Tag: 220818

Well-traveled

Bluegrass with Bella White in Portsmouth

It’s understandable to mistake Bella White’s debut album, Just Like Leaving, for a mid-20th-century episode of Louisiana Hayride. With its layers of honey, hardscrabble and harmony, it’s a throwback that’s only missing the crackle and hiss of a big table radio.

The bigger surprise is it’s coming from a Canadian urbanite who was barely 20 years old when she recorded it at a rustic studio in the Green Mountains. Exposed to bluegrass at an early age by a touring musician father, Bella White became a natural at the genre, and her talent continues to grow.

She deftly draws from the hill country music that captivated her as a youngster, while staying aware of the dichotomy of it and her Calgary, Alberta, upbringing. “I was growing up going to public school in the city, taking the C train … this very urban kind of lifestyle,” White said by phone recently. “Then singing all of these really troublesome, ‘woe is me’ songs; I always found it really interesting.”

That said, she can evoke the pain of her own lived experience. “Broke (When I Realized)” recalls the dissolution of her parents’ marriage when she was a child. It’s devastating, as she recounts overhearing her father deliver the news and thinking it’s a bad dream, only to have a dawning awareness: “I’d yet to fall asleep.”

White can also express romantic longing with startling maturity. “Now I’ve chased your love ’cause I thought it might feel woolen/like a dram on a damn cold winter’s night,” she sings on Just Like Leaving’s title track. The line, oft-quoted by admiring writers and critics, would be at home on an early Joni Mitchell album.

The likening delights White. “That means a lot, she’s my favorite,” she said, adding, “we’re both from the Prairies.”

The characters in many of White’s songs are on the move, a state that often mirrors her life. At 19, she came to Boston after hearing about the city’s roots scene. “I kind of just took a leap of faith,” she said. Settling into a dorm-like, musician-filled dwelling called Brighton House, she gained a Berklee education by osmosis, auditing the music college’s American Roots class and jamming whenever she could.

Better still was hanging out with many others who were close to her in age. “I wasn’t really exposed to that growing up; I felt like I was always the youngest person at the jam,” White said. “I started to meet people through going to bluegrass festivals who went to Berklee…. I thought, how funny that there’s this mecca for old-time bluegrass and country music in Boston, of all places.”

She hung around New England long enough to make her first serious record — a studio recording done in her teens remains unreleased — at the urging of old home country friend Patrick M’Gonigle. The multi-instrumentalist, known for his time in the Lonely Heartstring Band, produced, and led her to Guilford Sound, a facility built into a southern Vermont hill.

Fortune smiled when they entered the studio just as lockdown began in mid-March 2020. “We were in this little box in the woods, kind of oblivious to what’s going on,” she said. “It created this really interesting dynamic … the best quarantine I could have ever asked for. Definitely some divine intervention or something.”

White then decamped to Nashville, keeping a home base there while touring a lot. She’s opened for Sierra Ferrell, Molly Tuttle and others, while becoming a steady presence on the festival scene. One day after her show at Portsmouth’s newly renovated Music Hall Lounge, she’ll be at the Green Mountain Bluegrass Festival in Manchester, Vermont.

Lately she’s been “kind of just quietly” staying in Victoria, British Columbia. “I’ve lived in Nashville kind of on and off for the past three years or so, but have been mostly in Victoria these days,” she said.

Ahead of a run that continues through mid-September, White released a new single. “The Way I Oughta Go” finds her voice with a Lydia Loveless edge as she rambles from city to city. It’s part of an upcoming album done with Jonathan Wilson, a producer who’s worked with Father John Misty, Billy Strings and White’s friend Erin Rae, among others.

A big fan of the country music history podcast Cocaine & Rhinestones, White sees herself evolving beyond her bluegrass roots into something a bit more raucous.

“In the fall, I plan on having some electric guitar and maybe some pedal steel coming into the mix,” she said. “There are so many other elements of country music that are not acoustic, that are electric … that’s a huge part of the history as well. It’s really fun to broaden your horizon and play with it all, you know?”

