The End Of A Great Weekend; Rain; A Beatles Tribute Band

I was eleven years old when I saw The Beatles for the first time.  It was Sunday night, and they were the headline act for The Ed Sullivan Show.  All week long people were talking about their appearance with great anticipation and excitement.  The Ed Sullivan Show was a variety show that ran from 1949 to 1971.  It was a television version of vaudeville that featured, musical groups, circus acts, comedians, novelty acts and more. 

Finally, the show started.  Ed Sullivan announces them and they open with All My Loving, then Till There Was You and She Loves You.   I was mesmerized.   My parents naturally ridiculed them.  “Look at their hair,” said my father, “they look like girls!” They played two more songs in the second half of the show: I Saw Her Standing There and I Want To Hold Your Hand.   My mother was equally unkind.  “I can’t understand the words,” she cried.  I knew, at that moment, things would never be the same again.   My parents hated them; I naturally loved them. Within a few months, kids were growing their hair longer and buying Beatles records (yes, those black vinyl disks that scratched way too easily). I even had a Beatles wig and a Ringo doll. The British Invasion had begun.

The Beatles, along with the other countless bands from England, helped shape my listening habits and love for music.  Unfortunately, due to the tragic shooting of John Lennon and the untimely death of George Harrison, a Beatles reunion is impossible.  Or so I thought. 

A few years ago, I was channel surfing and came across the local PBS station airing a Rain concert.  Rain is a Beatles tribute band that not only has a successful Broadway show, but a phenomenal road show as well. They don’t just sound like the Beatles, they ARE the Beatles.  They look, sound, act and talk like them.  Their musical ability is scary.  The singing, harmonizing, guitar playing and drumming is on par with any top-notch band on the scene today. 

Last night was our fourth time seeing them at the Oakdale Theater in Wallingford.  The Oakdale is my favorite concert venue.  The seating is great and the acoustics are out of this world.  Traffic was a nightmare because they were sold out, but they delayed the show until most people were seated.  We made our way to our seats and settled in.  A couple in back of us had never seen the show and was curious as to how good it is.  I assured them that they were in for a great time.  The couple to the left us should have worn their Depends.  They could not stop getting up and peeing.  Oi Vai!

On the video screen, a montage of the sixties is playing. An Ed Sullivan impersonator introduces them and the curtain goes up.  Rain breaks into I Want To Hold Your Hand.  The audience is stunned.  Close your eyes and you are listening to the Beatles.  The band is dressed in black suits, white shirts and skinny black ties.  “Paul” is playing the bass left-handed.  “Ringo” is playing Ludwig drums.  The monitors are simulcasting the show in black and white.  Remember this is supposed to be 1964.  They continue with This Boy and then I Saw Her Standing There. 

“Paul” does a beautiful acoustic solo of Yesterday.  Remember he played the bass left-handed; well he played the guitar right-handed.  I cannot even begin to fathom how difficult that is.  A quick costume and set change and you are now at the famous Shea Stadium concert. That crowd was so loud that The Beatles couldn’t hear themselves through their monitors. 

As we travel through the albums with them, the videos change to reflect what was going on in the cultural and political fields.  From a  commercial of Barney Rubble and Fred Flintstone taking a Winston cigarette break, Prell Shampoo(the pearl included), Duz detergent with free stockings, to Woodstock, Vietnam and the Moon landing.  During intermission, Beatles’ trivia questions were displayed.  Did you know that Stu Sutcliffe, the original bassist left the band for Astrid Kichherr, a world-renowned photographer?  Cherchez la femme. 

One of the most notable songs of the evening was a brilliant arrangement of Norwegian Wood. “Paul” played electric bass while “John” and “George” played acoustic guitars.  “Ringo” kept the groove by simply playing a tambourine. It was extraordinary.  Another fun song was I’ve Just Seen a Face.  “Ringo” was playing the brushes with a two-beat drum groove.  The effect was almost (I hate to say it) country. 

At the end of the show, everyone was up on their feet singing, dancing and smiling. It was such an amazing concert.  I would recommend it to anyone who is a Beatles fan.  You will not be disappointed. It will make you feel fifteen all over again!

