Archive for the ‘Lunchbunch’ Category
Bob says we woulda gone to the little grill in his well-guarded and gated community where danger lurks wherever entry is sought. All the plans had been laid DOWN. All the maps drawn and quartered. EXCEPT they don’t open until 4pm. So, hippity hippity hop, we flop again at Mi Camino Real, where we’ve been often enough this past few years to be recognized at first glance. Where the people are friendly and the food is decent and they allow us to play Scrabble (copyright til you die) afterwords without having to push and pull me to a library down the street and up Route 68 past Radio Shack.
Another miracle that’s made my life much more accessible (to me) is the auto adaptor kit for my c-PAP (thank you, CB, for finding it) which allows me to wear my mask which helps me breathe almost effortlessly during short-to-medium trips.
Just the three of us, Bob, CB and me. Willie is off wandering in Vermont again with her friend diddle diddle john, the hunter man who, she says, seems almost as cosy in Vermont as in his mobile hunting lodge somewhere on the Ohio-West Virginia border.
Oscar the server was serving the LunchBunch for the very first time. And, like Caesar before him, seemed to have radar installed to anticipate our needs and various types of medication to quickly counter ill effects of some of our silly requests.
Like roasted peppers. Tasty but testy (hot). Bob and I ordered two and ate one each. The other two I brought home to chop into the white beans my sister had given me the week before to the accompaniment or crumbling cornbread.
Bob’s spousal unit Joyce is on a protracted sojourn to the South. Not so bad, he can keep in touch by phone. But WAIT, CB dropped Bob’s phone in her purse! He has no phone at home. So, he’ll truly be Joyceless until next Tuesday when we meet again. And beyond.
CB got her usual steak fajitas; problem with multiple visits to a dining establishment (more than one) is that boredome sets in quickly and heavily, like a concrete horseshoe the school bully forced down your gullet, regardless of how good the food, service, appointments and all that stuff may have been that “first” time. NEVER spend the first one until you feel you absolutely must.Bob had an enchilada and a tamale. I had a tamale (I do believe the singular form of tamale is “tamale”) and the stuff that normally comes with fajitas – beans and rice all around and all that other sour cream and guacamole and stuff. Followed by flan and churros.
A solid 7 for me and I heard no complaints from the other two until we started the Scrabble games. I won 1 of 2. CB won 1 or 3. and Bob won 2 of 3. Unless, of course, I am mistaken.
The conversion united that allows me to use my C-PAP in Tranq is a blessing, boosting me to eating spots around the area.
Thank you, Bob, for the tomatoes….again. What can be better than the taste of a fresh tomato? A tasty round of lip wrestling, he muttered confidently after a pause for thought.
I must also thank Mi Camino Real for the Mexican pop. Strawberry for me; Orange for Bob. Wow! Reminded me of the pop we used to sometimes be able to afford from the iceman down in Puryear, Tennessee. Straight from on the ice under the protective tarpaulin to my mouth, thence quickly, quickly, laid, down my throat, like liquid sandpaper cleaning my pipes. Wow!
Hot as hell. Usual for this the hottest year…so far…in the history of weather record keeping in the state of Ohio! Perhaps in the entire state of the bemused.
But we fought the desert winds and we won – actually we simply refused to wear out, for once.
There were five of us. Willie and Bobby and CB and Jude and me the fle!
Tromping into the Panera shop just outside the Dayton Mall this morning.
I lost two Scrabble games to Willie and Bob. Willie won at least one and Bob won at least one. Jude played and played and played. But not Scrabble (copyright til you die).
With Wee-Willie, it’s always christmas. Yesterday, too. Jolapena chorizo fresh from Vermont to go with those maple filled cookies. Yep, back from another jaunt to her second home in East Enosburg. Spousal unit John and she are slowly (over time, not speed) dragging their teepee to her old someplace across the street from the church up there, where her throne sits woodenly between two narrow walls, waiting. Mostly. For its prophecy also to be fulfilled.
They closed Stacey’s!! They chased us all the way across town. We were forced by a fusillade of hunger bullets to #1 China Buffet. Oh, the heartaches of Lunchbunch when we dare go to Wilmington!!!!!
Willie remained incognito in a town far far away in New York or Vermont or some other exoerotic place. She’s just ended a 7 day Scrabble (copyright til you die) tournament in Albany. Wiped out and in hiding, I’d guess.
And then to be hit with an empty building where our favorite Wilmington buffet once dwelled so proudly, housing those warm and friendly folk so helpful, so solicitous.
