4:47 PM |
While I have been poking around to find places I want to see or do (or, especially), eat, I have run into some places that are near and dear to my heart.
In 1972, my family moved to St. Petersburg, Florida. At that time, it was really, truly geriatric. Shuffleboard was the state sport. Flying back and forth from the North to the brand-spankin' new Tampa airport, we would always get to pick up the coconut patties, notwithstanding that Tampa is not in the tropics (semi-tropical, no coconut palms). They came in yellow boxes shaped like saltine boxes but smaller, and each patty was wrapped in waxed paper. I think they still exist, but with cellophane packets. Sometimes, we also got sickly-sweet orange blossom perfume. I can still smell it.
Our new house was on a small bay, and as we were fisherman up north, we had to try the fishing there. Mullet are the predominant aquatic vertebrates in those parts. Mullet are also vegetarians.
My sister and I were used to digging up worms in the mud flats exposed at low tide in order to fish at high tide. Our father used the big fork to turn up rocks and mud clods while we picked the wigglies out. We put the worms in a can in the refrigerator. I was always afraid they would get out.
So. What bait to use for mullet? Bread? Lettuce? Bananas? It turns out there is basically no bait for mullet. You need to learn to seine. The nets are round with weights all around the edges. To do it right, you chomp down on one side and toss the rest in a perforated parachute. The weights sink the net, and then you pull it in, hopefully with fish in it. My dad did it for awhile with not too much satisfaction. We watched the pelicans poop on the dock and occasionally tiptoed out onto the oyster bed.
No mullet in our kitchen. And then we discovered Ted Peter's. Ted Peter's is a wooden shack that smokes mullet in a little smokehouse at the side of the restaurant, if you can call it that. The place is famous for its fish spread, which is made with the mullet and probably mayonnaise or something. It is served with saltines, a favorite food group of ours. Dad always had the whole smoked fish. I think they smoked other kinds of fish, but I can only remember mullet.
Ted Peter's also served gigantic hamburgers. Remember, this was before quarter-pounders were invented. I'm not sure how they would compare, but those were some mighty large burgers. And German potato salad. They just called it potato salad, but we knew that there were two kinds of potato salad: the one with sieved hard-boiled eggs, carrot shreds, and Italian dressing AND mayonnaise AND sour cream for regular, and German potato salad that grandma made infrequently and was rather immigrant-y. Ted Peter's was stealth German potato salad. It was made with onions and bacon and vinegar and served warm from the pan.
My grandmother actually had a prescription for alcohol written during prohibition. I have seen it. She would drink her sherry in her room, with confidence that we all knew it was good for you. She used to go out to buy it, along with gelatin orange slices and Carmel Nips. One day, Gramma got stopped driving the wrong way on a one-way road, and we were all at the mercy of my mother's schedule to get anything good, and basically we didn't get anything good because Gramma had been our pusher.
When we went to Ted Peter's Gramma had a beer. I don't think anyone else did, as I had only seen my parents drink once or twice, a Tom Collins at a fancy restaurant. We all loved sitting on the picnic tables under the canvas ceilings. If it was particularly rainy, the curtains were rolled down.
Gramma was really old. She eventually kind of fell apart physically, and my mother couldn't take care of her anymore. She was put in a nursing home, "a nice one," not too far from our house.
By that time, I was old enough to drive. My parents gave me a car and told me to take my sister wherever she needed to go. We were free. And we loved Gramma. And Gramma's nursing home was across the street from Ted Peter's.
As time had gone on, that street got to be four lanes wide, two in each direction, and it was pretty busy. One day, my sister and I sprung Gramma. We threw her in a wheelchair and raced across the road to Ted Peter's. I remember that she had to go to the bathroom, and it was a bit of a struggle to get her into the weathered closet in the back, but that was part of the gig.
We sat and had fish spread and potato salad. We asked Gramma if she wanted a beer. I have never seen someone so happy in my life. She slurped the suds and slid the fish onto the saltines. We raced her back over before anyone noticed she was gone. And shortly she was gone.