Set List

I Want To Hold Your Hand

All My Loving

This Boy

I Saw Her Standing There

Hard Days Night

I’m Happy Just To Dance With You

Yesterday

I Feel Fine

Day Tripper

Twist And Shout

Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

With A Little Help From My Friends

Eleanor Rigby

Strawberry Fields Forever

When I’m 64

Sergeant Pepper Reprise

A Day In The Life

Hello Goodbye

I Am The Walrus

Norwegian Wood

Do You Want To Know A Secret

There Are Places I Remember

Two Of Us

I’ve Just Seen A Face

Come Together

Get Back

Revolution

The End

Encore

Give Peace A Chance

Let It Be

Hey Jude

The Start of a Great Weekend

Went to Abigail’s Tavern last might with my favorite cousin Cindy and her husband Mark.  Formerly the Pettibone Tavern; It has been a local landmark in Simsbury since 1780.  George Washington was thought to have stopped there during the Revolution.  My wife and I began going there in 2007 and have been enjoying their food ever since.  Oh, and it is rumored to be haunted.    The story goes that Abigail Pettibone was married to a sea captain who was gone for long stretches of time.  Well, you know what is coming next; she got lonely and randy and was enjoying herself with her lover, when lo and behold, Captain Pettibone comes home unexpectedly.  Enraged to find his wife in “flagrante delicto,” he kills them both with an axe.  Ouch!  There have been many reports of paranormal activity in the restaurant.  It was even the subject of a T.A.P.S. investigation; who incidentally, didn’t find any evidence.  Oh well, it is still a good story to tell.

Anyway, my cousin, well actually second cousin, and I have known each nearly all of our lives.  I am five months older than she is, a fact that she has never let me forget.  When her birthday comes around, I revel in the fact that she is getting old too. We also grew up near each other- she in Fairfield, I in Trumbull.  Our mothers were fairly close cousins as well.  Both our mothers are still around, and that is always a topic of conversation because they continue to drive us insane.  Her husband is a terrific guy and they have two daughters whom I absolutely adore.  The great thing is that when we get together, we can yack it up ‘til the cows come home. 

We were seated in a small, comfortable room with a cozy fireplace. I started off with an ice cold, Grey Goose martini and a plate of oysters.  Ahh! A great way to end the week, and begin the weekend.  As always, I think back to the person who first took the plunge and ate a raw oyster.  That guy was brave.  The oysters were on point. Mark ordered a very nice Coppola Syrah. We nibbled on some warm Parmesan bread sitting a pool of extra virgin olive oil.  We ordered another one as the first plate was quickly dispatched.   

My wife had the Maine Lobster Pasta, Cindy the Atlantic Ocean swordfish (a favorite of mine) and Mark and I went with the Free Range Chicken with Portabellas. As always the service was impeccable and the entrees cooked to perfection.  We talked all night about our kids, other family members, work, books, movies, politics, and everything and anything.   For dessert my wife and I split a Chocolate Croissant Bread Pudding and Cindy and Mark split a Crème Brulee.  Yeah, the desserts were exceptionally delicious.  I was pleased that they enjoyed the place so much, as it is probably my favorite restaurant.  We had a great night out and I’m so happy that I can share this journey called life with my favorite ‘cuz and her family.  Can’t wait to see you guys again! 

Cheddar Cheese Chicken Tenders with Wilted Spinach

I decided I couldn’t wait for the Superbowl to make the Cheddar Cheese Chicken Tenders with Wilted Spinach.  I figured that watching the Ravens hopefully beat the Patriots would be a good enough excuse to try them out.  I also decided that I wasn’t going to make the wilted spinach.  After all, I am watching football, not the Biggest Loser. 

