Smoked Salmon Cheesecake

Smoked salmon cheesecake

"A smoked salmon cream cheese mixture is baked in a springform pan just like a cheesecake and served at room temperature."

Ingredients:
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons fine dry bread crumbs (herbed is best)
3 tablespoons butter
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped green bell pepper
28 ounces cream cheese, softened
4  large eggs
1/3 cup heavy cream
1/2 pound smoked salmon, chopped
1/2 cup shredded Swiss cheese
3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
salt and pepper to taste

Directions:
1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
2.  Lightly butter an 8 inch springform pan. Mix 2 tablespoons Parmesan cheese with the breadcrumbs. Sprinkle this mixture into the pan; turn and tap pan to coat inside of pan. Wrap a large piece of foil underneath and up the sides of the pan. Be careful not to tear any holes in the foil.
3.  In a medium skillet or frying pan, melt butter over medium heat. Add onions and green peppers and saute until tender, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.
4.  In a large bowl, beat together cream cheese, eggs and cream until well blended. Fold in onions, peppers, salmon, Swiss cheese, 3 tablespoons Parmesan cheese, salt and pepper. Pour into prepared pan.
5.  Place the wrapped springform pan inside a large roasting pan. Place the pans in the oven and pour enough boiling water into the outside pan to come 2 inches up the side of the springform pan.
6.  Bake until firm to the touch, about 1 hour and 40 minutes. Carefully remove both pans from the oven and turn off the heat. Lift springform pan out of the water and return it to the oven. Let stand in the cooling oven for 1 hour. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool completely.

"This is an impressive main dish that's packed with flavor. You may substitute pureed roasted red pepper for the green bell pepper and Gruyere for the Swiss cheese if you wish. It can also be prepared one day ahead; just cover, refrigerate and bring to room temperature before serving." Perfect for a summer luncheon served with a green salad

A garnish of fresh dill enhances this

The Straight Dope

The Straight Dope
By Cecil Adams 

Here's the story. My wife just got back from Berkeley where she helped a friend give birth--and of course it all happened at home, in some kind of tub, underwater, with violins playing and midwives hovering about. Here's what she says happened next. Out came the afterbirth, which was carefully collected in a pot and put in the fridge to keep cool. Through the day, various vegetarians who dropped by to pay their respects asked about the placenta. My wife inquired, and was told that a certain stripe of high-minded vegetarian eagerly prepares and devours placenta stew, the placenta being the only form of meat that does not involve the slaughter of some innocent animal. Can this be true? And if it is, why isn't some shrewd entrepreneur bagging cow and ewe placenta and selling it at the Jewel?
I want to be told this was a tall story. --Rip Sewell, Chicago 

Cecil-
Love to accommodate you, Ripster, but once again we find ourselves outgunned by reality. Having investigated the matter with my customary thoroughness, no small achievement under the circumstances, I can report the following facts: (1) chowing down on placenta doesn't happen often, but (2) it happens. May God have mercy on our heathen souls. 

My principal source on this is a physician who has attended roughly a thousand births in the San Francisco Bay area over the years, more than two-thirds of them at home. In all this time he has encountered placenta stew exactly once, in Berkeley in the early 1970s. The father was a professional cook who concocted his own tasty recipe for placenta stew, complete with potatoes and onions, which he served to his hard-core veggie friends. 

The doctor, suffering an embarrassing failure of nerve, did not sample the stew himself, but says it smelled something like liver. The veggies munched away gamely but didn't look very happy. One woman, in fact, became nauseated, which the doctor attributes to a lack of exposure to organ meats. Having seen a few miracle-of-childbirth movies in high school, however, I'd say there's a simpler explanation. 

In Hygieia: A Woman's Herbal (Berkeley, 1978), Jeannine Parvati describes her experience with placenta eating: "[It] was after a very powerful birthing. The mother ate some raw first; and then let me take some into the kitchen for fixing. My experience of this slab of meat was amazing. I had never felt such life-force present in meat before. . . . This meat still felt very much alive to me as I began to slice it and saute it in garlic and oil. . . . By the time the placenta was tender, the birthday party members were very hungry, and exhausted. After the supper, eaten in a glowing silence, everyone was energized, very much re-vitalized. . . . 

Notwithstanding, the first time I ate placenta has also been my last time. . . . Guess I just lost [the] taste." I'll bet. She goes on: "When you first encounter the meat, remember to pause--placenta can be sacred food, if you let the meat tell you how to prepare it for the fire. . . . Chew slowly, till the placenta becomes a liquid, ambrosia. Placenta is a rare privilege for most of us."
The rationale for placenta eating, apart from the fact that it doesn't entail snuffing animals, is that since it nurtures the child during pregnancy it must contain all sorts of valuable nutrients. My medical informant knows of no research supporting this view, but it's not implausible. Mama cats and dogs eat their placentas, you know. Of course they eat Gainesburgers, too, so I wouldn't draw any hasty conclusions. Parvati says some American Indian tribes had placenta rituals, although none of them apparently went so far as to eat the stuff. Leave it to the white man to get ridiculous about it.
Although few new mothers realize it, many hospitals save placentas for eventual pharmaceutical use. 

