Tried some Jonah Crab Claws ala Momofuku the other day. Good, but a lot of work. I think cold is better than hot...the meat comes out more easily. I still prefer lobster to crab, I think, except that I love those summertime soft shells...
Stopped at the Huntington Street Cafe in Shelton the other day. Clearly one of the best coffee shops in Connecticut. And they serve steamed cheeseburgers! Delicious.
Biked the Shelton Lakes Recreation Trail today. It goes from Route 108 right outside of the downtown, all the way to Huntington village. It's mostly gravel, which makes for difficult uphills, and there are quite a number, since the trail pretty much goes over the White Hills.
Check out this hanging tree, which rotted away in the grip of a grape vine. But the vine is still hanging on to the tree. Two big pieces are suspended above the forest floor. Fascinating.
Had a visit from author Bill Ectric last week - what a great, down-to-earth guy. And considering the fantastic nature of his fiction, that's a wonder. Get yourself a copy of his novel, Tamper, which I reviewed when it first came out.
Sometime make sure you check out the Hempstead House(s) in New London. The big wooden one above was built in the amazing early date of 1678, and both survived the burning of New London by Benedict Arnold.
Leslie: As author of Insider’s Guide to
Connecticut, A History of Connecticut Food, A History of Connecticut Wine
and two other books about Connecticut, what makes Afoot in Connecticut
different from your previous works?
Eric: I love food and wine, and I enjoy writing
history, but I came to love Connecticut first through walking the trails and
discovering the natural world. So this book is much closer to my heart.
I hope it inspires other people to get out of
their cars and take to the trails, because that is the best way, some would say
the only way, to know a place. And I think that knowing and understanding where
you live is an important part of knowing yourself.
Leslie: If you had to choose a favorite moment
or a favorite hideaway in Connecticut what/where would it be?
Eric: Oh boy, there are so many—I’ve included
many of those moments and hideaways in the book, of course. If you like to camp
then I’d have to say Macedonia Brook State Park outside of Kent is possibly the
most beautiful place I’ve spent a night. And if you’re not the sort who likes to
sleep on the ground, then the Old Riverton Inn; it will always be close to my
heart, because that’s where I was married, in a small ceremony with friends and
family in front of a roaring fire on an autumn evening. I guess that’s probably
my favorite moment, too.
Leslie: In the book there are many wonderful
stories to be savored but there are, of course, those rock-bottom moments. One
particular trip that comes to mind is when you and a friend trekked across
Connecticut. That trip was grueling; you two ran into many obstacles, everything
from bad weather to massive blisters. Did you regret setting out on the
trip?
Eric: Absolutely not. As I say in the book, the
struggle makes us not only stronger but better people, and I’m much better for
going on that walk. That one day, though, when we hiked close to 25 miles,
through that rainstorm… That was probably the hardest single day of hiking I’ve
ever done, and I’ve hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. I’ve never
hallucinated because of fatigue like that before or since.
Leslie: You are a professor of Creative
Writing at Bridgeport University. At one point in the book, you tell stories of
taking students out into the field to learn about the natural history of the
Connecticut countryside. During these excursions you did several interesting
things with them, everything from pointing out rock formations to rappelling.
When reading that section, all I could think was how much I would love to take
such a hands-on course. Were you ever able to build a class around that
idea?
Eric: Unfortunately not. Apparently there are
insurance issues, etc. I was doing all that on the “down low,” as the kids said
gleefully. I actually did far more of it than I described in the book, with
students at Quinnipiac University, Southern Connecticut State University, and
the University of Bridgeport. One of my favorite things to do is take students
on what seems to be an ordinary hike in the woods, but with a secret
destination—a ruined house foundation, a frog pond, or an abandoned
lighthouse.
Leslie: What was the most interesting thing
you have discovered about the natural history of Connecticut during your
treks?
Eric: I think it was when I saw coyotes here in
Connecticut, and realized that they were much larger than the ones I had seen
out West. I looked into this phenomenon, and found that some scientists believe
that they bred with wolves in Ontario before coming here, and that’s how they
got so large. When you’re hiking alone and you happen upon a pack of coyotes
that size…suddenly you are no longer in the safe, modern suburban world, even if
you are only a couple miles from your house.
Leslie: Two of your most well-known books,
A History of Connecticut Food and A History of Connecticut Wine,
you co-authored with your wife Amy Nawrocki. In Afoot in Connecticut you
tell the story of how you two met. What was it like telling this part of your
story? How did she feel about your decision to share this story?
