The Thumbscrew Circus Blog

SLACK TIME (Unedited version. Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-09-04T05:16:00.000-07:00

Hookin' Up With The Salties...

The sunshine was framed in my rearview mirror. Looking at the darkening skies ahead, it was obvious that the day I thought I was going to have had made a complete 1-80. 5 miles ago there wasn’t a cloud to be had. 5 miles ago Ali reminded me about the sun block. 5 miles ago when I opted for nothing but a bathing suit and a t-shirt…That was the longest 5 mile drive of my life.

Arriving at the first meeting place, I reluctantly pushed my truck door open against the wind and stepped out into the frigid air. “Wow! We weren’t expecting this weather! You gonna be warm enough? You might want to put this in your kayak” he said eyeing my clueless garb (and adding to the growing realization that I looked as out of place as a hot dog vendor at a vegan picnic). The he was a Cape Cod Saltie named Bill Dulude. A thin, friendly fellow with a scraggly beard, a huge grin and glasses that made him look like a college professor. The this was a black garbage bag with the built in yellow ties at the opening. He threw it in the backseat and we loaded up the kayaks and fishing gear into the bed of my truck, and headed to Gray’s Beach landing to meet the rest of the guys.
In the parking lot, Bill and the 4 other Salties went through their well rehearsed rounds of securing layers of clothing and packing various gear into weather proof containers. I stood there staring down at my garbage bag. I knew what it was for, but this was my first outing with the Cape Cod Salties Sportfishing Club and there was no way in Hell I was going to wear a garbage bag in front of “the guys”. Wanting to shoot some photos of them fishing while the skies had a smidgen of friendliness left, I wrapped the camera around my neck, defiantly stuffed the garbage bag down into the far front of my kayak, and shoved off.

Trying to grab something out of the far front of your kayak can be tricky. About 25 minutes into our adventure the wind started hurling stinging pellets of rain at an alarming rate. I was convulsing through a cloak-and-dagger ballet--praying I wouldn’t end up in the drink while swapping camera for garbage bag. In the distance I could hear the guys joking with each other. “We must be the only idiots out here”, one Saltie announced. Another replying, “Maybe not the only ones, but certainly the biggest ones!”. In spite of the fact that the fish were nowhere to be seen, and that everyone was soaked to the bone, there was a good time still echoing across the darkening marsh. “How deep is the water here?” one of the guys inquires. “It varies depending on the depth.” is the answer. More laughter fills the air, which causes the rain and wind to stop mattering. In spite of the storm, and in spite of the embarrassing realization that rain hitting a garbage bag sounds exactly like bacon frying in a pan, a moment such as this--the camaraderie, the waving sea grass, the scattering Terns--cannot be ignored. More often that once I can hear a Saltie earnestly say to another “Man, it is beautiful out here.”

The goal that day was a simple one. Meet at the landing at 9am for a few hours of Bass fishing from kayaks. In spite of the Cape Cod Salties Sportfishing Club boasting over 200 members, the group this chilly morning consists of only a few--5 guys, all retired, and me, the newest member. Ex-Saltie president Bill Dulude was the one to take me under his “gill” and introduce me to the club. Bill is a payroll specialist who works for the Visiting Nurses Association in Hyannis. The 2 guys dishing out the 1-liners are Vinny Foti, the vice president of the club and retired dean of Discipline in the Yonkers school district, and Steve Unsworth, a former chief of police in Waltham. I’m also paddling along side Dick Powell, a retired footwear salesman and David Talmanson, an ex-electrical engineer. 5 guys from totally different backgrounds, brought together by things swimming beneath their kayaks. “How long ‘til slack?” David asks. “We’re just about there”, Steve answers, “We‘ll turn back at slack time”. I pause to think about that for a moment. Slack time. I wait until the group paddle ahead, as to not ask a dumb question in front of them. “When the tide is going in or out it always pulls your fishing line tight”, Bill explains. “At the time when the tide turns the lack of current creates a stillness that you can see by the slack in your line.” Just then the rain starts to slow, and stops for a moment. In unison, all 5 men stop paddling, quietly pull out their fishing rods, and softly cast into the still of the changing tide. zzzzzzzzzzzplop! One after another. zzzzzzzzzzzplop! into the still Cape Cod waters. All is silent now…except for the occasional crinkling of a garbage bag.

Soon the rain starts to pick up again, as do the fishing rods, and I’m relieved that they guys start paddling at a good clip back to land. For whatever reason the fish were just not biting, in spite of reports of recent fishing in the area being excellent (and if they were biting I’m sure the paddle to land might not have been so swift). Vinny had the only catch of the day, a striper way too small to keep. I offer to take a picture of his prize and “photo shop” it for bragging rights, but my camera lens is somehow busted and rattling like a 3 pack a day smoker--which is pretty much par for the course at this point. I From shore someone yells over the loud rain and bacon frying sounds “Are you a kayak tour group!?” “No, we’re Salties!” Vinny announces. “So am I!“, the figure yells back, “Come on over to my house for some hot coffee…I live up the road!” Appreciating the offer, Vinny retorts with a warning, “You don’t want us in your house--we’re muddy and soaked.” “That’s OK“, he says, “My wife’s away!”
We load up our kayaks, hop in our vehicles and crank up the heaters. I have to get back to the Inn, so I bid a fond farewell to the guys. They are apologetic about the way the day turned out, but really, I’m thrilled to have had this day. The topping would have been to have that coffee with them, but alas, work beckons.

On my drive home I reflect on the first time I heard about the Cape Cod Salties. There was in an article in the newspaper some years ago. A couple of hundred men, woman and children showed up at West Dennis Beach for the Salties annual “Learn How to Fish Day”. Attendees were taught how to fly fish, shore fish, unhook their catch, and which bait attract what fish. The rumor was that year that the Salties had even flown in the World’s #1 knot tying expert all the way from Australia. (Note: This ended up to be a prank set forth by Vinny, who told all the kids that it was Steve who was the knot-tying celebrity--forcing Steve to come up with his best Aussie accent for the remainder of the day to assure the kids weren‘t disappointed).

The Cape Cod Salties Sportfishing Club was founded in 1959 by commercial striped bass fishermen concerned with access to the shoreline fishery in Chatham, and looking for a way to promote their interests to the community. The Bass were in abundance then, and multiple catches of 30 to 50 pound fish from the beach were the norm. The Schaeffer Brewing Company sponsored a fishing derby for cash and prizes, and Salties took on the competition of other fishing clubs, as they still do today. In 1975 the club opened its doors to recreational fishermen as well as those with commercial interests, which boosted membership significantly.

In addition to “Learn How To Fish Day”, their community services include clean up and maintenance of local Herring runs, beach and canal clean-ups, and kid’s fishing derbies. Recreational outings are many, and can range from small kayak fishing trips to chartering larger vessels at membership discounted rates. They organize a members only 9-month long derby, and to tip the hat to the female members, host a Salties Ladies Appreciation Dinner. Each month they host a workshop covering subjects like Early Season Striper Fishing, Big Tuna From Small Boats and Getting the Most Out of the Fall Run. The schedule is furnished in “The Backlash”, their monthly newsletter packed with “save the dates”, sign up sheets, fishing maps, fishing “hot spots“, updated regulations, and members discounts to local retailers . I read in The Backlash that this months meeting will be substituted with a Cod Dinner and Tackle Swap at a whopping $5.00 per person (that is not a type-o). “Women are encouraged to attend to add class and decorum to this group” Salties president Bill Cottle insists. I sign myself and Ali up, and send in my 10 bucks.

We arrive at the Yarmouth Senior Center precisely at 5:30 to witness our first pre-dinner tackle swap. Off in the corner stands a long row of tables displaying new and used fly fishing lures, reels, rods, videos, hats-- items mostly priced less than the dinner itself. I lean in to get a better look at some of the lures, and to hear Vinny explaining the various applications for each one. I have a nice assortment of lures at home, and although I really don’t fish much (hopefully this will change), I’ve always found them to be entertaining as a decoration or clothing accessory. Balancing my ignorance, Vinny is a wealth of information.

An hour later dinner is served. In the middle of the dining hall, 4 long rows of tables stretch out, enabling about 80 men and women to dine family-style. Volunteers rush out of the kitchen juggling dozens of oversized loaves of piping hot bread, oozing with butter. The bread is passed from one diner to the next, along with trays of salads while fishing stories, local gossip, and general community concerns fill the hall. Many of the Salties are familiar to me--perhaps from bumping into them at the post office or general store. The ones that aren’t soon become friends as well.

In between the salad and main event, Bill Cottle makes a few quick announcements about upcoming events, and hands out some plaques thanking volunteers for their recent community service. Just as the Cod makes its fist appearance, I glimpse the evening’s chef peeking out through the kitchen door, a Saltie by the name of Lou MacKeil. Even a land lubber like myself recognizes the face. Lou is considered by many to be “the” angling expert on Cape Cod. His knowledge of Cape Cod fishing is mind-boggling, and many of the local stories involving Lou are legendary. Lou has turned several casual anglers into full-fledged fishoholic through a fishing course he teaches at Nauset Community Educational School, as well as Sandwich Community School.
Finally the Cod arrives, thick and superb, and flanked with vegetables, lemon wedges and a twice-baked potato. I inquire at the table about the ingredients and am immediately smacked down, being told that Lou never gives out the recipe. “He’ll tell you about his favorite fishing spots--even take you there himself, but he won’t give out the recipe!” I can decipher the classic Ritz cracker topping, but there’s more going on. Ali takes a couple stabs at the ingredients, but before long we’re contently stuffing our faces. The Cod is as fresh a fish as I’ve ever eaten, and if I had payed 6 times for this meal in a restaurant I would have been totally content--at $5 a plate, I am blown away.
In 1 week my $30 yearly membership has bought me an unforgettable day on a kayak, a opportunity to meet dozens of fascinating people, a laundry list of activities to look forward to, and the most extravagant meal a paper plate has ever seen.

My talk of being a land-lubber and using lures as jean jacket bling is in no way a reflection of someone who doesn’t enjoy being out on the water. On the contrary, we moved to Cape Cod some years ago because of it’s incredible beauty and awesome resources. But being a long way from retirement…running an inn…taking on side jobs and volunteer work, sometimes a person needs a reminder to make more time for themselves. My intervention came from a bunch of people who call themselves “the Salties”. Now, when the tide starts to turn…and my line finally starts to show signs of a little slack, I’ll throw a raincoat in with the sun block and know who to turn to for a little adventure.
~Tom D

For a list of up coming events, or to become a member the Cape Cod Salties Sportfishing Club: www.capecodsalties.com.