Bella White
When: Saturday, Aug. 20, 8 p.m.
Where: The Music Hall Lounge, 131 Congress St., Portsmouth
Tickets: $15 advance, $17 day of show, $25 premium seating at themusichall.org

Featured photo: Bella White. Photo Credit Morgan-Mason

The Music Roundup 22/08/18

Local music news & events

• Piano man: Mixing music, commentary and an overhead piano camera, Frederick Moyer offers an immersive program that’s split between classical and jazz. The performance begins with selections from Bach, Mendelssohn, Rachmaninoff and Gershwin. The second half includes note-for-note transcriptions of Oscar Peterson, Chick Corea and Bill Evans, and music from Turkish composer Goksel Baktagir. Thursday, Aug. 18, 7 p.m., First Baptist Church, 461 Main St., New London, $25 at summermusicassociates.org.

• Twang trifecta: A treat for the boot-scooting crowd, the Nazville Country Weekend kicks off Friday night with DJ Terry spinning a range of hits new and old, followed by American Ride, a Maine-based band named after a Toby Keith song that covers modern acts like Zac Brown and Chris Stapleton. Closing things out on Sunday is regional favorite the Eric Grant Band, mixing familiar hits with tasty originals. Friday, Aug. 19, to Sunday, Aug. 21, 4 p.m., NazBar and Grill, 1086 Weirs Blvd., Laconia, more at naswa.com.

• Heavy double: One of the longest-running tribute acts around, Battery-Masters of Metallica began when Canadian hard rockers Disaster Area were told they were too heavy for their home country. They headed south in 1993 and rose to the top of the doppelganger heap, even opening for Metallica once. The group’s local show is sponsored by Blackened, a whiskey branded by the Rock & Roll Hall of Famers. Saturday, Aug. 20, 8 p.m., Angel City Music Hall, 179 Elm St., Manchester. See facebook.com/batterymetallicatribute.

• Barn blues: The honesty of the crew putting on a blues-themed Barn Dance is admirable — a press release for the twilight confab states that dancing is “admired, but not required.” That said, before the Blue Monkey Band starts to kick out the jams,, Jody Underwood will lead a brief class called Faking It On the Dance Floor With a Partner (how to lead, follow, and not step on each other’s feet). Sunday, Aug. 21, 5 p.m., Little Corner Farm, 1040 Old Hillsboro Road, Henniker, $15 at rootedfree.com.

• Outdoor music: The latest in Goffstown’s Concert on the Common series has music from Paul Lussier, a singer, guitarist, occasional John Lennon double and veteran of the regional scene, with a set including classic rock covers. He may also sprinkle in a few originals from his rock musical in progress, You Are My Song. The family-friendly event includes food and drink for purchase. Monday, Aug. 22, 6 p.m., Goffstown Town Common Park, Elm Street, Goffstown, goffstownmainstreet.org.

Dirtbag, Massachusetts by Isaac Fitzgerald

Dirtbag, Massachusetts by Isaac Fitzgerald (Bloomsbury, 242 pages)

When people outside of New England think about Massachusetts, they think about Boston — the history, the sports, the Brahmins.

Isaac Fitzgerald, however, hails from the seamier side of the Commonwealth. His childhood memories include a stint at a homeless shelter in Boston and a generally miserable encampment in a Worcester County town called Athol, which is sometimes irreverently referred to as an expletive that stands in for a body part.

You can’t use that in a book title, however, so Fitzgerald’s memoir is called Dirtbag, Massachusetts.

Subtitled “a confessional,” the book is exactly that, and it’s not just Fitzgerald’s sins that are confessed here, but those of his parents and friends.

“My parents were married when they had me, just to different people,” Fitzgerald begins. It’s a catchy line though somewhat diminished by Fitzgerald’s admission that he’s been saying this to people for much of his adult life; it was a set-up in search of a book-length punchline.

Fitzgerald, who once was the books editor for Buzzfeed and wrote a children’s book called How to Be a Pirate, has the kind of life trajectory that is defiant of its origins. His parents, who were divinity school students when they met and had an affair, were the sort of people who looked good on paper but were a Dumpster fire in reality. And Fitzgerald has no qualms about airing the family’s dirty laundry. While married to other people, for example, his parents would say they were off on “spiritual retreats” while in fact they were meeting for joyous trysts in the White Mountains. (He was conceived on Mount Carrigain.) His mother later told him that she considered getting an abortion and mused, “Maybe it would have been for the best.”