Eric: I had already started writing the book when
I met her, and it really became the perfect ending to the story. I had spent
seven years on my own in Connecticut before I met her, and had already fallen in
love with the state. So, it was great to find someone to share that with,
someone who had lived in Connecticut all her life, but had not really paid much
attention to the natural history of it. Now she loves Connecticut in the same
ways I do.
She has published a number of poems in which I
feature prominently, so she can’t complain about appearing in Afoot in
Connecticut! Despite a mild embarrassment, she loves the book, especially
the themes of discovery and nature.
Leslie: In the book you describe on one of
your first dates together with Amy, during which you took her on a hike as a way
to share your passion for the wilderness with her. The date ends with her
stepping on a bee’s nest. While she seemed to tough her way through, has that
deterred you from taking hikes together or is she still your trail
companion?
Eric: She is still most definitely my trail
companion: we hiked the White Mountains shortly after that experience. She
claims that the bees were just doing their duty, and had no problem going out
again…after a few days with antihistamines and calamine lotion.
Leslie: Glad to hear she didn’t let the
experience sour the outdoors for her. Finally, to close things out, what is next
for you?
Since I’m very quickly destroying my knees
hiking, I think I’ll bike around New England next. Amy and I rode from New Haven
to Massachusetts last summer, so that’s a good start.
Seriously, who are the wonderful people OPENING independent bookstores these days? A rare and noble breed.
In this case, the Monte Cristo Bookshop in New London sells both new and used books, and has a great selection of local titles, as well! They are named for Eugene O'Neill's homestead, which is about a mile away and worth a stop this summer.
Stopped at the Florence Griswold Museum the other day to see the Arthur Heming exhibit. But we also returned to the main house.
Once again, I was stunned by the dining room, with its panels painted by various artists, mostly the American Impressionists.
Is there another room like this in America? Please tell me if there is. It is astounding.
The rest of the collection is nice, but if you have not seen the dining room at the Florence Griswold Museum, you are missing one of the most amazing rooms in America, perhaps the world.
Stopped at Groton's classic Norm's Diner recently, and tried "Norm's Pick," the steak on a hard roll. As in a rib-eye steak. Delicious. Find out more in the Insiders' Guide to Connecticut.
I first experienced Stonehenge when I was sixteen. I had visited Windsor Castle in the morning and then fallen asleep due to jet lag. My parents woke me up. “Eric, we’re here.” I started awake and looked out the window. And there it was! We passed it on the road and pulled into the parking lot. I shook myself out of sleep. Surely it couldn’t have just been on the side of the road like that.
My family eagerly hopped out of the rental car and we followed the other tourists down the macadam slope to a ticketing area. Then, through a tunnel under the road and out onto the Salisbury plain, home of the mightiest of stone circles. And my first reaction was one of false joy. I pretended to be overwhelmed by the mystery and magic of this moment. After a while, though, I stopped trying to be happy. The stones themselves were fantastic, but something was wrong. I glanced around. An American hot dog stand sold soft pretzels and Coke. Another vendor sold miniature Stonehenge models. The worst offenders, though, were the roads that intersected at the monument. One road was bad enough, but why two? Stonehenge looked like it was on the median of a highway.
At the time, I felt disquiet with the situation, but was really too young to fully appreciate the mediocrity of it. Here was one of the world’s great monuments, being treated like a ride at Disneyland. Actually, without so much fanfare. An amusement park ride knows its place, as well. But this had been touted in every book and by every expert as a holy place. The name reverberates across our childhoods. Stonehenge! A relic of the past that deserved recognition with the Pyramids, the Acropolis, the Great Wall. But this! This was nothing like that. The stones looked sad, like a child mistreated. It was as if someone had built a feeble imitation for show, while the real circle hid just out of sight.
I visited Stonehenge again recently. Nothing had changed. If anything, the tourism had grown worse, more professional. The stones still towered over the plain, majestic in the way of flowers in the mud. People swarmed the site, snapping photos. I was no different. Some of my pictures magically transformed the site, the weathered stones appearing important and alone. Unless you had been there, you would never know that it wasn’t in the center of some great park, a perfectly mystical remnant of a bygone age. In fact, plans for such a park seemed to be in the works, at least in hopeful theory. But until that day, Stonehenge will remain the most disappointing of great places, a tragedy of tourism, a victim of our incessant need for convenience.
