courtesy of Marc Abrahams

http://improbable.com/

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/europe/uk-removes-human-breast-milk-ice-cream-from-shop-on-health-concerns/article1923234/print/

U.K. removes human breast milk ice cream from shop on health concerns

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	PAUL GRIFFIN by Jonathan Singer
		Transcribed below is a letter written by Jonathan Singer to David Hinckley of The New York Daily News. The letter led to Mr. Hinckley’s article on Paul Griffin which appeared in TNYDN in March of 1999. Paul Griffin passed away June 14, 2000. Jonathan Singer is a New York writer living in Charlotte, NC. He has written about music (which is like dancing about architecture, according to Laurie Anderson) for the last 25 years. He co-wrote the recent autobiography of singer Cissy Houston, “How Sweet the Sound” (Doubleday).
	March 4, 1999 Mr. David Hinckley The New York Daily News 450 W. 33rd St., 3rd floor New York, NY 10001 Dear David: One of our heroes is very sick. Paul Griffin, probably New York’s finest studio keyboard player, needs a liver transplant. Neil Baruch at CBS, a childhood friend, suggested alerting you about this wonderful musician’s dire circumstances. As you probably know, Paul began his career in the late 50s playing piano and organ with King Curtis’ band. He quickly became a Zelig-like figure, playing keyboards on some of pop music’s most historic and memorable moments: Bob Dylan’s first “electric” records, all of Bacharach/David’s classic Dionne Warwick sides and a slew of hits by the Shirelles, Solomon Burke, Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, Steely Dan and many more. Think of the organ intro to Chuck Jackson’s “Any Day Now”…the gospel piano behind Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone”and Don McLean’s “Miss American Pie”…the tack piano on B.J.Thomas’ “Raindrops Keep Fallin’on My Head” and Bob Dylan’s “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues”…Dionne Warwick’s “Walk on By”…Paul Simon’s “Tenderness” (There Goes Rhymin’ Simon ) — these all feature Paul Griffin at the keyboard. Last year, while collaborating with Cissy Houston on her autobiography, “How Sweet the Sound” (Doubleday), Paul’s name came up as soon as we began discussing her 60s session work. A jaded, session veteran, Cissy was uncharacteristically effusive about Pau l. “Paul Griffin can play anything,” she said. Of course, she was right. One on-line discography lists over two hundred albums Griffin has played keyboards on: Sixties New York pop like the Shirelles’ “Tonight’s the Night,” “Mama Said,” and “Soldier Boy.” Neil Diamond and Van Morrison’s first hits for Bert Berns. Folk rock albums by Eric Andersen, Tom Rush, Peter, Paul & Mary’s Album 1700 and Late Again ; Judy Collins’ Judith . Debut albums by John Denver and Carly Simon. Bonnie Raitt’s Streetlights . Jazz records by George Benson, Quincy Jones, and Nina Simone. Albums by John Lennon, Yoko Ono, Stephen Bishop and Blues Traveler. His warmth came through right over the phone. “I’m in awe of what you guys [writers] do,” he said even as I gushed about his contribution to Dionne Warwick, Steely Dan’s “Gaucho,” Donald Fagen’s “Kamakiriad” and Dylan’s first rock’n roll records; Bringing It All Back Home , Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde . He seemed grateful to be acknowledged but shied away from the praise with an “aw, shucks” bashfulness. “We made a lot of music back then,” he finally confessed. “We didn’t realize the importance of it until years later.” While we spoke, I discovered that Paul lived just three blocks from where I was working in Riverdale. A few days later, I met him on the sidewalk outside his apartment building. The first thing you noticed was the smile, a big elastic one which rarely left his face. “He was always in a positive, humorus mood,” says Hugh McCracken, another legendary New York musician who played guitar alongside Paul on hundreds of sessions. “He never had an attitude with anybody. A lot of musicians had an attitude with those who didn’t play as good as they did. Paul would always acknowledge or flatter a player on something that was worthy. And he always was very insightful about other musicians; very sensitive…always a gentleman.” Small and wiry, wearing jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt, he looked much younger than sixty-three. Only the few specks of gray that dotted his close-cropped afro and the old black aviator frames reminded you that he already had close to forty years in the music business. He led the way to the building’s basement where he unlocked a room usually reserved for dusty old bikes and baby carriages. The right side of the room was still filled with cobwebs and old boxes. But the other side was a mad musician’s lair of carefully arranged keyboards, synthesizers and computer monitors. He laughed, apologized for the mess and offered a chair while he wheeled around on a little stool, from keyboard to computer, finishing up a children’s project. Since the 80s, the New York session scene has dried up. Gone are the days when a top player like Paul could bounce from session to session covering three or four in one day. When Phil Spector was working at his favorite room, Mira Sound, in the lobby of the dumpy Americana Hotel on 47th Street. When Bacharach was recording at Associated on Seventh Avenue next to the Metropole…Phil Ramone was at A&R on 48th Street and Brooks Arthur was cutting Leiber and Stoller’s artists at Century Sound. When musicians were working so regularly they could run a tab for months at Jim and Andy’s, a great little bar/restaurant downstairs from A&R. The work looked like it would never end, but it did. The 70s was the last great decade; before drum machines replaced real drummers, and sequencing, sampling and Midis changed the way music was made in the studio. If you were smart, you socked something