I have been told that Ted Peter's is still there. I intend to introduce my imaginary boyfriend to it on our road trip.
In 1972, my family moved to St. Petersburg, Florida. At that time, it was really, truly geriatric. Shuffleboard was the state sport. Flying back and forth from the North to the brand-spankin' new Tampa airport, we would always get to pick up the coconut patties, notwithstanding that Tampa is not in the tropics (semi-tropical, no coconut palms). They came in yellow boxes shaped like saltine boxes but smaller, and each patty was wrapped in waxed paper. I think they still exist, but with cellophane packets. Sometimes, we also got sickly-sweet orange blossom perfume. I can still smell it.
My sister and I were used to digging up worms in the mud flats exposed at low tide in order to fish at high tide. Our father used the big fork to turn up rocks and mud clods while we picked the wigglies out. We put the worms in a can in the refrigerator. I was always afraid they would get out.
So. What bait to use for mullet? Bread? Lettuce? Bananas? It turns out there is basically no bait for mullet. You need to learn to seine. The nets are round with weights all around the edges. To do it right, you chomp down on one side and toss the rest in a perforated parachute. The weights sink the net, and then you pull it in, hopefully with fish in it. My dad did it for awhile with not too much satisfaction. We watched the pelicans poop on the dock and occasionally tiptoed out onto the oyster bed.
No mullet in our kitchen. And then we discovered Ted Peter's. Ted Peter's is a wooden shack that smokes mullet in a little smokehouse at the side of the restaurant, if you can call it that. The place is famous for its fish spread, which is made with the mullet and probably mayonnaise or something. It is served with saltines, a favorite food group of ours. Dad always had the whole smoked fish. I think they smoked other kinds of fish, but I can only remember mullet.
Ted Peter's also served gigantic hamburgers. Remember, this was before quarter-pounders were invented. I'm not sure how they would compare, but those were some mighty large burgers. And German potato salad. They just called it potato salad, but we knew that there were two kinds of potato salad: the one with sieved hard-boiled eggs, carrot shreds, and Italian dressing AND mayonnaise AND sour cream for regular, and German potato salad that grandma made infrequently and was rather immigrant-y. Ted Peter's was stealth German potato salad. It was made with onions and bacon and vinegar and served warm from the pan.
My grandmother actually had a prescription for alcohol written during prohibition. I have seen it. She would drink her sherry in her room, with confidence that we all knew it was good for you. She used to go out to buy it, along with gelatin orange slices and Carmel Nips. One day, Gramma got stopped driving the wrong way on a one-way road, and we were all at the mercy of my mother's schedule to get anything good, and basically we didn't get anything good because Gramma had been our pusher.
When we went to Ted Peter's Gramma had a beer. I don't think anyone else did, as I had only seen my parents drink once or twice, a Tom Collins at a fancy restaurant. We all loved sitting on the picnic tables under the canvas ceilings. If it was particularly rainy, the curtains were rolled down.
Gramma was really old. She eventually kind of fell apart physically, and my mother couldn't take care of her anymore. She was put in a nursing home, "a nice one," not too far from our house.
By that time, I was old enough to drive. My parents gave me a car and told me to take my sister wherever she needed to go. We were free. And we loved Gramma. And Gramma's nursing home was across the street from Ted Peter's.
As time had gone on, that street got to be four lanes wide, two in each direction, and it was pretty busy. One day, my sister and I sprung Gramma. We threw her in a wheelchair and raced across the road to Ted Peter's. I remember that she had to go to the bathroom, and it was a bit of a struggle to get her into the weathered closet in the back, but that was part of the gig.
We sat and had fish spread and potato salad. We asked Gramma if she wanted a beer. I have never seen someone so happy in my life. She slurped the suds and slid the fish onto the saltines. We raced her back over before anyone noticed she was gone. And shortly she was gone.
I have been told that Ted Peter's is still there. I intend to introduce my imaginary boyfriend to it on our road trip.