Plymouth Rock and Roll

Ingredients

  • 1 rosemary sprig

  • 1 thyme sprig

  • Dash of dry vermouth

  • 1/4 cup Plymouth gin

Recipe Preparation

  • Muddle rosemary sprig, thyme sprig, and a dash of dry vermouth in a cocktail shaker. Add ice and gin. Shake, strain through fine mesh sieve into a Martini glass, and garnish with a green Martini olive skewered on a rosemary sprig.

  • Thirsty for More? If you have a question about this recipe, contact our Test Kitchen at [email protected] To see more recipes like this one, check out our Winter Cocktails Slideshow.

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Overview

Plymouth Colony (sometimes "New Plymouth") was an English colonial venture in North America from 1620 until 1691. The first settlement was at New Plymouth, a location previously surveyed and named by Captain John Smith. The settlement, which served as the capital of the colony, is today the modern town of Plymouth, Massachusetts. At its height, Plymouth Colony occupied most of the southeastern portion of the modern state of Massachusetts.

Founded by a group of separatists who later came to be known as the Pilgrims, Plymouth Colony was, along with Jamestown, Virginia, one of the earliest colonies to be founded by the English in North America and the first sizable permanent English settlement in the New England region. Aided by Squanto, a Native American, the colony was able to establish a treaty with Chief Massasoit which helped to ensure the colony's success. The colony played a central role in King Phillip's War, one of the earliest and bloodiest of the Indian Wars. Ultimately, the colony was annexed by the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1691.

Plymouth holds a special role in American history. Rather than being entrepreneurs like many of the settlers of Jamestown, the citizens of Plymouth were fleeing religious persecution and searching for a place to worship their God as they saw fit. The social and legal systems of the colony were thus closely tied to their religious beliefs. Many of the people and events surrounding Plymouth Colony have become part of American mythology, including the North American tradition known as Thanksgiving and the monument known as Plymouth Rock. Despite the colony's relatively short history, it has become an important symbol of what is now labeled "American".


The Pilgrims and The Rock

Above the rush of wind and water could be heard their hymns of praise as they sprang from the shallop onto the rock, the stern-faced men in wide-brimmed pot hats, the women modestly poised between this world and the next. So the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers at Plymouth seemed to generations of American schoolchildren nurtured on Felicia Hemans’ poem with its later visual embodiments in the paintings of Henry Sargent and Peter F. Rothermel.

Even after World War I, when I attended the Tileston School in Mattapan, a small suburb of Boston, a steel engraving of Rothermel’s " Landing of the Pilgrims" still hung in the assembly hall. The men wore full-dress Pilgrim uniforms with flowing black capes the women decorously kept their trailing voluminous skirts under control despite the near-tempest. Their eyes either rolled toward heaven or glanced meekly down at Mother Earth. Never did they stare at the profane space between. As soon as they stepped ashore they knelt in prayer, within a few feet of the landing rock, indifferent to any seventh wave. This upward fixation of the eyes gave a walruslike aspect to many of the males, particularly the bald elders. But at the Tileston School we never doubted the accuracy of the portrait.

In Miss Kelley’s fifth grade we still memorized Mrs. Hemans’ poem, declaiming separately and then in unison:

I wondered a little about the “stern and rock-bound coast,” for Plymouth was only forty miles away, and I knew that the shore there was flat and sandy. But that the Mayflower was not a bark, that the “soil where first they trod” was really where fourth they trod, were facts much too esoteric to have reached us. Mrs. Hemans’ insistent imagery became lodged permanently in our minds. Whatever I may have learned since, my immediate mental picture of the landing is still the Rothermel one.

When the pious and imaginative Mrs. Hemans wrote her Pilgrim poem in 1826 in Rhyllon, Wales, she knew almost myth that surrounds it, a profound truth may be dimly seen nothing about America. The Rhyllon grocer happened to deliver a few purchases to her wrapped in an old newspaper which somehow turned out to have been printed in Boston, Massachusetts. While she was unwrapping her groceries she noticed an account of the 1824 celebration of Forefathers’ Day in Plymouth. Until then she had never heard of the forefathers, but, inspired by the crumpled paragraphs, she sat down and composed her verses. Before her poem appeared, the landing of the Pilgrims was scarcely more than a local New England tradition. She expanded it across the English-speaking world, makinsr the landing a national myth.

The subsequent pervasiveness of the myth is the more curious in that from 1620 until 1769 almost no one in Plymouth paid any attention to it. Those obscure dissenters who disembarked from the Mayflower —they called themselves “Saints” and did not come to be known as Pilgrims until the nineteenth century—were too preoccupied by the harsh conditions of their arrival to see anything symbolic in their landing. Governor William Bradford in writing his history Of Plimouth Plantation ten years afterward never referred to the Mayflower by name but merely as “the Ship.” Nor does any contemporary account mention a landing on a rock. The first time Plymouth Rock’s existence is recorded is in 1715, when it is described in the town boundary records as “a great rock.”

Whether or not the Pilgrims actually landed on Plymouth Rock cannot be finally proved one way or the other. It is possible that they did, but much more likely that they did not. Certainly they must have noticed the ten-ton boulder as they approached land. That granite egg laid by the glacier was the most conspicuous object on the flat, curved shore line, a seamark for any helmsman. But even if it lay low enough in the water—and it seems more probable that it then stood above the hightide mark—it is hard to imagine the helmsman on that bleak, brawling December day taking the risk of battering his craft against it when the wide sheltering inlet of a brook lay only a hundred yards or so beyond. A spot just inside the mouth of the brook—later known as the Town Brook—became the first general landing place, and here a pier was soon built. Plymouth’s first street (now Leyden Street) was laid out along the brook’s north bank.

That mixed company of forty-one “Saints” and sixty-one “Strangers”∗ had already spent a month ashore, across the bay, before the Plymouth landing. Sixty-five days out of Plymouth, England, the Mayflower made her landfall on the outer edge of Cape Cod near the bluffs of Truro, then headed southward, but turned back fearfully at the sinister turbulence of the Chatham shoals. Next morning, Saturday, November 11, 1620,∗ Captain Christopher Jones rounded the tip of Cape Cod and dropped anchor in what would become known as Provincetown Harbor.

∗ Saints and Strangers: The leaders of the Mayflower group were religious dissenters who called themselves “Saints,” and excluded those who did not follow their strict rules of conduct and thought. They caused much trouble at the Plymouth settlement by imposing their views upon the majority, the “Strangers,” who sought economic opportunity rather than religious salvation in the New World.

∗ The dates given in this article are Old Style, ten days behind the New-Style, Gregorian calendar adopted by Great Britain in 1752.

A small advance party of armed men landed to look for supplies of wood and water, marched several uneventful miles and returned with a boatload of juniper branches to fumigate the Mayflower from the foulness of the voyage. This was the first landing of the Pilgrims in the New World. Prayers confined the company to the ship on the Sabbath, prayers and the Mayflower Compact—a practical document, whatever its later democratic symbolism, drawn up by the Saints at the time to meet the disgruntled challenge of the Strangers. On Monday morning the women were put ashore under guard to wash great bundles of dirty clothes and bedding. Meanwhile the men set to repairing the longboat, or shallop, which had been stored on the upper deck and was much damaged by the buffetings of the voyage it would be needed for exploring the coast.