away during the good years. Few did. As you know, musicians do not receive royalties from a hit record. Record companies pay into a fund based on the number of sessions a musician has worked in a calendar year. These monies are disbursed to the musician through the union. One musician said that some years when the session work was running heavy, it was not unusual to receive checks from this fund for fifteen thousand dollars. Now, he said he’s lucky if he sees a check for fifteen hundred. These days, musicians must rely on contract work, teaching and advertising jingles to get by. The shingle they hang, a memento from the good old days, is the gold record. Hanging wildly askew on Griffin’s drab, gray and white walls was a gold record for Steely Dan’s “Aja.” That’s Paul playing electric piano and singing harmony with Michael McDonald on “Peg.” In the middle of the floor, atop a pile of old cartons was a framed, gold 45 of Don McLean’s “American Pie” — forgotten, amidst the rubble, as Griffin’s brilliant piano playing on the record generally is. Paul displayed no bitterness for the elusive fortunes of the music business. He recalled, rather, with great fondness, his first sessions in 1961 with Cissy Houston at Scepter Records. Hearing that gospel thing in her voice, “I was instantly filled with love for her and her whole family,” he said softly. Hearing her niece, twenty-year-old Dionne Warwick’s voice for the first time at a session, he was so struck with its beauty, he says he forgot to play. A little disappointment did creep into his voice as the conversation returned to two of his most well-known gigs; both massive successes that barely rubbed off on him: Don McLean’s “Miss American Pie” and Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone.” He quickly excused Dylan for underutilizing the great band that produced this milestone; recognizing that it was more important at the time for Dylan to slow down and save his life than merely hold a band together. But he still remembers the shock and bewilderment of seeing Don McLean on national television, while “Miss American Pie” reigned supreme on the airwaves. McLean sat on a stool and strummed the hit solo — without a single other musician. “Hey, what happened to the band?” Griffin laughed incredulously. He said he had grown up in Harlem during the 40s with no male role models “except the junkies, the pimps and the numbers runners.” His mother made sure he was in church every Sunday — up front. At Paradise Baptist on 135th Street, his regular seat for years was in the pew behind the church pianist. Paul would drift off during the service and find himself watching the pianist’s hands. This went on for years. One day after church, Paul slid onto the piano bench and began doodling around on the keyboard. After a few more times, he found he had a knack for it. When the church’s pianist eventually died, Paul took her place. As an eighth-grader, his dream was to attend New York’s prestigious High School of Music and Art. A judgemental guidance counselor, observing either Griffin’s humble station or mindful of Music and Art’s high academic requirements, assured him he would never be admitted. Griffin slumped out of her office and began weeping quietly in the hall. At just that moment, a teacher who had befriended Griffin happened by. “Why are you crying ?” he asked. Through tears, Griffin explained. The teacher was appalled at the guidance counselor’s insensitivity. He promised Paul that he would not only reprimand the counselor but that Paul would audition for Music and Art just like anyone else. Griffin passed the audition. Four years later in 1953, he graduated from the High School of Music and Art . King Curtis offered Paul his first opportunity record in the late 50s. “Can you make the gig?” Curtis asked him. Make the what? “Can you make the session?” Curtis repeated. What’s a gig…what’s a session? Paul was so green he needed a translator. But he was no neophyte at the keyboard. He went on the road with Curtis and eventually cut ten albums with him. Griffin became a permanent fixture at Scepter Records sessions with players like Mickey Baker, Jimm y Lewis and Panama Francis. Beginning in 1960 with “Tonight’s the Night,” under the direction of producer, Luther Dixon, Griffin and company played on virtually all of the Shirelles’ records (and most of Scepter’s releases). Paul was one of the arrangers on “Mama Said” and Tommy Hunt’s “Human.” His playing on all of Chuck Jackson’s early hits cemented a lifelong friendship between the two. Paul quickly became the first-call keyboard player for producers like Leiber and Stoller, Jerry Wexler, Bert Berns, Jerry Ragovoy and Burt Bacharach and Hal David. For Berns, Griffin played on the Isley Brothers’ “Twist and Shout,” most of Solomon Burke’s hits and Van Morrison’s first New York sessions. Ragovoy used Griffin almost exclusively on hits he wrote and produced like Garnett Mimms and the Enchanters’ “Cry Baby,” the original versions of Janis Joplin’s signature, “Piece of My Heart” (Erma Franklin), “Try” (Lorraine Ellison) and “Time Is On My Side” (Kai Winding). The spell Griffin cast over Ragovoy was so strong that to this day, Ragovoy says he finds himself sitting at the keyboard still under the influence: “Oh, my God,” he says, listening to himself play. “I’m Paul Griffin today!” But if any one producer monopolized Griffin, it was Burt Bacharach. From Dionne Warwick’s first records; “Don’t Make Me Over,” “Walk On By,” “Anyone Who Had a Heart” through B.J.Thomas’ “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head” — if Bacharach/David wrote it, then Paul Griffin probably played the piano part. Wait a minute. Bacharach, no slouch as a pianist, gave Paul nearly all of his own piano parts to play? “Do you know why he did that?” Griffin asked. “Because Burt used to love to come into the studio and conduct. That’s why he gave me those parts to