Fall 2018 TALES FROM RIDERWOOD STORIES BY AND FOR RIDERWOOD RESIDENTS FRENCH CUISINE by Bob Cohen Our last night in Paris was intermittently until daybreak. By the time memorable. Together with our friends the sun was fully up, I had recovered Chippy and Marty, we dined in a three- enough to shower and dress for our star restaurant adjacent to the charming early afternoon flight home. Only then little hotel that we had checked into did I remember that I had not asked for earlier in the day. Dinner was superb: a souvenir menu to add to my collection. hors d’oeuvres, vichyssoise, a delightful I knew the next door restaurant would green salad arrayed with bits of vidalia not open until much later in the day. But onion, mandarin oranges, luscious black just maybe …… olives, pecans, a sprinkling of wonderful I was unsteady as I stepped out to cheese, and a liberal splash of olive oil the sun-bathed courtyard that bordered and balsamic vinegar for starters. Veal the restaurant. A thin, elderly man with Marsala with truffles and juicy cap pulled low over his tanned, wizened mushrooms followed. Chocolate mousse face was sweeping the entrance. After with a dash of Cointreau, petits fours, several false starts, I managed to convey and fresh fruit with a variety of cheese my wish to speak with the owner. The were for dessert. Vintage wines—red sweeper motioned me to wait inside and white—were the chef’s selection. while he went for the owner/chef. A few My head was spinning when we moments later, they emerged from a got back to our room. Two weeks of room in the rear. The owner was wonderful French cuisine were frowning as he greeted me. “American” insufficient preparation for the lavish must have been written on my shirt or feast and abundant wine I had just announced by my ill pronounced consumed. I plunged into bed and was greeting in the few French words I had immediately asleep. Several hours later I learned after two years of high school woke up. My head was pounding, I was and college study. His perfect English violently nauseated, and vomited was tinged with just enough Gallic accent to prove that he was anContinued authentic on page French 3 chef. I praised his superb culinary art, the wonderful dining experience we’d had 1 and so forth. He smiled broadly. I told him I was a collector of menus from fine TALES FROM RIDERWOOD Tales from Riderwood is Table of Contents published periodically by the Writers Guild, Riderwood French Cuisine by Bob Cohen ....................................... 1 Village, Inc., Silver Spring, MD Hospitality by Sally Porter .............................................. 4 20904. All materials appearing A Ride Interrupted by Irving Slott ................................. 6 herein are considered Mixed Emotions by Charles Black ................................. 8 copyrighted by the authors and Dreaming of Summer by Paula Cook ........................... 8 may be published only by their Lifelong Training by Al Morey ........................................ 9 permission Lampposts by Kate Lorber ........................................... 10 Only Child by Donelle FitzGerald ............................... 11 Editor Emeritus A Gedankenexperiment on Albert Einstein .............. 12 Martha Robinson by Soma Kumar Autumn by Colby Rodowsky ....................................... 13 Editor Getting Around by Don Lowe ..................................... 13 Ed Vilade Tales are sought for future issues: A Matter of Hygiene by Lo I Yin ................................. 14 Memoirs Station Center Square Commons by B. Merikangas15 Production from your life The Mystery of Riderwood Chapel by D. Ebert ..... 16 Resident Rita Hofbauer Life on the Ridge by the Bay by John Fountain ........ 16 Jane Myers interviews/biographical sketches Camping Out by Patrick Curtis ............................. 18 Riderwoo d events/human interest items A WWII VIP Encounter by John R. Lastova Jr. ......... 19 Communications Short A Recycling Project by Leroy Gardner ...................... 20 Janet Lopes original poems Pan Am’s 1970 World Fair Exhibit by A Prahinski .. 21 Fiction A Throw Away Poem by Mae Scanlon ....................... 23 To view the Color Edition of should be identified as fiction. The Shore by Ed Vilade ................................................. 24 Please follow these instructions: TALES FROM RIDERWOOD And the Winner Is… by Mae Scanlon ........................ 25 Go to www.riderwoodlife.org. Limit one Destiny by Don Lowe .................................................... 26 tale per author Click on “Riderwood Activities” A Cheap Date by Dave Perlman ................................. 26 Click on “Clubs” Humor, Click on “Writers Guild” photos and sketches are encouraged Home Remedies by John Fountain .............................. 27 Click on “Tales from Keep tale Moving Out by Sally Porter .......................................... 