A plentiful tray of cluster “condominium” oysters

WANT A REAL CULTURAL EXPERIENCE? Then get away to another world in 20 minutes. Enjoy the million dollar view, the river and wildlife, and the sunset. Oh yes, and the fantastic seafood at a more than reasonable price.

Bowens Island, way down Folly Road and now back in business after a devastating fire, is still as simple as ever: order at the counter, wait for a server to find your table by yelling out your name, then eat off paper plates and lick your fingers a lot.

The food is also as delicious and fresh as it has always been down there: from the seafood platter ($13.75) to the oyster trays ($14), and soon—as the season allows—all the steamed oysters you can pry, pull, and eat for $23. They also serve their signature “giant hush puppies” and a wide selection of beers, with some wine. For non-seafoodies and kids, there are tasty fried chicken strips and veggie lasagna.

the shrimp plate with hush puppies and fries

Few restaurants in the area provide this unique combination of delicious, affordable cuisine and a spectacular view. As part of the reconstruction of the building, the restaurant now sits atop a high two-story structure with a deck that wraps around the building—offering a quasi-panoramic view of the marsh, river, and sky. Look into the distance, watch the eagles, hawks, and sea birds. Follow the feeding trail of porpoises as they gracefully swoosh to the surface and plunge again. It’s also fun to walk down to the dock and see what the leisurely local fishermen are catching.

Based on the few times I have been there recently, the restaurant doesn’t need your business. The place is usually hopping. But you owe it to yourself to get down there, relax, and enjoy seafood the way it was meant to be cooked: VERY fresh, lightly battered, and with good company.

And don’t forget to be nice to Dale “the oyster man” downstairs (man those oysters are good).

Recommendation: to beat the crowd, especially on weekends, get there at 5:00 PM sharp when the restaurant opens.

For hours of operation and the menu, see their web site at www.bowensisland.com.

For map directions, click here. Long live the oyster!

There is a lake in the mountains of North Carolina that we travel to each summer. It is here where reposeful days are punctuated by lesser decisions of meals, water skiing, kayaking, or getting pulled around at high speeds on an inflated tube. The time is simple, the space is comfortable, and the feeling is peaceful. We can relax into ourselves and each other in a slowly vanishing Norman Rockwell existence.

The openness of the lake contained by the Blue Ridge majesty allows me to surrender to motherhood without the usual stresses of the day. I can float on the surface of cool water and fully sense what surrounds me. There is a distillation of gratitude and joy that the stage of water sets, and where dreams of summers past rest atop the lake in early morning mist. It is a time when the challenges of reality become profound more in their absence than their presence.

These are the days whose beauty is what some artists long to uncover in a song, on a canvas, in a dance, or in a poem. It is the warmth of my 14-year-old’s olive brown skin, the freedom of my 7-year-old’s dancing curls in the soft breeze, and the joy of my 11-year-old’s shriek as she plunges into the water from a high jump for the hundredth time.

These sights, feelings, and sounds move us closer together and show us what is essential to a life lived with appreciation for people we love, both near and far, in the brilliant performance of a summer afternoon.

But sometimes you go deeper.

Without really trying, you can stroll through exhibits and look at works on display. It’s a different experience, however, when you see a painting as a window into another world, another era, another life.

For example, all the portraits you see—those people had lives, experiences, troubles, and romances. They all went through life in different ways, saw the world in different ways, and died in different ways. Their portraits are snapshots in time, but the really good ones reveal more than what’s on the surface of the canvas. They show the broader life and character of the person. And one indicator of a great portrait is how far it allows you to  see.

In the Russian Museum in St. Petersburg, there are several portraits of people at different times in their lives. For instance, one princess when she was about 10, and then later about 40. Another of a painter when he was in his twenties, and again in his sixties. In both cases, studying the similarities and differences was very revealing. You could clearly see things that had changed and some that had not, as is the case with all of us through life.

The same thing was true of some landscapes and seascapes. They offered a unique window into the place or era or episode. And they were about much more than composition, color, and chiaroscuro. In the best ones, the artist and the artirst’s technique was so transparent that it allowed a vivid view into the scene and story.

As a result, rather than walking through exhibits looking at the art, I found myself stepping up to some works as though they were windows through which I could see into worlds, places, and people.