The dune-edged landscape in the fading aftermath of autumn offered “a wether-beaten face, and ye whole countrie full of woods & thickets represented a wild & savage heiw.” Yet, Saints and Strangers together knew they must find a place to settle before the winter caught them. When after several days the shallop was still not ready, Captain My les Standish led a party of twenty, including sixteen volunteers armed with musket and corselet, down the beach on the first of a series of “Discoveries,” as they chose to call their explorations. They had marched about a mile when they saw five or six Indians with a dog in the distance. At sight of the whites the Indians whistled to the dog and darted into the woods. Standish and his men with ignorant valor dashed after them. Fortunately the Indians had not prepared an ambush.

The Englishmen spent a night on the sands shivering with cold and tormented by lack of water. The next morning they lost themselves in a tangle of thickets, but managed to regain the beach following Indian footprints, they discovered a spring and later came across the heaped mounds of an Indian burial ground. On their way back they found more mounds at the base of a hill, and digging into one newly made, uncovered a large basket filled with some bushels of seed corn plus several dozen red, yellow, and blue ears. The hill they called Corn Hill. The ears they carried back with them, reaching the ship at the end of the third day.

Not for another ten days was the shallop ready, and by that time the first snow had fallen. Twenty-four Pilgrims and nine of the Mayflower crew left on the second “Discovery.” Heavy seas soon forced the shallop back. Rather than return, however, the Pilgrims waded ashore in the waist-deep water and huddled overnight in driving snow. In the morning they managed to shoot a few geese. On reaching Corn Hill they dug the rest of the corn from the now-frozen ground with their swords and cutlasses and sent it back by the shallop. Wandering as far as Nauset, they came upon conical Indian huts, opened several nearby graves, and removed “sundrie of the prettiest things” that had been buried with the Indian dead. In one they found the body of a yellow-haired man—possibly a Frenchman who had died in captivity. On their return the whole company debated about making a settlement at Corn Hill. They decided against it because of the shallow harbor and the lack of water.

The third “Discovery” was to bring the initial landing at Plymouth. Although to the Mayflower passengers the land around Massachusetts Bay seemed ominously strange, it was to mariners no terra incognita . As early as 1602 Cape Cod had been named by Bartholomew Gosnold, who commanded the first recorded landing of Englishmen in New England. Samuel de Champlain mapped Plymouth Harbor three years later, as did the Dutchman Adrian Block in 1614. Captain John Smith had ranged the New England coast that same year his map called the harbor Accomack, a name subsequently altered by Charles I to Plymouth. One of the Mayflower mates, Robert Coppin, who had been with Smith, persuaded the Mayflower company that everything needed for settlement was there—a deep harbor, fresh water, cleared fields, and natural fortifications.

The winter of 1620 was a mild one—the settlers suffered more from damp than cold—but it began with a cruelly frigid spell. When on December 6 the shallop set off across Cape Cod Bay with eighteen men, it was so cold in the open boat that two of them fainted before they reached what is now Wellfleet Harbor. “It frose so hard,” Bradford wrote, “ye sprea of ye sea lighting on their coats, they were as if they had been glased.” Ten Saints went along, among them William Bradford and Edward Winslow. The others included Captain Jones, first mate John Clarke, Standish, and Coppin as pilot.

They sailed south past Corn Hill and swung around a sandy point into Wellfleet Harbor. Landing, they spent an uneasy night on the beach behind a “barricado” of logs and branches, for Indians had been seen in the distance. Next day they roamed the woods, found another burial ground, and returned to build a second barricado farther up the beach that night was troubled by one “hideous & great crie.”

In the morning while some of the party were eating breakfast around the fire and others had begun to carry their gear to the shallop, a band of thirty to fifty Indians suddenly attacked, lacing the barricado with arrows. Standish was one of the first to fire back at the yelping, painted figures. “Woach! Woach! Ha! Ha! Hach! Woach!” Bradford recorded their war cry. The thundering blunderbusses frightened off the attackers.

There was a sprinkling of sunshine when the shallop pushed off across the bay, but within two hours a snow squall blew up, whipping the glaucous water to foam. Before long, the rudder broke, leaving two men to steer as best they could with oars. The brief afternoon was fading as Coppin made out the encouragingly familiar outline of the thin sandspit that almost surrounded the harbor of Plymouth. The crew pressed on more sail. The mast strained, then finally broke in three pieces. Somehow they managed to cut it away without capsizing, and the wild sea bore them along. The closer the land loomed, the less familiar it looked to Coppin. As they neared the narrow channel at the tip of the spit, he lost his nerve, crying out that his eyes had never seen the place before. The day was saved by a lusty seaman who stuck to his oar and “bade those which rowed, if they were men, about with her, or else they were all cast away.”

In the growing darkness they managed to get under the lee of a wooded shore. Remembering the “Woach! Woach!” of the night before, they stuck to the shallop until the cold grew so unbearable that Mate Clarke and several of the boldest finally landed and kindled a fire. The others soon followed. Next morning they found they were on an island—known ever after as Clark’s Island—which lay about three miles northeast of Plymouth Rock. The cold spell had broken and the day, a Saturday, was fair. They prepared to keep the Sabbath.

Bradford gives an unembroidered account of the legend-embroidered landing of December 11, supposedly on Plymouth Rock: On Munday they sounded ye harbor and found it fitt for shipping and marched into ye land, & found diverse cornfields, & little running brooks, a place (as they supposed) fitt for situation. At least it was ye best they could find, and ye season, & their presente necessitie, made them glad to accepte of it. So they returned to their shippe again with this news to ye rest of their people, which did much comforte their harts.

Nothing about any landing on any rock. On December 15, the Mayflower weighed anchor and sailed across the bay. After some difficulties with an adverse wind, she slipped between the sandspits and dropped anchor beyond Clark’s Island. On December 18 a landing party under Captain Jones went ashore to explore the country further and to determine on a place of settlement. Where they landed is unknown, but it was probably just within the mouth of the Town Brook.

By Christmas Day (which they did not celebrate, regarding it as a wanton papist holiday), the newcomers were shuttling back and forth between the ship and the shore, and had begun to construct the first mud-and-wattle shelters of what would be the town of Plymouth. The misery of that winter with its alternations of rain and snow left half the company in their graves before the belated New World spring arrived. Years of hunger, frustration, and tragedy were to follow until the survivors could be certain that the Plymouth colony would endure. Such carking years gave the settlers little time or desire to concern themselves with the past when the present still snuffled like a wolf at the door. To have landed and to have endured was enough. Who landed where was of interest to almost no one.

As each early communal settlement gives way to gradations of wealth, the more firmly established inhabitants have the leisure to turn to genealogy and the rediscovery of the past. By the middle of the eighteenth century Plymouth’s Old Colony was long since absorbed by Massachusetts, and Plymouth itself had become no more than a quiet county seat. Families like the Winslows and the Bradfords had managed to achieve assured wealth on their outlying estates, but history had moved on to Boston. Not for a century and a hall did the descendants of Plymouth’s settlers begin to cast a retrospective eye on their ancestors.

