ST. ANTHONY OF PADUA AND RAMBLE AROUND TOWN.

A visit to Saint Anthony of Padua Church almost didn’t happen. When we arrived it was locked tight and Jim was bent on visiting what he remembered as one of the most beautiful churches he’d ever seen. His parents were married here in 1938. His mother attended the French Catholic School around the corner.  His cousin Jeanette lives nearby and probably still attends church here. Playing with his cousins at his grandmother’s house. Jim has so many memories of the older section of downtown North New Bedford.

The parish office was in the building next to the church and we rang the bell and got permission from Father Murphy to go inside and take pictures. His first question? Did you attend mass this morning? We hadn’t  and he proceeded to tell us that churches, his included, are struggling because so many people don’t attend. He lectured us about our lack of attendance, but he allowed us in.

The organ loft.

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A view of the ceiling.

The Altar.

Each side of the church opened into alcoves where the Stations of the Cross are depicted in carved statues.

The 12 Stations of the Cross are written in Latin as was the official language of the church even when I was a child.

The statuary was amazing, like something you see in old European Cathedrals. Here an Angel holds the Shroud of Turin.

The Communion rails were made of highly polished, carved wood.

The podium of carved white marble. The columns are marble as well.

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I am not a church goer, but I can appreciate the beauty and the workmanship that went into the building of this gorgeous church while keeping in mind the hand tools used for such work 101 years ago.

It would be nice to think a place of such beauty will last forever. I do hope it is professionally photographed to retain the essence of this magnificent edifice in the event something happens to this historical treasure.

We decided to visit a nearby Art Museum which was displayed in two different buildings. One building was formerly the Star Department Store where Jim’ s grandmother worked as a retail clerk in Ladies Clothing.

The small collection was mostly very modern pieces except for an exhibit of old photos.

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It was nice to walk around town on a Sunday because there is little traffic and ample parking space.
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We kind of gasped at cigarette prices. Jim heard they just raised the price of cigarette tax by $3.00 a pack in Massachusetts.  It should help people break the habit. Hypnotism works best, I’m told.

We enjoyed dinner with Donna and Bob. After snacks we had stuffed roasted vegtables, stuffed quahogs, and clam boil stew using up the leftovers from Friday.

Bob roasted the leftover veggies from the feast in the barbecue.

You could never leave the Parkers house hungry. Donna is an excellent cook and loves to feed people.

NEW BEDFORD PORTUGUESE FESTA

Donna, Bob, Jim and I arrived at  New Bedford’s 99th annual Feast Of The Blessed Sacrament, more commonly called by many, the Portuguese Festa. We arrived early, bought our drink tickets without having to wait in line and then headed directly to the charcoal pits to have a look.  The draw for me is cooking our skewer of carne espeto, pronounced cog-na-schpitz, and the fado. The meat in front appeared to have powdered sugar on it which we learned later was rock salt.
We rented our seven to seven and a half-foot skewers for $10. They give you your money back when you return them.

We loaded our skewers with a pound of beef that you can buy at the festa,  and the veggies, zucchini, peppers, onion, that Donna and I bought and cut to size on Friday. Rock salt is available on the counter and this year, Donna thought we should try it. Reputed to keep the juices in and the outside crisp, we used a minimal amount of the salt.

While my skewer was cooking, I took a minute to watch the unloading process. The metal scraper holds the skewer and you pull the hot meat off the rod into a dish or onto a paper plate.
Next to me was a guy carefully basting his meat with beer without spilling a drop.

Another guy was squirting his meat with wine. Hey, good idea, methinks.

Moving through a crowd of people with a heavy, seven-foot skewer is an exercise in balance and Bob helped me remove our dinner, filling the two paper containers in two strokes.
Jim kept our place under this beautiful grape covered picnic grounds and watched our purses, then went for beer when we got back with the food.

We discovered that the meat and veggies were overcooked. The salt kind of obscured the process and we couldn’t detect when the meat was done, but it was still tasty stuff.  Later, we watched people cook sword fish, shrimp, sausages, potatoes and all kinds of delectables and realized we were not required to buy the beef at the festa. Donna said, I learn something new every year. And, I drank a regular beer and it actually tasted good with the food. I discovered later they had imported beers with micros among I could have had.

We spotted a lot of people wearing these traditional Portuguese hats.
They differ a good bit and supposedly denote the area of Portugal from which you or your family members come from. Donna didn’t mention where her family originated and her parents didn’t teach she and her sister Portuguese.

