November 28, 2016

Working on the Railroad

From a seat away, it appears that these gentlemen are hard at work on their train home from NYC.

"Working on the Railroad" is a new series on the Bonni Brodnick Blog. Get a ticket, grab a seat, and come along for the ride.

                                                                                                                             Photo: Bonni Brodnick

                                                                                                                             Photo: Bonni Brodnick


November 22, 2016

Huffington Post: "Thanksgiving Turkey: Let's Get Fresh"


I'm starting to get flashbacks from a Thanksgiving past when all hell broke loose and someone even ended up in the hospital. Lesson learned: Don't eat giblets and laugh at the same time.

Click here for my Huffington Post or read on ...

I’ll never cook turkey again. It’s too stressful having one food that is the focal point of one meal. At the Thanksgiving dinner table, all eyes are on the bird and my once-per-annum self-induced culinary panic circles around whether my turkey will be judged as succulent or dry, well-glazed or burnt. Would I have calculated correctly the number of guests vs. appetite vs. leftover ratio?

This year I brined the turkey the night before. When I took it out of the refrigerator on Thanksgiving morning, the salty/sweet brine had blobbed over to one side of the plastic bag, covering only half the turkey.
I squished the liquid around and prayed this would work as a last-minute fix-it until my 20-something son strolled into the kitchen and asked, “Mom, shouldn’t the turkey be in the oven by now?”
I acknowledged the wisdom and bled the brine from the bag. What was left was a bird that had butterball-smooth skin on one side only. I turned up the oven to 325-degrees, rinsed off the bird and gave it a pat-pat, herbed and spiced it, stuck a peeled apple in the cavity, placed it in the oven and slammed the door.
“Respect me and I will respect you,” I said as I gaped at the turkey through the oven door window.
“How long will it take?” my husband asked as he entered the kitchen from reading by the fire.
“A few hours,” I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t put the turkey on the roasting rack. I tried to cover up and casually opened the oven door.
“Can you help me with something?” I asked. “If I lift the turkey will you slip the rack under it?”

I hoisted the 15 lbs. of raw meat and my husband adjusted the rack. (He was such a help when he wasn’t reading. By the fire.)
“Great! We’re all set!!!!” I added a few extra exclamation points to cover-up my mounting anxiety.

“Mom, you should close the oven. Every time you open it, it loses heat,” called my 20-something daughter from the living room.
That’s when we lost another half-hour from the cooking time. The oven temperature dipped to a chilling 315.

Once the bird was back in the oven, I decided to grab a glass of cranberry juice. As I went into the fridge and moved a pint of heavy cream (which would later be whipped and served with pecan pie), the bag of green beans (which would be sautéed with almonds), the container of oysters (which would go into the stew), I realized there was still so much to do before sitting down to our holiday meal.

Poking out from behind the cranberry juice was a bag of fresh savory herbs that I had specifically bought to season the turkey.

Once again the bird came out of the oven. I removed the apple and tossed the bouquet into the cavity.

“How’s that turkey coming along?” someone called from the living room as I prayed even more heat hadn’t escaped from the oven.

The telephone rang and it was my sister, a culinary whiz known for her grace in the kitchen.

“How’s it going? Do you have the bird in the oven yet?” she asked.

“I hate cooking turkey,” I whispered into the phone. “This is my last time. I swear. It’s too much pressure.”

“Oh, come on, Bonni. All you have to do is put it in the oven and wait for the plastic thing to pop up.”

It was then that I remembered that I also hadn’t wrapped the bird in cheese cloth, a technique she had taught me to help keep the turkey moist.

“There’s too much attention on this one single thing,” I whispered. I was certain my green beans almondine would not be judged in the same way as my turkey.

“I’ve got a ton to do,” I said. “Can we chat later?”
I imagined my sister already in her velvet hostess skirt, and here I was sweaty and overheated in a black polar-fleece that was covered in drips and blobs of everything I was making on the Thanksgiving dinner menu.
“How about some Vivaldi,” I shouted calmly (is that an oxymoron?) to my husband, who was on chapter crazillion as he continued to read. (By the fire.) I was counting on The Four Seasons to mask my opening the oven yet again so that I could pull out the turkey and wrap it in cheesecloth. If anyone walked into the kitchen, I could always say, “I’m just giving the turkey a little basting.”

I had planned for a 4 o’clock sitting. By this time though, the turkey was barely cooked. Its white pallor mocked me.

My favorite comments of the next few hours were:
“When will the turkey be ready?”
“I thought we were going to eat early so that we didn’t feel too full later?”
“Did the thing pop up yet?”

Are you joking? The turkey had at least more three hours.

“It’s not quite ready. I promise it will be though,” I said.

“Well, did you test the temperature in the oven?” My son was back.

From the drawer next to the stove, I hastily grabbed what looked like a meat thermometer. I stuck it in the bird and watched the temperature rise.

“See? It’s almost done,” I said.

“Mom, that’s not a meat thermometer,” he said. “It’s a wine thermometer and it stops reading at 72 degrees!”

