Chocolate Raspberry Croissant Bread Pudding

Ingredients:
1 stick unsalted butter
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
5 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 1/2 cups heavy cream
1/4 cup Chambord raspberry liqueur
12 croissants
1/2 cup raisins
3/4 cup raspberry bittersweet chocolate baking bits , ( @Nuts.com)
½ cup dried raspberries ( @Nuts. Com)

Directions:
For the chocolate raspberry croissant bread pudding: Preheat oven to 350 degrees

In a food processor, combine butter and sugar process until well blended. Add cinnamon, and vanilla, and pulse to combine.
While the processor is running crack 5 eggs into the mixture. Turn off the mixer and scrape down the sides. Add the heavy cream and pulse to combine. Add 1/4 cup Chambourd

Lightly butter a 9 by 13-inch baking dish. Break up the croissants into 1-inch pieces and layer in the pan. Scatter the raspberries and bittersweet raspberry chocolate baking bits over the top, and gently mix to incorporate. Pour the egg mixture over the croissants; soak for 8 to 10 minutes. You will need to push croissants pieces down during this time to ensure even coverage by egg mixture.

Cover with foil and bake for 35 minutes. Remove foil and bake for additional 10 minutes to brown the top. The croissant bread pudding is done when the custard is set, but still soft. Allow to cool..

Recipe courtesy Michael Chiarello modified by Jerry wendt
I serve this with Silk dark chocolate milk with a shot of Chambourd mixed in. This last time I increased the raspberries to 3/4 cup and substituted chopped dried Peaches for raisins as two of our group don’t like raisins. The recipe says serves 6, but as a dessert it’s more like 12.  -Jerry

Mayakovsky

Mayakovsky

By Frank O'Hara

1

My heart’s aflutter!

I am standing in the bath tub

crying. Mother, mother

who am I? If he

will just come back once

and kiss me on the face

his coarse hair brush

my temple, it’s throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes

I guess, and walk the streets.

2

I love you. I love you,

but I’m turning to my verses

and my heart is closing

like a fist.

Words! be

sick as I am sick, swoon,

roll back your eyes, a pool,

and I’ll stare down

at my wounded beauty

which at best is only a talent

for poetry.

Cannot please, cannot charm or win

what a poet!

and the clear water is thick

with bloody blows on its head.

I embrace a cloud,

but when I soared

it rained.

3

That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest

oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks

what a funny place to rupture!

and now it is raining on the ailanthus

as I step out onto the window ledge

the tracks below me are smoky and

glistening with a passion for running

I leap into the leaves, green like the sea

4

Now I am quietly waiting for

the catastrophe of my personality

to seem beautiful again,

and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and

brown and white in trees,

snows and skies of laughter

always diminishing, less funny

not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of

the year, what does he think of

that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,

perhaps I am myself again.

Frank O'Hara 1926-1966 was a poet and writer as well as gay icon. He was curator of The Museum of Modern Art in New York.  His great sociability made him a darling of the New York arts scene  He had many relationships through his life with notable people. O'Hara was killed on Fire Island being struck by a beach Jeep in 1966 at only 40 years of age. His friend , painter Alfred Leslie immortalized the event with his painting "The Accident" in 1969 - part of a series he did under title " The Killing Cycle"   

"The Accident"  - Alfred Leslie

SAVARIN Dessert

SAVARIN

Savarin is a yeasted French dessert bread made as a batter. After baking the pastries are thoroughly soaked in a liqueur-laced syrup. It's very sweet, perfect to serve with fresh fruits. Though strawberries are traditional, peaches, nectarines, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, or any combination of fruit provide a refreshing contrast. Special savarin pans are available, but a tube or Bundt pan will suffice.

