Foodie’s Guide to Regional Gastronomy: The Tourtière or French Meat Pie

Series Introduction (Move down if you’re familiar with the thread or don’t care)

In this series, we hope to highlight and showcase in as interesting a way as possible, the stories behind our favorite, mouth-watering local dishes. While we’ll focus on greater New Bedford and the South Coast, we will occasionally “travel” to places like Plymouth, Providence or even Boston. I will attempt to keep it light-hearted, fun and easy to read. While I can’t promise to keep you compelled and pull you along with prose – that would take a professional writer – I will promise to be liberal with the drool-inducing images of these dishes.

I grew up in a Sicilian household where everyone – man, woman, child – was participating in preparing meals. It was a “trick” to get everyone together, talking, laughing and of course, the occasional heated debate. Food was a huge part of our identity, where we came from, who we were. There was something special about the atmosphere that revolved around a meal that we prepared.

This is certainly not unique to an Italian or Sicilian household. Every ethnic group in the country has a proud culinary tradition that they grew up around. You can easily replace “Sicilian” with Irish, Vietnamese, Portuguese, Ethiopian, Greek or anything else. This is why food as a topic is always so popular. We humans love our food and that passion goes beyond the gustatory or taste – we crave the aromas, delight in the presentation, are fueled by the atmosphere, and relish – pardon the pun – discussion about our favorite dishes, restaurants or cuisines.

One thing that is often not discussed – is glossed over, or barely touched upon – is the history or background of these dishes. Now, to some, this conjures up the voice of the guy from the “dry eyes” commercial. The terms, for many, are synonymous with “boring,” “dull,” or “It’s time to go.” However, the background can be interesting, fun, or funny and it can be so without being facetious, dumbed-down or popular. I will make every attempt to maintain a fresh balance with those elements in this series.

As always, feedback is encouraged. Anecdotes are wanted. Discussion is paramount. Please join in!

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Since the past few installments in this series highlighted Portuguese and Hispanic cuisine, I figured we’d switch gears and tackle a different ethnic community: the French Canadians. Thanks to them we have glorious, glorious French Meat Pie a favorite dish certainly not limited to the holidays or after church on Sunday – any day of the year is a good day for some meat pie!

As is the case with most of a specific heritage’s favorite dishes, this is a dish that appears to be quite simple on the outside. However, as we all know what is in a dish is a small factor in its deliciousness – other factors include freshness and quality of ingredients, how each ingredient is treated, and the all-important ingredient: love.


French Meat Pie has its roots in the festive Réveillon at end of the year festivities.

Traditionally made by mémère for end of the year festivities, after special religious events like baptism, communion or after Midnight Mass, or specifically when it comes to Canada, as part of a réveillon the long Christmas Eve dinner or on New Year’s Day. The name means “waking” which refers to staying up super late to get our grubby hands on the savory, loaded with Umami, meat pie with a flaky, buttery double-crusted crust. My mouth is watering just thinking of it.

We call it a French Meat Pie in our neck of the woods because of the area’s history and large French-Canadian population, but the meat pie actually traces back to the Mesopotamians in the 16th century B.C.E. Even the Romans had a love affair with it and showing up in their cookbooks as “La Patina.” Throughout most of the world, you will find some version of the meat pie whether variations of a proper pie like the British cipaille or Sea-Pie, tarts, or smaller versions like the Indian samosa or hand-held like empenadas. Modern variations include Meat Pie Triangle using the super thin Phyllo dough and even Spring Rolls.

Well, who cares about them?! We’re discussing the contemporary version from our friends up north! There’s no telling how old the French Meat Pie was when it comes to Canada but it started showing up in historical documents in the 1600s and originating in Quebec with the earliest settlers celebrating the aforementioned réveillon before spreading all over Canada. Réveillon itself traces back to France where it was a veritable feast on Christmas Eve that included many dishes, sweets, and wine, naturally.

While we immediately think of pork or even beef as the primary filling, in Canada there are many regional variations which can be veal, pigeon, moose, rabbit, pheasant, mutton, game, salmon, or a mix of seafood. Some recipes call for the filling to be solely meat, others include potatoes. All these variations have added fuel to the fire when it comes to claims of authenticity or originality but in reality, there is no such thing as an authentic version. About the only thing, people can agree on or not debate over is that the dish used to bake the pie is typically deep and ceramic.


There are variations of the French Meat Pie all over the world including the British Cipaille or Sea-Pie.

The debate doesn’t stop at the filling and extends itself to the seasoning, crust, gravy and what should accompany it. Some say keep it safe with salt, pepper and sage. Others recommend herbs and/or spices like sage, allspice, nutmeg, clover, and cinnamon. With the crust would it be safe to say that a bad crust can ruin the whole pie no matter what meat is chosen to fill it? That crust will make or break that pie and playing around with that is a good way to place a dark cloud over festivities and have everyone pointing the finger at the communist who baked it.

Like we Italians and our red sauce recipes (please, it’s not gravy – people who call it that are goombas or watch too much The Sopranos) the French-Canadians and the French-Canadian…um, Americans, have recipes that have been passed down as heirlooms through generations. Generations where it has been perfected. Hard to believe in the day and age of pre-made packets of gravy, but traditionally it was made from scratch – just as some people still do today.

There are rumors of communist activities in the area: people who don’t put gravy on their French Meat Pie, but ketchup. For this sort of behavior the the corrective and curative remedy is ostracization or banishment from the community after they spend the larger portion of the day in stockades or a pillory in a public square.

The final aspect that causes argument is what should be served with it? Mashed potatoes so you have an excuse to smother something with gravy even more? Peas?

In my opinion, the best way to end these debates is to have an annual New Bedford French Meat Pie Fest as we have with Chowder. We can have categories like the best traditional, most innovative, and best gravy as we eat ourselves into foodie bliss.

One French-Canadian dish that I wish would catch on locally is poutine. While I have seen it served locally no one is doing anything remotely close to authentic. Some Americans apparently think cheese is the same as curds – it’s not.

There have been a number of retail producers and one that comes to mind immediately is Antil’s that used to be at 249 Adams Street in Fairhaven next to the Oxford Pub. While that business closed I have seen their pies show up in supermarkets.

Not that it matters, because everyone knows that mémère makes the best. If you don’t have a mémère you likely know someone who does or know someone who has a golden recipe since the French Meat Pie has become so popular that it has been assimilated into local culture and Americana. In this area, it’s almost as American as Apple pie.

Now that I’m thinking about it, we should change that saying “As American as French Meat Pie.” I’d take a French Meat Pie with gravy over and Apple Pie and day of the week.

What do you think is the most important part of the pie? Filling? Crust? Gravy? Sides? How about the easiest part to ruin?

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Enjoy this type of article? You can read the other ones in the series here.




Family-owned Machado & Silva Inc. – 3 decades helping locals with tax preparation, accounting & financial planning

‘Tis the season when everyone begins to talk taxes and hope that that translates into a tax return so that means people in costumes waving at passing cars, contacting your “tax” guy, or seeing frequent adverts on social media. For many, it’s the first time and perhaps the only time all year that we consider reaching out to someone to help us with some aspect of our finances.

However, we all know how complex, complicated, and time-consuming finance in all aspects of our lives, not just tax time, can be. Yet, we just scribble on stick-it notes, create “to-do” lists on notepads, or even worse make mental notes or simply “wing” it. And that typically translates into money problems we experience for the other 10-11 months outside of tax season.

Imagine the benefits if we had total control of our finances all year round? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to pay attention to everything money related all year instead of pulling ourselves away when tax time comes about? What do we do now that we have a child in high school bringing up attending university? Or when retirement is coming around the bend? Or thinking of getting married, buying a home, or starting a family?

Those are just as important, if not more so than “tax time.” Yet, we just address all the to-dos, milestones, projects, et al as they come. Assuming we aren’t procrastinators and we tackle them with fervor and zeal, we still rarely have the time to stop everything to attend finances, and often we aren’t 100% sure what the right decision to make is. Who hasn’t called mom or dad, that smart cousin, or asked around when it comes to something?

We trust mechanics with our car, doctors with our health, carpenters, plumbers, and electricians with home repairs. We look to experts in those areas we don’t have the time to address or lack the know-how. So it makes a ton of sense to do the same with equally as important financial areas, doesn’t it?

Like the doctor, mechanic, and roofer we aren’t sure who to trust, who is knowledgeable and will have a professional, courteous attitude. When it comes to personal and business finances who put all that together with the same precision and accuracy utilized with our taxes?