“Telling a child at a very young age, whom you’re raising in the Catholic Church, that he was a miracle conception is a choice,” he writes. “Messy parenting, maybe, but it makes for another good story.”

Dirtbag, Massachusetts is full of good stories, most of which skirt ethical lines, such as Fitzgerald’s father taking him to Red Sox games and usually getting seats “so close you could smell the grass” by telling ushers that it was his son’s first game. (“I must have had a hundred first games.”) There is a roguish charm to the family’s story, not only in the illicit conception, the “happy accident,” but in how hard it seems that Fitzgerald’s parents were trying.

As a young child, the father, who struggled with alcoholism, read him The Hobbit and “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” The father would let his son accompany him on a bike while he ran along the Charles River. For a time, it was a vibrant little family, one that was intellectually alive. But there was also an ever-present grubby poverty and worsening relationship problems that caused his mother to cry herself to sleep at night and to overshare with her young son. Fitzgerald writes that his parents’ problems — “her sadness, his anger”— became his as well.

Meanwhile, Fitzgerald himself was growing up rough around the edges. When he went to confession at age 12, “I told the priest about breaking into houses to raid liquor cabinets, lifting bottles from package stores and cigarettes from grocery stores, trading bottles and cigarettes for weed and mushrooms.” The priest himself could not cast the first stone; the story turns dark when young Isaac confesses a sexual encounter and the priest shows an unusual lurid interest in the details. That segues into a discussion of the sex abuse scandal in the Archdiocese of Boston — for a while, Fitzgerald’s mom worked at the cathedral while Bernard Law (archbishop of Boston from 1984 to 2002) was in charge and she would take him to work. As such, he has stories to tell, one truly concerning, although when his mother much later got around to asking him if he had ever been molested, he could say “no” honestly. But he likely came close.

Fitzgerald is no longer a practicing Catholic; he doesn’t even believe in God but says “I still pray anytime I’m in trouble, or feeling lost, or alone, which is to say I still do it almost daily.” He also has an attachment to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, and has a tattoo with an image of the saint, among others. It’s a great metaphor for how any religious upbringing sinks into our pores and stays there, whether we want it there or not.

From there, Fitzgerald takes his substantial comic gifts to describe his stint as a fat kid (although the length of time that he was overweight appears greatly overstated), the joy he found in a high-school “fight club” inspired by the Edward Norton-Brad Pitt movie, and his experience at boarding school, after getting himself admitted on a full scholarship because he was so desperate to leave his dilapidated mill town. When he arrived, he didn’t even have sheets for his bed, or a jacket and tie to wear to the school’s first-night formal dinner. In a poignant moment that seems to sum up the deprivations of his childhood, Fitzgerald explains that he borrowed an overlarge jacket and tie from his Cape Cod roommate and stood there awkwardly, unsure of how to knot the tie. The roommate, who wasn’t a stereotypical prep-school jerk, took notice, and smoothly offered to help. It’s the kind of moment that sticks with you, and one that shows that Fitzgerald has humanity — and appreciates it in others.

There are chapters in the book that don’t work as well. If you’ve never heard of, and don’t care for, the band “The Hold Steady,” you are unlikely to care about them after reading Fitzgerald’s fanboy tribute. (That said, if you love the band, run and get a copy and jump immediately to page 78.) Fitzgerald’s love letter to his favorite bar is best if you, too, have a bar that works double duty as a home. And he abandons all pretenses of chronology after adulthood; jumping back, for example, to an incident at prep school (that I frankly wish were not now in my brain) after relating some stories of international travel.

But none of that prepares us for the discussion of Fitzgerald’s six months of “modeling” for a porn website, which is information I really didn’t want or need. (The book jacket only mentions bartending in San Francisco and smuggling medical supplies into Burma.) TMI. Truly.

After that, however, he slips into sentimental mode for a musing on family that gives hope that even the most messed up families on the planet — or least in Dirtbag, Massachusetts — can end on a sweet note. It’s not the book we want or expect, but maybe it’s a book some of us need. B

Book Notes

When the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer draw near to a close, it’s usually time for a new, highly anticipated, deeply reported book on the New England Patriots to appear, one that will finally be the “definitive story” of the NFL dynasty. Even in the absence of Tom Brady, we had one last year: It’s Better to Be Fearedby Seth Wickersham (Liveright, 528 pages).