Caster Sugar is a superfine sugar- but NOT powdered confectioners sugar.  It can be made by processing regular sugar in a coffee grinder/food processor or buying it online or in some specialty grocers

Ingredients:
For the savarin
350g/12oz plain flour
50g/1¾oz caster sugar
10g/¼oz instant yeast
½ tsp salt
3 tbsp milk
6 free-range eggs
180g/6oz unsalted butter, at room temperature, cubed, plus extra for greasing
1 large orange, finely grated zest and segmented fruit
1 large unwaxed lemon, finely grated zest only

For the syrup
300g/10½oz caster sugar
1 large lemon, juice only
100ml/3½fl oz orange liqueur, preferably Grand Marnier

For the chocolate disc
100g/3½oz plain chocolate (70% cocoa solids), finely chopped
50g/1¾oz .white chocolate, melted
For the caramel chards
150g/5½oz caster sugar

For the Chantilly cream
300ml/10fl oz double cream
15g/½oz icing sugar
½ tsp vanilla paste

For decoration
sliced mixed fruit (such as orange, mango, kiwi, strawberries)
pomegranate seeds, blueberries or raspberries

Method

1. Stir together the flour, sugar and yeast in a large bowl. Mix the salt, milk and eggs together in a jug then pour into the flour mixture and beat well using a wooden spoon for about 5 minutes to make a thick, sticky batter.

2. Gradually add the butter, beating until the mixture is smooth, elastic and shiny. Finally fold in the orange and lemon zest. Cover the bowl with cling film and leave to rise for 1 hour.

3. For the syrup, tip the sugar into a pan, add the lemon juice and 150ml/5fl oz water and bring to a simmer, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Remove from the heat, stir in the orange liqueur and leave to cool.

4. For the chocolate disc, temper the plain chocolate by melting three-quarters (75g/2½oz) of the chocolate over a pan of simmering water (do not let the bottom of the bowl touch the water). Stir until the chocolate reaches a melting temperature of 50C/120F. Remove the bowl from the heat, add the remaining chocolate and stir until it’s cooled to 31C/90F

5. Spoon into a piping bag made out of baking parchment and pipe a 5cm/2in oval disc onto a sheet of baking paper or acetate and leave to set. Spoon the melted white chocolate into another piping bag and pipe the word ‘Savarin’ onto the plain chocolate disc.

6. For the caramel shards, line a baking tray with silicone or baking parchment. Add the sugar to a pan with 4 tablespoons water and bring to a simmer, stirring until the sugar dissolves. When all the sugar is dissolved, bring the syrup to a boil without stirring until it reaches 170C/340F on a sugar (candy) thermometer (CAUTION: boiling sugar is extremely hot. Handle very carefully). Immediately pour out onto the lined tray and leave to harden. Crack with a spoon or cut into shards using a knife.

7. Grease a 23cm/9in bundt tin or savarin mould with butter. When the batter has risen, spoon it into the tin. Cover with oiled clingfilm and leave to rise for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until it reaches three-quarters of the way up the tin.

8. Preheat the oven to 180C/160C (355F/325F:) Convection/Gas .

9. remove the cling film and bake for 20–25 minutes or until the savarin is risen and golden-brown. Remove from the oven and place the tin on a wire rack to cool for 5–10 minutes.

10. When cool enough to handle, remove the savarin from the tin and pour half of the syrup into the tin. Gently place the savarin back into the tin to soak up the syrup and cool 
completely. Pour the remaining syrup into a roasting tin, then place the savarin into the syrup and leave to soak for 5 minutes. Carefully transfer to a serving plate.

11. Meanwhile, for the Chantilly cream, whip the cream, icing sugar and vanilla together until soft peaks form when the whisk is removed. Spoon one-third of the Chantilly cream into a piping bag fitted with a star nozzle. Set aside in the fridge until ready to serve.

12. Using a sharp knife, segment the zested orange. Carefully slice off the top and bottom of the orange. Using even downward strokes, slice the skin away from the flesh and discard. Remove any remaining white pith.

13. Pipe the Chantilly cream around the top of the savarin and arrange the orange slices over the cream. Fill the savarin with the remaining Chantilly cream and decorate with sliced fruit. Top with the chocolate disc and caramel shards.