Machado & Silva had its roots nearly fifty years ago when founder Ken Machado opened the doors to the business. During Ken’s five decades of working in the accounting and tax industry, he served many clients who are still with Machado & Silva today. Ken’s reasonable prices, generosity and easy going nature attracted clients to him. His wisdom, guidance, and hard work kept them coming back.

Danielle started working for Kenneth Machado in January of 1989, Machado & Silva was established in January, 2008 (Danielle & Kenneth became co owners). Machado & Silva became family owned in August, 2018. For nearly 30 years family-owned Machado & Silva have been bringing their experience, knowledge, and expertise to bear serving the community.

Whether for local businesses or personal needs, debt resolution, financial planning and advise, budgeting, bookkeeping, retirement planning, selling a home or rental, accounts payable (paying bills on time, freeing up your own), accounts receivable (sending out and managing invoices), divorce taxes, estate and Trust taxes, and everything else under the financial sun is under their purvey.

Owners Danielle Silva and Cameron Silva have a love affair with numbers for as long as they can remember – both have been doing nothing else since high-school. They and their staff of friendly experts – like Danielle (AFS), Joshua Leite (BA in Accounting) and Kelley Pereira- recognize that accounting is so much more than the numbers they crunch: it’s the relationships they build, the help and relief they provide, and the service to the community. All rewards unto themselves.

They are friendly, professional, offer prices that are competitive and affordable, and are just flat-out, an office that cares. Owned and run by locals, for locals.

“We are not your average accountant’s office! We are real people. We provide quality work, and we truly care about our clients and their success.” explains Danielle. “One of the best rewards is when a client explains how stressed they are over their taxes, and how we make it easy and less stressful. It’s not uncommon to get hugs from grateful clients who leave our office feeling like a weight has been taken off of their shoulders.”

When it comes specifically to tax time their single-minded goal is to be as accurate as possible and bat it out of the proverbial park when it comes to returns. To do this it is integral that they have the aforementioned relationship because it’s the only way to gain an understanding of the business and personal goals of their clients, to give the best advice, to ensure that the client makes the best decisions.

Here are what some folks are saying about their experience with Machado & Silva, Inc.:

“Danielle and her team of professionals are amazing to work with. They are dedicated, understanding, and most importantly, caring. They have always put my needs and what is in my best interest first. Communication and timeliness is something they make a priority. As a client for over ten years, I can speak with confidences that Machado & Silva is truly the best and one of a kind!”
• David M.

“I have been a client for many years and love supporting local businesses. It’s great to see so many new services being added every year that are beneficial for everyone. With the personalized service you receive it makes you feel like someone actually cares about your future! Love my Machado and Silva family.”
• Victoria B.

“We are planning our retirement; Danielle is instrumental in helping us organize our finances and budgeting. We’re very glad we met with her and will continue to rely on her expertise. Thank you!”
• Schneider Family

“If you are looking for a reliable, affordable, friendly business to handle your payroll, bookkeeping, taxes etc. Visit or call Machado & Silva (508) 993-8447 ask for Danielle! I have been a customer there for years for my personal taxes and business bookkeeping and could not be happier!”
• Denise R.

You can read more reviews and testimonials here. Their helpful and easy to navigate website contains many common and most often used forms for free, as well as a client portal in addition to being an information resource.

If you are looking for the area’s best in accounting, bookkeeping and tax preparation, executed by friendly, professional locals and offered in an affordable fashion then you’ll never need to look any further. You can trust that Machado & Silva, Inc., have your best interest in mind.

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Machado & Silva Inc.

950 Kempton St
New Bedford, Massachusetts
Phone: (508) 993-8447
EMail: info@machadosilva.com

Monday-Friday: 8:00am-4:00pm
Saturday & Sunday: CLOSED

Social Media:
Instagram: instagram.com/machadosilvainc/
Facebook: facebook.com/MachadoSilvaInc/
Website: machadosilva.com/




What’s in a name? A travel through history, culture, and ethnicity through New Bedford’s surnames: “Pereira”

People are fascinated by their family’s background and asking someone what they “are” will uncover a lot about a person’s identity, family history, and their sense of identity – or lack of it. America being a melting pot more than any country on earth, a person’s surname, ethnicity, or heritage is a popular topic of discussion.

When you tell someone you are Irish, German, Kenyan, Wampanoag, Mexican, Brazilian, et al you are sharing a quick symbol that describes a lot about you. Even if it’s not accurate, or you call yourself “a mutt,” are “half” this, a little “this, that, and this” you still say a lot about who you are. Often you will hear two sets of identity: “On my mother’s side, I am ‘x’ and on my father’s side, I am ‘x.'”

It may come as a surprise to many Americans, but this is something very…well, American. The rest of the world thinks it’s odd or even make us a butt of their jokes. The American fascination with heritage and ethnicity goes even further than that – we love to spend money on DNA kits, to debate and argue over race and/or skin color, and no political discussion is without it.

It’s hard for most Americans to not filter everything through these things. A surname is more than just a person ethnicity and identity: it’s also a connection to the “Old World,” the history of those nations, and the cuisines. Those things make surnames an interesting topic of discussion!

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The Portuguese surname Pereira or Perreira is common enough, almost ubiquitous, on the SouthCoast. Meaning “Pear Tree” it is generally considered a toponym or a surname based in a topographical feature, in this case it references a pear orchard likely owned by a family and/or business. However, it may very well mean a person who is a seller of the fruit.

The origin of the word itself is “pirum” or “pere” from the Latin which was meant a trusted companion or a friend that is helpful.

Some Portuguese spellings include Pereyra, Perera, Perreira, Pereiro and many more. In Spanish it is Perera, in French (including France, Belgium, Canada, and French Africa) you will see Pereire, Poirier, Perriere, Poirot and in Italy, Piras. Finally, in Yiddish and/or Hebrew it is Birnbaum.

A Pereira Coat of Arms. Photo by Damarco R. da Matta.

Believe it or not, most Pereiras are not found in Portugal, but Brazil then followed by Portugal, Angola, Mozambique, Venezuela, France, East Timor, Goa, India and Trinidad and Tobago. This diaspora was due to Portugal’s colonization and merchant efforts around the world. In America most Pereiras are found in California and Massachusetts, followed by clans in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania.

Who was the first Pereira or with whom did it originate? Well, that’s in dispute.

Spain claims the first, Portugal does as well. There are anecdotes of a Lombardian king by the name of Mendo “Irmao” of Desiderio. The Lombards were a Germanic people who ruled most of the Italian Peninsula from the 6th to 8th century. As the story goes, he sent a number of knights to sea for business or conquest when they encountered a hurricane at sea and were forced to dock in Galicia Spain. From here they migrated into Portugal.

Next, we hear of it is when a Frenchman Osbert Pere arrives in Buckinghamshire, England, in the year 1230. What was he doing there? Who knows? Maybe bringing them glorious linguica, natas, or malasadas since England wasn’t exactly known for its cuisine and this must have blown their minds.

In the New World the first mention of the name is in 1555 when a certain Simon Pereira left Portugal and landed in Chile.

How did the name become Jewish? In 1492 the Alhambra Decree by the Catholic Church of Spain forced Jewish people into hiding and they had to disguise their last names or be persecuted. The nearest sanctuary was nearby Portugal so there was a wave from Spain into Portugal, but many felt that Catholic Decree would spread through Europe so they opted for Brazil and even Mexico.

Some of the more famous Pereiras:

• Kevin Pereira (b. 1982), American game show host and TV personality
• William Leonard Pereira (1909-1985), American architect
• Irene Rice Pereira (1907-1971), American abstract painter
• Stephen E. Pereira, American Democrat politician, Candidate for Presidential Elector for California, 1968
• Jonathan Pereira (1804-1853), English pharmacologist born at Shoreditch, London
• Renan Martins Pereira (1997-2017), known as Renanzinho or simply Renan, a Brazilian footballer
• Francelino Pereira dos Santos (1921-2017), Brazilian politician, Gov. of Minas Gerais from 1979-1983
• Kéfera Buchmann de Mattos Johnson Pereira (b. 1993), Brazilian actress, vlogger, writer, TV presenter
• Alessandro Silva Pereira (b. 1982), Brazilian footballer
• Robson Pereira de Andrade (b. 1977), known as Robinho, a Brazilian football player

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Want your last name to be the next installment in the series? Inbox us on Facebook or email us at info@newbedfordguide.com.




