Andrea Bocelli Is Simply Amazing

Il Maestro È Veramente Meraviglioso

Okay, I'll admit it: when it comes to Andrea Bocelli I'm an unabashed fan. And I'm certainly not alone. The incredible Italian tenor has admirers in all walks of life. Sure, you'd expect the “opera crowd” to fawn all over him, but I am constantly amazed by the breadth of his appeal among everyday people who wouldn't know Verdi from a Volkswagen.

The first time I ever heard of Andrea Bocelli was about twenty years ago when an admirer in a small-town florist shop waxed effusive about his phenomenal voice. More recently, I encountered a lady in Walmart who struck up a conversation about Valentine's Day gifts. When I mentioned that my wife and I were going to see Andrea Bocelli's Valentine concert, the lady nearly swooned. “Oh, I just love him!” And when my wife mentioned the same concert in her office, a place largely populated by guys who talk a lot about huntin' and fishin' and football, she was surprised when one of them said, “Oh yeah, I'm taking my wife to that concert.” So to say his fanbase is broad would be an understatement.

Now, I'm an old guy, okay. But I'm an old guy who spent decades in various aspects of the entertainment business, and I know a lot of famous people. As a broadcaster, I interviewed hundreds of celebs and stars over the years and as a performer I shared a stage with a few of them. I say this not to brag, but to make the point that I've been close up with a lot of talent in my time and I'm not easily starstruck. So what is it about Andrea Bocelli that compels me to purchase nearly all of his recorded work and to dash out to the box office every time he comes within a hundred miles of me?

First and foremost, I adore music. I always have. I found my singing voice long before any other talent manifested itself, and music has always been my first love. All kinds of music; classical, opera, rock and roll, pop, country, jazz, standards, swing – I can listen to and enjoy pretty much anything. And I can expand and adjust my musical tastes. For instance, I never thought much of Lady Gaga until she teamed up with Tony Bennett and just blew me away. Then I went back and listened to some of her solo stuff with new ears and a new appreciation of her talent.

I also respect music and the power and influence it can have in people's lives. Music is a universal form of expression. Whether it's a powerful tenor delivering a soaring aria, a symphony performing a stirring composition, a folk singer strumming a guitar and singing a moving ballad, or an aborigine beating out a tribal rhythm on a drum, music has the ability to reach in and capture a part of your soul.

In 1697, William Congreve, in his play “The Mourning Bride,” famously said, “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. To soften rocks, or bend the knotted oak.” (And, yes, it is “breast” and not “beast.” Somewhere along the line, the quote morphed when somebody dropped the “r.”) And, as it turns out, that's not just florid seventeenth-century hype. Music actually does have soothing power. Modern scientific research has revealed that listening to music can increase the body's level of oxytocin and serotonin, the brain's natural mood elevators, invoking a sense of calmness and reduced anxiety.

And that's where Andrea Bocelli's voice takes me. In a pantheon of entertainers from ABBA to ZZ Top, no other artist can soothe my “savage breast” the way Andrea Bocelli can. It doesn't matter how horribly life has treated me on any given day, the first notes of any of Andrea's songs will almost instantly mitigate my mood. His voice is truly magical.

Even though he started his musical career playing and singing in a Tuscan piano bar, a lot of people automatically label Andrea as an “opera singer.” And, make no mistake, he is that. But he is also so much more. His “pop” chops are incomparable. As much as I appreciate his operatic virtuosity, it's his pop-oriented repertoire that I can, and do, listen to by the hour.

His work as a solo artist is amazing. But when he partners with other artists, il maestro è veramente meraviglioso! I mean, is there anybody Andrea Bocelli can't sing with? He has scored enormous hits with Celine Dion (“The Prayer”) and Sarah Brightman (“Con Te Partiro/Time To Say Goodbye”). I love his duet with Ed Sheeran on a great arrangement of Sheeran's “Perfect” called “Perfect Symphony.” He's also recorded with Jennifer Lopez, Stevie Wonder, Paul Anka, Dua Lipa, Ellie Goulding, Barbara Streisand, Nelly Furtado, Ariana Grande, Tony Bennett, Alison Krauss, Reba McIntire, Natalie Cole, Michael Bublé, Jennifer Garner, Giorgia, Katherine Jenkins, Christina Aguilera, Cecilia Bartoli, Josh Groban, Helene Fischer, and, through the magic of technology, Edith Piaf, just to name a few. He's recorded with family, too, from a wonderful duet of the Frank and Nancy Sinatra classic “Something Stupid” sung with his wife Veronica Berti, to a fairly big hit, “Fall On Me,” recorded with his son Matteo for the soundtrack of Disney's “The Nutcracker and the Four Realms,” to a sensational Internet streaming performance of Leonard Cohen's “Hallelujah” with daughter Virginia. And his voice blends so perfectly with all of them. I mean, talk about diversity and versatility! Read that list again and then tag him with that narrow “opera singer” label that so many uninformed people stick on him. Of course, he's recorded lots of opera, including “Notte 'E Piscatore” with his mentor Luciano Pavarotti, but that's just the thin surface of his endless musical talent. Did I mention that besides piano, he is proficient on flute, saxophone, trumpet, trombone, guitar, and drums? But, yeah, he's just an “opera singer.”

Andrea Bocelli was born in a small Tuscan village about twenty-five miles south of Pisa, so naturally he sings mostly in Italian. It's his first language and the one with which he is most comfortable. But he's also produced a lot of work in Spanish and in French as well as in Portuguese and Latin, and I've heard him sing a smattering of German. And, of course, even though he is somewhat halting when speaking English, he sings in it beautifully and effortlessly. I am the reverse; I'm a native English-speaker who can struggle through Italian. And I can understand enough of the other languages I mentioned to know which of them he is using. But the point is that the words don't matter. The fact that you may not know what he is saying is actually unimportant. It's the sound of his voice that will transport you. The tone, the timbre, and the texture of his vocalization is simply superb.

I had the opportunity to attend Andrea's last U.S. concert in 2020, just days before before the planet shut down for COVID, an event made even more magical by dint of the fact that it was the last live musical event I – or pretty much anybody else – would get to see for most of the next two years. I had to content myself with listening to the nearly two hundred Bocelli songs on my phone's playlist and repeatedly watching any and all of the six performance DVDs I own, not including the biopic “The Music of Silence,” which I also streamed a couple of times. (Told you I was a fan.)

