I could hear her in the kitchen. She had dropped something large and metallic on the floor and it woke me up. I opened my eyes. I could see her bent over the table. I could smell the onion she was slicing from the bedroom, which was open to the kitchen in the railroad flat on Perry Street. She turned and saw me watching her.
What a joy to read this piece. Nostalgia overcame me with every word of it. So perfect. And I have that Le Creuset pot 5 qts in “Flame”—it’s lasted over 40 years. Thanks for sharing this memory moment. You’ve written a masterpiece
As I read these stories from the past it's like I'm watching a clip from a movie. You write in such a vual way.
They make a nice change of pace too from the the deadly seriousness of the political scene in this age of Trump.
It's funny too how images from one's own life pops up as certain words are mentioned. For example, Bloomingdales: I worked as a private driver after taking an early retirement from the phone company, and my boss was a retired business executive with friends such as the Reagans and Betsy Bloomingdale (Mrs. Reagan's' best friend). Anyway one evening the Reagan crowd were all at dinner at the Bloomingdale house and I was outside with a couple of other drivers and some Secret Service men chatting, when Bob And Dolores Hope came out of the house to wait for their driver to bring the car around. As they came out of the front door they were holding hands and softly humming a tune together, so I leaned forward and said "Did you two ever think of trying to break into show business?" Bob Hope laughed out loud, so I have the distinction of making Bob Hope laugh.
On a darker note, when Lucian mentioned "mob" it reminded of my old barber telling me he used to go to Mickey Cohen's house to cut his hair. He said also one time Johnny Stompanato came to his shop one day for a haircut. My barber said he had an ice cold demeanor which gave him the chills. He was glad he never came back. I guess the story was he was beating Lana Turner up and her daughter killed him. and Lana said she did it. Not sure if I remember the story exactly.
When my way too young husband, an Episcopal priest, died in 1999, the funeral was held at the cathedral in Hartford. One of the attendees was someone I knew quite well. She was escorted by a.....ummmm....."friend." The attendee was appalled by my total black ensemble with a simple cross. Her observation? I looked like a "f*cking nun." Okay. My observation of her ensemble (large black straw sun hat, huge black sun glasses and pale green toe nail polish in black stiletto sandals. Oh, and siren red lipstick)? Told of her observation of my clothes, I had only one response: She looked like Lana Turner at Johnny Stompanato's funeral.
You are a great writer, able to make a Le Creuset pot into a New York day to remember. Now I have an urgent need to go through my kitchen drawers and find a utensil, any utensil , rubber bands, dead batteries scissors, come on! Give me a utensil I can write about to make my memories as compelling as yours.....oh wait, will this.....nah, Hey how about an old ....I think it was a blender....yeah...ok..it was a dark and stormy night in Ottawa.......
I just bought the plain cast iron at Kaufmann’s in Pittsburgh and lugged the whole set (skillets, lids, pots, and Dutch oven) by myself on the bus. Still have all of it. My mother bought the same La Creuset as you and screamed at me every time I touched it. Great essay. Thanks and bravo….
So I met a French girl a few years (ok, 18) ago in London where I was working and living. The first date was apparently OK because she asked if she might come over to my flat in a few days and cook me dinner. Of course, I said "pourqui pas?" I guess she had snooped in my kitchen because she said that in order to follow through on her offer, I would need to buy a "coquotte." Huh? "Le Creuset, of course." "Oh, like a Dutch oven, said I." "Hah," she scoffed, "not Dutch at all!" Not being one to argue when a French meal was on the table, I went down to the Old Navy store near Victoria Station and found just the one. I don't need to attach a picture, because you already did that - identical - and now with even some of the scratches. The deal was made, the meal was fabulous, she moved in a couple months later, married me a couple years later, and that Le Creuset still emits sweet perfumes and sweeter meals almost every day, now on the Monterey Peninsula in California. Thanks, Lucian.
I meant to add - I don't recall how much that pot cost me - probably a good bit more than Lucian's $40 since it was about 35 years later - but it remains hands down the best investment I ever made!
Nice story,not unlike my Boston in the 70s,got me thinking of better times with people now gone .Brightened up my day,thanx Lucian keep writing its what you were meant to do. ☮️
Fun piece. I had a Creuset, everybody did back then. The orange one, just like yours. Terrific for beef stews, but my go-to pot for chili all winter long. Had it for years, hauling it from place to place, but lost it amid a star crossed move in the early 2000s. As soon as I bought my new (old) house in 2008—the last place I'll call home—I quaickly got another that I figured I might be buried with, like a pharoah in the afterlife, I loved it so much. Then I discovered Green Pans. That's another story.
I have the exact same le Creuset pot, given to us as a wedding present 54 years ago (1970), part of a set. It's the only one I have left of the set. The grand old lady, we call her!
Jun 16·edited Jun 16Liked by Lucian K. Truscott IV
Francis's Typewriters. On 10th Street forever, downstairs, did repairs too. Rumored to be a fence. Y'all were right. The Village was dirty. But oh that jukebox, glorious after Tommy Butler got his hands on it!
