For Charles and Dorothy

Robiola di bosco was a nice start to this simple but totally satisfying

dinner.  Served with sliced parmesan-black pepper baguette and 

ciabatta, it took enough of the edge off for us to be full halfway 

through dinner.  No worries; leftovers are an everyday occurance

in this house of overindulgences.

Yellow and green zucchini marinated in olive oil, red wine vinegar,

 mint, rosemary, salt, and pepper.  Grilled whole, that way every 

slice is firm and al dente.  Just the way it's meant to be.

Jersey frickin tomatoes, with fresh mootz, roasted red peppers,

assorted marinated olives, and an abundance of chopped basil.

The cracked black pepper and kosher salt is intended to be

liberally sprinkled over your entire helping.

Sweet Italian sausage, unevenly browned but thoroughly cooked,

gave the otherwise very veggie dinner a good, fatty accompaniment

and assured the attending dinner guests had a well balanced meal.

I had a great visit with two old and dear customers from way back

in my restaurant career today.  After almost two years of mixed 

feelings about how my last job ended, I sat with them in their back

yard, having shown up at their doorstep on my bicycle, completely 

un-announced at their beautiful Princeton home, and we talked 

almost exclusively about food and the good times we all had in 

that old building.  Thank you Charlie and Dorothy.  

You most certainly made my day.

MetLife Stadium: Where I Belong

Father and son.  My Dad would always say, "Let 'er rip!"

The Falce boys came loaded with dough, sauce and cheese.

And a wooden pizza board that's been handed down through

the generations.  Take my word for it.

The pies kept coming.  But a German Spatlese with pizza? 

Questionable.  Joe redeemed himself with some homemade 

Chateauneuf du Pape.  Extraordinary.  Game on.

So much pizza that they had to start giving it away to arriving 

traffic. What a welcoming sight:  'Take this paper plate and a slice 

of my pizza pie while you're looking for a parking spot.'

Only the regulars got to swoop in on the New Zealand green 

mussels with herbs, beer, and butter.  Holy shit.

Grilled marinated pork loin and curry-coconut chicken skewers.

Are we in heaven?  Yes, we're in the Meadowlands.

There's that number 43 again.

We get the shivers every time as we approach this hallowed arena.

BTW, that's not me to the left.

Me, outside another somewhat well-known venue.

My beautiful wife and me standing in our section, with our backs to 

the playing field.  The lions fared much better in this stadium than 

they did in the previous one.  

The Rochester Road Crew, Rose and Scott, who sit directly

behind us for every home game.  He listens to the broadcast

and often has the inside scoop before we even have a chance

to stand up and scream.  They're awfully dedicated fans who 

drive 6 hours each way for every game.  And we moan when

we have to drive an hour home to Lawrenceville.  Waaaaaah.

The crew stayed behind about 15 minutes to snap this photo of

the scoreboard.  A veritable statfest.  I love these guys.

And the Giants too.  Good to be back on track.

And thanks to the heads up from Rochester, I learned of the passing 

of someone who, with his Dad, kept us NFL fanatics up-to-date

with the comings and goings of the National Football League, with 

unparalleled footage, editing, soundtrack, and commentary of the

greatest game in the world.  This may have been the longest run-on 

sentence in the history of blogger.com.  Don't care.  I got a little

misty when I heard the news.  Jersey boy done good for sure.

Race For The Cured Ham

How hard could it be to start when you've been given an exact 

start time?  In the middle of the photo, we're balls to the wall,

with less than a minute and a half to the start, wishing we would

have tacked and started the approach twenty seconds earlier.

In the end, that could have made the difference between fourth

and third.  Shoulda Coulda Woulda.

The starting sequence, as per PHRF.  This way, whoever

crosses the line first wins the effin race.

Pedal to the Metal.  We were fast as shit

from start to finish.  It all boils down to sail

trim and boat speed.  I'm convinced that it's

better to foot than to point. 

Pearson sailboats dominated the racecourse.

Boats of all shapes and sizes participated in this pursuit race.

Dead center again, we were on track to working our way

through the fleet with a combination of sail trim, traveler

play, crew weight distribution, 

and full attention paid to lifts and headers. 

This guy is, week in and week out, the boat to beat.  

This is indicative of the wide range of competitors' boats.

Gosh darn Snake Stick, who was given the dubious distinction

of starting first, held out for the majority of the race and finished 

third.  A few seconds before us. 

Dead downwind  (my favorite.....not) finish.

We crept up on Snake Stick and went ahead

yards before the finish, but they eked it out at 

the short end of the line.  

Val sailing Providence II, the boat to beat.  Had there been 

300 more yards to the finish, he may have beaten us.

Antny.

Paul used to sail a Pearson 303.

Captain Bill, Tall Oaks Yacht Club Commodore.  A visionary,

a driving force behind the TOYC machine, a race official

extraordinaire, a 50/50 raffle-meister nonpareil. 

32 Years Ago

32 years ago on Labor Day, we had our first 'date'.

One of the very best days of my life.

Dinner at the Shore

Krowicki's white corn just as sweet as can be

Kernels pop in your mouth, ears gone one two three

Tomatoes from Jersey and Pennsy as well

with olive oil and basil and mootzadell

The lobsters gave nobly their bodies for flavor

and sauce for the scallops (not shown) we did savor 

We could have eaten dinner by seven o'clock 

but I insisted on making the lobster stock  

The shells were strained out and the stock was reduced

and by nine o'clock, all of the dinner guests were seduced