Christmas of Infamy

In the 60'sand 70's, many upward bound gays found inexpensive summer cottage rentals along pristine beaches and a sleepy village atmosphere in New Buffalo and Sawyer, Michigan.  Word of mouth popularized the area, and as time went on, many couples purchased property in the area, making it an unofficial gay enclave. It became a year around community of gay professionals with second homes . Sort of strange ,since that area centered around Tower Hill, a large summer camp of bible thumping conservative Christians . It was a studied co-existence

So it came to be that my friendship with Dr John Rippon , an esteemed University Professor, got me invited to weekend up at his Sawyer home to what had become a tradition a among area residents. It was a “gathering of the clan” to a Christmas fete, among a group that had forged strong friendships over the years . 

The event was built around a progressive dinner among 5 homes . Each house was full of invited guests who joined in preparing a portion of this gala event that was linked by everyone walking and caroling between the houses in a spirit of Christmas cheer.   The invited comprised professionals rom all walks; such as the Governor’s Office Manager, VP of Standard Oil, Research Chemist, Consumer Reports Division Head, actors, interior designers, area professors and industry execs.  Many had life partners well before it was legal or even acceptable to do so legally.  Our commonality was being gay. But it was a learned and sophisticated group.

John, along with neighbor John Lamping, hosted the first gathering, which was Champagne and appetizers. John had rented this extravagant ostentatious silver champagne fountain which towered on his dining table along with silver chalices. It was quite the spectacle.  John(s) and I, and one other couple, made various pate’s and palate ticklers, all placed on silver trays, lain out across the dining table at the bottom of this huge fountain. John Lamping’s partner Craig was absent, pleading a long bout with a stubborn flu.

With all in readiness, the flock came caroling to the door and were admitted to the start of this Holiday revel. 

The first pours had just begun and the conversations bubbled along with the Champagne, when there was a phone call. It was Craig calling from the City.  John Lamping took the call. Ten minutes in he started to weep. I was by the phone in the kitchen and among the first to see.  I put my arms around him. “What is It, John” 

“Craig just told me it isn’t the flu, He has AIDS,” he sobbed.

 By this time others had noticed and come around and the word spread.  There was weeping and much hugging.  There was no discussion needed, This party was over.  Guests all went to their respective houses and John Rippon. Phil and Chris and I were left to console John Lamping. We cried. We held one another and we drank Champagne until we turned in; drunken, feeling lost and scared.

The next day most were so distraught that we all took our leave and went home. John went to Chicago to console partner Craig.  

The very next year I was invited back to a small Holiday gathering at John Lamping’s home in Michigan.  Craig was there.  He had been a strong muscular Hollywood-idol-handsome man . Now he was barely 125 pounds, gaunt, and with eyes that appeared as if they were looking out from the bottom of twin tar pits.  Craig wore gloves putting ornaments on their tree , because he had Petechiae, an opportunistic disease where any touch of skin would cause small bleeding spots. He tired very often and rapidly, necessitating frequent naps, and his beautiful body was adorned with the stigma of Kaposi’s Sarcoma lesions , brown patches of the spreading cancer within him.  It was a hard visit. Craig died that following February. He had been marketing manager for Marriott Hotels and he was beloved by co-workers. They gave a beautiful memorial at the O’Hare Hotel. It was the first of many memorials I would attend

That was the start of "Hell". Many others went rapidly.  We were scorned by mainstream America, refused addition to hospitals, treated as Pariah by police and cast adrift by a uncaring President unwilling to admit the pandemic, much less allocate funding for a cure, or even treatments.
Most of us spaced our time between memorials with work, funding events for our own, helping thru monetary contributions , hot line staffing, and home visits to the infirm. It was a bleak time of grief and social ostracism. We had pervasive feeling of helplessness and profound sadness.