To attend Lou MacKeils’s “Catch a Fish” class:
www.nausetcommunityed.org or www.scslearn.org

To get Edible Cape Cod to show up in your mailbox: www.ediblecapecod.com

The Jerk Cafe (Unedited version. Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-09-04T05:14:00.000-07:00

“The pursuit of pleasure must be da goal of every rational person, mon “
~Voltaire

Ok, maybe Voltaire didn’t have a Jamaican accent, but the man had a good philosophy. The Jerk Café in South Yarmouth has been a pleasure pursuer’s paradise for almost a year now. From the exterior we could hear owner Glenroy “Shrimpy” Burke belting out Bob Marley tunes across the parking lot. Inside, the tiny walls are covered with Jamaican beach scenes, and the smell of island spices swirl around the open kitchen along with the thumping reggae. I order one of their specialties, the Jerk Pork Sandwich ($5.99). Within minutes, Shrimpy’s daughter Tamoya delivers the goods, served on a fluffy roll with lettuce and tomato…and a tiny plastic cup on the side. “Special spicy jerk sauce”, we’re told. The sauce is scotch bonnet pepper based with “7 herbs and 4 spices”, not one name of which I can pry out of Shrimpy. Scotch bonnets are the firey cousin to the habanero, so the heat is definitely there, but unlike many spicy sauces, the flavors rise above the heat. The tender pork tasted like it had been braised for hours, but was cooked in 20 minutes (this fast-cooking method is another of Shrimpy’s secrets). The food is delicious and leaves me curious for more, so I finish my friend’s “Jamaican cole slaw” before ordering up a side of Conch Gumbo. Tomorrow I’m going back for a breakfast burrito--or maybe ribs for dinner, who knows. I‘m sure of one thing, if Voltaire were alive today he’d be burning down route 28 to a Smugglers Beach picnic with the scent of jerk spices flowing behind him. ~ Tom Dott

The Jerk Café
1319 Main Street/Rt. 28 in South Yarmouth. 508-394-1944
Hours: 10:30am - 10pm daily (11:30am Sundays).

Got Edible? www.ediblecapecod.com

Cape Cod Beer (Unedited Version. Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-07-02T11:59:00.000-07:00

A Bigger and Badder Trend-Bucking Brewery

It was February on Cape Cod…and I bailed. From the packed beaches of summer, to the mystical fall evenings, Cape Cod is my year-round sanctuary, but this winter I went for the self-eject button. I had a driveway entombed in ice, a frozen pipe choking my shower, and a breeze coming through our old windows that could extinguish a birthday cake. Typical Cape Cod weather, yes, but this year seemed extra challenging.
I was recently in my favorite book shop in Dennis when I was informed that the store was going out of business. "Jeez, not here too", I moaned, having one of my favorite restaurants close it’s doors earlier in the year. That night I threw out my white flag like a ref calling a personal fowl and booked a flight to Costa Rica. Ali was there on a girl’s get-away, so I phoned her and asked her to stay for an extra week…"Desperately needing a change of scenery", I said.

Just days before wheels up, I was running the pre-vacation errand marathon when I ran into Todd Marcus, owner of Cape Cod Beer in Hyannis. Todd informed me that the expansion of the brewery was beginning. Having heard mumblings of such an expansion, I was happy to hear that things were going forward. "Stop by and see the plans before you go", Todd suggested. This oddly adds to my to-do list, as my preparation for a 1-week getaway rivals a normal person preparing for 18 months in the Biosphere. My entire existence must be in order prior to departure, down to the tiniest detail, so justifying that I really should have beer waiting for me upon my return was easy. “See you tomorrow”, I promised Todd.
Exhausted and frantic near the next day’s end, I arrived at the brewery with my empty growler. Todd's wife and business partner Beth came out to greet me, and invited me in for a peek (for the deprived, a growler is a 64-ounce jug that's used, in this case, to hold beer).
Construction had yet to start, but you could feel the expansion drums pounding. Beth’s office had been moved to a temporary space, as her old office space would soon be gone, and all around was that natural clutter that inevitably happens before a major renovation. It’s that everything-you-own-is-going-to-be-displaced-to-a-new-home-so-why-put-it-back type of thinking.
Beth led me up a steep wooden staircase and into Todd’s office where I could see the plans for the “new” brewery. The office was decorated in early orangutan wedding reception (that pre-construction clutter), but on closer inspection resembled a war room--decorated in precise floor plans (Todd's own design) and marker boards with pre-construction checklists. On the far wall, illuminated by a projector, blazed the Marcus’ Grand Scheme. Beth hit the lights, Todd clicked his laser pointer, and off we went on a virtual walk-through of a bigger and better brewery.

The renovations promised to be massive. Giant, towering walls are to be removed, one cinder block at a time. Offices will be relocated to floors that don't yet exist, and their 18 x 14 retail space will be super-sized to create a "welcome center" of local Cape Cod products for purchase. Plans also include an additional tasting bar, a conference room, a larger viewing area, and a looped video tour of the brewery (for visitors who miss Beth's popular Tuesday morning and Saturday afternoon guided tours).

The expansion of the facility is all the more impressive when you think that Todd and Beth Marcus started their brewery not that long ago--back in April of 2004. Prior to launching Cape Cod Beer, Todd was armed to the teeth with beer-making experience, starting with homebrewing in 1991. His love affair with beer was kicked up a notch when a friend and fellow “beer geek” invited Todd to a brewer’s dinner in Somerville in 1995. He continued the next few years perfecting his craft--first at Long Trail Brewery in Vermont , followed by Sunday River Brewing Company in Maine. The day after their wedding in 1997, Todd and Beth packed their bags and moved to Springfield , Pennsylvania , where Todd became head brewer of John Harvard’s Brew House (this is a great example of how driven these two people are—simultaneously plotting a wedding, a move and a career change). Pennsylvania is where Todd really branched out, building the brewery out from the ground up and being an integral part of the daily operation of the pub/restaurant. It is also at John Harvard’s where Todd starts spending much more time talking to fellow brewers and attending national conferences and competitions, and even won a silver medal at Chicago’s Real Ale Festival for his IPA (India Pale Ale) recipe.
In 1998, with the first of two babies in tow, the Marcus’ made their move to Cape Cod, where Todd landed a job at the Hyannisport Brewing Company. On the Cape, Todd instantly connected to the community, hosting homebrew club meetings, giving out advice to brewer newbies, running educational programs, and starting a small business called Cape Cod Homebrew Supply. In 2003 he decided that it was time to create his own brand, and the rest, as they say, is delicious history.

* * *

Waiting for my connecting flight in Miami, I stepped out of the airport into the thick Florida heat. The palm trees lazily bowed in the breeze, and I could almost taste the fresh citrus and coconut on my tongue. From a commercial van, a man appeared dodging hotel shuttles and wearing a company t-shirt that read TIT Electrical Engineers. On the back of the shirt read simply "TIT" garnished with a smiling lightening bolt. He looked like a serious person, and I was certain the absurdity of the acronym was lost on him. It's surprising how some people choose to present their business to the world, and my thoughts turned to the brewery. From their logo to their product line of T-shirts, growler coolers, and beyond, the Marcus’ have created a slick and sexy brand. Cape Cod Beer was recently awarded their third Edible Community's Local Hero Award, and a Green Binnie award from the state of Massachusetts for their "earth friendly" efforts. Their beer seems to flow at the majority of fund raisers and charity events I attend, which not only makes them more recognizable in a marketing sense, it takes beer to a higher level of importance in our local community. Recently their beer has spilled out well beyond our community, as their “sexy branding” is backed up with a serious product that’s gaining national attention.
At the Great International Beer Festival (GIBF) in Providence, Rhode Island in November of 2008, our own Cape Cod Beer won a gold medal in the American Amber Ale category for its Cape Cod Red ale, and a gold medal in the Wheat Beer category for its Dunkel Weizen. A total of 187 beers from 39 breweries representing 10 states entered the competition. The beer was judged by 45 professional brewers and industry journalists in a blind tasting. “This was a great achievement for us”, explained Todd. “The other winners in our categories are serious national brands, so being the gold medal winner in a highly competitive category with breweries like Coors, Flying Dog, Rogue and Long Trail says a lot about our commitment to quality, and our ability to make world class beers right here on Cape Cod”.

* * *

A few days of fresh, Pacific coast snapper and Costa Rican beer and rum, I was thawing nicely. At the beach I picked up an American newspaper that someone left behind. Slapped all over the front page was the gloom of rising unemployment, business closings, and political quagmire. I closed the paper and stuffed it deep into our beach bag, and once again my mind returns to the expansion of the brewery. Just before leaving, Beth and Todd informed me that by summer they would have to hire several more employees, essentially doubling their team. But this is par for the course as the Marcus’ haven’t stopped growing the business from its inception. Opening with only 2 beers--their IPA and signature “Red”--the brewery now offers a new "Beach Blonde Ale" (their lightest) and “Cape Cod Summer” in the warmer months and “Cape Cod Porter” during the chill. Seasonally they also offer the afore mentioned “Dunkel Weizen”, “Old Man Winter”, “Stellwagon Stout”, “Thanksgiving Spiced Ale” and a “Berry Merry Christmas Ale” for the holiday. In their first year Cape Cod Beer was selling to 12 restaurants out of a 600 square foot room. By the summer of ’05, they had raised that number to 50. Currently you can grab a Cape Cod Beer at over 300 restaurant and retail locations, and our "little brewery on Phinney's Lane" now has a 133,000 gallon per year brewing capacity.

Their was an irony in the realization that when the scariness of life found me on a Costa Rican beach, I returned to Cape Cod in my mind, and specifically to a little business that seems to be bucking economic trends. Cape Cod Beer was expanding, and that made me feel good.
Soon after returning home from my trip I swung by the brewery for a progress report. Employee Scott Ogden was manning the taps in high spirits, while 4-year veteran Brian Flagg kept the construction dust at bay. I asked Todd if all was on schedule and grinning he announced, “Yep! We open April 1st, and that’s no foolin’!”--and I knew that he wasn't. Old walls were now gone, new walls had risen, and standing in the now 5000 square foot main floor, I couldn’t help but feel proud to have such a brewery in my own backyard. By the time you read this article, Cape Cod Beer will be back in full swing.

I’m certainly no shrink, but I can offer some sound advise…If life's worries are beating you down, and if feels that not even an exotic beach can warm up your soul, swing by the brewery and fill up a growler. This prescription truly works. Todd and Beth Marcus have a sign that occasionally welcomes visitors which reads "Drink more beer." If I may add to that, I’d say "Drink more Cape Cod Beer.”

~ Tommy Dott

Not subscribed to Edible Cape Cod Magazine yet? You're missing the boat! http://www.ediblecpacod.com/

The Vines That Bind (Unedited Version. Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-06-11T13:12:00.000-07:00

Palio’s Pizza Boss Paul Mazzio keeps a tradition alive…and for all the right reasons...

The message from the Edible Cape Cod office went something like this:
"Paul Mazzio of Palio’s Pizza is making his wine again. If you want to see the process, get to The Kandy Korner on Main Street in Hyannis. Be there Saturday at 10am".
Now who could refuse an invitation like that? Paul--who I had met briefly only once before--was making wine…at a candy store…on a Saturday morning??? The cryptic invitation held enormous intrigue, and enjoying the tone of espionage, I responded with something to the affect of "The red raven flies at dawn", which I assumed they understood as "I’ll be there".

Arriving at The Kandy Korner on a rainy September morning, I was escorted to the side alley and down a steep wooden staircase leading into a Cape Cod cellar, where Paul Mazzeo was holding court--albeit in a tiny, musty, stone-walled court. He introduced his two cousins Bob and Pat, who had driven over from Monroe, Connecticut to witness Paul’s once-a-year tradition. Fellow cellar dwellers Dianne and Doug Langeland from Edible Cape Cod were also present with camera in hand. Paul announced that it would be about an hour until his brother, Robert, arrived with the goods: 720 pounds of juicy, sun-kissed Cabernet Sauvignon grapes from Lodi, California. Robert had picked them up from the shipping destination, not far from his home in Easton, Connecticut. I was pleased to hear there’d be a wait, as I still was not exactly sure why we were in a cellar…under a candy store…on a Saturday morning, and it gave me time to get to know the "man behind the cask".

