Olympic Addiction

There is something about the Olympics that changes me in some surprising ways.

100 Days to Sochi in Times Square

One: I do not follow sports and never have. The exceptions to that (and they are admittedly BIG exceptions) are gymnastics and skating. The latter is something I have loved all of my life and that is a darn good thing because if I had to sit through hour upon hour of basketball or soccer, watching my daughter play, I would not be near as happy as I am watching her skate.

Two: I am not an overtly patriotic person. I do love my country, but not all parts of it. I love other countries too, although I do not consider them home, as I do this one. But I just don't get into that part of patriotism that causes me to hang flags in my yard or believe that my country is somehow better or more deserving than other countries are.

But put me around anything having to do with the Olympics and all of that changes. I love to watch the skating most of all, but I find myself following sports I am not normally interested in at all--like snowboarding or track. And I will wear Team USA shirts and jackets and insanely shout "GO USA" at the top of my lungs.

Adelaide getting ready to skate

Which is precisely why I am hoarse today.

Yesterday I attended the Road To Sochi event in Times Square, New York with my daughter and her coaches. She got to skate, along with some other skating students in a big plastic ice rink that was put up for the event, along with a small ski slope and other demo areas for Winter Olympic sports. There was music, performances, big Clydesdale horses carrying Olympic hopefuls, autographs, sponsor booths giving away all kinds of paraphenalia.

In the evening, when it got dark, the whole square was lit up with Olympic seals and Jumbotrons that showed what was happening in the different areas. The dance company, Pilobolus had created a video of all of the Olympic sports which was played all over the square.

Denis and Melissa performing in Times Square

Denis Petukhov and Melissa Gregory, my daughter's coaches, who were US Olympians in the 2006 games, performed a spectacular number on the ice that was a cool fusion of figure skating and hockey accompanied by the singer, Karl William Giant, who had written a song for this occasion.

Gavin DeGraw sang from a nearby stage while Emily Hughes skated. A slew of hopeful Olympians and Paralympians were brought out on a red carpet and introduced. Lindsay Vonn made a surprise appearance (Tiger not in sight).

It was exciting--especially so because I was "behind the scenes" with my daughter and her coaches, true, but I would have been thrilled anyway. And, yes, I screamed at the top of my lungs for her and all of the athletes. I wore the blue mittens with "Go" embroidered on one hand, and "USA" on the other.

I still haven't figured out why I am so affected by the whole thing--but I certainly am, no doubt about it! I can't wait until February when I will see them in person in Sochi, Russia. Probably I won't be able to talk for weeks.

On another note, check out my article on About.com about Portugal's coffee culture and an original recipe for Portuguese Toasted Almonds, which are also completely addictive. The coffee is particularly good if eaten with Papo Secos, Portuguese Bread Rolls, toasted with some butter and jam on them.

Memories, Like the Colors of My (Overly Imaginative) Mind

Me with my Grandpa, Joe Ponte

One of the unexpected side effects of my job as the Portuguese Food Writer for About.com is the memories. I suppose it's kind of obvious that exploring some of the foods of my grandparents homeland would bring up childhood memories, but I just didn't think it through ahead of time!

What is particularly amazing about this is the way the memories incorporate all of my senses. It's not just that I remember a dish, like rice pudding (Arroz Doce), for example and I think to myself, "Oh, that's right, I used to have that at Cussie's restaurant in New Bedford." It isn't just an intellectual thinking experience. It's more that as I am cooking it, and then tasting it, I find myself, all of a sudden in a past setting, along with all of the colors and smells.

I can remember that every time I visited the Buttonwood Grille (my cousin, Cussie's restaurant in New Bedford that was the focal point for my Grandmother's side of the family) she would ask us if we would like to have that rice pudding. Of course what we really wanted were the lollipops that were stashed underneath the old cash register! The restaurant smelled a certain way, like the hundreds of bowls of homemade Kale Soup that were cooked there every week and the fried fish that was always served on Fridays because good Catholics never eat meat on a Friday. I picture the knotty pine paneling that the walls were covered with.

