Okay. I just want to say right off that I am not a Martha Stewart fan. And I don’t mean that in the way someone would say “I am not a fan of so-and-so.” I mean it just that way. No no meta meaning, no nothing. Just that Ms. Stewart has never really been on my radar, except in the sense of any celebrity. You know: famous, rich, priveledged, permanently blonde.
That being said, I was seduced by her magazine when my friend Denise (who you met in Chickens, hawks and French chocolate and From the earth…) sent me a subscription for my birthday in November. It was the surprisingly authentic recipe for Turkish manti–a tiny dumpling filled with spiced lamb that was an absolute favorite of mine when I lived in Turkey as an exchange student in 1989. That and doner (a street food of shaved meat), borek (phyllo of all shapes and sizes stuffed with an herbed white cheese somewhat like feta) and ekmek (the Turkish equivilent of French bread that I was sent out to buy every morning for the family breakfast) were all responsible for me gaining 20 lbs in 12 months. But that’s another story. The point is, who can resist an entire article dedicated to dumplings? I became a convert to Martha Stewart Living, right then and there.
To the magazine. But not her.
So when we were told that she would be the guest of honor at the Antiques in the Gardens Gala held last week at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens in Boothbay–an event that we, along with many other stellar Maine-based artisan food producers and caterers were invited to serve our wares at–it didn’t really phase me.
“Oh,” I remember saying. “Martha Stewart.” And then, I admit it, I sort of forgot about it.
Last week was a crazy week. In Maine, summer hits on July 4th. Even on the island–where, in mid-summer you can walk for miles on Acadia National Park trails without seeing another soul–everyone gets busy. We kicked off the month with a pancake breakfast on our front lawn, where we served more than 100 people flapjacks to benefit the island’s volunteer Fire Department. After the last person was served, I donned a larger-than-life Sunmaid raisin box and biked like crazy to meet my trash bag-clad “raisins” (many of whom were serving pancakes with me that morning) at the top of the Town Hall hill, where we danced to Heard it Through the Grapevine all the way through town in the annual island Fourth of July parade (the savvy You Tube-er can find a video of it there). The yachts begin to flood the Thorofare around that time, and the cafe has been packed with, not only locals, but lots of other souls looking for a place to plug in, sip some java, and meet nice folks. The farmers’ markets that Steve vends at start to really fill up, and come Friday, I’m sending off boxes of chocolate on the morning boat to replenish his supply for the Stonington market. Last week, we supplied chocolate for the Gala at the Gardens, markets, wholesale clients, a wedding on a nearby island, and a huge birthday party in Blue Hill. We also supplied a custom cake for the birthday–a 3-tiered monster of chocolate, raspberries and more than a gallon of Kahlua-spiked buttercream.
We closed the cafe on Wednesday so that we could serve at the Gala in Boothbay. It wasn’t until we were half-way down the coast that I began to wonder why I was going at all. After all, I had chocolates to box up and a cake for 150 to make. I said as much to Steve, and he sort of turned and looked at me with one of his, “this is the reason we voted me Top Banana of our little two-person company” looks. I got the point. Apparently, when you are a smalltime food producer and you’re invited to an event that Martha Stewart is attending, you show.
All in all, it was a great party. I finally got to meet Matt of Matt’s Coffee (the organic wood-roasted brew that we serve in the cafe). He and his wife were brewing up samples of their new Ethiopian beans to order for gala guests. Cold River Vodka was there, feeding the happy buzz. Their vodka is made from Maine potatoes and distilled in Freeport, and I’m currently infusing a bottle of it with vanilla beans, and another with Maine-grown cranberries to use in new truffle recipes for our upcoming Farm Market Collection. Caterers Belle Fete and Aurora Provisions were there, keeping me standing with some outstanding dips and a duck pate to swoon for. And the cheesemakers from Silvery Moon were offering some outstanding hard and soft cheeses, including a deliciously rustic marinated cheese curd that I’ve been dreaming about ever since.
We brought our entire line of fresh cream truffles, which we traded for compliments and conversation.
Ms. Stewart arrived early, entourage in tow. She addressed the guests outside, among pastries, artisan breads, wine and antiques. I did manage to catch some of her speech. A bit about coming to Maine to buy a pair of boots from LL Bean, and instead buying a mansion, how she loves the Maine traditions of gravelling driveways with pink granite, and carpeting property trails with fresh pine needles. I do remember thinking, “Who’s traditions are these?” and “Wow, look at all of us, gazing adoringly at an ex-con.”
She made her way through the tents, sampling here and there. By the time she made it to the breezy end of our tent, we were swamped with a horde of chocoholics. I thought they were there to try our chocolates, but when the cameras came out, and the conversations got more animated, I realized they were really there to see Martha. Silly me.
Anyhoo, Ms. Stewart eventually made her way to the antiques dealers’ stalls that surrounded our display, and as I was engaged in conversation with a novelist from Wiscasset, I realized suddenly that that she was walking toward our display.
Though under normal circumstances, the novelist would have engaged my interest much more than Martha Stewart, I found myself suddenly and unexpectedly (and let’s face it, rather embarrasingly) starstruck. There she was, all throaty-voiced, boat-shoe clad and perfectly preserved, like some quaint, coastal hand-picked raspberry jam-maker. Her entourage floated alongside her, gently guiding her to the next dealer’s stall. And then she saw them: the elegant Victorian-style cake plate brimming with pretty heart-shaped Earl Grey tea truffles and purply-flowered lavender-infused confections. This is it, I thought. Martha Stewart is going to make us famous.
“Oh,” she said. “Chocolate.”
And then she was off to the next table, the next display. And that was all.
But hadn’t I said the same about her? Months ago, planning our production for the summer? “Oh,” I had said. “Martha Stewart.” And then I forgot about it.
Alas, it’s true. What comes around, goes around.