In spite of his modest interjections like "I hope I’m not boring you," Paul’s career time line is an interesting one. Here’s a guy that arrived from Bridgeport, Connecticut in 1978 and bought a candy store on Cape Cod simply because, he explains, "I worked at a Friendly’s restaurant, observed how a business is run, and I liked working with people". When asked about the inception of his highly respected Palio’s Pizza across the street in 2005, his answer is just as unaffected, "I make a great pizza—and the area needed a great pizza".

The keys to Paul’s successes are as straight forward as his reasoning. One key is quality control. His ice cream and fudge, which are made in house, as well as the pizza ingredients at Palio’s, are made from high quality ingredients. "When a purveyor wants to sell me a product because it’s cheaper and can increase my profit margin I just want to…" He stops, and is obviously a bit annoyed by this concept. "Well I just want to tell them this!" (I won’t mention what hand gesture Paul makes, but we’ve all seen it before…and know what it means). The other key to success is to not get too comfortable--keep things fresh, and keep people interested. Recent examples involve the future plans for cheese making classes at the restaurant, as well as the recently launched "Palio’s pizza dough-to-go"—a way for customers to pick up the raw key ingredient to one of the Cape’s best pizzas. Take home a large or small size pizza dough, roll it out, slap on some sauce, load on the cheese, and Fuhgetaboutit! You’ve turned your kitchen into
a pizza parlor faster than you can say "leave the gun, take the cannolis". With pizza dough-to-go the possibilities are endless…freeze the dough for a rainy day, host a build-your-own-pizza party, wow your buddies with oven fresh pizza for the Pat’s game, and, forget about oysters guys--you make her oven fresh pizza? And sprinkle on her favorite toppings??? Now that’s an aphrodisiac!

Eventually the conversation turned from dough (and aphrodisiacs), to wine making.
In keeping with his business approach of I want to do it, so I’ll do it, Paul wanted to
create wine like his Italian ancestors did, and not from a kit bought on line. He looked to his friend Eddie Giavannone, who learned the trade from his father, Tony. Both Tony and Eddie took Paul under their wing and taught him the proper way to make wine, the way Tony’s father and Grandfather taught him.
As Paul begins describing the process of wine making, the squeal of pickup truck brakes echo above us in the driveway. The grapes have arrived and the hands-on part of our lesson is about to begin!
Climbing to the top of the steep staircase we find ourselves under a worn out and frayed pop-up tent, which wasn’t there when we arrived--obviously Paul’s soldiers had been busy setting up camp while we were chatting below. Paul’s long time friend (and owner of Cook’s Seafood) Frank Whelan, seems to know the drill and has everything needed to crush grapes underneath the dripping tent. Brother Robert is there, as are friends Paulo and Thiago who arrive to help (note: the next time you are leaving The Kandy Korner with fresh ice cream and delicious home made fudge smeared all over your face, thank Paulo—he’s the guy in the window--making it). Before we begin, Paul takes a vine from the crate and offers us a taste. The Lodi region boasts itself to be the "Zinfandel capital of the World", but the Cabernet grapes we sample are exquisite. We are told that these 720 pounds of grapes will yield about 56 gallons of wine—or as Paul affectionately calls it "Vino Della Casa Mazzeo".
One by one, crates are carefully turned over into a contraption to be juiced, and I am charmed by the simplicity of the science of wine making.

"What do you call the thing that crushes the grapes?" I ask Paul.
"It’s called a crusher".
"What do you call the thing under it that separates the stems?"
"That’s a de-stemmer".
I didn’t have to ask what the juice and grape skins were collecting in. I knew the answer…a garbage can.

As the first crate of grapes are split open, and the sweet smell of fruit permeates the chilly air, Jeff Anderson of The Wine List in Hyannis trots down the driveway (this was predictable—sniffing out grapes is Jeff’s sixth sense). As the grapes continue to be dropped into the crusher--which doesn’t so much "crush" them as splits them open-- someone takes a spin at turning the crank, while another pushes the grapes down towards the crushing mechanism. This is done by use of yet another sophisticated wine making piece or paraphernalia called a 2 by 4.

The juice is then poured into a fermenting barrel in the cellar, along with the skins and 25% of the vines, which increase the tannins in the wine. Heaters are set up in the cellar to ensure the proper temperature --between 70 and 85 degrees Fahrenheit—and the wine will now be left to ferment (the technicalities of this is explained to me later in the week…painfully).
As the last drop of juice is poured in, Paul set up an impromptu celebration: a table of hot pizzas, gourmet olives, cheese and San Daniella Prosciutto. Accompanying our back alley banquet were a couple of bottles of his latest Vino Della Casa Mazzeo.

At first sip it’s obvious that this wine is bold…very bold. Much heartier and complex than your usual home-made vino (which can be overly fruity), and the tannins are balanced nicely. Not withstanding back alleys, basements, garbage cans, and a basically airy approach to wine making, the final product is complex, and delicious. The company is terrific as well, and we all enjoyed entertaining stories and some laughter. I returned home with a bottle of 2003 vintage, and when this special bottle is eventually uncorked, I hope that Paul is at my table (Paul if you’re reading this, that’s an invitation).

A few days later I’m invited back to "hear" the fermentation process. "The crackle and pop coming out of the barrel is terrific", Paul explains, "It’s like having children in the house!" When I arrived I was led back to the cellar by Paul’s long time manager Nancy Magnuson. The sweet smells of the grapes and strong scent of alcohol met us at the top of the stairs. We descended and opened the top of the barrel. You could hear the fermentation, but at this stage the sound was soft and dulcet--like the sound of simmering rice.

A couple of weeks later I returned once again for the pressing of the grapes. Newly familiar faces huddled around the grape press (another highly technical name), but now there were two new guys chipping in—Paul’s mentors, Eddie and Tony.
Now understand, the act of pressing grapes holds all of the excitement of being a rower at the bottom of a Viking ship. You grab the press handle and walk around…and around…and around the press until every last remaining drop of juice is salvaged and added to the barrel. Tony is extremely knowledgeable, and while pressing, explains the science behind fermentation, with things having to do with malolactic fermentation and malic and lactic acid conversion (getting a grade D- in chemistry I then decided the details should end with the 2 by 4). But a lot more is learned, more interesting stories are shared, and more friends are made in an alley, by a candy store, off of Main Street.
It’s true what oenophile Ralph Steadman wrote in his book The Grapes of Ralph, "Nice people make great wines".

It has been said that the best things in life are worth the wait, but sometimes it’s the wait that can be the best part of life (it’s why the Gods created tailgate parties).
The pizzeria’s namesake, Il Palio, is a horse race held twice every year in Siena, Italy. Preparations for the race go on all year and 25,000 people attend and dine outside at enormous banquet tables. There are horse blessings, parades and celebrations for days on end. And how long does the race last? About a minute and a half.
It finally dawned on me why I was in a cellar…under a candy store…on that Saturday morning. It’s the same reason why people plan a year in advance for a one minute horse race. And why the Mazzeo’s and the Giavannone’s take the time to do wine right. It’s not as much about the horse that wins the race, or the wine that ends up in the bottle. It’s about community. The horse race ends in the blink of an eye, just as the wine bottle gets emptied in a sitting. But the cultivation of friendships and good times shared during the process can forever simmer in your memory--like the soft sound of fermenting grapes.
~Tommy Dott

*** "The Vines That Bind" won the award for"Best Feature Article of the Year" for Edible Communities, 2007.

The "Pasteis Presunto e Queijo" of Hyannis (Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-06-11T13:07:00.000-07:00

"Have you had lunch yet?" I unexpectedly heard through the screen as friends rush into the cluttered kitchen with a grease-spotted paper bag in hand. "Joe and Bev Dunn from the Island Merchant told us about this place…They love these turnovers, but you have to promise not to write about it. Restaurant Prato Per’ Feito is a tiny place and they don’t want to lose their favorite table if word gets out." Telling glances and grins fill the kitchen, along with a familiar scent that instantly make me think of a County Fair. "It’s called a Pasteis Presunto e Queijo!" I’m told. The pronunciation sounded completely botched, but the ham and cheese turnover looks beautifully prepared. And the familiar scent? This ham and cheese happens to be melted into a perfectly browned, crispy fried dough--with sweet corn and warm tomato mixed. The corn and tomato are considered "toppings" even though they’re cooked into the center of the dough. You can build-your-own turnovers and give a new twist to the traditional bacon, egg & cheese.

Fun combos are also chicken with hearts of palm, grilled shrimp and guava, or traditional Brazilian meats with mushroom. And for dessert? Chocolate & banana turnovers, of course! Best of all you can get a filling lunch or dinner with just the change rattling around in your car’s ash tray--turnovers range between $1.50 - $3.75. For fun we punched in Pasteis Presunto e Queijo into an on-line translator and it came up You Graze Ham and Cheese, which is poignant as "grazing" is a good verb to describe our lavish afternoons turnover tasting. So when you find yourself at the counter, or sitting in the tiny dining room at Restaurant Prato Per’ Feito, and you see the Dunn’s waiting for their favorite table, tell them I’m sorry, but they’ve been too greedy for too long.
~ Tommy Dott

Find it at: Restaurant Prato Per’ Feito, 41 Yannough Road, Hyannis (next to the Gol Bakery Supermarket) 508-778-8380

Subscribe To Edible Cape Cod Magazine at www.ediblecapecod.com

Stomping On The Terra

2009-06-11T12:58:00.000-07:00

A Cape Cod Innkeeper’s Innsider’s Guide to "Getting Out There"
For Innkeepers & YOU...the Agriculturally & Culinarally adventerous guest!!!

The questions over the Inn’s telephone come in all forms, but our favorite is always "How far is Barnstable from Cape Cod?" It’s a funny question, but fairly typical for someone completely new to our area. As an Innkeeper it’s incredibly fulfilling to help orchestrate a visitor’s virgin visit. Cape Cod has only one chance to make a good first impression, and we make sure it surpasses their expectations (of course, phone queries like that one gives one the feeling that there may not be many expectations…).

As hoteliers and innkeepers, we point out the nearest restaurants and the best beaches. We’ll dole out fists full of discount whale watching coupons, and recommend the best ice cream parlors. But ask yourself this…When YOU are traveling do you want to just stick to the main attractions, or do you want to get a bit more "down and dirty" and off the beaten path? Make no mistake. Restaurants, beaches and ticketed tours are an essential part of Cape Cod, but when you get to London do you spend all of your time at Piccadilly Circus and Harrods, or do you seek out an out-of-the-way tavern for a Bangers & Mash and local chatter? Traveling through a small Mexican village do you pass the local farmers market to get to the nearest supermercado chain? We as travelers want to experience something different, and perhaps get our picture taken doing what the locals do (with perhaps the exception of voodoo bloodletting with the African Zooti tribe or outrunning bulls in Pamplona—I’ll just grab a post card, thank you).

So what else can we offer besides tours, shopping, beaches and restaurants? Take half of the name Cape Cod. Cod fish is essentially what put us on the map! Where do these famous fish come from? Who brings them in? Everyone loves lobster (with the exception of the author who believes they’re basically tarantulas with strong lungs) but does the thought of how they get from the ocean floor to your plate ever cross your mind, or is the only thing on your mind "more butter, please"?.
Visitors head for where the food is, but what about where it’s caught or grown? With guests bound for Chatham I always mention the Chatham Fish Pier. I tell the guest that if they’re lucky they might see a fishing boat coming in with a full load (the "lucky" part is meeting the fisherman—many of them enjoy sharing stories and fish recipes). After mentioning the circus of seals that follow the fishing boats in, the guest’s day is generally set into motion. At the day’s end, it’s not uncommon to find our guest standing in the common area wearing their crisp, new Black Dog sweatshirt, holding bags from "Soft As A Grape", and talking to the other guests…about the fish pier!

