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Savoring the last days of summer the New England way -- the clambake

SCOTT SIMON, HOST:

As August comes to an end, many New Englanders savor the last days of summer with a clambake - a method of cooking colonists adopted from Native Americans hundreds of years ago. From member station The Public Radios, Ben Berke takes us to one of the nation's oldest clambakes.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #1: Watch your face.

(SOUNDBITE OF BLOWTORCH ROARING)

BEN BERKE, BYLINE: As a blowtorch ignites a stack of wood the size of a small log cabin, about a dozen guys in fireman's uniforms are standing by, waiting for instructions from Mike Harrison.

MIKE HARRISON: I'm the bakemaster, but I'm not really in charge of everything. Everybody knows what they're doing, and it's always been that way.

(SOUNDBITE OF WOOD CRACKLING)

BERKE: The Allen's Neck Clambake has happened every summer since at least 1887. Harrison's been coming for 50 of those years.

HARRISON: All this wood'll burn off, leave us with a pile of rocks.

BERKE: Hot rocks, seaweed and clams are what define this New England-style cookout, where the methods and ingredients haven't changed for centuries. The clambake is also a way for a Quaker meeting to survive in this corner of Dartmouth, Massachusetts. It's this group's main fundraiser, and it's a popular way to live out Quaker traditions and ideals.

After the wood burns for an hour, the cantaloupe-sized rocks are starting to change color.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: They're glowing red, white...

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #3: Orange.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: Orange, yeah. Yeah, pretty much orange. Yeah, bright orange rocks, yeah. Yeah.

HARRISON: Bags of seaweed, folks.

(SOUNDBITE OF SEAWEED SIZZLING)

BERKE: Onto the sizzling seaweed go trays of clams, corn, sausage, sweet potatoes, fish. The fire crew works in unison to spread a series of canvas sheets over this hot mound, which puffs up like a beached whale.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #4: Raise it up.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #5: Keep going.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #4: Get all the wet ones on.

(CROSSTALK)

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #4: One more? They're in the very center.

BERKE: The first time Kathy Neustadt came to clambake, she saw an ancient knowledge in action at this moment, connecting people across the centuries. She cried.

KATHY NEUSTADT: I said, I don't know what this means, but this means so much. I can feel it.

BERKE: Neustadt went on to write the definitive book about clambakes, which traces this cooking method back to Native Americans.

NEUSTADT: Creating a steam oven - right? - outside, with no oven. And that just - it was brilliant.

BERKE: As the seafood cooks, other crews are preparing sides. Eleven-year-old Luisa Litzner made dressing. She learned the old recipe from her grandma, and she hopes to teach it to her kids one day.

OK, so the dressing that you're describing - it sounds like mushy bread.

LUISA LITZNER: Yeah, it - like, when you're talking about it, it's pretty gross, but it tastes pretty good (laughter).

(SOUNDBITE OF TRUMPET PLAYING)

BERKE: The trumpet summons a crowd of about 600 for a moment of silent prayer.

JACK TRIPP: Now, let's eat.

(APPLAUSE)

ANTONIA: These clams are awesome. They're perfectly cooked and clean, which is...

CHRIS: They're definitely pretty sandy, but yeah.

ANTONIA: There's some sand.

UNIDENTIFIED SERVER: Would you like an onion?

ANTONIA: Yes, please.

UNIDENTIFIED SERVER: All right. They're...

ANTONIA: Yeah.

UNIDENTIFIED SERVER: ...Good for what ails you. They really are.

ANTONIA: They are. I love an onion.

CHRIS: They are.

ANTONIA: Thank you.

BERKE: It's only after the guests have eaten pie and coffee that the volunteers finally sit down to eat. Ted Robbins, who's not a Quaker, works the clambake every year.

TED ROBBINS: You're never going to go another place with this many people that just cooperate and are selfless and don't complain. And I don't eat clams, but I enjoy the experience.

BERKE: Hundreds of people find this old feeling of unity every summer at the Allen's Neck Clambake.

For NPR News in Dartmouth, Massachusetts, I'm Ben Berke.

(SOUNDBITE OF BLEU TOUCAN SONG, "ANANAS") Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by an NPR contractor. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.

Ben Berke