play.” Other musicians might have kept quiet about Bacharach’s idiosyncrasies and just let their own legend grow. Not Griffin. Try to compliment him on that little organ part for Chuck Jackson’s “Any Day Now” and he humbly smiles away the accolade. “A Bert Keyes arrangement,” he says, proud to give credit where credit is due. The modesty isn’t false. Despite forty years in the business, despite the milestones (and all those Bacharach piano parts!) he still has a sense of wonder about where he’s been and the talent of others. Mention Frank Owens, another piano player on Dylan’ s Highway 61 Revisited , and his voice drops to a hush. Here was a sideman, he whispers, who was so classy and so good he unwittingly stole the gig from the headliner right onstage at the Apollo. Griffin was so knocked-out by Aretha Franklin’s piano playing, that he refused to play on the session for “Think.” “They wanted me to play that [piano] intro she does. I said, `No way! That’s her !’ Then again, Griffin was playing with Aretha three years before Atlantic signed her; when Clyde Otis cut her for Columbia. If Paul Griffin’s jazz/blues and gospel chops are not as easily recalled on the productions of Bacharach, Ragovoy, Wexler and Berns, his contribution to Bob Dylan’s seminal mid-sixties records is already writ large in pop music history. Griffin was present at Dylan’s first rock’n roll session in 1965 for the album, Bringing It All Back Home . No fluke, Dylan requested him three more times; for his next album, Highway 61 Revisited which included Paul’s tasty work on “Like a Rolling Stone,” and the sessions that included “Positively Fourth Street,” “Sitting on a Barbed Wire Fence” and “Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?” Dylan also tapped him years later to overdub organ on Blood on the Tracks . But Paul Griffin’s most extraordinary — and often uncredited — work with Bob Dylan occurred on January 25, 1966. There has always been some confusion about the players on this first New York session for Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde . Because the album was finished a few months later in Nashville, the album lists only the Nashville musicians. The two New York sessions, the first of which produced “One of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later),” are frequently credited to members of the Band . Rick Danko and Robbie Robertson might have played bass and guitar on one of the New York sessions. But just a single listening erases any doubt about who played piano. Al Kooper, who played organ at the session, remembers Paul well. “The piano playing on “One of Us Must Know” is quite magnificent,” Kooper told writer Andy Gill. “It influenced me enormously as a pianist. It’s probably Paul Griffin’s finest moment.” Griffin’s playing on “One of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later)” is reminiscent of what he would play five years later on Don McLean’s “American Pie” — but even more brilliant in its intensity and improvisation. The song is an emotional confession of misconnects and apologies from the singer to some woman who has tragically slipped out of his life. Griffin gives the song its tragic depth — and height. He picks his way sensitively through the verses; but at other times, he prowls beneath the words with Judgement and an ominous gospel lick that he stokes until he has climbed to the verse’s peak. At the chorus, Griffin unleashes a symphony; hammering his way up and down the keyboard, half Gershwin, half gospel, all heart. The follow-up, a killer left hand figure that links the chorus to the verse, releases none of the song’s tension. Then, on the last chorus, not content to repeat the same brilliant part, Griffin’s playing is so breathtaking, so completely embodies the lyric, that he enters into some other dimension. For several seconds, on one of Dylan’s best songs, Griffin makes Dylan seem almost earthbound. “It’s great, two-fisted, gospel piano playing,” Kooper says, “played with the utmost of taste.” Paul Griffin doesn’t remember it. He’s momentarily bewildered, almost apologetic for not recalling something others hold so dear. The part was probably something he’d heard in Paradise Baptist church at least a hundred times before. But do not mistake an isolated, fuzzy memory for a moment that he is unaware of. He is well aware of this music’s significance — in Paul Griffin’s life. “The sound that you hear is the sound of gratitude,” he says simply. “If it wasn’t for music, I don’t know what would have become of me. I’d had a lot of jobs — I was a cutter in the garment district, I delivered groceries for a supermarket — but nothing with any kind of future. So, what you hear is the sound of being thankful…for being able to play…for being tapped to play on a session [Dylan's] like that…thankful…as if I’d been saved from something horrible. ” Several months after this conversation, Paul came down with pneumonia. Over the last year, he’s been in and out of the hospital. Then, a few weeks ago, doctors told him he needed a liver transplant. After a lifetime in music, “something horrible” yet threatens to overtake Paul Griffin. Doctors do not comment on one’s suitability as an organ recipient. Your name goes into a computer and the doctors try to get you ready if and when a replacement organ becomes available. Meanwhile, Paul and his family wait. Would it not be fitting and wonderful if some of the artists, musicians and executives who so appreciated Paul while his smile lit up a session and his playing lit up their hearts, could now raise up as one and help him. Even the listening public — anyone who remembers all those Shirelles records, Chuck Jackson’s “Any Day Now,” “American Pie,” or the first exquisite twenty seconds of “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues.” Anyone, in fact, who, like Don McLean, can still remember how that music used to make them smile. Sincerely, Jonathan Singer