New Bedford Streets; A Piece of Americana: Coffin Avenue

Welcome to next installment in the New Bedford Streets; A Piece of Americana series. Previously we covered William Street, Kempton Street, Middle Street, Centre Street, Ashley Boulevard, Elm Street, Coggeshall Street, Mechanics Lane, Washburn Street and others. If you would like to read those or perhaps revisit them, they can be found by using the search bar to the right. You can also select the “Streets” category.

As usual, I’d like to reiterate the importance of reader feedback, correction, and contributions. In the process of exploring these streets, I try to confirm or validate statements and dates by finding multiple sources. Unfortunately, if all those sources are making their statement based on an older, incorrect source, and there isn’t any dissenting information available, there’s no way to know otherwise. So by all means, please join in.

In addition, when trying to validate some statements, often there is very little to no information available. I haven’t decided which is worse – finding one source, or finding multiple sources, but not knowing if they were all founded on an inaccuracy. So help from local historians, those who remember, oral histories and anecdotes handed down through the generations, people with private collections, and even know-it-alls will help!

By all means, let us make this an open discussion to keep the “wiki” accurate.

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What’s in a name? As someone who has been down Coffin St. numerous times, I’ve often wondered who or what it was named after? Did it have a historical reference, some macabre meaning, or was it an occupational surname – perhaps named after a family of Morticians or that owned a funeral home?


“Capt. Coffin’s back garden.” [left to right] Edyth Short, Capt. Coffin (American Consul) ,Groves Cleveland boy Coffin. Mrs. Hooper Miss Short, Mrs. Coffin Lutenant Hooper of the Royal Engr. [Engineers], Miss Short.”

Then I recalled writing something about the little “park” off of Union Street near the Whaling Museum. It was called Coffin Park or something, but suffering from Post-Concussion Syndrome/CTE means I forget what I have for breakfast let alone something I wrote months back. I do have vague recollections about him being African/Native American and whaling captain, but I wasn’t sure of the details.

Digging into the surname Coffin to see if it is the origin of the street is opening a can of worms since the family name is quite prominent throughout New Bedford’s history. Often that means having to research dozens of historical figures, but I am only interested in two things that will tell me if the street is indeed named after a Coffin or the Coffin family or refers to something else. 1) What is the oldest historical reference to a Coffin and who was she or he? 2) When was the street built and named? Once I have eliminated a Coffin or the family, I can take the other avenues.

I did my compulsory research and within 10 minutes came across the street’s origins. That allowed me to spend my time on who David Coffin was, what his contributions to the city were deemed worthy enough to have a city named after him, and more about his family.

So, Coffin Street was named for David Coffin (1785-1833), descended from the Englishman Tristram Coffin (1609-1681) who was the first Coffin to come to the New World. David’s great-great-grandfather Tristram, born of the gentry, arrived in Massachusetts in 1659 from Plymouth, England leading a group of investors who bought Nantucket for “…thirty pounds (about $1200 U.S. today) and two beaver hats.” What would $1200 buy you on Nantucket today? Maybe a spoonful of beach sand?


Foot of Coffin Avenue in 1972 – a dump site by residents. Spinner Publications vis Milton Silvia.

Tristram had 10 children and as his family grew they began to spread out across Nantucket founding businesses and becoming a part of the burgeoning whaling industry. There they stayed for generations until David’s parents John and Elisabeth decided to leave Nantucket, the land of their roots and come to New Bedford sometime around the turn of the 18th century.

While here David made his money as a whaling captain of a six-vessel fleet, most notably circumnavigating the globe twice, and owned an oil factory and a candle works. He made a sizable enough a fortune to own many homes throughout the city, including the brick one on the corner of Walnut and Sixth Streets which is still there today.

He was also a participant in the War of 1812 where he tragically lost his entire fleet and source of business income. Ruined, he made his way to Ohio marrying Esther Barlow, eventually dying in 1833 at the age of 49.

He had 10 siblings who owned properties and ran their businesses in New Bedford. The Coffin family’s businesses in New Bedford include Coffin’s boatbuilding shop, the Law Offices of Coffin & Colby co-founded by Timothy the “ablest lawyer in all Southern Massachusetts,” William C. Coffin banker, and there was eventually the Coffin Building at 514 Pleasant Street currently home to the Serlingpa Meditation Center, and there was even a Coffin Wharf that was at foot of Walnut Street. This was the very same wharf that the famed African-American blacksmith Lewis Temple set up shop in 1836. Today there are two wharves – Leonard and Homer’s. I am not 100% sure if Coffin Wharf morphed into those two wharves or become just one of them.


1910 Acushnet Avenue looking North from Coffin Avenue – shoe shine store, hat cleaning store, Simon’s Cut Price shop, Boston shoe store, Allen’s Theatre, confectionery, fish market. Spinner Publications Photo.

An Abel H. Coffin, also a ship captain, and traveled all over the world, and during one of his travels through the Orient he came across brothers Chang and Eng Bunker. Does the name ring a bell? If it doesn’t, that’s because you know them as the “Siamese Twins.”

In Melville’s Moby Dick as Ishmael wanders New Bedford looking for lodging, he mentions a fictitious inn run by a Peter Coffin who offers declares the inn full but offers him half a bed with Queequeg, the tattooed native American harpooner.

The Coffin family married the Cathcart and Starbuck families. The Cathcarts were an old Scottish family that was notably part of the war for Scottish Independence and Napoleonic Wars before coming to the New World and New Bedford. There are Cathcarts living in the city today. The Starbucks, also a major whaling family in Nantucket, became famous for bringing the first Hawaiians to Europe in 1823 – Queen Kamāmalu and a few other nobles – as well as their “discoveries” of many Pacific Islands including Volunteer/Starbuck Island, The Phoenix Group, New Nantucket later called Baker Island, and many others.

Today Coffin Avenue runs from the water near Riverside Park until it bumps into Purchase Street. Mainly residential homes now, there are no longer whaling-related businesses – StyleLab Hair Studio, Gouveia Grill, and a postal station.

From the gentry of Plymouth England to founding whaling family of Nantucket, a prominent family of New Bedford, the Siamese Twins, bringing Hawaiians to Europe, the Coffin family that the street is named after figures not only into the city’s history but the nation and the world.




Who Remembers… Ma’s Donuts?

Here is another installment in our Who Remembers? series. You can browse previous articles by using the search bar on the right or by clicking here. These articles are strolls down memory lane. In some cases, the buildings, but new businesses have replaced them. In other instances, the buildings or even the properties have been razed. Instead of a building, it may be a TV show, personality, or commercial that no one longer exists. Either way, it can’t stop us from taking the Memory Lane stroll!

As always we would rather this be a discussion. No one knows this area better than those who grew up here! Please, leave constructive criticism, feedback, and corrections. We’d love to hear your anecdotes. Please share!

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There are few topics about New Bedford that won’t bring out cynics. Whether in everyday conversation or on social media the tamest and lightest of topics will often garner some negative comments. The list of subjects that don’t do this is a very short list indeed. One of those is the iconic, historic, institution beloved-by-all Ma’s Donuts.


Photo by Paige Raposa.

In fact, if you want to get beat up for some strange reason, talk junk about the mom & pop that stood out among the land of big-box chains. I’m willing to bet when the police show up to find out what is going on and they find out some communist was bad-mouthing Ma’s Donuts they will pretend they have a more important call that they have to leave immediately for. Maybe those cops were one of the thousands who grew up with Ma’s Donuts over the decades and will throw you in cuffs and accidentally knee you in the liver while putting them on. Allegedly, accidentally, oops.

Let’s talk some “normals” when it comes to the shop that Ed and Sheila Lemieux started in 1984. Normal is saying that their donuts were the world’s best and no one blinking twice. Normal was Ed and Sheila getting up at 2-3:00am to make the donuts and being greeted by a friendly staff of all locals who grew up eating there – the first job for so many. Normal was not being able to keep up with the demand and running out and having to close shop early.

Skipping school or purposely being late to grab some donuts? Being the first place people wanted to visit when they returned from being away in the military? Leaving school or mass at St. Joseph’s Church and beelining there, maybe eating it at the park across the street? Stopping by to grab some for your co-workers, wedding guests, holiday celebrations, or for no reason at all?

All normal.


Photo by Kim Berche Brittain.