Being transported in this way by art is what great masters always strive for and sometimes achieve. Even lesser artists stumble upon it without understanding what they did or how they did it. But they know when it works.

And so do we.

On Nevsky Prospect

AS YOU MOVE ALONG the crowded sidewalks and long metro corridors of St. Petersburg, you see primarily working and lower-class faces.

Upper-class folks are in their new cars roaring at high speed down the busy streets along with young “new rich” on stylish motorcycles (driving scary fast). Meanwhile, the middle class hardly exists in this upstart economy where the cost of living has skyrocketed out of proportion with most incomes.

The wealthy, who you see in the hotels, restaurants, and posh cafes, seem very self-satisfied, while the working class—which seems to have more opportunities than ever before (but does it really?)—pretends to be climbing the social strata. But it is hard to understand how they can afford an expensive pastry, much less a fine meal out.

Shopping for more

As much as the people—especially the young women—are trying to be attractive and fashionable, almost no one looks sophisticated. It is a far cry from Paris, London, Munich, or Milan.

The men’s suits are clumsy, the middle-aged women’s dresses are frumpy, the young girls look more tacky rather than glamorous in their 4-inch heels, and the boys are mostly in dirty jeans and t-shirts. Many people’s body language bears the persona of “new world,” but their synthetic outfits and garrish taste say otherwise.

This in contrast to a grand, classical city that looms above and around them. A city conceived in the best taste, the highest fashion, the most elegant sophistication.

In spite of the contrast, however, there is a vibrant spirit in the city. A spirit of optimism, options, and adventure. St. Petersburg today cannot be expected to return to the St. Petersburg of yesterday (before it became Leningrad). But you cannot but hope that the bustling city and its dynamic people will rediscover and reveal the essence of their true origins.

Looking good

On Nevsky Prospect

STEPPING OUT of our flat in the center of downtown St. Petersburg is like a couple of blood cells entering the heart. There is a surge of energy as we look up at the massive cathedral across the street and get swept into a rush of pedestrians. Within seconds, we join the nimble dance of dodging oncoming shoulders, elbows, and shopping bags.

A few minutes later we reach the metro station where we go down long, steep escalators. (St. Petersburg is built on a marsh, so the water table is pretty deep, and the metro tracks even deeper.)

Down, down, down

As in most big cities, the underground is a strange world where everyone is together and almost no one knows each other. On a busy train, you can find yourself standing under someone else’s armpit, or seated directly in front of somebody’s crotch. And despite the constant rumbling and shrieking of steel tracks, everyone takes it in stride. This is life on the metro. This is how you get around in a city of six million or more people.

Then it’s onto the platform, sometimes forcibly, into crowded corridors where we head back up the long escalator which, compared to the train, is soothingly quiet. People on opposite sides—those going up and those going down—silently stare at each other as their lives momentarily pass and almost touch.

On the surface again and out on the street, the pulse of the city grabs us so fast that we forget about the metro and how odd it is as part of the en masse experience in a big city.

St. Petersburg is beautiful and invigorating, but we are always glad to step off its busy streets and into our simple courtyard, then up a few flights of stairs to our humble studio flat where, happily, we have everything we need. And where we can’t wait to venture out again.

St. Catherine’s Cathedral

AROUND EVERY OTHER CORNER is evidence of St. Petersburg being refurbished and restored. A good example is the churches, many of which were used as storehouses during the soviet era.

Lenin had adopted from Marx the idea that “religion is the opium of the masses.” He wanted Russians to honor the red flag of communism and determine their own fate through hard work, not to pray to God for salvation and assistance.

So church was out and something had to be done with these magnificent buildings which, with their onion domes, are such a familiar symbol of Russia. To punctuate Lenin’s emphasis on atheism, those symbols were demolished, neglected, or used for storage.

The small Catholic (St. Catherine’s)  cathedral pictured here lies along the middle of Nevsky Prospect, the main avenue that forms the social backbone of downtown. You hardly notice the church though because the broad sidewalk in front of it is an art market where local painters hang their work on large wooden stands. You have to look up to notice the cathedral whose exterior is still worn with chipped, dull paint.