Then in 1769 seven young men of Plymouth’s first families, disconcerted by “the many disadvantages and inconveniences that arise from intermixing with the company at the taverns in this town,” organized the Old Colony Club for genteel association, and voted to commemorate “the landing of our worthy ancestors.” They then decided to observe December 22, the New Style anniversary of the original landing, as Forefathers’ Day.∗ The club never consisted of more than thirteen members, and in that time of gathering crisis the Boston Massacre occurred in March, 1770, only three months after the club’s first meeting—the majority were to take the Tory side.

∗ The date was corrected to December 21 in 1849, changed hack in 1862, was seesawed back and forth several more times, and is now celebrated on the twenty-first.

The first Forefathers’ Day dinner of the Old Colony Club was held at Loyalist Thomas Southworth Howland’s tavern on Cole’s Hill and encompassed nine eopious courses. The day began with a salvo of cannon in front of the club rooms, followed by the raising of “an elegant silk flag with the inscription ‘Old Colony 1620.' ” It closed with the singing of John Dickinson’s popular ode “In Freedom We’re Born” by the boys of the grammar school, an evening of toasts, and a final cannon salvo.

Some time after the Forefathers’ Day celebration had become the talk of Plymouth, Deacon Ephraim Spooncr, churchman and prosperous hardware merchant, revealed to several members of the Old Colonv Club and to posterity the story oi” the ancestral landing on Plymouth Rock. Deacon Spooner had heard it in 1741 from the lips of ninety-five-year-old Thomas Faunce, an Elder of the First Church. Faunce in turn had been told about it by his father, John Faunce, who came over in the Ann in 1623 and who had presumably heard it first-hand. Although Spooner was only six years old at the time Faunce spoke, he had never forgotten, he said, the words and appearance of the venerable elder.

According to Deacon Spooner, plans had been made in 1741 to build a wharf on the waterfront that would cover a large rock at the base of Cole’s Hill. When Elder Faunce heard of this, he had himself carried in a chair three miles to the spot. There, before a large crowd of people, including the six-year-old Ephraim, he pointed out the threatened rock as the very one that his father had assured him had received the footsteps ol the lorefathers as they landed. The old man “bedewed it with his tears and bid to it an everlasting adieu.” Apparently the bedewing had less effect on the builders than it did on Ephraim, for they constructed their wharf as planned, leaving only a small hump of the rock above ground. No one thought more about that encumbering fragment, except for a few cursing carters as they were jolted over it, until the deacon made his revelation a generation later.

As the Revolution loomed up, the members of the Old Colony Club found themselves so divided politically that they disbanded. But the observance of Forefathers’ Day continued, and the legend of Plymouth Rock spread. Edward Winslow marked the rock’s site on a British survey map of Plymouth made in i 774. Eater that year, with the sides now drawn in the coming struggle, the Sons of Eiberty—described by the Winslows as the Sons of Eicentiousness —were the first to appropriate the rock’s burgeoning symbolism. Militia Colonel Thcophilus Cotton and a muster of Eiberty Boys appeared on the wharf on December 22 with a carriage and thirty yoke of oxen, prepared to take the rock away. They dug down and managed to elevate it from its bed with large screws, but as they attempted to move it onto the carriage it split in two. Some of the more patriotic present saw the split as symbolic of the division between England and the colonies— or so they said afterward. Colonel Cotton and his boys then let the bottom section drop back into its bed, where it remained a few inches above the earth. The top segment, weighing four or five tons, they carted to the Town Square and placed it ceremoniously beside a large elm used to support the newly-erected Eiberty Pole which flew their “Eiberty or Death” flag.

Forefathers’ Day was celebrated each year during the war, but then fell out of use and was not observed again until 1793. John Davis, a Plymouth lawyer, composed an ode for that occasion in which the Rock was for the first time celebrated in verse the term “Pilgrim” was also used that day in a memorial sermon preached by the Reverend Chandler Robbins. Not for another fifty years would the Forefathers become generally known as Pilgrims, although the term did begin to show up often in the poems and songs written for successive anniversaries.

The name derives from a casual remark of Bradford’s in his history. Expressing the regret of the colonists at leaving the city of Lcyden in Holland, he wrote: “But they knew they were pilgrimes, & looked not much on those things but lift up their eyes to ye heavens, their dearest cuntrie.” Even though Bradford’s manuscript was lost in the Revolution (it turned up in 1844 in the library of the Lord Bishop of London and was not returned to Boston until 1897), extracts from it had been copied down, and this unearthed sentence was undoubtedly the impulse that revived the term, just as it later encouraged Victorian illustrators to roll the Pilgrims’ eyes heavenward.

Carried along on the new tide of national feeling, the legend of the Rock spread throughout New England. Timothy Dwight, President of Yale, visited Plymouth in 1800, announcing with more emotion than accuracy: No New Engl…nder who is willing to indulge his native feelings, can stand upon the rock where our ancestors set the first foot after their arrival on the American shore, without experiencing emotions very different from those which arc excited by any common object of the same nature.

Two years later the Forefathers’ Day address was delivered by no less than John Quincy Adams. But the most imposing celebration came in 1820. For this twohundredth anniversary, John Watson, one of the few prewar celebrants still living near Plymouth, emerged from his Tory obscurity to organize the Pilgrim Society. A much less exclusive organization than the Old Colony Club, the society opened its membership to everyone with ten dollars “interested in perpetuating the fame of the Forefathers.” As an additional honor for the bicentennial Forefathers’ Day, a brightly uniformed independent company, the Standish Guards, was organized. Daniel Webster, then at the threshold of his career, appeared resplendcntly as the principal speaker. Wearing knee breeches, enveloped in a silk gown whose resemblance to a toga was not altogether accidental, and flanked by the Standish Guards, he spoke in front of the rock fragment in the Town Square. For two hours he held forth in ringing Ciceronian periods “full of the farina of thought and feeling,” according to a local newspaper, delving rather elaborately into all the symbolic meaning of Plymouth Rock. With this celebration the landing of the Pilgrims began to assume a national significance, a significance that Mrs. Hemans would confirm, strengthen, and expand in rhyme six years later.

Unfortunately, as Plymouth Rock increased in fame, it began to decrease in size under the hands of souvenir hunters. Plymouth shops were offering pieces the size of an egg for $i .50, guaranteed to “take a very fine polish.” De Tocqueville on his travels noted fragments of the relic in several towns. Finally, on July 4, 1834, what remained of the Rock’s upper section was taken from the Town Square and placed in front of the Doric portico of the recently erected Pilgrim Hall. Preceded by schoolchildren and followed by a model of the Mayflower , the Rock was carried on a decorated tipcart escorted by the Plymouth Band and the Standish Guards. As the procession was passing the courthouse a linchpin worked out of the cart and the Rock tumbled into the street, breaking into the two pieces so familiar in their cemented state. A year later this portion of the Rock was enclosed by a five-foot-high elliptical fence, the pickets of which were made up alternately of wrought-iron harpoons and boat hooks. The hammered granite base was studded with symbolic scallop shells, and the numerals 1620 were painted on the Rock. Meanwhile the stump on Hedge’s Wharf continued to bear the burden of passing wheels. Sometimes, when visitors asked to see it, a clerk would come out of Phineas Wells’ adjacent warehouse and brush it off.

