A culinary online center dedicated to promoting the importance and the joy of American home cooking with an emphasis on local products and talent, celebrating the unique spirit and energy of the new food world ethos, especially in Vermont.

amuse bouche

I love quotes that add meaning to my life. Here are a few to live by:

We can dramatically increase global food availability and environmental sustainability by using more of our crops to feed people directly and less to fatten livestock.
—Jonathan A. Foley, director of the Institute on the Environment, U of MN

Don’t eat anything your great-grandmother wouldn’t recognize as food.
—Michael Pollan

Cooking is at once child’s play and adult joy. And cooking done with care is an act of love.
—Craig Claiborne

People who eat according to the rules of a traditional food culture are generally healthier than those of us eating a modern Western diet of processed food.
—Michael Pollan

A Last Feast Before A Perfect Storm

Story by Margo Davis 

T’was the hours before Sandy and all through the evening, no drink kept me steady, not even a toddy. I was distraught by thoughts of a storm and wind and floods. Our adult children and our grandchildren live in Tribeca, New York, specifically in Zone A, an evacuation area. We also live there, but only on a part-time basis. 

From Palo Alto, California, where we were, our day had been bathed in a hearty sun of 80 degrees with clear blue skies and light breezes, a setting that falsely lured us into a sense that all is right with the world. We were incredulous as warnings of a “super storm” with hurricane-force winds and storm surge was about to strike the East Coast.   

Then, an email arrives from our building’s superintendant in New York with an announcement that the building, which is also located in Zone A, is being mandatorily evacuated. Suddenly, the reality of a world beyond our current paradise hits us. After some time, I had my phone call to my kids answered… finally. I know I should have texted; no one under 50 years old answers a telephone anymore! Come on Granny, get with it.  🙂  

Far from a distressed family on the verge of evacuation, in the background I hear laughter from more than one adult and playful screams from more than one kid, maybe six or so? There is definitely a party going on! How is this possible? My daughter gets on the phone and announces that if she is going to be without electricity, then she wants to be in her own home. My son-in-law gets on the wire to report the feast they are preparing of pheasant and other goodies. 

Noting my strained enthusiasm for the state of affairs, he explains why they are not leaving. NOT LEAVING! NOT LEAVING!? Images of Katrina with my grandkids on rooftops and first responders rowing my family out along the newly formed Greenwich River invaded my brain. He explains how much higher they are (9 vertical feet higher) near Harrison Street than our place on Laight Street. This did very little to reassure me that all was not so bad in the State of Tribeca. 

I try to be a Cool Granny and a Hip Granny, not an anxious one. It is true that grannies can easily be stereotyped, but Anxious Grannies are simply not cool! So, it took a mighty surge of self -control to repress the fear for my grandchildren in the coming storm. Forget their parents, they would have been responsible for the risk-taking. I tried to transfer my nervous state into energetic excitement about the feast that was about to be consumed by three families all having a grand ole’ time. Or was this clearly a case of Nero fiddling while Rome was burning?

The pheasants pictured here and held by my two grandsons, Avery and Rowan, were shot in the New York countryside by their Tribeca sportsman/hunter neighbor. When I first heard that my two munchkins had been out hunting birds, I swallowed very hard. I have never been a fan of hunting of any kind. 

However, with some second thoughts, I realized that I am also not a vegetarian. I eat meat of all kinds: lamb, beef, chicken, and yes birds, too. Birds like squab, quail, pheasant and little hens, and these animals are killed in order to arrive at the table. OK, Granny… stop your denial or become a vegan!   

I have tried to imagine this storm party, living in the moment, making merry and preparing the pheasants. Did they pluck and gut the birds like this (video)?

My son-in-law says: “It was like ripping apart a delicate teddy bear.  It wasn’t the greatest; I am not going to lie. And ‘breasting’ the pheasants was gruesome… but fortunately, not much blood and guts!”

Click here for the recipe he used to prepare the pheasants for their feast >

Click here for another great pheasant recipe > 

And another >

They all look delicious. Julia Child would say, “Bon Appetit” and Lydia Bastianich would add, “ Tutti a tavola a mangiare!” And Granny says, “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die!”