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siteguide | news | touring | emg | history | the works | contact | home |

SundayBreakfast@TheBigTable
Sunday from 10AM to 2PM.

Out of consideration for others you cannot study or use computers ANYWHERE in this room during LittleBreakfast.
Kitchen
Monte Cristo Sandwich  6.75
Classic French Toast with NH maple syrup  5.75
Veggie Sandwich: orange marmalade, goat cheese
on cranberry pecan bread   4.75
Grilled Lamb Sausage, shaved fennel, blood orange
with minty yogurt   6.95
Smoked Salmon with Tomato, Red Onion, and Lettuce  6.95
Bagel Bar
Any type of Iggy掇 Bagels toasted  3.95
(Plain, Raisin, Sesame, or Multi-seeds)
Toppings:
Cream Cheese:  assorted flavors
Peanut Butter
Whipped Butter
Assorted Hi-Rise Preserves
Raisins
Sophia掇 of Belmont Greek Yogurt with Honey and Granola 3.25

French Press Coffee from
Barismo, George Howell,
or Batdorf & Bronson  3.75
Fresh squeezed orange juice  2.00

Anyone pining for some ice cream in London now has an unusual option to consider: ice cream made from mothers’ breast milk. The Icecreamists shop has made headlines for using milk from as many as 15 women to make its new “Baby Gaga” flavor.

The rare offering proved a hit with customers at the Covent Garden store — the first batch sold out within days of being introduced. A serving of Baby Gaga, which is reportedly flavored with vanilla and lemon zest, goes for 14 pounds — or about $22.50.

The milk came from women found on an Internet advertisement. And the folks at Icecreamists say all the milk “was screened in line with hospital/blood donor requirements.”

In an interview for British TV, store founder Matt O’Connor says, “It’s pure, it’s natural, it’s organic, and it’s free range — and if it’s good enough for our kids, it’s good enough to use in our ice cream.” Watch the video here:

The case reminded me of the Eats on Feets campaign, which started out on Facebook after a breastfeeding mother sought ways to put her surplus milk to use. Teaming up with a like-minded activist, the movement has spread — and now includes Antarctica, according to the EoF Facebook page. Emma Kwasnica, one of the women behind Eats on Feets, was interviewed by NPR member station KOPN — for its Momma Rap program. The U.S. FDA is a bit leery of using “donor human milk.” On its website, it explains why:

Risks for the baby include exposure to infectious diseases, including HIV, to chemical contaminants, such as some illegal drugs, and to a limited number of prescription drugs that might be in the human milk, if the donor has not been adequately screened. In addition, if human milk is not handled and stored properly, it could, like any type of milk, become contaminated and unsafe to drink.

