When I was growing up in northeasternmost Massachusetts, there was a rhyme older people sang as they dandled us on their knee:
Ridey-ride to Boston
Ridey-ride to Lynn
Ridey-ride home again
And don't fall in
At which point they'd make the toddler fall into the unseen drink. Wheeeeee. Lots of thrills and laughter all around.
I just got back from my reunion with grade-schoolmates in Massachusetts. I did ridey-ride home again. I didn't quite fall in. But I swam around in my nostalgia for a few sunlit days.
My official best friend of that era, Dick Kaplan, and another good friend, Janie Welch, managed to persuade two dozen of a very small class to show up at Dick's daughter Melinda's house. It was wonderful to see everyone again, not least my first serious girlfriend, Janet Gillman (looks great, by the way, and no plastic surgery).
But what about the wine? That's why you're really here.
I bought an assortment of mostly Italian wines at a good local shop, Leary's, in Newburyport --- a place that used to be all about rye and beer. A changed store for a changed clientele; the town is full of million-plus-dollar houses now, including Federalist mansions you could get for 5 grand and back taxes not too many decades ago.
Among the wines I bought for the party were an Allegrini Valpolicella Classico, a Cannonau from Sardinia (Le Bombarde) and a Walch Pinot Blanc from Alto Adige. I passed on the Bucci at $49, though I figured it would be a crowd-pleaser.
How did they go over?
Well, as far as we got. Most of the wine-drinkers were sucking up blush Zinfandel well neutralized with ice cubes. I gave one old friend a rasher of grief over this. But I did score a little victory for Italy when Tom Chrisenton told me, "I'm really off red wine these days. They're too heavy and sweet, and they have too much alcohol. You can't drink them with a meal."
Aha! He'd been drinking too much California and Australia. I had him taste the Allegrini Valpolicella, explaining, "Valpolicella's been getting rehabilitated in America, and this one is typical of that zone: light, refreshing, and solid enough to be excellent with a lot of meals. And you can chill it for easy summertime drinking."
He loved it. So did my other official best friend, Jerry Duford, who had brought a Michele Chiarlo Barbera d'Asti -- a good everyday drink that he purchases by the case.
By the way, on Friday night we ate at a place in Newburyport called Glenn's Galley. Despite the name, it isn't just another seafood restaurant. I had a delicious appetizer of heirloom tomatoes and then marvelous roasted wild boar. A half bottle of Guigal Cotes-du-Rhone 2004 accompanied it. Great.
It wasn't exactly Tuscany but I recall the days when fine dining around there meant fried clams and lobster rolls. Amazing what an influx of new money and new ideas will do for a place. And the area's as beautiful as ever, from Ipswich to Rye Beach -- an incredibly underappreciated section of New England that is crammed with historic and literary associations from the earliest days of English settlement.
As to the remaining wine, I hope Melinda and her husband enjoy it. They were perfect hosts. I told someone that Dick's three lovely daughters got his ex-wife's beauty and his personality, which was a damn sight better than getting her personality and his looks.
Dick Kaplan, good friend, fine jazz trumpeter
Jerry Duford and his wife Rudi -- they are disgustingly fit
Tristram Coffin house from 1600-something -- I just like the name
Lowell's Boat Shop, Point Shore in Amesbury -- oldest operating boatwright in USA -- my father worked there after his stint in HRH Navy
Newburyport in 1840s -- birthplace of the Clipper Ship
Market Square after its Extreme Makeover
Garrison Inn - named for the abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison,
a native of Newburyport. The old Inn was closed and almost derelict
for many years.
John Greenleaf Whittier's house in Amesbury -- you know, "Shut in from all the world without,"
"Snowbound," etc., etc., etc.
Merrimac Hat Shop in Amesbury -- closed after JFK stopped wearing a hat -- my old man worked here too...Papa was a rolling stone -- they're condoizing it now, like everything that isn't nailed down
Dunes at Plum Island -- "The sea, the sea!" -- the area has always lived and died by the sea -- fishing, lobstering, clamming, privateering (a patriotic form of piracy), smuggling, trading, shipbuilding, amassing and losing immense wealth
Beautiful. And amazing that the grade-schoolers even remember each other and that some still live in town.
Posted by: Fredric Koeppel | July 18, 2007 at 11:02 AM
Most of the people live in the area even now -- real townies. Some drove for hours and hours from Maine and Vermont and the Cape.
Some of their stories were tragic; one girl came even though she had said her grade-school years were a torment. She was called "Cootiehead" from kindergarten till eighth grade.
Some people who had been grindingly poor showed up all face-lifted and BMW-driving, looking good. Reminded me of a Maeve Binchy story about the rise of Irish women from the 1960s onward.
But afterwards Dick and I were kidding around about Salisbury, the border town (New Hampshire border) where we all went to school. I said if there were a headline of the event it would be "Salisbury Tooth Census Shows Gaps."
Posted by: Terry Hughes | July 18, 2007 at 01:30 PM