Ask someone why Ma’s Donuts was the best donut shop on earth and you will get a myriad of responses. The warmed-up fresh coffee rolls and malasadas, the legendary glazed or perennial favorite chocolate, the Strawberry filled pastry with real whipped cream inside, the Honey-dipped, the cheese danish, chocolate lemon, et al were part of the love for the Lemieuxs’ shop. Another part is that Ma’s Donuts and New Bedford are like the Eiffel Tower and Paris, Seattle and the Space Needle, the Empire State Building and New York – you mention one and you don’t even need to name the other as they have merged into one. Ma’s Donuts is just part of growing up in New Bedford, who New Bedford was and still is.

So you can imagine how disappointed people were when word spread that Ma’s Donuts was closing for good and going the way of Sunbeam, Frates and Homelyke Bakery in July 2016. When we announced it on New Bedford Guide’s page people from all over the world chimed in. Locals shared their stories about how long the lines were and how long they gladly waited to get one last fix.

While the owners were willing to sell the shop and supposedly the recipe, no one stepped up to the plate. Was it the asking price? Did it not come with the recipe? I’m not sure that it matters since even with the recipe in hand there’s no way that anyone could replicate what Ed and Sheila did and created.


Photo by Kaitlyn Rock.

Here are some of the comments by the community on New Bedford Guide:

“My entire life I’ve enjoyed Ma’s, I have no idea how to live without them!” – Sarah Jean.
“Always got my boyfriend’s grandma a dozen glazed Ma’s donuts on the weekends. He is now my husband – I wonder why?! ?”
“Just hometown local goodness!” – Jeanie Lemieux Hathaway.
“We have treasured your donuts, now enjoy your well-deserved retirement. I’m shedding a little tear, but it’s made of sugar glaze.” – Jeanne Plourde.
“I spent many a Sunday morning there instead of mass at St. Joes. (Don’t tell my mother!)” – Donald Machado.

Want to take a trip down memory lane? Read the hundreds of comments on this thread.

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What are your fondest moments of Ma’s Donuts? What was your favorite thing to get there? Leave a comment below!




The Meaning of Christmas: A Secular Perspective

Let me preface this article by saying that I was raised in a secular household – one free from any religious input. I am not pompous enough to think I am authorized to write an article on the deeper religious meaning behind Christmas, so I won’t even go there.

My objective with the article is to lend a little understanding of the Christmas holiday from a secular perspective. A sort of olive branch to Christians, if you will. Of course, if you aren’t remotely interested in a heathen, infidel, pagan, Satanic, baby eating, humanist’s opinion on anything, then I’ve just saved you the time of bothering by writing this preamble ramble.

However, I do hope you’ll receive the olive branch and keep an empty cup.

No, don’t worry. I am not that angry “new” atheist who spends hours each day trolling religious forums, letting anyone who listens know that I am an atheist or humanist. Nor do I have some mean-spirited things to say about the history of religion. I want religious people to know that not all non-believers are “that” person. I am genuinely interested in an exchange of words in the belief that with understanding comes greater tolerance. Can that be a bad thing? I don’t think so.

In fact, I don’t even use the word atheist to describe myself, so as to distance myself from that angry lot of bloggers and trolls. I never even mention my lack of belief unless directly asked or it’s part of the topic of discussion. When I do state “what” I am, I do so reluctantly. All labels are not the actual “thing” and people are far more complex than the labels attached to them.

I despise the labels today that package one into a neat list. Typically, I’ll say that “I’d rather not say.” If people probe further or insist, I’ll say I’m a humanist. But I don’t have to like it – no term is remotely accurate, but it’s as close as one can get.

Being raised in a secular household, Christmas was the holiday where you would be on your best behavior lest you get fewer gifts, or even *gasp* get coal. at least that was the “threat.” Santa only brought presents to the well-behaved kids.

Of course, you could misbehave all year, but around December you better start “standing up” straighter. You would get to head to a random parking lot to pick out a tree with the whole family, come home, set it up, then decorate it while everyone laughed and joked and drank Ovaltine or hot chocolate. Stockings would be hung, and there was the tremendous excitement of making a list where you would get most or all of the things you placed on it. Because a fat, white-bearded old guy in a red and white suit climbed down a chimney and deposited things on that list under the Christmas tree – what a concept, that.

Family and friends you hadn’t seen in a while would come in and out during the days leading up to December 25th. Driving through neighborhoods and seeing the decorations was not only really fun but lent itself to a sense of community – people you didn’t know were doing the same things as you were.

I’m going somewhere with this. Be patient.

Growing up in a Sicilian household meant that the Christmas Day meal was one of the highlights and would be talked about for days after. My mother would spend the 24-48 hours before Christmas preparing way too much food. Food she was making to feed 5-6 people, but always seemed to be a veritable feast that could feed a small army. This was intentional, for to leave an Italian household not stuffed would be a damn sin and to leave without a container of food would be a greater sin.

I don’t want to neglect Christmas Eve which is almost a holiday unto itself – the night where you would make those last few special visits before heading home after dark. Getting into your pajamas, setting out milk and cookies. Watching a Christmas Story or Miracle on 34th Street, before heading to bed.

Butterflies in the stomach, nervous excitement would keep you up all night any other time, but you knew that the long day would ensure that there was enough exhaustion to put you in a coma within 5 minutes of your head hitting the pillow.

The aromas of all sorts of food, the sights of lights in windows and yards, favorite Christmas movies looping on the TV, the sounds of Christmas carols, the excitement of Christmas morning, the day full of playing, laughing, hugging, eating and finding out what your friends got for Christmas.

It was just….magical.

There’s no other way to describe it. It’s as close to real magic as one can get growing up and the holiday has engendered countless fond memories for me and my family. As I get older, see my daughter grow up and enjoy the holiday – there is also the bittersweet aspect of remembering loved ones have passed. My mother passed away the first week of December a few years ago and while there is still a home cooked meal, no one replicates the aromas and grandiosity of her generous cooking and the atmosphere she created. This holiday is attached to hundreds of great experiences revolving around family, brotherhood, generosity, kindness, love, perspective, community, laughing, and hugs – Christmas spirit.

This is why Christmas is a very special occasion for this humanist and many like me. It is also why it stings when I see someone comment or overhear someone say “Why do you celebrate a Christian holiday?” In essence, it is implying that I have no right to all those positive things growing up and that I should either convert or abandon the holiday since it’s not “mine.” How dare I.

Each year I read these sorts of comments and on occasion, someone will question me directly. A few times it has been in not so nice of a way. How do I convey to people who are already peeved and not interested in my explanation the reason why I celebrate it? Early on, I would try to explain, but within 10 seconds their eyes would glaze over or roll up in the head. No explanation was going to suffice because standing before them was a heathen, infidel, or ignorant non-believer.

It wasn’t until I was about 18-19 years old that I began to delve into Christianity and the real reasons for Christmas. Being curious about all religions, philosophies, and ways of life I read the Pagan reasons for Christmas, the connection between the Pagan and Christian history behind the day.

I understood what the day that pagans and/or Wiccan/Witches call Yule, Saturnalia or Winter Solstice meant, particularly since I actually have a number of friends who are pagan and/or Wiccan. Since most of my friends are Christians, I got dozens of explanations about the meaning behind the holiday. The literature on all of that further embellished my understanding. I respect all of their reasons for the holiday and each group’s right to celebrate it in their own way.

I just ask that Christians understand and sympathize with atheists, humanists, or non-believers when it comes to celebrating Christmas. The real meaning of the holiday is a human one of experiences, tolerance, kindness, and love. Is there anyone who would disagree with these qualities? Is there room for one group to celebrate the changing of the seasons, another to celebrate their messiah’s birth, and another to celebrate family and a sense of community? I think there is. We have more important issues to deal with than others celebrate a holiday. How do you know you are a first-worlder and lost perspective? You pour your cereal, realize you have no milk and get upset…or care how others celebrate.

The common ground of all three aforementioned groups is that it is the day whereby we gather with loved ones, we are generous either materially and/or spiritually, we sit around a meal and enjoy each other’s company, we remind ourselves of the important people in our lives whether they are sitting at the table or have been lost.

You can do all those things regardless of the reason or purpose for doing them. Whether you are celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, the arrival of the Winter Solstice, the arrival of Santa Claus or simply because it’s a celebration of life and how brief it is – Christmas Day is a special one for the majority of Americans. In that sense, we should all remember that is a celebration and that we are all Americans.