The recipe is simple enough to follow, so I’m not going to go into great detail.  I did make two changes though.  The first change was that I used a chicken breast instead of chicken tenders.  I didn’t feel like making a special trip to the grocery store, so I defrosted a chicken breast and thinly sliced it lengthwise.  The other change was that I brined the chicken for about an hour.  Brining makes the chicken more tender and flavorful.  In a large bowl, dissolve ¾ of a cup of Kosher salt into a gallon of water.  Place the chicken into the water, and place the bowl into the refrigerator for about an hour.  Some people add other things to the brine such as sugar, garlic, onions etc.   Feel free to experiment.  Brining really makes a difference when you cook chicken.  You won't believe the difference in flavor.

I assembled the troops, dipped the chicken into the bowl of mustard, coated the chicken with the crumbled crackers, arranged them on a greased half sheet pan, and popped them into the oven for about fifteen minutes.  I turned them after eight minutes to so they would brown evenly. 

When the timer went off, I poured out some ranch dressing, and sat down to watch the game.  They are delicious.  Hot out of the oven, dipped into cool ranch dressing.  Yum!  Very little prep time, easy to make; a perfect Sunday afternoon football snack.  Enjoy.

Click here for the link to the recipe

Honey, I Broke The Car

On my way to work the other day, I noticed a new BMW in the breakdown lane.  The hood was up and a smartly dressed guy was peering intently inside the engine compartment, trying to figure out why his very expensive car was not working.  Cars and trucks were whizzing by him.  It was cold and drizzling.   I thought to myself, “What the hell is he looking at?”  I highly doubt that this guy, or most guys, can barely figure out how to program the Navigation system, let alone diagnose an engine problem on todays’ cars. 

I’ve been a “car guy” ever since I could remember.  I would pore over car magazines and memorize horsepower, 0-60 times and the all important, quarter mile speed.   When I was sixteen, my brother went off to school and gave me his old junker.  It was a 1960 Chevrolet Impala with a straight six-cylinder engine and two speed automatic transmission.  Pretty much state of the art back then.   I was able to change the oil and sparkplugs, flush and fill the radiator, install a new alternator, tune the carburetor and generally keep it in running condition. 

Not any more.  Cars are way too complicated and sophisticated these days.  Computers control the engine, transmission, brakes and even the suspension.  I’m sure that I could figure out that if smoke was pouring from the engine bay my car was on fire.  Or, if fluids were pooling underneath it, I most certainly had a leak somewhere.  And if it wasn’t where I parked it, someone had stolen it.  Just for laughs I popped the hood on my 2011 Ford Mustang.  There was the engine, a few hoses, a lot of wires and many little high tech fittings.  It took me a few minutes to locate the dipstick for the oil.  The oil filter was positioned in such a way that in order to remove it, my arm had to be a foot longer and have two more joints in it. 

As a guy, I would much rather slit my wrists than ask for directions. So guys are forced, no, make that compelled; to open the hood and pretend we know anything about what is going on under the hood.  Hopefully, the well-dressed man at the side of the road was dialing AAA as he gazed longingly into the engine bay.   

I am a Renaissance Man, mon!

 A colleague of mine once accused me of being a Renaissance Man.  I was amused that she would have used the term to refer to me.  If you are unfamiliar with the term, a renaissance man is someone who “does not have only broad interests or a superficial knowledge of several fields, but rather that their knowledge is profound and often that they also have proficiency or accomplishments in at least some of these fields and in some cases even at a level comparable to the proficiency or the accomplishments of an expert.” (http://polymath.software.informer.com/wiki/). 

This knowledge comes from having, in my opinion, many hobbies and interests.  I don’t usually toot my own horn, but I am a pretty good cabinetmaker, a good photographer, and an excellent shot.  Two recent hobbies that I have unfortunately given the short shrift to are writing and drumming. Just the other day my drum teacher remarked that my writing pieces have started to become few and far between.  So I thought I would kill two birds with one stone and write a piece about drumming. 

