Take It Or Leaf It

Divoká Šárka, 12:23 p.m., June 22, 2012

Country Roads

You don’t stop riding because you’re getting old, but you get old when you stop riding.

Dad

My dad, that handsome devil. I wish I'd taken the chance to pull more stories out of him about his wild and reckless youth. There were stories to tell, I know, and I only heard a fraction of them. I do miss you, Dad.

Jasmine

Inspired by this recent article in "The New York Times" ("Embellish Like Bartenders"), I made a Jasmine cocktail. It has many of the ingredients we know and love (gin and Campari, especially), but I'd never heard of it.

It has 2 ounces of gin, 1 ounce of Cointreau, 3/4 ounce lemon juice, and 1/2 ounce Campari. Shake it all up with ice, strain, and serve with a lemon wheel.

It's looks and tastes like it has grapefruit in it. I love that sweet/sour combination. A great summer cocktail. Absolutely delicious.

Just My Type

This story I recently read in "The Los Angeles Times," about a man obsessed with collecting historic typewriters (he's got old machines used by Ernest Hemingway, John Lennon, and Tennessee Williams, among others), made me appreciate my old Smith & Corona just a little bit more than I already do (which is a lot).

You see, I just didn't pick it up at some old antique shop, auction, or estate sale.

It used to belong to my mother's father, my grandfather, James E. Kenny (that's him at right, with his wife, my grandmother, Geraldine Kenny, whom we called MeMaw), who died of a heart attack a few years before I was born. He used it in the back of the family business, a grocery store called Kenny's that was -- and still is -- an institution in the small city of Westernport in western Maryland, just on the border with West Virginia. It's where my mother grew up. (My dad grew up just across the Potomac River in Piedmont, West Virginia.) The store is today owned and managed by my uncle, Bill Kenny, one of my mother's younger brothers.

I don't know much more about the typewriter than that. There are the numbers 8 and 11 on either side of the LC Smith Corona Typewriters Inc. logo on the front, as well as a sticker for Cumberland Business Service, Cumberland, Maryland ("For service or supplies phone 3687"!). The only other markings on it that I can find are a big 'LC Smith Made in USA" on the back and the LC Smith across the paper rest on the top.

It works well, except the ribbon is dried out and I can't find a replacement. And it's as heavy as an anvil.

I love the sound the keys make as they smack the paper (you can almost punch a letter-shaped hole through the paper if you're not careful), the jittery baseline of the letters across the page, and the loud bell when it's time to flip the carriage to the next line.

From a search on Google, it appears that the typewriter dates from 1936 or so. Similar models are selling for $150-$200 on eBay.

This one's staying with me.

Krazy For Kasabian

Kasabian in concert at Berlin's Columbiahalle on June 2.

Earlier this year, Daisy and I drove to Berlin to see two concerts during the same weekend at the same venue -- Columbiahalle -- of two of our favorite bands -- Maximo Park and Kasabian. We were pretty excited.

Maximo Park played on March 2 as part of a small festival of bands gathered to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Intro magazine. We couldn't find out when MP was scheduled to take the stage, so we got there around 8, just to make sure we didn't miss them. Only when we got inside did we discover that they weren't expected to take the stage until after midnight.

No matter how much we love those guys (we'd already seen them in Prague and Amsterdam), there was no way we were going to stick around for four or five hours, and the venue wouldn't let us back in once we left. So we ate the 50 euros or so we spent on the tickets and just went back to the hotel. Bummer.

But at least we had Kasabian on March 4.


Kasabian performs "L.S.F." at Columbiahalle on June 2.

When we arrived for the Kasabian concert, the sidewalk in front of the venue was noticeably absent of beer-drinking concertgoers. The lights had been turned off. Turns out the singer, Tom Meighan, had come down with laryngitis and the band had to cancel the gig.

Talk about bad luck. We'd come to Berlin for two concerts and had ended up missing both. (Reminded us of the time a few years back when we drove -- drove! -- to Amsterdam from Prague to see Lucinda Williams, only to find out, when we arrived at the Paradiso with tickets in hand, that the show had been canceled.)

