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Another day in Paradise...
Oct. 30th, 2004 07:46 pmToday was largely a reprise of yesterday, with my taking my mother to the local health food store, yet again. I must confess, I have developed a kind of take-no-prisoners attitude towards what my mother wants to buy while there (which is pretty much anything she sees). I mean, there is only so much yogurt a body can eat or store in a refrigerator. No matter. We managed to get out of the place with minimum damage, and I proposed we drive down toward Garden City, if only to be away from what I perceive as a certain oppressiveness associated with hanging out about the family premises.
New York drivers amaze me. I mean this in the sense of: "How can anything so stupid remember to breathe?" One exemplar of the species took a position, like some kind of automotive hemorrhoid, about 6 inches from my rear bumper as I ambled along in the right lane heading south on Glen Cove Road, just minding my own business. This specimen began to honk at me incessantly and appeared to be actually charging me, closing the already minuscule gap between us by accelerating, making it clear he wanted me to go faster.
As I had no wish to get hit by this refugee from the shallow end of the gene pool, I obligingly I moved to the unoccupied left lane -- which, in backward jurisdictions such as Colorado, is used to pass slower drivers in the right-hand lane -- whereupon this fine citizen of the Empire State zooms past me in his Chevy-whatever and hangs a right at the next major intersection, about 300 yards down the road.
(No doubt, he was panicked by the fact that his turn signals didn't work -- I assume this to be the case since they didn't light up in anticipation of the turn -- and was desperately seeking a repair station. Poor blighted thing.)
We ended up at a place called Ben's, which bills itself as a kosher eatery. My inquiry regarding a classic Reuben fell on deaf ears, which I found encouraging. (I recall once sitting down at a place in south Florida a long time ago that said it served kosher food, but wich also offered Reubens -- which are besottingly delicious sandwiches, but not something one ought to be able to get at a kosher joint... the whole meat-and-milk thing, y'know...)
My mom and I split a barley-and-mushroom soup and a pastrami sandwich. The service was good and the food was very good.
Upon returning home, it became clear that my purchase of some Pilsner-Urquell beer had been trumped by my dad's purchase of two cases of Molson XXX. Leaving aside the question of why we'd want to have a month's worth of beer on the premises, I nevertheless was encouraged by the idea that great minds worked along similar lines.
Despite the availability of the beer, my dad poured Noilly Prat dry white vermouth with our simple dinner of brown rice and shrimp. The shrimp were huge, done just right, and scrumptious, although I discount the rumor that my dad insists on arm-wrestling the shrimp before buying them from the local fishmonger (my dad cheats at arm-wrestling, anyway). Then again, I have probably had more dry vermouth this evening than I have had in all the martinis of this past lifetime.
Four days and two wakeups before departure.
Cheers...
New York drivers amaze me. I mean this in the sense of: "How can anything so stupid remember to breathe?" One exemplar of the species took a position, like some kind of automotive hemorrhoid, about 6 inches from my rear bumper as I ambled along in the right lane heading south on Glen Cove Road, just minding my own business. This specimen began to honk at me incessantly and appeared to be actually charging me, closing the already minuscule gap between us by accelerating, making it clear he wanted me to go faster.
As I had no wish to get hit by this refugee from the shallow end of the gene pool, I obligingly I moved to the unoccupied left lane -- which, in backward jurisdictions such as Colorado, is used to pass slower drivers in the right-hand lane -- whereupon this fine citizen of the Empire State zooms past me in his Chevy-whatever and hangs a right at the next major intersection, about 300 yards down the road.
(No doubt, he was panicked by the fact that his turn signals didn't work -- I assume this to be the case since they didn't light up in anticipation of the turn -- and was desperately seeking a repair station. Poor blighted thing.)
We ended up at a place called Ben's, which bills itself as a kosher eatery. My inquiry regarding a classic Reuben fell on deaf ears, which I found encouraging. (I recall once sitting down at a place in south Florida a long time ago that said it served kosher food, but wich also offered Reubens -- which are besottingly delicious sandwiches, but not something one ought to be able to get at a kosher joint... the whole meat-and-milk thing, y'know...)
My mom and I split a barley-and-mushroom soup and a pastrami sandwich. The service was good and the food was very good.
Upon returning home, it became clear that my purchase of some Pilsner-Urquell beer had been trumped by my dad's purchase of two cases of Molson XXX. Leaving aside the question of why we'd want to have a month's worth of beer on the premises, I nevertheless was encouraged by the idea that great minds worked along similar lines.
Despite the availability of the beer, my dad poured Noilly Prat dry white vermouth with our simple dinner of brown rice and shrimp. The shrimp were huge, done just right, and scrumptious, although I discount the rumor that my dad insists on arm-wrestling the shrimp before buying them from the local fishmonger (my dad cheats at arm-wrestling, anyway). Then again, I have probably had more dry vermouth this evening than I have had in all the martinis of this past lifetime.
Four days and two wakeups before departure.
Cheers...