 So, Christmas still has a double meaning to me. I can still join in the festivities of the season, and old  friendships, but a large part of me still always remembers that Michigan shores day where the world changed for me .

Some of the boyz in happier times- Dear Craig Spencer R.I.P.in bold striped shirt . Rick Emmanuel R.I.P. (in yellow shorts) succumbed to AIDS two years later. Ricks partner, Bill Spahr (In black tee  top) lives on with AIDS thanks to a constant drug cocktail and frequent checks

-Jerry Wendt 2017

Chicken Liver Cognac Pate

I originally learned about chicken liver pate from Jewish friends who made it as part of traditional cuisine. I tweaked it over the years and came up with what I have here. I also found a Pepin recipe that approximates my own and have given him published credit. But I have substituted and added many variations to bring more flavor to the recipe.  I have included some in my notes here.  Whatever your own fancy, the result will be much better than the grocery store bought tubs . Get a nice bottle of red wine and settle in. This recipe is easy and flavorful. Have fun with it - Jerry

Chicken Liver Cognac Pate-

Base Recipe-Jacques Pépin Published March 2007 Food and Wine
 

Ingredients
1/2 pound chicken livers, well-trimmed
1/2 small onion, thinly diced
1 small garlic clove, smashed and peeled
1 bay leaf
1/4 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
Kosher salt
1/2 cup water
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 teaspoons Cognac or Scotch whisky

PREP
In a medium saucepan, combine the chicken livers, onion, garlic, bay leaf, thyme and 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Add the water and bring to a simmer. Cover, reduce the heat to low and cook, stirring occasionally, until the livers are barely pink inside, about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat and let stand, covered, for 5 minutes.
Discard the bay leaf. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the livers, onion and garlic to a food processor; process until coarsely pureed. With the machine on, add the butter, 2 tablespoons at a time, until incorporated. Add the Cognac, season with salt and pepper and process until completely smooth. Scrape the pate into 2 or 3 large ramekins. Press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the surface of the pate refrigerate until firm. (Best left in fridge 2 days) Serve chilled.

NOTES
I have varied this in several ways using combos of these :
Added 1/2 cup (sauteed in sherry and butter) sliced button mushrooms
Added 2 chopped hard-boiled eggs
( Using combos of above required water/broth reduction )
Added 1 TBLSPN capers
Added 1/4 cup crushed roasted black walnuts
Added 2 TBLSPN  truffle oil
Substituted chicken broth for water
doubled the recipe

I use small loaf pans lined w/ Saran Wrap to make unmolding easy




 -Jerry Wendt

Dungeness Stuffed Mushrooms

Dungeness Crab Stuffed Mushrooms

Ingredients
2 doz large button mushrooms(Portabella will also suffice)
2- 5 ½ oz tins Dungeness crab ( not Maryland blue or Alaska King, or Stone), flaked
1 medium sweet (Vidalia or Mauii) onion- chopped
2 Tbsp sweet unsalted butter
½  cup sweet sherry ( I use Gonzalas Beyez Nectar)
2 cups shredded Gryuere (or Swiss) cheese)
3 Tblsp Hellman’s mayonnaise
pepper fresh ground Talamanca
parsley (chopped) OR chopped chives


Preparation
Wash mushrooms gently, remove and chop stems.
Using paring knife, scrape “gills” out of mushroom cap so you are left with a hollowed out shell. Save the chopped stems and shavings.

Saute’ onion in pan w/butter until just soft.

In large bowl, combine flaked crab, sauteed onion, shredded Gruyere, and  mayo
Mix in chopped mushroom stems and gills.  Mix in Sherry. Pepper to taste .

Preheat oven to 400°

Stuff mushroom caps with mixture , mounding on top. Place on baking sheet and  bake in oven for 35-40 minutes.(keep an eye after 25 minutes)  Serve warm with a sprinkle of either parsley or chopped chives.