Kasabian rescheduled the show for June 2, so back to Berlin we drove. It was a fantastic show. Kasabian routinely -- and deservedly -- win Best British Live Act or Best British Group at the Brit Awards each year. (We saw them perform at the Open Air Festival outside Prague in the summer of 2010. See my blog post about that weekend here.)

The band even bought everybody a beer to say they were sorry for the canceled gig. Upstanding gents.

Tales Of Twinkletoes

My recent post about the cat quilt has sparked some interesting memories from Daisy's mother, Robin, and two of her sisters -- Pam and Murphy (nee Crouch).

Most involve Twinkletoes, who it turned out had a pretty adventurous life. (I'm hoping for a real photo of Twinkletoes to emerge.)

There are some very serious asthma sufferers in this group, but their memories of their childhood cats are very loving and sweet:

Murphy: Hmmm, I wonder why Twinkletoes originally got that name. She was a beautiful graceful grey cat, with long legs. But in her adventurous life, she lost a leg to a jagged trap set by our across-the-street neighbor who thought the cats were killing the birds she loved.

Twinkletoes had her leg amputated and forever more moved on three legs as swiftly as she had on four. She was known to jump on the back of big dogs, brushing them back in fear (or pain maybe).

I don't think there were ever 25 cats at 1 S. Main Street [their address]; I believe that is a Crouch legend. What say the rest of you???

Pam: I will add that, although my sisters may dispute this, I always thought of Twinkletoes as being my cat, although I have no idea why that might have been true. I may have named her, but again have no idea why that name. And yes, she was a feisty cat on her three legs.

I agree that I do not think there were ever 25 cats at one time either in Pine Plains or on the farm.

Robin: I also remember Twinkletoes as being a feisty cat who lived a long life. I thought she had lost the leg due to a car mishap on Main Street. As for the cat population reaching 25, I'm pretty sure that it did. As I recall, three cats had kittens kind of around the same time. One litter was in the closet that was by the stairs, another was in a pile of stuff by the railing and the third batch was somewhere else. We already had several cats, of course. I wonder what Jennifer remembers.

Murphy: Yes, I was the one who found Twinkletoes in the trap, so it is a vivid image in my memory. In fact now I am having a hard time pushing it away. It was a big heavy nasty trap. I remember running to get Mom -- it was so confusing that it could be so. I didn't understand it. (Editor's note: Mrs. Holden apparently got an earful.)

Sputnik was a dear to me. Nice solid big head (he was black) you could really set your hand on. And attached by name to that blinking light we would go out in the night to spot in the sky. It's true that we all loved cats, and a shame that two of us can't live with them.

12:23 a.m., Prokopská, Malá Strana, Prague, May 12, 2012

Photograph by Margot Buff

Hot Time In The Meat Locker

That's Sir Paul, with a few oysters.

Last year, for my 50th birthday, I took over Sansho, the hip, happening hotspot on Prague's restaurant scene. I invited as many friends as I could fit in there, and chef Paul Day prepared a special menu for everyone.

To say it was a memorable night is to belabor understatement. The food, the friends, the atmosphere. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday. And Paul, whom I now call my friend, made it all happen. Sansho was still relatively new on the Prague restaurant scene then (although it had already generated quite a buzz), and so many of my friends hadn't yet sampled Paul's food.

I loved the idea that I was helping them discover what all of Prague (and beyond) would soon be hearing about.

Paul and Sansho have gone on to even greater glory since then, of course. In May, the restaurant was awarded a Bib Gourmand, one step shy of a Michelin star. And Paul has opened his own butcher shop in Prague's New Town, The Real Meat Society, which I wrote about a few weeks ago.

So, I thought it'd be appropriate to celebrate my 51st birthday at Sansho. A bit more low-key, perhaps, with just a couple of friends, but still a chance to savor those amazing flavors. I hadn't been there in too long.

Paul had another idea.

Why not have a "crudo"night in the butcher shop? he suggested. (Crudo being Italian for "raw," btw.) Some beef tartare, oysters, and a few other surprises. The space was small, which meant only a few people and no kids (quite a departure from last year), but I didn't argue.

