VINEYARD 2015 CLAM SAUCE WITH PASTA INGREDIENTS
(when possible, the use of local products is highly recommended )

Ingredients:
– 1 pound pasta, cooked (al dente) and drained (we prefer spaghetti)
– (2) dozen or 3 to 4 pounds, whole live local clams (rinsed and scrubbed of surface sand)
– (4) Ttablespoon olive oil
– (2) whole, local leeks, sliced thin
– (1) whole, peeled and chopped local garlic bulb
– (2) rough chopped local tomatoes (optional)
– (3) ears fresh, raw local corn, cut from cobb (leftover corn works, too)
– (10) local basil leaves, stacked, rolled and “chiffonade” cut by an enthusiastic 10-ten year- old (with close supervision )
– (1) stick of butter (local if possible!)

Instructions:

1. In a large sauce pan, with steamer insert, boil (3) cups of water. (Feel free to add local herbs, or beer, or …)
2. Set clams in steamer insert, over boiling water. C—cover and steam clams until all are open. Reduce flame to simmer broth.
3. Remove steamer insert and rinse clams in cold water.
4. Remove clams from shells and roughly chop all clam meat. Discard shells.
5. Continue to reduce broth.
6. In a large skillet, over medium heat, saute the leeks and garlic in olive oil until soft and/or translucent. (while clams are steaming if multi-tasking works for you).
7. Once “melted,” add broth to leeks and garlic and stir.
8. Add wine and butter, stir and and incorporate fully, simmer for additional (15) minutes, as sauce reduces, to desired thickness and taste. Taste. (Remember, a saltier, robust flavor will be cut by the final addition of pasta. Reduction is good. Robust is good.)
9. When flavor is favorable, stir in chopped clams, tomatoes and corn and simmer for 2 two minutes.
10. Add salt and pepper to taste.
11. At time of service, stir in basil, then pasta, and mix completely.

=================================================================

Scott Plath, along with his wife Kathleen, own Cobblestones of Lowell and moonstones, in Chelmsford.

We arrived for our annual ferry ride J.I.T. Just in time. Beyond being an inventory control strategy for increasing both efficiency and working capital, J.I.T. is a truism that has defined my life. Chasing the school bus back in the day, studying for exams throughout, negotiating deals, the dinner rush … almost always properly prepared, just in time. Of course, I could be more like the person riding shotgun who will remain nameless for the sake of harmony in the home. She would be more of an I.T. That’s “Island Time,” if you get my drift. (I just made that up.)

Deadlines and commitments. Take this column. Though I had weeks to plan since the last one, an email from my editor-boss as I headed out of town, followed by a text for the second year in a row, reminded me of the deadline that was poised to pass before my napping eyes, beneath my sandy feet.

Every summer, for something like 40 years, we vacation in “My Happy Place” — so named on a cutesy pillow in a cutesy-saying-type gift store like so many found in cute vacation townships like Vineyard Haven.

Me: “But I am on vacation.” He: “Take another week then.” And … just in time.

Having traveled from Lowell to Woods Hole, painstakingly through Boston rush hour to make the boat, we drove directly off the ferry, “hangry” for the pizza place opposite the dock — a welcome slice of a vacation now underway.

(Somewhat random side note #1: If you are like me, always seeking great pizza, get to Pig Tale in Nashua, N.H. — a new restaurant opened by former employees. I wouldn’t use the word great if I didn’t mean great, even for friends. Have the pork belly, too. Excellent.)

The first morning of vacation began with a wake and bake chocolate chip cookie and a trip to the West Tisbury Farmers Market. Shades and sandals on, a sunny day, and another happy place. I love farmers and meeting the people who grow the food as much as the growing re-evolution in our industry and communities to support local initiatives, farmers, neighborhoods and at-risk children. I love that so many are committed to a healthier, more wholesome (and chemical- and lobbyist-free) way to deliver food to our tables. I know I need to be better. It sure is a whole lot easier when on vacation, surrounded by a community entrenched in sustainability. We returned to our cabin with (repurposed) bags full of the good stuff, from many farms, including a wheel of local cheese and grass-fed beef — because, let’s face it, this whole kale thing? What the …

(Somewhat random side note #2: If you, like so many, are really busy but wish to be more active in protecting our future food quality, while supporting your community, please visit our friends in Lowell at MillCityGrows.org — a great organization and resource. According to co-director Lydia Sisson: “A healthy curiosity is a great way to learn about local causes and how [we all] can be part of change.”)

The following day, ankle deep in the finest Lake Tashmoo silt, happy as what we were digging, I got to thinking how I tend to have many happy places. I am happy in my restaurants, generally. Actually, in most restaurants — though I do choose carefully. I am happy in the kitchen — in an amped-up, adrenaline-rich kind of way. I am happy in bed. (Biting lip, resisting the urge to take this any further.) I love the sun and, of course, the water. Pools, lakes and hot tubs are great, but I would choose the salty, churning sea every time. The nephews and I twisted our way to a couple dozen clams — littlenecks and quahogs — just enough to shuck a few raw while the rest steamed for the spaghetti and white clam sauce we would make together — our recipe calling for lots of farm-fresh tomatoes, leeks, garlic and basil, and handfuls of corn off the cob!