Notes-
My “trick” is the hollowing out of each mushroom cap. Most recipes just have you remove the stem leaving little room for stuffing.  This part is a bit labor intensive but makes for more tuffing and a much better tasting baked mushroom.
Dungeness crab is sweeter than other varities. It melds perfectly with the cheese and sweet Sherry. Talamanca pepper from Ecuador has a bit of heat and a strong flavor pepper. A little goes a long way, but that peppery taste and “heat” on the tongue really gives a boost to the creamy taste .
You can use Portabella mushrooms but they add a different flavor. Ditto Swiss or Emmantaler cheese insted of Gruyere but, again they make the taste different. I have also used German Butterkasse cheese -it doesn’t shred as well, but it does have a great flavor in this. 
I did not appropriate this recipe, but made it up as I went . I have made it many many times , BUT I never wrote down the recipe.I just used the same things by rote, so you may hve to tweat the amounts- esp the sherry and mayo.  Any check the time in gteh oven.The higher temp is necessary to melt the cheese, but they can also burn, so keep an eye on them. The mushrooms will “weep” water out so that is O.K., Just out of the oven they are also soft but firm up a bit when they cool .

A long time (late) friend made me a chocolate-frosted banana cake with walnuts every year fro my birthday (Even brought one all the way to Greece one year) .  I, in turn, made her my crab stuffed mushrooms for her birthday. Her friends became familar with the practice and she would have to hide my gift because ,otherwise, all of a sudden, people would appear knowing she had them. So well received was their flavor !

I hope you enjoy them as much as I have as a part of my “repetoire”


Sourcing Dungeness Crab by the tin
http://sportsmanscannery.com/product/dungeness-crab/
http://www.theoceanharvest.com/zen/index.php?main_page=index&cPath=2

Sourcing Talamanca Pepper
http://www.spiceace.com/chiles-peppers/peppercorns-black-talamanca.html

The Counter Girl

Coiffed to perfection
she stands at her station
with studied foundation,
a touch of translucent La Rose blush,
lush Esquito mink lashes
framed in veiled Chanel ombre eye shadow over
defining Revlon color stay liner,
all dusted with shearest Guerlain powder,
and completed with Dolce & Gabbana aubergine lips
lined in NYX plum for definition.

She’s the counter girl

On her feet 9 to 6
behind her station,
attentive to every passerby,
she demonstrates technique to a matron,
teaching how to apply perfect tones
while ringing up a boxed soap set
and spraying L’air du Temps
on some strips for another intersted customer.
All over and over-
so many brands , so many colors.

She’s the counter girl

Home to a precious 4th floor walk-up
with chintz Laura Ashley wallpaper
she put up herself over dingy walls
to give her ruffled furniture definition
from a silk Hermes scarf covered lamp light.
Her windows look out at a next door brick wall
and a firescape she has set with geraniums
to give a bit color to her view
over the air conditioner,
a tired old unit about to give up the ghost.

She’s the counter girl

Every day 6 days a week
She takes the E train
59th and Lexington
with a packed lunch,
and vitamin water,
and her current issue of Allure-
ready for another onslaught,
another sale,
more screaming kids,
and Upper East Side bitches.

She's the counter girl

Even with her cosmetic perks
and store discounts
She finds it difficult to stretch her
fourteen dollar an hour wage
plus commission
to handle a Manhattan studio apartment rent
and building utilities,
along with food and sundries,
and a seasonably fashionable wardrobe
to be presentable as required for the job.

She’s the counter girl

So ever on the lookout;
among the guys buying for their wives,
trophy girlfriends, or Mothers-
Even presentable ones along her route
or on her studied Sunday museum and gallery visits,
hoping for encounter with a man to call her own
after a few dates with flowers and dinners,
an engagement,  the wedding,
and a cute little house in Connecticut;
She is always at her best.

She’s the counter girl

It takes just one damn chance
to work this all out.
People do win the lottery,
so she hopes and prays
thru days of slush and wind and snow,
or summers deluges and hot wilting sun,
that there is someone to take her away
from makeup and fashion and standing all day
to a place far away...
where absolutely and finally...