And now that things are slowly creeping back toward some semblance of pre-pandemic normalcy, Andrea is back on the road and I burned up Ticketmaster the minute I saw that he was coming to a venue a mere hour-and-a-half away. And so what if I wound up sitting in the section where oxygen masks are optional? He sounded just as wonderful to me up there as he did to the folks who paid five times more to sit in floor seats. And his image was projected on three enormous screens that flank the stage, so I got to relish the whole concert experience and still make my mortgage payment. Win-win.

Obviously, Andrea does not travel with a full symphony orchestra and chorus. He utilizes local talent in the cities where he performs. As a friend of mine pointed out, this is another “win-win” because not only does it provide him with beautiful accompaniment, it also brings much-deserved attention to local artists. He does bring guest performers with him, usually an operatic soprano to accompany him for the first part – the “opera part” – of his show. Then he takes a break and returns to the stage for a selection of some of his more popular contemporary tunes. And he has a guest or two there as well. The last two times I've seen him it was the talented Italian-American singer Pia Toscano, whose voice blended beautifully with his on their duets and stood out strongly on her own solo numbers. A splendid professional dance couple provided some entertaining visual elements from time to time, but the highlights of the evening on the occasion of his most recent concert were Andrea's son, Matteo, and his daughter, Virginia, who added their remarkable talents to an already fulfilling evening.

Matteo is the next generation of extraordinary Bocelli musicianship. He is embarking on a solo career and has released a couple of singles, one of which he performed to enthusiastic response. And his duets with his dad were spectacular. But it was the youngest Bocelli on the stage who absolutely enchanted the audience when she joined her father in singing the previously mentioned adaptation of “Hallelujah.” I'm sure Virginia Bocelli had some people looking around to see who was behind the curtain singing because it was impossible that that voice could have emanated from a nine-year-old throat. And her stage presence is advanced far beyond her years. Her English was flawless as she joked with her dad about not “messing up” the number. She is most assuredly another developing talent to watch.

As I said, I've rubbed elbows with a whole bunch of entertainers across a broad spectrum of music. And I've loved 'em all and I've respected them all for their varied and wonderful talents. But Andrea Bocelli? I've never had the opportunity to meet him and, for all the hours I've spent with other “stars” of various magnitudes, I'd dearly love to spend just five minutes in conversation him. So, does that make me a fanboy? Okay, I'm a fanboy.

If you're one of those people who sees the name “Andrea Bocelli” and immediately writes him off as an “opera singer” who doesn't do “your kind of music,” you are seriously shortchanging the man and depriving yourself of a wonderful opportunity to broaden your musical horizons a bit. So go online and stream something – maybe one of the duets I mentioned earlier – and you'll see what I mean. And, who knows? Maybe I'll see you up in the cheap seats the next time he comes to town.

Hey, “Patriots!” How About Showing Some Real Respect For Your Flag?

There's Nothing Wrong With Displaying Your Love Of Country And Your Respect For Its Flag. Except When You Don't.

Newcomers to the United States are often impressed and/or mystified by the predominant presence of Old Glory on display seemingly everywhere they look. Indeed, I read of one foreign visitor who mistook an American fast-food joint for a post office because there was a big flag flying over the building. That's not to say that other nations don't take pride in showing off their national colors, but leave it to the Americans to “super-size” their patriotic fervor.

The Star-Spangled Banner that we all grew up to believe was the product of the mind and fingers of a Philadelphia upholsterer named Betsy Ross has been around since Revolutionary days. Not all historians agree on the Betsy Ross story and the flag itself underwent a lot of changes in those early days, but the banner that the Continental Congress approved on June 14, 1777 – the one described as consisting of “thirteen alternating stripes of red on white with thirteen white stars on a blue field” – wound up being pretty much the same as the one we see flying over post offices and fast food establishments today.

And in those early days, display of the flag was generally limited to military usage. As much as we like to think of those early American patriots as being flag wavers, they really weren't. They would have been as puzzled as the aforementioned foreign visitor to see flags flying from every home and business in the village. It wasn't until after the Civil War that displaying the flag became a “thing” and even then it was still pretty much limited to official and governmental use. Very few private homes owned or commonly displayed the American flag. No, it took the Communist “Red Scare” of the 1950s to really bring the old Red, White, and Blue to front porches across the land. Everybody was an unabashed patriot in those days and the preferred method of exhibiting that patriotism was to plant a flag somewhere on your property. And, of course, if you were a “super-patriot” you couldn't be satisfied with a common 3' x 5' flag. Oh, no! Bigger was better and soon the spectacle of flags the size of football fields streaming in the breeze over car dealerships became an everyday sight.

And that's all fine. Wonderful, in fact. There's nothing wrong with displaying your love of country and your respect for its flag. Except when you don't. And a whole lot of well-intended people don't.

See, there's this thing called a flag code. Did you know that one actually exists? Do you know what it says? If you're one of those people who leaves your flag out until it fades and tatters to shreds, I'll bet you don't. And I'm sure you know less than nothing about the flag code if you proudly wave an American flag that has been defaced by a silk-screened image of whatever social, political, or cultural icon or logo you find appealing. Or if you wear your flag as some sort of misguided fashion statement.

People have been disrespecting the flag for a long time. In fact, it was a reaction to the use of the flag on beer bottles and such in the late nineteenth century that first inspired the idea of a code of official guidelines for the display of the United States' flag. Early efforts on a federal level failed, so individual states took up the cause. In 1923, the Supreme Court ruled that state governments had the authority to ban desecration of the American flag and in that same year, under the auspices of the American Legion, the first rendering of a flag code came into being. By 1932, all forty-eight states had adopted flag desecration laws. On June 22, 1942, FDR signed the Federal Flag Code, which led to Congress enacting it into public law on December 22, 1942. Titled simply as The United States Flag Code, it has been updated and amended a couple of times since then, but remains substantively the same.

The Flag Code is an actual federal law, but, by design, it lacks any real provisions for enforcement, relying instead on voluntary customs and non-binding terms like “should” rather than “shall.” Unfortunately, that makes it a law with no teeth with which to bite the numerous miscreants who flaunt its provisions.

