clam chowder.
new england clam chowder. rhody will do in a pinch, but forget that manhattan stuff, unless you've got a barn to paint....
great gramps was a stoic, reliable, and meticulously honest fellow who rigorously followed (mostly) his religious tenets. no pork, shellfish, etc in the home. pizza in the house was a warm weather thing, since we could sit outside, and use paper and plastic. other than that, no outside food. yet, we ate in restaurants often, and traveled aboot the northeast a lot. still no pork and etc for him, and the rest of us, too. respect. after the gazillionth time he ordered
new england clam chowder, impertinent kid me asked him 'im missing something here. what's up with the chowder and pizza routine? i don't get it.'
as usual, in his quiet and unhurried manner, he says, with a smile:
'i born
here, and while you can take the boy out of the farm, you can't take the farm out of the boy. (and as always) find your own, best way to a better life.
' Bridgeport was just a buggy ride, on sundays, down Sport Hill from the farm in Easton for him. it's where he learned aboot pizza from all the shops next to the westside factories, cuz almost everybody, everywhere in his hood, enjoyed
new england clam chowder, often for lunch after a cold and snowy morning of chores. i even remember the time in dc where they brought him that red mess, and he said, 'what's that? take it away, please.'
this guy, sort of. but not her. she was always the life of the party, when not riding around bareback. still is, except for the horse stuff. now, she just tools around in the chrysler, since she picked up that skill at an age of almost 60, long, long, ago.