Clam chowder what warms yer

Git yer piping hot chowder next door, at 66 Square Feet (the Food).

Whale Watching

We met our American Princess whale cruising vessel on the Far Rockaways, where it was moored in Jamaica Bay. The place seemed bereft of life.

From the upper deck we could sea Horse Shoe and Dead Horse Bay, over the water on the left of the bridge.

From the beach beach fisherman cast their lines. Coney Island on the other side.

Yachts glided by.

We ploughed past Breezy Point, a park on the tip of the Rockaways. We haven't been there, yet. No public transport makes it to that tip and it's a bit of a slog to get there. I know. Bicycles.

This yacht seemed to be cutting it rather fine, sailing near the line of rocks that mark the end of the barrier islands off Long Island.

In open water, spinnakers billowed.

And the whale watching began.

No whales.

Guests who were bored with the lack of whale action - I'd say about two thirds of the passengers - were happy: flatscreen TV in the main cabin. Playing football. In the middle of the big blue. It was amazing. And yet people were glued. Infomercials about blenders making resort-quality frozen blared through the airy space. It was the only off note about the experience.

What is so wrong with the silence of this 'nothing'?

I had a catnap, curled warmly on a seat in the sun after a few hours outside. I don't have catnaps, as I wake up cross. But the motion and the endless sea made me sleepy and I woke up happy.

Going out, rising through the low swell, it had been very cold; coming back, at the same speed as the wind and with a following sea,  it was balmy. Seeing New York from the ocean was wonderful.

On the way back in, after four hours, I looked for the marsh that is being cleaned by the Marshmakers.

 It's somewhere behind those yachts.

A grumpy black crowned night heron welcomed us home. We disembarked, and the rain that had been chasing us swept over the island. We waited for our bus in a leaky shelter and boarded.

At the back of the bus a guy on a cellpone was telling his listener that psychiatric drugs had been prescribed for him but he didn't do drugs, except he smoked weed if he could get it, because the devil did not invent plants and photosynthesis, that would be as crazy as saying the devil had made the sun! And he was a survivor, he thanked God for that, But he was not going to let anyone else have happy ever after, if you know what I mean,  if he was going to go down, he would take them all with him, especially that David. Know what I'm saying?

The bus was steaming up. He got off and I turned to look at his face, but I never did see it.

Back on land.

Biscuit recipe

...next door, at 66 Square Feet (the Food). Baking weather has arrived, a little shiver in the morning air, the grateful warmth of the stove, where a month ago, we shrank from it.

Cooler weather, too, to go running around outside to work off the biscuit butter!

October...

And the nip at the edges has arrived.

It has been a poor summer for the roses. The cooler weather will allow them to bloom longer. But I feel as though we skipped September. 

The anemones are engaged in their last hurrah. Then what? 

Always, then what.

Strawberries, as ever.

And the plectranthus a late, late blue.

All very well, but there are things to do, giants to slay, dinner to cook.

The deep

The Atlantic, off Sandy Hook.

Atlantic Antic - where to eat

La Mancha's grilled sardines

If you're heading to the Atlantic Antic today and this is your first, aim for La Mancha near the Henry Street intersection, on the north side of Atlantic. That is the best place to be, if you are hungry. Sausage, sardines and paella, and wicked sangria. The Chip Shop next door will sell you some cold beer.

The Red Hook Lobster Pound is is worth a (more expensive) visit, too. Last year they were on the south side of Atlantic between Henry and Clinton.

The rest of the enormous street fair (1 million people are alleged to attend) seems to be going very mainstream: more funnel cakes, more Italian sausages are popping up. The good food trucks and excellent Pizza Moto seem not to be materializing. Why? By comparison, the food at the Brooklyn Flea is ahead of the times. Is it a crowd and supply thing?

If it's supply, then La Mancha is on top of it. They sling those fishies pretty fast. Once you've stocked up on the grilled fish wander with a drink, listen to music, and take pictures. But the best part is inside you.

Where will we be? Cruising in open water, off the Rockaways, looking for whales. Hopefully. American Princess Cruises are not exactly reliable with their schedules - it's our last chance before they close for the season. We'll be munching on lamb and spinach pies bought from Damascus Bakery...

Visit these posts to see last year's antic:

Lobster Rolls from Red Hook Lobster Pound
La Mancha's sardines and sausage (and a smoked dog)
The crowd, the crafts (you may strike it lucky) - the 36th Atlantic Antic

Bayberry martini

This is the colour gin turns after three months of bayberry (Myrica pensylvanica) leaf infusion. But I left it too long - it had turned a little medicinal for my taste. What's the point of killing the juniper in the gin, after all? But we're on the right track. I find that I prefer the green fruit of the bayberries; it's possible that the wax on the mature fruit lends a bitter edge. The mature leaves are delicious, and I'm still cooking with them, using them as one would fresh bay (Laurus nobilis). In spring I was able to shred and chop the tender leaves finely using them as fresh rubs for anything that went on the barbecue or under the grill...