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The East Hampton Star, Nov. 10 - Opinion, Letters, Real Estate

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Letters Real Estate Business

COMMENTARY NOVEMBER 10, 2022

EDITORIALS

The Mast-Head

A Good Point

A Vote For Community Well-Being ith the approval of a new .5-percent tax on most real estate sales, town officials in East Hampton, Southold, and Southampton expect millions of dollars to begin flowing in next year for affordable housing efforts. On Shelter Island as of yesterday morning, the authorizing measure known as Proposition 3 appeared headed for defeat by a single-digit margin, though absentee ballots could tip the current eight-vote balance. Each of the towns must figure out how to use the money, deciding, for example, to spend it as it comes in or to borrow against future income for larger initiatives. Eligible expenses include lowinterest loans, new construction, rehabilitation of existing buildings, and buying rental properties. First-time homebuyers would be exempt; the tax would apply to purchases above $400,000 on deals up to $2 million and to the entire cost above $2 million. Officials are contemplating zoning code changes that would allow for more cottages and apartments on private house lots, among other things. There is a serious risk of misuse and political influence taking precedence over sound decision-making. Though advisory committees will review housing expenditures in advance, the ultimate authorities will be the respective town boards — who appoint the committees’ members. This system may have worked in the case of land preservation, but when it comes to funding actual development, abuses may be difficult to avoid. Indeed, all over New York State, government contracts have proven an endless source of corruption. Why this should be any different is not clear. One way to provide additional oversight for the housing fund would be to require a planning board majority vote, not just on the details, but on the projects themselves; town boards alone are an inadequate safeguard. Time is of the essence, given the rate at which housing costs have grown relative to income on the East End. In East Hampton, since 1999, the median income has risen by less than a half, not even close to keeping pace with real estate prices doubling. At present, one-quarter of households in East Hampton spend at least half of their income on housing, and more than 70 percent of renters and more than 33 percent of mortgage holders at least 35 percent of their income. This has created a profound wealth disparity in which sellers and landlords reap the rewards from the sacrifices of others. This economic injustice affects everything from health care to educational success. In such a rich area, we should be able to do better. The 2percent land and water preservation tax has proven a great success; now it is time to turn to taking care of our people. For the towns where voters favored the creation of community housing funds, the real work begins now, including making sure the money is spent wisely.

ut of seemingly nowhere, Monday, my 12-year-old told me in no uncertain terms that I was not allowed to vote for anyone who was not “a minority.” We were on the morning drive to school, passing a thicket of political signs in Amagansett, Ellis buried in TikTok, and I worried about the election. “Who should I vote for?” I asked, not expecting an answer other than “Zeldin,” intended to get a rise out of his dad. I had to think; only one or two people of color came to mind. “What about a woman?” I said. “So long as she’s a minority,” Ellis said. I was stumped, and this struck me as a real problem. From smallest to largest, nonwhite or Latino representation in elected positions of government is not where it should be, despite unprecedented demographic shifts. In East Hampton, Latinos made up more than a quarter of the population in the 2020 census; there has been only one Lati-

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Thursday’s Thought FORBES — Driving behaviors that got out of line during the pandemic for various reasons created a dramatic reversal of decades of steady progress in cutting U.S. traffic deaths, which had seemed to defy a stubborn foothold of distracted driving and had benefited from the spread of more and more automated safety technologies in new vehicles.

no member of the town board and one on the village board, both women, it is worth noting. On this year’s ballot, Antonio Delgado, who won as lieutenant governor, met Ellis’s stiff requirement, as the first Latino to win statewide office. He is African-American, Cape Verdean Mexican, Colombian, and Venezuelan. “Okay,” Ellis said when I mentioned him. I was not able to probe deep enough to know where Ellis had come up with his one-point criterion. However, since he entered middle school in East Hampton this year in seventh grade, his perspective has demonstrably widened. On the football sidelines, he clowned around with boys whose family backgrounds were in Central and South America. At night when he plays computer games, he and some of the same kids jabber with one another over their headsets. Did one of them give him the idea or did he come Continued on B6

The Shipwreck Rose

Keeping Time ne of my great pleasures is perusing old cookbooks to see how people ate and entertained in other eras. Illustrations showing how to cut paper anklet frills to adorn the shins of roast fowl; the development and rise of Pyrex in the church casserole, covereddish years of American dominion, the origins of “country captain,” a chicken-and-currant curry from down South — all of this is delightful to me. I have never been able to come up with a physical or geographical “Happy Place” when urged to visualize myself in mine by a yoga or meditation teacher; but between the pages of “The American Heritage Cookbook” (1964) — on the daybed, on a quiet afternoon when no neighbor’s yard man has cranked up a leaf blower and I have an iced tea on a coaster by my elbow — “The American Heritage Cookbook” is my Happy Place. And those little booklets of recipes published 100 years ago by King Arthur Flour or Kraft. I just love those. The things they used to