All groups that celebrate this special day do it because it has a deeper meaning for them, even if that meaning differs. Christmas is a very important holiday for me. It’s my favorite holiday. I relish the opportunity to say “Merry Christmas.” Yes, I am a non-believer who not only appreciates when it is said to me but I say “Merry Christmas” in return…and I genuinely mean it.

So whether someone says “Happy Yule!”, “Happy Chanukah”, “Happy Holidays”, “Happy Kwanzaa” or any variation, does it matter? They are offering kindness, tolerance, compassion, humanity, joy. They mean well and wish well upon you. Accept it, give it back – the details are irrelevant.

If you get upset or are irked that when someone says Merry Christmas but you are an atheist, or someone says Happy Holidays, but you are a Christian and prefer “Merry Christmas”, then you have lost your perspective and are a true-blue resident of the first-world. Each hour hundreds of children throughout the world die of starvation, so getting upset about that borders on the ridiculous.

The fact that a well-wishing irks you illustrates your first-world status and loss of perspective. The good thing is that we can remind ourselves that we lost that perspective on what’s important and regain it.

No matter what your belief system, I hope the holidays are a time of happiness, health, and success for you and your family. I hope you are surrounded by good people, great food, and a festive atmosphere. I hope you get some time off, get to relax, and just enjoy yourself.

All of that is hard to spit out, so how about just a “Merry Christmas”? You’re a smart bunch, you can figure it out.




No Gosnold, No Pilgrims, No America, No New Bedford, No You

Preamble or Pre”ramble”?
Batholomew Gosnold isn’t exactly the first name that comes to mind when people discuss Europeans that came to the New World, but with Gosnold we may not have the America we know today.

While it’s all the rage and quite in vogue to hate on any European that came to the Old World because to these haters they symbolize genocide, consumerism, and the “…progress of the American hegemony through the power of the military-industrial complex headed by the Bilderbergers, Illuminati, and Reptilian and Gray Overlords of this flat-earth” that is only one part of reality. Those aren’t my words by the way- those are actual words said by someone being very serious and you’ll find some variant of that to be pretty common.

The truth is multi-faceted as illustrated so powerfully in the parable of the blind men and an elephant. Each one grasps a part of the elephant and they all argue that an elephant is exactly how they feel it to be and everyone else is wrong…all the while missing what an elephant really is.

While the coming of Europeans to the New World did lead to injustices, genocide, crimes against humanity, and unspeakable horrors, it also led to many inventions, modern medical cures, a nation founded in liberties, freedoms, and unalienable rights and many countless other positives. Millions see it one way and millions see it the other way, yet both think they are right and if the internet age could be summed up in one sentence, it would be “I’m here to show you that ‘I’m right and you are wrong.'”

In fact, this simple slogan is at the source of pretty much every single conflict alive today, whether as mundane as a Tweet exchange or as monumental as the conflict between nations. If you feel that mankind is essentially evil and Europeans especially so, you won’t be ever convinced that they are also capable of good things. I’d suggest that you dump this article and find a pursuit of misery and unhappiness elsewhere.

If you feel differently in that good did come out of that evil, or that the truth is always more complex then read on.

Landed in Dartmouth, Fairhaven or New Bedford?
Bartholomew Gosnold for those who aren’t familiar with the name or his role in history is within pop culture known as “The guy who came to Olde Dartmouth a long time ago looking for cod. One of the first Europeans to come here, if not the first.” In fact, he is the first man known to lead an expedition to Cape Cod.

Yes, that means before the Leideners came in 1620. Ol’ Bart arrived almost two decades before the famous Pilgrims arrived in 1602 at “Smoking Rocks,” a scene captured so well by the talented Willam Allen Wall’s painting.

Where exactly is this Smoking Rocks? There is some dispute about that. Orthodox accounts say that it was “…on the west side of the Acushnet River, somewhere around the South Terminal, northwest of Palmer’s Island.” and yet others suggest Sconticut Neck or West Island in Fairhaven. It’s immaterial where specifically he landed, just that he did arrive here.


The Verrazzanno Map of 1529 that inspired explorers like Bartholomew Gosnold with placenames like “Land Of Cod.”

So why should we care? Well, besides the fact that it was his arrival, description of what he saw – the rich, natural resources, the helpful Wampanoags, and then letting everyone in the Old World know about it, it is probably that it is his very account that inspired the Leideners to consider Cape Cod in the first place. Perhaps they would have tried elsewhere, had a different experience, died out and disappeared like the Roanoke Colony that arrived in Virginia in 1585, and America may never have existed.

That means you – the very person reading this – would not exist. Or if you did exist it would be in the country of your ethnic origins. Considering that people fled the Old World because of its crime, disease, lack of freedoms, serfdom, and too many hardships to name, it is likely that you would not have existed at all. So, no Gosnold, no description of huge shoals of cod as a source of sustenance, no description of the New Bedford/Fairhaven/Olde Dartmouth region, no Leideners deciding to leave the Netherlands and come here.

Regardless, Gosnold’s visit here was a very short one and his mention of the region and its inhabitants was not much more than a passing one. Why did Gosnold even come here in the first place? What did he do for a living and what was his motivation or inspiration? Where did he go after leaving here?

Origins; Embarkation of the Pilgrims
Bartholomew Gosnold was an Englishman born (1571) and raised in Suffolk, a county in the central southeast of England. Being 150 miles away as the crow flies from Southhampton, Hampshire where both the Speedwell and Mayflower first embarked from you can see how much of a role Gosnold’s account played in the decision by the Leideners to come to Cape Cod. As history tells us both ships were cruising along when the Speedwell took on water and both turned back to England.

Where did they return to? A place you may have heard of: Dartmouth in the county of Devon. The Speedwell apparently possessing a hull akin to a colander it sprung leaks within an hour after leaving Dartmouth and had to “pull over” at another town you may have heard of: Plymouth, also in County Devon.

The point here is that England, a country known through history for their naval capabilities, shipbuilding, and colonization, had coasts bedecked with coastal towns that were hubs and centers for shipbuilding, trade, as well as launching points for exploration and Gosnold was born right amid one of those hubs with a day’s travel to the Leideners launching point and undoubtedly his accounts spread like wildfire all over the region. Within 15 years of Gosnold’s account, the Pilgrims launched from the same region.

Gosnold the man was an explorer and privateer, but he started out as a lawyer. He was one of the founding members of the Virginia Company of London and Jamestown colony, paving the way for the colonialization of all Virginia. What is mostly unknown is that coincidentally Gosnold spent considerable time exploring the Azores before he ever came to Cape Cod or Virginia.

When it comes to his specific decision to come to Cape Cod he embarked from Falmouth, England aboard a bark built in Dartmouth, Devon called The Concord and with the intentions of founding an English colony and call it “New England.” At that point in history, all of North America claimed by England – the entire coastal region from South Carolina to Maine, plus the island of Bermuda – was called Virginia and this was a way to start laying claim to what was outside those boundaries.


Embarkation of the Pilgrims by Robert Walter Weir.

The inspiration for his exploration was guided by the famous Verrazzanno Map made in 1529 which mentions regions, landmarks and places like New France, Terra Laborato (New Labrador), and Tierra los Bacalluos or Codland for you landlubbers. In other words, this land of cod was what would become Massachusetts.

So set sail from England he did, beelining it for the familiar Azores, then setting his sights for Cape Elizabeth, Maine to which he arrived at on May 14, 1602 where he is said to have met some local Amerindians. Not pleased with Cape Elizabeth, he continued on and the next day arrived in Provincetown Harbor and seeing the sheer abundance of cod, dubbed the area Cape Cod.

He did not, however, make landfall but continued on using the coastline to guide The Concord until he came to what was known as “No Man’s Land.” This was called so not because it was barren of resources, but there were no native settlements or presence. Considering it absent of locals, he decided to name it Martha’s Vineyard after his beloved daughter who passed away a few years earlier.

The “vineyard” part refers to wild grapes he spotted there, just as Leif Erickson mentioned during his exploration six centuries earlier, which he called Vinland. Erickson came upon so many of these wild grapes that he filled his hull with them. Perhaps Gosnold being a fellow explorer and captain decided to pay homage to Leif and his daughter with the name.

Either way, it was at Cuttyhunk Island that he established a small post, though oddly enough the town named after him was at Pasque Island, two islands away. After an assessment of provisions and the capability to tap into local resources, Gosnold realized that he and his crew did not have enough to survive winter and decided to head back home. After returning he spent the next 5 years networking, planning, and organizing until he obtained an exclusive charter from King James I to settle Virginia.