I've got a twenty-five-foot flagpole in my front yard and I've got a flagpole bracket attached to the front of the building that houses my office. I even have little American flag garden flags that I put out on occasion. Lots of my neighbors have flags on display, too. But there's a difference between me and most of them in that I actually pay attention to the condition of my flags and to the proper display thereof.

I am an admitted flag-nazi. (Oxymoron? Perhaps.) I'm the guy who calls your business and demands that you remove that tattered pink, beige, and periwinkle remnant of what was once a proud flag from the pole in front of your store and replace it. I'm the guy who once stopped in a driving rainstorm to lower a flag that had torn away from one of its grommets and was unceremoniously and disrespectfully streaming loose in the wind in front of a local store. I'm the guy that will let you know if your state or business flag is an inch bigger than your American flag and if it's flying a quarter of an inch higher. My flag means something to me beyond being an ostentatious bit of pseudo-patriotic décor that I tack up and forget about. Does that make me some kind of super-patriot? Nah. I'm just a guy who respects the flag and what it represents.

For instance, unlike my neighbors, I raise my flag briskly early every morning, weather permitting, and lower it, slowly and ceremoniously, around sunset every night. Wouldn't it be easier to just stick it up there and leave it out all the time? Yes. Would it be proper and respectful. No.

Now, the current revised Flag Code does make provisions for me to leave my flag up all the time. It says I can leave an “all-weather” flag up in the rain. Nowadays, of course, just about all flags are "all-weather," made of durable nylons and polyesters, unlike the all-cotton flags of my youth. But since I'm older than that revision, I still bring the flag down when bad weather threatens. And the Code also allows for a flag to remain on display after dark provided the flag is properly illuminated. I've got an array of solar floodlights around the base of my flagpole to cover me in case I'm not home at sunset, but I still prefer to lower the flag before dark. It's just me. Is it you, too, or do you prefer to let the symbol of your patriotism hang limp and wet in the dark?

I generally go through a couple of flags per year because I absolutely will not fly a flag that is the slightest bit faded or torn. Section 8k of the Flag Code states, “The flag, when it is in such condition that it is no longer a fitting emblem for display, should be destroyed in a dignified way, preferably by burning.” Man, if I had a dollar for every time I observed that provision being violated, I'd be incredibly rich. It saddens and disgusts me to drive around and see torn, tattered, faded rags hanging from the poles of some “patriot's” home or business. You want to be all “patriotic,” bubba? Then don't just hang your flag out until it rots and forget about it. Look up at it once in awhile. Remember it and what it stands for. And replace it when it needs to be replaced.

And if you're going to put on a patriotic show for your neighbors, don't display your flag in such a way that it drags the ground or comes in contact with trees, bushes, or what have you. Section 8 (b) says, “The flag should never touch anything beneath it, such as the ground, the floor, water, or merchandise.” Which also eliminates using the flag as some sort of “patriotic” drape. That's what bunting is for. “The flag should never be festooned, drawn back, nor up, in folds, but always allowed to fall free. Bunting of blue, white, and red always arranged with the blue above, the white in the middle, and the red below, should be used for covering a speaker's desk, draping the front of the platform, and for decoration in general.”

And then there's my neighbor down the road who, I guess, considers himself a “god over country” kind of guy. As such, he displays his “Christian flag” over the U.S. flag on the pole in his yard. The Flag Code clearly says: “Other flags should not overshadow the American Flag in any way. The American Flag should be flown higher than lesser flags. If state, local or society flags are flown on the same halyard with the American Flag, the American Flag should be at the top.” I once sicced the local American Legion on some little Bible-thumping church that committed the same offense. I was pleased to see the situation rectified soon thereafter.

There is one religious exemption allowed by the Flag Code: it is permissible for a Navy chaplain to fly a religious ensign higher than the US flag while conducting a religious service at sea. But it is a temporary exemption: after the service concludes, the US flag goes back to the top. Since neither the little church by the highway nor my neighbor's yard remotely resemble a naval vessel at sea......

And then there are the “patriots” who like to mix their patriotism with their favorite political party, candidate, or brand of motorcycle by emblazoning all kinds of dreck on the surface of the flag they display. Uh, no. The Code states, “The flag should never have placed upon it, nor on any part of it, nor attached to it any mark, insignia, letter, word, figure, design, picture, or drawing of any nature.” That means that, no matter how devoted you are to your favorite candidate, it is a violation of federal law to silkscreen his name and/or image on an American flag! Same goes for your favorite brand of car or motorcycle. Or those kitschy things you buy at flea markets that have cowboys or Indians or soldiers or whatever emblazoned on them. It's your patriotic Second Amendment right to own a gun but it's a violation of federal law to have a picture of one printed on your flag.

Oh, and by the way, if you're showing your patriotism by wearing the flag, you're also displaying your disrespect for it. Section 8d is pretty straightforward: “The flag should never be used as wearing apparel.” It goes on to include bedding and drapery in that prohibition and adds that, “No part of the flag should ever be used as a costume or athletic uniform.” So, obviously, if you're wearing all or part of an actual flag as an element of your ensemble, you're in direct violation of the code. Flag patches on uniforms, of course, are allowed, but not flags as uniforms.

And, technically, those cutesy “American flag” t-shirts, neckties, and boxer shorts you like to wear to “honor” patriotic holidays are also Flag Code no-nos. See, under Section 3: “The words 'flag, standard, colors, or ensign', as used herein, shall include any flag, standard, colors, ensign, or any picture or representation of either, or of any part or parts of either, made of any substance or represented on any substance, of any size evidently purporting to be either of said flag, standard, colors, or ensign of the United States of America or a picture or a representation of either, upon which shall be shown the colors, the stars and the stripes, in any number of either thereof, or of any part or parts of either, by which the average person seeing the same without deliberation may believe the same to represent the flag, colors, standard, or ensign of the United States of America.” So if you're wearing something that an “average person” would think represents the flag, you're breaking the law. Again, technically speaking, your t-shirt with an American flag proudly flying across its front or back is, according to the Code, an actual flag and should, therefore, be treated and disposed of properly. So do you patriotically burn your flag t-shirt or do you just turn it into a rag with which to wash your car?