In 1859 the Pilgrim Society bought the upper end of the wharf, tore down the warehouse, and laid the cornerstone of a “monumental canopy,” designed by Hammatt Billings, over the much-abused base. Its construction was interrupted by the Civil War and finally completed in 1867. Soon after its erection the intrepidity of souvenir hunters forced the addition of iron gates.

For casual visitors to Plymouth it was always a little perplexing to find two Plymouth Rocks, each in a separate enclosure. To end this confusion the Pilgrim Society in 1880 moved the upper section from its metal cage and united it with the stump under the Billings canopy. The Rock, as many noted, was still eight or ten feet above the high-tide mark, but at least it was all in one place. At this time the date, 1620, was carved into the stone to replace the painted numerals.

During the next forty years Plymouth Rock remained secure and unaltered under its baldachin. In 1883 the Pilgrim Society bought the rest of the wharf, leveled the remaining warehouses, and fitted the lower wharf end as a steamboat landing. Then, in 1920, amidst tremendous preparations for the three-hundredth anniversary of the Landing of the Pilgrims, the wharf was removed, the waterfront re-landscaped, and the canopy torn down.

The Tercentenary Celebration opened on Forefathers’ Day, 1920, with an issue of commemorative U.S. stamps. At Plymouth, Governor Calvin Coolidge, the Vice President-elect, made a short address in his appropriately old-fashioned style. Senator Henry Cabot Lodge was the principal speaker. The following week two steam shovels dug around the Rock, which was then wrapped in lengths of chain and hoisted out of its bed. The three sections promptly came apart. They were set aside while the site was excavated down to sea level. A month later the base was replaced, some ten feet lower, and the more familiar upper segment cemented to it. With Plymouth Rock at last located where it could be lapped twice a day by the high tide, a white granite Grecian temple, designed by McKim, Mead and White, was raised over it.

A tercentenary pageant, The Pilgrim Spirit , written by Harvard’s professor of drama, George Pierce Baker, was performed the next summer. At this climax of the celebration the presidential yacht Mayflower , with President Harding aboard, steamed into Plymouth Harbor accompanied by four battleships and six destroyers. On landing Harding spoke as he usually did, with empty resonance. The Grecian temple was finally dedicated the following November on a wild day of rain and wind.

After three centuries the legend of Plymouth Rock has become so fixed in the American consciousness that the Rock itself takes on the magical aura of a Blarney Stone or a Stone of Scone. When some prankster in 1937 daubed the Rock with red paint, the news flashed across the country. It seemed a national desecration. At once Harvard University and the Communist Party of Massachusetts publicly disclaimed any connection with such lurid lithography. I remember from my Harvard days a story Professor Howard Mumford Jones told of an old Negro janitor from the University of Texas who made a sightseeing bus tour of the United States. When he reached Plymouth, he sent back a postcard of Plymouth Rock on which he had written: “Here is where our forefathers landed.” So we had felt in the Tileston School, even though most of us in that fifth-grade room were—like myself—members of what Boston’s Mayor James Michael Curley liked to call the “newer races.” I suppose it was the somewhat ponderous piety of the legend, plus childhood recollections of The Landing of the Pilgrims framed on a schoolroom wall, that inspired Dorothy Parker’s remark in the brittle twenties that it would have been better if, instead of the Pilgrims landing on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock had landed on the Pilgrims.

Yet, if the landing on Plymouth Rock is a myth, it is no more a myth than that the Stone of Scone once served as Jacob’s pillow, no more recent a myth than Blarney’s gift of eloquence. And behind the myth is a profound truth. In a sense the old Texas janitor was right. Each of us has made his symbolic approach to Plymouth Rock each is here because someone took a step forward and felt a sustaining firmness underfoot, whether the landing took place from the Mayflower , from an Irish “coffin ship,” on Ellis Island, or from the last jet at Logan or LaGuardia.

I sense the tenacity of that feeling whenever I visit Plymouth on a bright summer’s day. The approaches to the Grecian temple are traffic-blocked. Forty assimilative years have given the white columns a certain minimum of harmony with their nonclassical surroundings. Cars with license plates from every state in the Union are parked for a mile along Water Street. The Mayflower II , brave in new paint at her dock, sets off the striated blue of the harbor and the yellow streak of sandspit that almost encompasses it. To the right on the horizon are the bluffs of Manomet, and to the left a single white house breaks the dense greenery of dark’s Island. The crowds are twenty deep around Plymouth Rock. Two college boys in Pilgrim costume alternate in giving talks on the Rock’s history, then pass around their wide-brimmed pot hats. Their talks are at least eighty-five per cent accurate. Across the road a goateed photographer, also dressed as a Pilgrim, is waiting to snap the tourists. They in turn may focus their own cameras on him for twenty-five cents a pose. As I wedge my way to the iron guardrail under the pediment and stand looking down at Plymouth Rock in its pit, I feel a homely affection for that familiar, battered granite lump, and I sense a comradeship with those strangers in their summer clothes who have gathered with me to stare at it.


Pilgrim Breakfast Receipts

In 1957 the Plymouth Antiquarian Society published The Plimoth Colony Cook Book. It featured “receipts” used in Plymouth from the colonial period to the end of the 19 th century. Antiquarians Elizabeth St. John Bruce and Edith Stinson Jones collected the recipes, preserving culinary methods and traditions passed down in local families for generations. Their meticulous documentation and faithful recreation using period tools provided the foundation for cooking demonstrations at the Harlow House.

Elizabeth St. John Bruce serves a meal at a table set up in the Harlow House, ca. 1930. She was an innovative and inspirational educator when the classroom building behind the Harlow House was built in 1967, it was dedicated in her memory. (PAS Archives)
Edith Stinson Jones (left) and Elizabeth St. John Bruce (right) outside the Harlow House with The Plimoth Colony Cook Book this photograph was printed in the Boston Globe on June 23, 1958. (PAS Archives)

The first pages of the cookbook feature recipes served to guests at the Pilgrim Breakfast. Recognizing that not everyone had access to a brick oven, the Antiquarians modernized the recipes for this publication.

Interested in recreating the Pilgrim Breakfast at home? Download our recipe sheet here .

Harlow House Mulled Cider

3 quarts cider
1 ½ teaspoons cinnamon
ginger, if liked
¾ teaspoon cloves
1/3 teaspoon nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon salt

Add the spices and salt to the heated cider and simmer 10 to 15 minutes. Makes 24 punch cup servings.

Harlow House Doughnuts

often called “Wonders”
1 cup sugar
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup milk
1 tablespoon butter, melted
flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon salt

Beat sugar, eggs, and milk together, add butter. Sift 3 cups flour with rest of ingredients, add to first mixture and stir until smooth. Add more flour, if necessary, to make a soft dough. Chill dough overnight. Roll out on floured board and cut with doughnut cutter. Fry in fat hot enough to brown a 1-inch cube of bread in 40 seconds (375 F.). As doughnuts rise to top, turn and brown on other side. Remove, drain on absorbent paper.

Harlow House Baked Beans

2 pounds pea beans
1 onion
2 teaspoons mustard
½ cup molasses
½ teaspoon salt
3/8 pound salt pork

Pick over, wash, and soak the beans overnight. In the morning, drain, rinse, and cover with cold water, bring to a boil and cook until the beans can be pierced with a pin. Drain, put in bean pot with an onion in the bottom. Add mustard, molasses, and salt. Scrape and score the pork and bury it in the beans so that only the top shows. Cover with water and bake in a slow oven (300 F.) about 6 hours, adding water as needed. Uncover the pot for the last hour to brown the pork. 6-8 servings.

