CELEBRATION

     We were young—it was Christmas and our anniversary and we wanted to celebrate our very special day with a memorable dinner. Our pocket s were fairly empty—at that time—chorus dancers and singers didn’t earn much so we scrounged and saved for a few months in order to reserve a place at The Russian Tea Room, a restaurant on 57^th Street in Manhattan that gives it address as “Slightly to the Left of Carnegie Hall.”

     After the Russian Revolution, dancers, musicians and actors—once stars in St. Petersburg and Moscow—began to emigrate to New York City and the Tea Room became a hangout for White Russians looking for a taste of their former home. In its early days the restaurant had many owners including the former owner of a halvah factory in Moscow and it was he who introduced full meals.

     The artists were homesick for the gossip, intrigue, intellectual discussions and the sweets and pastries of the Czar’s Russia. Feodor Chaliapin, a commanding Russian opera star and Michel Fokine who introduced Americans to the Imperial Russian Ballet were among the newly arrived talents who enjoyed the food and the ambiance.

     I don’t know why I wanted to eat at the Tea Room—it’s still a mystery to me. Though my grandparents came to America from Russia, they came to escape the pogroms and traveled in steerage class. Our family was poor and my grandfather worked as a shoemaker. They couldn’t wait to arrive at Ellis Island, study and become American citizens. Perhaps it’s just something about Royalty that intrigues Americans.

     The room’s setting, warm and welcoming, greeted us with green walls that served as a backdrop to vivid scarlet leather banquettes that displayed tablecloths and napkins pink as the first blush of spring wine. Christmas decorations—brightly colored ornaments that would remain all year—garlanded the room along with polished samovars that sparkled and ignited my imagination with dreams of tea being carried by Tartars—nomads who traveled across Asia brewing tea to slake their thirst. Buffed wood and gleaming mirrors reflecting images of the elegant clientele seated around the restaurant promised a dinner we would never forget.

     The waiters attired in Red Russian tunics and the busboys in green paid attention to their guests without being intrusive; we settled down and each ordered a Bloody Mary to toast our anniversary. A Russian restaurant—vodka was and is a specialty of the bar

     We began our dinner with the Tearoom’s traditional hot borsht made with red beets, shredded cabbage, and the freshest vegetables of the season. The borsht, flavored with dill, was crowned with sour cream. Piroshki—little meat filled dumplings made with puff paste and filled with beef, parsley, onions, eggs and Tabasco attended the borsht.

     The main course, Chicken Kiev—rich with sweet herbed butter stuffed in a boned and breaded chicken breast, then deeply fried came next. The dish is thought to have been created by a French chef at the court of Alexander I.

     We lifted our forks in preparation for the first succulent bite of the chicken than glanced at each other. We thought we heard a soft whimper. The whimper sounded again and we looked at the adjacent banquette. The moans came from a sweet, baby-faced woman sitting on the bench much to the concern of an equally young man who sat at her side. Soon everyone in the restaurant had stopped eating and began staring at the couple. From our banquette, I could see the woman was pregnant and leaned over to ask if there was anything I could do. My only experience was watching movies where someone always boiled water. A flutter of her hand said, “Go away.”

     The maitre d escorted a distinguished fellow to the table.

     “Madam, I’m an obstetrician. May I help you?”

     “Not yet,” she said. “Not yet.”

     The Tea Room had grown silent. No sound of a fork, spoon or knife could be heard. No glasses clinked in tribute to Christmas or the Holiday season. No one was sure what the proper etiquette was. Does a caring person continue eating when someone may be about to give birth? The doctor looked as confused as every other diner in the restaurant.

     The young woman stopped moaning and slowly sank to a prone position in her booth. She couldn’t be seen and she couldn’t be heard—conversation resumed. We relished each bite of our Chicken Kiev and ate every last bit of our dessert—Baklava made with sheets of thin phyllo pastry and sweetly layered walnuts, honey, and cinnamon.  

