I grew up reading two local Seattle newspapers every day. Beginning in the 4th grade and continuing through most of my life, when I lived in Seattle that is, I would read the Seattle Post Intelligencer in the morning and the Seattle Times in the evening. Sometime in the 80′s, I think, the two papers began operating under a ‘JOA’ (joint operating agreement); citing financial reasons so they began using the same advertising and operations departments but leaving the editorial functions separate. Many of us bemoaned that action mostly because we said the quality of the papers would be negatively affected.

Sometime during the 90′s, I think, the Seattle Times announced it would begin publishing only a morning paper citing the fact that late-in-the day readership was falling and it’s ability to cover breaking news was out-performed by electronic media. Many of us bemoaned that action mostly because we said the quality of the papers would be negatively affected and the competition for both papers to get the best stories, each of which had carved out a special place in our daily rituals, would be impacted.

Sometime in 2006 I stopped my subscriptions to both papers and started picking up only the occasional single issue at newsstands, most often the Sunday combined issue.   I enjoy the special sections offered on Sunday, the editorial pages for both papers are included in this combo issue and,  truthfull, I’m addicted to the advertising inserts after more than 25 years in the advertising industry I find glancing at the inserts is one way to get a quick cultural reference point as to what is going on in the world of commerce. When I did read the regular pages I noticed fewer and fewer articles written by local reporters while more stories were date-lined from other cities where either one or both of the newspapers had affiliates.  Recently I noticed the honest-to-goodness breaking story about a new cancer treatment discovered at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center – located less than 1 mile from the offices of either paper – was written by the AP and printed verbatim by both.

Sometime in the early part of this decade both papers began reducing page counts and then eliminating editorial staff – citing dwindling advertising sales, specifically classified advertising – which was a cash cow for papers. as it brought in immediate cash for liquidity and thousands of readers  who had no other avenues to find ‘things’ – which added to the sales rate and thusly could result in higher ad rates for the display advertisers.  Both papers suggested they would be able to offer more in-depth coverage on issues and topics online at less cost. They added sales staff specific to their online sites.  Many of us bemoaned that action mostly because we said the quality of the papers would be negatively affected – but I subscribed to the email alerts from both papers just the same.

Evidently old habits die hard and quite possibly those who decide what goes into the watered-down daily papers are sitting on the editorial desk at the online version too, at least at the Seattle Times, if the quality of editorial judgment as to what constitutes “Breaking News” is considered.

Here’s the Seattle Time Breaking News email I received today:

yep.  That’s breaking news.  Not the critical issues of the middle east  where it’s heating up between Israel and the factions trying to control the Gaza strip.  And certainly not the issues regarding the huge budget deficits faced by the state, cities and counties – not the flood damages and snow slides in the passes due to the dramatic weather conditions of late.  Nor, evidently  is it important to call attention to the ‘hide-the-weenie’ political games being played by the Governor, Country Exec and Mayor with a 90day postponement on the decision on what to do about the Alaskan Way Viaduct

Nope. It’s all about switching to salt. I wonder if one of the affiliate papers in Detroit or Cleveland will pick up that story?

A North Dakota story for you:

During a North Dakota blizzard a small bird tried valiantly to fly toward the south to get away from the weather, but eventually sank exhausted into a snow bank and was buried. A lost horse gallops by and makes a dump on the spot where the bird was buried. The warmth from the horse pucky rejuvenated the bird and it began to chirp. A cat slinks by, hears the bird, digs it out of its white grave and eats it.

Here is the moral of this whole tale:

• Not all who dump on you are your enemies
• Not all who help you out of a jam are your friends
• And if you are warm and comfortable, keep your mouth shut

I had a maitre’d who was straight out of central casting. He wore an ascot beneath his open white shirt and sport coat when he wasn’t wearing a tux. He smoked Chesterfield cigarettes placed in a black cigarette holder he gripped in his teeth as he spoke to you…with a flourish he would use the same phrase in a moment of joy, surprise, anger or frustration:  “Fuckinghell!”  He was a Lothario – well past his prime – and he knew it. His hair was wispy and combed back on both sides, but not as a comb-over on his balding pate. He was European – a refugee from Poland where he had fought the Nazi’s and the Russians as a fighter pilot in WWII – first from his homeland and when Poland fell, England for training and as an extension of the R.A.F. in Squadron 318 based in Egypt.

