Grinder Is King

On any given lunch hour, many of us chomp into Italian or eggplant parmesan grinders without giving much thought to the history of these quintessentially New England sandwiches.

But grinder enthusiasts like Phil Ramos, owner of Terrace Bakery in New London, are well aware of the grinder's genesis, which they say is a distinctly New London story.

"The grinder word was originally from New London," Ramos said inside his Jefferson Avenue bakery and grinder shop recently.

The meaning behind the actual word is simple.

"Because when you bite it, this is what you do," Ramos said mashing his teeth. "You grind it."

--"Grinder is King Festival", The Day, 9/15/12

There's more to the story; of course there is. There always is.

But do you know what grinders mean to me?

That's right: Luncheon.

And I love luncheon.

And this past Saturday was the Grinder Is King Festival in New London.

Talk about a festival I can get behind.

Hoo yeah.

First, you gotta get there:

The Grinder Fest was at Waterfront Park, in downtown New London, on the beautiful, well, waterfront park on the River.

Look! Down here!

Can you believe it? Grinder Fest!

And we were not the only ones enjoying the 9-grinder-samples-for-$5 love . . .

. . . oh, no.

Grinders.

The world's best summer lunch.

The peeps were working it, just for us.

Oh, that grinder love.

And Mistah Schleckah agrees.

Yeah, a funny aside, I ran into a friend who said, "Oh there she is. When there's food, well, there's Ellie."

Um, it's Grinder Fest? Grinder is King? Everyone in town is here? Duh?

Whatevs. Even Jennie, our vegan, gluten-free, meat-, cheese- and bread-free friend, came down to the waterfront to see all the peeps in New London out and about on a spectacular afternoon.

New London? Awesome for many many reasons. Including being home of the Grinder.

Rock On, New London.

I'll have mine toasted.

Summer in May

Monday was Mistah's birthday.

Happy Birthday, Mistah!

We had a lot of ideas about how we'd celebrate, most of them involving a boozy lunch outside, on a deck, overlooking the water.

Do you know how hard it is to do that, along the shoreline in Connecticut? Well I'm here to tell you it's much harder than it should be.

So Mistah, bless his heart, pulled an Ellie and said, "Let's get a grinder and go to the beach."

Music to mine ears.

We packed up Westy, we called in our grinder order, we bought a bag of chips because it was a BIRTHDAY, we loaded up our Oscar with cans of Tecate, and we were off.

We brought sweatshirts: this is, afterall, May.

But we didn't need no stinkin' sweatshirts; we needed bathing suits.

Because it was warm. The beach was beautiful. The weather was stunning. After this long cold hard winter we endured, the day was perfection.

It was Summer. In May.

Mistah thought we should be shades-less for our Ledgie selfie.

Yeah, that worked out well.

And look who else was there . . .

That's right: Suntan Lady!
(She don't like it when it's shady.)

Oooh, and look who else was there . . .

Oh, it's okay; she was just having fun.....

And one of the great things about New London's Ocean Beach?

When one is ready to move on, one can go up to the Gam and have a drink on the deck, and look out upon the world:

Oh, hello drink.

Oh, hello world.

Oh, helllllooooooo Submarine going out to sea . . .

Only in New London, baby.

Oh, hello Mary Ellen.

Oh, hello boys.

 Good-bye for now, MV John H.

 Seeyalatah, Ledgie . . .

Until next time, Ocean Beach.

Thanks for the fabulous Mistah birthday. Thank you for the taste of Summer in May.

cuppa joe

A couple of days ago, in the midst of my boy's birthdaypalooza, I took a little moment to bask in the early afternoon sunshine and have a little rest cure.  I was annoyed by my headache. It had been a busy morning, complete with celebratory donuts and the unveiling and subsequent programming of his dream bounty: an iPod touch. My subtle plan had been to present him with this miraculous wonder and then slip out to the gym while he lost himself in cyber space.

I forgot about technology and my current bout of opposite-of-the-midas-touch syndrome. Of course I had to download a new version of iTunes. Of course I had to create a new account for him. Of course I kept getting an error message. By the time we had the damned thing up and running, it was all I could to to dash to the gym in time for an extra great workout (yay, Eric!)