And speaking, as I was in the previous paragraph, of patriotic holidays, how about all that nifty, patriotic stuff you have around for the Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day festivities? Paper plates, cups, and napkins all adorned with the image of Old Glory. How stirringly patriotic! Except for Section 8i of the Flag Code which reads, “The flag should never be used for advertising purposes in any manner whatsoever.” The same section goes on to say, “It should not be printed or otherwise impressed on paper napkins or boxes or anything that is designed for temporary use and discard.” In other words, although it may seem festive and patriotic, it's somewhat disrespectful to crumple up and throw soiled representations of your flag in the trash.

Oh, and that stirringly patriotic moment when your team's band or pep squad stretches the Stars and Stripes out across the football field? Sorry, not so much. Section 8c of the Flag Code reads: The flag should never be carried flat or horizontally, but always aloft and free.”

Speaking on Flag Day (June 14) 1915, Woodrow Wilson said, “The things that the flag stands for were created by the experiences of a great people. Everything that it stands for was written by their lives. The flag is the embodiment, not of sentiment, but of history. It represents the experiences made by men and women, the experiences of those who do and live under that flag.” There's nothing in that speech that represents the flag as a trivial patriotic decoration.

I've got a great book I picked up years ago entitled, “The Care and Display of the American Flag.” It was printed in 2004 by the editors of Sharpman.com and is probably the best and most comprehensive guide to flag etiquette I've seen. The American Legion offers a PDF of the Flag Code online at https://www.legion.org/documents/legion/pdf/flagcode_07.pdf. And there are tons of other resources available to assist and educate people in honoring the American symbol that the Flag Code itself describes by stating, “The flag represents a living country and is itself considered a living thing.’’ If you really consider yourself to be a patriotic person, shouldn't you take better care of the “living thing” that informs your ideal? 

A Defense (and a History) of the Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich

There's Nothing Wrong With A Good Ol' PB&J

I was at one of my favorite Italian hangouts the other day hanging out with some of my favorite Italians. I had backed out of having lunch with them because I had some errands to run. Naturally, one of my smart-ass paesani piped up with, “Nah, he's just going home to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

I actually wasn't, but so what if I was? There is absolutely nothing wrong with a good ol' PB&J.

Italians aren't much into peanut butter. Despite having many supermercati that feature imported American foods, peanut butter just doesn't make the list. In fact, Italy ranks second among European countries where peanut butter is nearly impossible to find. (France, of course, is first.) Now, you want to talk about Nutella and it's a whole different game. But peanut butter and jelly? Not so much. Yeah, they have marmellata (jelly) in Italy, but I think you'd probably be arrested if you were caught spreading it between two slices of bread.

I'm a child of the 1950s and here in the United States PB&J sandwiches were a childhood staple. I don't remember for sure how often Mom fixed them but I know I had PB&J at least a couple of times a week. Probably more. I was a picky kid and PB&J, along with grilled cheese, was a drop dead sure thing. I read somewhere that the average American child consumes 1,500 PB&J sandwiches before graduating from high school. I'm sure I was at least average in that regard.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich consists of three elements: bread, jelly, and peanut butter. So let's take a quick look at the history of each element.

Oh, come on! We don't really have to go into the history of bread, do we? Well.......yeah, we do. At least the recent history, because it directly contributes to the popularity of PB&J.

Back when John Montagu, the 4^th Earl of Sandwich “invented” the concoction that bears his name – the “sandwich” as opposed to the “john” – he had to have his servant hack slices of bread off a whole loaf because pre-sliced bread hadn't yet come into being. Once it did, of course, it immediately became the greatest thing since.......well, you know.

And we have Davenport, Iowa's own Otto Frederick Rohwedder to thank for that. A jeweler by trade and holder of an optometric degree, Otto somehow became obsessed with the idea of developing a machine that would slice bread. So he sold his three St. Joseph, Missouri jewelry stores and put the money into his invention. After a couple of setbacks – including a fire that destroyed his blueprints and prototype – he finally got it right and sold his first machine to a friend who installed it at the Chillicothe Baking Company in Chillicothe, Missouri. The first loaf of “Kleen-Maid” sliced bread was produced and sold there on July 7, 1928. The concept caught on. A review on the front page of the Chillicothe Constitution Tribune raved, “The idea of sliced bread may be startling to some people. Certainly it represents a definite departure from the usual manner of supplying consumers with bakers loaves. As one considers this new service one cannot help but be won over to a realization of the fact that here indeed is a type of service, which is sound, sensible and in every way a progressive refinement in Bakers bread service.”

Improvements were made on Otto's original design and soon the idea got around. In 1930, the Continental Baking Company introduced sliced Wonder Bread to the world. Three years later, American bakeries were producing more loaves of sliced bread than unsliced. (You can see Otto's original machine in the Smithsonian, by the way.)

Like bread, jams and jellies have been around forever. But, like Otto Frederick Rohwedder, it took Paul Welch, son of New Jersey dentist and grape juice inventor, Dr. Thomas Welch, to further the development of PB&J by coming up with a process in 1917 for pureeing Concord grapes into a jelly which he originally called “Grapelade.” (That's pronounced “grape-uh-lade,” a play on “marmalade.”)

Now, peanut butter has several fathers and, surprisingly, George Washington Carver isn't one of them, although he is widely credited with the paternity. Oh, in the early 1900s he masterfully pushed the Southern peanut crop to the forefront of agriculture, manufacturing, and just about everything else and his seminal “300 Uses for Peanuts” did include a peanut paste. But Canadian Marcellus Gilmore Edson (not to be confused with a guy named Edison) patented the process for making the stuff in 1884. He made his paste by milling roasted peanuts between two heated plates.

A few years later – 1895, to be exact – Dr. John Harvey Kellogg, the somewhat eccentric Michigan physician and health-food pioneer who gave us corn flakes, patented the process of making peanut butter from raw peanuts, which he marketed as a high-protein food substitute for people with no teeth.

Another peanut butter daddy was St. Louis physician Dr. Ambrose Straub, who first became acquainted with peanut butter at the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago. He got a local food company to produce a product he had developed and he took it to the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis, where it joined the hamburger, the hot dog, iced tea, Dr. Pepper, cotton candy, Jell-O, and the ice cream cone as the newest rage of the age.