Recently we had a couple visiting from the mid-west whose mission was to suck down as many oysters as possible. "We can’t get decent oysters at home. We had Wellfleet oysters years ago—I can’t remember where we were at the time—but I can’t forget those oysters." I asked them if they were interested in spending a morning working along side an oyster farmer and you would have thought I’d just ask them if he’d like to have brunch with Bono. "We can DO that?!" he asked excitably. I told them how my partner Ali and I had spent an afternoon "working" along side John & Stephanie Lowell, the proprietors of East Dennis Oyster Farm (I put "working" in quotation marks because it was one of our most pleasurable Cape Cod memories to date). With words like "antsy", "itchy" and "bored" at the top of our list when being coaxed to go the beach, it was a nice alternative for us. We sampled oysters and learned about farming standing in ankle deep water, enjoying a cloudless sky and a gentle north-westerly breeze. John refers to this place as "working in the prettiest office in the world".
Putting together an outing involving guests, oyster farmers, times and tides and sometimes feel as challenging as landing a helicopter on a lawn chair, but if you catch it right your guest will have the experience of a lifetime.

The folks at The Oyster Company Raw Bar and Grille in Dennisport have recently taken over the yolk of that helicopter and now feature organized tours of their oyster farm and have a calendar of days and times on their website. You, along with a dozen or so other pleasure-seekers are escorted out to the farm-- a remote and breathtaking part of Cape Cod Bay, and standing in anything from soft sand to knee-deep water you’ll learn all about the art of farming these sweet little badboys. You’ll have the opportunity to pick a half dozen oysters, and followed by a quick drive to The Oyster Company you’ll be furnished with your own oyster knife and gloves (which you can take home) and taught the proper way to open an oyster. Assuming you’ve paid attention to your instructor and are not on your way to the ER, the moment has finally arrived…Take your oysters, grab your reserved seat at the bar, decorate them (the oysters, not the seat) with either cocktail sauce, mignonette—or nothing at all—and enjoy your freshly harvested oysters with a trio of carefully paired wines!

The Cape has countless outdoor activities such as this—some organized, and some not. Organized places are a breeze for you or your guest to find. We sell bars of locally made Summerhouse Soaps. Last month we had a guest purchase every bar of our Lavender Rosemary because she was, and I quote, "a lavender maniac". She said that everything in her closet was lavender colored and that her dog was named Lavender…and then something about a room in her house dedicated to the herb (the details get a bit vague at this point while I’m mentally changing the emphasis of her self-issued title from "lavender" to "maniac" and praying for a distraction—a phone call, bees, fire, anything.) At my mention of the Cape Cod Lavender Farm in Harwich her eyes roll back into her head like a feeding shark. After fetching her a cold glass of water I handed her directions and off our lavender maniac went—dressed in her best purple pant suit with the scent of the herb wafting behind her like she was some bizarre Lavender Fairy from Lavenderville. As a guest service that one was a no-brainer, but to her it was a home run. Discovering our many family friendly farms such as The Cape Farm and Cranberry Company (also in Harwich) and the Coonamessett Farm in East Falmouth (to name a couple), you don’t need an Innkeeper to help you get there, but sometimes guests might just need that little nudge to get them thinking beyond Cape Cod = Beach + Shopping.

Some culinary or agricultural guest adventures might not be wrapped up in a tidy package of website hours and Google maps. Veronica Worthington’s Herb Farm in West Dennis doesn’t come onto the radar screen quite as easily. You may not know her farm, but if you eat at many of the finer restaurants on Cape Cod you know her work…Mache, Mustard, Oakleaf, Squash, Chicory, Romaine…and she can teach the most educated horticulturist a thing or two on whatever she’s growing. When stopping by her farm one day she asked me "Do you know the history of lettuce?" My eyes instantly started darting from side to side looking for the quickest path to my car without trampling the Nasturtium, but just as quickly I was drawn into the conversation and eventually shared some of it with our guests. I have to admit, however, that sending someone-- a guest for instance--out to the fields to learn a from a farm girl like Veronica is hands down more entertaining than hearing it second hand from an innkeeper.

So, how does a concierge or innkeeper find out more about the places that might not have brochures on every brochure rack or big, goofy arrows pointing to their location on cartoon maps? You just have to get out there! Our farmers markets are a great place to start. You’ll run into local bee keepers selling honey, a Cape Cod lobsterman, a cranberry or blueberry grower, and various other artisans and farmers. They all share a willingness to leave a remote field, bog, smoke house or fishing boat--for at least one day a week--and step into the social scene to share some stories, information and recipes. Many of our local growers and producers know that there are a massive amounts of visitors (many who label themselves as "Foodies"), and are willing to take a few minutes of their day with your guests--providing you call ahead (I just heard a dozen farmers channeling me just now…providing they call ahead—PLEASE write that). Edible Cape Cod Magazine has a tent at the Mid-Cape Farmers Market in Hyannis and are a wealth of information on "visitor happy" agricultural destinations.

Another way is to get out there and shake hands with your local chefs. We recently sent a family of 5 out on a fishing charter and all came back with their own fish—freshly filleted on the boat as they pulled into harbor. "That’s terrific Dana!" I said to the wife, "Let us know if you need anything for grilling." By her reaction you would have thought I told her that her favorite Chia Pet came down with a case of crab grass. "It’s my last day of vacation", She groaned, "I can’t bare the thought of cooking." I immediately called Bob Calderone, the chef/owner of The Barnstable Tavern. Not skipping a beat Bob agreed to turn their catch into dinner that evening. Bob is one of several chefs we know on Cape Cod who will accommodate a family arriving with salty hair, fish in hand, and an I conquered the Cape waters glow across their faces (wait a minute…I hear more voices...ah yes, providing they call ahead). That same day our guest’s bounty was treated to a delicious fresh herb and white wine funeral, I got a bear hug from Dana, and they had a memory they will never forget!

Every year in September Cape Cod celebrates something incredibly important and unique only to our area. The Cape Land and Sea Harvest (CLASH) is a 4-day Cape-wide event that envelopes the very essence of culinary and agricultural tourism. It’s a celebration of our farms, herb gardens, cranberry bogs, breweries, wineries and restaurants--and the folks who keep them thriving. It’s a chance for farmers, growers and food artisans to say, "Come on over to my place". CLASH brings in guests from around the country, and as innkeepers not only is it a great marketing opportunity for room sales, it’s also a great time for us to "get out there" and find out who can host the next traveler we get who might just want to experience something more. It’s a weekend to visit your local restaurants that are featuring a "grown locally" menu especially tailored for CLASH. These are the chefs who will be the most willing to cook your guest’s fish, or create a salad with their freshly harvested greens and vegetables.

To add culinary and agricultural adventures to your guest’s itinerary all you need is a passion for the hospitality industry. The recourses are already there! Allow yourself some time to do a bit of incredibly fun research, and then enjoy adding a whole new dimension to your guest’s visit. Get them to experience a large piece of what the Cape is celebrating these days. So get out there, and start enjoying Cape Cod!
~Tommy Dott

Jimmy's Sushi...A Cape Cod Favorite (Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-06-11T12:39:00.000-07:00

As a kid I was delighted when Batman would mace his visiting house guests with an agent that would render them stupefied enough to never know the exact whereabouts of the Bat Cave. As an adult, I’m no fan of being revived in a strange place, but I certainly enjoy stumbling onto a secret destination. I found one recently when I discovered that a local favorite "grab-n-go" sushi is quietly made in a gallery on 6A in West Barnstable. The gallery sign simply reads Art—Framing—Gifts, so why wouldn’t one assume Sushi? The exact location? You have your clue--and although you can view the pristine sushi kitchen through the gallery window, you can’t buy sushi there. Junichi "Jimmy" Sawayanagi is the talent behind incredible California Rolls, Salmon Rolls, Spicy Tuna Rolls, Avacado Rolls…choices too many to mention (you can special order Inari that will knock your sakés off). A former partner with Yoshi of Nantucket’s "Sushi By Yoshi", Jimmy eventually branched out on his own to make sushi for the retail market. He describes his as "Sushi that’s not ‘restaurant sushi’, but authentic sushi I was taught how to make in our kitchen back home in Tokyo." One main difference is the softness in the rice, and the high quality of ingredients you can taste right down to the pickled ginger. Jimmy’s technique has been passed down through many generations--surely an ingredient that’s hard to come by.
~ Tommy Dott

Grab some of Jimmy’s Sushi at:
Year Round: Barnstable General Store, Fancy’s Market (Osterville), Peterson’s Market (Dennis), Old Village Store (W. Barnstable), White Hen (Hyannis), Ring Bros. (S. Dennis), Lobster Trap (Bourne)
Seasonally at these Orleans locations: Chocolate Sparrow, Friend’s Market Place, Nauset Fish & Lobster, Phoenix Fruit, Village Farm Market,
Party anyone? Special orders & party platters of Jimmy’s sushi, can be ordered by calling the gallery directly at 508-375-1011

Subscribe to Edible Cape Cod Magazine at www.ediblecapecod.com

Riding up to P-Town? Grab a hold of a BIFANA! (Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-06-11T12:29:00.000-07:00

Self-help guru Dr. Phil McGraw said "Although ‘defining moments’ in our lives may seem trivial to others--if it's reshaped you in any way, it's a defining moment". The Bifana is perhaps the most unlikely of traditions to celebrate at the Provincetown Portuguese Bakery. The sandwich is assembled before your eyes in the corner of a tiny dining room, opposite a display of incredibly mouth-watering pastries, cakes and fish and meat pies--so it risks being overlooked.

Served on their homemade Portuguese roll, the Bifana holds more surprises than an Ozzy Osbourne book of children's poems. The grand pitch of the sandwich is tender pork shoulder, which is marinated in fresh garlic, paprika, secret herbs and Hungarian white wine** for a minimum of 24 hours to a maximum of "the longer the better", we're told. The sandwich is then crowned with a perfectly fried egg and served with lettuce, tomato, onion and french fries.
Somewhere between your 1st and 3rd mouthful, the defining moment should show itself...in the form of warm egg yolk splattering onto your paper plate. Suddenly your instincts kick in, and like a penguin knows to waddle across a frozen Tundra for food, you’ll turn your sandwich sideways (maximizing the surface area), smear the pork sandwich into the puddle of yolk, and go in for the kill. What makes this $6.39 sandwich stand out more than anything? It gets better with every bite.

On your way out you'll feel a tad euphoric and will almost forget to stop at the pastry counter for something for dinner--but you'll collect yourself, load up on some of the Cape's best Portuguese food, and head home-- still tasting the white wine and garlic on your lips--and reminiscing about your latest defining moment.
~Tommy Dott

** Owner Jose Ferreira is Portuguese. His son-in-law/business partner Tibor Bago is Hungarian. In spite of marrying into a large Portuguese family, Tibor still has his say.

To subsribe to Edible Cape Cod Magazine, go to http://www.ediblecapecod.com/

Cooking The Catch (Unedited version. Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-06-11T12:24:00.000-07:00

Cookbook Author Dave Masch Scrapes Off the Flotsam and Serves Things Up Reel Fresh...

