Defying the Recession: The best bagels under the sun, tropical fruits ...
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This month, our Storytelling series invites you to describe some of thelittle luxuries you have maintained, despite the economic gloom. Click here to read previous stories:
I cannot -- and will not -- live without:
1) Bagels from Mediterra Bakehouse -- the skilled bakers of exquisite bread, based in Robinson. I take them toasted and spread with crushed raspberries or blackberries. No sugar, no jam, no butter, no cream cheese.
It's better than you-know-what.
2)Fresh papaya and mango, cut in chunks and refrigerated. Grab a few bites when the snacking urge erupts.
3) And, of course, Charlie, my happy dog, who makes me smile and laugh, and who takes me for walks several times daily, helps me meet nice people, makes me realize that each new day is a chance to start over and that dogs are smarter than people.
(He also like Mediterra bagels and papaya and mango.)
-- FRANCES YUSCHAK, Carnegie
The upper reaches of the Douro River in northern Portugal flows through deep valleys whose steep cliffs are scarred by man-made, vineyard-covered terraces. This arid region is wilting hot in summer and numbing cold in winter. But, its soil contains a soft type of crystalline rock called schist, and only grapes that are nourished by this schist produce my guilty pleasure: fruity, aromatic, ruby-colored port.
In this valley of mourning and weeping and recession, few pleasures transcend my parsimonious bent. But true port wine -- grown along the Douro, fortified with 20 percent brandy that stops fermentation and leaves it sweet, aged in large, wooden casks across the river from eponymous Oporto -- is chief among them.
The Ancients thought wine was a gift from the gods. The Greeks thanked Dionysus, the Romans Bacchus and the Egyptians Osiris. Wine is mentioned 10 times in the New Testament and 155 times in the Old. Biblical Palestine was covered with vineyards and in some locations there was more wine available to drink than water.
I know, I know. Port kills brain cells and fattens livers! Many teetotalers will indeed outlive me, but while these paragons of virtue are clogging nursing homes and providing immutable evidence that clean living delays the inevitable, I will be lying in a green cemetery, nourishing any plant or animal that doesn't mind consuming my port-imbued flesh.
Oenophiles enjoy port with foods like cheese or chocolate, and relish sipping it after dinner with other epicureans. I -- being a gourmand, practicing wino and committed misanthrope -- am a solitary imbiber. With a glass decanter of LBV (late bottled vintage) port in one hand, and a footed, crystal wine glass in the other, I retreat to my darkened study, put on a depressing piece of music like Gorecki's Third Symphony, and drink the evening away.
For less than two sawbucks, I can forget the recession and mellow.
Yes, sir, the fruit of the vine is a friend of mine.
-- ROB BILLER, Fombell
First Published April 15, 2009 12:00 am