This year: crickets. Other than a few self-published guides to fantasy football, there’s not a lot out there. Aside from an upcoming biography of Dallas Cowboys coach Jimmy Johnson (Swagger, due out in November), the only marquee title welcoming the return of the football season is Rise of the Black Quarterback, What it Means for America by ESPN writer Jason Reid (Andscape, 288 pages). The book begins with the story of the first African American to become an NFL head coach, Fritz Pollard, and works its way up to legends-in-progress like Patrick Mahomes, Colin Kaepernick, Lamar Jackson and Kyler Murray.

There’s also a new book on Jim Thorpe, the multisport athlete who was the first Native American to win a gold medal for Team USA in the Olympics. Path Lit By Lightning (Simon & Schuster, 672 pages) is not for anyone with only a casual history in Thorpe and his achievements, but resides in that “definitive history” genre.

It’s by Pulitzer Prize winner David Maraniss, who chronicles Thorpe’s excellence in football, baseball, basketball and the decathlon while also examining the more sobering realities of his life, such as his struggles with alcoholism. Thorpe is still considered by many to be the world’s greatest athlete, and there’s even a town in Pennsylvania named after him. Publisher’s Weekly calls this an essential work that “restores a legendary figure to his rightful place in history.”

Next, it’s part sports, part business and probably part self-help, but college football fanatics will want to check out The Leadership Secrets of Nick Saban (Matt Holt, 256 pages) by John Talty. The book promises an inside look at how Saban, longtime coach of Alabama’s Crimson Tide, became “the greatest ever.” (Lou Holtz might like a word.) Presumably this builds upon Saban’s own inspirational book, How Good Do You Want to Be?, published in 2007, the year he took over at Alabama.

Finally, for those who insist NASCAR is a sport, Kyle Petty is out with Swerve or Die: Life at My Speed in the First Family of NASCAR Racing (St. Martin’s Press, 288 pages). Now retired and a commentator for NBC Sports, Petty is the son of the late NASCAR legend Richard Petty. It’s a gutsy title, given that his driver son, Adam, was killed in a practice run at New Hampshire Motor Speedway in Loudon 22 years ago.

Book Events

Author events

• TOM MOORE Andy’s Summer Playhouse (582 Isaac Frye Highway in Wilton; 654-2613, andyssummerplayhouse.org) and Toadstool Bookshop will present an event with Tom Moore, one of the authors of the bookGrease, Tell Me More, Tell Me More: Stories from the Broadway Phenomenon That Started It All on Friday, Aug. 19, at 5 p.m. at Andy’s Summer Playhouse. See andyssummerplayhouse.org/grease to RSVP to the event.

• CAROL BUSBY presents Sailing Against the Tide at the Bookery (844 Elm St., Manchester, bookerymht.com, 836-6600) on Saturday, Aug. 20, at 2 p.m. Free event; register at www.bookerymht.com/our-events.

• SPENCER QUINN presents Bark to the Future: A Chet & Bernie Mysteryat Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Thursday, Aug. 18, at 6:30 p.m. and on Sunday, Aug. 28, at noon at the Bookery (844 Elm St., Manchester, bookerymht.com, 836-6600). The Bookery event is BYOD: bring your own dog.

• PHIL PRIMACK presents Put It Down On Paper: The Words and Life of Mary Folsom Blair in a Literary Lunchtime event at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Thursday, Sept. 8, at noon.

Poetry

• OPEN MIC POETRY hosted by the Poetry Society of NH at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com), starting with a reading by poet Sam DeFlitch, on Wednesday, July 20, from 4:30 to 6 p.m. Newcomers encouraged. Free.

• DOWN CELLAR POETRY SALON Poetry event series presented by the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Monthly. First Sunday. Visit poetrysocietynh.wordpress.com.

Writers groups

• MERRIMACK VALLEY WRITERS’ GROUP All published and unpublished local writers who are interested in sharing their work with other writers and giving and receiving constructive feedback are invited to join. The group meets regularly Email [email protected].

Book Clubs

• BOOKERY Monthly. Third Thursday, 6 p.m. 844 Elm St., Manchester. Visit bookerymht.com/online-book-club or call 836-6600.