I’m sitting in a room holding the bell end of a brass tuba that is covered with dozens of real ducks’ feet. Once dinner leftovers, they’re now glued to the tuba in a pattern giving the illusion of a line of marching webbed feet parading through the bell and out into society. The walls are covered with eclectic miscellany—old fishing photographs, paintings of turnips, wires artfully bent into silhouettes of beautifully-formed naked women and squid, and a "trophy" quahog mounted as proudly as if it were the head of a 600 pound elk. Approaching over-stimulation, I focus on the tuba and start to count the webbed feet, patiently waiting for my host’s return with something he calls "kinda fun." My host is Dave "Pops" Masch, the man behind the out-of-the-ordinary Cape Cod cookbook Cooking The Catch. Having re-created some of Dave’s recipes over time, I had decided it was time to satisfy my curiosity about the man himself. Which is how I ended up here…counting duck feet on a tuba in Cataumet.

Did you know that skate wing is a government ordered staple in the French school lunch program, that an empty pack of Marlboro’s is perfect for stashing angleworms and that sassafras was once believed to cure syphilis? These are just a few of the many factoids a culinary adventurer can learn from Cooking The Catch. Yet rather than blindly recommending this cookbook, I should caution that it might not be for everyone. Following are my very unscientific guidelines for recommended readership…

1. You must love fish. You should love to eat it. Perhaps love to catch it, but definitely enjoy cooking it. You should be able to celebrate the beauty of the colors and tones of fish scales—or at least appreciate those who do. You should be able to enjoy the natural flavors of a fresh fish. "Must love fish" doesn’t mean, "Must love scrubbing skyscrapers of pots and trying to impress your friends into calling you Charlie" (as in Trotter). If Lemon-balm Infused Amberjack with Braised Stinging Nettles in a Sweet & Sour Beet Truffle Foam makes your mouth water, this book belongs under the short leg of the badly constructed foot stool your kid made in shop class—it’s not for you. This book is for the purist, written by a purist—a real Cape Cod fisherman who not only celebrates the complex flavors of a perfectly seared tuna, but playfully mocks an uglier, less appealing fish, say, Hagfish, like one would kid an old friend, yet teaches us how to glorify it in the kitchen.
2. You must KISS the catch. KISS meaning Keep It Simple, Stupid. Worse than being all thumbs in the kitchen, on a culinary level I have no thumbs at all. For a few years I fumbled around the stove inventing recipes to sweep my girlfriend off her feet. The problem was that I missed out on the cooking basics—especially for fish. My intentions were usually met with great affection, albeit more like the consolatory affection one might show a three-legged puppy. It’s not until recently that my girlfriend recollects my meals more honestly, re-naming my seafood casserole "aromatic cement," my famous grilled tuna as "a roof shingle with lemon" and one dish simply as "foul," although no bird gave its life for the meal. Pops’ book has finally returned me, for better or worse, to the kitchen. I now create meals that actually have serious seductive powers, yet are clean, fresh and simply prepared.

3. You must stow your seriousness in the salad crisper. The first recipe I prepared from Cooking The Catch was inspired by the fact that Dave almost burned a friend’s house down while creating it. The dish is referred to as Blazing Tuna, and like every recipe in the book, is accompanied with a personal anecdote. After chuckling over Dave’s account of blaring alarms and fire trucks I decided to give the recipe a whirl. I seared fresh tuna steaks in a red-hot skillet (30 seconds each side, then over low heat about 2 minutes each side—again, these kind of specifics are paramount for a novice) then added lime juice, soy sauce, salt and pepper to the pan. The tuna turned out perfectly. Dave’s recipe suggested an accompanying Anchovy-mayonnaise Garlic Sauce, which took only a few minutes to concoct and was a nail bomb of flavor. Although I can’t say that the meal was worth burning the house down for, it was a close call. But every anecdote isn’t necessarily humorous. Some involve memories of a family outing, or the favorite recipe of an old friend who’s since passed (Dave often takes a back seat and offers friends’ recipes). Some offer scientific information, others quirky trivia, like how a certain fish can force itself to sneeze, or how scallops can be trained to roll over. Rather than the typical food porn of many cookbooks, Cooking the Catch is adorned with Dave’s whimsical illustrations.

Those are the basics for "getting" Cooking The Catch. If you fit the bill, then seize your fishing pole and clamming rake and buy this book! Every recipe involves fish and shellfish that New Englanders can catch or gather themselves, and recipes are under amusing headers such as How Funny Can A Shellfish Be?, Ask A Bivalve For Dinner and Stripers, Trout and Weeds. The book is brilliantly broken up into four simple chapters: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. Each seasonal chapter coincides with what fish is in season in our area, whether freshly caught or purchased from your local fishmonger. No matter where it comes from Dave insists that your fish be as fresh as possible—and only buy supermarket fish when absolutely necessary (like it’s the dead of winter and you need a specific type). "My criterion is smell," Dave states, "If it smells at all bad to you, do not buy it. In fact, the freshest fish should have almost no smell at all. Follow this simple rule and you cannot go wrong."

With the holidays upon us I decided to jump right into the winter chapter of the book. Dave doesn’t romanticize about the availability of fresh fish as he tucks his tackle box away for the season. He writes, "another fishing season is over for me. No more fresh fish until spring, unless my ice-fishing friends come through with charitable contributions—but I will not despair…make the best of a bad situation, I say." His spirits soar as the mercury plunges and further boasts in his book, "this is the season for clam and fish chowders, oyster and lobster stew, and other warm dishes welcomed especially in winter…Bring on the snow and cold, I have antidotes in mind and bowls at the ready!"
I decided to forego Dave’s "best heater of all" (a Portuguese squid stew laced with piri-
piri pepper sauce), and go for a more subdued Baked Fish and Tomato, a dish recommended for the holidays. Given a choice of different fish fillets or steaks to use I elect swordfish (Here’s a "Pops tip"—buy some fresh fish when it’s readily available and freeze it for just such a wintry gathering). The fish is breaded and baked in a round, wreath-like casserole dish surrounded by diced tomatoes that are sprinkled with Italian herbs, a bit of hot pepper, sugar and oregano. After 15 minutes the swordfish is taken out of the oven and garnished with parsley for a red and green wreath Christmas effect. Ho-Ho-Ho! Fun, simple and delicious!

Dave’s history of working with food started when he was 11 years old selling strawberries in and around the streets of Detroit (he was born in 1937, though you’d never guess it). More locally, his food history included being a vegetable judge for the Duke’s County Fair on Martha’s Vineyard in the mid-1970s. It was around that time he became one of the first to sell produce at the (then) Woods Hole farmers market, and, trying to scrape by, sold chowder base to local restaurants. "I saw the ocean in 1955 and have not yet recovered from it," he writes. That was the same year he enrolled in Harvard, and later spent 10 years in the biology department at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute—mostly at sea. Since then, he’s been a counselor, cook and instructor at a boarding school for troubled adolescent boys on Penikese Island, which is 12 miles southwest of Woods Hole and where he picked up his nickname Pops. He has been retired for four years now.

Arriving at his home (a former schoolhouse built in 1810) I meet his wife Jeannine, an accomplished artist whose colorful work covers the walls (and furniture, floors and staircases). In the backyard is an impressive flower and vegetable garden, best viewed from the deck, which is covered with exotic plants including a South American Angel Trumpet and Brazilian Tibouchina. Dave’s passions are wide-ranging. It’s obvious that his colorful style of writing is a reflection of his colorful lifestyle. He offers me his house-smoked bluefish and we chat about the book. Dave has sold an impressive 4,000 copies to date and looks forward to a second printing. "If that doesn’t work out perhaps I’ll do a second cookbook—or a book called Having Fun with Your Grandkids Using Fire and Explosives," he says.

I find myself alone soon after the bluefish, holding the duck foot tuba, pondering the differences between ducks and geese, tubas and sousaphones. Dave shuffles back in with his prize possession—a large quahog he "caught" with a fishhook and popper (the subject of another amusing story in the book). We chat some more about life, travel, office chairs and whale bones, and soon it’s time to go. Meeting Dave Masch has been even more interesting that I’d anticipated…A hard-working man with a big brain housed under a tattered baseball cap. Honest—except when he’s not telling the truth, serious—but only about the things in life that should be taken seriously. A great cook with no ego, a fisherman and a gentleman.
I‘ll wrap up this article with a word from the author. "Although I catch many fish, I spend a lot on gas, tackle, books and other sources of information. It would be cheaper to pay top dollar than to catch my own. True, but dull…A silly idea. One cannot put a price on a strike on a surface lure at daybreak, or on the "bulldogging" of a big blue after he has finished jumping, or on the marvelous odor of a freshly caught false albacore. This is the stuff that songs, poems and paintings are made of by people more talented than I."

Not true, Pops. There is no one else in the world that could have pulled off a cookbook quite like Cooking The Catch.
~Tommy Dott

Cooking The Catch can be found at most local bookstores, online, or Dave will happily sign a copy in person, and might even treat you to a tour of his home ("if I like them", he adds). Dave "Pops" Masch can be reached at 508-563-3704 or emailed at popsmasch@comcast.net.

To subscribe to Edible Cape Cod Magazine, go to http://www.ediblecapecod.com/

Cape Cod Ice Cream (Long-winded version. Published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-06-10T15:06:00.000-07:00

The simple mention of homemade ice cream might conjure up visions of a seaside carnival, with men in barber shop hats sing in perfect harmony, and clowns—the non-creepy kind--dole out ice cream cones to chuckling children (or something to that affect).
Ice cream’s dates back to the days of Nero (the emperor, not the computer software company) when it was made by gathering up a snow ball and dripping honey and nectars all over it. Eventually cream replaced the ice, and "iced cream" was sold commercially out of the first ice cream parlor in New York City during the summer of 1776. Eventually the treat lost its’ D and became known simply as ice cream. In 1903 a Wall Street ice cream vendor named Marchiony cut his overhead by replacing serving glasses with edible waffle cups. Soon after, at the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis, an ice cream vendor took a cue from Marchiony, teamed up with a waffle maker, and sold ice cream rolled into "cornucopias"--which is how the ice cream cone started (cue the barber shop hats). And that is the 30 second history of ice cream.
But in more recent history ice cream has shown us a dark side. Put into the wrong hands, homemade ice cream can get down right ugly…

Ali and I had a chef at our prior restaurant who created a "signature dessert". I could never describe the taste of his "Lobster Ice Cream" as I never actually tried it. No one did. Not even him. In spite of my railing against its hideous inception, 4 Maine lobsters needlessly gave their lives only to end up debauched, abandoned, and encrusted in a coffin of warped intentions, overly whipped cream, and freezer burn. A year later, in a Parisian cafe, Ali ordered huîtres glacées. Awaiting chilled French oysters, the serveur presented us with a gray, lumpy bowl of "Oyster Ice Cream". With courage courtesy of unhealthy amounts of Chassagne-Montrachet I gave it a whirl and found myself with a mouthful of something comparable to a septic-infused napalm sundae…with anthrax sprinkles.

Over the years ice cream has become part of a misguided trend (like turning food into foam). Wiping out the innocence of seaside carnivals and barber shop hats, gourmands have added to their dessert menus Ox Tongue Ice Cream, Chicken Wing Ice Cream, and Corn Ice Cream. In Japan you can enjoy Pit Viper Ice Cream—made with their country’s mort venomous snake. It’s a bit reminiscent of the outlandish outfits that make the cat walk at the trendiest fashion shows. Exotic and exciting products, yes, but who buys this stuff? Nobody wants ice cream that once had claws, fangs or tentacles. So a plea to all self-appointed foodies…Stop it! Leave ice cream to the local artisans that dot our villages around the country! We are fortunate to have many made-in-house ice cream parlors on Cape Cod, so with summer finally here I set off on an ice cream trek to sample one of our lands’ finest traditions (and hopefully put memories of Oyster Ice Cream to rest).

