The dock was dusted with a fine icing of frost on Saturday morning—the first of the season. Small fishing boats crowd the harbor in the early mornings, tall rods propped up at the ready. As I paddle out past one, I steer close enough to call out and ask why it’s so busy. “It’s fishing season,” he tells me. “Albies.” I nod knowingly, wanting to appear nonchalant and water-savvy—albies! Totally. Got it.
I know nothing about fishing but at little research teaches me that albie means “false albacore”—also called bonito and little tunny. It’s not a true tuna, species-wise, and more closely related to a mackerel. They’re not huge, like regular tuna: usually only about 10 or 12 pounds. They’re the ones fishermen are after when they go out for full-day charters, but closer to shore, the sound and the bay are packed with smaller fish called bunker (or menhaden).
Over the next few days, I can spot their fins skimming the surface of the water. Huge schools of them congregate at the mouth of the marina—on a calm morning, the water is ruffled everywhere I look. There must be thousands, at least, and my board disturbs them as I paddle, causing groups of fish to flip in unison and swim deeper below me.
The oyster boats are still on the water, but the rest of the pier is empty. Most people have taken their leisure boats out already, planning to winter them inside the big marina warehouses.
I’m still swimming twice a day but it’s ice cold and my skin turns an angry pink as soon as I climb up the ladder to run home.
We take a long walk on Sunday morning around Orient, the tiniest and most picturesque of the North Fork villages. Winding roads lead past clapboard houses and fields of flowers and marshes that abut the bay. There’s a goat farm and further on under a leafy oak tree outside a tidy white cottage, a little stand with a hand-painted sign advertising “Extremely Local Honey”.
If you round the tip of the main road, you pass a yacht club that looks like something out of a Robert McCloskey picture book. The road is smooth and well-worn; the sidewalks wonky and crooked. The air smells like sea water. The main road—called Village Lane—curves back away from the water and then straightens into the heart of “town”, which is really just a block or two long. A low-slung wooden building houses the post office, which is next to the general store. A sign out front reads Orient Country Store—inside is a jumble of odds and ends from penny candy to postcards to fancy truffle popcorn. Stepping inside feels like stepping into the pages of an I Spy book.
Across the street is the stately white town hall building. There’s a small real estate office and a home goods shop called Orient Linen Co. which is full of pretty porcelain soap dishes and striped cotton aprons.
Two people sit outside the coffee shop, which is a tiny cottage the burnt red color of fall leaves. The menu is printed on a small chalkboard sign, with an assortment of options that’s so quirky I start to smile: dumplings (veggie or spicy beef or pork); crepes (savory with mushrooms and tomato and cheese or sweet with sugar and lemon); cappuccinos and fresh lemonade with mint. You can choose one or two scoops of gelato from an eclectic list of flavors: black sesame, espresso, pistachio, mint chocolate chip, passion fruit, honey lavender, ginger, lemon graham cracker, and more.
The side of the community meeting house is papered in notices: ‘yacht for sale’, ‘paddleboarding on 7AM off Narrow River Road’, ‘oppose legislation to rezone Plum Island’, ‘live music 5 PM Oysterponds Historical Society Lawn”.
The day is getting more and more blustery and the sky mirrors the pewter color of the water as we drive east to stop at the farm. It’s the last weekend of the season for the outdoor food truck, and there’s a line. The truck is famous for their classic egg sandwich (two fried eggs and cheddar on a brioche bun with secret sauce and roasted peppers), and everyone wants one final one before winter.
The picnic tables are all crowded—one group to a table—and a few chickens peck at stray crumbs left from the breakfast rush. Big, fat raindrops start to spot the ground as we finish the falafel special (marinated eggplant, herbs, pickled vegetables, and tahini sauce in a warm pita); I walk quickly to the car and duck inside just in time.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I get home, which means I need to consider the dinner options so I have time to take a run and a dip before someone (not naming any names) needs attention so he can fling puréed roasted broccoli all over the kitchen.
I assess the kitchen situation: eggplant and shallots and a bulb of fennel, of questionable age. I unearth some polenta in a jar hiding behind the malted milk powder. (Why yes, I do consider that a pantry staple, thank you for asking.)
Olive oil sizzles in the pan. I drop in minced shallot with a pinch of salt, then add cubed eggplant and thinly sliced fennel. After ten minutes, the vegetables have yielded obediently to the heat and softened. The fennel begins to caramelize, so I add a splash of maple syrup to encourage more sticky-sweet edges.
The polenta is bubbling gently away in my shiny blue Staub pot—I stir in a few spoonfuls of nutritional yeast and a lot of butter.
Smooth and thick and rich, the polenta has an almost cheesy flavor. I ladle it into bowls; just before topping it with the eggplant, I add a splash of both sherry (SURE WHY NOT) and apple cider vinegar to the vegetables.
The entire dish is so soft and comforting and spoonable that it feels like being wrapped in a blanket. It’s not a particularly sexy dinner, but it is homemade and nourishing and far more delicious than it is beautiful AND I like to think it was pretty creative on the fly and I’m accepting awards for Domestic Goddess 2020!!! Anytime! I’m here! Available for praise!
(I’ll see myself out.)
Soft Eggplant + Fennel With Polenta
Serves 2-ish
1 cup polenta
4 1/2 cups water
3 tablespoons butter (or olive oil)
3 tablespoons nutritional yeast
1 shallot
1 bulb fennel
2 small or 1 medium eggplant
1 teaspoon maple syrup
1 tablespoon dry sherry
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
To make the polenta: Bring the water to a boil in a medium saucepan. Once boiling, pour the polenta in, whisking as you pour. Turn the heat down to low and cook, whisking occasionally, until thick and smooth—about 30 to 40 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the butter and nutritional yeast.
While the polenta cooks, make the vegetables. Heat a tablespoon or two of oil in a large skillet. Slice the fennel as thinly as possible, discarding the core but keeping the fronds, and cut the eggplant into small cubes (don’t worry about pre-salting the eggplant to remove water because the dish is so stewy and soft so it won’t be an issue).
Add the minced shallot to the pan and cook for a minute or two. Add the fennel and eggplant and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes, or until beginning to get quite soft.
Add the maple syrup, sherry, and cider vinegar, and cook for another 5 to 8 minutes.
Remove from the heat and season to taste with salt.
Serve warm over the polenta.