• GIBSON’S BOOKSTORE Online, via Zoom. Monthly. First Monday, 5:30 p.m. Bookstore based in Concord. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com/gibsons-book-club-2020-2021 or call 224-0562.

• TO SHARE BREWING CO. 720 Union St., Manchester. Monthly. Second Thursday, 6 p.m. RSVP required. Visit tosharebrewing.com or call 836-6947.

• GOFFSTOWN PUBLIC LIBRARY 2 High St., Goffstown. Monthly. Third Wednesday, 1:30 p.m. Call 497-2102, email [email protected] or visit goffstownlibrary.com

• BELKNAP MILL Online. Monthly. Last Wednesday, 6 p.m. Based in Laconia. Email [email protected].

• NASHUA PUBLIC LIBRARY Online. Monthly. Second Friday, 3 p.m. Call 589-4611, email [email protected] or visit nashualibrary.org.

Language

• FRENCH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE CLASSES

Offered remotely by the Franco-American Centre. Six-week session with classes held Thursdays from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. $225. Visit facnh.com/education or call 623-1093.

Album Reviews 22/08/18

Sampa The Great, As Above So Below (Loma Vista Recordings)

Commercial African music isn’t strictly relegated to Afrobeat, a fact that this Zambia-born, Botswana-raised rapper-singer wants to bring to light through this debut album. This is a really rangy record, running a full gamut of feel, from torch to Lil Kim badassness and far beyond. There’s plenty of tourist-trap chill on board, for instance, such as when she tries Sade on for size in the lush, lazy singalong-powered “Never Forget,” but this isn’t yacht-rock joint by a long shot: Breakout track “Bona” is inspired by kwaito and amapiano, dance music styles Sampa grew up with in Botswana, but the vibe itself is pure club, hearing-test bloops trying to pop your woofers like bubble-wrap, doong-ing in rhythm as our heroine raps along at scat speed in a really impressive display of bravado: She owns the place, is the takeaway. That’s fine by me, for what it’s worth, Sampa’s ’tude is absolutely righteous. A+

The Sons of Adam, Saturday’s Sons: The Complete Recordings 1964-1966 (High Moon Records)

Big package here celebrating the first-ever release of this Los Angeles garage-pop quartet’s complete collection of recordings, isn’t that cool. Oh, you’re wondering who these guys are/were? Well, obviously they were around during the first wave of British rock, when the Beatles, Stones and Who first took over the planet. But Sons Of Adam were working out of L.A., as stated above, led by guitarist Randy Holden (touted as one of the era’s great unsung guitar heroes, he eventually wound up with Blue Cheer, considered by most rock historians to be the fathers of heavy metal). “Everybody Needs Someone To Love” is really fun, think an alternate-universe collaboration between the Stones and Jet, and yeah, the guitar sounds fantastic for its time. “Mr. Sun” has a definite Black Crowes feel to it, brandishing another four-chord guitar riff that’s a bit more advanced than the average Kinks joint, much like everything else on board. A true historical artifact, great stuff. A+

Playlist

• Yowza, we’ve actually got a pretty impressive lineup of releases coming out this Friday, Aug. 19, or at least releases from bands and whatnots that people have actually heard of, for a change. I mean, don’t think I’m unaware that some of y’all are all like, “I’ve never heard of this band, why does he write about them” about some of the acts covered in this space, because after all, some of you people actually just walk up to me and say it. But see, you have to take into consideration that we hit the tipping point of too many new bands putting out records somewhere in the late ’90s, probably, and now there are definitely way too many bands and albums and snobby vinyl versions and box sets coming out all the time. Every week it’s a million new albums from bands you and I have never heard of, mostly bands that sound like other bands, and I have to investigate them, because that’s what this award-winning column is for, after all, isn’t it? I know, it can be annoying, reading about bands you’ve never heard of, but I think we have a special thing going, you and I, don’t you? Here, I’ll even be nice this week and talk first about an album from British synthpop that all you Aughts kids will know about, unless of course the only things you were just listening to were Lil Kim or Evanescence. Yes, I’m of course speaking about British synthpop group Hot Chip, whose new LP, Freakout/Release, is on its way! Of course, the band started out as a sloppy, barely listenable indie-tronica mess, which was what they still were when I first had the misfortune of encountering them in 2008, upon the release of Made In The Dark, an album that was inspired by Prince’s Sign O’ The Times LP and the Beatles’ “White Album” or at least that what they said. MITD was probably the most difficult review I’ve ever written, because it was considered genius by most hipsters, but I really hated it and struggled to find kind things to say about it so that I wouldn’t look like a rock ’n’ roll Luddite. In the end I was vindicated, as most hipster writers finally admitted it was quite noticeably flawed, but anyway, that brings us to now, and Freakout/Release, with its single, “Down,” a stompy, funky-ish number that’s a lot more like Prince than any of that earlier trash I had to listen to. It’s got an ’80s vibe, just like everything else today, but it’s not bad, so let’s just leave it at that.