I was brought up in a house that appreciated music.  My parents, who never spent money on anything frivolous, one day came home with a new, RCA console record player.  It was finished in gorgeous mahogany veneer with gold fabric covering the speakers.  It became the centerpiece of the house.  Then, in an act that I can only describe as sheer madness, two weeks later they came home with the matching stereo speaker.  Whoa!  As they were hooking it, up no mean feat, because my father was clueless as to how stuff works, they were laughing about the speaker terms: woofers and tweeters (bass and treble).  They got a lot of mileage out of that joke.  At parties they would act it out with my father saying woofer in his deep bass and my mother saying tweeter in a falsetto.  It was hysterical. That stereo played all day.  I listened to Sinatra, Martin, Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman and Vaughn Monroe to name a few. However, Elvis and the Beatles never made it to the top ten hit list.  Last year I asked my mom about Elvis and she said, “He was disgusting, shaking his ass like that!  Did you know that on the Ed Sullivan show they had to...”  Yeah okay, I get it. 

When I was twelve years old, my mother asked me if I would like to play an instrument.  Without hesitation I said, “The drums!”  I was always tapping my feet, pulling out pots and pans and playing them with pencils.  When all of the other kids were discussing whether John was cooler than Paul, I chimed and said,  “Ringo is my man.”  Well maybe not those exact words, but you get the point.   

Anyway, I thought that drums would be a logical choice.  “Too noisy!” said my mother.  I tried explaining to her that the kids playing drums in school practice on rubber pads.  She would not listen and the next thing I knew I was the not so proud owner, or to be more specific renter, of an alto saxophone.   Big, heavy, loud and impossible to figure out.  Yep, that was my new instrument.  Complete with Mr. Amato, my private instructor.  I hated this thing. It hung around my neck like an albatross. Also, not many bands that were coming out in 1964-65 had a saxophone player.  Beatles, no, Rolling Stones, not until later, Kinks, nope, The Animals, uh-uh, and so on.  Oh sure there were some bands that had a sax player, but drums and guitars ruled the air-waves. 

When I practiced, which wasn’t often enough according to Mr. Amato, it sounded as if I was slaughtering animals in my basement. It squeaked, bleated, squealed and howled. The ASPCA once staged a protest outside our house. We never even owned an animal. Mr. Amato was always telling me I had to “bone up” on my practice.  I remember thinking how can I smash this thing over his head AND get away with it?  He would complain to my mother that I wasn’t doing my work, so I got punished by having to practice more. 

A couple of my friends and I formed a “band.”  We had a guitar, organ and, you guessed it, me sitting in on sax.  Our only piece of sheet music was, of all things, Wooley Bully, by Sam The Sham and the Pharaohs. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qNVm8yl-Sc) We worked on that song for weeks.  At the end of those weeks we sounded so bad that one of our parents said we should name our band the Discords.  It never sounded right because the sheet music was written for the sax part.  That was my last foray into being in a band.  I completely stopped practicing the sax and much to my relief, my mother took the instrument back to the music store, so it could torture some other unsuspecting child. 

Fast forward forty years.  I was looking for a new hobby and thought, how about the drums?  My wife was agreeable, I had the means, so I bought a cheap kit on the Internet and searched for a drum teacher.  I hooked up with Gus, who at the time, was teaching at Music and Arts in East Hartford.  It has been a very rewarding ride. I’ve learned music theory, different styles, and I can even tune a timpani. What I like about Gus is that even when I mess something up while I’m playing, he finds something good to say. I bring him recordings of my sessions and he gives me honest, insightful comments and criticisms. He is a patient guy, with a lot of knowledge.  

I’ve gotten together with two other cats who play guitar, and every couple of weeks we get together to jam in my basement.  At first it sounded like noise, but for the past year, my wife never fails to mention that is sounds like music.  Very good music.  And that is music to my ears. 