And those of us who prefer creamy peanut butter to the crunchy variety have to give credit to California chemist and food businessman Joseph Rosefield who, in 1922, invented a process for making smooth peanut butter by using partially hydrogenated oil. He licensed that process to a company that created “Peter Pan” peanut butter in 1928 and in 1932 he marketed his own product under the name “Skippy.”

As far as bringing these three elements together into the palate-pleasing comestible we know today, here's what happened.

In the closing years of the nineteenth century and the opening of the twentieth, peanut butter began to spread.......no, I just can't do that.......began to make a name for itself among the habitués of upscale tea rooms in places like New York City, where it was often paired with pimento, watercress, celery and the like and served on saltines. Then in 1901, Julia Davis Chandler, writing in The Boston Cooking School Magazine of Culinary Science and Domestic Economics, included this instruction: “For variety, some day try making little sandwiches, or bread fingers, of three very thin layers of bread and two of filling, one of peanut paste, whatever brand you prefer, and currant or crab-apple jelly for the other. The combination is delicious, and, so far as I know, original.” Hence the first published “recipe” for a PB&J sandwich.

But peanut butter was still kind of “uppity,” you know. The stuff of tea rooms and arcane publications. So how did it come down to the masses? Well, two world wars and a depression did the trick. And here's where Rohwedder and Welch and the tetrarchy of Edson/Kellogg/Straub/Rosefield come into play.

Seems the US Army bought a large quantity of Welch's Grapelade to distribute to soldiers in WWI. They liked it and brought it home with them. Then Rohwedder gave the world sliced bread and the former soldiers and their families started spreading it with the already popular Grapelade. Now Rosefield's smooth, creamy, hydrogenated, and, most importantly, affordable iteration of Edson/Kellogg/Straub's original creation came along just as the country was slipping into an unprecedented economic depression. Hmmmm......You could buy a loaf of “nutritious” Wonder Bread (“Helps Build Strong Bodies 12 Ways”) for about eight cents. A jar of peanut butter went for around a nickel and jelly was equally inexpensive. So, put them all together and you've got a decent meal of plenty for a pittance.

Uncle Sam figured that out, too, and issued rations of high-protein, shelf-stable peanut butter, along with Welch's entire run of Grapelade, to G.I.s in WWII. When G.I. Joe came home in 1945, he brought a taste for PB&J with him and passed it on to his baby-boom kids, of which I am one, bringing about a PB&J heyday that stretched from the '50s through at least the '70s.

And the beat goes on. According to a survey of 1,000 people recently conducted by Peter Pan and published in the New York Daily News, modern American children get their first PB&J at the age of four years and two months and keep on eating them right up through adulthood, to the tune of three sandwiches per month on average. Nearly half of all Americans regularly eat PB&J sandwiches and will enjoy 2,984 of them in their lifetimes. The other half just don't know what they're missing.

So, to my friend's opinion of the beloved American classic, I say, chi se ne importa. I like Nutella well enough, but give me two slices of my fresh, homemade bread, a jar of Jif and a jar of Welch's grape jelly, and I'm a happy camper. And now I've gone and flung a craving on myself so I think I'll go keep up my average. Ciao!

Review: The Open Kitchen, Charlotte, North Carolina

A Great Old-School Italian-American Place

I was in Charlotte, North Carolina recently to attend a show at the Belk Theater at Blumenthal Performing Arts Center (a fabulous venue, by the way) and was hunting for an Italian eatery for our theater party of four.

Many years ago, my default Italian place in Charlotte was a lovely spot called Zarrelli's, run by a charming Neapolitan immigrant named Aniello “Neal” Zarrelli. Sadly, Neal died in 2017 at the age of 87 and his wonderfully warm and welcoming restaurant passed into the Queen City's culinary history.

Charlotte is an up-and-coming food city and there is no shortage of modern, upscale Italian restaurants in the metropolitan area. But I do so miss Zarrelli's and it's traditional menu and atmosphere. So when my online search led me to a story about the city's first pizza restaurant, I was intrigued.

Located on West Morehead Street between Freedom Drive and I-77, The Open Kitchen was founded by brothers Speros and Steve Kokenes back in 1952 to serve the factory workers in what was then a heavily industrial neighborhood. And if the surname “Kokenes” doesn't sound particularly Italian to you, that's because it's not: the brothers were of Greek heritage. Steve was born in Washington, DC and that's where he first encountered a relatively new dish called “pizza” or "pizza pie" as it was often dubbed in those days.

It's hard to imagine today, as pizza has become so ubiquitous and embedded in American culture, but back then pizza was an exotic dish found only in Italian enclaves in big cities. Gennaro Lombardi, an immigrant from Naples, is generally credited with opening America's first pizzeria in Manhattan's Little Italy back in 1905. American servicemen in WWII developed a taste for the tasty comestible when they encountered it in local places in Italy and they brought that taste back home with them. Soon pizza was moving out of the “in” spots in places like New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia and was spreading across the culinary landscape like wildfire. That fire was fed by entrepreneurs like Dan and Frank Carney, who founded Pizza Hut in Wichita, Kansas in 1958 and by local Italian immigrants like the two that opened the first pizzerias in my small Midwestern home town; Marino's, in 1955 and Luigi's in 1957. Both places were huge hits with area teenagers who were among those that helped pizza take over the American food scene in the next decade.

Anyway, the Kokenes brothers brought the new-fangled dish to this Southern bastion of grits and gravy nearly seventy years ago and it's still going strong in its original, definitely retro location. The neighborhood has changed and is now “trendy,” but the venerable eatery still reflects the Greek and Italian traditions of the family that opened it, and pizza is still at the center of the menu.

I fell in love with the exterior at first sight. Thanks to renovations and expansions in the '60s and '70s, the place doesn't look exactly like it did back in 1952, but it's darn close. Then I stepped through the front door and was immediately transported back in time.

The comforting aroma of Italian food caresses your olfactory sense as soon as you enter. You are seated at a sturdy table covered by a red-checkered cloth and you are presented with menus. You can barely read them, of course, because the place is very dimly lit, just as a traditional red sauce joint should be. The friendly and accommodating server takes your drink order and returns fairly promptly with your beverages and with a basket overflowing with an assortment of fresh bread, little tubs of butter, crackers, and some very slightly stale individually wrapped breadsticks. Remember those? I do. They were the highlight of my meal when I was about ten years old.