I grabbed my glasses and watched the dial soar from “sparkling wine” to “dry white.” It blew past “Beaujolais,” “Chianti,” “port” and “good red.” Truth be told: I broke the wine thermometer using it as a turkey thermometer.
“Let’s just not look at the turkey for a few hours,” I begged my son as I slammed the oven door for the fifth time.
The timer finally popped up. “Dinnertime!” was announced and I proudly placed the perfectly cooked turkey on the holiday table. The bird glowed and I enjoyed the ooohs and aaaahs. We all held hands and shared what we were all most thankful for.
Familial conviviality ensued... until mid-laugh, when someone inhaled a tiny piece of stuffing and had to go to the emergency room. (I kid you not.)
Lessons learned this Thanksgiving?
#1: I hate all of the attention focused on The Turkey. (Didn’t someone say that lobsters were plentiful on the shores of Massachusetts when the Pilgrims arrived? Would it be disrespectful to our founding fathers if I took a leap and served crustaceans?)
And #2: Once again, through the drama of it all, there’s nothing like family and taking a moment to pause to count our many blessings. I felt deep gratitude knowing that I overcame my annual poultry phobia and had cooked my last turkey... until next Thanksgiving.

November 21, 2016

Huffington Post: "10 Thanksgiving Tips for Turkey Day and The Joy of Fowl"

What sides are you serving, and are you brining/marinating/smoking/deep-frying/steaming/grilling/rotisserie-spinning your turkey? How is your acumen for calculating cooking time and how do you artfully dodge the question, “Is the turkey ready yet?” when guests start getting cranky?

Click here for my new Huffington Post and get all the dish on handy tips for Turkey Day.

November 9, 2016

Bedford Magazine's "Bedford 25" Celebrates Bedford Playhouse

The best parties include great company, conversations, conviviality ... and a little synchronized water ballet in the indoor swimming pool never hurts. Bedford Magazine left no "T's" uncrossed at their sold out "Bedford 25" event. The evening celebrated Bedford's most creative, most influential and most dedicated residents including John Farr, president of the venerable, soon-to-be reborn Bedford Playhouse. All proceeds from the event were donated to the Playhouse's development campaign. 

The grande soirée hosted by BedMag was held in a 12,000 square-foot private house on East Field Drive in Bedford (currently on the market for a cool $5.75 million ... and represented by Ginnel Real Estate, should you need more 4-1-1 on the property).
Video: Bonni Brodnick
More than 200 guests enjoyed the gathering that included the aquatically amazing 
New Canaan YMCA'a Aquianas synchonized swimming team. And the food? Thanks to the generosity of Café of LovePlum Plums Cheese ShopHayfields, Truck Restaurant, and Johnboy’s Outpost no one went home hungry. Hat's off, too, go to Sweet Earth Co. who provided the seasonal décor à la mums, pumpkins, etc.
                                                                      Video: Bonni Brodnick
                                                                      Video: Bonni Brodnick
Bedford Magazine Publisher, Geoffrey Morris, and Editor, Jennifer Stahlkrantz, co-hosted the awards ceremony during which the following community members were honored for contributing their time and talent to making our community shine. [Click here for drum roll]William Abranowicz, Stacy Albanese, Reverend Paul Alcorn; Paul Aquilino, George Bianco, Carola Otero Bracco, Inge Brouard Brown; Clive Davis; Paula Desperito; Colette Dow; Bedford 2020’s founders who were honored as a trio: Ellen Conrad, Olivia Farr, and Mary Beth Kass; John Farr; Billy Fortin; The Bedford Post Inn’s founders who were honored as a duo: Richard Gere and Russell Hernandez; Joe Lombardo, Katonah Reading Room’s owners, who were honored as a duo: Gretchen and Peter Menzies; Rabbi Jason Nevarez; Lee Roberts; The Jed Foundation’s founders, who were honored as a duo: Donna and Phil Satow; A New Chance Animal Rescue’s founders, who were honored as a duo: Sharon and  Sophia Silverman; Martha Stewart; John Stockbridge; Jean-Georges Vongerichten; David Worby; and Paul Zofnass.

“The venue was spectacular, the entertainment was riveting, but the real draw was this outstanding group of community members—collectively their contributions to our towns are truly incredible," said the toujours-gorgeous Jen Stahlkrantz. "The Bedford Playhouse was a natural partner when we looked to collaborate with a local organization. We were thrilled to donate the proceeds from the event to their fundraising campaign, as their work is crucial to the ongoing vitality of Bedford Village."

[Click here for clapping.]

