasal passages to narrow due to weakening of the cartilage.  This can cause greater nasal congestion and dryness with the decrease in nasal mucus thereby allowing more irritants to enter the nose.  So if you have to sneeze, let it fly.   But please . . . always cover your mouth.  This is especially important during the current coronavirus pandemic.

Sneezing is a powerful physical reaction when the body produces pressure in the respiratory system from the lungs to the nose.  A sneeze can propel droplets of mucus from the nose at a rate of up to 100 miles per hour!  This fact alone has led me to suspect that a six-foot social distancing is insufficient to protect someone from being infected with the coronavirus.  Yet another good reason to wear a mask when you are in public.

I have heard that one should say “pickles” or hold one’s breath if feeling a sneeze coming on.  It is far important to allow a sneeze than to try and repress it.  The respiratory pressure created by holding in a sneeze can be up to 25 times greater than the pressure created by the sneeze itself and this can potentially lead to the rupturing of an eardrum, damage to blood vessels in the eyes and nose, or even to the rupturing of a pre-existing brain aneurysm, a life-threatening injury that can lead to bleeding in the skull.

So I guess there is no reason to read into the situation more than what it is.  I will continue to sneeze as many times as it takes to get the job done and leave it that.  All I can say is “God Bless Me Everyone!!”

Pandemic Fatigue

A general malaise overtook me in early July and only now do I feel like I am rising above it all.  This does not mean I did not get anything done; quite the contrary.   Yet often it did not seem like there was any rhyme or reason to it.  I attribute this mainly to pandemic fatigue. 

The COVID-19 pandemic has now dragged on for 22 months.  Thankfully effective vaccines and boosters have been developed which have allowed us to return to a small degree of normalcy.  Even though we are finally moving in the right direction, we are still far from vaccinating the entire US population.  With the arrival of the Delta and now the Omicron variant and its mutations, we are once again facing an uncertain future as countries begin to once again lock down, re-instituting travel bans and quarantines while mandating that face masks be worn in all public place.  Still there are those who continue to flaunt these rules and refuse to get vaccinated thus prolonging the greatest worldwide public health crises in more than a century; not since the so-called Spanish flu / H1N1 virus pandemic of 1918-1920. 

According to the US Department of Health & Human Services, approximately 105 million Americans became infected (ca. 28% of the population) with the Spanish flu and over a half million died.  To date there have been just over 48 million cases of COVID-19 reported in the USA and ca. 777,000 have succumbed to the virus.  There has been 263 million cases and 5.3 million deaths worldwide.  Here in Maryland there have been over 586,000 cases and 11,206 deaths and the numbers keep rising. This is an incalculable loss and I venture to add it has been an unnecessary loss.  And this is all far from over.

At a time when this country is still experiencing thousands of new coronavirus cases daily requiring hospitalization and resulting in further deaths, there are communities and states that have decided they are tired of the restrictions and are abandoning them in wanton disregard for public safety.  This ignorance does not only endanger these populations, it endangers us all.  This pandemic is not going to be vanquished piecemeal.  It will take all of us working together as we take care of ourselves and those with whom we come in contact.  There is an old Chinese proverb that tells us that one moment of patience may ward off great disaster, but one moment of impatience may ruin a whole life.

This pandemic has nothing to do with politics or political affiliations.  The coronavirus is an unbiased killer.  Yet partisan differences continue to exist.  There are those who agree with health experts who say that social distancing, masks, and above all a course of vaccinations and a booster, slow the spread of the virus while also believing that only by working collectively can we protect ourselves, our families and our friends.  Others believe that government-invoked restrictions and mandates limit individual freedoms and endanger our democratic form of government.  What they seem to forget is that we are not debating the survival of a form of government.  We are talking about the survival of our population whether it be red or blue.

We are all tired of the isolation and the loneliness.  We miss our families and our friends whom we have not seen in almost two years.  We all miss the things we used to take for granted that we are now unable to do, or only after logical and logistical planning.   We all miss traveling, and going out to eat, or to the movies or a concert.  And when we do we have to go armed with proof of vaccination or a recent negative COVID test.  The only way we will ever get back to whatever will be the “new normal” is to work together and trust each to do what is necessary to restore the health of our country and our neighbors near and far.  Don’t forget.  We are all in the same boat.