Albert Bierstadt’s “Gosnold at Cuttyhunk.

Apparently, he didn’t see much promise in New England in general and Massachusetts specifically. Perhaps, he felt that the cod and whaling were resources available all along the coast of the New World and with a lack of connections with the local Amerindian tribes, and the harsh climate during winter, he decided New England wasn’t ideal.

In 1607, he made another go to the New World, helping set up the first English colony, Jamestown with fellow Captain, the famous John Smith, among others. The infamous history of Roanoke Colony likely fresh in everyone’s mind, Gosnold likely felt that somewhere more inland might be prudent and practical and promote the idea of Jamestown. This concern of his was validated after the colony’s newly appointed governor, Matthew Scrivener and his brother Anthony Gosnold both drowned while crossing from the mainland to reach Hog Island where some had chosen as the site for a settlement.

Regardless, as history bears out, exploration in the New World was fraught with danger, ruin, and disaster. Captain Gosnold would die at his settlement 4 months later at the age of 36, on August 22, 1607, during a malaria outbreak and the vast majority of the colonists would follow suit within 2 years time. His grave was discovered in 2003 at the site of the original Jamestown settlement, in the western corner of the James Fort.

Gosnold is mostly ignored by historians as he was either overshadowed by the larger than life Captain John Smith or just didn’t have enough “explosions, sex scenes and controversy” that mainstream Americans prefer as part of stories. Ironically, he might have been even more ignored or even forgotten altogether if it wasn’t for the glowing way with which Captian Smith always mentioned Gosnold, even attributing him as the “prime mover” behind the founding of Jamestown.


Gravemarker of Captain Gosnold at Jamestown.

By all accounts, Gosnold took good care of his crew, treated the first peoples he encountered with common courtesy and kindness and was an overall decent fellow. Assuming you aren’t one of those who considers spreading the word about the New World so that criminals would follow as a proper crime, his only real crime was being somewhat normal and average.

Perhaps, if he was genocidal, murderous, a rapist or a pedophile, he would have gotten more mention. America loves to love, but it also loves to hate and they sure have a deep love affair with their villains. Gosnold’s crime was that he didn’t commit any, so he has been tossed by the wayside.

Though, funnily enough, he has his own Twitter page where he drops puns, nerd humor, and utilizes modern jargon where he regularly “EVISCERATES” and “DESTROYS” in “BRUTAL” fashion to use the clickbait headlines so popular today. You’ll come across gems like “Finna throw some fists!”, “Getting kinda hungry. Boarding the next ship out.”, “Turtle for breakfast again.”, “Halfway there and realized I forgot my bible??.” and “Getting bored of my crew.. ugh.”

Whether your view of Bartholomew Gosnold is one that portrays him as a cog in the wheel of genocidal machinations or that of a businessman and explorer seeking out a better way of life for himself and others, we wouldn’t have the America we have today. That means, no Gosnold, no Pilgrims, no America, no New Bedford, no you.

And you’re kind of, like, important.




Foodie’s Guide to Regional Gastronomy: Caçoila, caçoula or caçarola

Series Introduction (Move down if you’re familiar with the thread or don’t care)

In this series, we hope to highlight and showcase in as interesting a way as possible, the stories behind our favorite, mouth-watering local dishes. While we’ll focus on greater New Bedford and the South Coast, we will occasionally “travel” to places like Plymouth, Providence or even Boston. I will attempt to keep it light-hearted, fun and easy to read. While I can’t promise to keep you compelled and pull you along with prose – that would take a professional writer – I will promise to be liberal with the drool-inducing images of these dishes.

I grew up in a Sicilian household where everyone – man, woman, child – was participating in preparing meals. It was a “trick” to get everyone together, talking, laughing and of course, the occasional heated debate. Food was a huge part of our identity, where we came from, who we were. There was something special about the atmosphere that revolved around a meal that we prepared.

This is certainly not unique to an Italian or Sicilian household. Every ethnic group in the country has a proud culinary tradition that they grew up around. You can easily replace “Sicilian” with Irish, Vietnamese, Portuguese, Ethiopian, Greek or anything else. This is why food as a topic is always so popular. We humans love our food and that passion goes beyond the gustatory or taste – we crave the aromas, delight in the presentation, are fueled by the atmosphere, and relish – pardon the pun – discussion about our favorite dishes, restaurants or cuisines.

One thing that is often not discussed – is glossed over, or barely touched upon – is the history or background of these dishes. Now, to some, this conjures up the voice of the guy from the “dry eyes” commercial. The terms, for many, are synonymous with “boring,” “dull,” or “It’s time to go.” However, the background can be interesting, fun, or funny and it can be so without being facetious, dumbed-down or popular. I will make every attempt to maintain a fresh balance with those elements in this series.

As always, feedback is encouraged. Anecdotes are wanted. Discussion is paramount. Please join in!

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Want to get into a fistfight? Tell someone that they are flat-out wrong about the best local spot to get caçoila and that your spot is the best. We here on the SouthCoast are rabid about our caçoila and where to go to get it and here in New Bedford, we’ll punch a Nazi in the mouth, I mean, we’ll punch someone that tells us some really bad place is the best place to get it. It’ll be like the “Red Wedding” scene.

I don’t want to even ponder the sheer terror of the concept and reality that there are millions upon millions of people across the country or even the world, that simply never heard the word or…gasp…ever tried caçoila. Clearly, these poor souls were horrible people generating dark karma over thousands of lifetimes during countless kalpas to receive such punishment.

For the rest of us, we know caçoila. Oh, we know caçoila. Our caçoila.

In fact, we know it so well, many have no problem changing New Bedford nickname from the “Whaling City” to Caçoila City. Seriously, whaling is dead, harkens back to a time when we slaughtered the poor things almost to the point of extinction, and no one really cares to call it by that name. It’s a dead name like the industry.

Caçoila, on the other hand, is alive and well. Let’s have it, Mayor Mitchell, we were the Whaling City, then that died and we became the City Of Light. Who even calls New Bedford “The City Of Light”? Caçoila City has such a nice ring to it.

While you’ll find few people that will offer much disagreement and little to no fight when it comes to the fact that no one, and I mean no one, makes caçoila better than our avó or vovó or if you aren’t Portuguese, you’ve had it at someone’s house that is Portuguese. Where the disagreement comes from is where else to get it when you don’t have access to vovó’s cooking and when it comes to that there are eateries with decades of tradition and fans behind them.

Now, I’m not going to tell you where to get the best caçoila – I don’t want to have strangers randomly punching me in the mouth or suplexing me while I’m taking out the garbage or getting a coffee – this is about caçoila, its culinary history and culture.

To begin with – for those ghastly souls who aren’t sure what caçoila is – generally, caçoila is marinated cuts of pork butt stewed for hours with spices like paprika, garlic, allspice, coriander, cinnamon, bay leaves and wine and/or vinegar. Stewed until tender, tender, tender, “fall-off-the-bone” tender. I say “generally” since some folks like to substitute pork for lamb or beef, and every region and family has their own variety steeped in tradition when it comes to the ratios or even specific spices.

It is this variety which is cause for all the hoopla and disagreement on who makes the best, but truth be told you would really be hard-pressed to find genuinely bad caçoila. You are likely just to find caçoila the way you prefer it and dislike or even bad-mouth the other ways. If you still can’t picture it, think “BBQ Pork pulled sandwich Portuguese-style without all the BBQ sauce.”

While you can, of course, find caçoila as a dish with let’s say potatoes and onions, some classic Portuguese red peppers, and sides of rice, olives and perhaps a basic salad it is probably the caçoila that reigns supreme in popularity. Using a “pop” or pãom of course. Want one of those aforementioned punches in the mouth? Go ahead and make that sandwich with an English muffin, some rye bread, gluten-free, fat-free, cholesterol-free, pro-PaleoKetogenicAtkinsSouthBeachDukan5:2, you Nazi.

The sheer practicality and handiness – pardon the pun – that comes with a sandwich when it comes to the very industrial, busy and blue-collar SouthCoast make it a favorite. You may not have time to seat and eat, you may want to continue to work, perhaps drive (you didn’t hear that from me!), keep watching the game on TV or something else. One hand on the sandwich, the other free to do other things.

Also, there is the frugality and affordability: for about $5 you can get a sandwich with some fries on the side, at the vast majority of local restaurants.