27 Riderwood” relatively brief (750 words max for prose; 200 words Musings of an Old Fogey by Lo I Yin .......................... 28 Scroll and read . Print whole max for poetry). To check the word count with your document . Print selected pages word processor, click Tools, then Word Count. The www.riderwoodlife.org Email tale Tales such as the following are sought for future website that hosts Tales is a (preferably as Microsoft Word file) to Ion Deaton issues: memoirs, biographical sketches, human project of the Riderwood Com- [email protected] (301-572-4503) interest items, original poems. Fiction should be puter Club and website Project The Editorial Board reserves the right to accept, edit so identified. Manager Trudy Downs, a resident or reject all submissions. For instructions regarding entries please Contact and an instructor of computer Ed Vilade KC419, courses for Prince George’s 301-273-2396 [email protected]. Community College. The Writers Guild appreciates this service. 2 TALES FROM RIDERWOOD to prove that he was an authentic French the glass with my free hand and muttered chef. I praised his superb culinary art, the something about it being too early in the wonderful dining experience we’d had and day for a second drink despite how so forth. He smiled broadly. I told him I excellent the first was. I thanked him was a collector of menus from fine profusely for being so gracious, accepted restaurants and had neglected to ask him the menu with more words of for one before we left. He was delighted appreciation (yes, I overdid it), placed my to oblige me. But first a drink. empty glass on the bar well out of his Before I could refuse, he filled two reach and retreated to the bright sunshine glasses with fine champagne. He raised his and safety of our hotel. in salutation and took a generous sip. I did likewise but merely touched my lips to the glass. After we had chatted a bit longer, he excused himself to go upstairs to get one of the special menus. I rose at the same time saying it was such a beautiful morning that I would like to step outside for a moment. The sweeper was at the far end of the walkway, his back turned to me. The entrance was flanked by two large Grecian urns with something broad and leafy sprouting from each. I paused briefly. I was sure the champagne Several hours later we were high was expensive - intended for human over the Atlantic. My head had cleared consumption not plant fertilizer. But there and I was ready for a few saltines with hot was no alternative. I dumped my full glass tea, perhaps even a couple of rolls with of vintage champagne—good to the last jam. I thought of the eager chef and drop—in the vase with the most foliage. I chilled champagne. The bottle, still mostly reasoned that if alcohol was injurious to full, was resting in its ice bucket when I leafy green things, the sturdier plant left the restaurant. Did chef knock off the would have a better chance of survival. rest? Did the sweeper get a glass or two? I was back in the cafe seconds later The sous-chef? (I was sure no more just as the chef came down the stairs. He would be wasted on the shrubbery.) But was pleased to see me standing relaxed at what of that lovely leafy green plant? Had the bar fingering my empty glass. “Ah, let I destroyed it? I was still worrying about me refill ….” he began to say as he the plant when I drifted off to a much- reached into the wine cooler. Panic! I cut welcomed sleep. We were approaching him off in mid sentence, quickly covered JFK airport when I finally woke up. 3 TALES FROM RIDERWOOD HOSPITALITY by Sally Porter When I was nineteen, for the on time and were relatively comfortable summer and first semester of my junior and not too crowded. Sitting on the year in college, I had the opportunity to second bus, we discussed what we would study for six months in Italy. do to find a place to stay. We were twenty students under A small man in a wrinkled gray the guidance of a professor and his wife. suit was sitting in the seat behind us. We We had a wonderful time as we learned had hardly noticed him, until he turned to speak Italian, studied Italian art and around and gave us a small, shy smile. history, and lived in a world very different “Excuse”, he said in heavily from that from which he hailed. We accented English, “I have been listen to spent the first few weeks in Milan, and your talk. I think you need to find a hotel? then moved on to Perugia, where we Can I help?” lived in private homes and studied at the “Oh yes,” I blurted, always the University for Foreigners. After a break, rash one. “We need to find a place to stay we planned to spend the fall in Rome. tonight that isn’t too expensive.” But first, we had a week-long break. “You have no reservation?” - and What to do with it? after we shook our heads, he continued, With two friends, Allie and “It will be hard.