Cafe La Ruche - Eating Vicariously

One great advantage of eating vicariously during the COVID pandemic is the chance to revisit favorite haunts that unfortunately no longer exist.  I was particularly sad when a particular French brasserie formerly located on 31st Street, NW in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, DC, shuttered in 2014 after 40 years as the purveyor of fine regional dishes.  Over the years I enjoyed meeting up there with friends and colleagues at Café La Ruche [French for beehive].  

Originally a small Maryland tobacco port town on the Potomac River, Georgetown was founded and named after King George II in 1751.  It was ceded to the new District of Columbia in 1790 and was eventually incorporated into Washington, DC in 1871.  The building housing Café La Ruche was originally a private residence constructed circa 1830 on what was then known as Fishing Lane.  It remained a family residence for many years, and in the 1960s it served as the Market Playhouse and home to its popular repertory company.  Café La Ruche, which was long a favorite watering hole in Georgetown, opened its doors in 1979.  “A bit of Paris on the Potomac.”

Unfortunately, Georgetown, one of the more pricey precincts of the Nation’s Capital, is not as accessible as say downtown, Adams Morgan, the U Street corridor, and the Waterfront as parking is at a premium and there is no nearby Metro service (the closest stations are at Foggy Bottom, several blocks to the east, or across the river in Arlington, Virginia.  One of the age old questions is why there is no Metro service to what is considered one of the local meccas for residents and tourist alike.  The story most often heard is the fear by local residents that it would bring crime to this historic and tony area.  One does not have to look very far to get a strong whiff of racism.   Some defenders of the decision not to put a station claimed that its topography and nearness to the river prevented it.  Hmmmm.  The same argument can be used for the Arlington station which was part of the original system design.  There is talk of a future station in the area but it won’t be in my lifetime so I’m saving my breath.  

So a healthy walk is usually a precursor to food and drink at Café La Ruche.  The place had a typical homey bistro feel . . . a long and narrow flag-bedecked dining room with tables along each wall and the bar and Chef Jean-Claude Cauderlier’s kitchen at the far end.  There was also a quiet outdoor terrasse in the adjacent former alley.   

A wonderful space for a dégagé meal alone or with friends.  The menu was typical bistro fare.  I would often order the Maison Paté, the Mousse de Canard, or the Saumon Fume aux Capres with a glass or two of a nice red wine from Provence.  A bowl of the Soupe de Poisson or Potage Parisien (chopped potatoes and leeks) would be perfect on a damp, chilly day.  On the hunt for a more substantial repast I would often start out with the Escargot aux Champignon followed by 

Coq au Vin La Revolution served with pasta, the Truite Maria Antoinette (fresh rainbow trout . . . headless of course) topped with mushrooms, or the Canard à l’Orange, both of the latter served with green beans and roasted red potatoes.  And don’t forget the wine.  There must always be wine.  A visit to Café La Ruche also provided an ideal opportunity to work off a good meal with a wander along the C&O Canal as it transects Georgetown just a block to the north.  From its starting point at the former tidewater canal where Rock Creek flows into the Potomac River very near the Watergate complex, the canal parallels the Potomac from Washington, DC to Cumberland, Maryland,

The canal was originally designed to allow for the transportation of goods and cargo from the head of navigable water on the Potomac to the headwaters of the Ohio River at Pittsburgh, in western Pennsylvania.  The Patowmack Company, established by George Washington in 1785, constructed a series of canals along the Virginia side of the river to improve navigation on the Potomac by bypassing the falls above Georgetown.  It eventually ceded its holdings to the Chesapeake and Ohio Company in 1824, and President John Quincy Adams broke ground for the new canal on July 4, 1828.  The first section from Georgetown to Seneca Falls, Maryland was completed and operational in 1831.  The remainder of the canal and its 74 locks, which raised or lowered barges 604 feet, were completed only to Cumberland in 1851, and in 1889 it came under the control of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad.  The canal remained operational until 1924 when it was damaged by flooding and could no longer compete with the faster railroads.

