Picture a warm August day in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean: it is 2003 and the day after the infamous New York City Blackout. It is the day before my sister’s wedding, bringing all of my family together to celebrate the vows of love coupled with for better or for worse promises. My future brother-in-law was to have his bachelor party on this chosen day–activities to begin early on with a boat ride featuring all the men of his family and the only one in mine (my Dad). Nighttime festivities would include less of a PG rating, slanting more toward strobe lights and gyrating speakers. For reasons I cannot quite fully remember, my sister and I wound up ensconced on this boat with built-in underground kitchen. At the time, we blamed it on the darkness of the previous night. The air-conditioning system still did not work and being surrounded by water seemed like the only way to cool off.
This story begins with a blackout and ends with heads between knees.
My dad had all his ingredients in a giant bag to make his infamous mushroom omelets. In my family, food has been an integral part of our household–the driving force for all occasions and at times, the main ingredient in conversations. Growing up, I was often my father’s sous chef, spending many years dreaming of being a famous pastry chef due to our times experimenting in the kitchen. This was all before I fell in love with words and the magic of spicy sonnets and iced dialogue.
The men plus my sister sat above the deck, admiring the texture of water and faraway million-dollar homes removing the essence of untainted territories. I stood beside my dad in the tiny kitchen below, keeping him company. Though not a fan of eggs or mushrooms, I savored in his excitement of this indulgent breakfast. There were lots of ooh’s and oh my’s. A delicious, Marty and how did you make this? My Dad devoured his eggs but delighted even more in the culinary compliments.
And then came the movement. The waves knocking the boat into a swaying discourse. Suddenly, these delicious omelets became interrupted in their digestion process. My dad and I looked at each other as our faces swelled in the reflection of intense sea-sickness.
“Put your head between your legs!” yelled the men and my sister.
I cannot say much about the rest of the boat trip. Though I did not partake in my father’s succulent breakfast, I learned of my stomach’s inability to mix salt water with chewing. The trip came full circle and we met the still land with extreme gratitude. My father and I gained composure and felt much better soon after.
My sister got married and I gained a brother. The years have gathered and my father’s recipe lives on. Though I’ve yet to indulge in its richness, it has heard only praises with each bite. The recipe originated from one created by Ratner’s, which served over three generations at a New York dairy restaurant located on the lower east side until the late 1990s, though has altered in its measurements and final recipe by my father’s continued attempt to improve upon its flavors. Many people find salvation in synagogues or churches. This was my father’s stained-glass representation of holy land.
Ingredients
¼ pound (1 stick) grade AA sweet butter
8-12 ounces fresh white mushrooms
1 cup Half & Half
1 t sugar
5-6 large dried mushrooms
Flour (to thicken)
Melt the butter and add the mushrooms, sliced thick, stems and all. Slowly mix in the half & half, sprinkle in sugar, break dry mushrooms into small pieces and fold into mixture
When mixture begins to “bubble” slowly add flour until sauce thickens Set aside.
Scramble two eggs, flip when done on one side and add a generous portion of mushroom mixture, fold omelet over and slide onto serving plate. (Top with a generous tablespoon of mushroom mixture), and serve immediately.
For a really delicious home made cream of mushroom soup – mix one cup milk with one cup of the mushroom mixture.
Side note: Do not operate heavy machinery or travel along curvy waters prior to eating this meal. Allow time for settling and smooth digestion.
by Aimee Herman