Now it's time to order.

As I said, there are a lot of Greek touches to the menu including Chicken Livers Greque, Pizza ala Greque, and a Greek Salad, but the focus is on Italian-American dishes like Baked Ziti and Chicken Parmigiana, along with various other chicken, veal, and seafood offerings. And, of course, lots of pasta. There are a variety of soups, salads, and appetizers from which to choose and several Italian-ish sandwiches, if that's your thing. And, lest we forget the star of the show, there's pizza.

My dining companions all went in different directions. One ordered Lasagna Di Stefano – a blend of pasta, ricotta and provolone cheeses “oozing with our tempting meat sauce.” Another chose the Chicken Parmigiana – “tender chicken, sautéed in a tomato, mushroom, and wine sauce, then covered with mozzarella cheese and baked to perfection. Served with spaghetti ala marinara.” My wife opted for meat ravioli in an “oh-my-god” meat sauce. As for me, hey! Sul serio? Why would I go to Charlotte's first pizza place and not order pizza?

Six 'o clock on a Saturday evening and the place was quite busy, but our food was delivered surprisingly quickly. And it was out-of-this-world good. We all ate until eravamo pieni – ma non troppo pieno per dolce. For you non-paesani, that sort of means we were stuffed but we saved room for dessert. Two chocolate mousse split among the four of us. Decadente e divino! The Open Kitchen features a nice selection of wine and beer and our choices perfectly complimented our wonderful meal.

Nothing we ate broke the bank: my simple cheese pizza was eight bucks, the lasagna was $10.75, the chicken parm was $15.75 and my wife's ravioli was $13.50. I have been to places where one entrée would have cost as much as our entire meal combined and would not necessarily have been anywhere near as good.

You'll find The Open Kitchen at 1318 West Morehead Street. They offer dine-in, curbside, and delivery. Open 11 am to 9 pm Monday through Thursday, from 11 am to 10 pm on Friday, and from 4 to 10 pm on Saturday and Sunday. Reservations are not required and large groups can be accommodated with sufficient prior notice. Dress is casual and parking is onsite, but it's not a very big lot. You can call them at (704) 375-7449 or find them on the Web at www.worldfamousopenkitchen.com.

May the late Neal Zarrelli rest in peace knowing that there is still a great old-school Italian-American place thriving in his city. And The Open Kitchen has definitely made the list as my new “go to” eatery there. Now, if only they had somebody strolling through the dining room singing opera like Neal used to. Beh, non puoi avere tutto. (You can't have everything.)

Time To Stop Wasting Sliced Deli Meat

Keep Your Lunch Meat Out Of The Landfill

Some time ago I wrote about a pretty slick trick for saving bacon. (Bacon Is A Terrible Thing To Waste, April 12, 2017) When there's just one or two of you a pound of bacon can spoil before you eat it all, so I suggested freezing it as a means of preserving it. Not too revolutionary a concept, right? But it was the way in which I froze it that was rather unique. Instead of throwing the whole shingled package into the freezer and then having to deal with trying to separate the slices as you need them, I rolled up each individual slice and froze them that way. Using that trick, you can get an entire pound of bacon into a quart freezer bag and you can take out a single slice or ten of them, depending on your needs, with no fuss or effort. Thaw them in the microwave for thirty seconds or so and you're ready to go.

Well, I found I was having the same issue with packaged deli meats. Deli meats go bad quickly once the packages are opened. You've only got a three to five-day window to use it up and as much as I like ham and cheese sandwiches, I really don't want to have one every day for a week. So once again, the freezer is the answer.

Most deli meats are sliced very thin. I knew throwing the whole package in the freezer was going to be as much of a pain as doing the same thing with bacon. So I tried separating the slices into portions. For example, I usually put four slices of ham on a ham and cheese, so I divided the package into four-slice portions, separated by deli paper, and froze them. It worked okay, but unless they were completely thawed, the thin slices tore as I tried to separate them. And since most packaged deli meats are “water added,” they get wet and messy when you thaw them. Okay. Back to the drawing board. I used the deli paper to separate the individual slices. Eh. All that got me was wet slices wrapped in wet deli paper when the meat was thawed.

And then the little light bulb came on: why not freeze the deli meat slices the same way as I froze the bacon strips?

I picked up an eight-ounce package of Hormel Natural Choice Sliced Smoked Deli Ham. I opened the pack and started to work, taking each slice and rolling it into a neat cylinder. The rolled cylinders went seam side down onto a sheet tray and then into the freezer. After about an hour they were set enough that they wouldn't unroll and they wouldn't stick together, so I removed them from the sheet tray and popped them into a freezer bag. I labeled the bag with the contents and the date, and it went back in the freezer. Now I had a nice little bag of frozen ham rolls. Next time I wanted a sandwich, I got the bag out of the freezer, selected four rolls, put them on a paper towel in the microwave for thirty seconds, and just like that, I had the makings for a nice lunch.

According to the USDA, “Lunch meat is safe indefinitely if kept frozen. Use it within one to two months for best quality.” I've never had a package of ham last me more than two months, so I can't testify to the verity of that statement, but it is certainly a better alternative than letting it go bad in the refrigerator after just a few days.

The same method works for chicken, turkey, roast beef and whatever else you get from your deli or packaged meat aisle. I will say this: it works a lot better with prepackaged meat like the aforementioned Hormel product. Or whatever your brand preference might be. Freshly sliced meat from your store's deli is a little more finicky. Especially poultry. Not a lot of water and not a lot of fat. My wife is a big fan of Boar's Head Ovengold Turkey. Let me tell you, that stuff shreds like a mad thing when it's sliced super thin, which is the way she likes it. Can you say “pulled turkey sandwich?” And freezing it the common way only exacerbates the problem. But it rolls up pretty well if you ask your deli person to separate it as it's being sliced and then process it as soon as you get it home before it has a chance to sit in the meat drawer of your refrigerator.

Hey, there's a lot of talk these days about food waste, so why not try a simple method to help keep your lunch meat out of the landfill? I know it takes a few minutes of tedious effort to roll up slices of ham or roast beef or whatever. (Rolling up bacon is extra fun because it's nice and greasy.) But the payoff is well worth the pain when you can just go to the freezer, unzip your Zip-Loc, and have nice, neat, perfectly portioned, mess-free little meat roll-ups right at hand for whatever your needs might be. It's an especially good idea if you want to save a few bucks by buying in larger quantities than you otherwise would. Think Sam's, Costco, or your local restaurant supply store. Instead of shelling out supermarket prices for little half-pound packages, buy two or three pounds, roll it up and freeze it. And you'll have quick and easy sandwiches for a couple of months.