At the time the canal was built Georgetown was a gritty, industrial port with warehouses, foundries and mills located along its edges.  The towpath was originally on the river (south) side of the canal as far as what is now 29th Street, NW (formerly Green Street) to avoid interfering with the wharves that were expanding along the river front to handle coal, building stones and other cargo following the construction of the canal.  Today the canal walk in Georgetown, runs entirely along the north side of the canal and the first four locks, which are situated very close together in the first mile, still contain water and are some of the best preserved locks on the entire canal.  Walking here one can get a real sense of what it was like over a century ago.

The federal government took control of the obsolete canal in 1938 with the idea of transforming it into a National Park, plans for which were delayed by the onset of World War II.  After the war there was talk of constructing a highway along the river, and in 1954 Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas hiked the entire length of the old canal to underscore its importance as a recreational area.  It was finally designated a National Historic Park in January 1971, due in large part to Douglas’ continuing efforts.  

It was a sad day when the Café La Ruche shuttered it door to be replaced by Chez Billy Sud, another French bistro.  But I still have wonderful memories of the simple yet elegant meals I shared there with others, or perhaps just by myself in the company of a good book.

Et n'oubliez pas le vin. Il doit toujours y avoir du vin.

The Florida Avenue Grill - Eating Vicariously

With COVID vaccines and boosters available, there has been less of a need to “eat vicariously” as there are now a growing number of venues offering outside seating, and even indoor dining is possible under the right conditions.  Nevertheless certain places remain off limits as far as I’m concerned due to their limited space or policies regarding masks and social distancing.  To enjoy these I have to rely on my fond memories of past visits and meals enjoyed.

For tasty like home-cooked soul food there is the Florida Avenue Grill, at the corner of 11th Street, NW.  I have been residing on the fringes of DC for over 45 years and I am not sure how it is possible that I never crossed its threshold until eight years ago.  

I did a little boning up on the history of the place beforehand and learned that it has been a mainstay along this section of Florida Avenue near Howard University in the Pleasant Plains neighborhood since it was first opened by Lacey C. Wilson, Sr., in 1944.  Originally just a counter and two stools, the place is now has a long counter facing the grill and a row of small booths lined up opposite the counter under the windows.  The walls are covered with framed head shots of the known and unknown who have been coming here regularly over the years, including my old boss, former Attorney General Janet Reno, who frequently ate here.  It was lucky to survive the riots and fires that gutted this neighborhood after the assassination of Martin Luther King in April 1968, due in large part to Wilson sitting near the entrance armed with shotgun.  His son, Lacey Jr., who had been a successful nightclub owner in the city, took over the ownership and operation of the diner in 1970.   Described in an earlier Washington Post review as a diner “as greasy as it is venerable,” it is far from being your iconic greasy spoon diner.  The food menu is basic, but the food and ingredients are fresh and served piping hot.    

Known mainly for its all-day breakfast fare, it also serves lunch and dinner entrees, including pigs feet, chitterlings, fried catfish and croaker, fried pork chops, fried chicken, and half-smokes (a DC staple any time of the day).  I was joined on my first visit by my old friend Michael G. Stewart, a gifted photographer and artist whose photos can be found throughout this blogspot, and his son Spencer, a noted authority on diners and currently the purveyor of fine vintage clothing at his store in Bozeman, Montana.

Michael and Spencer opted for breakfast, but being so close to lunchtime I went for the steamed pigs feet served with generous sides of collard greens and potato salad.  Our waitress gave me a rather big-eyed stare when I placed my order, but I assured her I knew what I was getting myself into. There are lots of bones and fat, but once you navigate through these obstacles, there is some succulent meat to be had.  I recalled a particular order of BBQ pigs feet I had several years earlier outside of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, so I figured I was up to the challenge.

The generous portion of pigs feet served up that morning was, I will be honest, not exactly what I was hoping for.  This is not to say it was not good; it was just not what I was expecting and it was a great deal of work with very little reward.  But thems the chances you take when you are adventurous with food.  I’m sure there are many who think this is the bee’s knees, and they are probably right.  Yet when I next return I will try something else.