Fishing is next on the agenda, with visions of striped bass and tenacious bluefish on the line as we head to Chappaquiddick, which was previously an island but is now a peninsula! True story. It’s a big-storms-create-changing-topography sort of thing. How cool is that? You’re an island. You’re a peninsula. You’re an island. You’re a peninsula. Storms make me happy. And one of the best things about fishing? High tide is “an estimated 8 a.m.” Estimated! Just in time, all but guaranteed!

Click here for Scott’s family recipe for VINEYARD 2015 CLAM SAUCE WITH PASTA INGREDIENTS >>

=================================================================

Scott Plath, along with his wife Kathleen, own Cobblestones of Lowell and moonstones, in Chelmsford.

Chef and I embraced the burn as we sampled a plate of my recently smuggled Cambodian peanuts. “Dude, these need to go on the menu.” The fun never ends! She separated, as we debated, ingredient ratios of crispy bits of fiery, red Thai chili peppers, flakes of bright green and sweet Kaffir lime leaves, and unambiguous slices of caramelized garlic. “Are those tiny pieces of lemongrass?” “Can we source peanuts like these?” And, “Man, this shizzy is hot.”

Upon my return from Southeast Asia, I tried not to look shifty as the customs officer examined my passport, then my eyes: “Do you have any plants oooor … food in your bag?” Unsure whether he asked everyone that question so directly, or whether he took a big look at me and my un-Asian-like stature and made the correct assumption, I’m thinkin’: Damn right I have food in my bag. Amazing peanuts, Kaffir leaves, garlic-pepper sauce, curry… . “No, sir, no food. Or drugs or Cubans.” I tried not to flinch while summoning my best confident-and-cute-but-not-cocky face. He stared a second longer, unamused. “Welcome home, sir,” he mumbled.

Yessir! I was giddy to be back after weeks away, but also to have said “yes” months ago, when a friend asked if I wanted to join on a trip. It wasn’t actually a stretch for me, as I say “yes” generally. Perhaps an occupational “hazard,” it comes with the hospitality/territory. Tempt me with a good time? I’m in. (Though exceptions to my enthusiasm do exist. For example, “Would you like to see a musical?” Notsomuch.)

I am not a “bucket list” guy. Fortunately, I am surrounded by planner-type peeps, this one from my youth having traveled to every continent but the “really cold one.” Newsflash … Southeast Asia is hot! Now, you probably think I meant temperature-wise, which is true enough. As a cabbie in Bangkok handed over the ubiquitous cold-and-rolled, damp-and pristine-white towel (with essence of lemongrass), he explained, “Two temperatures in Thailand: hot and very hot.” There is only one true way to joyfully experience a thick ’n’ drippy, daily 95 degrees, and that is to convince oneself that melting is fun — while also powdering liberally, changing T-shirts often, showering/swimming frequently, keeping a “mop” in pocket, being unafraid to sport the do-rag, recalling snow in New England, walking the outer edges of the shuffling masses, sitting in the shade occasionally (a daily regional practice), seeking spicy food (it works), saying “yes” to a beer (this doesn’t work, but sure is fun to pretend), and remembering that a frozen coconut drink is never far away!

Now, if my previous comment that “Southeast Asia is hot” summoned the goofy voice of Will Ferrell in your head (like mine … so many voices), you would also be correct. While in the town of Siem Reap, a Belmond hotel waiter gushed about a recent poll that ranked his hospitable city as the “No. 1 destination in Asia.” You would get no argument here. The charm of Cambodia’s simpler lifestyle is indescribable. He proudly chatted on about his duty to serve the future economic good of the country, about the harmonious relationship between Buddhists and Hindus, and then, while referencing the “Killing Fields” atrocities from a previous generation, kept his smile intact and said, “You must visit the museum with all the skulls; it will make you cry.”

Beyond many remarkable experiences — the beauty of Thailand’s Ko Samui island, the vibrant colors, flavors and bustle of many night markets, endless roadside vendors and streets buzzing with scooters and tuk-tuks — my most poignant memory is of the overwhelming peacefulness and hospitality of the people. Prayer hands and gentle bows were the common greeting, accompanied by soft voices and a prevalent sense of humble calm. This intriguing environment was enhanced by a plethora of golden Buddhas, brightly attired monks, incense, silk and the abundance of colorful, fresh flowers and fruit, often offered as gifts of welcome. From intricately-carved pineapples and the fun of squeezing olive-size longan berries from skin to mouth, or the spooning of sweet/tart passion fruit seeds directly from their husk, exotic abounds.