A driver for one placenta-collection firm, Bio-Med-Hu of Louisville, Kentucky, told me his firm ships placentas to Europe for use in cosmetics. A spokesman for Bio-Med-Hu denies this, but says he's heard there are companies that do it. Hot on the trail, I called up the makers of Placentique, a skin potion that's been advertised in the newspapers lately. They claimed to use only cow placentas. I am still pursuing the matter, however. We'll rip the lid off this seamy business yet.

Harriet Salzman

It’s a sedate respectable neighborhood.  Tree lined streets. Upper Westside.  Mostly stone buildings now partitioned into apartments with wide entrance stairs fronting big substantial oak doors with float glass beveled panels.  A small lobby with subway tile and architectural deco fixtures.   Nothing pretentious but presentable in a quiet conservate “old” way that says high rent.  The apartments have high vaulted ceilings with plaster walls, fireplaces and polished wood ornate banisters .  Of course the kitchens are all renovated with the most desirable top end appliances .  Tenants all  have trendy furniture with grand pianos and Persian carpets.  Oh and art.  Notable art.  The words “upscale”and “entitled” come to mind.

But Harriet doesn’t live up there.  Her place is below street ,down  narrow stairs around and below the main building entrance staircase to a dark and mostly musty alcove with a small wired mesh and barred window and a heavy pitted and dented  metal door with a small brass lighting fixture next to it.  It has a perpetually broken away bulb globe. Harriet has to, more often than she would like, maintain the small concrete painted threshold as walk bys are forever throwing flasks, cigarette butts, condoms, and all sorts of trash down into her below grade entry.  If not social flotsam, its always blown leaves, standing storm puddles or ice and snow .  Plus the street dust and chaff is ever present wafting down to her lower level.

Inside Harriet Saltzman’s one bedroom basement apartment is a parlor, sizeable enough, but furnished simply with a 30's nylon frieze sofa she got at St Vincent DePaul for $70, a comfortable, but worn beyond it’s time ,weathered  leather club chair, a couple tables with mid century lamps (St Vincent again- $5 each) and, fronting her modest Pullman kitchen , a dinette with 1950's Chrome Craft chairs and a serviceable pine table with an oilcloth cover.  Bathroom has a florescent lighted vanity and a commodious old clawfoot tub fitted with a hook -on shower fixture, and fussy framed around vinyl shower curtain of printed palm trees.  It never drapes enough to contain the shower stream. The bedroom is barely large enough for a standard bed and one highboy dresser.  No closet.  It has two minuscule windows near the ceiling;, again meshed over and barred.  They don’t get much light as they overlook the alley, but Harriet has managed to nurture a spider plant in a macrame plant sling there.

I know you think at this point you know Harriet Salzman, and you’re thinking; impoverished, unhappy, lonely , and isolated  old lady.  “Hello In There” Bette Midler sang.  Pity her and move on.  She made her life.  And so on.

But you would be wrong, because Harriet Salzman isn’t any of that, just because she is not a conspicuous consumer.  (She doesn’t even own a cell phone) should not invite condescension .  Harriet just isn’t about spending or taking, or any jealousy.  What she is about is giving, and her life is  full with the warmth and kindness in her heart.  She is rich not in monetary wealth, but  in regard of others, and herreputation with them.  She is fulfilled in her life.  A very , very happy woman with the gift of being able to transfer her happiness to others.  Harriet “matters.” She needs no pity.
Harriet retired 3 years ago  as assistant librarian at a Manhattan Library-in manuscripts and antiquities.  So she is a learned woman.  A respected woman,but retired way too early for her to meander about the Jewish Deli at the corner, arguing about fatty corned beef,  or feeding pigeons from a bench in Central Park.

She doesn’t even like Mah Jong. No, Harriet is involved .  Big Time.  Harriet does  work at the neighborhood clinic as a social services volunteer.  Several of the young interns there also work as ushers at Broadway theaters and along with pay, get freebie balcony seats to the big productions, so Harriet has seen all the marquee productions, gifted with theit generosity.  She loves “Les Miserables” so much, she has gone three times.