Harlow House Fish Cakes

4 cups potatoes, cut in 1-inch cubes
1 cup salt fish, picked and shredded
2 eggs, slightly beaten

Boil together potatoes and fish until potatoes are tender. Drain, mash, and beat in eggs. Drop by spoonfuls in hot fat, (390 F.) and fry for 1 minute. Drain on absorbent paper. 6-8 servings.


Contents

The song consists of a protracted spoken monologue, with a constantly repeated fingerstyle ragtime guitar (Piedmont style) backing and light brush-on-snare drum percussion (the drummer on the record is uncredited), bookended by a short chorus about the titular diner. (Guthrie has used the brief "Alice's Restaurant" bookends and guitar backing for other monologues bearing the Alice's Restaurant name.) The track lasts 18 minutes and 34 seconds, occupying the entire A-side of the Alice's Restaurant album. Due to Guthrie's rambling and circuitous telling with unimportant details, it has been described as a shaggy dog story. [4]

Guthrie refers to the incident as a "massacree", a colloquialism originating in the Ozark Mountains [5] that describes "an event so wildly and improbably and baroquely messed up that the results are almost impossible to believe". It is a corruption of the word massacre, but carries a much lighter and more sarcastic connotation, rather than describing anything involving actual death. [6]

Prologue Edit

Guthrie explains that his friend Alice owns a restaurant, but adds that "Alice's Restaurant" is the name of the song, not the business. He then sings the chorus, which is in the form of a jingle for the restaurant, beginning "You can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant", and continuing with directions to it.

Part One Edit

Guthrie recounts events that took place in 1965 (two years prior at the time of the original recording), when he and a friend spent Thanksgiving Day at a deconsecrated church on the outskirts of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, which their friends Alice and Ray had been using as a home. As a favor to them, Guthrie and the friend volunteered to take their large accumulation of garbage to the local dump in their VW Microbus, not realizing until they arrived there that the dump would be closed for the holiday. They eventually noticed a pile of other trash that had previously been dumped off a cliff near a side road, and added theirs to the accumulation.

The next morning, the church received a phone call from the local policeman, Officer Obie, saying that an envelope in the garbage pile had been traced back to them. Guthrie, stating "I cannot tell a lie" and with tongue in cheek, confessed that he "put that envelope underneath" the garbage. He and his friend drove to the police station, expecting a verbal reprimand and to be required to clean up the garbage, but they were instead arrested, handcuffed, and taken to the scene of the crime. There, Obie and a crew of police officers from the surrounding areas collected extensive forensic evidence of the litter, including "twenty-seven 8-by-10 color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was, to be used as evidence against us." The pair were briefly jailed, with Obie taking drastic precautions to prevent Guthrie from escaping or committing suicide. After a few hours, Alice bailed them out.

Guthrie and his friend stood trial the next day. When Obie saw that the judge relied upon a seeing-eye dog, he realized that the officers' meticulous work had been foiled by a literal "case of American blind justice". Guthrie and his friend paid a $50 fine to the court and were ordered to pick up the garbage.

Part Two Edit

Guthrie then states that the littering incident was "not what I came to tell you about" and shifts to another story, this one based at the Army Building on Whitehall Street in New York City as Guthrie appeared for a physical exam related to the Vietnam War draft. He tried various strategies to be found unfit for military service, including getting drunk the night before so he was hung over, and attempting to convince the psychiatrist that he was homicidal, which only earned him praise.

After several hours, Guthrie was asked whether he had ever been convicted of a crime. He answered in the affirmative, explaining his story, and was sent to the "Group W" bench to file for a moral waiver. The other convicts ("mother-rapers. father-stabbers. father-rapers") were initially put off that his conviction had been for littering, but accepted him when he added "and creating a nuisance". When Guthrie noticed one of the questions on the paperwork asked whether he had rehabilitated himself since the crime, he noted the irony of having to prove himself reformed from a crime of littering when the realities of war were often far more brutal. The officer in charge of the induction process commented, "We don't like your kind", rejecting Guthrie and sending his fingerprints to the federal government to be put on file.

Epilogue Edit

In the final part of the song, Guthrie explains to the live audience that anyone finding themselves in a similar situation should walk into the military psychiatrist's office, sing the opening line from the chorus and walk out. He predicts that a single person doing it would be rejected as "sick" and that two people doing it, in harmony, would be rejected as "faggots", but that once three people started doing it they would begin to suspect "an organization" and 50 people a day would be recognized as "the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacree Movement". As he continues fingerpicking, he invites the audience to sing the chorus along with him "the next it comes around on the gee-tar", claims that the singing "was horrible" and challenges them to sing it with him "with four-part harmony and feeling" as the song ends.

Guthrie cited the long-form monologues of Lord Buckley and Bill Cosby as inspirations for the song's lyrics, and a number of different musicians (in particular Mississippi John Hurt) as inspirations for the Piedmont fingerstyle guitar accompaniment. [7] The song was written as the events happened over the course of approximately one year [8] it grew out of a simple joke riff Guthrie had been working on in 1965 and 1966 before he appeared before the draft board (the opening was originally written as "you can hide from Obanhein at Alice's restaurant", which is how the restaurant got tied into the original story), and he later added his experience before the draft board to create the song as it is known today. [9] Additional portions of the song were written during one of Guthrie's many stays with the English songwriter and music journalist Karl Dallas and his family in London. [10] [11] Guthrie sent a demo recording of the song to his father Woody Guthrie on his deathbed it was, according to a "family joke", the last thing Woody heard before he died in October 1967. [9] Because of the song's length, Guthrie never expected it to be released, because such extended monologues were extremely rare in an era when singles were typically less than three minutes. [7]

"Alice's Restaurant" was first performed publicly with Guthrie singing live on Radio Unnameable, the overnight program hosted by Bob Fass that aired on New York radio station WBAI, one evening in 1966. [12] [13] The initial performance was part of an impromptu supergroup at the WBAI studios that included David Bromberg, Jerry Jeff Walker and Ramblin' Jack Elliot. [14] Guthrie performed the song several times live on WBAI in 1966 and 1967 before its commercial release. The song proved so popular that at one point Fass (who was known for playing songs he liked over and over again in his graveyard slot) started playing a recording of one of Guthrie's live performances of the song repeatedly [13] eventually the non-commercial station rebroadcast it only when listeners pledged to donate a large amount of money (Fass subverted it and occasionally asked for donations to get him to stop playing the recording). [14]

"Alice's Restaurant" was performed on July 17, 1967, at the Newport Folk Festival in a workshop or breakout section on "topical songs", where it was such a hit that he was called upon to perform it for the entire festival audience. The song's success at Newport and on WBAI led Guthrie to record it in front of a studio audience in New York City and release it as side one of the album Alice's Restaurant in October 1967. [15]