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The road made by walking

Too Little Known On East Lake Buy ast Hampton Town needs to make clear what it is up to in buying a nearly 19-acre piece of vacant land off East Lake Drive in Montauk. At least two people raised suspicions at a town board meeting last week that the plan was to trade the property for county parkland elsewhere in Montauk where a sewage treatment plant could be built. In the meeting, board members did not dispute the allegation. If accurately described by critics, the plan should not go forward, and, at a minimum, the town must explain what its goals are. The red flag for the critics was that the town board, which first voted in June to purchase the East Lake property with money drawn from the community preservation fund — which carries strict limits on how land can be used — abruptly switched to buying it with unrestricted cash. This would, in theory, allow a land swap with Suffolk County for a wastewater plant site. It is highly unusual for the town board to have okayed a preservation fund deal, then ice it for months, only to suddenly change its mind in this way. Much more needs to be known about what went on behind closed doors — as a side note, this could be a prime example of why absolute one-party rule of Town Hall is not in the public interest. We and others have deep concerns about Montauk sewage treatment, particularly any undertaking that would serve the present downtown. Creating expensive infrastructure like this would only help keep in place the exposed and low-lying commercial district, even though the town’s own plan is for its eventual retreat from the shoreline to higher ground. A solution to the wastewater problems there would produce more development pressure, not less. For example, health regulations that limit the number and size of guest units might no longer be applicable, leading to a construction wave. To much fanfare, the town recently put forward a Coastal Assessment and Resilience Plan, which observed that sea level rise “will transform East Hampton into a series of islands with permanent submergence of low-lying areas as early as 2070.” Additional development could put the cost of compensating property owners during a “managed retreat” from the shore beyond the town’s reach, even with state or federal assistance. A key concept in a plan would be the transfer of development rights — if more and bigger buildings were allowed by sewage treatment options, the price of those additional “rights” could make retreat impossibly expensive. This could lead to calls for shore-hardening structures, which carry their own costs and can eliminate public use of the beaches. As elsewhere in town, sewage treatment proposals have followed the money, as opposed to putting the environment first. Indeed, one of the ideas for paying for a Montauk project has been to tax businesses within a newly created district centered on the downtown area. In East Hampton Village, a sewage plant is being talked about, also for the commercial center, with scant attention paid to where drinking water comes from and which water bodies, such as Georgica Pond, really need protecting. A third and equally disturbing issue is the town’s willingness to remove land from the parks. For example, a pair of ball fields off Pantigo Place in East Hampton were handed over to Stony Brook Southampton Hospital for a new medical center. A supposed substitute for Little Leaguers and softball players at the far west end of town in Wainscott is inadequate and an insult to parents and fans going there from the hamlets farther east. The point is, we need to know what the town plans for the East Lake parcel. In the absence of information to the contrary, what appears to be the case is unacceptable.

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Durell Godfrey

GUESTWORDS: By Susan Israelson

Remembering Gael Greene The famed restaurant critic Gael Greene, a former frequenter of the Hamptons as well as Manhattan and eateries everywhere, died of cancer last week at age 88. The first “foodie,” she coined that term in the early 1980s, spreading the word through passionate prose that seemed to conflate cuisine with concupiscence and sex. As New York magazine’s pioneering “Insatiable Critic” and a pal of mine in those years, she changed dining out from a way station to a destination, a sensual experience to be savored, using words like supernal, lush, orgasmic. A restaurant was like a play to Gael, theater in the round. The first act was the entrance, atmosphere, decor — the set; the waiters were the supporting cast; the stars of the show were appetizers and entrees, the denouement, just desserts. Before her, who would think to compare restaurants for the best lava cake, fried calamari, or pizza crusts, which she measured with sewing tape, or denounce even the most elegant establishments for poor service or tired lettuce? Okay, Michelin, you say, fuddy-duddy, but not for runof-the-mill dishes or restaurants — they give stars or not. Just a listing. She was a self-confessed, sometimes shocking sensualist about sex and food, her two loves, lusts. “Great food is like great sex. The more you have, the more you want.” She remembered getting a fried egg sandwich for Elvis, not the sex that came first — so much for poor Presley’s rep. On the other hand, she revealed and reveled in her relationship with the porn star Jamie Gillis.

Point of View

Still A Great Team Jack Graves hey say it’s “the beautiful game,” and yet some teams that play soccer in a less beautiful, even ugly fashion, can win as often as not — as Half Hollow Hills West did here on Halloween — through untrammeled will. I wouldn’t argue that soccer refs be whistle happy, as I think those in field hockey games are, but surely more could have been blown in East Hampton’s favor during its crushing 1-0 semifinal round playoff loss. It doesn’t seem coincidental that I’m writing this on its morrow, the Day of the Dead. As the players stood around afterward, despondent in the silence, I said that it was “still a great team.” In fact, I had wondered earlier in the season if it weren’t East Hampton’s best ever, but perhaps the 2014 squad, led by Nick West, Esteban Valverde, and Bryan Oreamuno, was. But, if you remember, it was pretty clear that East Hampton’s 4-2 loss to Greece Athena of Rochester in that year’s state final was preordained given the absence of

