My Perfect Summer Day

 RHYS BOWEN: I don’t know about you, but every year, at the beginning of summer, I look forward to those perfect lazy summer days. I’ll take a picnic to my favorite little beach on the Bay. I’ll drive up to wine country and sit in a vineyard, I’ll take the ferry across to San Francisco. And then suddenly it’s September and I realize I haven’t done any of those things I’d wanted to. 

Summer has slipped away from me again, stolen with busyness–that book deadline. Those unexpected guests, the doctor appointments.

This year will be different. This year I will write on my calendar, at least one day a week: RHYS ESCAPE DAY.  And nothing will come in its way. Clare and I had our picnic here yesterday--smelly cheese, crusty bread, olives and chilled white wine. Not bad.

Which makes me think: what would be my perfect summer day? A picnic, definitely. There is something so romantic and old-wordly about sitting on a rug in the shade, eating cold chicken or ripe peaches (if the wasps will kindly keep away. Any recommendations for that?)

Then beautiful scenery: a beach or the mountains or a perfect garden. Then the question: good company or blissful solitude. Should that picnic be alone or shared?

I remember two picnics that stay in my memory: When I was working at the BBC two friends had the same time off one day. We bought a picnic at Selfridges food hall, took the train to Kew Gardens and rented a rowing boat. We drifted down the Thames until we came to a tree overhanging the bank. Then we moored and ate our picnic: cold chicken, crusty bread. Good cheese. Grapes. Cold white wine.  About as perfect as you can get.

Another blissful picnic was when my mother turned 75 in Australia. We sat in the shade on the cliffs over the Pacific. My brother and his wife provided the food. It was every type of seafood: lobster, oysters. Local crab. Prawns. Several salads. A cheese board. Champagne. We ate until we couldn’t eat any more. Then went down the cliff to swim. Came back. Tried another oyster. That was still my most perfect meal.

I can’t duplicate that but I am going to try this summer. I’ll keep you updated.

(This is China Camp, fifteen minutes from me, where I often take my picnic to eat. )

Now it’s your turn, Reds. What is your perfect summer day? Perfect summer meal?

JENN McKINLAY: Oh, Rhys, you’ve made me nostalgic for picnics. My parents were big on Sunday picnics by the lake or the ocean. It really was the perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon. I really have neglected the Hooligans horribly, no picnics that I can remember unless you include food by the campfire while camping. A perfect summer day for me would be spent with an ice cold lemonade, a cheese board and a box of pastries, sitting on a blanket with pillows under a  shade tree, reading a book. Anyone is welcome to join me, but they have to BYOB - bring your own book!

HALLIE EPHRON: Ah, picnic. I love it when someone else puts it together. Because a perfect summer day definitely has a lovely menu but please, no prep. 

When we lived in Manhattan ages ago the destination would have been Sheeps Meadow in Central Park with food picked up at Zabars. Here in New England my favorite summer place is a cottage on an island in Casco Bay, hanging out with my kids and grands, walking along the shore, dipping my toes in the icy cold water, boiling lobsters and just-picked corn, lining up at the local ice cream store, exhaling and sitting on the porch and watching the sun set. 

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: My perfect summer day/meal is a lot like Hallie’s, because it’s on the Maine coast. I’d start with baseball in the afternoon, watching our Portland Sea Dogs at historic Hadlock Field. Then, off to a lobster shack for all the goodies Hallie described, but made by someone else! I’d finish off by sitting under the stars on some friends’ patio, enjoying an icy drink while talking around the firepit. 

I have to tell you all - you don’t know summer until you’ve visited Maine!

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Rhys, I will happily take your perfect summer day! A little boat on the Thames with a picnic is just too Wind in the Willows perfect.

There will be no picnics here in Texas!! It's too hot, too humid, and too buggy. I would, however, love to sit on my deck in the cool morning with my cup of tea, watching the birds and the hummingbirds at their feeders and enjoying my flowers. Then, lunch on a patio at a nice restaurant. A nap in the afternoon, with a good book, then cooking something easy on the grill in the evening. Bliss!

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: I wake up. Someone brings me coffee, or I smell the fragrance from downstairs.  Three newspapers, a sesame bagel, and absolutely no responsibilities for the entire day. Oh, I cannot even imagine. Nothing due, no deadlines, and a great idea in the back of my mind.  It doesn't need to be glam or elaborate or planned, I just get to soak up the niceness.

LUCY BURDETTE: All of those sound so lovely! My mother was a beach hound so we spent many a summer day at the Jersey shore with sandwiches and lemonade made from a frozen can of slush. These days, I would skip the sand in the sandwiches part and order a perfect tuna melt with potato chips at the snack bar at the beach club. That would be washed down with an Arnold Palmer, half iced tea and half lemonade. Then I’d go sit in the shade and watch the grandkids frolic in the Sound.

