Hampton Eats

Hamptons Epicure: Spring Cans and Can’ts Promise of Summer

I think that the dress I’m wearing is a touch too short for my age and weight class. That’s okay, I’m in the Hamptons. It’s okay to show more skin when you appear to be on vacation, and, out here, old is chic.

Another issue. The warm spring weather isn’t consistent yet. I’m freezing and I’m hungry and I don’t have a key to my van that’s parked in the Dan’s Papers lot. Where did “my Hamptons” go wrong?

Hmm, I’m wearing a dress because I’m going to a wedding this afternoon. Pantyhose are out so I’m bare-legging it. Strappy sandals are de riguer—hence the freezing. I had half a sugary muffin for breakfast so that burned up quickly—hence the hunger. I’m keyless because my husband drove the van over yesterday to pick me up and we took my car to the wedding rehearsal and dinner upisland. On the drive back I found myself still too—WORD REDACTED—to drive as we passed the Lobster Grille Inn so we drove right by the Dan’s Papers headquarters and home to Sag Harbor.

I was going to take the local bus to Southampton this morning but then I realized that, even if I wore comfortable shoes, it’d be a bit much to walk in my little dress all the way from Southampton Village to work. And now I don’t want to walk all the way to Dunkin’ Donuts for food and I have no vehicle that I can drive. My husband has the keys to both of our rides. He brought me to the office this morning in the car. It’s a wreck inside thanks to my gardening, antiquing and recycling habits. It’s full to overflowing with rare finds and bags and, now, a huge basket of home-canned goods for the bridal couple.

Did I mention that I’m still recovering from the rehearsal dinner last night? Yeah, that happened. Sweet white wine and a shot of Johnnie Walker Blue Label happened. This is also influencing my hapless quest for lunch.

I decided to consume a jar of applesauce that I had here in the office. I can’t find the special old-fashioned can-lifter that I need to open it. I’m not feeling up to working the lid off with my fingers, but I tried anyway and then realized that I was risking my dress if I succeeded in popping it. I keep the lifter in my mug-o-highlighters next to my computer. Associate Editor Kelly Laffey and I have to buy vertical storage implements for everything because our shared space is deeply layered in papers, electronic cords and magazines. I’ll never see that lifter again. But wait! I lent the lifter to Assistant Editor Lee Meyer last week so that he could open a jar of my applesauce. His desk is messy by civilian standards but nowhere close to our “levels.” No lifter. But wait! There it is in my mug-o-highlighters, hidden behind a printed-out email tacked to the bulletin board above it. Yes! Good applesauce.

Whenever there’s a big storm or the threat of alien invasion in Sag Harbor, my family jokes that we’ll survive because we have a basement full of jam. We do. Also, applesauce, pickles, apple butter and tomato sauce. It wouldn’t be a healthy or halitosis-free world that we would inhabit on a strictly basement-supplied diet but we would survive. With luck, I could kill off the aliens with my sour pickles.

My husband just called to say that he’s bringing me lunch from Panera. He refused to don his tuxedo in advance of his visit. I like to think of him in a tux at Panera. Maybe we can work that into our summer plans.

You can now follow Stacy’s wacky adventures on Twitter, @HamptonsEpicure.

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