....AND they make "Fudge Bottom Ice Cream Pie"

The Ice Cream Smuggler on Route 6A in Dennis is fast approaching its 30th year in business. The husband and wife team of Paul and Carter Catalano are enjoying their 4th season of scooping, and couldn’t be more pleased with their relatively new career choice. Soon after 9/11, Paul and Carter moved from New York City and reinvented themselves here on Cape Cod. They purchased The Smuggler (as it’s affectionately referred to) from friends Alan and Maggie Tyson who passed on all the original recipes and trained the newbies in the art of ice cream making (thus, the ice cream is basically made the same now as it was in 1979). "We use a one 20-quart ice cream machine for consistency", Paul explains, "And we buy only the most expensive ingredients. In the world of ice cream-making you can taste the difference". Because I’m now close to licking the glass display case, Paul averts an incredibly embarrassing moment with the offering of a plastic sampling spoon. "Hmmm, let’s see..." I ponder with the seriousness of a lab researcher. "What is your most popular flavor?" I ask (now groping at my chin like an art collector searching for the next Mona Lisa--I can get pathetic like this). Paul tells me hands-down it’s vanilla* "Anyone else you ask in this business will tell you the same thing", he ads. But I didn’t drive all the way here for vanilla. Sorry. I go with the orange pineapple and then (the historically disappointing) Peppermint Stick. My search for great Peppermint Stick has been an ongoing quest as it’s hard to find one with some "crunch". My long quest has ended today. "The intensity of the textures has to do with quality control," Paul explains, "We add the candy at the last second then stir it in by hand, so nothing loses its integrity". He then offers up some French Raspberry Truffle. I won’t go into details, but encourage the reader to march into their parlor, slap a few bucks on the counter, and repeat those 3 words clearly and loudly (thank me later). On my way out, and completely unsolicited, Paul asks me if I’ve checked one of his favorite ice cream makers, Smitty’s Homemade Ice Cream in East Falmouth. "Great ice cream, great guy".

* This is perhaps the best argument against seafood and reptile-based frozen desserts.

Name your poison (and it might make the menu)…

For dinner that evening Ali and I drove to Smitty’s on Route 28 in East Falmouth. The whimsical old farmhouse is adorned with ice cream cone shutters, exposed water pipes decorated in "early ice cream cone", and hand-painted homages to cows. The original fireplace still stands in the center of the small room. Ariel, an employee of 6 years, confirms that the best selling flavor is vanilla (yawn), so naturally we go right for the more eclectic--a rum-based ice cream with candied apricots and raisins called "Frozen Pudding". When I ask what makes Smitty’s unique Ariel responds with "Occasionally our customers come in with flavor ideas and Smitty will usually create it. That’s how our local blueberry ice cream made the menu." About 10 minutes into our visit Richard "Smitty" Smith races in, and with a Cheshire grin asks the now growing line "who’s next?" and has an apron tied on before his car keys have stopped sliding across the counter. Smitty is just in from coaching Little League, and with the "Annual Tour de Smitty’s Bike Race for Rett Syndrome" flyer on the wall behind him, you get the feeling that this guy is all about community. Smitty is celebrating his 16th year in business, as well as his 8th year with "Smitty’s Too" in North Falmouth.

My ice cream sampling induced sugar high had made it so I could barely feel my extremities, so it was time to go home. For the ride Smitty sticks a warm, homemade waffle cone in my hand loaded with "Shark’s Tooth" (chocolate ice cream with white chocolate chips). The cone is crisp, light and perfect, and the ice cream is a hell of a lot better than vanilla. Ali goes with a killer Amaretto Cherry Sundae with toasted almonds and hot fudge. OH, if you have not gotten off your Lay-Z-Boy yet, their whipped cream is freshly whipped to order. "Where are you off to next?" Smitty asks. "To Puritan Clothing to get elastic waistband shorts" I answer. "Well, afterwards head over to where I learned the trade. I spent my high school and college years at Sundae School!" And just like that, tomorrow’s breakfast place has been chosen.
So we're all on the same page, a "time out"… This is probably a great spot to explore a point or two about "homemade" ice cream, which deserves some clearing up. When you make ice cream at home that is homemade. You’ll be mixing the cream, the sugar, the flavoring of your choice, and depending on your mood, perhaps a little egg. The rest is simply about the churning, and unless you are (or are married to) a professional wrestler, you’ll want to buy an ice cream maker for this. After the churning comes the freezer, and eventually down the hatch—sometimes out in the open, and sometimes with the curtains drawn. The places that we’ll be talking about here are churning out massive amounts of product all summer long. Consistency is key, so most start with a pre-mixed base of cream and sugar before adding flavoring and/or candy. So the process is not technically all from scratch—and it would not be realistic to think it should be.

It should also be pointed out that every ice cream parlor sign that reads "homemade" might not necessarily be "made-on-premises"--meaning that they are bringing in ice cream from a small producer somewhere else. A good question might be, "Do you make your ice cream here?" Even more specifically, "Do you make this particular flavor here?" since there are some that make some flavors, but bring in others for whatever reason. All the places mentioned in this article make ice cream on premises.

The Cape’s largest extended family…

Sundae Sundae School Ice Cream has 3 locations, and I head off to the Dennispost store on Lower County Road. The circa 1870’s barn that houses Sundae School boasts wide-planked floors and hand-chiseled wood beams that sing their history--history lessons furnished daily by owners Paul and Andrea Endres while you’re waiting on line. I asked Paul, an ex-teacher and ice cream veteran of 30 years, how the business had changed since its inception in 1976,"Not much. The costs have of course risen—cream, imported pistachios— everything has especially increased in the last couple of years...Oh, and everyone wants candy in their ice cream these days." I ask him what his biggest selling flavor is. His answer? (Hint: It starts with a V and rhymes with boring-illa). Paul does his share of supporting local businesses buying fresh cherries from Ring Brothers and native berries from local growers. Sundae School can also be bought at 3 local markets; Ring Brothers, the Dennis Public Market, and Peterson’s Market.
I'm helped by Emily Conant, a senior at University of Rhode Island who's enjoying her 9th season with Sundae School, and Callie Atchue, a senior at Endicott, starting her 6th. Both girls are as energetic as you would imagine them in their first week. "Boy, that’s a long time to have kids coming back" I say to Paul. He responds by pointing to the antiqued walls where dozens of framed "group family photos" of staff members, taken year after year, show the hundreds of kids he’s employed. "They're all like family to me. This year we’ll have 96 kids return for another season, besides a few new ones." That’s a very high water mark for employee/employer relations. Paul’s children are still involved (his son Mike manages the Harwichport store), as well as a few of his nieces. Their newest powerhouse flavor is Pirate Pandemonium—Peanut butter ice cream with fudge swirl and chocolate covered pretzels (they whip the cream to order as well). Paul jokingly rolls his eyes,"That’s another way the business has changed—Everything has to do with pirates now". What I find most endearing about Paul Endres is his appreciation for nostalgia. He shows off his antique marble countertop, the rough-cut marble table tops, and his prized 1901 antique soda fountain. While I peruse his display of ice cream parlor memorabilia, Paul playfully cranks up the antique Nickelodeon player, and I truly feel like I’ve just returned from that 1904 Word’s Fair. Class dismissed….

Italia awaits...one block off of Main

OK, take your barber shop hats off for a minute. This next joint is a full-on step into Tuscany. Sisters Alessandra and Susi Bertini of Florence, Italy have created a visual and culinary feast one block off of Main Street, Hyannis, on Pearl Street, called Caffè Gelato Bertini. Walking into their gelateria and espresso shop you can’t help but be knocked out by the rich, textured walls of shimmering golds, bright yellows and the beautiful custom counter work (courtesy of Alessandra’s son Tommaso). This shop truly is an affare di famiglia. Thanks to their entrepreneurial father, Giuliano, the 2 sisters have a background chock-full-of farming, small coffee shops and restaurants (run by Dad), and working their fathers gelateria. Their journey eventually included receiving their Father’s best wishes (and recipes) and taking their passion for making gelato from Florence, Italy to Cape Cod. What’s the difference between gelato and ice cream? Good question. A recent study shows that half of all Americans don’t know what gelato is. So, congratulations…if you’re clueless you’re about to join the other side. Ice cream is based in cream and includes 10-18% fat and averages 250 calories per serving. Gelato is made with whole cow’s milk and has only 4-8% fat, and half the calories. Alessandra and Susi refuse to cut corners and so the gelato at Caffé Gelato Bertini is truly made from scratch—no base here. They will not give out any specifics besides the basics—sugar, milk, etc. These ingredients are frozen while slowly being churned to break up forming ice crystals. That’s another difference. Ice cream is churned at faster rate, adding more air into the mix, which creates the texture that you’re accustomed to. The end result for the slower mixed gelato is a denser and creamier product.
"We put our own twist on things", explains Alessandra, "Fresh Pear Gelato with Chocolate Chips as well as Marscapone Cheese Coffee Crunch Gelato are among some of the local’s favorites." The "add-ons" in their gelato are top notch. Pisatchio Gelato (a favorite of traditionalists) is made with pistachios imported from Bronte, near Mount Eden in Sicily. The volcanic soil of the area is considered the best in the world for growing the finest pistachios. The hazelnut gelato is enriched with imported Piemonte hazelnuts (often thought of the Cadillac of hazelnuts—if you’ll excuse the analogy), and they import Italian figs for their highly acclaimed Almond Fig Gelato. But not all of their ingredients come from overseas. The girls shop various Cape farms stands and farmer’s markets for seasonal fruits which account for some of the best smoothies this side of the canal. Now this is an interesting thing…unsolicited, Allesandra suggests that I should check out her favorite ice cream—the Cape Cod Creamery. Once there I quickly realize why…

"Out-of-the-box" ice cream, coming to a store near you…

I am no stranger to Cape Cod Creamery, and either are the girls from Caffè Gelato Bertini. Having big dreams, but not sure how to implement them, they turned to owner Alan Davis of Cape Cod Creamery. Alan, is in his 4th season, is only half Italian, but has a full-blown passion for gelato. Equipped with nothing but a sweet tooth, Alan set off to create "not your average ice cream shop". He attended gilato-making school and eventually morphed his passions for ice cream and gilato. He bought an Italian ice cream maker (not technically the same at Bertini’s gelato maker) so the outcome is an American ice cream with a strong Italian gelato influence in texture and richness. They call themselves ice cream, and that IS a heavier influence, but if you pick up a pint of their product, and compare it with another, The Creamery outweighs most (again, less air equals more volume, equals a denser product). For fun, go to one of the ice cream parlors mentioned and take note of the way they display their product, then order a taste. Then go to Café Bertini and do the same (I know, this is tough research—it hasn’t been easy for me either…). When you arrive at Cape Cod Creamery you’ll see and taste the remarkable blend of 2 frozen traditions. Alan uses a local base of hormone free dairy from Oakhust Dairy in Maine, and once his second year was well under way he took Cape Cod Creamery to a whole other level selling his product to about 25 local markets on the Cape. In 2006 Cape Cod Creamery received an award as "1 of Massachusetts Top 100 Best new Businesses" from the Boston Globe. Well deserved, indeed.

