Read An Embarrassment of Mangoes for Free Online Page A

that we’re on the deck locking the back door of our empty house as our new tenants are on the porch unlocking the front. I’ve lost ten pounds from stress, and my excruciatingly well-organized self is trailing loose ends in all directions. When Carol, the property manager we hired, tracks me down two days after we move out, she inquires sweetly, “Did you realize you rented the house with a load of your clothes still in the dryer?”

    Chesapeake Bay Crabcakes
    (in the Style of Ruke’s Store)
    What makes these cakes so delicious—besides the freshest possible crabmeat—is their meaty texture: They are almost entirely crab inside, with just enough bread crumbs to hold them together. The cakes are rolled in crumbs before frying, which gives them a crispy golden exterior. Serve with lemon quarters and tartar sauce, if you like.
    1 pound fresh lump crabmeat, drained
    1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
    6 tablespoons mayonnaise
    1 large egg, beaten
    1⁄4 cup finely minced onion
    2 tablespoons finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
    1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
    1⁄4 teaspoon hot sauce (or to taste)
    2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
    1 teaspoon Old Bay Seasoning
    Freshly ground black pepper
    1 cup fine bread crumbs or matzoh meal (approx.)
    Butter and/or oil for shallow frying
    1. Mix together all ingredients except the bread crumbs and the butter or oil. Add just enough crumbs—about 4 tablespoons—so the crab mixture holds together. Taste and season with additional lemon juice, hot sauce, and pepper as required.
    2. Form into 6 cakes. Roll cakes in remaining crumbs. Place on a baking sheet lined with waxed paper and refrigerate for about an hour.
    3. Heat a small amount of butter or oil (I like to use a combination) in a large skillet. Fry until golden brown on both sides, about 5 minutes per side. Drain on paper towels.
    Serves 2–3
    Tips
    • The cakes can be deep-fried if desired.
    • Make bite-size cakes to serve as hors d’oeuvres. They can be fried early in the day and refrigerated, then reheated briefly on a baking tray in a 350°F oven. Makes 25–30 hors d’oeuvres.

In the Marshes
    Of course, just hearing the names of some of the places on the Intracoastal Waterway will never ease anyone’s mind about the trip: Dismal Swamp, Alligator River, Lockwoods Folly, Cape Fear River, Mosquito Lagoon, Haulover Canal, several Hell Gates . . .
    JAN AND BILL MOELLER,
THE INTRACOASTAL WATERWAY:
A COCKPIT CRUISING HANDBOOK
, 1997
    Turn left at the bottom of Chesapeake Bay and you’re in the Atlantic, turn right and you enter the Intracoastal Waterway.
Receta
turns right.
    The Intracoastal Waterway—the ICW—is the highway from the Chesapeake to Miami, the watery equivalent of I-95. Also called “the Ditch,” it was created to provide a protected inside route for those—like us—who don’t want to go out on the open ocean when they don’t have to. Officially, the ICW starts in Massachusetts, goes all the way down the East Coast (though the stretch through New Jersey isn’t maintained at depths suitable for cruising boats), and then across the Gulf Coast to Texas. But the heart of the waterway is from Mile 0, at Norfolk, Virginia, at the bottom of Chesapeake Bay, to Mile 1,095 at Miami: a winding ribbon of rivers, creeks, and man-made canals just inland of the ocean. This narrow ribbon, protected by barrier islands and low coastal mainland, ties together pieces of American history—Revolutionary War battlegrounds, the haunts of pirates and smugglers, plantations once worked by slaves, Civil War forts—as it passes storied cities such as Charleston, Beaufort, Savannah, and St. Augustine.
    Occasionally, the route crosses gloriously open water—Albermarle Sound, Pamlico Sound—but mostly the ICW is too narrow for us to sail. The channel between the red and green markers has space for two boats to pass but often not much more, with shoals or deadheads or both off to the sides. The channel markers wear crowns of thorns, jumbles