After that, I had to shower at the gym due to plumbing related catastrophes that I refuse to discuss, and if you try to make me I will resort to rocking in the fetal position with my ears plugged tightly humming somewhere over the rainbow. So it wasn't until I was back home and freshly scrubbed that a headache started to nag. And it took me a few minutes of restorative vitamin D therapy to recall the obvious cause of my ailment. Caffeine withdrawal! Duh. As Ellie quipped, it takes a special kind of stupid to forget your morning Joseph.

So there I was. In the sun lounger with my headache and in dire need of coffee. I really couldn't visualize how I would possibly manage to drag my ass up and into the house to fix myself a pot. I had my phone though, and I texted Ellie:

I can't believe [my girl] doesn't know how to make me a cup of coffee. yet.     

And despite the fact that Ellie's and my conversation naturally turned toward daytime drinking and autocorrect, all the while I was coaching my girl on how to master the life affirming task of making me a cuppa joe.

I coached her through it. First she put six scoops of beans into the grinder - I noted that the scoops had to be full, I'm all too familiar with her unique sense of measurement. My heart danced happily to the sound of the whirring blades making quick work of those little beans. She did the requisite tap-tap-tap of the grinder on the counter before filling the basket with freshly ground coffee.

Next step was to measure the water. She checked in for quality assurance. 

Perfect.

There was a moment of doubt after she poured the water into the machine, she was quite concerned that the hot water would have no way in if she did as I asked and replaced the lid on the carafe. 

Eventually, she reluctantly agreed to Trust Her Mother. For God's sake. 

After getting the water in and turning the brew button to on, there was not much to do while we waited for the magically resplendent sounds and smells that  were sure to follow. So we basked.

Some more stylishly than others.

Almost soon enough, the lovely beep let us know that my joe was ready! My girl leapt into action. This was the hardest step: putting the perfect amount of milk into the mug before pouring in the hot coffee.

I'm sorry the photos are all tilty. Did you think I was going to get up and try harder? I'm no Schlekah.

She brought the mug out to me approximately 42 times, each trip demonstrating at least one additional drop of milk. When she finally got it perfect, we rejoiced!

My long awaited cuppa Joe.

And that, my friends, is how barristas legends are born.

The Fest of the Sail

There is only one thing to do to kick off a Sailfest Saturday Morn properly . . .

. . . grill zucchini for breakfast.

And no, my darling friends, not just any zucchini. Our zucchini. Our big awesome homegrown zucchini.

How big, you ask?

. . . oh, it's big.

And there is only one thing to have for lunch on Sailfest Saturday . . .

. . . a homegrown New London grinder, at Ocean Beach Park.

Ocean Beach was fabulously awesome that day . . .

. . . full of beachgoers . . .

. . . happy, lovely, colorful beachgoers, enjoying our happy, lovely, colorful park.

And after a day soaking up the sand and sun? Rum and pineapples on the Gam, baby . . .

. . . whilst watching the ferries go by . . .

. . . our friends are beginning to feel annoyed by us, because we're annoyed by them, because they don't know which ferries are which by now.

I'm not annoyed, my people. I'm calm. I'm smooth; I'm mellow. That up there is the lovely Cape Henlopen . . .

. . . and that down there is the fabulous MV John H . . . 

. . . Smooth and Mellow, people . . .

Aaaanndddddd . . . back to the Gam!

We are so lucky to know these people.

We have a grandiose time together.

Photo Bomb Alert!

(And back downtown, later that afternoon . . . )

Ice Cream Men Alert!

Oscar Alert!

The bands were fantastic downtown . . .

. . . seriously fantastic . . .

. . . fabulously awesome.

. . . as were the firecrackers:

But nothing -- nothing! -- says Sailfest like planking during the Americana medley.

And then the next day?

Bruncheon!

 There was more planking . . .

 There were bloodies . . .

 . . . Bloodies!

. . . There were lovely friends . . .

. . . and there was, most importantly of all, the obligatory Christmas Tree Conflagration.

Happy 'Fest, my peeps.