– Margo Davis (aka Granny)

P.S. My family remained safe and dry during and after the storm at Greenwich and Harrison streets, albeit without electricity for one week. My building on Laight Street and the West Side Highway had its basement flooded and all electrical, elevator and heating systems were destroyed, so we cannot return there for months.

Photo by Jamie Barker

Posted: 11-20-2012

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Story by Margo Davis 

T’was the hours before Sandy and all through the evening, no drink kept me steady, not even a toddy. I was distraught by thoughts of a storm and wind and floods. Our adult children and our grandchildren live in Tribeca, New York, specifically in Zone A, an evacuation area. We also live there, but only on a part-time basis. 

From Palo Alto, California, where we were, our day had been bathed in a hearty sun of 80 degrees with clear blue skies and light breezes, a setting that falsely lured us into a sense that all is right with the world. We were incredulous as warnings of a “super storm” with hurricane-force winds and storm surge was about to strike the East Coast.   

Then, an email arrives from our building’s superintendant in New York with an announcement that the building, which is also located in Zone A, is being mandatorily evacuated. Suddenly, the reality of a world beyond our current paradise hits us. After some time, I had my phone call to my kids answered… finally. I know I should have texted; no one under 50 years old answers a telephone anymore! Come on Granny, get with it.  :)  

Far from a distressed family on the verge of evacuation, in the background I hear laughter from more than one adult and playful screams from more than one kid, maybe six or so? There is definitely a party going on! How is this possible? My daughter gets on the phone and announces that if she is going to be without electricity, then she wants to be in her own home. My son-in-law gets on the wire to report the feast they are preparing of pheasant and other goodies. 

Noting my strained enthusiasm for the state of affairs, he explains why they are not leaving. NOT LEAVING! NOT LEAVING!? Images of Katrina with my grandkids on rooftops and first responders rowing my family out along the newly formed Greenwich River invaded my brain. He explains how much higher they are (9 vertical feet higher) near Harrison Street than our place on Laight Street. This did very little to reassure me that all was not so bad in the State of Tribeca. 

I try to be a Cool Granny and a Hip Granny, not an anxious one. It is true that grannies can easily be stereotyped, but Anxious Grannies are simply not cool! So, it took a mighty surge of self -control to repress the fear for my grandchildren in the coming storm. Forget their parents, they would have been responsible for the risk-taking. I tried to transfer my nervous state into energetic excitement about the feast that was about to be consumed by three families all having a grand ole’ time. Or was this clearly a case of Nero fiddling while Rome was burning?

The pheasants pictured here and held by my two grandsons, Avery and Rowan, were shot in the New York countryside by their Tribeca sportsman/hunter neighbor. When I first heard that my two munchkins had been out hunting birds, I swallowed very hard. I have never been a fan of hunting of any kind. 

However, with some second thoughts, I realized that I am also not a vegetarian. I eat meat of all kinds: lamb, beef, chicken, and yes birds, too. Birds like squab, quail, pheasant and little hens, and these animals are killed in order to arrive at the table. OK, Granny… stop your denial or become a vegan!   

I have tried to imagine this storm party, living in the moment, making merry and preparing the pheasants. Did they pluck and gut the birds like this (video)?

My son-in-law says: “It was like ripping apart a delicate teddy bear.  It wasn’t the greatest; I am not going to lie. And 'breasting' the pheasants was gruesome… but fortunately, not much blood and guts!"

Click here for the recipe he used to prepare the pheasants for their feast >

Click here for another great pheasant recipe > 

And another >

They all look delicious. Julia Child would say, “Bon Appetit” and Lydia Bastianich would add, “ Tutti a tavola a mangiare!” And Granny says, “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die!"

Margo Davis (aka Granny)

P.S. My family remained safe and dry during and after the storm at Greenwich and Harrison streets, albeit without electricity for one week. My building on Laight Street and the West Side Highway had its basement flooded and all electrical, elevator and heating systems were destroyed, so we cannot return there for months.

Photo by Jamie Barker

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Story by Margo Davis 

T’was the hours before Sandy and all through the evening, no drink kept me steady, not even a toddy. I was distraught by thoughts of a storm and wind and floods. Our adult children and our grandchildren live in Tribeca, New York, specifically in Zone A, an evacuation area. We also live there, but only on a part-time basis. 

