Will It Ever End?

Something nice to eat on a cold and dreary day!

Thanks, O Docker, for the inspiration to cook this today.

There are few things I'd rather do on a day off than plan a nice

dinner for me and my wife.  Today's poisson du jour was Tilapia.

If you feel like it, tell me what else is on this plate.  You may need 

some help with the sauce, but I'm here for you.

For Sail

It's time to put sentimentality aside and admit

to myself that I'm not going to sail my old Laser 

again.  I saved all summer long as a sixteen year

old and bought my brand-spanking new boat

from Skip.  Toward the end of the BBYRA 

season, on a Saturday morning at Toms River

Yacht Club, he delivered it, screwed on a 

couple of jam cleats for the mainsheet, and 

shoved me off.  Rocket ship!  It was a far cry

from the water-logged #802 I had been sailing

since 1972, and I immediately started beating

more boats.  A couple of years later, my brother

bought the boat from me, then a few years after

that, he sold it to my sister.  The boat has sailed on

Barnegat Bay, Lake Champlain, and a handful of

reservoirs and ponds throughout VT and MA.

By now some of you are familiar with my nostalgic

ways.  For me, knowing that the boat was really

the first big thing I actually worked hard for and got,

it's getting me a bit misty thinking about no longer

having her.  But she's certainly not getting any love

 in my backyard under an old tarp.  Anybody know

someone looking for a used Laser?

A Long Way To Go, Still

It took me this long to make my way back down to the new

 'ground zero', the old 'new' inlet at the eastern foot of the 

Mantoloking bridge.  As much as it seems to have changed here,

much still remains quite the same.  The dunes have since been

built up rather high; the most immediate remedy to the Atlantic

Ocean freely spilling into the upper Barnegat Bay.  But a lot of

the carnage that was chronicled in the days just after Sandy flowed

through these blocks of houses still remains.  I drove down this part

of the bridge, anticipating some leftover damage, but I wasn't ready

for the letdown that awaited me.  

How could this be?  These people have money.  They have resources.

They have connections.  Two and a half months later, why are there 

still houses uprooted and sitting crookedly in someone else's back-

yard?  And why is there an exposed sandbar where they once had

a somewhat deepwater slip?  This is still so unthinkable to me.

After crossing the bridge, I could only turn right and go south on

Rt. 35.  For anyone wanting to go north, they would need to prove

 they were residents or contractors.  There were cops, local and 

state, everywhere.  Lights were flashing and ID and documentation 

of residency were required to get through the checkpoint.  Still.

I drove for a few hundred feet, constantly looking to the east, 

until I came upon this sight.  It seems so long ago that all of this

happened.  It's shocking that so much is still the same as it 

was when it plopped itself down after the storm finally passed 

through.  I thought of a guy from Michigan when I saw this Sunfish.

More Kansas/Dorothy-like house relocation, but with a lot

more sand and beachy scrub pine trees.  No ruby red slippers

were spotted.  What a world.....what a world!

Ocean Beach destruction.  I wasn't really supposed to be able

to drive around these neighborhoods.  There were cops everywhere.

Nobody was supposed to stray from 35, nobody was to go more

than 25 mph, nobody was to stop their car, and  

most importantly, nobody was to get out of their car. 

Guilty, guilty, guilty, and guilty. 

A humbling sight next to...

.......a more humbling sight.  This pretty much sums up the attitude 

of Jersey Shore folk.  There's no other place they'd rather be.

Stairway to heaven.

After all this shit, someone still wants to build.  There you go.

No matter what part of the world you're in, if it's near the water,

people want to be there, and I can relate to that.

The view north from the Mantoloking bridge.  More or less halfway

 between the tallest water tower and the left side of the photo lies

829 southdrive.  My Grandparents' house was grand according to

1940's standards, but the houses that now occupy that lot on 

South Drive would cast long and tall shadows on that old building.

To this day and forever, that kills me.  Tough shit, man.