Still, the FDA isn’t categorically against sharing breastmilk. It points people to the Human Milk Banking Association of North America as a good source of information and possible contacts.
I think every male ice cream maker has thought about this idea.  I don’t know about female ice cream makers.  All ice cream makers think about using ingredients other than cow milk.  Water Buffalo milk has more fat and makes great mozzarella.  People often ask for goat’s milk ice cream and I have seen at least one company attempting to meet this demand.
When I studied Ice Cream Science at Rutgers and I did, as many others have, our teachers told us “there is a Federal Standard of Identity for ice cream that requires the use of milk from cows.”

We have stored breast milk in our walkin freezer, to the consternation of workers who were afraid we were going to do just this.  The breast milk was for newborns, and donated by nursing mothers.  We didn’t add vanilla, lemon zest or anything else.  The babies were both very happy.

SaturdayBreakfast@TheBigTable
Every Saturday 10AM to 2PM
and
Every Sunday 10Am to 2PM SundayBreakfast@TheSmallTable

Out of consideration for others you cannot study or use computers ANYWHERE in this room during breakfast.

French Toast with NH maple syrup  5.75
Creamy Egg Sandwich on toasted ciabatta  5.95
add bacon  2.25
Bacon Sandwich: fire roasted tomates, arugula, balasmic aioli
on rosemary focaccia  7.25
add egg 1.00
Blueberry Pancakes with a hint of lemon
and NH maple syrup   7.75
Fried Egg Sandwich with caramelized onions,
French feta and spinach pesto  5.75
add bacon  2.25
Chorizo and Potato Hash with fried egg  6.25
Grilled Blueberry Muffin with whipped butter  2.95
Side o’bacon  3.75
Sophia’s of Belmont Greek yogurt
with granola and honey   3.25
French Press Coffee from
Barismo, George Howell,
or Batdorf & Bronson  3.75
Fresh squeezed orange juice  2.00

Retired actor, comedian, television personality and blogger Jen Deaderick forwarded this.

http://www.cambridgeportpto.org/half-a-gender-wayang-a-maya-angelou-poem-and-saffron-ice-cream/

The Multicultural Potluck Dinner, one of Cambridgeport’s most popular events, was held on February 17 in the cafeteria. Jointly sponsored by the Parents of Black Children Discussion Group and the Cambridgeport PTO, the event celebrated the unique multi-cultural vibe that energizes our school community and enriches our children’s education.

Each year the mix may be a little different, but the party is always lively and fun. Just as at past potlucks, DJ Olly spun tunes through the evening while families marked their hometowns on a big world map. This year, for the school’s 20th anniversary, organizers chose a blue-and-white color scheme and distributed a get-to-know-you Cambridgeport “bingo” game. Players roamed the room seeking signatures of those who “are the parent of a 1st grader,” “love to eat spicy food,” “have traveled outside of the US in the last year,” or “speak three languages” (for the last question the name frequently returned was “Aya,” a second grader whose family hails from Morocco). Those who completed the game had their bingo cards posted and won delicious dark chocolate mini bars, generously donated by Equal Exchange, a distributor of fairly traded and organic coffee, tea and chocolate and an organizer of sustainability-focused fundraisers for schools.

Dinner was a sampler’s abbondanza of world cuisines (see photos below), featuring dishes such as couscous, Chinese dumplings, stuffed cabbage, latkes, American barbecue, chili, falafel, jerk chicken, Indian curry, pasta with pesto, Polish bitki, and shrimp with rice and peas. Among the many volunteers who helped serve from behind the tables (and kept items organized) was a C’port parent who only a month ago moved to Cambridge from South Africa with his family (thanks, John!). It was amazing to discover just how many talented cooks our school seems to have, and how many people were happy to help make the evening a success.

Just as the mealtime wound down, the entertainment kicked into gear with a demonstration of an Indonesian metallophones instrument called the gender by Boston composer and graphic artist Christine Southworth. Christine is a member of Galak Tika, an innovative Balinese Gamelan orchestra centered at MIT. She described how two genders are traditionally played together as an ensemble called a Gender Wayang to accompany Indonesian shadow puppet plays. Galak Tika will perform in the New Music Marathon on April 15 at MIT’s Kresge Auditorium as part of MIT’s 150th Anniversary “Festival of Art, Science and Technology“. Many thanks to Christine for taking the time to share the exotic sounds of her unique instrument with our students. (For at least one family at Cambridgeport, who hails from Indonesia, they were the sounds of home.)