I had heard and read that their scrapple is very good – Andrew Zimmern lauded it back in February 2013 on the seventh season premiere of “Bizarre Food America,” calling it a soul food “out of necessity.”  I have never thought of scrapple as soul food (see  http://www.lookingtowardportugal.blogspot.com/2012/03/everything-but-oink.html), but I did order a side just to see if it lived up to the hype.  It did and then some!  Crispy on the outside, soft yet not mushy on the inside.  I could have made a meal out of it alone!

As it turned out Tim Carman of The Washington Post had reviewed the Florida Avenue Grille the very day of my first visit.  So, did Carman agree with my own assessment?  I read it when I got home and found it lukewarm, at best.  He and some friends were there just a week ago before closing, the sole (not soul) customers ordering “a late-ish dinner” while the cooks and wait staff were trying to clean up, close up, and get to wherever they needed to be.   But he claimed he was on a nostalgic mission . . . to see what all the fuss was about before the diner itself upscaled to match the evolving neighborhood around it.  The new owner, who is also one of the local developers, is, according to Carman, thinking of adding salads and sandwiches to the long-standing soul food repertoire . . . like this is the only way to insure the place’s survival.  It has been here for almost 70 years and is doing just fine. Unlike Carman, I did not come to see what the fuss was about, or to feed a nostalgia bug before what has been is no more.  I did note with some interest that Carman had also ordered the pigs feet . . . “this glaringly unglamorous pile of steamed trotters whose tangle of softened skin, fat and gelatin almost melts on my tongue while its heat provides a welcome bit of irritation.”  To each is own, I guess.  Unlike Carman, I was not out to prove anything or satisfy anything more than the urge for a good meal where a good meal is by and large guaranteed.  And unlike Carman, I did not leave disappointed.  The Florida Avenue Grill is just what it claims to be . . . nothing more and nothing less.

Finally, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  It is an adage with which I happen to agree.  If you want sandwiches and salads, or a beer or a glass of wine instead of juice and coffee, then the U Street corridor and all of its restaurants and bars is just three blocks to the south.  Besides, Ben’s Chili Bowl, on U Street, has stuck to its original fare and look since 1958 and it is still going strong.  Even President Obama and former French president Sarkozy have made a special effort to dine here.  So I see no reason why there is a need to change the Florida Avenue Grill.  It is fine just the way it is!

Turkey Thicket and the Civil War Comes to Washington, DC

 

This is a greatly expanded version of an account first published on November 24, 2011 in A Flâneur in Washington, DC.]

Having just enjoyed a long, restful Thanksgiving holiday weekend, it seems entirely appropriate to mention the fact that Washington, DC is home to a small and little known neighborhood known as Turkey Thicket which is located a mile or so from where I am writing this at home just over the District line in Maryland.  I have been driving through it fairly regularly over the past 40 years not knowing it by its old name.  In fact, few people other than those who call it home are aware of it for it is now considered part of the larger University Heights neighborhood adjacent to The Catholic University of America in the Brookland section of northeast DC.    

There has been neither a thicket nor any turkeys to speak of in these environs in even the farthest distant memory yet until the late 19th century this area was still largely hilly woodlands and farms where Washington’s elite would come to escape the heat and humidity of the District’s riverside precincts.  The area now known informally as Turkey Thicket was originally part of the Bellair plantation belonging to Colonel Jehiel Brooks and his wife Ann Margaret, the daughter of Nicholas Louis Queen, a prominent Maryland businessman and one of the largest landowners in the District.    

Brooks (1797-1886) was originally from Albans Province of Vermont and spent most of his boyhood years in Conneaut, Ohio, on Lake Erie east of Cleveland.  He served as a First Lieutenant in the First Regiment of Infantry with the Ohio Militia, in the War of 1812, and later studied law in Cincinnati and was admitted to the Ohio bar in 1823.  He practiced law in Ohio until 1826 when he moved to Natchitoches, Louisiana, south of Shreveport.  He continued to practice law after being admitted to the Louisiana bar in 1828.