A full frame to the right, Herring Island was always a sight on my 

horizon.  It was a destiny to be reached, a mark to be rounded,

and an oasis to be revered.  I never dreamed it would be a witness 

to a natural disaster so devastating as the one the world saw last 

October. Toward the eastern end of this island lies a displaced

structure, sitting upright and surrounded by baywater.  

Upon further review, there sits the portion of some poor soul's 

family legacy, a family's generations-old summer house, a place

where the grandkids came every June through August to go to

the beach, to go crabbing, to sail, and revel in all the goings on 

that a summer house at the shore could afford.   

One hundred and eighty degrees from 829, the Mantoloking Yacht 

Club appeared unscathed.  I'm happy for them, for the houses 

to the left fared not so well. 

Consider this:  This photo, as well as the others, was taken on 

Monday, January 14, 2013.  These conditions still exist.

Even I assumed that all this shit would be cleaned up by now.

Remember, this is the first visit I've had down here since Sandy.

I've seen a lot on TV about Obama and Christie and FEMA

and Bon Jovi and Springsteen and The Who and McCartney.

But then every day I see folks from Staten Island crying because

they still have no power or water, and there's garbage and debris

piled up on their streets that's rotting away.  There are still 

thousands of  residents of the New Jersey barrier islands who

can't yet re-inhabit their houses because the gas, electric, and

water services have yet to be restored.  This is a crisis that

no one had ever imagined possible.  

It's amazing to me how bayside homes are sinking into their

foundations, while houses across the street and closer to the

beach are still upright.  

I felt obligated to visit my favorite boatyard before I headed back 

home.  After all, it lies just west of the Mantoloking bridge and 

it's on the way home so......  Rusty Manheimer's sloop didn't take

too well to the Atlantic disturbance.  If it were someone else's

boat I would be more worried.  But look where Sjogin is chocked

up.  If I were an old boat in need of some TLC, this yard would

be my emergency room, hands down.  Note the dude walking

in the background to the right.

Through the gaping hole, I took this shot.  The sardine stove has

since been removed, as well as Russ's library of salty, sailboat

literature.  I'm hoping he removed the books from the shelf before

Sandy came knocking.  He and I once sat down below here, 

drinking 'Full Sail' beer and chomping on pastrami sandwiches

made on Miami onion bread with arugula, stagianato, and

whole grain mustard.  A lunch I'll never forget.

I threw our Christmas tree in the back of my Expedition, with the

 intention of contributing to the dune-rebuilding effort going on at

the shore. They lay the trees down in the dunes and then pile 

sand on top, hoping that those trees will provide strength and 

longevity to those piles of sand. While driving up and down

 Rt. 35, I asked several people, cops and utility workers alike, 

where I might leave my tree to help bolster the dunes, in hope that 

our dead holiday memento might be of service to prevent similar 

devastation from occuring.  I might as well have had two heads.

Then I got to Beaton's.  There I saw a pick-up with a Christmas

 tree in the back.  I sought out the guy walking in the background

of the photo two photos back, and convinced him to take mine

with his to Cattus Island, where they were collecting trees to rebuild

the dunes.  Mission accomplished.  

On the way out on Beaton's Road.  If it didn't sink in by now 

that something wicked this way came, this image reminded me.

Heaven on Earth

I can't wait to have this in sight again.  This summer

may be a dangerous one with so many boats lost

and/or sunken in Barnegat Bay.  Those of us with 

deep drafts need to be extra vigilant.  I expect to

see many extra markers on the water this season.

Elevation Was The Key

In the past thirty years, I'd been by this house countless

dozens upon dozens of times, unknowingly no doubt.

There were houses more attractive, whether smaller and 

quainter, or bigger and grander, and I can say that I

never remember seeing this suddenly extraordinary

structure.  Never once did I glance at it and think to 

myself that if a 'superstorm' ever hit this idyllic peninsula 

on New Jersey's eastern shore, that this house may be the 

only building left standing on its block.  I was amazed, 

along with millions I'm sure, when I saw this photo plastered

 on the internet, along with aerial photos and videos 

documenting Hurricane Sandy's path of devastation.