Eighth grade students provided the remainder of the evening’s entertainment. First, Desi C. and Ci-Ci M. gave a spirited recitation, by heart, of the Maya Angelou poem “Phenomenal Woman”. Next, Mira R. and Leyla A., whose respective families come from Lebanon and Ethiopia, presented a series of skits under the direction of Arts Committee president Jen Deaderick. The first demonstrated the three ways cultures have historically collided: they either made war, passed along disease (“achoo!”), or traded goods; the second skit described how accidents—like bumping into each other and mixing milk and chocolate—can produce a tasty new product; and the third depicted the irony of two people—one from England and one from China—arguing that their own country’s method of brewing tea was more “correct” (both oblivious to the fact that their tea was originally produced in India).

Dessert time capped off the memorable evening, and included contributions from families, a large celebration cake, and the very thoughtful donation of many hand-packed ice cream cups by Toscanini’s in Central Square. To match the spirit of the evening, Toscanini’s owner Gus Rancatore chose numerous exciting flavors for our students to try, including green tea, burnt caramel, mango, saffron, Hydrox cookie, Grapenut raisin, coffee, goat cheese brownie and one cup of a mysterious flavor labeled “wort.” The unusual-sounding ice creams presented a challenge for some students, whose faces expressed both longing and uncertainty as they decided which flavor to pick (or whether to try one at all). But for every student unwilling to step beyond his or her comfort zone, there was another in line behind who declared, “I’ll take it!” As quick as a flash every cup was gone, most carrying extra spoons. (And, at least so far as we know, the adventurous soul who tasted the “wort” survived to tell the tale.)

Many thanks, again, to Galak Tika, DJ Olly, Equal Exchange, and Toscanini’s for helping make our event such a big hit, and to the 8th graders and other upper grade students who attended and presented, and to all the parent organizers and volunteers who set up, cleaned up, and kept things running smoothly. Anyone interested in helping with next year’s Multicultural Potluck should contact Shirley Harvey at: sharvey@cpsd.us or 617-349-6587, ext. 111. It’s never to soon to say you’d like to be involved.

SaturdayBreakfast@TheBigTable
Every Saturday 10AM to 2PM
and
Every Sunday 10Am to 2PM SundayBreakfast@TheSmallTable

Out of consideration for others you cannot study or use computers ANYWHERE in this room during breakfast.

French Toast with NH maple syrup  5.75
Creamy Egg Sandwich on toasted ciabatta  5.95
add bacon  2.25
Bacon Sandwich: fire roasted tomates, arugula, balasmic aioli
on rosemary focaccia  7.25
add egg 1.00
Blueberry Pancakes with a hint of lemon
and NH maple syrup   7.75
Fried Egg Sandwich with caramelized onions,
French feta and spinach pesto  5.75
add bacon  2.25
Chorizo and Potato Hash with fried egg  6.25
Grilled Blueberry Muffin with whipped butter  2.95
Side o’bacon  3.75
Sophia’s of Belmont Greek yogurt
with granola and honey   3.25
French Press Coffee from
Barismo, George Howell,
or Batdorf & Bronson  3.75
Fresh squeezed orange juice  2.00

Everyone is still waiting for Floating Island to open, which is floating off the mainland of Mass. Ave.  In the meantime other places are getting ready to open.

1.  Fireplace Saints from Central Kitchen’s Gary Strack
2.  Catalyst, a restaurant and conference center from the former chef at Aujourd Hui.
3.  Area 4 from Michael Leviton of Newton’s Lumiere.

Bosphorous opened at 1164 Cambridge Street, across from Tupelo and near East by Northeast. Artisanal is handsome and the Turkish food is wonderful.  The design is striking and the bathrooms are cute.   An artisanal butcher shop is scheduled for that part of 02139.

We have dispatched correspondents to the British Virgin Isles, Florida’s West Coast, Orlando, FLA and Boca Raton.  First up is a report from  our Revolutionary Carpenters on their
efforts to establish a Club Red Med in Nicaragua.

Those awaiting adventurous epistles and cogent observations on the
human condition abroad are bound to be disappointed with our current
output.  So far we’ve spent most of this journey
lounging in hammocks at one of those dreamy paradise beach spots –  an
island just a few hundred yards off the pacific coast – a clutch of
lovely cabanas right on the beach – nesting sea turtles, swooping and
chattering birdlife, great crashing waves, temps in the 80s, plenty o
Nicaragua’s particularly fine rum.  And solar powered wireless to
boot!  Our lodge has had an average of five people a day including us,
and we can walk two miles of spotless beach without glimpsing another
soul.