And there was that feeling of being part of the family that owned and ran the restaurant. We thought it was so cool that we could just walk behind the counter or go into the kitchen whenever we wanted to because we were part of it. Other kids, who were unfortunate enough to be mere customers did not have that privilege.

Last week I had a lot of guests. First there was my college buddy, Ann and her Dad. Then, the next day, our other college buddy, Rachel, came for lunch. Then that same night, after they were all gone, my friend Karen came to stay for a few days. This caused a rush of cooking on my part, so the sense memories were coming up like crazy.

First I made my grandfather's recipe for Kale Soup, which I served for dinner with Ann and her father. They liked it so much and there was so much left over that we had it for lunch the next day too. Then we had the rice pudding for dessert.

I thought about the restaurant, of course, but also was thrown back to the time that my grandfather was living with my aunt and uncle, near the end of his life. That was when my Aunt Rosemary got him to cook the soup with her so that she could write it down and preserve the recipe for the family. Even though I was not there at the time, I have a strong image in my mind of her kitchen and of him, stooped over from Parkinsons Disease, standing by the stove and stirring the soup.

Which means that I am making up sense memories that aren't even mine and that I wasn't there for. Oh dear.

I also made Sopa de Cenoura (Carrot Soup), which didn't bring up any memories at all, because it wasn't one of my family's recipes. So at least I know I am not completely nuts. (By the way, it is a fantastic and easy to make Autumn soup. I think it would be a good one for Thanksgiving).

Here are a couple of others to try:

• Bolinhos de Bacalhua (codfish balls): This is another one of my grandpa's recipes
• Porco Altenjana: not a family recipe, but one of Portugal's most famous dishes and a great dish to serve for company

Lost Acres

Last weekend I attended a Harvest Dinner at Lost Acres Vineyard, which is just down the road from us. In fact I could walk there quite easily--it would only take about 15 minutes, which is convenient since trying out the selections doesn't necessarily make one the ideal driver.

I was thrilled when I first discovered the Vineyard. Here I was, returning to Connecticut after many years living in the big city, and although I was truly thrilled to be living in the woods, it was a shock to my sophisticated city self. After all, living in Park Slope, Brooklyn, one has only to walk a couple of blocks in any direction to be near gourmet food shops, eclectic boutiques and restaurants of every ethnic variety.

I decided to drive down the road a piece and there it was--a beautiful red barn with rows of vines growing on the slope just behind it. Inside the red barn is the tasting room, on the second level. The first level is where the grapes are crushed and stored while they turn into wine.

Inside the tasting room I met Michelle, who owns Lost Acres Vineyard along with her husband, Kevin. I introduced myself and learned that she had also transplanted herself from Brooklyn (the Heights) to Granby rather recently. What's more, she had done it for the sake of her then teenage son, so that he could live closer to his father. I moved here for the sake of my teenage daughter, so that she could train as a figure skater.

I loved our parallels and her story of reinvention, which got even better when she got to the part about meeting her husband. He was her neighbor (in another section of Granby). They met, fell in love and started a vineyard together. Now that's romance!

The place they have created together is idyllic. And I swear I am not just saying that because I adore good wine, not to mention easy access to said wine.

Their atmospheric tasting barn has become a real community setting. It is the about the only place in Granby to sit and drink good wine, and the setting for it could not be more ideal. There is the indoor part, with wood planked walls and a fireplace, and there is also the deck, which looks out over the vines and the fields where they keep their horses (also their pigs, which isn't so idyllic--but you can't see or smell them from the deck). You can also sit on the lawn in chairs or spread a blanket on the grass. They have art shows, comedy nights, bands and yoga classes.

Doing yoga amidst the vines is so idyllic I can hardly stand it! As I move into downward dog, smelling the gorgeous autumn smells and hearing the sounds of a galloping horse thundering by I want to jump up and down screaming, "Hey, look at me! I could be in the hills of Tuscany right now! That's how great this is!"

After all that excitement, one can only head over to the barn for a glass of the Wedge White to get calmed down, which I know is what the yoga is supposed to do, but I can't help it. It's that wonderful.

Check out Lost Acres Vineyard's website and read all about this wonderful place.