The original album spent 16 weeks on the Billboard 200 album chart, peaking at #29 during the week of March 2, 1968, [16] then reentered the chart on December 27, 1969, after the film version was released, peaking that time at #63. [17] In the wake of the film version, Guthrie recorded a more single-friendly edit of the chorus in 1969. Titled "Alice's Rock & Roll Restaurant", it included three verses, all of which advertise the restaurant, and a fiddle solo by country singer Doug Kershaw to fit the song on a record, the monologue was removed, bringing the song's length to 4:43. This version, backed with "Ring Around the Rosy Rag" (a cut from the Alice's Restaurant album), peaked at #97 on the Billboard Hot 100. [18] Because the single did not reach the popularity of the full version, which did not qualify for the Hot 100 because of its length, Billboard officially classifies Guthrie as a one-hit wonder for his later hit "City of New Orleans". [19]

It has become a tradition for many classic rock and adult album alternative radio stations to play the song each Thanksgiving. [20] Despite its use of the slur "faggots", radio stations generally present the song as originally recorded, and the Federal Communications Commission has never punished a station for playing it. [8] When performing the song in later years, Guthrie began to change the line to something less offensive and often topical: during the 1990s and 2000s, the song alluded to the Seinfeld episode "The Outing" by saying "They'll think you're gay—not that there's anything wrong with that," and in 2015, Guthrie used the line "They'll think they're trying to get married in some parts of Kentucky", a nod to the controversy of the time surrounding county clerk Kim Davis.

After the release of the original album, Guthrie continued to perform the song in concert, regularly revising and updating the lyrics. In 1969, for instance, he performed a 20-minute rendition of the song that, instead of the original narrative, told a fictional story of how Russian and Chinese military operatives attempted to weaponize "multicolored rainbow roaches" they had found at Alice's restaurant, and the Lyndon Johnson administration orchestrated a plan for the nation to defend itself. A recording of this version titled "Alice: Before Time Began" was released in 2009 on a CD distributed by Guthrie's Rising Son Records label another recording of this version, titled "The Alice's Restaurant Multicolored Rainbow Roach Affair", was also released on that label. [21] By the late 1970s, Guthrie had removed the song from his regular concert repertoire. [7]

In 1984, Guthrie, who was supporting George McGovern's ultimately unsuccessful comeback bid for the Democratic presidential nomination, [22] revived "Alice's Restaurant" to protest the Reagan Administration's reactivation of the Selective Service System registrations. That version has not been released on a commercial recording at least one bootleg of it from one of Guthrie's performances exists. It was this tour, which occurred near the 20th anniversary of the song (and continued as a general tour after McGovern dropped out of the race), that prompted Guthrie to return the song to his playlist every ten years, usually coinciding with the anniversary of either the song or the incident. The 30th anniversary version of the song includes a follow-up recounting how he learned that Richard Nixon had owned a copy of the song, and he jokingly suggested that this explained the famous 18½-minute gap in the Watergate tapes. Guthrie rerecorded his entire debut album for his 1997 CD Alice's Restaurant: The Massacree Revisited, on the Rising Son label, which includes this expanded version. The 40th anniversary edition, performed at and released as a recording by the Kerrville Folk Festival, made note of some parallels between the 1960s and the Iraq War and George W. Bush administration. [9] Guthrie revived the song for the 50th anniversary edition in 2015, which he expected would be the last time he would do so. [7] [23] In 2018, Guthrie began the "Alice's Restaurant: Back by Popular Demand" Tour, reuniting with members of his 1970s backing band Shenandoah. The tour, which features Guthrie's daughter Sarah Lee Guthrie as the opening act, was scheduled to wrap up in 2020. To justify bringing the song back out of its usual ten-year sequence, he stated that he was doing so to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the film version of the song. [24] The tour ended in 2019 and was later confirmed to have been Guthrie's last he suffered a career-ending stroke in November of that year and announced his retirement in October 2020. [25]

Artist's reflections Edit

In a 2014 interview with Rolling Stone, Guthrie said he believed there are such things as just wars, and that the message of this song was targeted at the Vietnam War in particular. [7] Interviews with Ron Bennington in 2009 and NPR in 2005 describe the song not so much as anti-war but as "anti-stupidity". [9] [26] Guthrie considered the song as relevant as in 1965. [27]

Most of the events of the story are true the littering incident was recorded in the local newspaper at the time it happened, [28] and although Guthrie made some minor embellishments, the persons mentioned in the first half of the story all granted interviews on the subject, mostly verifying that part of the story. [29] The second half of the story does not have as much specific corroborating evidence to support it the public exposure of COINTELPRO in 1971 confirmed that the federal government was collecting personal information on anti-war protesters as Guthrie alleged.

Alice, Ray and the restaurant Edit

The Alice in the song was restaurant-owner Alice May Brock (born c. 1941). In 1964, shortly after graduating from Sarah Lawrence College, Alice used $2,000 supplied by her mother to purchase a deconsecrated church in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, where Alice and her husband, Ray Brock (c. 1928–1979), would live. Alice was a painter and designer, while Ray was an architect and woodworker who originally was from Virginia the two had met while in Greenwich Village in 1962. Both worked at a nearby private academy, the music and art-oriented Stockbridge School, from which Guthrie (then of Howard Beach, a neighborhood in Queens, New York City) had graduated.

Alice Brock operated a restaurant called "The Back Room" in 1966, at 40 Main Street in Stockbridge, located behind a grocery store and directly underneath the studios of Norman Rockwell. [30] The Back Room was already closed by the time the song was released it ceased operations in April 1966. [31] (Theresa's Stockbridge Café was last known to occupy the site the café's sign makes note that the space was "formerly Alice's Restaurant".) After a breakup and abortive reconciliation, Alice divorced Ray in 1968 she went on to launch two more restaurants (a take-out window in Housatonic in 1971 and a much larger establishment in Lenox in the late 1970s) [31] before leaving the restaurant business in 1979. [32] Ray returned to Virginia after the divorce and took on various projects until his death in 1979. [33] [34]

Alice owned an art studio and gallery in Provincetown, Massachusetts, until 2016. [35] She illustrated the 2004 children's book Mooses Come Walking, written by Guthrie, and authored and illustrated another, How to Massage Your Cat. [34]

In 1969, Random House published The Alice's Restaurant Cookbook (ISBN 039440100X) which featured recipes and hippie wisdom from Alice Brock, as well as photos of Alice and Guthrie, and publicity stills from the movie. [36] A tear-out record was included in the book with Brock and Guthrie bantering on two tracks, "Italian-Type Meatballs" and "My Granma's Beet Jam". [37]

The church Edit

The church, originally built as the St. James Chapel in 1829, was enlarged in 1866 and renamed Trinity Church. Ray and Alice Brock purchased the property in 1964 and made it their home. Alice sold the building shortly after the film adaptation was released, commenting that the song and film had brought a great deal of unwanted publicity. [34] The building changed ownership several times in the 1970s and 1980s [38] until Guthrie bought the facility in 1991 and converted it to the Guthrie Center, a nondenominational, interfaith meeting place.

In the main chapel area is a stage on which Officer Obie's chair sits as a reminder of the arrest. A set of private rooms in which Alice and Ray once lived remains.