As I wrote before, a great way to (literally) save your bacon can also work for your ham, roast beef, chicken or whatever you want to serve your family rather than your dog or your trash can. Saves food, saves money. Win-win situation. Try it today.

Want Quick, Easy Bacon? Let George (Foreman) Do It!

I Don't Know Why I Didn't Think Of This Before

I have written quite a lot about bacon over the years. It's one of my favorite topics, to say nothing of its being one of my favorite foods. I've written about bacon in general and I've written about specific bacons. I've written about how to buy bacon, how to store bacon, and how to cook bacon. And it's that last topic that I want to address here.

I have previously noted that my favorite way to prepare the porcine ambrosia that is bacon is the simple, old-fashioned way: fry it up in a pan or on a flattop griddle. And for the most part, that remains true. That's the way my mama taught me almost sixty years ago, and it's still the best of the traditional methods. But what about some of the less traditional methods, hmmm?

Microwave ovens and their attendant gadgetry did not exist back when I first slapped a slice of bacon on a slab of steel. Do I have a microwave now? Yes. Do I have a microwave bacon cooker? Yes. Do I insert the latter into the former on a regular basis? No way. The only time I microwave bacon is if I'm in a desperate hurry or if I don't really care that it comes out with a case of chewy, dried-out rigor mortis. When I'm making bacon bits for a salad or a baked potato, I'll nuke up a couple of slices. Otherwise, almost never.

Another new-fangled cooking device is the air fryer, which is actually nothing more than a countertop convection oven. I wrote fairly recently about using this method to cook bacon, and I'm in favor of it. The major drawback is that you can only cook three or four slices at a time. Not too practical if you're cooking for a lot of people.

Now, when it comes to mass bacon cookery, nothing beats the tried and true restaurant method of putting it on a rack on a sheet pan and sticking it in the oven at 400° for fifteen to twenty minutes. You get nice, flat, crispy bacon with no turning or watching or babysitting. Maybe it's just my palate, but I can detect a slight flavor difference when it's made that way. Nothing that's a deal breaker, though. It's way better than the microwave method. Besides, my wife likes it that way and it's certainly easy. So I'm good with baking your bacon, too.

But here's my epiphany, and it's something that's been staring me in the face for years and I don't know why I didn't think of it before: let George do it.

Boxing legend George Foreman first stuck his name on an electric contact grill back in 1994. His “Lean Mean Fat-Reducing Grilling Machine” was an instant success and has gone through many iterations and upgrades since that first model. Which I still have, by the way. It's been supplanted for everyday use by one of the newer, bigger, more colorful jobs, but the original little white one I bought twenty-five or so years ago still works when I plug it in, a testament to its durability.

George (the grill, not the boxer) does all kinds of things in my kitchen, including making great grilled cheese sandwiches. I had recently put him to work doing just that and he was still sitting on the counter drying out and waiting to be put away last night when I got a hankering for some bacon. And I don't know why it took twenty-five years to occur to me, but it did. I was kind of tired, kind of in a hurry, and I didn't feel like hauling out the air fryer or waiting for the oven or cleaning up the griddle. And I wasn't desperate enough for the microwave. So I thought,“Hmmmm,” as I stood looking at George's shiny red surface. I did a quick Google search to see if anybody else had had the same thought. Caspita! Was I late to the party! Numerous George Foreman grill bacon recipes and videos immediately popped up in my search.

Armed with the knowledge that it could be done and how to do it, I preheated my machine, slipped three slices of bacon on the lower plate, closed the lid and walked away to do other prep. I went back two minutes later, lifted the lid, flipped the bacon, closed it up again and walked away for another two minutes. When I returned, I retrieved three of the prettiest slices of perfectly cooked bacon I had ever seen. They were as flat and as evenly cooked as if I had used the oven method, but it took about a third of the time. I like my bacon a little toward the crispy side but it was still nice and tender, not at all like the undesirable microwaved results.

Truth be told, bacon cooked this way still does not have the same.....character, I guess.....as good ol' pan or griddle-fried bacon. But there's something else it doesn't have: excessive fat. After all, that's the point of a “Lean Mean Fat-Reducing Grilling Machine.” The fat was all rendered out into the nifty little catch tray, making for a much simpler cleanup. So, while grilling bacon on a contact grill does not necessarily make it a “health food,” it does offer a nominally healthier alternative to frying. And it's certainly faster, easier, and cleaner.

Now, if this is something you've been doing for years and it wasn't really a big revelation to you, just roll your eyes, say “Duh!” and go read something else. Mi dispiace. I'm a little slow sometimes. But if I've opened even one eye to a delicious, easy, and sorta healthy way to cook that marvelous, magical meat that is bacon, then I've accomplished my mission.

Oh, man! I don't have any of my absolute favorite Benton's bacon in the house right now. I see a road trip to Madisonville, Tennessee coming on. And with a power inverter in my car, maybe I could plug George in while I'm driving and........nah. But don't be surprised if my hotel room smells like (sigh) bacon.

Forget the Big Box Stores. Equip Your Kitchen At A Restaurant Supply Store

Want To Cook Like A Pro? Shop Where the Pros Shop.

A lot of people started doing a lot of cooking and baking in the last year or so. And most of them made huge mistakes by going to their local big box and/or discount stores to buy the equipment needed for all that culinary activity. After all, where else are you going to go to buy pots and pans and such, right? Not right. Let me tell you where to go. (Hey, people tell me where to go all the time) Go to your local restaurant supply store.

You want to cook like a pro? Shop where the pros shop. Even if you don't want to cook like a pro, even if you just want to throw together a decent meal for your family or bake some cookies or a loaf of bread or something, you should still shop where the pros shop. There are lots of reasons why. The three that come immediately to mind are quality, selection, and price.