Dryden! "The man who tells lies merely conceals the truth. The man who tells half-lies has forgotten where he put it." One of my favorite lines of all time.
Indeed. I was astonished -- shocked, even -- when I later saw CASABLANCA for the first time. I thought Dryden had always been Dryden. That's what great acting looks like.
He’s the guy. I must confess that I always feel just the slightest bit convicted whenever I recall that line, which is frequently. Maybe the greatest motion picture ever.
Grand re-telling of that time and place. I also have the Flame pot, plus a small Flame skillet purchased around the same time on St. Pierre while waiting for the fog to lift.
And on the subject of fog, a Soviet fishing freighter was grounded offshore the French Island off the Canadian east coast.
Hearing Russian over a loudspeaker, we decided to investigate.
Up the gangplank we strode, claiming to be Canadians. And eventually got invited to lunch with the Captain of the ship!
We pieced together the information that both the captain and my father-in-law were from the same region, currently Ukraine.
When we later saw him in town at a gift shop, we pretended not to recognize each other. Privacy was the issue, a commodity not readily available at the border of Bravery and Stupidity!
Yes, that very one and around the same time. We (my grad school roommate and I) flew on a little plane from Nova Scotia, then got fogged in on the islands After several days, we were getting desperate to move on as we had to get back to work eventually, so we hitched a ride on a fishing boat to the outback of Newfoundland, then hitched to St. John’s where we got a flight back to our car in N.S. It was a fabulous adventure!
What a joy to read this piece. Nostalgia overcame me with every word of it. So perfect. And I have that Le Creuset pot 5 qts in “Flame”—it’s lasted over 40 years. Thanks for sharing this memory moment. You’ve written a masterpiece
As I read these stories from the past it's like I'm watching a clip from a movie. You write in such a vual way.
They make a nice change of pace too from the the deadly seriousness of the political scene in this age of Trump.
It's funny too how images from one's own life pops up as certain words are mentioned. For example, Bloomingdales: I worked as a private driver after taking an early retirement from the phone company, and my boss was a retired business executive with friends such as the Reagans and Betsy Bloomingdale (Mrs. Reagan's' best friend). Anyway one evening the Reagan crowd were all at dinner at the Bloomingdale house and I was outside with a couple of other drivers and some Secret Service men chatting, when Bob And Dolores Hope came out of the house to wait for their driver to bring the car around. As they came out of the front door they were holding hands and softly humming a tune together, so I leaned forward and said "Did you two ever think of trying to break into show business?" Bob Hope laughed out loud, so I have the distinction of making Bob Hope laugh.
That’s pretty great... 🥂🥂🥂
On a darker note, when Lucian mentioned "mob" it reminded of my old barber telling me he used to go to Mickey Cohen's house to cut his hair. He said also one time Johnny Stompanato came to his shop one day for a haircut. My barber said he had an ice cold demeanor which gave him the chills. He was glad he never came back. I guess the story was he was beating Lana Turner up and her daughter killed him. and Lana said she did it. Not sure if I remember the story exactly.
That's pretty accurate.
When my way too young husband, an Episcopal priest, died in 1999, the funeral was held at the cathedral in Hartford. One of the attendees was someone I knew quite well. She was escorted by a.....ummmm....."friend." The attendee was appalled by my total black ensemble with a simple cross. Her observation? I looked like a "f*cking nun." Okay. My observation of her ensemble (large black straw sun hat, huge black sun glasses and pale green toe nail polish in black stiletto sandals. Oh, and siren red lipstick)? Told of her observation of my clothes, I had only one response: She looked like Lana Turner at Johnny Stompanato's funeral.
Ah well.
Also like a scene from a movie, Carol Ann :) Maybe Shakespeare was right. all the world's a stage and we're all actors :)
👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👍😎
"We were imagining ourselves into our lives, trying everything on for size." 💚
That would make a terrific song lyric! Nice twist on the rhyme.
You are a great writer, able to make a Le Creuset pot into a New York day to remember. Now I have an urgent need to go through my kitchen drawers and find a utensil, any utensil , rubber bands, dead batteries scissors, come on! Give me a utensil I can write about to make my memories as compelling as yours.....oh wait, will this.....nah, Hey how about an old ....I think it was a blender....yeah...ok..it was a dark and stormy night in Ottawa.......
I just bought the plain cast iron at Kaufmann’s in Pittsburgh and lugged the whole set (skillets, lids, pots, and Dutch oven) by myself on the bus. Still have all of it. My mother bought the same La Creuset as you and screamed at me every time I touched it. Great essay. Thanks and bravo….