     We’ve never forgotten that Christmas anniversary dinner and I’ve often thought about that woman. Did she give birth on Christmas? At the Russian Tea Room? A boy? A girl? And did the doctor finish his dinner?   

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

BESTS,

Elise

My Cozy Mystery  Scene Stealer is available wherever eBooks are sold.  

GOING TO THE DOGS AT CHRISTMAS

    

     We were filled with enthusiasm and energy, a troupe of stage-struck, starry-eyed and--though not one of us would admit it--slightly homesick singers and dancers. Our bus and truck musical would play 101 cities across the United States and Canada. After months of one, two and three night stands the cast and crew settled down in Los Angeles for a six-week run.  We rented furnished apartments, did our laundry, took dance classes and one day, our leading lady – who loved dogs – asked for a ride to DeWolf’s Toyland Kennels in Temple City, California. The kennel, located just outside LA, bred toy poodles. Five of us just went along for the ride but we all succumbed to puppy love.

     My husband, an ex-dancer who became a stage-manager, lost his heart to an energetic six-pound, white toy poodle with a freckled nose and ears that resembled first Lady Jacqueline Kennedy’s bouffant hairstyle.  Naturally, we named her Jackie.

     One of Jackie’s kennel-mates, the elegant Missy enchanted our leading lady while sweet and cuddly Debbie beguiled the dance captain and the smallest of the poodles, Big Daddy, made off with her partner.  Mimi, a black and white mischief-maker, reeled in a tenor. When other members of our troupe met our puppies, they too were smitten and within a week, Mr. Kelly, a Sheltie, and Ming Toy, a Pekinese had joined the company. By the time we left Los Angeles, a Yorkshire terrier and two dachshunds had been added to the entourage. All of the puppies were of breeds small enough to adjust easily to hotel rooms and sit comfortably on the buses and trains we used for transportation. Wardrobe trunks now held dog blankets, sweaters, squeaky toys, cans and boxes of dog food and boots to protect paws from salt when we hit the snows of winter.

     “Look!  A dog show,” the words greeted us every time the tour bus made a stop. Our star performers were ignored as puppy after puppy left our bus to investigate and rate each rest stop.

     When the curtain came down at 11:00 p.m.; we’d return to our hotel rooms, unlock the doors and stand back. The race was on. Dogs would chase each other up and down the hotel corridors, in and out of rooms, around and over the furniture and through our legs. Missy would pause for any leftover dog biscuits. 

     Jackie, a dancer’s companion, became the Pavlova of poodles--though too shy a dog to tread the boards professionally--developed the ability to leap from one side of the bus to the other. 

     Our dogs were the family we needed on the road. They brought the company closer together and made us all less homesick. The cast exchanged feeding and training tips, admired newly clipped and shampooed puppies, celebrated birthdays, and established enduring friendships. And we celebrated Christmas by throwing a party for our dogs.   

     Jackie continued her travels after the show closed; accompanying us as we traveled with national tours and industrial shows. She visited Wilmington, Delaware during pre-Broadway try-outs, watched soybeans grow in Waterloo, Iowa while we performed in a show that featured dancing tractors, plows and earth moving equipment and suffered a severe case of indigestion in Hershey, Pennsylvania, when she mistook a bar of chocolate soap for a slab of candy.  Between jobs, Jackie practiced Grand Jetes, if we left the dining room to answer the phone, Jackie would spring to the table and devour homemade baked beans or rice pudding--her favorite dishes. On our return, we’d find a happy poodle, stretched out next to an empty bowl, grinning at us and belching indelicately.

     Although her entire life was spent in the theatre, Jackie remained a morning dog; if the rising sun and washing our ears didn’t wake us, a quick nip on the derriere would.

     We were rehearsing a musical in Seattle, Washington when Jackie, almost sixteen years old, passed away. She missed our stop at Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.; I know she would have enjoyed walks along the Potomac. We were consoled in our grief by cast members, who had loving relationships with their own traveling companions: dogs who understood the adventure to be found on the road; show business gypsies with four paws.