RHYS: What about you Reddies? Your perfect summer day?

Oh and I've just realized its Friday 13th. Drive carefully, watch out for idiots!

Traveling Foodies

RHYS BOWEN: I confess. I'm a coward when it comes to food during my travels. Not having the strongest stomach in the world I have never eaten the more adventurous things like fried grasshoppers in Thailand. My husband, on the other hand, has a cast-iron stomach and will happily graze from stalls in markets wherever we are.

But it's memories of food that take me back to a place more vividly than any snapshot, so I've been trying to recall some memorable meals from my travels. I've eaten spectacular Indian curries and Chinese banquets, but what immediately came into my head was my time in Greece.

When I was a student I spent three months going around Greece with a backpack. My friend and i had no money so we ate in cheap cafes or from street vendors. In the cafes in small towns we were always the only women and the men would look up from their domino games to eye us with suspicion.
But my memories of that food are wonderful. Gyros made with lamb sliced from a carcass still turning on a spit, stuffed peppers snd tomatoes, moussaka. The convention was to go through the cafe into the kitchen, check out what was cooking and order what we liked the look of.
But my favorite meals were on the island of Aegina where we rented a tiny cabin. The cafe was just a shack on the waterfront and every day they cooked whatever fish they had caught that day. We'd eat the octopus we saw them catch earlier, banging it on the rocks like laundry to tenderize it. We'd eat whole grilled fish, or even a frito misto of stir fried whatever. All wonderful and washed down with retsina for which we developed a taste. Then strolling home through twilight olive groves, a trifle tipsy, while Greek music floated to us across the water. I'm smiling now as I think of it.

So who would like to share a travel food memory?

LUCY BURDETTE: I will never forget a roasted chicken with the most crispy skin garnished by a lentil salad in a cafe in Paris. We had a splendid cassoulet on the same trip--I think there had been an article about Parisian food in the LA Times. Did not write them down and have never been able to find them since...

HALLIE EPHRON: As you might imagine, I travel on my stomach. Oh, Rhys, your description of eating in Greece brought back memories. We ate ate a restaurant with fishing boats right outside; they beat the octupi and hung them to dry, so when you order it the chef ran across and grabbed a few.

But for favorite? SOOOO hard. I'd have to say dinner at Ristorante Miky in Monterosso al Mare -- across the street from the beach in this spectacular town in the Cinque Terra in Italy. The meal began with anchovies. Not the kind you get in the can, these are fresh caught right there. About 5 inches long by 3 inches wide, cured in a lemony brine and oil. Exquisite! Then fresh, tender homemade tagliatelle with langoustine.

RHYS: Hallie, I've eaten there! I stayed in Monterosso with my hiking friends when we hiked the Cinque Terre trail and we had a seafood risotto for all of us, cooked under a giant pizza crust that ballooned up like a huge mushroom. Then the owner pierced it and all that lovely vapor came out. Ahhh.

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Oh, fabulous food in Mexico, Italy, France, especially traveling with my parents on Frommer's $25 a Day (remember those?) and eating in working class cafes in France and Italy. Lunch at Gordon Ramsay Claridge's. BUT--can you guess? Last fall I ate at a restaurant called Joanna's in Crystal Palace, south London. They are famous for their mussels, so we that for starters with fresh artisan bread from the next door bakery. I have seldom been so tempted to lick the bowl. Then, roast belly of Suffolk pork, with winter greens and creamy mash (potatoes) in an apple and ginger sauce. And (can you guess again?) Sticky Toffee pudding for dessert. Everything was absolute perfection.

ROSEMARY HARRIS: I think I've already relayed my Paul Bocuse and Fish A/Fish B story. I'm not particularly adventurous when it comes to food - I passed on all the the exotic offerings in the Beijing food market (I think glazed sheep testicles on a stick were there, next to the chocolate covered grasshoppers!) I remember a wonderful meal in Avignon at a restaurant around the corner from La Mirande - but don't ask me what it was! I had asked for a vegetarian meal and they whipped up someting that was fantastic.

The one I do remember? It was the day after my first book came out and I had just flown to Phoenix for a gig at Poisoned Pen. I was starving and pulled into the lot across the street from the bookstore. The door was locked but I saw a few people inside and tapped on the window. The owner was closing up but took pity on me. His employee set one table, and lit candles while the owner - who said I'd have to take pot luck made me a plate with cold chicken pesto and a small salad. It was fabulous and every time I go back to PP I try to go to Cafe Monarch in Scottsdale!