Let's look first at quality. Do you know how many times a day the average skillet or saucepan gets tossed around in a restaurant kitchen? I promise you there is not a single piece of cookware you can buy at Walmart or Target that could stand up to that kind of use. Okay, maybe one: a Lodge cast-iron frying pan. Those things are practically indestructible. But when it comes to everyday pots and pans, you will never beat the quality you'll find at a place that serves the food service industry.

Commercial grade cookware and bakeware is tough because it has to be. You really need to spend ten minutes in a restaurant kitchen and you'll see why. I used to have a cook in one of my restaurants who was notorious for beating up cookware. With the pace and pressure in a professional kitchen, nobody expects you to handle your cooking tools like they were made of some rare fragile element. But this guy was so far beyond normal wear and tear that I once threatened to take the cost of the next pan he damaged out of his paycheck. I can't even imagine what would happen to a set of the stuff most people buy for home use. Actually, I would have to imagine it because most health department regulations do not permit non-commercial grade cookware in commercial kitchens. So if the cookware and utensils I buy at a restaurant supply will hold up to the.....shall we say “less than careful”.....handling it gets in a professional kitchen, imagine how long it will last in yours.

Now, are all these pans going to match? Are they all going to be shiny and colorful? Will they have a celebrity chef's name on them? Hell, no. The stuff you're going to bring home from a restaurant supply store is going to be functional and probably a little ugly. But what do you want? Pretty pans with famous names on them that you'll throw out next year when they get warped and scratched and beaten to a pulp or sturdy pans that you'll keep for years and years to come?

Selection is another thing. Go to Wallyworld and I'll tell you what you're going to find: fifty different sets of the same four or five pans. There'll be cheap stainless steel ones and colorful aluminum ones and some painted with copper paint because it's the latest fad, but they're all going to be the same combination of a 7” or 8” sauté pan, a 9” or 10” sauté pan, a 1 quart saucepan, a 2 quart saucepan, and a 4 quart Dutch oven. Throw in lids for all but the smaller sauté pan and you've got yourself a “nine piece set.” Just choose the color or the brand name. Some of them will include a bunch of flimsy spoons and utensils so they can advertise a “twenty piece set” and make you feel like you're getting a real deal. Eh, not so much.

Now, at a restaurant supply store, you're going to find a lot of things you would never in a million years need or use unless you have a very large family. I mean, most people are not going to make soup in a 32 quart stock pot. And the average baker is not going to have much use for a 40” piano whisk. That said, such places are also loaded up with “normal” stuff that the everyday home cook will use: pots, pans, sheet trays, racks, mixing bowls, cutting boards, cutlery, utensils, storage containers, etc. You'll find everything you need to make killer pizza at home. There are baking pans and bread making tools and cake decorating supplies. Aprons and oven mitts and pot holders. And it won't be like going to Target or Bed, Bath and Beyond or Costco where you'll find a whisk or two hanging on a peg. No, you're local restaurant supply will have an entire frickin' wall dedicated to nothing but whisks of every size, shape, and configuration.

You can even find some small appliances there that will easily out perform and out last anything you'll buy in the big box stores. Things like immersion blenders, for instance. But don't try to go in for the big stuff – stoves and refrigeration units and such – because they're meant for commercial use and aren't generally compatible with residential wiring. But for everything else, your restaurant supply store is your one-stop shop. Just be sure to tie a pillow to your chin before you walk through the door for the first time because your jaw will drop when you see the variety of things available at prices you can afford.

Which brings us to the last point; you won't beat the prices and/or value you'll find at a restaurant supply store. I can lay hands on an 8” aluminum frying pan at my local store for eight bucks. Non-stick is thirteen. Okay, I see an 8” non-stick pan advertised at Walmart for six dollars. But you know what the difference is? The one I buy at the restaurant supply store will still be round after I drop it a couple of times and I'll still be cooking in it next year and the year after while you've been back to Walmart twice to replace yours.

On the other side of the spectrum, you can drop by someplace like Williams Sonoma and pick up a nice 8” All-Clad Non-Stick Fry Pan. Just make sure to stop at the bank first 'cause it's gonna cost you $140. When it comes to consumer vs commercial quality, All-Clad, like Lodge, is one of the rare exceptions. Most All-Clad products are tough enough that they can hold up in a professional kitchen. But unless you're some big name TV chef, you're not going to spend two or three-hundred dollars on a single pan. Not when you can buy pans that are equally functional, if somewhat less pretty, for twenty or thirty bucks.

Not everything is cheaper at a restaurant supply store. But, by and large, things will be less expensive simply because you, the retail consumer, are not their primary customer. They are not retailers. They are there to act as wholesalers to businesses buying in bulk. That you can walk in off the street and snag a bargain on one or two individual items is just icing on the cake.

Most restaurant supply stores are open to the public. Some are not. Restaurant Depot, for example, requires you to be a member of the food service industry in order to shop their stores. US Foods CHEF'STORE does not. A lot of communities have locally owned and operated supply stores, which are almost always open to the public. Since it might be something of a safari to go to one of these merchandise meccas, you might want to check the store's shopping policy before you head out.

If all else fails and your local store turns out to be “members only,” don't despair. There's always the Internet. WebstaurantStore.com is a cook's paradise, featuring over 342,000 items in their catalog and shipping to ninety-six percent of the US within two days. Ka Tom Restaurant Supply is another good online source. I have furnished restaurant kitchens from both. Downside: shipping costs. Yeah, Webstaurant has a “plus” program that nets you free ground shipping and priority ordering, but it's a hundred bucks a month, so, no. Check them out at www.webstaurantstore.com and www.katom.com.

I'm not saying I buy every single thing in my home kitchen at restaurant supply stores. The aforementioned Lodge cast-iron cookware is just as good from Walmart as it is from my local supply store and it's priced about the same. And let's be real; a wooden spoon is a wooden spoon no matter where you buy it. But if you've got a restaurant supply store fairly close by, you really ought to invest the time in checking it out. If you know somebody in the food service industry, you might want to take them along as sort of a “native guide” the first time you go. I promise you'll be overwhelmed and maybe a little intimidated. And you'll likely say “what the hell is that for?” quite a bit. But once you get the lay of the land, you'll never go back to the big box stores for your cooking and baking tools. And a lot of restaurant supply stores carry bulk foods as well, so you can often score big savings there, too.

Bottom line: when it comes to quality, selection, and price, you don't have to be a pro to shop like one.