Driving around New London the other day, I happened across this lovely 19th century street, preserved as a historic district. I had completely missed it last summer and all the other times I've been to New London. These sorts of little gems are so prevalent in Connecticut that it is easy to take them for granted. Whoever you are who lives on this awesome street, I hope you feel the history seeping into your feet every time you come home.
This is one of the best places to get donuts (or doughnuts) in Connecticut. The glazed are particularly tempting, and I like the chocolate frosting, as well. The one cookies and cream donut pictured here is almost too decadent!
With a place like this, I'm not sure why anyone would go to...what's the name of that chain again?
Check out volume 2, issue 1 of The Wayfarer for a preview of my upcoming book, Afoot in Connecticut, two poems by my lovely wife, Amy Nawrocki, and a great story about Pleasure Beach by my buddy David Leff.
It's not every day a magazine is so beautifully made, and chock full of all the things that make me want to read it!
Jack Kerouac is primarily lauded for his keen understanding of male friendship. The female characters of On the Road or The Dharma Bums never really achieve the reader’s interest the way the males do. But Kerouac is also a writer of exquisitely sad love stories, with complex and fully realized women: The Subterraneans, Maggie Cassidy, and Tristessa. In these tales we find to our surprise that Kerouac was one of the most romantic of American novelists.
The most doomed of these three stories takes place in Mexico City, where Kerouac the narrator finds himself in love with a beautiful girl, an “Azteca, Indian girl with mysterious lidded Billie Holiday eyes.” The problem with this love affair is that she is addicted to “junk.” In some ways she is like the part of Mexico City that Kerouac experiences: sick, dangerous, and poor. But that appeals to the writer in him, and the potential redeemer. He doesn’t try to convince her to stop taking the drugs, but thinks perhaps his love alone can save her. This is a theme that echoes through the history of literature, profoundly romantic and profoundly foolish in the most tragic way. In Tristessa Kerouac brings that theme roaring into the modern age.
Jack himself, of course, is an addict, and he can understand her pain and joy. He says, “I wail on my cup of hiball so much they see I’m going to get drunk so they all permit me and beseech me to take a shot of morphine.” He does, diving in Tristessa’s paradoxical world. He tells us, “Tristessa is a junky and she goes about it skinny and careferee, where an American would be gloomy.” Then he immediately contradicts this and tells us that she complains all day. This complex girl, both magnet and poison, cannot be fathomed, much less rescued.
After leaving Mexico and living the adventures of The Dharma Bums, Kerouac returns to Tristessa, finding her shacked up with his friend Old Bull, a veteran addict himself. She is sicker than ever, and he knows he is too late to save her. She starts to hate him because he is not a junkey, and he realizes that to love her he would have to become one. There is a third person in the love triangle, but it is not Old Bull, nor the Mexican “cats” so attracted to the waifish girl. No, the third side of the love triangle is morphine. Bull preaches the awful truth to Kerouac: “She don’t want love — You put Grace Kelly in this chair, Muckymuck’s morphine on that chair, Jack, I take the morphine, I no take the Grace Kelly.”
With this knowledge Kerouac leaves Mexico City, destined never to find true love. Was he not brave enough, as he claims? Was he unable to reconcile his romantic ideals with cruel reality? Or was he looking for love where it could not be found? We are left to wonder, and left to mourn, as Kerouac does, the loss of the unfathomable mystery of a young girl named, appropriately, Sorrow.
Stopped at the Momofuku Milk Bar in Williamsburgh the other day, and had their pork bun (see below), which was excellent. However, the use of shredded pork instead of pork belly definitely makes a difference. I must say I prefer the original. However, according to the servers, there is no real way to do it with belly, since these little outposts of Momofuku are really just to sell their baked goods, etc. It seems to me to be a problem with this method of franschising out, even if these outposts stay only in NYC.
I'm a huge fan of Momofuku (see this article I wrote), and I want to see it expand everywhere. It is delicious, delicious food. But I'm not sure this model is working. Sure, the cookies we had were amazing, and they have all the Christina Tosi baked goods and cereal milk, etc. But I wonder if this will harm the brand by messing with expectations like this.
Been to Blue State Coffee in New Haven a couple times now - great coffee and a great place to get some work done, as long as I have my ipod (it's a little loud).
There are a number of these shops throughout New England...just beware if you're a conservative, they do have quotes from a number of liberals on the walls, etc. Thus the name Blue State.