Latkes and the story of Hanukah

Hanukah, or the Festival of Light, is a holiday that commemorates the re-dedication of the Second Temple in 165 BCE.  Interestingly enough, Hanukah is not mentioned in the Torah, the Jewish Bible.  Rather, it is the book of the Maccabees. The Maccabees were a band of Hebrew fighters who liberated the land of Israel from the occupying Syrian Greeks.  Antiochus IV Epiphanes, a nasty sort if there ever was one, forbade the Hebrews from practicing their religion and forced them to worship the Greek gods.  If that wasn’t enough, he also defiled the Second Temple in Jerusalem.  That was the final straw.  The Maccabees, under the leadership of Judah Maccabee, led a small army, which waged a guerrilla war against the Syrians.  When they finally took control of the Temple, the Hebrews wanted to burn ritual oil to purify it.  However, they were only able to find enough oil for one day.  The miracle of Hanukah was that the oil lasted a total of eight days. We celebrate it today by lighting a menorah.  The menorah contains nine branches; eight to symbolize the eight days that the oil lasted and one as the Shamash.  The Shamash is the candle used to light the others. Hanukah is a minor holiday on the Jewish calendar.  We eat ritual foods, say prayers, sing songs, spin dreidels and give gifts. 

Eating fried foods on Hanukah reminds us of the miracle of the oil.  Latkes and sufganiyot (fried donuts) are traditional foods most often associated with the Jewish holiday of Hanukah.  We are having a Hanukah party at my temple so we are going to make potato latkes. The recipe that we are going to use is...

Kathi and Harriet’s Luscious Latke Recipe

2 eggs
½ small onion, chopped
2 Tbl vegetable oil for the latkes
1 tsp salt
2 Tbl flour
¼ tsp baking powder
3 cups shredded raw potatoes
Vegetable oil for frying

Assemble the troops

 Old School

Graduate School

I am making fifteen pounds of potatoes, so I modified the recipe slightly to go for high production.  Soak the shredded potatoes for about 15 minutes in cold water. 

 This will remove some of the starch.  Heat enough oil in a large skillet to cover about 1/8 inch to medium-high heat.  When it starts to shimmer it is ready.  Remove the potatoes from the water and put them on a kitchen towel.  Roll up the towel and then squeeze the excess water from the potatoes. 

Mix all of the ingredients in a large bowl. 

  Form the latkes into three-inch diameter mounds.  Drop in the hot oil, press gently with the back of a spoon, and fry until golden brown on both sides.  

Remove from heat and drain on a paper towel.

Serve with applesauce or sour cream or both! L’Chaim.   I'm actually serving this with Duck Sauce.  You know Jews and Chinese food, but that's another story.  

Wishing all of you a very Happy Hanukah and/or a Merry Christmas! 

I Moved Like Jagger And Ended Up In Physical Therapy

I'm not a big Maroon Five fan, but the song “Moves Like Jagger” has been rattling around my head for some time, and I can't seem to shake it. I actually saw them six years ago when they were the warm up act for, you guessed it, the Rolling Stones.  I don’t recall Adam Levine moving like Jagger when he was on the stage.  But then again, I just had major knee surgery, and was taking Vicodin for the pain, so I don’t recall a whole lot from the concert anyway.

 In any case, the Stones are going to be celebrating their 50th anniversary. Hard to believe.  Mick Jagger is 68 years old. I'm not so certain that he even can move like Jagger anymore.   I’m ten years younger than he is and to be honest, I don’t move like Jagger either.  I know that on some days when I get up, I don’t even move like Barry.  I move more like grandpa.   The last time I tried to move like Jagger, something twisted and I had to apply ice to my shoulder.

Every day brings a new ache or pain. I lovingly refer to it as the Ache du Jour.  Where will it strike? My wife says that I probably slept funny. But I don’t remember being amused at three in the morning. I most certainly didn’t wake up, laughing hysterically at the ache/shooting pain in my _____(insert body part here). 

I’ve been going to physical therapy lately for some routine maintenance on my neck.  I’m not sure if I slept funny or moved like Jagger, but I need a bit of a tune up.  It’s an eye opener walking into the physical therapy room.  The only people that are moving are the therapists.  Everyone else is moving like, well, actually, they are not moving at all.  Broken feet, bad knees, bum elbows, and sore necks. The therapists push, pull, kneed and bend the broken parts.  I have been hooked up to a traction machine that “gently” pulls my head in an attempt to separate it from the rest of me.  Ten minutes of that and I have actually grown.  I can move without an ache, a pain, a throb or a twinge.  Maybe I cannot move like Jagger anymore, but I bet I can still move like Keith Richards!