Walter Brachmanski RAF 318 Squadron

After the war he found himself in London, a trained gentleman without country or a way to make a living.  He took a job as a bus boy at the famed Dorchester Hotel – in one of the lesser dining rooms.  Eventually he earned his way up to waiter before meeting his wife and moving to America.  His name was Walter Brachmanski – called “Walter-Walters” by all who knew him – and after moving to the Seattle area, holding down a a regular 9-5 job for more than 20 years and raising a daughter, essentially living the post-war American dream, his desire was to return to the elegant theater of the fine dining room.

Hired by a little hotel restaurant called “Jonah & the Whale” in Bellevue, he  enhanced the culinary experiences of patrons in that emerging city of wealthy businessmen.  Walters was old school elegance and he loved to enchant the ladies as a way of building the egos of the men who squired them to the restaurant. The same men – different ladies.  On Saturdays it was dinner with the wife, but on week nights it was usually someone a bit younger and more exciting. Walter taught his waiters in the art of discretion – how to acknowledge the arrival of a guest they’d served only the night before at the same preferred table – but as if they hadn’t been seen for months.  The men and their expense accounts loved him for it.

Walters inspired loyalty from his cadre of young male waiters; they were infused with competitive desire to please him by modeling their behaviour in the dinning room to his high standards of taste, service and elegance.  He taught us about food, service, elegance and, most of all, he inspired us to appreciate and respect his most favored love – women.  Ahh yes Walters loved women.

I still have the spoon and fork he used to teach me how to present food  on a plate in the technique often called “French Service.”  As I go about entertaining friends or even serving only myself a meal – I recall his lessons.  He taught me a great deal about table service and put up with my  23 year-old male arrogance and immaturity.  He even fired me once for not tipping a bus boy – even though he agreed the bus boy was a pig – but his sense of fair play and his memory of having started at that position years before were his justification to me.  He was in this action, like so many things, right.

As I progressed he would step aside and quietly coach me using words that sounded almost as if he were asking me how rather than instructing me – he was considerate of my young ego.  With his quiet instruction I learned how to carve ducks and pheasant table side. How to make steak tar-tar and how to serve caviar. How to make and serve a Caesar salad, flaming desserts like cherries jubilee and crepes suzette. He instructed us how to ask for help from another waiter by simple discrete hand gestures and nearly inaudible finger snaps to gain attention without disturbing the elegant conversation at the table. He taught me how to be a good restaurant patron – by teaching me how to treat patrons.

After the kitchen had closed and diners had left, he would call a few of his favorites around to his table in a secluded section of the restaurant where we would eat and drink until the late hours of the night.  He told us stories of his fighter pilot days, his lovers and of the famous customers he had served. He patiently taught us about wine, liquor and about dining. Most thankfully he taught me how to open a bottle of champagne by talking me through it one evening…

“Barry – remove the bottle from the ice with a flourish, but not too fast, and present it with your white napkin behind the bottle – show the label and it’s good to have some of the crushed ice on the bottle to show that it’s cold – then wipe it in one movement and use the napkin to cover the cork and hold it firmly between your thumb and fore finger.  Now grasp the bottle with your other hand and with strength but showing it as very gently pull the bottle from the cork, isn’t that easier to hold? The cork is so small and the bottle so easy to get your hand around. There – almost – WAIT!  Don’t let it pop! That’s barbarian.  Let the bottle slide off the cork, withdraw it slowly and let the bubbles ‘Kiss the air’ the way you kiss the cheek of your lover when you withdraw from her after making love.”

Thanks Walter.

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This post actually began as a recommendation for a primer on champagne that is posted on Epicurious.com by Fiona Beckett.  Take a look at the post here:

A Champagne Primer
A look at how and where sparkling wine is made, and how to read those mystifying French labels
By Fiona Beckett