Brooks came to the District of Columbia later in 1828 seeking political appointment and married Ann Margaret.  He was appointed governor of the Red River Indian Agency beginning in 1830 during the administration of Andrew Jackson.  The Agency had been established in 1804 in Natchitoches, but during Brooks’ tenure the Agency moved in 1831 from Caddo Prairie to Peach Tree (or Orchard) Bluff, on the Bayou Pierre Channel, south of Shreveport.  Brooks successfully negotiated a treaty with the Caddo in July 1835 after which he and his 

family returned to the District, settling on a tract of land belonging to Ann Margaret known as the "Inclosure" which included Turkey Thicket.  He assumed the role of gentleman farmer and the Bellair plantation’s original Greek Revival-style plantation house was built around 1840 and still stands on the site.

Shortly after returning to the District Colonel Brooks was accused of fraud during his years in Louisiana while he initiated a number of civil suits, almost all of which he lost, concerning land he claimed he had purchased from his Indian charges.  In order to resolve his financial troubles brought on by his legal failures, Brooks petition successive presidential administrations for patronage positions yet his only subsequent public office was that of Supervisor of the District’s Washington County, in 1845.  Washington County, ceded by Maryland in 1790, included all of what is now the present District of Columbia east of the Potomac River.  The original Alexandria County ceded by the Commonwealth of Virginia formed the portion of the District west of the Potomac. It was returned to Virginia by Congress in 1846.

In 1861, as the Southern secession tore the country apart, the

federal government erected 68 temporary fortifications around Washington, including seven earthen and brick redoubts inside the District itself.  One of these, Fort Bunker Hill, was constructed by the 11th Massachusetts Infantry on Brooks’ land.  This drew the ire of the Colonel, who had become an ardent Confederate sympathizer, and he unsuccessfully challenged the government to remove it.  In 1862, the fort was manned by members of the 11th Vermont Infantry whose encampment was situated in the adjacent Turkey Thicket.  The fort was manned until the end of the war in 1865.

It seems few people around here know the only Civil War “battle” to take place within the boundaries of the District of Columbia occurred on July 11-12, 1864 at Fort Stevens, one of the capital’s defensive installations a couple miles northwest 

of Fort Bunker Hill and the Brooks plantation.  Following the Confederate campaign to drive Union forces out of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, General Robert E. Lee ordered General Jubal Early and 15,000 troops of II Corps of the Army of Virginia to invade Maryland for a third time with the goal of threatening Washington while disrupting the B&O Railroad.  This move came just 50 years after the British had successfully attacked Washington in August 1814 during the War of 1812.  Early’s corps crossed the Potomac River on July 5 and four days later defeated a smaller Union force from VI Corps of the Army of the Potomac at the Battle of the Monocacy, south of Frederick, Maryland.  Thereafter it continued to advance on Washington from the northwest. 

In the meantime, General Ulysses S. Grant was focused on tightening his noose on the Confederate capital of Richmond and had moved the majority of the 23,000 soldiers assigned to defend Washington, D.C., to join in the siege thereby leaving the capital vulnerable to attack.  With Early now in Maryland and moving ever closer to Washington, Grant withdrew some of his forces deployed near Richmond, just as Lee had hoped.  Fortunately, the delay of Early at Monocacy permitted Grant time to reinforce Union defenses of the capital.

Early arrived on the northern edge of the District on July 11 but did not fully engage the Union defenders until the following day.  President Lincoln and his family happened to be staying at his summer cottage not far from the site of the impending showdown while a steamer waited on the Potomac to evacuate them if the situation became dire as even the White House was less than five miles from the advancing Confederate force.  In the meantime, Marylanders from the surrounding counties began to flock to the relative safety of the city.

The general defense of Washington was dependent on Major General Christopher C. Augur, Head of the Military Department of Washington and in command of the 31,000 largely untried troops of the Union XXII Corps of which less than 10,000 were combat ready.  Early’s troops, on the other hand, were battle-harden veterans.  Major General Alexander M. McCook was now called upon to assume overall command of Washington’s defense from Augur.  Reinforcement ordered from the siege of Richmond by Grant included troops from VI Corps commanded by Major General Horatio G. Wright and a detachment from the XIX Corps commanded by Major General Quincy A. Gillmore which manned the District’s northeast defensive line – Fort Bunker Hill, Fort Totten and Fort Lincoln.  The Union Army's Quartermaster General, Brigadier General Montgomery C. Meigs, commanded the northern line of forts, including Fort Slocum and Fort Stevens, and Augur's XXII Corps, First Division commander, Martin D. Hardin, commanded the northwest defensive line at Forts De Russy and Reno. 