About the most bizarre cultural experience so far has been the strange
breakfast offered at the hotel where we overnighted in Atlanta –
biscuits and mystery meat patties, smothered in chalky white gravy,
served up with accents from Gone with the Wind.  Nicaragua’s pantheon
of papaya, passionfruit and pineapple has been significantly more to
our liking.  We preceded our beach time with a two day stay in Leon, a
charming colonial city of crumbling churches, cobblestone streets and
friendly folk.  Our perambulation of the calles and avenidas of Leon
brought us to the bittersweet museum of myths and legends, exhibits of
costumes and trinkets illustrating Nica’s ethnographic diversity and
kitchy clutch of demons and poltergeists. The bitter element arises
from the locale – the museo is housed in an infamous prison where
sandinista sympathizers were shackled, tortured and shot, and the
colorful murals don’t quite conceal the bullet pocked adobe walls.

As in most of the world, the major entertainment in Leon is hanging
out in the main square, chatting, strolling, gossiping, and snacking
in the coolish shade of tropical trees. And of course casting sideways
glances at los gringos.  Whether viewed from a funky bus, from the
rooftop of central america’s largest cathedral (in Leon), or from the
palapa outside our cabana, the picturesque perfect conical volcanos
add the dash of exoticism that charms the day.

We still see snowdrifts in our nightmares, but  the balmy breeze and
anticipation of adventures ahead help us face another day in paradise
with smiles.

Hasta luego, y’all,
=marc&sally en Isla Los Brasiles

Devra First likes Jason Bond’s Bondir on Broadway in Mid-Cambridge.  So do we.