She’s Amy, not just the counter girl.

-Jerry Wendt 2017

Dreaming Forward

Time as a point:
birthdate.
Time as linear:
memories.
Time as 3 dimensional:
dreaming in color.
Time as multi dimensional:
a void of ignorance.

Perception of time is experience.
Beings in our continuum
can only operate  dimensionally
in  linear manner-
sensory perceptions are contained to the now.
Perceiving history is a singular line
of one experienced track
back thru time.

Our forward conception remains mere conjecture,
with glimmers of deja vu
or nagging perception of veiled alternates,
but time as a field has infinite paths and dimension
 existing independent of the existential,
 beyond comprehension except in field theory.
From infinite futures one path
is followed mostly by involuntary serenpidity.

Theory has it
dimensions  contain all time and space
there are things that  exist simultaneausly
in infinite parallels outside of time constructs
using them as a butterfly
flitting from flower today to flower yesterday
and the same flower in multiple universes,
all one, with no limitations.

The idea boggles current minds
but only because experience has closed channels.
Extrasensory perceptions are eschewed as hoax.
The concept is called metaphysics
and many strain to embace it,
as  science experiments
finding new evidence
giving time and space new dimensions.

What grand thoughts are these-
transcendental beings
simultaneously in different dimensions
in different timelines:
ethereal spirits
now only evidenced by particle physics
But conscious in our thoughts as surely
as the ability to
dream forward.

-Jerry Wendt 2019

Frank

Frank

The happenstance passage of a noisy truck in front of the farm last night awoke me from a sound sleep.  It was one of those times when the awakening is so abrupt you remember the dream you were involved in.  That brings me to this story. 

My dream was about a long gone friend, Frank DiCecco.  The story of the dream couldn’t possibly match the reality of my trip with this man, so I want to tell you about He and I, while the thoughts are forefront in my mind.

Frank was Dr Frank DiCecco, a doctor of biology and professor at Truman College, Chicago.  Frank was also a body builder. He stood about 5’8”  but had a chiseled physique.  He took very good care of himself not only with daily gym visits but in diet and in care of his skin, the softest I ever felt. He was very much the Italian with beautiful olive complexion, dark hair, and an infectious pixie smile that could win anyone over.  

Frank collected antique Chinese Celadon and had a love of old Persian carpets, which were throughout his house.  He was an excellent cook and collected art of upcoming artists. He cultivated orchids and had a small greenhouse .  He built a harpsichord from a kit and then taught himself to play it.  He jaunted around in a vintage 70’s-something Volvo P1800 automobile- probably the only sports car Volvo ever made. 

I met Frank through an ad placed in the Advocate, the singular national gay newspaper of the day. There was an insertion for a gay winetasting group forming in Chicago and I answered it.  Frank did too. The group formed and we had several decade’s long run of tastings together . Through that group I initially met Frank and we became friends. 

Frank lived on Berwyn Avenue, an old Polish bungalow neighborhood far north in Chicago.  Many times I would come into the city and stay the weekend. Frank had only one bedroom with a standard bed and no sofa so I would have to sleep with him.  He slept in the nude and required me to also.  Nothing ever happened- not for my imagination being fulfilled, but while inadvertent touches in the night would send electricity through me, Frank slept soundly and nothing ever occurred sexually. Not that there weren’t erotic things. Frank loved to pose and he was also an exhibitionist, so he enjoyed me watching him naked in front of the bedroom mirror as he went through his routine. I cannot tell you the strength needed to contain my titillation Several times he allowed me to apply oil to his body and photograph him, the likenesses being used in his escort ads. Oh yes, Frank was also a hustler, which is a gay male prostitute. He had a separate phone for that service and at times during our weekends, he would excuse himself and go out for a few hours, leaving me to read in his study  or bed.  But before you judge, let me tell you more about this amazingly complex and diverse man.