A product of well spent energy, and Wellfleet beans…

Our next stop comes courtesy of Edible Cape Cod contributor, Elsbeth Pierson’s blog (diaryofalocavore.blogspot.com). Her photo of "Beanstalk Coffee Toffee" enraptured me. I impulsively hit "start" on my keyboard, scrolled up to "Turn Off Computer" and pointed my ice cream-stained steering wheel towards Sweet Escape in Truro.
The owners of Sweet Escape are another husband and wife team--Bill Costa and Diane Brigham-Costa. Bill is currently has his carpenter hat on and is in the midst of doubling the size of the store—a renovation that will house a hearthstone pizza oven, more counter space, and a dining room. Diane is the gal baking everything from cakes to bagels, and also manning the scoop. At first visit I suspect Diane suffers from cocoahemopathy--A little known phenomenon where one actually has espresso running through their veins. This girl has more energy then Rip Taylor on No-doze, and just like every other ice cream maker I've met, she loves her job. Diane is really out there in the community as well. She cranks out an average of 52 home made ice creams in the summer, she stays open year round, and she strives to find as may local ingredients as she can. Featured ice creams are local Cape Cod Cranberry (called "Cranberry Bog" when adding white and dark chocolate), local strawberry ice cream (steeped in ingredients from Hillside Farm), and the "Espresso Yourself" and "Coffee Toffee" are made with Wellfleet’s own Beanstock Coffee beans. Much of Diane’s added ingredients like organic, all-natural cocoa and molasses come from the Atlantic Spice Company just up the road.
I do the usual sampling and try to keep up with Diane---the flavors are coming at me as quickly as the descriptions. At one point I taste 3 flavors—at the same time. "You have to come back soon", Diane tells me as I reluctantly start for the door, "I’m going to be making my own waffle cones soon. Do you know Truro Vineyards?" (When Diane talks she consistently blends conversations together—a quality I adore). Of course, I know Truro Vineyards well. "Well when you come back for the cone I’ll have my Truro Vineyards Cranberry Light Sorbet ready!" Now I’m totally sold.

Not to get off the subject, but Sweet Escape’s chocolate chip cookies are worth several Route 6 speeding tickets as well. Take my word for it and put the petal to the metal…

Centerville for some, Center of the Universe for others…

Celebrating its 75th anniversary this summer Four Seas is the third oldest ice cream shop in New England. Armed with the realization that the place is always so busy, I sneak through the empty kitchen the day before their grand opening, hoping I could have a few minutes with an owner or staff member. BIG mistake. There is just as much pre-season hustling and bustling going on. Everyone seems in great spirits, especially co-owner Peggy Warren, the eye of the hurricane. I decide not to disrupt the inertia and quietly poke around. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in this tiny space without 12 customers barking out flavors in front of me, and hands flailing behind the counter clutching pint containers. It usually looks like a Turkish Market at high noon. I take in the moment and quietly browse all the stuff on the walls—the stuff no one dares to take time to read out of fear they’ll hold up the people behind them. Photos of staff members and customers alike, and write-ups ranging from USA Today to FOX News are pinned up and covering the majority of the walls. I note that the 10 stools at the ice cream counter are blue in color--a trivial bit of information, but not a well-known fact as it’s rare to ever see one without a rear end on it. Eventually I gain the attention of 4 young ladies, smiling a bit nervously behind the counter, no doubt wondering who this interloper is taking notes about the chairs. Although they look to either be in or barely out of high school, between these 4 young scoopers they have a combined employment record of 23 years. This is unreal to me. We chat about the owners Doug and Peggy Warren who have both been working the shop hard for many years. Doug grew up behind the counter under the tutelage of his father, Dick Warren, who purchased Four Seas in 1960. After the untimely death of Dick (who the kids affectionately refer to as "The Chief") Doug and Peggy have held the family business even closer to their hearts.
What truly defines Four Seas is their old-fashioned approach to ice cream making. The ice cream flavors at Four Seas are generally pretty standard (as Dick once said, "our caramel is just caramel"), and although they sometimes jazz things up with local, seasonal flavors in the summer, they still keep it old school-- even banning sprinkles. I’m surprised to see they only have one ice cream maker. "This one machine will crank out 4,000 gallons of ice cream before opening day in preparation of the frenzy that awaits", Peggy tells me. If James Brown was "the hardest working man in Showbiz", this, no doubt, is the James Brown of ice cream machines.
I ask the girls about their most popular flavor, and they all groan vanilla. But just then one of them chimes in with "But that’s only because customers want it for sundaes and banana splits—the majority don’t eat plain vanilla!". And in an instant my faith in the ice cream consumer is completely restored. It’s important to note that the smiling face who restored that faith is named Lindsey--Dick Warren’s granddaughter.

A bittersweet ending (hold the bitter)

I knew of Dick Warren, as did most of Cape Cod, but I never met him. After meeting so many of his colleagues and fellow artisans who still share his passion, I feel I know what made up a good part of the man. I know this to be true because of the sheer consistency of what I encountered along the ice cream highway. With every shop I meandered into I was not only greeted by the owner, but in most cases served by the owner (do I need to mention how rare that is?). All expressed the same passion for making ice cream, and each confident in knowing that their product was the best--yet at the same time, each equally confident to send me to a "competitor" whom they held in high regard. Every one of them shared the importance of providing kids not only with hard work, but a second home to return to—and most of their alumni included their own kids, and sometimes even grandkids. Each owner showed passion in other local businesses, as well as their community.
I don’t know what’s behind the thought process of turning an oyster into ice cream. But to be honest, I don’t know what drives this either. This month I met a very small handful of people—all who come from different backgrounds and walks of life--but who all celebrate so many of the same passions. Passions that are based simply on the concept of making something so good it makes their customers smile.
I’m not really sure what "the American Dream" is, but I can venture to think that a small part of that dream lies in the hands of these small business owners—the ones who make ice cream right.

~Tommy Dott

To subscribe to Edible Cape Cod Magazine go to http://www.ediblecapecod.com/

Giving King Salmon the Royal Treatment on Cape Cod (as published in Edible Cape Cod Magazine)

2009-06-10T14:58:00.000-07:00

I’ll set the ugly scene...Miss Landis’ fourth grade class. We are to write an essay on a choice of an alternate life: Would you rather swim in the ocean as a fish, or soar through the skies as an eagle? This assignment still sticks in my mind strictly due to my embarrassment when I learned that I was the only kid in class to choose the life of a fish. Miss Landis singles out my essay to read aloud—not because it was well written, but because even she seemed puzzled that anyone would abnegate the majestic life of a bird. To make matters worse, my reasoning was based on sheer laziness. Let’s face it, fish don’t do much—I had a fish tank at home and thought I knew the drill pretty well. And flying and swooping seemed like a huge effort. This was not one of my more stellar school days.
Soon after, salt was applied to that wound as I watched a PBS special on “fish in the wild”. Highlighted were trout fighting with all of their might to get upstream, Alaskan Salmon crusading against a hungry bear by a river bed and deep sea fishermen yanking weighty tuna out of the water. I realized I might have made a grave error on that doomed assignment...I should have gone with flying. All these years later I still felt that fourth grade sting. Until last month when I stopped into Nantucket Wild Gourmet & Smokehouse on Route 28 in Chatham. After spending time with owners Peter O’Donovan and Marco Protano and learning about their craft, I drove home finally feeling vindicated.

Walking into the storefront of Nantucket Wild Gourmet & Smokehouse on a gray and drizzling day I know how Dorothy must have felt when she opened the door of her dislocated house and walked into the land of Technicolor. Hundreds of jars and bottles of brightly hued oils, jellies, pastes, condiments and sauces pack the shelves, turning a nondescript box of a room into a culinary carnival of local and imported treasures. Peter and Marco appear with a hearty welcome and escort me to the back of the store. Peter and I sit down at a tiny, round table while Marco is instantly off like a shot. He is intense in his preoccupations, which, at this moment, consist of juggling advertising phone calls, fielding bookkeeper questions and inventorying product. (Marco would continually pinball between the storefront, the office and our little table for the duration of my visit.)
One look around and I instantly know I like these guys. The back of the shop is the complete opposite of the front: stark, cold and basically unfinished. This is a place where serious work gets done. No frills, no airs—a message that says we have a job to do—the fun is for the customer. Peter and I start to talk fish smoking, and I learn that these guys have more background than the Grand Canyon.
Born and raised in West Cork Ireland, Peter grew up with a profound appreciation for smoking fish in the traditional, old-world fashion of his Celtic ancestors. He gives me a quick history of his culinary background, which includes training at the prestigious Ballymaloe Cookery School in Ireland, Peter Kumps Cooking School in New York City (now the Institute of Culinary Education) and Tante Marie's Cooking School in San Francisco, to private chef-ing in New York City and Boston, but each time the subject of smoking fish arises Peter looks like a wide-eyed 6-year old boy talking about fire trucks, grinning from ear to ear and popping with emotion. This guy LOVES smoking fish. The more I want to learn, the more he can barely contain himself. When he broaches the subject of the rare White King Salmon and its high percentage of Omega 3 oils (oils which, when going through the smoking cycle, apparently put fish smokers into a euphoric frame of mind), Peter practically levitates off of his chair and declares, “Working with this fish and its splattering oils is better than sex!” (He then blushes and buries his face in his hands when he realizes I’m scribbling away in my notepad.)
But Peter’s vibe is a fair departure from the one I get from his more business-oriented partner Marco. Marco, a Cape Cod native, has an extensive entrepreneurial and teaching background and received his MBA summa cum laude from Northeastern University. While Peter’s lofty prose swirls around the bare sheetrock, Marco makes a beeline for our table and interrupts with a lesser romantic, “I hated smoked fish—I always thought it was mushy and gummy. But when Peter showed me how it was SUPPOSED to taste I was hooked—our smoked salmon is the most firm, fresh and meaty you’ll ever taste.” Then he takes off again, El Niño style. At this point I’m more than primed to sample some product—or just head home and take a cold shower.
Every time Peter mentions the smokehouse he points to the floor, so I have to assume that they do all of their smoking directly below us in the basement. Now, anytime you are dealing with a product as delicate as fish you are also dealing with an enormous amount of state and federal regulations and sanitary precautions. A business such as this has to limit the amount of everyday traffic in the prep area to employees, and the occasional visitor must not only dress appropriately, but must be logged in and out when entering and exiting. (To put this in perspective, the number of people that will get to see this part of the business is roughly equal to the amount people scoring tickets to Britney Spear's comeback tour or Fred Thompson’s Inaugural Ball.) Needless to say I was trying to figure out a way to charm my way downstairs while we talked about smoking techniques.

The method of smoking used at Nantucket Wild Gourmet & Smokehouse is unique to the East coast, indeed to most of the United States. In the first place, they cold smoke their salmon, a practice that takes quite a bit more time and attention than hot smoking. The difference? Basically hot smoking cooks the fish at a higher temperature. It’s quicker and, when done incorrectly, can leave salmon—a delicate fish—the way Marco so eloquently described it: gummy. Cold smoking cooks the fish at a much lower temperature and thus at a much slower rate. This leaves the fish moister and more translucent, with a more delicate taste and texture. According to Peter, their cold smoking process ranges from about 15 hours for bluefish, to 2-3 days for salmon. Slow cooking in this fashion, and taste-testing every step of the way as he does, allows Peter to manipulate the fish for smokiness and moisture.
“We’re keeping the art of smoking alive,” says Peter. Now, the act of lighting a fire for the smoke might not sound like rocket science, but in an industry dominated by big companies relying on shortcuts ranging from the use of liquid smoke, to tampering with drafts and temperatures and to adding artificial coloring in order to meet quotas and bottom lines, suddenly one gains a whole new respect for this type of art. “Part of our philosophy is to maintain artisan production in small batches,” Peter starts to explain. “Our emphasis is on ‘slow and small’. Slow gives the fish the proper time on the salt and in the smoke, which ultimately makes for a delicious product. In this world today everything is so rushed. Here, nothing leaves the smokehouse without Marco or me tasting a portion of the finished product.” The small part of the equation is also based in quality control. By limiting the number of fish that go through the process at any given time, the fish can be visually monitored for imperfections or blemishes, so customers get a product that both looks and tastes delicious. Peter finishes, “In larger operations imperfections often slip by and end up sliced or portioned and on a shelf somewhere. Not here.”