Ah, the man can write! 👏
So I met a French girl a few years (ok, 18) ago in London where I was working and living. The first date was apparently OK because she asked if she might come over to my flat in a few days and cook me dinner. Of course, I said "pourqui pas?" I guess she had snooped in my kitchen because she said that in order to follow through on her offer, I would need to buy a "coquotte." Huh? "Le Creuset, of course." "Oh, like a Dutch oven, said I." "Hah," she scoffed, "not Dutch at all!" Not being one to argue when a French meal was on the table, I went down to the Old Navy store near Victoria Station and found just the one. I don't need to attach a picture, because you already did that - identical - and now with even some of the scratches. The deal was made, the meal was fabulous, she moved in a couple months later, married me a couple years later, and that Le Creuset still emits sweet perfumes and sweeter meals almost every day, now on the Monterey Peninsula in California. Thanks, Lucian.
I meant to add - I don't recall how much that pot cost me - probably a good bit more than Lucian's $40 since it was about 35 years later - but it remains hands down the best investment I ever made!
When I saw this, I thought, wow, Mr. T. was an early adapter -- and a smart one. "The Le Creuset pot I’ve owned for 53 years"
Nice story,not unlike my Boston in the 70s,got me thinking of better times with people now gone .Brightened up my day,thanx Lucian keep writing its what you were meant to do. ☮️
Fun piece. I had a Creuset, everybody did back then. The orange one, just like yours. Terrific for beef stews, but my go-to pot for chili all winter long. Had it for years, hauling it from place to place, but lost it amid a star crossed move in the early 2000s. As soon as I bought my new (old) house in 2008—the last place I'll call home—I quaickly got another that I figured I might be buried with, like a pharoah in the afterlife, I loved it so much. Then I discovered Green Pans. That's another story.
SO MANY comments about Le Creuset pots! Wow. They must be a thing. I wonder if I ever owned one. No idea. I don’t think I’ve owned pots with names.
I have had uncles named “Lefty,” though, who were reputed to be “connected.” Not NYC … Nope. Jersey. Fort Lee. Not thirty or forty years ago. Seventy.
Still …
That was a terrific story, and I think I like the comment about the people on the elevator not being tourists best ….
Yes, the people in the elevator line really rang true.
I have the exact same le Creuset pot, given to us as a wedding present 54 years ago (1970), part of a set. It's the only one I have left of the set. The grand old lady, we call her!
Francis's Typewriters. On 10th Street forever, downstairs, did repairs too. Rumored to be a fence. Y'all were right. The Village was dirty. But oh that jukebox, glorious after Tommy Butler got his hands on it!
I got the typewriter I used to write "Dress Gray" there, too. IBM Model D. Had a one horsepower electric motor. The old guy at the shop told me so.
An institution. Wonder how many other of the books under the covers on the Head wall were written on machines from Francis's.
“Big things have small beginnings.” - the shifty British foreign service guy in Lawrence of Arabia
Dryden! "The man who tells lies merely conceals the truth. The man who tells half-lies has forgotten where he put it." One of my favorite lines of all time.
Played by Claude Rains.
Indeed. I was astonished -- shocked, even -- when I later saw CASABLANCA for the first time. I thought Dryden had always been Dryden. That's what great acting looks like.
He’s the guy. I must confess that I always feel just the slightest bit convicted whenever I recall that line, which is frequently. Maybe the greatest motion picture ever.
Yep. I saw it for the first time with my grandmother when I was not quite 12. No idea how many times I've seen it since.
Robert Bolt: Lawrence, Dr Zhivago, A Man For All Seasons, The Mission
Well, Michael Wilson had a few things to do with LoA, but yeah, Bolt was great.
Thank you. I wasn’t aware of that. Kind of like Dalton Trump and Spartacus?
There are more than just one that’s for sure.
Inherited my mother’s and aunt’s Le Creuset. Two in classic Flame, three in
Cerise. Dutch Oven, Braiser, Stockpot and 2 Saucepans.
Priceless as is your delightful story.
Grand re-telling of that time and place. I also have the Flame pot, plus a small Flame skillet purchased around the same time on St. Pierre while waiting for the fog to lift.
St. Pierre, off the Canadian coast?
We stayed in nearby Michalon nearly 50 years ago, after taking the Blue Nose Ferry!
And on the subject of fog, a Soviet fishing freighter was grounded offshore the French Island off the Canadian east coast.
Hearing Russian over a loudspeaker, we decided to investigate.
Up the gangplank we strode, claiming to be Canadians. And eventually got invited to lunch with the Captain of the ship!
We pieced together the information that both the captain and my father-in-law were from the same region, currently Ukraine.
When we later saw him in town at a gift shop, we pretended not to recognize each other. Privacy was the issue, a commodity not readily available at the border of Bravery and Stupidity!
Yes, that very one and around the same time. We (my grad school roommate and I) flew on a little plane from Nova Scotia, then got fogged in on the islands After several days, we were getting desperate to move on as we had to get back to work eventually, so we hitched a ride on a fishing boat to the outback of Newfoundland, then hitched to St. John’s where we got a flight back to our car in N.S. It was a fabulous adventure!