Posts from the ‘out in DC’ Category

field of adventure

When I was fourteen I joined a ship’s crew. To this day I can’t quite recall who or what convinced my parents that it was an even remotely feasible idea and, yes, there were several safety – and oversight – measures in place. But, I did it. Thirty dollars for the membership fee, thirty-five dollars for insurance, and I was officially a member of the Gazela’s crew for one week. A tall ship, the Gazela is a [now] 112-year-old Portuguese fishing ship that, as part of the Philadelphia Ship Preservation Guild, sails up and down the Atlantic coastline making port as a maritime museum. Having met three members of the crew once before for the length of an afternoon, never having embarked upon the open ocean, let alone hauled a sail in my entire life, I was in for a bit of an adventure.

About mid-way between Philadelphia and New Bedford, Massachusetts, where I was scheduled to disembark, we encountered a storm. I suppose there are technical terms for describing the severity of storms, but I haven’t a clue as to what they are. From our little ship’s perspective, it was hefty. We were cast about on the waves, water crashed up well above the deck’s railing – into the rigging, in fact – and an astonishingly large number of the crew were immobilized by seasickness. Overall I’d say the captain and the first mate were cognizant of the danger. Filling my night shift as lookout, perched on the galley’s roof, they tied me to the mast. And, given our rescue time from the man-overboard drill the day before, I’m very glad they did.

Oddly enough, that isn’t the memory that stands out most. It’s this:  The ship’s cook bedridden by seasickness, the crew took turns cooking up dinner. Nothing fancy but utterly serviceable food, and particularly welcome when it was warm. Yet, in foul weather, the largest covered area available to us was below decks in the crew’s sleeping quarters. A space which, unsurprisingly, was rather full of uncomfortable and unwell volunteer sailors. So, on the second of our stormy days, we perched on the wet deck and watched as large raindrops chased the spaghetti around our plates, the water thinning out the once-warm tomato sauce. The best meal I’ve ever had? No. An adventure? Absolutely.

So perhaps the opportunity for such adventure has lessened since adulthood set in. I work. A desk is often involved. There are bills to pay, obligations to meet, and workouts to fit in. I’m lucky, though. Even if it is just for a few days, I occasionally still have the chance to jump across the Atlantic or head north of the Arctic Circle. The adventure isn’t gone, just thinned out a bit. And when it presents itself, however mild the form, however close to home, I’m game. Throw in the promise of good food, great beer, and a table stretching out under the stars and it becomes impossible to pass up. This past weekend, tucked in between rows of herbs and ripening produce at Arcadia Farm at Woodlawn we were having an adventure, an outdoor dinner adventure. We were Outstanding in the Field.

Launched in California in 1999, Outstanding in the Field is a traveling dinner that brings local suppliers, chefs, wine makers, beer brewers, and the community that loves them to one spot: a communal table stretched across the earth that supplies the food on plates. As we approached the dinner a friend kept asking questions. What will it be like? Who are the other guests at the table? What kind of food will it be? And, honestly, I couldn’t answer a single one of them with a definitive answer. The closest I could get was: there will be a long table set outside. I suppose we’ll find out more about the other guests when we sit down next to them. The food is being cooked by the team from Birch & Barley. There will be beer. It is an adventure.

And so it was, a bucolic one. One that involved drinks and passed hors d’oeuvres on the historic home’s front lawn. That provided a tour of the grounds and a peak into the chicken coop. Where wine lovers discovered that they really do enjoy drinking beer for the length of an afternoon, where perfect strangers sat down to a meal and departed hoping they’d see each other again. Well into dinner dark clouds quickly consumed any hint of sunset and the memory of my water-soaked speghetti jumped to mind. My hand quickly shot out to cover my beer glass. But, no fear. Leah, one of our dinner hosts and the logistical mastermind of OITF, assured us that though a few errant drops may fall we weren’t in for a storm. Good thing too. This was not one of those times I was willing to sacrifice my food to the rain.

what was served & poured…