On one occasion, Frank and I decided to have a formal cheesecake party. We had engraved invitations made and the guests were requested to wear jacket and tie. We each made four esoteric cheesecakes and had them displayed on Depression Glass cake stands on his dining table along with silver Champagne coolers filled with bubbly.  About forty guests attended our “salon” afternoon, eating and enjoying Frank’s recital of classical pieces on the harpsichord.  It was talked about in the gay circles throughout that season as “the social event”

On another day Frank dragged me along on a picnic at the gay nude beach up by Illinois Park near Zion .  He frolicked and posed very casually in the buff.  I had on khaki club shorts and a polo. I wasn’t as free-spirited as Frank and I didn’t do public nudity well. But I did enjoy the “scenery,” as well as the shrimp mousse and salad picnic lunch and wine we brought with. I was excited to be out of my element as Frank made me very much at ease

 These kinds of things I would not do alone and Frank enriched me with his metropolitan savvy demeanor and zest for the different. I learned about ethnic cuisine from Frank. We would visit many small Chicago restaurants throughout the neighborhoods.   I went along on architectural jaunts to see the amazing history in Chicago with Frank, and we extended our winetasting group knowledge with tastings we did on our own. It was always an adventure with Frank.

Frank had a side to him best described as quirky. He would be very warm and close for a period and then, suddenly, retreat into himself for a span of time, not returning calls nor getting together. This sometimes went for a few months.  That was just Frank, and I learned to live with it. There was never any discussion or contention, and at the end of a reclusive time, I’d hear from Frank all bubbly and going on as though no time had passed.

As time progressed Frank took up home remodeling. He was also very adept in handyman skills and he bought a house on Surf, northside of Chicago. It was an emerging neighborhood and he felt he could turn it and make money. This  project took about two years.  At the end of the renovation, Frank bought the house next door and was going to remodel it, living in the recently completed home.

Then he went dark. After four months I was worried as he had never been out of touch that long. I called. No answer. No machine.  His “escort” line was disconnected.  I did this for about three weeks. One day from work I called and the line picked up.  Some stranger answered.  “Who are you,” I queried?  It turned out to be a real estate agent showing the house . He informed me he was surprised the phone was still connected as the owner had died a month ago and his sister was selling the property for the estate.

I was shocked. “Died,” I implored, “how did he die?”  The man had scant information other than he thought the story was the owner had been murdered. “Oh my God, murdered ?”  There was no other contact I had and no newspaper item in the files. I was distraught.

Finally in conversation with one of my work colleagues over my frustration in not being able to have closure, he volunteered to try to solicit something from a friend he had who was a  Chicago precinct police captain, calling in a favor.

A week or so later my colleague gave me the captain’s number saying he had information.  Trembling, I dialed.  A husky brusque voice identified himself as did I.  He related to me the information he was about to give me was information that was “sealed” by the court  and he could only divulge this reluctantly, with my assurance I would not say where it had come from as it could jeopardize his job.

The captain informed me “your friend was living an ‘alternative life style.’“ “Yes, I know he was gay,” I answered. He went on. “It appears your friend had taken on a roommate in his house for additional funds.  He was an African-American man.  I don’t have indication for sure but it appears they had a relationship.  This fellow and your friend had a strong altercation and that man took a ball peen hammer and bludgeoned your friend to death with multiple blows to his head and body.  He was apprehended and arraigned to stand trial for murder in a few months.”    “Do you have any family contact,” I asked?   “I’m afraid this is the extent of the information I can give you,” he said.  I thanked him and hung up,  devastated and crying.

And that was the end. I never had the name of  Frank’s murderer and whether he was convicted. I never got any further definitive answers. Frank was not particularly a fan of blacks and I could not envision him involved with such a fellow. So much left unsaid but my dear special, precious, loving friend was gone . Frank had left with eternal mystery.  I still wish I knew more, but that’s it.  To this day I shudder cold at that image stuck in my mind, of that hammer going up and down, up and down into Franks head.  Time doesn’t soften that picture. I think in a way, I loved him. Maybe that’s just what I want to believe, but what I know is that I have the memories of great times we had over many years. I miss him still.

