You know where my thoughts are this morning. I would have told you the details about my pal Mac’s meeting with a much younger Queen of England, but he reminded me of that meeting in an e-mail, which I noted will require another encounter at Willow.

Then, rushing around to over water the plants, leave a check for the maids and thinking of the dozen things I need to have in my bag (passport for Canada, check, extra battery for camera, check, check, check) I decided to just call him and ask.

The phone rang three times at The Madison and the Admiral picked up. “So, you are a pal of the Queen’s,” I asked.

“Yes,” he said briskly. “A couple of years ago Queen Elizabeth (with a “z” in your parlance) came to Washington on an official visit and asked to lay a wreath at the WWII Memorial.”

“The only time I saw her in person was on one of those. I was jogging up by Arlington on lunch-break from the Pentagon and she came whizzing past with Philip.”

“Well, this was a little more. She asked if she could visit with some U.S. WWII veterans while there.  A retired Marine Col. friend of mine working for USMC HQ in the Pentagon had the job of setting this up, so he recruited me along with a few others to be in that group.”

“Wow,” I said. “I only got a glimpse of her and her hat.”

“Well, I was taken to the Memorial, accompanied by my friend, hospital boss, counselor and escort, Kathy Dorner, and we were seated in the front row of some chairs near where the wreath was to be laid. When the Queen arrived at the Memorial, she was being escorted by Pres. George H. W. Bush and Barbara, who as you know are both friends of mine.

“I almost got a chance to brief Mr. Bush during the Gulf War,” I said. “and I was sick the day he came out to Forrestal when he and Gorbachev met at Malta and missed him.”

(The Queen, a Park Ranger, Prince Philip and the Bushes, walking toward Mac. Photo Reuters.)

“Well, after the wreath-laying, she was walked around the Memorial to view the displays, and then ended up where we were sitting.  I was invited to meet her, and we chatted for perhaps five minutes.  She asked where I was stationed and what I did in WWII, and when I said I was in the Pacific with ADM Nimitz, she commented that her husband was in that theater also.  Actually, he was in the China-Burma-India Theater, which I don’t consider the Pacific, but I didn’t argue with her.  I thanked her for coming to visit the Memorial, which she thought was very inspirational, and we parted as friends.  As she talked with a few others, I was then approached by her escorts, the Bushes, and we had an “old home week” talk, including introductions to Kathy.  Kathy was overwhelmed because she got to see the Queen of England and meet a U.S. President (both firsts for her) all in the same day!”

“What was she wearing?” I asked. “She is always doing something amazing.”

Mac paused, remembering. “That day the Queen was all in a light blue — hat, suit et al, like her yellow on Friday.  She was a very pleasant person to visit with, and I considered it an honor to have had the privilege.  Brief, enjoyable, and memorable.  Of the two thousand invited guests to the Abbey wedding Friday, she was the only one I knew.” He paused, thoughtful. “There were no “heads of State” invited except other Monarchs, and those are all family, thanks to Victoria. The Prime Minister was there, but no prior Prime Ministers, like Tony Blair or Margaret Thatcher.”

I thanked him for the story- I told him I was working on some Detroit issues, since I was leaving this morning for the conference, but I confess this morning my mind is elsewhere. I am going to be with my butt in an airplane again when you get to clearing out your email queue this morning, headed for DTW and a cab to get downtown to the Marriott Renaissance Center.

I was reading the latest issue of Playboy- founder of the empire Hugh Hefner has just got engaged to a woman 113 years younger than him, and I wish the happy couple well. There was a review in the latest issue of Playboy, which I read only for the articles.  The women whose pictures grace the pages of the magazine are so young as to be from another world- at least not mine.

So I actually do read the articles, just to realize what a fogie I have become. They review all sorts of products and activities I have never heard of before. Some I understand. There is a new book out called “Clam Shack: The Ultimate Guide to New England’s Most Fantastic Seafood Eateries, by Michael Urban.

(Clam Shack, by Mike urban to be released in June. Photo Urban.)

The clam shacks scattered along New England’s coastline have been magnets for tourists and locals for decades. It is different than Michigan, though we actually have more coastline than any state except Florida.

We used to drive up to Maine, to Porky’s place in Belfast from Boston. We would stop at theplaces that would steam up a liquor box of Quahog Clams, melt a pound of butter, and let you sit by the side of the road at a picnic table and just drive yourself nuts.

It is mostly seasonal eateries along that holiday road with plenty of character, and you can see the water the stuff comes from. Deep-fried clams, scallops, flounder, lobster rolls on those rolls slit down the top, not the side, steamers, chowders, corn on the cob, french fries, onion rings, homemade ice cream.

I am going to see none of these- the only thing on a bun in Detroit worth eating is a half-dozen Coney Islands, which I will be telling you about presently.

But forgive me if I dream of other things, even as we are about to plunge together into a city of dreams and ghosts. Forgive me if I think of hundreds of miles of New England shoreline. And lunch. I am not going to have time to have anything to eat before leaving, so I have to say that the recipe that Mike got from Bob’s Clam Hut really got me going. There was everything I needed in the reefer to give it at least a go. Bob’s has been around almost as long as I have, since 1956, and it is one of the few clam shacks in my knowledge to have a mission statement:

As a military man, it resonates. By the time you read this I will be wheels-in-the-well for the Motor City. According to our research, it will be temperatures in the 50s and rain.

Hey, it’s Michigan. Here is something from Mike Urban’s book that would be tasty in the chill rain up there, and better if the clams were not from the can:

Bob’s Clam Hut Chowder

1 medium peeled potatoes, cubed to 1/4 inch
1 small onion, minced
1 rib of celery, chopped course
1 cup water
1 tablespoon fresh thyme
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon Lea & Perrins Worchestershire sauce
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
5 cups clam sauce
2 cups minced clams
4 cups whipping cream

Directions:

Combine all ingredients in stockpot except the clams, cream and four cups of the clam juice. Heat to a boil, then simmer until the potatoes are soft, or about 20 minutes. Stir in the clams, cream and the rest of the clam juice. Heat to simmer (do NOT boil) for about 10 minutes and serve immediately. Garnish with crumbled bacon if desired. A round boule of sourdough bread ready for ripping is useful, with fresh creamery butter. Oh, hell, carbs may be my enemy, but just get a mini boule, scoop out the middle and serve the goddamn chowder right in it.

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com <http://www.vicsocotra.com/>