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 26^th’s walking and shopping on Chicago’s Miracle Mile, more than a few July 4^ths 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.