As the day got later, the crowds thickened. Donna would run into friends she knew. We headed for the kiosk selling malasadas, a hot, Portuguese doughnut the size of a dinner plated (without the hole) and dipped in powdered sugar. Everyone calls them mollies. The line was sooooo long, we gave up. The news says they sell 2000 of them a day during the four day event.

The stand was near one of the bands, but it was a rock band, not our type of music. The headliner band was Everclear from Portland, but they were on another stage. The festa must cover about five acres with a carnival grounds with a ferris wheel, tilt-a-whirl and the usual line-up of thrills and arcade of games. Donna won a 7 inch stuffed fish at one of the games. (We only played one.)

Instead of playing games we headed early for the fado tent and got front row seats and enjoyed a glass of wine and delicious pastries while waiting for the band and singers. They sell special coffees and deserts.

The fado is sung with a three-piece band, the mandolin, guitar and bass fiddle.

The first fado singer was male. He sang and spoke only Portuguese so it was difficult to get the gist of the song. He had a great voice and alluded to singing with his favorite singer/partner of 41 years. We think they are married.

They did a couple of duets before he turned the stage over to her. His name is Jordan Paiva. She is Ana Vinagre, the singer we like best.

The face of fado is expressed by Ana.

The fado originated as a sad and emotional lament, an ancient tradition in Portugal where the women sang out their anguish as their husbands, fathers, sons and brothers went to sea in their whaling boats.  No one knew when they would return or if they would return. Some voyages lasted two years and the boats usually returned with someone missing. It was their livelihood, accepted, but with heart-rending consequences for some,  and thus the fado was born.

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Her voice will always stay with me. The fado is every night from 8:30 to 11:30 during the festa.
During a break, the folorico band, the local Grupo Troup played; the dancers came from Sacramento, California.
The Grupo Troup from the youngest…
…to the oldest. The woman on the left, we heard from chatter in the audience, is said to be over 100 years old. She sits to play her little noisemaker instrument.

An accordion is a major instrument in the Grupo Troup.

They played and sang several numbers before the dancers took to the floor.

An unusual instrument native to Portugal is the stick with figures that the player moves up and down to sound the castanets. He also uses the gourd hanging at his side. (Click to enlarge the photo.)

The little boy plays a miniature instrument of the same kind.
The folklorico dancers performed in the center of the tent and were warmly applauded and appreciated. I have to say, I love the Festa and would attend every year if I could.

HOW TO COOK A CLAM BOIL.

Donna Parker is renowned for her clam boil so I'm sharing her recipe and method. First she scrubbed up about 8 potatoes and 6 pounds of little neck clams. The potatoes go in the bottom of a big corn cooker pot. She covers them with water and 1 can of beer, arranges the clams on top and sprinkles them lightly with salt to taste cayenne pepper.

Next she loads individual cheesecloth bags with the meat. Here is 8 hot dogs.

This is 12 breakfast sausage and another bag holds  four linguisa cut into chunks. You can place the meat in the pot without a bag, but it is easier to dish up from the bag, explains Donna.
The meat is arranged on top with four vidalia onions and all is set to boil. It takes about 45 minutes from cold start to finish. Donna cooked four ears of corn, broken in half, in a separate pot.

Bob tied a lobster bib on Jim and then the feasting began while the clams boiled.

We visited and snacked on shrimp and crackers and ate lobster because at the Parkers, a clam boil is a feast and you have to have lobster, too.

In 2010 when we visited, Bob taught me how to pet the lobster to put it in yet another giant pot to cook. You stand them on their tails, pet them and they become docile and go into the boiling hot water without thrashing and splashing. These one to one and a quarter pounders cost $3.99 each already cooked. They are soft-shelled. You can crack them open with your fingers. Bob explained that lobster shed their shells and the newly grown shells are still soft. They don't taste any different.  In may they are caught before shedding.

Bob poured a bit of strawberry bubbly.

Donna loaded individual bowls with clams and for each a cup of the broth.

You load up your plate with potatoes, onion, meat  and corn. Pour on a bit of butter and broth and chow down. The clams you dip in the broth first, (or vinegar if you prefer) then into the butter and enjoy. Yum. The broth is so delicious, you can drink it straight, cup after cup. I got to take some back to the motor home.
I must apologize for no pictures of Donna. I was concentrating so hard on the recipe and getting every step in the process, and busily eating in between, I forgot to take a picture of all of us before I waddled, much too full,  out to the motor home with my containers of broth.