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DISH
place has felt it. Those who've lived here - better said, "survived" here through winters - are haunted by it. We have a love/hate relationship with it; it makes hypocrites of us. Complain though we may about the difficulties of life on such an unusual island, when we leave, even if only for a short while, it beckons to us. We miss it. In the nearly four years that I've lived here, I've yet to meet one islander whose Nantucket story…whose reason for coming here and remaining here…has been anything less than colorful. I suppose I'd like to believe that I've added to the local color, as my own story is as curious as the next. But the common thread that runs through all of the stories is love. Whether it's love of a person whose livelihood is based here, love of the serenity and lack of commercialism, love of fishing or kite-sailing, love of the rich, centuries-old history or just a love for the island that defies explanation or articulation…all of the stories are love stories. My story began with the island being a place for romantic getaways with my husband. We fell hard. Just from a handful of weekend visits, we decided that one day we'd move here to retire; it was to be the place we'd spend our golden years. We were smitten by a house we found during a bike ride and later saw in a realtor's flyer. It was listed as the "Cisco Sizzler." We kept a photo of it pinned under a magnet on our refrigerator in Manhattan and fantasized about the day when we'd finally move our moldy, old selves here to live. Years passed, we had children, and love began to take on new meaning. Life got hectic, not to mention more complicated. Between our careers and parenting, it was all we could do just to focus on the here and the now. Our future golden years on Nantucket seemed too far off in the distance to even warrant a thought, much less a plan. But then something happened - something terrible - and suddenly, time stood still. It was at that time that Nantucket reentered our consciousness. Faced with the nightmarish and cruel reality of what will be the hastened mortality of a child, our golden years suddenly seemed within reach. We decided it was time for our family to experience some heaven on earth while we all had the time to. Life on Nantucket has been everything we hoped it would be, which is to say, nothing short of unusual. One of the highlights for me personally has been writing this column. It's been sheer delight. Having the opportunity to entertain readers, and sometimes even enlighten you, has been my pleasure. But in the meanwhile it's become clear that those who search to find heaven on earth must be open to change and transition. In my family's case, heaven now has to have less wind, more months of warmth and must be more accessible than ferries and small planes will allow. I've had a ball being an independent voice with this newspaper - whether it's been complaining about bad sushi, revealing the hidden locations of chefs' tattoos, singing the bizarre praises of prison food or sharing my secret desire to be a tomato. What I regret are the many things that I haven't had the chance to write about over the past year. I never got around to hosting a coleslaw competition or trying my hand at bartending, if only to report on how many glasses I shattered and how many summertime patrons I outraged. I didn't get to write that piece about genius-chef/mad-scientist, Ferran Adrià, and his wild take on molecular gastronomy. I've yet to do a Q & A with the only man I'd cheat on my husband with - my favorite food writer, Anthony Bourdain. And it's only now occurring to me that I never told you about the time that Jamie Oliver (of "The Naked Chef" fame) cooked in my kitchen in Manhattan for a photo shoot…while he rode my daughter's tiny scooter through our living room. Leaving the island is bittersweet for certain; so many things undone and unwritten. But I'm reasonably confident that I'll have lots of ridiculous adventures with food that I'd like to share with you every now and then from afar. So rather than "goodbye," this is more of an "until we meet again." That having been said, there's a poem written by John Updike that I'd like to leave you with for now. Its title couldn't be simpler: FOOD It is always there, Man's real best friend. It never bites back; it is already dead. It never tells us we are lousy lovers or asks us for an interview. It simply begs, Take me; it cries out, I'm yours. Mush me all up, it says; Whatever is you, is pure. SMOKED SALMON
CHEESECAKE Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease bottom and sides of an 8-inch springform pan with vegetable oil. Add breadcrumbs to pan; tilt and shake pan to cover bottom and sides. In a large bowl, beat cream cheese with a hand-mixer, just until smooth. Beat in eggs, one at a time. Beat in sour cream, flour, lemon zest, salt and pepper until combined. Stir in salmon, scallions, chopped dill and capers. Pour into pan and bake for 40 minutes, or until center is just set. Remove pan to wire rack and allow to cool completely; cover and refrigerate. To serve, remove sides of pan, place on a serving platter and garnish with dill sprigs. Cut into wedges. Makes 16 appetizer portions. Bon Appétit! |
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