Amazing as it may sound, I have yet to personally survey

the destruction at this section of my beloved Jersey Shore.

Life often gets in the way of things one really wants to do.

Check out this article on the house left standing at

the base of the Mantoloking Bridge.  I wonder how Betty

Wagner's family is getting on.......

Whaddya Sink?

At first glance, one might think he is seeing a sashimi assortment.

I'm here to tell you that this is my sink strainer, untouched and 

appearing naturally as things were captured during this evening's

dinner preparation. Wouldn't that be kitschy for a sushi joint to serve

 an appetizer in a clean sink strainer?  Let's see who can identify 

the most items.  BTW, dinner was good.

NFL Rules

You cannot remove your helmet in celebration!  15 yards any way

you look at it.  Only during time-outs and between quarters.  Even

if you're the Secretary of State or the former First Lady.  Once we

start making exceptions, everything goes to hell.  Come on man!

Octopus Souse

Straight from the Horse's Mouth

Last night I had a dream.  It was late August, and I was 

sitting at the kitchen table staring at a stack of sliced

Jersey tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, with some kind

of balsamic vinaigrette drizzled over it.  There were shreds

of fresh basil scattered over and around it, and what 

appeared to be sauteed mushroom caps on top 

and surrounding.  I was somewhat confused, half knowing

that it was a long way til summer, yet thrilled that 

somehow I'd managed to travel forward through time to

savor the dish that I crave nine months out  of the year.

Then, as if by magic, there appeared a most brasserie-type dish:

Onglet grillé avec des oignons frits!  Hanger steak with frizzled

onions.  Anthony Bourdain, eat your heart out.  This cut of meat,

 being situated so close to the kidneys, has that oh-so-subtle 

nuance of offal offerings (I can just imagine the snide comments 

coming).  It's like no other steak you've ever had.  This is the kind

of stuff I dream about.  Tony, eat your kidneys out too.

My dream was cut short by the sight of yogurt with fresh fruit

and granola.  What did I do to deserve this?  It seemed like 

there were sirens going off and all of a sudden I felt a 

sharp pain in my ribcage.  I quickly woke up and realized I

had set the house alarm, forgetting that college daughter was

home on break, and out earlier with friends, and that she 

would actually be sleeping home tonight. The sharp pain came 

from my wife jabbing me to get up and disarm the alarm. 

Shortly thereafter, the house phone rang:

'Yes, this is so-and-so security.  We received an alert that

your security system has been tripped.  May I have your 

password please, Mr. Dog?'  Er Uh......................tomatoe?   

A Good Sign

The Lavallette boardwalk showing signs of rebirth.  Yeah baby!

..................there's a long way to go.  Real long.

Happy New Year!

After cleaning over 5 pounds of lobster (2 1/2 # plus each), I 

thought a little lobster roll hors d'oeuvres were in order.  I know

New Englanders don't use dill; we're not in New England.

Melted leeks and mushrooms would be the base for the pasta.

White wine and heavy cream were added to coat the pasta just

before plating.  We eat family style most of the time, but on days

when I have the time, I like to plate in the kitchen.  Restaurant

habits die hard.

The basis for any good sauce is a good stock.  The lobster bodies 

were browned, and onions, celery, mushroom trimmings, garlic, 

tomatoes, thyme, tarragon, basil, fish fumet, white wine, and 

Gosling's rum were added.  This simmered for two hours, was

strained, reduced, and cream was added and then reduced a

bit more.  The pre-steamed lobster meat would be gently warmed

in this sauce just before plating.  Nothing is quick in this house.

Mezze Rigatoni tossed with the leek and mushroom mix formed the

 base of the plate, with asparagus, spinach, and lobster piled on top.

The lobster cream sauce was spooned liberally over the entire mound.

It was kind of good and there were no complaints.

After dinner I found myself lying on my back, with head to the 

hearth, looking up at the warm fire.  

I ain't gonna last much longer.