Seven hours of cooking, being on your feet and sneaking a picture in here and there was never so much fun. The day began by plopping our apple-stuffed, bacon-slathered turkey into the oven at 325° for three and a half hours. Took it out to cool for roughly twenty-five minutes. Chris got to it and carved to perfection while family memories were made. A bird never looked so darn good.

When you cook all day, you kind of loose your appetite. It’s the most backwards thing. Side dishes came together one-by-one, some of which I didn’t even get around to tasting, but heard reputable remarks about how good it all was. My favorite was probably the cranberry sauce. I’ve always, always, always hated it out of the can that I’ve refused it my whole life. Who knew how good it would be if you made it yourself.

Homemade Cranberry Sauce

Marinated Butternut Squash

Maple Mashed Sweet Potatoes

And I’d like to conclude this photo essay with a toast to how thankful I am for such a wonderful family, an incredible boyfriend, to have food on our table, for all the good times and the hard times and a perfect day of culinary delights.

]]> http://www.photodivebar.com/2010/11/27/day-of-culinary-delights/feed/ 11 http://www.photodivebar.com/2010/11/11/reminiscent-of-summer/ http://www.photodivebar.com/2010/11/11/reminiscent-of-summer/#comments Thu, 11 Nov 2010 13:31:41 +0000 Jess Smith http://www.photodivebar.com/?p=2114
Summer has barely left its fingerprint these days, but to keep warm, I’m remembering past Summer days – flying over to Montauk in the height of the season to enjoy my first and quite a delectable meal from the Crabby Cowboy. It was around this time last November that we were unsuccessful in dining at the food establishment, much too cold so its doors were closed to the public, but the venture still made for wonderful pictures of the sunset after what was probably the most beautiful puddle jumper plane rides I’ve taken.

While waiting for a table, we talked in our animated ways, waiting on the terrace for our beeper to blink, while a chilly breeze swept through every couple of minutes wringing goose pimples all over my arms. As the chit-chatting carried on, I snapped a couple of my mama; she is the prettiest person I know.

It’s an absolute fact that my Zia e Zio are the coolest people I know – and we’re blood relatives so that’s just amazing. They live in a small town in Italy called Paluello down the road from my cousins who abide in a lovely little villa since the 70s. This was the first time I had the opportunity to meet them, and for whatever reason, the the closest I ever felt to my grandfather (who passed away prior to my birth; my Zia is his sister). These two are the most lively, scintillating and hands down hilarious people. They don’t speak a word of English save for “hello,” “thank you very much” and “shut up!” These phrases were periodically blurted out through many a conversation or incredible life story. I particularly enjoyed when my Zio would tell my Zia to “Shuttaup!” and she laughingly mimicked him back.

My Zia is an amazing chef. Chris and I started to come down with cough-due-colds and she always had prepared the exact comfort food we didn’t even know we needed. We did splurge out last evening, dining a delectably genuine Italian pizzeria. This was thee most meticulously prepared pie and they just didn’t stop arriving. Since I can’t recall the sumptuous goodness, I invite you to feast your eyes instead. Commence droolage (I’m so hungry right now).

One fine evening some weekends ago, Mother Bear, her Chris and mine ventured over the Long Island Sound to a little treasure known as Block Island. I’ve only been there once before and the entire perimeter can be covered in approximately fourty-five minutes on a moped.

My mother the jetsetter.

As we strolled about in the late afternoon, fisherman were docked for the day cleaning up the daily catch. It looked so fresh, so good; all I wanted to do was eat it. We dined at a local hotel, The National, while unwinding on the porch with a couple of tasty beverages. There’s nothing like having a hobbyist pilot in the family who thinks flying somewhere for dinner is the ish.

Today was a sad day on the fort; it was unanimous that it was time to put down our beloved thirteen-year-old pup, Tessa. Now I might sound biased, but she was the best damn dog I’ve ever met – always happy, energetic, loving, considerate, playful – better than most people you’d meet on the street. However, in the past eight months she began to decline and within the last month or so her health took a catalytic turn for the worse. Instead of allowing such a fabulous specimen to suffer, which she did not deserve, we put her to rest before it was too late. It’s been a long, reddish puffy-faced day.

Tessa was definitely my mother’s dog, but was gracious to everyone in the family. She loved a good tummy rub, had a certain spot in the backyard under the Copper Beech, was partial to mischievously digging holes, was fond of her dragon and teddy, was absolutely fascinated by snow and always took pleasure in stretching out on the sofa (a characteristic that grew on the family). Generally, I was in favor of her indiscretions, if not the sneaky culprit that beckoned it.

Everyone that met my Tessa agreed that she was one hell of a pooch. She was like that kind of person that would never pass judgment on you and easily start a conversation except in dog speak. She barked at the neighborhood hoodlums, but I’m sure if they were invited inside she would quickly dismiss any allegation. She gallantly strolled the perimeter of our home, clinging and clanging amongst the house with her wookie, bear-like paws. She was something special.

In the end, there was something peaceful about bringing her home from the vet after the procedure. She laid there, body still warm, and there was a calming silence. For the first time that afternoon, I stopped crying. We buried her in our backyard in a spot that had been longing for something; little did we know that it would be the sight of a future burial ground. Alarmed at first, I didn’t know that bringing her back home would make me feel so much better than leaving her there at the vet. We laid her to rest with her favorite toys and a few roses from the bouquet in the house. She deserved this funeral rite and now she will always be with us.

We love ya, boo.