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Sex was food. Food was sex. “I have been seduced and I have seduced. But this, dear friends, and gentle mouths, this was a Seduction.” I was lucky to have the pleasure of being a regular on the Greene Team, an ever-changing gang, twice a week while she reviewed restaurants from North Sea’s Coast Grill to Le Bernardin, once New York’s premier seafood restaurant. (She was dating a co-owner, chef Gilbert Le Coze, and stopped talking to me for months after our visit when he flirted with me.) All I had to do was bring my appetite. Clay Felker was paying! And here’s how it went. Gael herself made a reservation a week ahead but under an alias (sometimes using the name of her ex-husband, Donald Forst, a top newspaper editor in New York, Boston, and L.A.) but always for a party of six, the perfect review crew: Gael’s companion, my date, another couple. It could be any type of cuisine, newly opened, old reliable, anywhere. Always a surprise. She wore a broad-brimmed hat hoping to hide her face, anonymity paramount — just the average Joe customer, special treatment would skew the deal. (Although savvy owners, many of whom she knew quite well, had her picture tacked to the wall as she grew more powerful, able to make or break a reputation.) Stately, hefty, she was a presence even undercover. “In my life I’ve easily lost 500 pounds but for some reason they keep finding me.” The review began the moment we entered — what was our first impression of the ambience? Old-fashioned Italian, Chianti bottles hanging from the ceiling, the obligatory painting of a seaside boat, red-checked table cloths, cozy, or modern, chrome cold. How it felt to you mattered to her, set the stage. I’d go over to the maitre d’ to announce our presence, and she timed how long it took from arrival to being seated. Woe if we had to wait more than 15 minutes, her limit. First, we’d order the house red and white wines — a true test of the wine cellar; Gael’s palate was legendary. We’d ask for bread, and in a second know if it was going to be ordinary — you could tell by the texture, the first bite — or as good as Zabar’s, the gold standard. Her fave: Italian coarse whole wheat. Then, the waiters, a category of their own. Surly: surely French. Bubbly, reciting a whole list of specials by heart, friendly: likely an outof-work actor. Romantic: inevitably Italian. (A footnote: When Gael did a three-part piece, “That’s Italian,” covering every Italian restaurant in all boroughs, I gained 10 pounds — pizza, pasta, deadly. Once when I mentioned that it was the first time I’d ever been in an Italian restaurant where the waiters didn’t flirt, the line made it into her piece.) She’d visit a restaurant three times to make sure everything had been sampled. If this was the first, guided by Gael’s sure hand and our Continued on B6

Susan Israelson, a native New Yorker, summers in East Hampton and winters in Palm Beach. She is the author of “Water Baby,” a novel, and co-author of “Lovesick: The Marilyn Syndrome.”

do with Jell-O, frankfurters, and mayonnaise! Toothpicks these days don’t get no respect, but in 1955, a party wasn’t a party without a centerpiece of cheese or sausage bites stuck on toothpicks, fashioned to look like a 3-D pineapple or a pig. The recipes can be pretty comical, of course, but my main purpose in reading them isn’t the chuckles. It’s the time-travel element. I have a favorite history-of-Christmas cookbook that explains how mincemeat pies — today a little dessert made of chopped fruit and nuts and, by the way, scrumptious, if you haven’t tried them — began in medieval times as beef minced with lard and preserved with expensive, show-offy spices from the Orient. I have many, many early-20thcentury cookbooks that illuminate how “cocktails” came into fashion in the 20th century, when the word could refer to any sort of festive, single-serving first-course mixture, from a beverage of clam broth and Continued on B6

Gristmill

Going Up the Country just discovered the freaking American Paris. Call me a fool, but such was the glittering effect of the lampposts and strung lights along the Oswego River, leading out to mighty Lake Ontario, to say nothing of a particularly wellpreserved, amply bricked upstate downtown. There didn’t even seem to be any vacant storefronts in Oswego, only the taverns and coffee shops of a robust civic life, the plentiful plate glass reflecting what was a confident and forward-looking 19th-century America. But Paris. Remember that episode of “The Honeymooners” when Ed Norton hopes to win the Raccoon Lodge costume contest by dressing up as his hero, the Frenchman who “designed and built the sewers of Paris”? Oswego and environs have their own, even more impressive feat of civil engineering, the Erie Canal, any mere sighting of which produces a schoolboy rush of excitement. As a product of a Long Island public school, a tiny one, I suppose we were taught something about the

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roughly 350-mile canal, a project more audacious and more useful than putting a man on the moon. That lesson plan would’ve been hard to screw up. But when it comes to New York State history and geography, that was about it. How was it, for instance, that it took me until last year to learn of the vast gorges and surging waterfalls of Letchworth State Park, “the Grand Canyon of the East”? My explanation is in the country’s crazy, multilayered federalism. We can’t get past the regional, the little fiefdoms. At times I’ve wondered why we didn’t take it to its logical extremes, because sometimes they are indeed logical — of course breaking Peconic County off from Suffolk made sense. And so did Long Island as its own state. It’s unto itself in almost every way. Zooming in a bit, Southampton Town is simply too big, too cumbersome, and the distinct western half should’ve been lopped off at the Shinnecock Canal a century ago. Final thought on my first thought Continued on B6


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