Despite having such “melting pot” access to international culture and cuisine in the U.S., I was fortunate to discover many memorable dishes. A pomelo salad featuring shreds of this non-bitter cousin to the grapefruit, mixed with crispy toasted coconut, spicy chili flakes and a touch of salty fish sauce was the first culinary “whoa.” There was tom kha gai coconut-chicken soup, for which words would do no justice, and rare betel-leaf wraps stuffed with shaved lime, toasted coconut and tamarind. Upon request for some hot sauce to “bump up the heat” of a fresh-crabmeat-laden plate of khao phat pu rice, I was brought a small dish displaying freshly sliced, razor-thin dimes of Thai pepper, floating in nam pla (fish sauce). Served with a smile and gentle bow that felt akin to a wink of “good luck,” I contemplated (much like crossing the streets of Thailand) whether to proceed with tentative caution or simply go for it — finally deciding that the hurts-so-good rush of a mouth afire was a much more innocuous risk than getting run over by a tuk-tuk!

=================================================================

Scott Plath, along with his wife Kathleen, own Cobblestones of Lowell and moonstones, in Chelmsford.

While enjoying some Florida heat recently, we were out with friends to celebrate: life in general, sunny days, and always great food and beverage. Stoli dolis and martinis with bleu cheese-stuffed olives got the party started. We toasted good fortune before those drinks were followed by an excellent Alexander Valley blended red; Dennis has the knack for choosing great wine, so I gladly relinquished the burden. We sipped and snacked on fresh bread and a giant lavash cracker-thing, our butter sprinkled with sea salt crystals. And as always at Capital Grille, the server worked our table with reassurance (“Great choice of wine, sir.”), clarity (“Thank you, miss. Medium, a warm red center.”) and deftness (as he eased the bill higher by suggesting: “Sides to share?”). We were easy marks, giddily agreeing to each extra $10 with shouts of “YES! Lobster mac and cheese.” … “NO! Make it two orders.” … “Asparagus!” … “Brussels sprouts!” Honestly, in what normal situation does anyone shout “Brussels sprouts”? It was on.

And, as expected at Capital Grille, seamless service and perfectly prepared steaks were ultimately followed by a bill that bore Range Rover-like clout. What was not expected, however, was a $100 discrepancy when the waiter returned with our mixture of credit cards, cash, gratuities and a gift certificate — all of us uncertain who was to blame for the mistake: the waiter or the wine. But here’s the beauty of the thing. To this day, we still don’t know. At the time, the waiter’s human nature to be defensive switched in a split second to perfect form, and with military-like precision he apologized for any misunderstanding and promised to return immediately with a manager. Almost that fast, the manager appeared and proceeded to own the mistake, apologizing with grace and sincerity, while “eating” the full value of the error. No questions asked. Each lady in our party received a red rose upon departure, and for days to follow we discussed how any Capital Grille is always exceptional, start to finish, and the great value in taking full responsibility for a mistake, no matter the cost.

I know there are other restaurant peeps who read this column, so if you are sore at me for promoting Capital Grille, I understand. Their excellence irks me, as well. That said, I will continue to expense future visits to “training,” and “suffer” while noting how they deliver such a standard of consistent excellence. We should all be worthy of $100 per person for dinner. Just sayin’.

The very best steak I ever had was a rib-eye at Strip House in downtown Manhattan. It’s all about the “thousand degree” salt and pepper char-encrusted whatnot … though the red walls adorned with vintage nudes didn’t hurt the vibe. The sexiest steak house ever.

Speaking of rib-eye. … Back in the day, and I do mean way back, prime rib — that being a whole, slowly-roasted primal rib cut — achieved its name universally, without actually being graded by USDA inspectors as “prime.” That’s the rule, and we all live by it. That said, menu ethics dictate that we cannot cut an individual steak off a USDA choice-graded rib roast, grill it, and call it a “prime” rib-eye steak on the menu. That’s a trick, and you know who you are! We know, too, when it chews like choice-grade and not like a cut-it-with-a-butter-knife actual prime-graded steak. Cut the bull. Lie to guests, lose business. Just sayin’.

Note to grandma: If it’s overcooked, send it back. It’s our job to get it right. You are not being difficult.

Note to the guest who says, “I don’t mean to be difficult.” … Yes you do. That’s OK, though. Own it. It is our job to make you happy, and we all exist somewhere along the “difficult spectrum.”

As much as I’m wowed by a great steak, is not great bread worth mentioning? Best ever? As much as it pains me to say it — at the risk of sounding “BOO-zhee” (bourgeois) — I vote for the baguettes in France. Whoa. (In the interest of full disclosure, there was a lot of wine in France. And nudes. Sorry grandma.) Honorable mention goes to D.C.’s Zaytinya and their hot pita, served as a still-puffed-up steamy orb. The eventual “poof” and unanticipated facial is a blast, the bread delicious.

By contrast, don’t dismiss the Wonder-like white bread served with the bad-ass BBQ at Boston’s Sweet Cheeks — a cuisine that, sadly, doesn’t comfort New Englanders like the rest of the country. A damn shame. The world needs more BBQ. I would do one myself if only …

That’s something to consider after I return from my long-anticipated trip to Thailand. Of course, by then I will be over today’s food fixation and on to curries and coconuts! Hmmm … Thai BBQ?

=================================================================

Scott Plath, along with his wife Kathleen, own Cobblestones of Lowell and moonstones, in Chelmsford.