A special bond
By Devra First
Globe Staff  February 9, 2011
It’s the end of a wonderful meal, and the staff at Bondir is tiptoeing past our table, arms full of woolens. They
stop in front of the fireplace, where they unfurl our coats, holding them before the flames until the garments are
toasty. It’s a cold night we’re heading into. They want us to take some of the restaurant’s warmth with us.
It’s one last thoughtful gesture at this most thoughtful restaurant, a reflection of its chef-owner, Jason Bond.
When you’re seated by the fire having a glass of wine before dinner, some little nibble appears at your elbow —
perhaps periwinkles to be extracted from their shells with a golden paperclip. Servers are unfailingly solicitous,
more friendly than polished. The check comes with macaroons to sweeten the deal, the French cookies flavored
with black sesame — although when you look at the bill, you may be surprised to find how reasonable it is.
Above all, Bond is thoughtful about food. His menu changes each night. Bread is baked daily, in varieties such
as sepia-nori and caraway-currant. Most dishes are available as generous half- or full-portions, so you can tailor
your meal to suit your mood. Ingredients are largely local, seasonal, and sustainable. This can be a hazard for a
New England chef in February, but here you never find yourself thinking, “This is amazingly delicious for a meal
based on roots and winter greens.’’ You simply think, “This is amazingly delicious.’’
For instance, in one dish you might find all those roots shaved into delicate ribbons and served with a bounty of
South Shore shellfish — mussels out of their shells, seared scallops, and oysters. It’s dressed in pistachio
vinaigrette, the nuts dense and almost meaty. (An accompanying flatbread is incidental, adding little in terms of
flavor or texture.)
Or roasted squash could be paired with an explosion of baby radishes, turnips, and carrots, cooked in butter
until they are meltingly tender, with a little cake on the side made from teff. You probably know it best as the
base of the Ethiopian bread injera, but Bond prepares it like polenta.
This restaurant is the chef’s first solo venture. He was previously at Beacon Hill Bistro, where he took French
food and made it his own. You could eat perfect steak frites there, but also the likes of duck cured in smoky
Hu-Kwa tea with guanciale and salsify. At Bondir, opened in November, underpinnings of French technique
remain. But the restaurant flies no specific flag, and Bond is freer than ever to experiment with flavors,
ingredients, and methods.
His food is both playful and careful, as in a dish of beautiful handmade pappardelle. Fava leaves are rolled into
the dough so bits of green peek through. The pasta is served curled high upon itself like a castle, its ramparts
ridged with crunchy bread crumbs, black kale, fresh ricotta, and celery that has been braised in Pu-erh tea.
Another night, cavatelli are served with venison ragu, deep with red wine and enriched with bits of liver. The
meat gets added dimension from cocoa nibs, a dark crunch of chocolate in the midst of richness. It’s a valentine
on a plate.
The restaurant is located just outside Central Square, an urban cabin. Painted white and jadeite green, it’s cozy
and neat as a pin. The brick hearth greets you, blazing merrily. Logs for the fire are stacked neatly beneath the
antique wood benches that line the walls, softened by cushions upholstered in a bird pattern. Food is served on
mismatched plates decorated with flowers and fruit; there’s a fresh flower on each table. The walls are bare,
save for a brushstroke painting of a pig. Bond’s grandfather is the artist, and the pig’s name was Tan. He was a
Mangalitsa, a heritage breed. He has been eaten, but you can thank his brother Black for the delicious pancetta
/
in your potato-leek soup.
Served in a white bowl, the silky liquid is nutty and earthy from the potatoes and leeks. Then there’s a surprise,
something that pops between your teeth like fish eggs but tastes like citrus. It’s the innards of an oblong fruit
called the finger lime. Some chefs create fruit caviar by combining juice with ingredients like sodium alginate, a
la molecular gastronomy. Bond seeks out the esoteric ingredient that offers the same effect.
Soup is a constant on this rotating menu. Another night, it’s made from Georgia candy roaster squash, an
heirloom variety I have never seen in a restaurant before. The soup is a rusty brown, spiced like gingerbread,
with a white, foamy line running down the middle. This turns out to be marshmallow, with an added zing from
North African spices. Caramelized shallots and bee pollen are sprinkled on top. It’s a sophisticated riff on
Thanksgiving sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows.
Beet salad also recurs, a dish ubiquitous on Boston menus. Bond makes it interesting again. He takes a spice-
poached beet, cuts it into cubes, and reassembles it like a puzzle. He serves it with tender lettuce, pumpkin
seeds, blood orange, and buttermilk vinaigrette. The spices don’t stand out, but the beet pairs wonderfully with
the cool buttermilk dressing.
Bondir’s cuisine is so detailed, one wonders how he — with the help of cooks Lan Lam and Daniel Amighi —
has time to create all the garnishes and components that make the dishes special. To look at consecutive
menus is to see a chef’s mind at work, re-purposing and recycling. You might eat crisp and succulent duck leg
confit, served with wild mushroom and bean stew, caramelized cauliflower, and a cornmeal cake you will want
again for breakfast. The next night, the leftover duck might be shredded into a pasta dish.
Scituate lobster on another visit is served with a puree of celeriac, roasted kohlrabi, and pickled honshimeji
mushrooms, offering puckery bursts of contrasting flavor. The pickled mushrooms reappear later in a dish of
Scituate scallops, nearly 3 inches across and expertly seared and salted. The sweet shellfish come with bright
green celery puree — Bond appreciates the delicate, vegetal flavor of this vegetable, which does not get enough
love — and a roasted pink radish. Cooking has turned it into a melting dumpling of a root, lightly spiced and with
a texture all its own. It is a brilliant dish.
So is Wagyu beef sauerbraten, no humble pot roast this. The meat shreds into tender bites; it comes with
carrots braised in red wine, sweet-and-sour red cabbage, and pears that have been showered in black pepper
and cooked until jammy. These same components appear on an earlier menu with thin slices of venison leg, part
of the same deer from which the ragu is made.
Dessert is composed with the same thoughtfulness and playfulness, with names such as Tangerine Dream
(sponge cake with thyme-buttermilk ice cream and tangerine, topped with meringue brulee) and Chocolate
Enlightenment (a pyramid of chocolate with parsnip puree, rooibos tea froth, and candied Buddha’s hand citrus).
Bondir serves wine and beer only. Servers, well versed in the menu, are less knowledgeable here. A few whites
and reds are offered by the glass, and a crisp, cold Austrian gruner veltliner one evening is a fine
accompaniment to the food. Prosecco is also available by the glass; one more bubbly option would be welcome
for sipping before dinner. But the list puts the emphasis back on bottles, and that’s welcome. When everyone at
the table may be sharing a wide assortment of different dishes, there’s less need to worry about pairing the food.
It seems fitting to also share a nice bottle, such as the 2006 Rainoldi Nebbiolo, which smells like tar and roses.
Many of the brews come from local outfits such as Pretty Things, with several from Belgium and beyond.
Vermouth appears on the dessert menu, along with other aperitifs that would be nice to know about before the
meal.
Bondir is special. It’s the rare restaurant equally suitable for regular weeknight visits and celebratory occasions.
Eating here is a highly personal experience, never quite the same twice. You will find ingredients you’ve never
tasted before, and familiar ones prepared new ways. You will be well cared for. And when you leave, you will
take some of the warmth with you.
Devra First can be reached at dfirst@globe.com.
© Copyright 2011 Globe Newspaper Company.