HANK PHILLIPI RYAN: (RO, that's lovely--I hope to be there smeday!) For me--Pizza--in France! We were at the Michel Giraud restaurant/hotel in the town of Pau. The chef made pizza with fresh tomatoes right out of a lush garden-and it was the most intense! (In French, I think it's pissaladiere.) But you know--I had a memorable meal right here in the US..at the Four Seasons in Boston. PERFECT salad, perfect steak with blue cheese, perfect broccolini and some caulflower/potato thing with truffles. I also love when Jonathan grills out in our back yard..

JAN BROGAN _ The freshness of the tomatoes and cucumbers and the honey and yoghurt in Crete. Closer to home, but just as memorable, eating lobster bought on the docks of Cuttyhunk, cooked and eaten while on a the cockpit of a sailboat with the added pleasure of tossing the shells right back into the sea.It's really the only way you should eat lobster.

RHYS: Are you drooling yet? Do these memories evoke any of your own? Who has actually tried the fried grasshoppers? Actually I have eaten prairie oysters so I guess I'm a tad adventurous

On picnics, fireworks, and fire trucks...

Another July 4. Usually it's the sizzle of barbecues and sun. This year in New England we’ve had the wettest, darkest, dankest June and early July ever. But still we pack up our swim suits and towels and head down to Long Pond in Plymouth where friends own a slice of an old Girl Scout camp situated on Long Pond. They sleep in what was once the camp’s infirmary (there's still a red cross on the door).

Get there early enough (we don't) and you’d be in time to attend the annual flag raising and a reading of the Declaration of Independence, an event that has taken place in a little grassy clearing every July 4 for more than 50 years. It’s an informal affair with maybe thirty people. We walk back after and our friend Joe turns down his outdoor smoker where he's been smoking brisket and ribs for the last 12 hours. Patty-Joe Bakes the world’s best blueberry pie. Lots of grandkids arrive.

This year we were afraid we be getting another kind of fireworks--thunder and lightning. Turned out to be a spectacularly beautiful night. On the drive home, we enjoyed the splashes of fireworks that erupted from the sides of the road.

What are your July 4 traditions?

JAN: I have a confession to make. I hate fireworks. Mostly because my kids were terrified when they were small and it was always a problem. But also because they just seem like the same loud thing over and over. My poor husband, who loves fireworks, thinks the rest of us are killjoys. Which we are.

We don't have a single tradition, but we either go the (Martha's) Vineyard to barbeque with friends and check out the Edgartown Parade, or go to my sister-in-law's house here, outside Boston, to swim. This year I'll be packing all weekend to leave for France on Monday. That's not very patriotic, is it?

HALLIE: Fireworks scare me, too. If only they didn't go boom. And hanging out on the Esplanade there are always a few idiots who think it's cool to toss cherry bombs into the crowd. But watching a great fireworks display is truly breathtaking. If only you could hit the mute button.

LATE BREAKING BULLETIN - Jan broke down and braved the Esplanade Fourth of July Fireworks, and had a great time. "They were terrific!" Here's her photo.

ROBERTA: Oh I'm so jealous of your trip to France Jan!

As for the holiday, I love living in our small shoreline town where the Fourth is thoroughly celebrated. I started with the farmer's market yesterday (crammed with summer tourists who can sniff out a good thing,) then the fireworks, which we watch from some rocks on the beach nearby. It doesn't provide quite the same oomph as close up, but you can't beat the spot for no traffic and crowds. The mosquitoes were wicked this year because of all the rain. And finally this morning, our town parade. We get everything from Jazzercize to the town selectmen, to the Shriners, to fife and drum bands, to our very own fire engine. We hoot and holler at everyone we know as they go by.

HANK: As a reporter ,there are no holidays. So for years, I worked on the Fourth--but sometime was lucky enough to cover the fireworks (I love them!) on Boston's Esplanade. It's a truly different experience to go as reporter. Instead of waiting on the incredibly crowded lawn for hours and sitting with--what, half a million people? You just zoom up in the news van, park right behind the Hatch Shell (where the performance is) and stand in the front row. Of course, you have to be on the air five or six times, so there's no relaxation! And when the fireworks are over, you're still at work. But I loved it.

But now, we sit with friends in our back yard, listening to the Boston Pops on the radio, and have lobsters and corn and rose wine and ginger ice cream with raspberries. And--if you look in just the right spot between the branches of the sugar maple--you can see the tops of the Newton town fireworks.

HALLIE: Ooooh, that sounds (and looks) delicious.

RO: I was more of a sparkler kid than a firecracker kid. I just didn't get what was so great about something that sounded like a car backfiring and left little bits of paper all over the sidewalk. (I was a tidy child.)

