The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

Some weekend homeowners have a laisez faire attitude about getting up (or down) to their home away from home. Not so me. It’s hard to explain my feelings toward this place. Perhaps living in an unusually small studio apartment for thirty-four years has a lot to do with it. I yearn to walk from room to room; and having a country kitchen that is nearly the size of my entire abode in Manhattan is an indescribable joy.

It doesn’t help that there are four bars on my block and when they let out at four in the morning even the foam rubber ear plugs I sleep with nightly can’t drown out the sounds of drunken college students or the cars revving up, radios blaring, for the ride back to Jersey. The walls are thin in my apartment building, and I regularly hear the comings, goings, and partying of my young neighbors. There’s no peace in Manhattan, plain and simple.

My sister, Janet, and I close the house for the months of January, February, and March and the final weeks, before the pipes are drained and the bare mattresses are covered with newspaper to deter the winter mice from bedding down, are bittersweet. The impending break from this haven hangs over me, and I walk around, preparing to leave, with a gnawing feeling in my gut.

A snowstorm the weekend before Christmas prevented us from coming up, and the tree we’d bought the Sunday prior stood naked in the living room waiting to be decorated. Frozen cookie dough we’d prepared for holiday baking sat wedged among the meats in the freezer. I ached to be in the house surrounded by woods and fields, but it was not to be.

I work in retail and my schedule is Tuesday through Saturday and, because Christmas and New Year’s this year fell on Thursdays, I was treated to four-day weekends twice in a row, which was a particular gift as the closing drew near. At five o’clock Christmas Eve I left work and we got in the car and headed upstate. A couple of miles from the house, off route 17B, we got our first glimpse of luminaria. Empty gallon milk jugs are collected in the area for weeks, then placed at approximately ten feet intervals for miles and miles. Fitted under each jug is a lit, glowing candle and when you see hundreds of these lights lining the winding roads, it is a magical sight.

Over the first long weekend, we decorated the tree, and Janet wrapped all the gifts in beautiful fabrics with contrasting ribbons in place of the usual tissue and wrapping paper. I took many, too many, photos of every angle of the tree. Yes,  I did stand on a chair and produce an odd aerial view, as well as a close-up of the gifts under the tree that had me lying flat on my belly on the carpet.

We baked heirloom walnut, shortbread sandwich, and chewy chocolate cookies, and I made two of Janet’s favorite meals: French onion soup topped with oozing Gruyere cheese and pan-seared duck breasts, served rare (the way we like it), with two sauces.

Friends came by one evening for drinks and snacks so we could exchange gifts and for once I didn’t fuss, but simply put out freshly made popcorn, salsa and chips, nuts and raisins, and cheese and crackers. It was a real departure for me, as I’m used to preparing a handful of time-consuming hors d’oeuvres before I’ll open my door to guests, and it felt good to be laid back for once. We opened our presents and I must say I made out like a bandit: a slim cherry wood serving board; a pale turquoise colander; colorfully glazed ceramic wine bottle cork stoppers; a vintage sterling silver pin of leaves and acorns; and many surprises from Janet who spoils her little sister rotten.

I did do a lot of cooking as we began to eat our way through the fridge and freezer. In past years I’d served some weird combinations: spinach and ricotta-stuffed shells with chicken soup or potato pirogues with salmon quiche, but this year I planned more carefully. Pounded breaded chicken thighs browned in a skillet topped with beurre meuniere, or brown butter sauce with lemon, capers, and fresh parsley, served with crisp-crusted macaroni and cheese and a fennel salad in a citrus vinaigrette were satisfying as was homemade Chinese fried rice topped with chunks of leftover duck breast.

For dinner with a friend I defrosted a pound and a half of flank steak; seasoned it aggressively with cumin, oregano, coriander, chile powder, cayenne, and other Mexican spices; seared and sliced it; and served it with warm flour tortillas, caramelized onions, chopped fresh cilantro, and spicy salsa. We rolled our own fajitas and soothed the heat with a crisp Spanish wine that tasted faintly of pineapple. Freezing rain fell all day, but the house was warm and the food comforting.