In later years, the Guthrie Center became a folk music venue, hosting a Thursday evening hootenanny as well as the Troubadour Concert series annually from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Musical guests have included John Gorka, Tom Paxton, Ellis Paul, Tom Rush, The Highwaymen folk group and Arlo Guthrie. The Troubadour series helps to support the church's free community lunch program which is held at the church every Wednesday at noon. On Thanksgiving, the church hosts a "Thanksgiving dinner that can't be beat" for the local community. The annual "Garbage Trail Walk", retracing the steps of Arlo and folksinger Rick Robbins (as told in the song), raises money for Huntington's disease research.

The littering incident Edit

The incident which Guthrie recounts in the first half of the song was reported in The Berkshire Eagle on November 29, 1965. It describes the conviction of Richard J. Robbins, age 19, and Arlo Guthrie, age 18, for illegally disposing of rubbish, and a fine of $25 each, plus an order to remove the trash. The arresting officer was Stockbridge police chief William J. Obanhein ("Officer Obie"), and the trial was presided over by Special Judge James E. Hannon. It identifies the incriminating evidence as an envelope addressed to a male resident of Great Barrington (presumably Ray Brock) rather than Guthrie. [39] In a 1972 interview with Playboy's Music Scene, Obanhein denied handcuffing Guthrie and Robbins. [29] He also said the real reason there was no toilet seat in the jail cell was to prevent such items from being stolen, not as a suicide deterrent as Guthrie had joked. [29] Guthrie also admitted in 2020 that the police photographs were in black-and-white, not in color. [40] The Microbus that Guthrie and Robbins used to dispose of the garbage was eventually scrapped [8] the Guthrie Center later acquired a replica that Guthrie occasionally drives. [41]

The draft Edit

The Armed Forces Examination and Entrance Station was part of a large complex at 39 Whitehall Street in New York City from 1884 to 1969. By the late 1960s, the building had become a target for anti-war protesters, and two bombings left minor damage to the building, prompting the building to be vacated. [42] [43] The building has since been repurposed as a mixed-use development and its address changed (it is now 3 New York Plaza).

The brief mention of "faggots" being rejected for military service in the song's epilogue was based on military policy at the time, which rejected all homosexuals and expelled anyone caught engaging in homosexual behavior with a section 8 dishonorable discharge. The policy was modified in 1993 and fully repealed in 2012.

Guthrie acknowledged that he was never in danger of being drafted because he had been given a high draft number. A fellow friend commented that he and Guthrie were "not going to get called unless there’s a squirrel invasion in New Hampshire." [14]

Alice's Restaurant of Sky Londa, California, founded in the 1960s, was originally founded by Alice Taylor with no direct connection to Alice Brock. Subsequent owners of the restaurant kept the original name as an homage to the song, eventually adding a "Group W bench," because the name had made the restaurant a tourist trap that was "good for business." [44]

The song was adapted into the 1969 movie Alice's Restaurant, directed and co-written by Arthur Penn, who had heard the song in 1967 while living in Stockbridge and immediately wanted to make the song into a movie. [45] Guthrie appears as himself, with Pat Quinn as Alice Brock and James Broderick as Ray Brock, William Obanhein and James Hannon appearing as themselves, and Alice Brock making a cameo appearance.

The movie was released in August 1969, a few days after Guthrie appeared at the Woodstock Festival. A soundtrack album for the film was also released by United Artists Records. The soundtrack includes a studio version of the song, which was originally divided into two parts (one for each album side) a compact disc reissue on the Rykodisc label presents this version in full and adds several bonus tracks to the original LP. [ citation needed ]


How the Necco Wafer Has Lasted This Long

Sugarplums — whatever the heck they are — positively dance through kids' heads at the end of the year. Figgy pudding — again, what? — is evidently, according to the somewhat beloved Christmas carol, high on some people's wish list.

But Necco Wafers? They've been around for more than a century and a half, still wrapped in their familiar wax package, and nobody breaks out in song about them. At any time of the year. It's a seasonal shame.

OK . that's not strictly true. Diana Eschhofen, a representative for the Spangler Candy Company of Bryan, Ohio — a family-owned affair that itself has been around since 1906 — will sing high praises about the Necco. Conventional candy lovers far and wide may look on the humble multi-flavored wafers as some kind of sick gift from a crotchety old grandmother. But Eschhofen knows better. And she has history on her side.

"Our research and experience have made it clear," she says in an email, "that Necco Wafers are loved by people from all generations and all walks of life."

What Are Necco Wafers?

If you're new to the Necco, first, its name. Necco is an acronym, of sorts, for the now-defunct New England Candy Company, which launched its eponymous product in 1901, though the original version of the wafer first was popped out of a lozenge-cutting machine in 1847. For comparison's sake, the Hershey's Bar came along in 1900 the Milky Way bar was introduced in 1924 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups were unveiled in 1928 and the Snickers bar in 1930. M&Ms came along in 1941.

So save those down-nose looks for other, lesser candies. The Necco, which traveled with troops in the Civil War and World War II, deserves a little respect.

Second, the Necco is, in an admirably proud kind of way, not your average chocolate bar. It is, as the name points out, a candy wafer, sold in 24-count rolls meant for sharing. These wafers — think flat Mentos, or big Life Savers, though the Necco is snap-worthy and tastes nothing like those candies — come in eight distinct colors and flavors. From Spangler, which took over the brand in 2018:

What Do Necco Wafers Taste Like?

The third bit you need to know about the Necco Wafer is its taste. And that's where the real candy snobs get all huffy.

Neccos are made with sugar and corn syrup and have pretty much zero nutritional value (though they are fat- and sodium-free). They are chalky-tasting to most everybody that tries them and, in a host of snarky online taste tests and candy Top 10 lists, constantly rate among the worst of modern candies, up (or down) there with Circus Peanuts, another Spangler product.

They are, even according to Eschhofen, not candy to many admirers, instead used as "shingles for gingerbread houses, for kids to practice communion, edible poker chips and place markers."

Still, somebody out there likes them for their taste. In 2009, the Necco people made the first change to the wafers' recipe since its inception, trying to rid the candy of artificial colors and flavors.

Fans would have none of it. Sales dropped by 35 percent.

"When you're tampering with the family jewels for [the first time in] 150 years," Necco Vice President of Research and Quality Jeff Green told NPR in 2011, "we expected some fallout. I don't think we expected it to be quite what it was."

Necco jettisoned the new wafer version, a la New Coke, sold the brand in 2018 and, after a brief hiatus, Spangler brought the old Necco back, to a decent degree of fanfare, in early 2020. They can be found in major supermarkets and drugstores across America today.

Bringing Back the Necco Wafer in 2020

Necco Wafers may not be particularly healthy (though, have you seen the sugar content in a Three Musketeers?) or, to many people's palates, particularly tasty. But they have a niche that they are uniquely qualified to fill.

Spangler did a survey early in 2020 and found that 73 percent of Americans have had, or are at least familiar with, Necco Wafers. Baby boomers and Gen X get them. A hefty 71 percent of millennials know Neccos. The only group that wasn't all that familiar with the wafers were those in the 18-23 age group. Only 40 percent of them had even heard of Necco Wafers.

But if those Gen Zers stick around long enough — kind of like the wafer itself — who knows? A Necco Renaissance? A new appreciation for these pasty, pastel, crunchy chalk-like treats?