The main course. One of them, anyway.

So in late April, one night after the shop had closed, Paul and a few members of his staff set up a cozy table next to the graffiti-covered meat coolers in the back and Daisy and a few our friends -- Margot Buff, Karen LaMonte and Steve Polaner, to be precise -- got down to the business of some serious eating, drinking, and socializing.

We enjoyed salmon sashimi with citrus soy; pork belly and crispy oyster sandwiches; beef tatare with bottarga and yuzu sweet fried bread; Bloody Mary oyster shooters; raw oysters on the half-shell; raw oysters with ponzu; crispy oysters topped with kanafeh and wasabi cream; Angus short-rib penang and roti; and cheesecake with dulce de leche.

We brought our own wine, including some lovely Italian bottles from the Alto Adige region, courtesy of Steve and Karen.

An amazing night. I'm a lucky man.

Thanks so much to Paul and his partner, Míša, and to Daisy, Margot, Steve, and Karen.

Now, Paul, about next year ...

 Beef tatare with bottarga and Bloody Mary oyster shooters

Steve Polaner. Always cutting-edge.

Tools of the trade.

The salmon sashimi with citrus soy.

Oysters on the half-shell; raw oysters with ponzu; and crispy oysters topped with kanafeh and wasabi cream.

That's Steve Polaner (top), Karen LaMonte, Steve, Margot Buff, and Daisy.

A bit of Angus short rib

Night hawks.

Karen is wondering how she's going to tell Steve she's eaten the last oyster.

Things got a little crazy.

You really think we're doing this again next year?!

Photo by Steve Polaner

Photo by Steve Polaner

Photo by Steve Polaner

The Cat's Meow

I wanted to share this truly amazing present I received for my 51st birthday.

Daisy painted a birthday card for me that honored all the cats that have come through our lives in the past few years, mostly when we were living in the village of Černý Vůl, west of Prague. (We just moved back to Prague 6 in December.)

You can read about some of these cats and our efforts to rescue them in some of my previous blog posts, such as "Farewell, Little Friend," "Pussy Galore," "A Home Sweet Home For Chaz," "Looking For A Home For Pee-Wee," "The Funny Things Is, I'm Really A Dog Person," "Remembering Zhenya," and "The Cerny Vul Cat House."

The 12 little faces that Daisy painted perfectly capture both the physical characteristics of the cats, as well as their personalities.

Chicho's manic guilelessness. Zhenya's caramel sweetness. Oscar's trusting innocence. Moussa Koussa's fierce independence. Flakey's adventurousness (and one weepy eye).

The card was inspired by a handmade quilt made for Emma by Daisy's mother, Robin, out of handkerchiefs that belonged to her mother and Daisy's grandmother, Christine Crouch. The quilt hangs in our flat. You can see it below.

"Christine -- or Grandmother Crouch, as I always called her -- lived in a large house in Dutchess County, New York, and probably had a hundred or so cats over her lifetime," Daisy says. "I remember hearing stories of there being up to 25 cats living in and around the house at a time, although by the time I came around there were probably fewer.

"The quilt depicts some of her most notable cats. The names reflect her weakness for Russian literature (Nikolay), Soviet space achievements (Sputnik), American jazz singers (Blossom Dearie), and whimsy (Twinkletoes!)."

What amazes me is that the quilt is, well, quilt-sized. Daisy's card is only 17 centimeters by 22 centimeters.

I'm astounded by Daisy's talents. Definitely taking this one to the framers.

Thank you, honey.

Beautiful Weeds, Indeeds

In Divoká Šárka, Prague, May 1, 2012.

That's All Yolks

The Pleasures Of The Flesh

I had the good fortune to be invited to a party to mark the opening of The Real Meat Society (a.k.a. Day's Custom Meats), the new butcher shop run by my friend, chef Paul Day, he of restaurant Sansho fame. (So new they were still painting the sign out front when I arrived. See below.)

Paul was a butcher long before he was a chef, and he hasn't lost his love for the pleasures of the flesh. Indeed, he describes himself on his Twitter feed as a "chef, butcher, and urban meat roasting specialist."

