Simple Clams

I often notice — as do many others — the plethora of tourists who seem incapable of detaching their cameras from their eyes, and I wonder: with the viewfinder blocking their view, how do they experience the world around them, the new things they’re discovering? What memories will they have later, scrolling through hundreds of snapshots, aside from the memory of taking those very pictures?

I’ve been a very bad blogger since going home to New York, but not for lack of wanting to blog. There were two distinct motivations behind my radio silence, of which one is this same idea: I’d rather live the few days I have back home than spend my entire time there writing about them. The other reason… well, I’ll speak more on that tomorrow. Today, I’d rather reminisce about the times I didn’t write about. I got back to Paris yesterday, so this is rather true to form for me; Little Sister, of grilled watermelon salad fame, has already noted “im looking forward to some sort of a sentimental blog post about how you miss all of us.”

I do not like to disappoint.

As those of you who frequent this blog know, I do not generally cook at home. My mother is the master chef; I do a lot of watching. This time around, though, while everyone else was busy at work in the city, my Daddy and I left for Long Island, armed with our computers and good intentions. As has become our tradition, Daddy set out a challenge that I gladly accepted: “something kind of like mussels with lots of sauce. And healthy.”

What I came up with, after he decided he would prefer clams to mussels in this moules marinière-esque preparation, was this: clams, white wine, fish stock, lots of garlic, and to sop it up, sesame-studded Italian bread from the Italian meat market.

Italian bread, of course, begs bruschetta: mine is down pat, after years of making tomato salad in Paziols. I just dice the tomatoes a bit finer, and with Actress Sister’s plethora of basil she planted early in the season, fresh basil is no question.

We sat and ate in the backyard, the pool still not ready for swimming, mosquitos beginning to buzz in the still-cool June air. It’s been awhile since I’ve been home for June; the August corn I’ve taken for granted wasn’t there yet. But it was lovely in a completely different way, to sit on the back porch with my Dad and enjoy the meal together, quietly, alone… two words that hardly ever exist in my household.

My Dad and I would spend a lot of time alone over the next few days. Back in the city, we planned a whole day together, a day that he looked forward to gleefully, like a child. When I awoke on the morning of, he was already fully dressed, playing Scrabble on his smartphone on my sister’s made bed, ready for me to wake up. We wandered the New York City streets, from Bleecker to the Meatpacking, talking about everything and, more often, about nothing at all.

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a day like that with him; it all ended too quickly. I’ll be home again at Christmas, but Christmas, with its seasonal demands, is never as calm and forgiving of a day-long stroll or an endless dinner as June.

Simple Clams

1 tsp. olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 glass white wine
1 quart fish stock
24 littleneck clams

Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a heavy bottom Dutch oven, then add the garlic, stirring until fragrant, about one minute.

Add the white wine and stir to pick up any bits on the bottom. Add the fish stock and clams. Toss the clams to evenly distribute the heat, then cover. Cook until the clams have opened, about five minutes. Serve with lots of bread.

Bruschetta

5 tomatoes, on the vine
2 cloves garlic, minced
1-2 tsp. salt, to taste
1 tbsp. good extra virgin olive oil
5-6 basil leaves

Halve the tomatoes, remove the core, and chop into small chunks. I like to leave in the seeds, which makes for a more watery final product, but I like the taste. If you like, you can remove the seeds. Place in a large glass bowl, along with the vine.

Stir in the garlic, salt and olive oil with a wooden spoon.

Chiffonade the basil: stack the leaves one on top of the other, then roll into a long cylinder. Slice into thin ribbons with a sharp knife. Mix into the tomato mixture.

Allow the bruschetta to marinate as long as possible — ideally 1-2 hours — covered and outside the refrigerator. When ready to serve, remove the vine and toss once more. Top with more chiffonade of basil, if desired.