So where does caçoila come from? How many calories does it have? Who invented it or came up with it? What was vovó’s that name so we can send her flowers, love letters, and put her in our last will and testament? Well, that’s like asking “Who invented fire?” or the wheel, or breathing. It hardly matters. Especially when we can’t taste her caçoila anyway. We can, however, taste the caçoila from all the living, breathing, vovó’s in the area and that’s what matters.

If you could find out who made the first and/or had access to that original recipe as if there was some “Ur-Caçoila” it might even turn out to be so unlike your favorite way of making it that you wouldn’t like it. And no one is going to tolerate you punching a vovó in the face, pal.

There are significant differences in other Portuguese enclaves around the world anyway. So, if you are prone to being triggered you better not go to Hawaii where the Portuguese there added pineapple and a little ketchup to their caçoila sandwich. There are even sick, sadistic and twisted rumors that you can optionally add avacado. Definitely fascists.

Now, one thing that always puzzled me, and being a Grammar and Spelling Nazi (in spite of making a ton of mistakes in those departments myself) and even irked me being a First Worlder, when people would insert an “r” in the word. They would say “caçerla” and I would think “Listen, buddy: we are in the land hating on the letter ‘r.’ We lop it off of the ends of words, we skip its existence in the middle of words, we just don’t like that letter – it’s ‘pahk’ not ‘park’, it’s ‘tahtah’ sauce not “tartar” sauce. So what possessed you to add one where there isn’t one?” Why are you coming at me, bro?

I get the same feeling when I pour my bowl of cereal and find out there is no milk. It’s pure rage. I take it out on people by replying to “Have a good day!” with a “No thanks.” or “No one tells me what to do.”

Anyhow, it turns out I am a miser, curmudgeon, a cranky old man because that mysterious ‘r” that seems redundant turns up in certain regional Portuguese dialects where you will see the word as caçoila, caçoula or caçarola.

Damnit. I wanted to hear myself complain.




Who Remembers… Magazine World?

Here is another installment in our Who Remembers? series. You can browse previous articles by using the search bar on the right or by clicking here. These articles are strolls down memory lane. In some cases, the buildings, but new businesses have replaced them. In other instances, the buildings or even the properties have been razed. Instead of a building, it may be a TV show, personality, or commercial that no one longer exists. Either way, it can’t stop us from taking the Memory Lane stroll!

As always we would rather this be a discussion. No one knows this area better than those who grew up here! Please, leave constructive criticism, feedback, and corrections. We’d love to hear your anecdotes. Please share!

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When I was a little kid – during the Pleistocene Era also known as the 1970s – I used to have a handful of mandatory spots to visit every week and in some cases, every day. Of course, what are these memorable spots if you have no one to share them with and the reason we all love to stroll down memory lane is that every place we wax nostalgic about comes with specific batches of memories.

It’s not so much about the building – though that is certainly one small aspect, but how the building itself is a mnemonic anchor. Simply thinking of a favorite spot evokes and conjures up memories of special moments, people, and experiences.

One of those anchors for me was a spot called “Magazine World” that was at Weld Square, specifically on Purchase St. across from the iconic Giammalvo’s Market. Since this was in the 1970s, I don’t recall the specific address and memory doesn’t serve me so well. I took a drive by the spot and what is there today is either an empty plot or an empty storefront. I remember very little of the exterior of the building.

What memories I do have, revolve around the sheer excitement of waking up knowing that I had either saved allowance all week or was gifted a few bucks from my mom and I was going to race down to Magazine World to get some comic books, likely with my brother Mike.

Back then, that meant a quick bowl of cereal, brushing teeth, grabbing any clothing within reach and hopping on to the BMX bicycle or just walking there. I lived in many places in New Bedford, but the vast majority were within walking distance if Magazine World. 868 County Street when it was 2 houses down from Kinyon-Campbell School, 13 La France Court, and an apartment building that no longer exists across from Ketcham Traps.

I especially remember the last one because I lived there during the Blizzard of ’78 where I woke up, looked outside the window and yelled “Mom! Mom! Everyone got so scared about the Blizzard coming that they left the city!! Come look!!” My mom said as she was coming to join me at the window “Why do you say that?” and I replied, “Because all the cars are gone!”


Superman was the best superhero ever, and if you don’t agree you are clearly a communist, you communist.

Well, turns out that the cars weren’t gone, but just hidden under the snow. As a 7-year old, that is mind-blowing stuff and as an adult, that historic weather event is still one the most powerful mnemic anchors of my life.

Anyhow, racing to Magazine World to see which new editions of comic books were released was something that was always on the “To-Do” list. I mean, it was nothing short of a minor catastrophe to be one of the last to find out which superhero was almost killed and came back against insurmountable odds, or who teamed up with who, or the next installment of an ongoing saga. Comic books were real news for us when we were kids and we craved updates.

Going to Magazine World also meant one thing: you got to grab a Coca-Cola from the vending machine on the way in or out. This machine was one of those that had a slim, vertical glass door where you would reach in and grab the glass bottle of soda of your choice and yank it out. If I recall correctly, it was a quarter for a bottle. Does anyone remember one of those machines?

Once you opened the door to go inside the store, I remember that you could hear the glory of an angels’ chorus sing and play their trumpets. If they didn’t actually do that, then I have no explanation – but hear the angels sing, I did.

Before you were stacks and stacks and stacks of magazines and comic books. They were on shelves and in comic book rack that revolved so you could look at what was available. I even owned a few of those racks at one point. Those were the glory days.

I don’t remember the proprietor particularly, but while I have no bad memories I don’t remember having any memorable conversations with him, so likely he wasn’t a fellow comic book junkie, just in it for the business aspect.

Excepting a sole quarter for the soda, the sole objective was to spend every single darn bit of money I had in my pocket and leave with these holy scriptures. My personal favorite comic to follow was Superman, and Mike’s was Spiderman. Of course, Mike made the wrong decision by choosing Spiderman, as anyone with common sense knows that Superman could easily crush Spiderman.

Being an odd bird, outside of the common, main characters like Superman, Batman, the Avengers, the Hulk and others (sorry, Spiderman was a minor character and shouldn’t be included) I loved some of the uncommon ones like Groo, the Archies, and even She-Hulk. I got a lot of flak from the macho guys on Weld Street. Massive for the last one, but the She-Hulk was probably my first crush ever, so whatever!

Many a day and night were spent on explaining why one superhero could defeat another, or what dream teams we wanted to see, or what would happen if “so-and-so” turned evil, and so on. This is what being a kid was all about! Letting your imagination run wild and just have fun. How many millions of kids across the world, across generations, felt this? There were a lot of great people – illustrators, writes, etc. involved behind the creation of comics, but so much of this happiness belongs to the late, great Stan Lee. May he R.I.P. Thanks, Mr. Lee.

Somewhere along the way, we all grew up and forgot and become angry, dull, petty “non-fun having” adults. We’d do ourselves, our kids, the community and the world, a lot of good to remember how to find happiness and have fun again.

Once I got a little older, I swapped out comic books for adult comic/magazines like Creepy and Eerie attracted by the amazing covers by great artists like Boris Vallejo and Frank Frazetta and more adult content and characters like Vampirella.

As I grew up, I stop reading comic books altogether, but loved reading and there is no doubt in my mind that my love for reading was rooted in the joy that came from comics I bought from Magazine World. I wish I could thank the owner for that today.

Some of the best memories of my life where centered around Magazine World. Looking back, the comic books were only one aspect of those experiences. For those comic books were meaningless without someone like my brother or Mike Motta or Scott Shepherd or Billy Rioux or Mark Cosby to share them with, to argue about superheroes with, to drink a Coca-Cola with. Sadly, most of those guys have passed away or moved, but they’ll always be a part of me.

Whenever I think about Magazine World and all those friends and family associated with it I always see the last scene from the movies “Stand By Me” and can hear Gordie Lachance’s voice saying “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anybody?”




The Origins, Reasons, and Practice of the Inverted Christmas Tree; From Saturnalia and human sacrifice to Socks the cat

About 6-7 years ago I noticed a house that I drove by on my morning commute had an upside-down Christmas tree hung on the ceiling of its front porch. I chalked it up as simply being a one-off – a unique or incredibly uncommon occurrence. Having not grown up within a Christian household I figured it was something that some eccentric Christian practiced and I would just ask a religious friend what it was about.

None of my friends seemed to know, which I took as confirmation or validation of my one-off hypothesis. However, I saw another one pop up…and then another one. Then, lo and behold, I saw them for sale at a big-box store.