Serious fireworks on the other hand are pretty nice. I don't go out of my way to see them but I usually watch from my terrace in NY on New Year's Eve. And last week I saw some pretty cool ones when I was on top of the Eiffel Tower.

Nothing but noise this year in Connecticut. And my husband forced me to sit through the movie 1776, which is one of the worst musicals I've ever seen - and over three hours long. That's what I get for making him watch Easter Parade every year.

HALLIE: Ah, yes, sparklers. I loved them, too. And we used to get these little things we called snakes...like a teensy weensy, miniature hockey pucks that you lit and coils of ash erupted from them. Mesmerizing.

On the side, is anyone watching the new Miss Marple on PBS? Last night it was "A Pocket Full of Rye" -- such a clever, intricate plot. The actress playing The Marvelous Miss M (Julia McKenzie) doesn't quite match the standard set by Joan Hickson--but who could?

Independence Day traditions? Any baton twirlers out there? Miss Marple? Where are you this Monday after?

Acting on Impulse

Rhys: I've decided that I've been too sensible for most of my life. I was a good child (except for sneaking out of church to raid the cookie jar at my friend's aunt's house) and even a good teenager and college student. I can't really think of too many wild and crazy things I've done in my life, but last week I almost remedied this.

We were driving through New York State on the way back from a conference in Canada. We had dinner at a seafood restaurant in Albany. I confess that I had lobster and didn't give it a second thought. Then on the way out I was waiting by the lobster tank as my husband went to the rest room when I saw one lobster. All the other lobsters in the tank were lying passively, accepting their fate. This one was not prepared to go gentle into that good night. He was swimming anxiously around his portion of the tank, checking every side, coming up to the surface and then going down again to see if there was any way out.
The tank was divided into three portions, for the various weights of lobsters. He found that he could put a claw under a glass partition. Then he wedged it higher and higher until he oculd get both claws and then part of his head under it. But he couldn't hold it up while he slipped under it. But he didn't give up. He kept on trying and swimming while his fellows lay there.

When John returned from the restroom he was met with the words, "Where is the nearest ocean to here?"
He thought for a moment. "Long Island, perhaps?"
"Could a lobster survive in a plastic bag that long, do you think?" I asked.
Okay, so I had this wild and crazy impulse to buy that lobster and set him free. I felt so strongly about it that I was prepared to drive miles out of our way to bring this about. Eventually John made me see sense--I was due to fly out to Chicago the next morning, with no time to drive to any seashore, and it was highly unlikely that the lobster would survive if he was dumped off Coney Island. So I left my lobster, swimming desperately around,trying to squeeze through to another section of the tank, not knowing that it was hopeless.And I'm still feeling bad. I could have done it. I could have driven an extra hundred miles or so.

So I'm asking my fellow JRRs--have you ever done something crazy on impulse?

JAN: Almost doing something on impulse? Yes. Actually following through on impulse? Not so much.
But I was impressively impulsive and stupid during my teenage years. Must have used up all that wild, insane, energy.

HALLIE: After torturing my daughters by singing along with the radio in the car, dancing to the muzak in the supermarket, skipping in the mall, and wearing my draw-string pajama bottoms outside to go pick up the newspaper off the lawn, I toned down my crazy impulsiveness, such as it was. Now that they’re grownups, it’s nearly impossible to embarrass them. I do miss it.

RO: That's a great story...it's like the kid in E.T. who frees the frogs in biology class. I don't think I've really been impulsive for a long time. I do have this "hey kids, let's put on a show" chip. I think in a previous lifetime I was in an old Mickey Rooney movie. That sometimes strikes people as impulsive.

HANK: I know my mother isn't reading this, so I'll now admit that in college, a group of us from my school in Ohio (all women) had spent the weekend at a men's college (in Indiana). We were driving us back--and decided to go to New York City instead. We told my parents the "truth" when we stopped off to get provisions: "Where are you headed next?" "New York! ha ha."
So they thought it was a joke. But we drove for hours, stayed in a hotel (couches and floor) saw a Broadway show and came back. Very very wild. And very very innocent. (Sam Creigh? Are you out here?)
These days? Well, once I had a whole dessert. And once? I stayed up past midnight.

RHYS: I remember climbing in through someone's window in college because the door was looked at 10 p.m. I also remember sharing a flat in London and getting wild urges to go out for fish and chips at 3 a.m--wandering all over London looking for a fish shop that was still open (and one was) And now I'm about to write a vampire book,which is wild and crazy for me...

So how about it, blog-visitors: any wild and crazy things to report? I'm sure you have more to report than our comparatively tame adventures.