As Wright's VI Corps troops arrived in the District July 11, advanced units of Early's II Corps were approaching from the north.  He delayed his assault on Fort Stevens until his troops had a chance to rest and for him to gather intelligence on the strength of the Union force he was facing.  This additional delay allowed McCook to further reinforce the Union positions with tried and test troops as it appeared they would bear the brunt of the Confederate assault. 

Around 3 pm, with the bulk of their corps present, Confederate infantry and artillery commenced skirmishing, probing the defense maintained by Hardin’s division of the XXII Corps in the northwest quadrant of the District.  The battle skirmishing increased around 5 pm when Confederate cavalry pushed through the advanced Union picket line in front of Fort Stevens.  It was quickly repulsed in a Union counterattack and fighting continued throughout the evening of July 11 as Union artillery shelled Confederate redoubts.

Additional Union reinforcements from the VI and XIX Corps arrived overnight and were placed in reserve behind the line as skirmishing continued on into July 12 with more Union artillery fire centered on Confederate positions in front of Fort Stevens.  When this failed to dislodge the attackers, elements of two Union brigades of VI Corps successfully advanced on these positions at 5pm but with heavy losses.

President Lincoln had personally welcomed the arriving Union reinforcements when they arrived in Washington, and on the morning of July 11 he and a few military aides arrived at Fort Stevens where he was warned to stay under cover as Confederate sharpshooters were already active in the vicinity.  Other than James Madison, who observed the Battle of Bladensburg (Maryland) in August 1814, Lincoln was the only other president to observe combat while in office.  Lincoln eventually returned to the safety of the White House, but later that afternoon he and his wife Mary returned to Fort Stevens.  Standing once again on a parapet to observe the fighting a bullet struck an army surgeon standing next to him and once again Lincoln was forced to take cover while giving a direct order for Union artillery to shell areas where the sharpshooters were positioned. 

It soon became clear to Early that Washington could not be taken without heavy losses.  He withdrew his forces that evening, heading west through Maryland, crossing the Potomac River into Virginia on the morning of July 13.  Early later commented on the battle: “We didn't take Washington but we scared Abe Lincoln like hell." 

The city of Washington began to expand following the war.  Colonel Brooks was involved in another local legal dispute in 1869 when the B&O laid tracks along an edge of his property. The Catholic University of America, situated adjacent to Turkey Thicket and the Brooks plantation, opened its doors in 1887.  Colonel Brooks died at home on February 6, 1886 at the age of ninety.  Marist College, as part of the CUA, took over the mansion and built an addition, and Brooks’ son John Henry (1841-1916), a physician, sold the remainder of the plantation to early 20th century developers for the new Brookland section of the city.  The area generally known as Turkey Thicket was still an open field in the 1930s as new homes and neighborhoods sprouted up nearby.  

The site of Fort Bunker Hill was improved into a park by the New Deal’s Civilian Conservation Corps and later taken over by the National Park Service as part of the District’s Rock Creek Park complex.  Very little of the original fort remains.   A clubhouse was eventual constructed in the nearby field in 1948, and it was replaced in 2003 by the Turkey Thicket 

Recreation Center and Playground.  This is the only reference to Turkey Thicket one will find on a current map of Washington, DC. 

So now you know the rest of the story.

Fifty Years Ago -- A Very Special Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a time to spend with family and friends.  That’s the way it always was when I was growing up; the thought of spending a Thanksgiving alone did not cross my mind when I was young.  I never missed a Thanksgiving with my family until I was twenty years old and attending university in Germany.  