Given it’s location, the Jewish community Center next to  Aish HaTorah  synagogue Manhattan,  is well endowed by its upscale neighbors and they make a conspicuous contributions to charity events.  They always happen to have a couple extra seats at the function tables they buy.  Harriet uses St Vincent dePaul to shop for old couture gowns and she found a coveted Chanel she favors because it fits as though made for her. Worn with a beautiful Spanish shawl, she gets complemnts whenever she makes fancy charity event appearances.  Her scintillating dinner conversations put her as a  desired guest.

But primarily Harriet is rich because people love her .  Those on the down and out brighten to her kind manner and unjudging demeanor.  She will try to help in anyway she can.  Because she is out and about, her wealthy neighbors know her, and she has endeared herself to them.  At Temple, Sylvia Levy often slips her a package of Kreplach and others invite her to Sabbath dinner because she is a highly educated guest with fascinating stories.  They adore her.

So when Harriet returns to her oilcloth table basement apartment, she is happy to have made a life of accomplishment and is a person who has spawned love all around her.  She has her own refuge of comfort , maybe not in the itchy frieze sofa, but in her redemptive soul. 
Harriet Salzman is a person you would be honored to know, not to feel sorry for , except in not having the pleasure of knowing her sooner.

Because , you see, Harriet Salzman died today .  But not nearly alone, sad or forgotten.  Where you are is never who you are.  Harriet will be missed .
I hope this tale gives small indication of why.

-Jerry Wendt

One Fine Day

When guests Jim and Vikki McConnell with daughters Nicole and Kelly, along with Kelly’s beau Ben Fleischman arrived at England Pines, it was about 84°, but there was a nice breeze coming up the hill and the heritage maple provided a cooling shade for us to sit outside and enjoy Vikki’s appetizers , bruschetta and prosciutto wrapped melon balls- perfect for a summer’s afternoon washed down with a lovely Provencal leTremble’ -Genache/Cinsault rose’ and some craft beer

This was my first meet with Kelly's beau Ben, whom I found a delightful and engaging young man with a bright future.   I’m happy they found one another and that Ben can be a part of our friendship circle

We went inside for some conversation and more wine, now a Washington State rose’ of Sangiovese.  Following, we sat table for a really interesting and zesty salad Vikki had brought using the “Olive Garden Copycat”  recipe.  I made beer bread to accompany and served the main wine, a  S. African Mulderbosch Rose’ of Cabernet. 

Entree was a tropical coconut pineapple rice with sticky honey garlic butter shrimp

We adjourned to the living room for repartee and after an interlude enjoyed Vikki’s ganache and strawberry stuffed brownie with limoncello and “43" liqueur
I got notes from all this morning affirming that it was indeed, 

“One Fine Day”

The Fire Truck

I had a dream. 


I was about 8 years old.  At this age I coveted having a big red metal toy Tonka fire truck.  Hook and Ladder with crank up extending ladders, and a real operating siren.  Articulated with cab and trailer.  Real rubber tires.  It was just beyond cool.

It was just before my birthday and I went to bed.  I couldn’t wait any longer .  There was this box under my bed and I got it and opened it.  Oh gosh ! - It was my Hook and Ladder.  I took it out and started to play right then and there, cranking and wheeling it all around on the floor.  I was ecstatic.  I could have played all day, but then...

Mom woke me up.  Whaaat!  Where was my fire truck?  I threw off covers and looked under my bed.  Nothing.  The whole room revealed no fire truck.  I was crushed.  I asked Mom, “What did you do with my fire truck?”  

“What Fire truck?”  

“The one I just got for my birthday.  I just was playing with it”

“Jerry, honey, your birthday isn’t till next week and there is no fire truck.  You were just dreaming.”

“NO,” I was crushed.  That whole day I kinda sheepishly searched everywhere.  No fire truck.  But it was so REAL !  I was positive it wasn’t a dream.

But it was, and I carry that memory to this day.  I learned two things.  I have a very vivid and creative imagination, and that my dreams often bring much more than some semi conscious shuffling of a sleep-reorganizing brain.

I still wake up with ideas that have formulated in sleep .  I call them “messages from my muse”.  Some of my best writing has come from that “muse.”  If I rise from a dead sleep and go write the thoughts down right then, the next day I find some amazing notes and scribbles that have turned into some of my best poems and stories.  Even descriptions of  visualizations have often become paintings or drawings.  Reality from dreams.
I do not understand it,  but it is real and I have earned to honor it with respect.  If I do not write things down immediately, they will have dissipated into ether in the morning.  Gone forever.  There are never repetitions.

Then, there is my love of reading.  Yes,  I admit to being a movie buff.  I adore visualizations in film and in static art, but it is reading a book where my mind travels to places I otherwise would never see.  Places and people come alive.  When I see a movie adapted from a book I have read, it is but a pale image.  Color never as bright.  Places never as vibrant somber or radiant . People never as interesting or fleshed out.  I really get lost in books, I live in them,  and like that dream, they seem so real to me.  Equal to any reality in my waking hours , and, yes, in full color.