One of the practices that make their product unique is their insistence on dry salting their fish using high-quality Kosher organic salt—the only ingredient used in their preparation. In addition, natural, untreated, aged hardwood is brought in for the smoking. According to Peter, each type of wood imparts a different nuance of taste and texture. But more important than their technique is the raw material that they start with. Their salmon of choice is Alaskan King, considered to be, well, the king of salmon. All of the fish they use, be it from Alaska or sushi-grade bluefin tuna, haddock and trout from local waters, must be line caught, that is caught on a fishing line—like you would if you went fishing. Line fishing is the preferred method of capturing fish; there is less banging around than there is when using a large net, resulting in less bruising to the meat. Being line caught also puts less stress on the fish, so the fat in the belly is not strained and the fish that ultimately arrives is more tender (not exactly a weekend at the spa, but the difference can be measurable). Most notable, hook and line fishing, which is the preferred method of local commercial fishermen, does not adversely affect ocean habitat or needlessly kill unwanted or juvenile fish.

Having a product good enough to compete with the finest smoked wild fish in Europe, Nantucket Wild Gourmet now have a list of interested wholesale accounts overseas, as well as possible plans of expansion at home. But their appreciation for their local business is endearing. I wanted Peter to talk more about their plans for both here and abroad, but he humbly keeps the conversation to his own backyard. “We have built a clientele who come to the store not alone to shop, but chat with us about food, share ideas and taste the product. We have customers who use home smokers and we trade secrets.” (He mentions a customer named Mike a couple of times who apparently makes smoked ribs worthy of their own article.) Peter sometimes treats his fellow ex-pat customers to tastes from home, making batches of Finnan Haddie and Colcannon. [Peter shares his recipe for Finnan Haddie on page 24.] Off-season sun-worshiping customers in Naples and Palm Beach get their fix via FedEx, while year-rounders demanded that they not close entirely in the winter (the result is an extended shoulder season and an open door on Saturdays year round). The biggest news for Peter and Marco came recently from one of their newest loyal customers; Oprah Winfrey added Nantucket Wild Gourmet & Smokehouse’s products to her “Top 100 Christmas Wish”, which will be officially announced this spring.

Peter asks me if I’d like a quick tour of the rarely-viewed smokehouse. Of course I accept
and we descend the staircase. Once at the bottom, Peter ceremoniously stands in front of a closed door and points to the smoker. “There it is!” he proudly announces, pointing to the black mass of pipes and drums. “Er, isn’t that a furnace?” I ask (risking ridicule, but fairly confident I had one of these things in my cellar). “DARN!!” Peter shakes his fist in mock defeat “I’ve fooled just about everyone who’s been down here! Okay, I’ll show you the real one.” He then outfits me with a clean room bunny suit comprising hair net and sterilized boots and gloves and, taking a serious tone, lists the “dos and don’ts” of entering into the smoking area. Not considering myself a particularly “sharp” person, I am still happily wallowing in my furnace thwarting and miss most of his instructions—all but the one I assume is the most important: “Don’t touch anything.”
The secrets that their smokehouse holds are many. But they are just that, secrets. Peter explains more of their smoking and salting techniques “off the record”, and points out the real smoker, which I am allowed to look in, but not photograph. I can share one detail, however: the entire area is completely spotless. The floor shines, the walk-in refrigerator used for salting looks like it was purchased over the weekend (it was not) and every bit of equipment—from the top-secret smoker to the Vacu-packer, which removes all bacteria-causing oxygen, leaving only fish, oil, smoke and salt—gleams under the stark, white lights.
The simplest way to describe their smokehouse is that it is loved. Peter and Marco are proud of their business and its output, and the concern that their customers get not only a savory product, but also a clean and high-quality product, is paramount. After a walk around the smokehouse I’m escorted back up the stairs (almost expecting to be dragged up by the Secret Service or KGB) and eventually into the front shop where my visit started. Marco shares a few examples of their new “grab-n-go” prepared lunches and dinners (thanks to a newly built kitchen they are able to pull off anything from sandwiches to roasted free-range chicken). I’m furnished with a smoked local bluefish dip, a tuna dip with Kalamata olives and brandy and a vegetarian dip of fresh, locally grown vegetables and goat cheese.

Once home I lunch on their signature smoked Alaskan King Salmon and smoked wild bluefish—both vacuum packed with all the freshness and firmness promised earlier in the day. With fish this good the work has already been done for you—you don’t need to add anything. It’s nice to have side dishes to go to (as opposed to smother over) and for the salmon I have a little dry toast and fresh guacamole. For the bluefish I only add a tiny hint of lemon—about every third bite, just for the extra dimension. The salmon is delicate—as if it could melt on your tongue, yet firm enough to be peeled into quarters without falling apart. The bluefish is weightier in texture (think swordfish) but is totally free of the oiliness that tends to identify it. Both boast the clean flavor of the fish and could not be further from that “fishy taste” that’s sometimes mentioned when smoked fish comes up in conversation.

In spite of my fourth grade bruising I never really stopped envying the peaceful, deep blue existence of a fish. But I never realized how celebrated fish could be on so many levels. Fish brought to culinary artisans Peter and Marco are treated with the respect equal to a sphinx cat mummified and entombed under the watchful eyes of the feline goddess Bastet. Say what you will about the fish, but in the case of Nantucket Wild Gourmet & Smokehouse, a farewell awaits that is a heck of a lot more grand than being sucked into the engine of a 747.
Take that Miss Landis...

To subscribe to Edible cape cod Magazine go to http://www.ediblecapecod.com/

DEATH AND DISMEMBERMENT (or...How not to get out of a reservation)

2009-05-13T14:57:00.000-07:00

(All the names have been changed to protect the guilty...)

Innkeepers are constantly reminded of the fragility of man. Every time someone has to cancel their room at the last minute and risks a financial penalty, the Innkeeper is usually reassured of his or her own mortality. It is incredible how many family crisis’, sudden deaths and car accidents occur within the week of a guest’s arrival to an inn or a bed and breakfast. Because businesses such as these have fewer rooms, they must have stricter cancellation policies, and because of these policies, more often than not a cancellation will sound something like this…

Guest: “I’m sorry to tell you this but we have to cancel our reservation for this weekend.”

Poor Little Old Me: “I understand. I know you are aware of our cancellation policy. I will cancel your room and refund your deposit just as soon as we re-book your room.”

Guest: (Long pause) “Tell me again…what if you can’t resell our room?”

PLOM: "Then we cannot refund your deposit. You see within a week of your arrival you are responsible for the room. It is the only way we won’t get stuck with an empty room at the last moment. In this business, empty beds mean empty pockets!”

Guest: (Longer pause) “….Well we REALLY want to come, it’s just that my 98 year old mother, who happens to live with us, passed away this morning. My daughter found her, the poor thing. We are all obviously very upset about this, and my daughter is in shock and isn’t eating. To make matters worse my wife is the only person in the world that my mother's cats trust so he will have to stay home and take care of the little ones this weekend as well.”

(Long pause on my end, trying to comprehend a dead woman, a kid in shock and needy cats)….

Guest continues: “So…..is there any way we can get our money back?”

PLOM: “I promise we will do our very best to rebook your room. I am truly sorry about your mother, but booking a long weekend so far in advance with a 98 year old woman living in the house is really living pretty edgy, is it not? If you don’t mind me saying so, your mother is gone--let her go! What better time to take a vacation! As for the cats, we accept pets! So instead of risking taking a bath on the room, why not send your wife and daughter along with the cats? I’m sure in this difficult time a little space might be nice, and it’ll give you a chance to start making funeral arrangements! After all, your wife shouldn’t have to deal with all of that stuff anyway. Hasn’t taking care your elderly mother been enough on her already? Mom is dead--send your family on a vacation! We’ll even wave the pet fee. Whattya say?"
(CLICK).

Now understand, I am not an insensitive innkeeper. I’m just numb to it already. Just last month the Miller’s son was in a car accident, the Betz party had to bury their aunt, and Mrs. Eddelman found out she had cancer of the brain---all days before their weekend arrival.
OK, I DID cave gave Mrs. Eddelman back her deposit. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t dream up a fatal disease just to get out of her comittment, and if she DID lie about her own brain cancer, I admire her spunk. She got her cash back. As for the Bentz’s dead aunt, I say that staring into the face of death should give us more of a reason to LIVE! Would your aunt really want you to substitute a weekend on Cape Cod with an open casket, a grim ham and potato salad lunch, and stories about how she got lost for 3 hours in Macy’s? Sorry, no automatic refund for you. Carpe Diem! Get off of your rear end and live!

As for the Miller's with the banged up son, that's a tough call. I need to know more information about the car accident. Was he drinking? Setting the cruise control at 70 and swapping tongues with his girlfriend? Perhaps he was talking on his silly bluetooth and text messaging. Maybe he was the innocent victim of a blind side....who knows!? If he had been drinking and driving--or texting his buddies about the bong and s'mores party that night--would the parents tell me? Probably not. But if that was the case he could have hurt other people! He could have injured or killed ME! Sorry, no automatic refund for you either. We'll do our best to fill your room but we won't be financially penalized because you brought up a reckless, irresponsible little lunatic! When he comes to, tell him HE'S responsible for any possible financial penalties for the cancellation. Teach him the meaning or responsibility!

You see, here's the deal...
Some tragedies are real, and some are made up. There is no way for the person at the other end of the phone to know the truth. What the innkeeper DOES know is that these types of phone calls come in fast and furious. Many people do have unfortunate family crisis happen, but many people book 2, 3 or 4 accomodations, and when they finally decide where to stay they pick up the receiver, make up the crisis du jour and start spreading the word. Others simply might find a less expensive place to stay just before their arrival date, while some cancel because the weather forcast might be less than perfect. No matter what the reason, when a last minute cancellation needs to be made, and a deposit is at stake, relatives get maimed, mangled, or worse.

So, as an innkeeper, I will offer up this bit of advice to anyone looking to get out of a last minute reservation…. MAKE UP A BETTER EXCUSE! Humor us! Innkeeper's have heard all of the doom and death, had-to-put-the-dog-down stories. They don't work anymore! After loosing a certain percentage of precious revenue because of such phone calls innkeeper's desensitize to this kind of stuff. What ever the catastrophe is, we've already heard it (and probably within the last 24 hours).

What I would love is a phone call from someone telling me he had to cancel his room for tomorrow night because he got his foot caught in a bear trap while camping, and he had to chew through his ankle to escape. To make matters worse, it so happens to be his clutch foot, and he drives a standard. Now honestly, I might first try to encourage him to get to Hertz and rent an automatic, but probably he'll fall into the same category as poor old Mrs. Eddelman. In the game of high rental rates, competitive room deposits and tougher cancellation policies it's the caller who shows a little effert and creative integrity who just might get the thumb's up.
~Tommy Dott