The fourth Thursday of November (the 26th in 1971) had no holiday importance in Freiburg.  I attended my regular classes that day and in the afternoon walked to the local post office to place an overseas call hoping to catch my family celebrating Thanksgiving at home.  I waited for two hours to get a free line and no one answered when the phone finally rang back in Wisconsin.  The holiday and home seemed awfully far away as I walked back to my apartment that evening.  No turkey.  No stuffing with gravy.  No cranberry sauce.  No pumpkin pie.  I settled for a bowl of Hungarian goulash and a couple steins of beer at the Gasthof Sonne, my favorite Stammtisch before hitting the books

But all was not lost and I was not really alone.  Several other American students and I decided, if we could not be home for the holiday, we would at the very least celebrate Thanksgiving with each other on that Saturday (the 28th).  With the campus closed on the weekend we had made arrangements to use a meeting room with kitchen privileges.  Each of us was tasked with shopping trips and preparation assignments, and we each invited a German friend to share our very special thanksgiving with us.

I skipped the one class I had on Friday and a friend who had PX privileges and I made our way to the Freiburg Hauptbahnhof where we caught a train north to Karlsruhe. We changed to another train to the main station in Stuttgart, and from there we took a local train out to Vaihingen where we visited the US Army commissary at Patch Barracks.  We purchased two large (well, large for Germany) frozen turkeys, a few cans of cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie filling (at the time these items were nowhere to be found back in Freiburg), and a few other items that reminded us of home.  I took the opportunity to pick up several boxes of Aunt Jemima pancake mix and large bottles of Log Cabin syrup to stock my own larder.  Who knew when I would next make it back up to Stuttgart?  We were soon retracing our route back to Freiburg where we arrived late in the evening, the turkeys already beginning to thaw.

Early the next morning I brought the defrosted turkeys to our meeting room and all of us began our preparations for the feast to come.   Having been partially responsible for the acquisition of the turkeys, the task of cooking the birds also fell to me and I used my family’s rules of thumb - cook the stuffing separate from the birds and baste only at the very end of the roasting time.  Thankfully we had an oven large enough to accommodate the turkeys, a small ham, and the pans of stuffing. 

Everything was ready by mid-afternoon when we sat down to eat.  I was given the honor of carving the birds and slicing the ham.  A short prayer of thanksgiving was offered up and we toasted our absent families and friends, as well as our new friends who had come to join us.   Better yet, a gentle snow fell throughout the afternoon which helped us enjoy the holiday spirit.  We ate and drank until we could eat and drink no more, and it was late evening by the time I made my way back through the snow to my apartment and fell into bed.

The following day, the 29th, was Totensonntag, the last Sunday before the beginning of Advent.  A mostly German Protestant celebration for the deceased, it is similar to the Catholic celebration of Allerheiligen and Allerseelen (All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day) at the beginning of November.  It is normally a day of silence and churches forego music in their traditional liturgy.  The bells of the Lutheran church a block away from my apartment, which normally began to ring early each Sunday and went on for quite some time, did not ring that day.  Still, I managed to arise from bed without the aid of that cacophonous carillon, and after a few cups of coffee to declinate my internal compass and regain my orientation after a night of tryptophan-induced foodmares, I walked through the new fallen snow to the campus to clean up from the day before.    A few others also showed up and we warmed up the leftovers and had a second feast before putting everything back in order.  

That following Monday I returned to my classes and in the late afternoon I made my way again to the post office hoping I might reach my family.  I requested an overseas line, and after another long wait for a connection, I heard that familiar ring of an American telephone.  My dad was still at work, but I had a nice chat with my mother with whom I had not spoken to for over three months.  She told me all about the first holiday celebration I had missed at home, and I told her about my very special Thanksgiving, perhaps the first one when I fully understood the meaning of giving thanks for what I had long taken for granted.  Home suddenly didn’t seem all that far away.

I Apologize for My Long Silence

I apologize for my long silence.  These past five months have been full of trials and tribulations and unfortunately my postings here have suffered as a result.  I have continued to write, but there has been precious little I was ready to share with the world.   There is a time and a place for everything, but sadly the past few months have not been conducive to sharing.  That said, I am confident the tide has turned and I hope to be posting here again on a fairly regular basis.  The first half of 2021 was productive, and now that I have weathered the lean months, I hope to finish off the year with my attention back on what I have to say.  So thank you for your patience, and stay tuned.

Comrades in Arms

This photo was taken in Ocala, Florida circa 2005.  These are the last two surviving members of my father's unit during World War II.  Both were awarded the Bronze Star in late 1944 during the Battle of the Bulge.