The small chapel

But inside, the church looks almost new. Fresh plaster walls painted in crisp yellow, white, and blue provide a serene backdrop for ornate pilasters, ceiling sculptures, and floor tiles. As soon as you walk inside, you feel the calm and inner quiet of Self. There is a natural urge just to sit, look, and be.

On one wall you see a refurbished altar. On the other, you see part of an altar as it had been during the 70-year soviet era—reduced to rubble. In the back of the church on one side is this small chapel. It feels like a church within the church—an  innermost sanctuary reserved for the deepest contemplation.

Sitting in this jewel of a chamber, I wondered if perhaps it was where the religious, history, and art books had been stored, since the larger body of the church had stored mostly vegetables and motorbikes.

Something strange about Russian communism is that it actually never happened. Lenin’s vision, much as you may disagree with it, was relatively pure. The overwhelmingly poor working class of Russia should no longer suffer hardship for the lavish benefit of the czar and his circle. Lenin thought everyone should have equal opportunity, and he envisioned communism, not as a first step, but as the ultimate form that would have its basis in a socialistic model where everyone had what they needed and everyone had to work.

St. Catherine in the small chapel

But Lenin died seven years into his experiment and was pretty much debilitated the last two years by a brain tumor. Stalin then rose to power, and what had started as a uniquely bold vision became an increasingly corrupt whirlpool that most helpless Russians could not get out of—until recently.

Needless to say, today the churches are full of people—some working, some not—in hope of salvation and many other things.

Vegetable market in St. Petersburg

GOING TO the public produce market in St. Petersburg is like going to war. Well, not exactly. Only in the sense that someone always gets defeated and everyone ends up exhausted.

Behind the displays of vibrant, today-fresh vegetables, stand working-class women, each commandeering their battalions of produce, each vying for your business. The men are more aggressive. They stand in front of their displays and approach you—sometimes grabbing you by the arm—to lure you toward their camp.

Everything looks great (and tastes even better), but it comes at an uncertain price, literally. The scale for weighing your choices gets turned a little out of view, it is probably adjusted slightly in favor of the merchant, and the tallying is done on a handheld calculator behind the counter.

One of many vendors vying for business

So unless you are a math whizz, and a fast one, you have no idea how much things really weigh or whether the calculated price is according to the listed amount or not.

It wasn’t always this way. During the soviet era, for example, prices were not only cheap and affordable to everyone, the dealings were simple, direct, and honest. But in the ‘new’ Russia, that equality has rifled into two extremes of the noticeably rich and noticeably not rich. In the latter case, merchants  (and small businesses of all sorts) resort to ambitious, greedy, desperate methods to get ahead. They are visibly clawing and groping for a better life at the expense of others—in the characteristically dark, but accepted, side of capitalism.

This isn’t so terrible in itself. What is sad to see, however, is the Russian determination being channeled into selfish competitiveness, because Russians, by nature, are not so. Despite first impressions—which have them seem cold, aloof, and impertinent to strangers (especially foreigners)—they are typically generous, loving, and kind. Russian hospitality exceeds even southern hospitality, and a Russian friend will go way out of his way to help you in the smallest thing.

Working hard

Back to the public produce market, part of the problem is that the merchants are trying to survive individually. Contrary to American supermarkets where you see one or two sales people and half a dozen cashiers, here you see fifty salesmen who are their own cashiers, and their own store. They have no choice but to outdo their competition and deceive their customers.

The alternative is American-style supermarkets (and they are rapidly appearing) which leave these small merchants with few, if any, options for employment.

Yes, it is a war for them.

Grand room in the Russian Museum

MOST VISITORS to St. Petersburg go to the Hermitage, and rightly so. It houses one of the world’s most large, if not largest, art collection in a former czar’s palace (the Winter Palace) where the Revolution of 1917 was staged, and where each room boasts a unique parquet floor, wall paneling, molding, and window trim. It is a grand, voluminous display that you cannot see or absorb in a short time. But it’s by no means the only source of rich art in town.

There’s also the Russian Museum, home to the work of Russia’s finest artists whose works are also displayed in a former czar’s palace.

This building is more simple and less labyrinthine than—but equally palatial to—the Hermitage. Among its thousands of pieces, what stood out for me were the exquisite portraits and massive seascapes, both of which reveal the profound character of the Russian people and country.