Being an absolute nerd when it comes to history, culture, and religions, I decided to find out the story behind the upside-down tree. Was it a passing fad or trend, or there was actually a history behind the practice – a sort of revival of an old tradition? Was it a rejection or statement about Christians or Christianity as an orthodox religion? Was it a pagan or “heretical” practice? Sacrilegious?

Here is what I found.

Like many historic stories, there is a lot of myth, confusion, or disagreement when it comes to origins. In fact, “playing” the Telephone Game or Chinese Whispers, will bear out how much an original story or message can change within a span of 30 seconds. So imagine trying to uncover the original story when it possibly, potentially, maybe goes back 1200 years or longer.

While it may not be possible to definitively point to the exact origin with any empirical certainty, we can have a little fun uncovering some of the tales. I don’t think one has to be a history nerd to be able to enjoy a travel through history – I’m a firm believer that the common stereotype of subjects deemed to be dull is not because of the subject itself but rather one of delivery.

Ever have a teacher in school that used the voice from the “dry eyes” commercial? Likely you didn’t enjoy the class and maybe even did poorly in it. I’m willing to bet that the classes you did well in or enjoyed, had roots in a teacher that at least did not use the “dry eyes” voice and likely was actually fun, funny, and witty. Inspiration and motivation is what it’s about, baby.


The Christmas tree has its origins in the celebration of Saturnalia

If we go back to the furthest historic mentions of the Christmas tree itself, was it right-side up or upside down? Well, the earliest mentions we have of a tree associated with a spiritual or religious celebration is the fir tree brought indoors in the ancient Roman festival of Saturnalia during the third week of December. Yes, it was a week-long celebration.

This precursor to the Christmas we celebrate today with presents, feasting, and er, sacrifice goes back to at least 5 B.C.E. Today, we sacrifice a ham or turkey, maybe a duck, but in going back to 5 B.C.E. or even earlier weapons of defeated enemies would be harvested and burned. Even humans were sacrificed but in an indirect way. Oh my Saturn, don’t get upset – they were already dead: munera was the ancient Roman term describing the burning or cremations of those gladiators who fought during Saturnalia celebrations and died.

Later, sometime around the 8th century A.C.E. the Germanic Pagans utilized a sacred tree called Jove’s Oak, or alternatively Thor’s Oak or Donar’s Oak. Who are these blokes? Well, by Jove they are the same bloke. Jove, Jupiter, Thor, or Donar are names given to the same god, planet or constellation of ideas. The oak or fir tree is associated by these gods as a symbol. The pagan concept of death – chopping down a live tree – and rebirth through breathing life into it in your home, sound familiar?

The tree is an allegory that was adopted by Christians who wanted to make it easier for pagans, heathens and savages to digest the gospel. Conquering Christians found out that it was futile to use the method of slaughtering their way into conversion – as their fellow Muslims did – since the threat of death wasn’t as effective as the death of an idea. So, finding a similarity in the pagan beliefs and tying that into the Christian ethos was found to be the far more effective method – one that would eventually be replaced entirely – or so they hoped – as future generations arrived.


The sacred Yggdrasil Tree of the Old Norse Eddas

Legend has it that in the 8th century A.C.E. while the pagans were round the Donar’s Tree celebrating, they were still practicing some of the old ways in spite of giving the new Christian religion a genuine go. While some local-yokes were preparing to sacrifice some unlucky (or perhaps lucky since some felt it was grace or fortune to be chosen) young man under the tree St. Boniface, a missionary, interrupted and chopped that tree down.

Seizing the moment as a teaching opportunity the saint explained the tree as a holy symbol: by hanging it upside-down the shape of the tree from point to an increasingly wider apex resembled the cross upon which Jesus was crucified so he requested that they do so. Furthermore, he showed how the three points of the inverted triangle were reflections of the Holy Trinity: the Father, the Son (Jesus Christ), and the Holy Spirit.

I’m sure the young man was happy for St. Boniface’s interlocution. I bet that year’s celebration was one filled with gratitude, appreciation, and perspective.

Europeans, especially Central and Eastern ones, were said to have adopted the tradition of the inverted tree well into the 12th-century A.C.E. in spite of the lack of historical record bearing that out. In that part of the world an oak or fir tree would suffice, but often simply the tip of one or even a branch would be tacked to the rafters above the dinner table. Perhaps there is a relationship with tacking mistletoe. Regardless, some historians say the branch or tip has been conflated with being an entire tree. One of the earliest mentions of fake news.

There is mention in the 16th-century A.C.E. Latvia, where the inverted tree was a popular representation of the biblical Garden Of Eden and it would be decked with herbs, flowers, and religious offerings of food – symbols themselves of abundance. Many early cultures believed the “As above, so below.” maxim and abundance in the “heavens” would reflect into abundance here on earth, and hopefully, that was demonstrated in the coming harvest season.

However, like the 12th-century A.C.E. stories, these are anecdotes without historical documents to back them up. That’s not to say they aren’t true, just that there is no way to prove the practice them as being true. Another case of early fake news?

Whether true or fake news, we do know for sure that the inverted tree was common among Slavic culture in the 1900s where it spread throughout Europe. Among the Poles, it was called podłaz or podłazniczek which doesn’t exactly roll of the tongue. I can say galumpki and pierogie with confidence, but not going near that one. Supposedly it is pronounced “pawd-wahz-NEE-chek” but that could be fake news too.

These Slavs took the abundance idea to the next level by decorating the tree with the first ornaments: ribbons, straw, paper-wrapped sweets, painted pine cones, fruit, nuts, and gingerbread. They would then offer the “abundance” to their kids or the carolers – for what is the point of abundance if you keep it to yourself? Joy is meant to be shared.

Interestingly, in 1570 a Germanic guild promoted the practice of allowing the children of their members to do what all kids, or…um, cats, wanted to do: give the tree a rustling and shaking to free to various treats so they would fall where they could be picked up and enjoyed. Forget that, cats aren’t interested in enjoying the treats just destroying the tree or batting about an ornament – the tree is just the casualty.

So if the inverted tree was so popular why did it never catch on in and persist into modern times? Why did we all grow up with a right-side-up tree when that allows the cat to destroy it, the frustration of trying to get the lights, tinsel, and ornaments all ’round the tree, the risk of it falling over, trying to orderly stack the gifts around the base having to finagle our way to the back end, toddlers having the opportunity to devour whatever is in reach, et al? Seems like a no-brainer to have it inverted. Are we gluttons for punishment?

Likely, just like religion, we often have a default position based in what we were taught growing up. Heck, why rock the boat, figuratively and soteriologically? While that is certainly one aspect, there is one of capability and practicality: modern homes are built differently than those going back even a few decades. Ever try to hang something in sheetrock or gypsum board? Not exactly the prime medium for something heavy like a Christmas tree.

However, for the above reasons, it makes a heck of a lot of sense. It’s far safer, more practical, has no risk of falling over or being knocked over by the cat, toddlers can’t reach it, there is more space to work with, and it’s far more convenient to decorate or ambulate around. Might be worth considering.

In fact, for those reasons, it has undergone a revival. Big-box stores are hanging trees upside-down to prevent kiddies from knocking it over or playing with the ornaments and perhaps choking on something. It allows their personnel to utilize more floor space as well. We plebs are utilizing for all the above reasons.

Since stores are now selling inverted trees with kits to hang them for those of use who are considering the idea, you can certainly try it out. However, considering that the price for these trees and their kits can go as high as $1400 it is probably more prudent to turn it into a -do-it-yourself project.

That idea about hanging a small portion of the top of a tree or just a branch is making more and more sense. Either way, like myself, many of you will find all the benefits of adopting an inverted tree for Christmas to be attractive ones. After a lifetime of right-side-up trees, what harm can come from giving it a go this year? At worst, it will be a failfest which can you abandon permanently, and at best it will breathe new life and meaning into a tradition that has become a bit stale and stagnant.

Besides, think of how many conversations it will invite during festivities? Breaking ice? A breeze. Trying to get the party started and getting a vibrant atmosphere going by having everyone talking? Done deal.

Even if you have to go through a little aggravation of learning to hang the tree in a small DIY project, then of how much less aggravation you’ll have when it comes to not dealing with it being knocked over, attacked by the cat, worrying about kids gobbling tinsel, and the extra space.

Best of all, it’s far, far less aggravation than finding a human sacrifice.