• Panic! At the Disco is of course one of the world’s top emo bands, basically a solo venture for Utah-bred singer Brendon Urie. If you ask me, he won’t rest until he’s all the members of My Chemical Romance in one body, and, like Hot Chip, all his old music is pretty dumb, but he’s got a new one coming out right now, an album called Viva Las Vengeance. The title track is straining so hard to be a Killers song that I feel obliged to be nice to it, so here it is: It’s acceptable.

• Here we go, California indie-folk band The Mountain Goats are cool, I already said so before these guys got really big. Their new album Bleed Out includes the single “Training Montage,” a classic example of their ability not to suck, it’s half hayloft-indie and half midtempo rockout, quite decent.

• We’ll wrap up this week with Heartmind, the latest from rather innovative indie-mishmash songwriter Cass McCombs. “Unproud Warrior,” the single, is boozy blues/country-drone a la Kevin Morby at Chris Isaak speed. It’s got enough going on layer-wise that it’s not a complete waste.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

How do you solve a problem like a pineapple?

A man walks into a bar with a pineapple on his head.

The bartender asks, “Hey, what’s with the pineapple?”

The man says, “It’s Tuesday; I always wear a pineapple on Tuesday.”

The bartender thinks for a second, then points out, “Yeah, but it’s Thursday.”

The Pineapple Man slaps his palm to his face and groans. “Ugh! I can’t believe this; I’m so embarrassed.”

Did you find that joke a little frustrating and confusing? Welcome to the World of Pineapple.

Most of us have been there. You’ll be working your way through the supermarket, trying to decide what to make for dinner tomorrow night.

(You’ll probably go with meet-loaf. You spell it like that because you generally improvise it. Your mother never used a recipe for meatloaf, and pride or stubbornness or something keeps you from looking up an actual recipe for it, so you’ll end up winging it. Again. And like always, your husband or girlfriend will look at the vaguely loaf-shaped dish placed in front of them and ask, “Are you sure this is meatloaf?” And you’ll answer like you always do, “Yes, absolutely. Honey, meet Loaf.” It’s little traditions like this that relationships are founded on.)

Anyway, you’ll be walking through the produce section, eyeing the cilantro suspiciously, when your attention will be grabbed by a giant display of fresh pineapples. Overtaken by the Spirit of the Islands — Oahu, Easter, Coney: one of the islands — you will impulsively decide to buy one.

Until you pick it up and realize that you have no idea how to pick out a good one.

There is a lot of advice out there for picking a ripe pineapple and most of it is iffy at best. You’ll hear that you should try to pull one of the leaves out, or squeeze it, or heft it in your hand to see if it feels heavy for its size. (If you don’t know how to pick out a pineapple, how in the world are you supposed to decide if it’s heavy or not?)

In reality, your best options are to go by color and smell.

Color: Get the pineapple that is the closest to a shade of golden-orange as possible. This can occasionally be deceptive, but the deeper a shade of green a pineapple is, the more likely it is to be underripe.

A better guide is smell. Hold the pineapple in your hand, ignore the people around you and close your eyes. Imagine yourself somewhere warm and tropical. Imagine pushing yourself through the crowd at an outdoor market. Visualize an old man in a straw hat sitting next to a giant pile of pineapples warming in the sun. Imagine the smell that would come off them.

The pineapples, not the old man.

Now sniff your pineapple’s butt. Does it smell like that tropical marketplace? Even a little? If so, you’ve got your pineapple. If all you smell is your own rising sense of awkwardness and embarrassment, move on. (With all that said, you’ll probably have a better chance of scoring a good pineapple at an Asian or Latin market, where they cater to people who Know Their Pineapples, and who will not be trifled with.)