Portrait (detail) of Princess Usopava

And just next door in, yes, another former czar’s palace, is the Russian Ethnographic Museum (Museum of Russian Nations) which displays the furniture, tools, and attire of the disparate Russian nations, accompanied by many late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century photographs of people from the various regions.

At first glance, it seems like an archaeological museum. But as you wander through it (and it’s extensive), you start to realize the rich heritage of Russia’s solidity, nobility, and pride.

Even in the primitive conditions and harshest climates of pre-modern times, Russians made and wore fine fabrics and elegant headdresses. They also crafted beautiful boats, houses, tools, and jewelry (the locks they made, which are handsomely embroidered and look sterling, are some of the most ingenious I have seen).

Stone Jewel image

But above all, in the displays and in the photographs, you see an underlying dignity that perhaps many Russians today don’t suspect they have, or at least are heir to.

Quietly hanging in a cabinet in the last room of many that we visited was this marvelous stone-jewel design of a woman making a simple offering to the sun. Mounted on a neutral grey background, it stood about eight inches high. The more I looked at it, the more beautiful it became.

One of many treasures lying in wait in this extraordinary  city of art.

Along the Fontanka River in St. Petersburg

ON STREET AFTER STREET and building after building, majestic facades reflect their pastel colors in the long summer sun.

It’s “white nights” in St. Petersburg, Russia where we are spending the month of June and where the sun barely sets. This picture of a row of former palaces was taken at 9:30 PM just as the sun’s glow was starting to soften for the day.

It’s not hard to imagine these buildings 120 years ago being occupied by royalty and nobility. One palace after another, built in the classical style, with stunning views of the canals that string through the city.

Lomonosov bridge and Troitsey-Izmailovsky Cathedral

What’s hard is to picture them being taken over by the Soviet regime following the revolution of 1917. The owners being either kicked out or the entire family being relegated to a few rooms and having to share the rest of the building with other families, strangers—and it staying that way for some 70 years, during which some grand cathedrals (like the one pictured here) were used as storehouses for vegetables.

Nowdays the former palaces are either public or office buildings, or fine apartments. Their architectural majesty still resides, the colors still reflect, but the character of the noble Russian spirit has not recovered. It is trying, but there are so many conflicting interests and obstacles in the economic, political, and social spheres.

Meanwhile, this splendid city pulses with beauty, business, culture, youth, and change. Lots of change. Especially when the sun barely sets.

We’re talking fresh pastries, baguettes, and macaroons made daily by a superior French pastry chef at the new Macaroon Boutique on John Street.

The front door is usually open, delectable pastries loom on open shelves, enchanting co-owner Fabienne is at the cashier, and maestro Fabrice—usually in the back stirring and mixing—makes regular trips to the front of the store to greet his growing number of loyal customers.

They are genuine people with a genuine product that you will love.

Fabrice in the kitchen

Fabrice was born in France where he attended Relais Desserts International, a European trade association of the continent’s most talented pastry artists. He later worked as pastry chef for Olivier Casanovas, who today caters for the king of Morocco with Fabrice as his pastry consultant.

Among the bakery’s popular items are the “petit baguette” (French bread with butter, gruyere cheese and ham), galettes des rois, éclairs, and chocolate croissants. “If I make blueberry muffins, no one buys them,” Fabrice says, laughing. “It’s the French things that sell.”

So what exactly is a macaroon? Two wafers of meringue mixed with almond paste, sandwiching a flavored buttercream (like vanilla, caramel, pistachio or rose).

Perfect macaroons

And very difficult to make. Stir the batter too little and the bottoms of the wafers don’t spread into the essential ruffled “skirt” (known as the “feet” in French), and the tops peak. Stir too much and the wafers are flat, cracked, and tough.

A perfect macaroon is prized for its texture and consistency as much as for its flavor: a crisp break followed by weightless and melt-away creaminess. The ideal macaroon has paper-thin shells, a sheen like a pearl, and a top with a subtle curve like the horizon.

It is truly an art.

To learn (taste) more, visit the Macaroon Boutique at 45 John Street—just off King Street, across from the Children’s Museum.

My favorite: the brioche

Macaroon Boutique
45 John Street
(843) 577-5441