From Palo Alto, California, where we were, our day had been bathed in a hearty sun of 80 degrees with clear blue skies and light breezes, a setting that falsely lured us into a sense that all is right with the world. We were incredulous as warnings of a “super storm” with hurricane-force winds and storm surge was about to strike the East Coast.   

Then, an email arrives from our building’s superintendant in New York with an announcement that the building, which is also located in Zone A, is being mandatorily evacuated. Suddenly, the reality of a world beyond our current paradise hits us. After some time, I had my phone call to my kids answered… finally. I know I should have texted; no one under 50 years old answers a telephone anymore! Come on Granny, get with it.  :)  

Far from a distressed family on the verge of evacuation, in the background I hear laughter from more than one adult and playful screams from more than one kid, maybe six or so? There is definitely a party going on! How is this possible? My daughter gets on the phone and announces that if she is going to be without electricity, then she wants to be in her own home. My son-in-law gets on the wire to report the feast they are preparing of pheasant and other goodies. 

Noting my strained enthusiasm for the state of affairs, he explains why they are not leaving. NOT LEAVING! NOT LEAVING!? Images of Katrina with my grandkids on rooftops and first responders rowing my family out along the newly formed Greenwich River invaded my brain. He explains how much higher they are (9 vertical feet higher) near Harrison Street than our place on Laight Street. This did very little to reassure me that all was not so bad in the State of Tribeca. 

I try to be a Cool Granny and a Hip Granny, not an anxious one. It is true that grannies can easily be stereotyped, but Anxious Grannies are simply not cool! So, it took a mighty surge of self -control to repress the fear for my grandchildren in the coming storm. Forget their parents, they would have been responsible for the risk-taking. I tried to transfer my nervous state into energetic excitement about the feast that was about to be consumed by three families all having a grand ole’ time. Or was this clearly a case of Nero fiddling while Rome was burning?

The pheasants pictured here and held by my two grandsons, Avery and Rowan, were shot in the New York countryside by their Tribeca sportsman/hunter neighbor. When I first heard that my two munchkins had been out hunting birds, I swallowed very hard. I have never been a fan of hunting of any kind. 

However, with some second thoughts, I realized that I am also not a vegetarian. I eat meat of all kinds: lamb, beef, chicken, and yes birds, too. Birds like squab, quail, pheasant and little hens, and these animals are killed in order to arrive at the table. OK, Granny… stop your denial or become a vegan!   

I have tried to imagine this storm party, living in the moment, making merry and preparing the pheasants. Did they pluck and gut the birds like this (video)?

My son-in-law says: “It was like ripping apart a delicate teddy bear.  It wasn’t the greatest; I am not going to lie. And 'breasting' the pheasants was gruesome… but fortunately, not much blood and guts!"

Click here for the recipe he used to prepare the pheasants for their feast >

Click here for another great pheasant recipe > 

And another >

They all look delicious. Julia Child would say, “Bon Appetit” and Lydia Bastianich would add, “ Tutti a tavola a mangiare!” And Granny says, “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die!"

Margo Davis (aka Granny)

P.S. My family remained safe and dry during and after the storm at Greenwich and Harrison streets, albeit without electricity for one week. My building on Laight Street and the West Side Highway had its basement flooded and all electrical, elevator and heating systems were destroyed, so we cannot return there for months.

Photo by Jamie Barker

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Story by Margo Davis 

T’was the hours before Sandy and all through the evening, no drink kept me steady, not even a toddy. I was distraught by thoughts of a storm and wind and floods. Our adult children and our grandchildren live in Tribeca, New York, specifically in Zone A, an evacuation area. We also live there, but only on a part-time basis. 

From Palo Alto, California, where we were, our day had been bathed in a hearty sun of 80 degrees with clear blue skies and light breezes, a setting that falsely lured us into a sense that all is right with the world. We were incredulous as warnings of a “super storm” with hurricane-force winds and storm surge was about to strike the East Coast.   

Then, an email arrives from our building’s superintendant in New York with an announcement that the building, which is also located in Zone A, is being mandatorily evacuated. Suddenly, the reality of a world beyond our current paradise hits us. After some time, I had my phone call to my kids answered… finally. I know I should have texted; no one under 50 years old answers a telephone anymore! Come on Granny, get with it.  :)  

Far from a distressed family on the verge of evacuation, in the background I hear laughter from more than one adult and playful screams from more than one kid, maybe six or so? There is definitely a party going on! How is this possible? My daughter gets on the phone and announces that if she is going to be without electricity, then she wants to be in her own home. My son-in-law gets on the wire to report the feast they are preparing of pheasant and other goodies. 