Jerry Wendt August 2015 1470 words

 

Candy Chatter

Ah, the Whitman's Sampler. Loved as much by us kids as the recipient (Mom) because the lid had a diagram of what every piece was - precluding the dreaded vanilla cream ("You can't put it back- now just EAT it !"). There was no Godiva, Debauve & Gallais, or Chocopologie by Knipschildt- so, unless you went downtown Chicago to Marshall Fields, Whitmans was the upscale selection available. 

Though, my Mom (and others) really took a liking to those chocolate covered cherries ...that you could get even on a kids allowance at the drug store. If I had a hankering now days, I'd make em Fannie May, which has a store right in the neighboring town !

No discussion about chocolate would be complete without my beloved Frango's . Working right across the street from Field's I had easy access to their trademarked Frango candy.( They gave samples ) The Frango mint was renowned and desired nationally, but my choices were the Orange Frango and the Raspberry Frango. I cannot tell you how many trips about this country I made carrying a hostess gift of those raspberry morsels, eh Mary Dean ? While the orange met demise when Fields was bought by Macy's, you can still get those raspberry delights, which I warn you are addictive ! 

Finally, why are the Ferrero Rocher and Lindt truffles strategically placed on the route I must take in Walgreens to get my diabetic Metformin refilled at the pharmacy counter? Of course, I can be stalwart and do drive -by pick up avoiding the store, and then take a diversion route home past... er... Bakers Square ? 

OH NOOOOOO !

A Remarkable Lady

A Remarkable Lady

I saw her looking at me through the window from outside of my car . The first thing I noticed was Her flawless beauty.  Her porcelain skin set canvas for Her piercing dark eyes.  I could not discern a nationality because She seemed to embody features of several.  She had prominent cheeks and a set chin but Her lips were very soft and feminine, slightly parted as if in a breaking smile.  Her hair was dark, looking soft but not at all like she had been to a beauty shop. It had a luster of its own as it fell about Her shoulders. She seemed inordinately statuesque for Her delicate featuring.  I will say tall, but perfectly proportioned.  The most exquisite lady I ever recall seeing.  A timeless beauty.

I could not tell what she was wearing because it was very bright outside.. But I didn’t feel any heat from a relentless sun. I remember her just standing there unshaded in the bright light, like a photograph where the settings filter out the surroundings.

I thought it odd She didn’t speak or seem to have question. Just standing quietly so intently looking at only me. There was no anger, no consternation. Was She beckoning to me?  No, there was no gesture. Still, that piercing look.  I felt exposed.  What did this absolutely Heavenly woman want with me? I wanted to ask, but it seemed as though I couldn’t force myself to move towards her. I was immobile in my position, which seemed odd.  Was I fearful?  No, I felt very rested and peaceful.  She just stood, still looking at me. I felt a power in her look.  For unfathomed reason it consoled me.  She radiated peacefulness. 

I had a feeling she had a message for me. But I had never met her; never saw her before.  A creature of this beauty I certainly would have remembered. That light got brighter. So much so that I perceived her fading  into the background.  This was getting very vexing.

I awoke in a room.  Where was my car?  What was this place?  The woman was not there, but a Phillipina lady in flower print outfit asked me who I was. I was foggy.  Strange question.  Further dialogue gave me knowledge I was in a hospital.  It seems I had a very bad car accident,  “T-boned” at a intersection and pinned in my car, the Fire Department had to pry me loose, taking so much time paramedics thought I would not make it out alive.  But here I was.

As reality dawned more, I very sharply remembered that lady. That beatific creature of infinite understanding and resolve.  I had a lot of time to think about her lying in that bed recovering, and I am convinced I was granted a brief look into the Face of God that day.

                                                                                                      - Jerry Wendt 2017