Ahh, to live in Maine. The quiet forest, the dewey mist-filled mornings. A cabin, tucked behind trees untouched in years.
I have no idea what I’m talking about, the last time I was in Maine, I was 3. But, my Zizi Bev and Uncle Mac (Zizi is the unisex Italian nickname for Great Aunt/Uncle, or so I’ve been led to believe by my family) have a cabin up there, in addition to normally living in the constantly overcast Syracuse, NY. My mom is jonesin’ to move up there eventually, maybe to retire. I will say, those Mainesians… Mainites… the people up in Maine, make a mean Porter and if I could eat lobster a quarter as much as I think I can, I’m with ya on that one Ma.
Being in an Italian family means everyone knows all the rumors and talk about the family at pretty much any given time. With almost certainty, Zizi Marge knows who I’m dating or what I want to do with my life, despite not talking to her personally in probably 4 years (I know, I’m a horrible kid). The beauty of grandmothers and Zizis. Anyway, so Zizi Bev and Uncle Mac heard I was enjoying cooking lately, and quite thoughtfully sent me the greatest salt and pepper mill set I’ve ever held. My mom has a pair as well, and I’ve always marveled at their precision and durability.
I give you, the Federal line from Vic Firth. It just so happens, the factory is down the road from my Zizi’s place up in Maine, and Uncle Mac just ran down there in person to pick this gem up for me. Continue reading “The Only Salt and Pepper Mill You’ll Ever Need”