"Necco Wafers bring back the kind of familiar, comfortable feeling we are all craving. For some, it's the feel of that familiar wax paper roll in their hands, still sporting its classic logo. For others, it will be tearing open and peeling back the wrapper to flip through the row of flavored discs to find their favorite," Eschhofen says. "For still others, it will be feeling each wafer melt on the tongue, or that satisfying snap of biting down. For everyone, it's classic and sweet."

On the topic of treats, a sugarplum, for the record, most often refers to a seed, nut or bit of spice — not a plum — covered with sugar (and is also known as a comfit). And, again for the record, figgy pudding is neither fig nor American pudding, but a steamed cake stuffed with raisins, currants, orange peel, sugar and brandy that was at one time a staple of British Christmas fare.


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Recipes for easy living outdoors are in demand now. We’ve got some classics, including New England Hot Dog Rolls, as well as the original Caesar Salad recipe. All our recipes are life story free!


15 New Takes on the Old Fashioned

Why not try an updated take on one of America's oldest cocktails?

Why not try an updated take on one of America's oldest cocktails?

Ingredients

.5 oz. simple syrup (you can use a teaspoon of sugar, but the simple syrup works better since you are smoking this drink.)

2 good dashes of Angostura bitters.

2 pieces of dried rosemary

Pour spirit over ice, add simple syrup and bitters. Squeeze orange twist into drink. Take rosemary and light it on fire, put it over the drink, but not in it. Cover with shaker for 10 seconds. The fire will go out immediately and the drink starts to infuse with smoke. Take tin off slowly and enjoy the gorgeous cloud of smoke over your drink. Take rosemary burnt sprig away. If you have an excess of rosemary left over on top, serve with small straw.

Ingredients

Muddle orange, lemon and cherries in a mixing glass. Add bourbon and St. Germain. Roll and strain into a rocks glass. Top with a splash of ginger ale and garnish with orange and cherries.

Ingredients

2 oz. bacon-infused 4 Roses Bourbon

7 dashes coffee pecan bitters

Combine all ingredients and stir.

Ingredients:

2 dashes house orange bitters (page 284)

Garnish: 1 grapefruit twist

Stir all the ingredients over ice, then strain into a double rocks glass over 1 large ice cube. Garnish with the grapefruit twist.

Ingredients

Plain, unflavored cotton candy (about a softball-size per cocktail)

Stir rye and bitters. Pour cocktail over cotton candy until all is melted. Garnish with oil from orange peel.

Buy Now Marquis by Waterford Markham Double Old Fashioned Glasses, Set of 4, $31.99

Ingredients

1 heaping bar spoon of Fig Jam

1 thinly sliced Orange wheel

2.5 oz Basil Hayden bourbon

2 dashes angostura bitters

In mixing glass muddle jam with orange, add bitters, bourbon and ice, and stir well to incorporate all ingredients. Strain into old fashioned glass, top with fresh ice and express and incorporate peel.

Ingredients

2 oz Tequila Añejo, preferably Rial Azul

2 barspoons or 1 quarter oz Agave Nectar

1 dash of Chocolate Bitters

4 dashes of Angostura Bitters

Mix together into a mixing glass with ice Stir and serve in a rocks glass. Garnish with orange peel.

Ingredients

4 dashes of 18.21 Black Currant and Cocoa Tincture bitters

Stir all ingredients in a mixing glass with ice for 30 seconds. Serve in a rock glass with ice and garnish with an orange twist and a brandied cherry.

Buy Now Ralph Lauren Home Greenwich Double Old-Fashioneds, Set of 2, $95

Ingredients

1 brown sugar candied orange wedge

2 dashes angostura bitters

Lightly muddle brown sugar candied orange wedge, luxardo cheery, dashes angostura bitters. Add Old Monk Rum. Add ice. Stir. Serve on the rocks in old fashioned glass.

Ingredients

1.75 oz. Wild Turkey bourbon

.5 oz. Wild Turkey American Honey

In an old fashioned glass, muddle orange and cherry with sugar and bitters. Mount with ice and add both Knob Creek and Southern Comfort. Finish with a splash of club soda.

Ingredients

1 oz Evan Williams Black bourbon

Bar spoon demerara syrup (1:1 parts sugar in the raw to water)

Stir ingredients together, and strain into a rocks glass over ice. Garnish with a lemon and orange twist.

Ingredients

3 dashes Angostura Bitters

2 dashes Peychaud's Bitters

Mix ingredients together and garnish with orange and lemon twists.

Created by Master Blender Lorena Vásquez and Mixologist Julio Cabrera of Miami's Regent Cocktail Club

Ingredients

Dark Chocolate (to grate on top)

Combine rum, simple syrup, Angostura bitters and chocolate bitters into a double old fashioned glass and fill with ice. Stir gently. Express grapefruit peel over drink and discard. Grate dark chocolate over top.


Enjoy this guilt-free alternative to the popular Chinese favorite. RECIPE Prep Time: 15 minutes Cook Time: 20 minutes Total Time: 35 minutes Yields: 2 servings Ingredients: 12 medium shrimp ½ cup of jasmine rice 1 Tablespoon sugar 1½ teaspoon cornstarch …

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Recipes

Check out the Snug Harbor Fish blog for the latest fresh seafood recipes. We hope these recipes inspire you and help you bring something special to the table.

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SNUG’S FRESH CATCH

No matter what your budget is, Snug Harbor Fish Company offers an array of fresh seafood to choose from including local and seasonal specialties like lobster, striped bass, soft-shell crabs, Alaskan wild-caught salmon, and sushi-grade tuna. Snug Harbor offers a variety of customer favorites year-round, such as organic Faroe Island farm-raised salmon, cod, haddock, swordfish, scallops, squid, clams, and shrimp. Or you can set up a raw bar with a multitude of Duxbury oysters harvested within half a mile from our store!


Newest Video Recipe - Chocolate Yogurt Cake

Cakes don't have to be complicated to make. And they don't have to be multi-layered with an over abundance of frosting. For everyday, I like to make a single layer cake where the batter is just "dump and stir". This Chocolate Yogurt Cake is one such cake. It has a wonderfully dense and moist texture and a delicious chocolate flavor. It is really good without the Chocolate Glaze, but I just couldn't resist increasing the chocolate flavor and I also like how its surface has a shiny gloss. If you like, you can garnish the glaze with chocolate sprinkles (I like Cacao Barry Vermicelles Fins Chocolat), candy sprinkles, or even toasted nuts.

Yogurt makes this cake nice and moist. I normally use whole milk plain yogurt (Greek style) as I like its rich and tangy flavor. This batter also contains a flavorless oil (can use vegetable, corn, safflower, canola, or a light olive oil) instead of butter. The oil, along with the yogurt, gives the cake its moist texture, plus it will keep the cake from becoming too firm (unlike butter) if you store it in your refrigerator.

This cake is excellent plain, but try it with the Chocolate Glaze. This glaze is simply a combination of semi sweet or bittersweet chocolate with a little butter and honey (can use light corn syrup, golden syrup, liquid glucose, agave or brown rice syrup) that is melted and then left to cool at room temperature until it sets to pouring consistency. Once the cake has cooled, you just pour the glaze over the top of the cake letting it drip down the sides. Let sit at room temperature until the glaze dries and then it's ready to serve.

Stay safe and let's get baking!!

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Watch the video: The Pretty Reckless - Death By Rock And Roll iHeart Radio Acoustic Performance (December 2021).