If interrupted out of a deep read, I am surprised and disoriented for a few moments, because my world has been destroyed. I want that image world back.  It was so real to me.  Just like when I played with that fire engine.

I embrace my psyche.  Whatever is generating up in my brain,  I consider a gift .  Even today, when I think about that old dream, I get a warmth, a pleasure, and comfort from remembering that cool Fire Engine, even if it never was real. 

 I have come to realize sometimes the best things in life aren’t .

-Jerry Wendt 2018

...and a small but pertinent note; This very story came from “My Muse” .  I wrote the idea down, out of a deep sleep late Sunday night, and read it this morning, thinking, “This will make a great story”.  So I sat down and wrote this.  What do you think?

BUTT...

With no overt attempt to offend
I wish to address
without needless finesse,
My old droopy poopy rear end.  

What in youth was a bubble,
firm, supple, and round,
as delectable as words make it sound,
now lays in a state of resounding rubble.

Once it was toasted with “Champers,”
now a lunar field of lumps
in dire need of some Botox plumps,
shrouded in adult sized Pampers.

Oh the shame of it all
Regularity has long left presence,
facing no end of penance,
rushing to make it into the stall.

Why did babies first offering gifts
go from proud treasure
to grief in no small measure,
ending in odious sniffs ?

Longing for a good solid turd
without watching my diet,
or facing anular riot-
becoming such concern is absurd.

So I tell you in sincerity
It’s a part of my whole,
and without being too droll
I have to take it with a bit of hilarity

-Jerry Wendt 2018

Bearing Up

Most see
skin and hair
hung with textiles,
moving in channels
forged in destiny
held checked in
compliance.

I see
tides of torment
awash between
shaking bones
barely holding a upright
stance in resistance
to visceral desires
of the soul.

Most hear
platitudes of veiled
jealousy
or stifled needs,
muted drums
in rhythms
unheard within
a vast forest
of conformity.

I hear
plaintive cries of
creativity,
screeches
of chalk on
blackboards
of rubber
that still leave permanent marks
in silence.

Most feel
learned love
and hate
and devolved socialization,
making space to belong
in a world that cares not
whether they see another
morning revelation

I feel
betrayed
and bereft in that
I am hobbled at
reaching them
with a kiss or a tear,
unfullfilled
in my sincerest humanities

Most think
of me as contrived,
presumptive,
egotistical,
or even “simple.”

I think
I can endure that
only so long before
I just blend into “getting along,”

Or die, shamed and forgotten. 

     -Jerry Wendt 2018

Tempeh and Mushroom Fritters with pickled cucumber and a chili sauce

Mushroom and Tempeh Fritters

Ingredients

28 oz tempeh, chopped into 1/4inch cubes

Teppeh is Indonesian fermented soy cakes.  You can buy it in Asian markets or make your own using soybeans vinegar and a “starter”   (Amazon)

10 shallots, finely sliced
1 lb chopped mushrooms (Button or Portabella) or even Shitake
2 1/2 cups cassava flour (chickpea flour will also work)
1 lemon, zest and juice
1-2 cups water
2 tsp ground coriander
3 tspn ginger, grated
4 tbs soy sauce
salt and pepper
Handful fresh coriander, chopped
Canola oil for shallow frying

Preparation:

Combine all of the ingredients, except the water, in large bowl. Add one cup of the water and stir to combine, add the rest of the water as needed, until mixture sticks together but isn’t too wet.
Heat the oil in a wok, about 2 inches deep. Test it is hot enough by seeing if a cube of bread turns golden in about 20secs.
Fry heaped tablespoons of mixture, in batches, turning frequently, until dark golden brown. Don’t be put off by how dark they go, they need to cook in the middle. Test one if you need.
Drain on paper towel, sprinkle with fresh coriander and serve with samba and pickled cucumber.

Pickled Cucumber

Ingredients

1/2 a large  cucumber, halved lengthways, seeds scraped out and finely chopped
Handful of fresh parsley, finely chopped
1 cup white vinegar
2 tbs white sugar
salt and pepper

Preparation

Combine ingredients in a bowl and mix well until sugar dissolves. Refrigerate for at least 20mins, or until needed.

Chilli Sambal

Ingredients

2 brown onions, peeled and chopped
1 whole bulb garlic, cloves peeled and chopped
4oz ginger, peeled and chopped
10  birdseye chillies
4 stalks lemongrass, white and pale green parts chopped
4 tomatoes, chopped
3 tbs palm sugar
1/4 cup vinegar
juice of 5 small limes
salt and pepper

Preparation

Combine all ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth. Check for seasoning and adjust to suit.
Keep in a jar in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.

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