Happy Holidays, Jackie.

Elise

 

CLASSIC CHRISTMAS MYSTERIES

Photo by Dana Rothstein Dreamstime.com     
     "Ooh, my feet, my poor, poor feet." Do your tootsies hurt after a day spent looking for the perfect gift? Are your arms aching? Do you want to stretch out on your bed and read? It's the time of year for Christmas mysteries and many have been written by our favorite authors.
     Silent Night by Mary Higgins Clark takes place in New York when the Catherine Dornan's family comes to the city for her husband's surgery. When a light-fingered thief picks Catherine pocket, one of her sons sees and follows him into the subway and faces danger.
     Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot's Christmas begins in a locked bedroom when Simeon Lee's body is found. His throat has been slit. Will the murderer be caught by Poirot before he repeats his dastardly deed?
     Claire Mallow is present at a fete celebrating the winter soltice. One of the attendees is murdered. Will Claire find the culprit in A Holly Jolly Murder by Joan Hess?
     Charlotte Macleod's anthology titled Mistletoe Mysteries: Tales of Yuletide Murder presents stories by Marcia Muller, Isaac Asimov and a treasure trove of other prominent authors.
     In Jerusalem Inn, a Richard Jury mystery by Martha Grimes, Jury contemplates a dull holiday until he meets an attractive woman. Unfortunately, the woman departs our world but the death does liven up the holidays for Jury.
     Many other writers have turned to the holidays for suspense and intrique and murder. Amongst them are Rita Mae Brown, Lee Child, Patricia Cornwell, Colin Dexter, Carter Dickson, Reginald Hill, J.A. Jance,Ed McBain, Elizabeth Peters, Ellery Queen, and Dorothy L. Sayers.
     I've never written a Christmas Mystery but I have written a play. How about you? Have you ever written a mystery that takes place during a holiday?

Bests and Happy Holidays and a bright, shiny New Year.

Elise

Christmas Shopping in Lucca

Lucca, the walled city, is 31 miles west of the of Florence, Italy’s magnificent and historic city. We joined Lucca’s citizens and walked on the wall—in fact Lucca once had three walls. If you live there you can ride the wall on a bike, enjoy a picnic or just stroll along the ramparts. My hubby and I strolled ignoring the rain that fell and the edge of the ramparts—a drop of approximately 40 feet.
The town is blessed with old world charm—fruit and vegetable stands have taken the place of an ancient nunnery, the pungent aromas wafting out of cheese stores made out mouths water and there are expensive boutiques where a tourist on a budget can window shop. A statue of Puccini graces the town square and each year Lucca hosts a festival in his honor. Carrara marble from the old Roman Amphitheatre fronts one of its many churches. A medieval palace—Torre Guinigi—has six ilex trees that have made a home for themselves on its top, the tree’s roots have grown into the room below. Villa Reale—once the home of Napoleon’s sister, Princess Elisa, is famous for its gardens—begun in the 16th century and recreated halfway through the 17th. Concerts are sometimes held in the Teatro di Vendura, a theatre sculpted out of hedges.
As we walk through the streets we remember we have a few more Christmas presents to purchase and on a side street, we find a small, boutique with prices we can afford. The proprietor doesn’t speak English and I fumble with my cassette learned 50-words of Italian before remembering the pocket dictionary I bought for the trip. Every one in the shop takes turns with the dictionary and with laughter and pantomime I describe the friends we need gifts for the 105-year old mother of our best friend, the neighbor who gathers our mail, the friend who over-waters out plants and mementos for ourselves. We buy enough gifts to fill every loved one’s stocking before we manage to board the wrong train as we head back to Florence—a part of our adventure in a city we’ll never forget.

Bests,

Elise

My cozy eBook mystery titled Scene Stealer is available at Amazon, Barnes&Noble, Carina Press and wherever eBooks are sold. An audio version has been produced by Audible.com