Paul is trying to re-introduce the long-lost art of butchery to the Czech Republic. As Todd Benson recently wrote on the Prague TV website:

Paul's concept [is] simple: use local produce and help educate farmers on the raising and slaughtering of these animals...reintroduce Czech breeds of sheep and pigs that had vanished at the end of the First Republic, and move to a more localized way of production. (The farms would have their own abattoir to cut down on the stress of transportation, for instance.)

Paul's cool little shop at Náplavní 5 (boasting what have to be the city's only graffiti-covered meat lockers), not far from the Dancing Building in New Town, is small, but it offers an impressive selection -- from beautiful pork roasts and bacon and hamburger to homemade New York-style meatballs and duck and Mexican- and Hawaiian-style sausages. There's also farm-fresh eggs and homemade butter and fresh garlic and pickled mushrooms in jars that look like grandma canned them in the cellar.

Oh, and let us not forget the 9-week dry-aged beef.

I must admit to never having tasted a dry-aged steak, at least as far as I can remember. I had to do a little research to refresh my memory about what the term "dry-aged" actually means.

Basically, slabs of beef are hung for weeks in a carefully controlled refrigerator to "ripen," for want of a better word. Dry-aging is a tricky, expensive, but ultimately rewarding process that intensifies the meat's flavors while also acting as a tenderizer.

It's such a laborious and costly process that it's rare to find a restaurant or butchers even offering dry-aged steaks for sale.

Sadly, I was off to a squash game after Paul's party and couldn't buy anything to take home. Rest assured, I will be going back for a few dry-aged steaks and I'll report my findings here.

All the best to Paul in his new venture. You can find the shop's website, including opening hours, by clicking here.

Font-tastic

I really liked the font of the numbers and the ancient patina on these old post office boxes in my local post office in Prague 6.

It's 6 p.m. In Manhattan

The Which Chair Project

A funky old chair in the lobby at the Prague Film & Theater Center.

Out Of Gin

My Time In 'Eden'

I was thrilled to be asked by Lindsay Taylor at the Prague Film & Theater Center to participate in a staged reading of "The Eden Game," a play about Vaclav Havel by California-based playwright Jock Doubleday.

Doubleday wrote the first act of "The Eden Game" in 1989, inspired after reading Havel's "Letters to Olga." The second act was written in 1997, after learning of Havel's second marriage to actress Dagmar Veškrnová. As Doubleday said in the playbill:

"Unfortunately, no one had any interest in a play about Vaclav Havel. Perhaps his real-life drama was enough. Today's staged reading, 22 years after the play's inception, is a great gift to me. I have written 39 plays, but "The Eden Game" was my first, and it holds a special place in my heart."

The staged reading is a chance for the playwright to see and hear his words come to life for the first time on a stage and to get constructive feedback from the audience and the performers. The performance was filmed and the audience was asked to fill out feedback cards. Sadly, Doubleday couldn't be in Prague for the reading.

I was asked to read the part of the Prison Warden in Act I. I had a fantastic time meeting and working with the other actors. It was the first time I had been on a stage in front of a live audience since 1990 or so, when I was a stand-up comic for a night for a Plimpton-esque first-person newspaper story. (That's another story.)

(Read a review of our performance here.)

The actors sat on stage in a horseshoe around an old bench, where most of the "action" took place. When it was our turn, we entered the acting space to engage with the other performers (mostly with Scott Williams, who played Havel). We were all reading from the script; we hadn't had time to memorize our lines. And while we weren't in costume, we did act the parts as best we could given the limited parameters.

What did I think?

There is much to recommend in "The Eden Game." The dialogue is smart and chewy, and the subject matter is right for the stage. It's an ambitious play, and Doubleday obviously knows his history. But I think it is too long, its structure overly complicated and a tad gimmicky (a play within a play) which, in my opinion, detracts from the power of Havel's story, which needs no embellishment.

I hope our performance helps Doubleday hone "The Eden Game" and that it gets produced somewhere.

Who knows? Maybe even Prague.