New Year’s Day, as large flakes of softly falling snow drifted past the windows, we had one of our closest friends over for a feast of appetizers bought at Russ & Daughter’s on East Houston Street on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. There was herring in white wine sauce topped with copious amounts of pickled onions; smoked salmon; dill-edge cured gravlax; silky sliced sable fish; chopped chicken liver; whitefish and salmon salad; and sesame and pumpernickel bagels.

    

To cut the richness of those artery-clogging delicacies, I made a crisp red onion and cucumber salad and put out a bowl of sectioned ruby red grapefruit and orange from which I’d cut the peel and pith.

In two days our time is up. I continue to search the refrigerator, icebox, and larder. A container labeled “mussel juice” from a time I’d made the mollusks and saved the liquid in which they’d been steamed, along with a bottle of clam juice, and a bunch of small Yukon gold potatoes gave me the idea to make New England clam chowder; and thawed chicken thighs and legs went into a  fantastically flavorful Moroccan tagine with dried fruits and chickpeas which I served over jasmine rice into which I’d stirred a handful of cilantro leaves and a bit of fresh orange rind. Things are winding down. Delmonico steaks grilled stove-top for lunch later today will bring the freezer’s stock down to odds and ends like zip lock bags of formerly fresh bread crumbs, sliced mozzarella cheese, a half-bag of baby peas, a pie crust, and a box of chopped spinach.

Monday before heading back to the city we’ll launder the sheets, towels, and beautiful cotton quilts Janet has sewn over the years. We’ll strip the beds, pull plugs from appliances, and sponge the inside of the fridge one last time before placing a box of baking soda on a shelf. We’ll pack the car with all we’re bringing back to the city and drive around the neighborhood to say our goodbyes. Then we’ll stand on the front porch in the chill air and I’ll take Janet’s hand and we’ll say together, “Goodbye house, goodbye till spring,” and inevitably I’ll be reminded of that song from the Sound of Music and in my head I’ll sing, “So long, farewell, I hate to go and leave this pretty site.”

Chicken and Chickpea Tagine with Dried Fruit

Serves 4 to 6

5 chicken thighs

5 chicken legs

3 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 medium onions, peeled, halved, and thinly sliced

2 small garlic cloves, finely minced

2 tablespoons ras al-hanout (see recipe below)

Large pinch of saffron, soaked in ¼ cup of warm water (optional)

1 cinnamon stick

1 cup homemade or store-bought chunky tomato sauce (or canned diced tomatoes)

2 ½ cups canned or homemade chicken broth

1 15-ounce can chickpeas, drained

1 ½ cups dried apricots, sliced in half

1 ½ cups dried, pitted prunes or plums

2 tablespoons honey

½ cup chopped fresh cilantro

For Ras-al-hanout spice mixture:

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1 teaspoon ground ginger

1 teaspoon kosher salt

¾ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

½ teaspoon ground coriander

½ teaspoon Syrian Aleppo pepper or cayenne

½ teaspoon ground allspice

½ teaspoon ground cloves

Place all ingredients in a clean glass jar and shake well to combine.

Heat the oil in a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Season the chicken pieces generously with salt and pepper. Add the chicken, in batches, skin side down and cook, turning once, until seared and golden, about 3 or 4 minutes per side. Remove chicken to a plate. Add sliced onions to pan and sauté, stirring, until softened, about 2 to 3 minutes. Add garlic and sauté 30 seconds. Scrape onion and garlic mixture into a stock or soup pot large enough to hold chicken in one layer and bring heat up so that onion mixture is sizzling gently. Add the ras al-hanout mixture and cook, stirring, for 30 seconds. Add the saffron with the soaking liquid, cinnamon stick, honey, tomato sauce, chickpeas, chicken broth, and dried fruits. Nestle the chicken pieces into the mixture and bring just to a boil. Immediately lower heat to a simmer and cover pot. Cook, checking and moving pieces about, for 40 to 50 minutes, or until chicken is very tender and almost falling off the bone. If sauce is too thin, thicken with a roux made of 2 tablespoons butter and 2 tablespoons flour, adding a tablespoon at a time. Before serving, garnish with chopped cilantro. Serve on a bed of couscous or broad egg noodles.