Noting my strained enthusiasm for the state of affairs, he explains why they are not leaving. NOT LEAVING! NOT LEAVING!? Images of Katrina with my grandkids on rooftops and first responders rowing my family out along the newly formed Greenwich River invaded my brain. He explains how much higher they are (9 vertical feet higher) near Harrison Street than our place on Laight Street. This did very little to reassure me that all was not so bad in the State of Tribeca. 

I try to be a Cool Granny and a Hip Granny, not an anxious one. It is true that grannies can easily be stereotyped, but Anxious Grannies are simply not cool! So, it took a mighty surge of self -control to repress the fear for my grandchildren in the coming storm. Forget their parents, they would have been responsible for the risk-taking. I tried to transfer my nervous state into energetic excitement about the feast that was about to be consumed by three families all having a grand ole’ time. Or was this clearly a case of Nero fiddling while Rome was burning?

The pheasants pictured here and held by my two grandsons, Avery and Rowan, were shot in the New York countryside by their Tribeca sportsman/hunter neighbor. When I first heard that my two munchkins had been out hunting birds, I swallowed very hard. I have never been a fan of hunting of any kind. 

However, with some second thoughts, I realized that I am also not a vegetarian. I eat meat of all kinds: lamb, beef, chicken, and yes birds, too. Birds like squab, quail, pheasant and little hens, and these animals are killed in order to arrive at the table. OK, Granny… stop your denial or become a vegan!   

I have tried to imagine this storm party, living in the moment, making merry and preparing the pheasants. Did they pluck and gut the birds like this (video)?

My son-in-law says: “It was like ripping apart a delicate teddy bear.  It wasn’t the greatest; I am not going to lie. And 'breasting' the pheasants was gruesome… but fortunately, not much blood and guts!"

Click here for the recipe he used to prepare the pheasants for their feast >

Click here for another great pheasant recipe > 

And another >

They all look delicious. Julia Child would say, “Bon Appetit” and Lydia Bastianich would add, “ Tutti a tavola a mangiare!” And Granny says, “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die!"

Margo Davis (aka Granny)

P.S. My family remained safe and dry during and after the storm at Greenwich and Harrison streets, albeit without electricity for one week. My building on Laight Street and the West Side Highway had its basement flooded and all electrical, elevator and heating systems were destroyed, so we cannot return there for months.

Photo by Jamie Barker

" ["post_title"]=> string(35) "A Last Feast Before A Perfect Storm" ["post_excerpt"]=> string(416) "By Margo Davis T’was the hours before Sandy and all through the evening, no drink kept me steady, not even a toddy. Meanwhile, family in NY was holding a feast in the midst of the superstorm. I have tried to imagine this storm party, living in the moment, making merry and preparing the pheasants. Did they pluck and gut the birds? Also see a video on "Preparing a Pheasant for the Pot" and 3 pheasant recipes. " ["post_status"]=> string(7) "publish" ["comment_status"]=> string(4) "open" ["ping_status"]=> string(4) "open" ["post_password"]=> string(0) "" ["post_name"]=> string(35) "a-last-feast-before-a-perfect-storm" ["to_ping"]=> string(0) "" ["pinged"]=> string(0) "" ["post_modified"]=> string(19) "2013-12-20 16:34:40" ["post_modified_gmt"]=> string(19) "2013-12-20 16:34:40" ["post_content_filtered"]=> string(0) "" ["post_parent"]=> int(0) ["guid"]=> string(42) "http://inthekitchenwithbronwyn.com/?p=1266" ["menu_order"]=> int(0) ["post_type"]=> string(4) "post" ["post_mime_type"]=> string(0) "" ["comment_count"]=> string(1) "3" ["filter"]=> string(3) "raw" } ["queried_object_id"]=> int(1266) }
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3 responses to “A Last Feast Before A Perfect Storm”

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  2. Bronwyn says:

    Hi Stacee, Thank you for your comment and it is so nice to have my efforts appreciated. I love writing the blog and am so happy when I hear that someone likes what I have done here. Please keep letting me know what you like. Also, I would love to know where you are from.

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