Enjoy this gallery of photos from the evening.  
(For more fab shots, check out the Bedford Magazine page on FB)

                                                         Jennifer Stahlkrantz and Clive Davis
                                      Lisa Fortin and Honoree Billy Fortin, Owner of Scotts Corner Market
                              Honoree John Farr, President of Bedford Playhouse and Bedford Town Supervisor Chris Burdick
                                                     Andrew Brodnick, Dan Ginnell and Kip Testwuide
Honorees Peter and Gretchen Menzies, Katonah Reading Room and Little Joe's Book Store
Bedford Magazine Publisher Geoffrey Morris and Associate Publisher Martha Morris


Photos: Peggy Garbus

November 8, 2016

At the Voting Poll: My (Amazing) Octogenarian Mother


My octogenarian mother, Betty Kogen, is a dynamo and a true patriot. She's 85 years old and waking up at 5 a.m. to get a ride to work at a voting poll in Westport, Conn. She'll be there ALL day until the polls close. "I love it!" she said. Betty has been committed to doing community service for more than 60 years -- she was president of the Maplewood/South Orange League of Women Voters, on the school board, head of the PTA, on the board of the Maplewood Historic Society and the New Jersey Symphony, and until recently was a hospital volunteer. She was even voted "Woman of the Year" in Maplewood! Betty is a giver.



November 7, 2016

November 1, 2016

"Morris Ottman, 25-Year Principal at Pound Ridge Elementary School, Honored by His Son"

[Reprinted by popular demand, here is my Bedford/Pound Ridge Record-Review profile on Morris Ottman.]


 Graduation diplomas have been received, mortarboards sent aloft have landed, and memories of school are put to rest at this mid-point in the summer. 
For former Pound Ridger Tom Ottman, whose father, Morris Ottman, was principal at Pound Ridge Elementary School for 25 years, fond memories of the School live on 41 years later.
“Growing up in the small town environment of Pound Ridge was the perfect experience for a kid who loved the outdoors,” wrote Tom Ottman. He grew up on Hack Green and Tatomuck Roads until he was 18 years old and graduated from Fox Lane High School with Class of 1979. Now living in Charlotte, N.C., with Lois, his wife of 33 years, Tom is a kidney transplant survivor and grateful to be sharing his story about his youth in a town that is often referred to as “God’s Country.”
“During my father’s memorable career (1948-1973), he had great impact on the community, oversaw several additions to PRES and pioneered the 5th Grade Trip to Washington. “ Ottman wrote of his father, whose objective was to be responsible to students, parents and the community he loved.
(Left to right): Morris Ottman, 25-year principal at Pound Ridge Elementary School; Herb Pittman, former math teacher at Fox Lane High School, and Buffalo Bob Smith, Pound Ridge resident and creator of "The Howdy Doody Show," at PRESS ball field in 1953.

“My dad was involved in all of the civic organizations in town and helped many families through difficult times,” Ottman continued. “One of my great life lessons came from his involvement with charity. He organized the canned and non-perishable food drive at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I remember going to PRES with him on nights and weekends to organize the donations into gift baskets. We would make sure that each one contained a sampling of all the different goods: meat, vegetables, sugar, flour and cereal. From the money donated, I remember picking up turkeys and hams with Dad and making sure that each basket got one. We would then drive around town in rain and snow, down muddy dirt driveways, to deliver the baskets to families of some of my classmates.
“No one ever asked for this, my dad just knew which of our townsfolk were in need,” Ottman wrote. “He never sought any recognition: his thanks were in simply doing a good deed. I have sought – sometimes successfully and sometimes lacking – to emulate my father’s charitable spirit.”
There continues to be an outpouring of affection for Morris Ottman on a Facebook page called, “You Know You’re From Pound Ridge When …” The lively dialogue includes:
“We loved Mr. Ottman and will always remember the 5th grade trip to Washington, D.C.,” wrote Lisa Powley Batzinger. “I still have the picture taken of our class on the steps of the Capitol Building.”
“He was the best!” added Jane Rainsford.
“Mr. Ottman was a great man and principal. Really involved at PRES, not just as a figurehead behind a desk,” wrote Alyson Bolton.
“Mr. Ottman defined the word ‘principal’ for me,” Kim Grover added to the lengthy paradigm.
This heritage lives on each year when PRES awards The Morris Ottman Memorial Scholarship Award (initially launched in 1957 as the Pound Ridge Elementary School Association Scholarship, and renamed in 1997) to deserving Fox Lane seniors who live in the area and attended PRES. Criteria for the $1,000 award are high academic achievement, school/community service and/or work outside school and financial need. The 2013-2014 recipients of the award are Alana Fitz, Charlotte Herber and Jordan Pasetsky.
“There was a tremendous outpouring of love from residents and so many of my father’s former teachers when he passed away from kidney disease in 1976,” wrote Ottman. “And although he has been gone from Pound Ridge for more than four decades, Morris Ottman continues to be recognized for his 25-year long career of excellence and achievement at PRES.
“It’s important for me to keep alive this memory so that future recipients of The Morris Ottman Scholarship Award know for whom the award is named. With this recognition, the legacy of my father and his love for, commitment to and impact on the town of Pound Ridge continues to be honored. This year’s recipients of the Award are truly carrying forth the goodness and generosity of my father.”

__________

To learn more about the history of Pound Ridge, you'll enjoy reading my book, 
Pound Ridge Past: Remembrances of Our Townsfolk. For second edition, author signed copies, contact me at bonnibrodnick@gmail.com 

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