Ultimately, though, from a cocktail perspective, how much does this really matter?

Yes, you could get a great fresh pineapple, take it home, disassemble it and turn it into a Very Nice Drink. Or — and I’m just throwing ideas out, here — you could buy some of the pineapple that the people at the supermarket have already cut up for you, or even — stay with me — use canned pineapple. Once you’ve added lime juice and rum and a Spirit of Adventure, would you be able to tell the difference?

So I tried it out this afternoon. I made three identical drinks, using identical amounts of identical ingredients, except, of course, for the pineapple, and even shook them over identical amounts of ice for identical periods of time.

Using canned, precut, and fresh pineapple, was there a difference?

Yes.

Was it a Very Big Difference?

Not unless you had all three in front of you and could compare them. The fresh pineapple Aku-Aku (see below) was noticeably more subtle and pineapple-y than the other two, but the way I see it, an afternoon spent wrapping yourself around a pineapple drink — regardless of the pineapple you use — is better than an afternoon when you’ve deprived yourself of such a cocktail.

The Aku-Aku

  • 5 1-inch cubes of pineapple — 85 grams, or 3 ounces
  • 2 grams (.08 ounce) fresh mint leaves — around 2 Tablespoons
  • 1 ounce fresh squeezed lime juice
  • ½ ounce simple syrup
  • ½ ounce peach brandy or schnapps
  • 1½ ounce golden rum

Muddle the pineapple and mint together in the bottom of a cocktail shaker. Smash them together thoroughly. Really press the issue. Try not to splash yourself.

Add lime juice, syrup, brandy, rum and five ice cubes (around 80 grams). No, it really doesn’t matter how much ice you use, but since I had weighed it anyway, in the Name of Science, I thought I’d just put it out there.

Shake thoroughly for 30 seconds.

Strain into a coupe glass or other small, stemmed glass.

Face west-southwest — the direction of Polynesia — as you drink it.

You might be forgiven if you think this will be a fairly sweet drink — pineapple, plus peach brandy, plus simple syrup — but it’s a surprisingly refreshing and grown-up drink. The mint gives everything a faint hint of muskiness and sophistication. The glass’s stem keeps the drink cold. Your delightful personality and sense of inner peace keep the conversation excellent.

Take it from the houseplant I spent 20 minutes talking to after testing and drinking three of these.

Featured photo. The Aku-Aku. Photo by John Fladd.

Cinnamon sugar bread pudding

Bread pudding is a fairly simple dessert that has a comforting quality to it, or at least to me it does. I know, summer may not be the time to think about a dessert that’s most delicious when served warm, but this recipe is too good to delay for cooler weather.

The most important things to know about this recipe focus on the bread. Challah really is the best choice. The bread is light and airy, which allows it to absorb a nice amount of butter and cinnamon-sugar mixture. The lightness of the bread also prevents the bread pudding from being overly heavy. Also, of note is that you really need to toast the bread. This not only allows the butter to melt, but it also provides a little bit of texture that is key to this dessert.

When you make this dessert, be sure to have some sort of topping nearby. If you want to keep it simple, some vanilla ice cream or whipped cream will make a fine finish for the bread pudding. If you’re looking to utilize your culinary skills, a bourbon sauce makes a lovely topping. You can find two different recipes for that on my website. Regardless of which topping you choose, I hope you find the bread pudding to be as comforting as I do.

Cinnamon sugar bread pudding
Serves 8

8 slices challah
2 Tablespoons granulated sugar
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1-2 Tablespoons salted butter
3 eggs
2 cups whole milk
⅓ cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ cup chopped pecans

Toast challah slices.
While bread toasts, combine 2 tablespoons sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl.
Spread butter on each slice, and sprinkle with cinnamon sugar mixture.
Cut toast into small cubes.
Grease sides and bottom of an 8” × 8” pan with butter.
Place bread cubes in prepared pan.
In a large bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, 1/3 cup sugar and vanilla.
Pour over bread, stir well.
Cover and refrigerate for at least an hour.
Add pecans and stir well.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Uncover bread pudding, and bake.
Check after 30 minutes. If still wet, cover with clean foil and bake for 10 to 20 more minutes.
Allow to cool for 20 minutes before serving.

Featured Photo: Courtesy photo.

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