CUBA
LIBRE CHRONICLES
25 Dec
2015 –Friday (Christmas Day)
One of my very best friends, Chuck, is
obsessed with the concept of “tradition.”
Throughout the many years of our friendship, I have acquiesced to many
of his attempts to establish “a lasting tradition” (his phrase… is there any
other kind?) amongst our respective families.
We have spent a series of December 26th’s walking and
shopping on Chicago’s Miracle Mile, more than a few July 4ths in, of
all places, the hot and humid Sarasota, Florida and a whole bunch of others
lasting both shorter periods of time and longer. Regardless of how long they
last in years, they are indelibly marked in my memories and I sincerely hope
this idiosyncrasy of his continues ad infinitum. In spite of my incessant whining about
weather or having to get off my couch, we have always had a delightful time and
would gladly continue any of these observances if it were not for the intrusion
of life, which all too often, gets in the way of living.
This 2015 Christmas morning I am happy
to report that two traditions have endured for me… one very old and one moderately
new. As I have mentioned, I love to cook
and the newer Christmas Day tradition is preparing my special Christmas Omelet
for Kristine and myself for the past fifteen years or so. Yesterday we splurged on bags of fresh seafood
but also bought several large, meaty King Crab Legs. Cracking the shells and swiftly sautéing the meat
with shallots and garlic swimming in butter, I put that aside and prepared a
four egg omelet base. Filling the omelet
with the sautéed crab meat and topping it all off with slices of ripe avocado,
Kris and I sit down at our teak table in the main salon to savor this rarity. And this is where the second, much older,
tradition comes into play.
Growing up, my maternal grandmother,
born in Slovenia (tiny country nestled between Austria, Italy, and what was then,
Yugoslavia, now Croatia), lived with our family until my early teens and did
much of the cooking for my Mom and Dad, who both worked, and my brother and myself. Needless to say, we ate many dishes that came
out of my grandmother’s ancient cook book files but one of my favorites was the
holiday treat we knew as “Potica.” Pronounced “poe-teet-sa,” it was a rolled
pastry containing walnuts, honey, raisins and flecks of cinnamon. The recipe unfortunately died with my grandmother
before I became interested in cooking and my Mom, (one of the world’s worst
cooks, and yes she would readily admit to that title) never bothered to salvage
the ancient cookbook. So since my thirties,
I have tried without success to duplicate the delicate balance of those
ingredients and have always been rewarded for my efforts with inedible chunks
of unrecognizable glop either baked to black or dripping all over the inside of
the oven. As you may have surmised, I am not a baker. Then many years ago Kristine and I hooked up
and of all things, her heritage derived from the same Slovenian town as my
grandmother. What’s more, Kris’s sister,
Natalie, made a Potica almost identical to my grandmother’s. And this Christmas morning, Natalie had wrapped
a substantial portion for us to be opened on Christmas Day. It is the absolutely perfect accompaniment to
our omelets. There are no pictures to
show you simply because I refuse to allow a special meal to grow cool while I snap
a photo. Priorities, priorities!
The rest of the day is preserved for
being lazy. We take a leisurely walk in the
75 degree sunshine and inspect all the boats in Turner Marina and the Dog River
Marina next to us. We hang a photo, a
Christmas present from my son Kevin, in a prominent spot on AURORA. It is a photo he had taken while on a 140
foot schooner on Lake Michigan.
 |
| Memories of my sailing youth return |
He has too often heard me tell stories
about sailing on a square rigger when I was still in my teens. I believe his giving me this thoughtful gift
was a way of saying, “Got it Dad, don’t need to hear that story one more time.” I feel lucky to have a son who exhibits a passion for
his interests, be they deep diving, photography or whatever. People without
passion are boring and I refuse to spend time with bores or boors. Time is a finite quantity for all of us and
the one sad note of the day is our long time friend and travel companion, Peter
Seeger, has lost his battle with Parkinson’s and has succumbed this very
morning. With heavy hearts, Kristine and I spend the balance of the day carefully
re-packing the Mini with Cuba passage necessities. Tomorrow we will drive the Florida
Panhandle checking out potential marinas for AURORA while making our
way towards Marathon and our friends, Mike and Mel, aboard TALARIA. With more than a few warm tears sliding down our
cheeks, the point is driven home … do not, DO NOT put off your bucket list adventures.