                Ralph C. Rogers (1924 - 2009)

                Harry E. Kirby (1924 - 2017)

They are buried a short distance from one another at the Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell, Florida.

Comrades in Arms. Friends in Peace. Resting in Peace through Eternity.

Diversity Wins Outs Over Intolerance

A struggle for European values was clearly evident last night in Allianz Arena, more so than the earlier Euro Championship matches against France and Portugal.   It was more than a sporting even played out on the pitch; it was a battle for tolerance and human dignity and against Europe’s backslide into authoritarianism. 

The Munich city councilors put forward a motion to have the city's Allianz Arena illuminated in rainbow colors for the match between Germany and Hungary after Hungarian lawmakers recently passed anti-LGBTQ legislation which also violates free speech, all of which runs contrary to the stated values of the European Union of which both Germany and Hungary are member states.  However the UEFA, European football's governing body, declined Munich's request stating that the organization is politically neutral and the illumination could be perceived by many as having a political context.  The UEFA should be reminded that the rainbow colors and flags are not of a political nature; rather they represent the importance of racial, cultural, and gender diversity.  As a result of the UEFA ruling, several arenas throughout Germany chose to illuminate in solidarity with Munich and to "fill the void."  Here is the Olympic Stadium in Berlin where Adolf Hitler presided over the games which ultimately demonstrated that  diversity proved stronger than Nazi authoritarianism and intolerance.

Munich Mayor Dieter Reiter called the UEFA decision "shameful" and promised that his host city still planned to send a clear signal to Hungary and the world that Germany and its people stand for tolerance and human dignity for all . . . except for those who practice intolerance.  The city's historic Town Hall, the Olympic Tower, and a large wind turbine adjacent to the arena were to be illuminated in the rainbow colors. Thousands of rainbow flags were also to be distributed to fans as they arrived at the arena.  

Hungary's authoritarian right-wing Prime Minister Victor Orbán announced earlier in the day that despite the UEFA ruling against Munich's plan he was no longer going to attend the match and instead would fly to Brussels where he planned to attend a European leadership summit where I am quite certain he is going to get an earful (and hopefully a swift and solid kick in the pants) from the EU leadership as well as 14 members of the EU who have roundly condemned the Hungarian action as contrary to the organization's values.  Ursula von der Leyen, a former German defense minister and presently the President of the European Commission, called the Hungarian bill “a shame” and promised legal steps against Hungary’s anti-LGBTQ law.  It is difficult to fathom that Orbán would miss attending this particular match which would determine the fate of the Hungarian national team in the European Football Championship.  Deciding to forego his visit to Munich in the face of the anticipated protest again him and his government, Mr. Orbán obviously does not have the courage of his convictions.  Fine.  His kind is not welcome in Germany . . . or anywhere else where democracy and the rule of law are cherished.

Amazingly enough rainbow flags seemed to outnumber German flags when the match began at 9pm.  The so-called Carpathian Brigade, the often confrontational black-clad Hungarian fan base, a fair share of which are members of the country’s alt-Right movements, was expected in force and were warned not to sport neo-Nazi clothing or tattoos which are strictly forbidden in Germany.  Very few of the estimated 2000 Hungarian fans attending the match accepted the proffered flags and they seemed bemused by the entire spectacle.   They should have felt embarrassed and ashamed.

It was a hard fought match ending in a 2:2 draw.  The Hungarian fans are undoubtedly disappointed but they can take pride in how well the team played despite the reality that it has been eliminated from the championship series

The real losers are the cowardly Prime Minister Orbán who almost never misses an opportunity to watch the Hungarian national team play.  At the last minute he decided against traveling to Munich which was geared up to protest the actions of his government.  The UEFA is another clear loser.  Despite claims to support diversity, it has lost its credibility and has been roundly condemned and accused of hypocrisy for denying Munich the right to illuminate Allianz Arena in a show of solidarity with those who are being deprived of their ability to openly express this very diversity.  The UEFA ultimately “came out” and admitted that rainbow imagery is “not a political symbol.”  I am afraid it is a day late and a Euro short.

Germany will go on to meet England at Wimbley Stadium in the next round on June 29, taking with it perhaps Europe’s moral high ground.