Without a goodbye Without a note. Stacey’s is gone with its bread pudding.
Still it was a good day, except for the 100 degree heat that nearbout took me out.
Fifty miles for CB and me; fifty miles for Bob. Good food, tasted like somebody gave a damn as they prepared it. Even the fried pollock tasted good. Fried POLLOCK?
Since the hospital we don’t go to the nearest library because of my lungs…. we look for eateries which allow us to play Scrabble (copyright til you die) after we are self-stuffed. Hey Hey Hey! Today I had a 500 game against Bob, an admittedly superior player….. and got my jollies for a week; that’s certain. Bob beat me first, though, badly. CB beat Bob.
Then it was takeout and take-home!
Together. Again. One by agonizing one, we slip and slither into Kettering’s Starlite Diner for a sip and a bite and a piece of pie out of sight of the prying eyes. Hat brim pulled low to conceal flecks of sugar and flower and incipient madness. I’ll be damned! but it does seem the older we get the busier we become, some (Wilie, CB) externally, some (fle – me) internally and one (BOB) as busy as he has to be unless it is cat-connected. Willie is back from her place in the glacier. Surreptitiously. For a lunch, probably because she knows how wide a swath of warmth her shadow spreads on those days of communicating with the otherwise misunderstood.
Rumor is Willie is so short of time she’s being forced to take dirty underwear back to Vermont, says she might persuade John the Mighty to clean up her clothes while she continues to clean up for the life they will have and live and love and luxuriate in. ‘Course she hasn’t got lot more of her mom’s bushes to trim; most of them are in the city’s incinerator, gone to a far far better place.
May 24, 2012. Soul Food sold here! We so swear. Here and now. Hand on a bible. Hand on a spoon. Hell, I carry my spoon with me; theirs aren’t big enough!
Lunchbunch has been to a lot of eateries during the past ten years. Some awful food from some; some tasty vittles from others. Soul food. My grandmother who was very distantly related to that African woman 25,000 years ago, nonetheless could put on a cheap country meal with change spilling over from a dollars. Cora, who was less distantly related, had some of the best country food, probably even cheaper in Arkansas. Rmember that special food she’d cook for us every August that came down the pike? Bob never went to Helena because Bob didn’t wanna hear about that ole “blues” music. So he never ate any of Cora’s soul food. CB always went with us into Cora’s restaurant but never ate any soul food, although she did pick out a lot of excuses hidden about the cabbage leaves. I should back up and say everybody had a shredded pork bbq sandwich made by Hoss’s own hands, even those who stuck their noses up at what they thought was soul food. Something for everyone. Except me! I didn’t like the beer Cora sold and I didn’t care much for her chili; Anything else, I fight over quality definition.
But it’s 1012. Cora’s dead and I miss her. I’m dying and wonder whether I’ll still miss her and my other friends after the veil lifts/closes, as the case may be. But I’m hoping I’ll be a dust mote; that’s my ultimate aim, floating f
March 1, 2012: Rib City (Cincinnati), You have climbed so very high to mediocrity! (120301 Lunchbunch Rib City)
Wee-Willie must have gasoline for pee. How else can she be so speedy: rush here, flee there, take down the New York ThruWay, breeze by Lake Champlain and blow the paint off of Fort George? And afford all that fuel? My oh My!!!
Willie wasn’t with us again and seemed happy as a pig wallowing in warm mud to be playing “real” Scrabble players in “real” venues.
Bless her heart: the whole of the entirety of Lunchbunch’s singles have her back, and I’m told she did very well, although the first day is her ace. Seems to always have the luck on the first day only to face Scrabble fatigue the second day – Don’t worry, Wee-Willie, we’re working on it. Bob just bought a Skill saw; that should do the trick, eh?
Meanwhile back at the ranch, NO SCRABBLE! CB and Bob catered to me and went to the mightyJungle Jim everything store. I totally wore myself out, but I shopped til I dropped, picking up goodies you just caint get anywheres else. Where else, for example, do you find Asian Apples, AKA apple pears?
The last (and first) time we’d been there Rib City was an adjunct to Jungle Jim’s, kinda hidden out back.
I’m kinda sorry we didn’t pile in on a Scrabble (copyright til you die) game or two while we were in the area.
Personally, it was a good day for me; I didn’t feel like falling over passed out all day, but my voice apparently is too weak to catch the attention of my pushers when I wanted to stop, go, gee or haw. Practice. Practice. Practice.
Still, as always, a good time was had by all and a great feeling of camaraderie was rebuilt for another week.