Posts Tagged ‘fle’
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!
Air thick enough to choke a cow…and ME; Chinese (is it really?) food good and plenty enough to fatten us all for market! Lunch Bunch.
My first time in weeks to venture more than a few blocks from the house. Success!
Sometimes, no, most times, Lunch Bunch winds up landing in a tiny or medium strip mall somewhere between Northern Kentucky and Northern Dayton. I think that the strip mall must be formatted for easy ingress and egress for restaurant owners and their equipments and their dreams.
The China Buffet in the Eastgate Shopping Center is an exception to the temporary housing rule, however, we’ve been planting our big and small butts there for several years, never tiring yet of the cornucopia of eastern delicacies awaiting us. One of the few places I don’t complain too much about return visits – my preference is to try a new place every week.
I try to get a small bite of everything that looks good and wind up with three plates of samples, half of which are consumed with a smile in my gut and between my mustache and beard.
Hot. Hot. Hot.
I love spicy hot food. I discovered yesterday my lungs can no longer endure hot and muggy weather. I learned the definition of smothering firsthand until Tranq’s a/c kicked in.
Bob brought tomatoes and cucumbers to the party – thank you, my friend. And ribs which he also took back home.
Willie brought snicker doodles she had made – they were excellent, Wee Willie.
CB brought me – good job, CB.
Tuesday because Willie and John (her spousal unit) (remember the soul singer Little Willie John? – mebbe a good label for our couple, eh? Eh, Willie?
Anyhow, Little Willie John left for parts Vermont this morning, take their cats with them and who knows what else as their ferry their household from here to the ancestral home left Willie by her mom a few years back.
What a beautiful setting up there not far from Lake Champlain. CB and I met with Willie up there one October for a special Lunch Bunch where I was introduced to poutine, a mishmash of french fries, gravy and curd cheese.
I’m surely gonna miss her when she arrives at her final farewell. Glad Bob’s, so far, not planning on spending the rest of his retirement in the Okefenokee Swamp wrestling alligators, crocodiles and giant catfish.
I suppose I should mention the consensus grade we four gave the Chinese Buffet was 8.3. Unlike most buffets we’ve tried, they have squid; they have octopus; and stuff; but I never found one of their spareribs.
Lunchbunch is a rally. One of us tries to find a restaurant that is impossible to find and the rest spend the morning looking for it, GPS in hand, or in the case of Bob, handwritten instructions his hand wrote down – Bob doesn’t trust his GPS very much because, he says, I’ve been a very poor example when I got CB and me lost several times using GPS. Never ever ever, though – well, HARDLY ever, do I mention the time Willie and I followed Bob all over the countryside near Clarksville (OH) looking for apples (It’s our secret, Bob – Willie’s and yours and mine!).
When we do finally find each other at the designated meeting place the clash of our rushing words would energize a nuclear power plant if someone ever learned to harness it.
After staying in the house, mostly in bed, for most of the week before, riding in a wheelchair behind CB in Tranq, is without equal, even when the water-laden air refuses to cease its battering of the insides of my lungs.
I think most of us won at least one Scrabble (copyright til you die). Well, no, CB says that’s not true. CB won both of hers. Willie lost both of hers. Bob and I split ours. After more than a decade, we, however, have yet to reach a decision on the deepest meaning of that frustrating word game. Too bad AGGRAVATION isn’t its name.
Brought home some Singapore Mai Fun and, thusly, added a new favorite taste: the curry did it, methinks.
120828 – Lots of food; more cleanup. It’s a wonder they don’t have me on my hands and knees cleaning up my infamous messes caused by spillover from Bob’s and my (and sometimes Willie’s) appetizers.
Willie had to leave after two games to get home ahead of traffic and get her ass packing for today’s departure. (It is my theory (well ONE one of my theories). Bob shot over to Meijer’s to do Joyce’s bidding. I got in Tranq and tried to keep quiet so as not to disturb CB, my chauffeur.
Soul food. How life has changed from the days when soul food, or country food, became the bill of fare for us folks who couldn’t afford better cuts or more expensive vegetables. Now the yuppies are trying to take our food away from us, denying us of yet another part of our identity. I saw in a paper last week where a high class soul food restaurant was opening in the Cincinnati area.
People in the big house over there ate pork tenderloin and hams and tender cuts of ham. From the same pigs, the poor people who helped kill and dress the hogs got what would probably have been thrown away for fed to the dogs any. Hog head for head cheese where you take all the skin and stuff, grind it up and make a poor man’s lunch loaf. Pig ears, one of my favorites, to boil for sandwiches. Pig feet. Pig tails. Brains? Nothing better than pig brains scrambled with eggs.owe
there were the poor white relatives of the hog owners who gratefully accepted the charity of leftover pig ears, feet and ribs, a piece of loin or two to supplement the 5 pounds for a dollar hamburger meat at Schofner and Thompson (half bread and other filling). And we loved our food, rarely realizing we’d been relegated to the bottom of the balrrel of pork bounty, especially our black friends? who lived over yonder in the holler and who dasn’t say “no” to whatever request, or to whatever compensation was offered.
Today my 29 cent a pound pork ribs are, what 3 or 4 dollars?
Fat back, for example, has become an integral part of a gourmet dish. Who can afford fatback now?
And everything else is rising sky high in price.
So whadda we eat now that we can afford.
Used to get a soul food plate for 2 or 3 dollars; today it’s 10-17 dollars.
They’re stealing from us again.
I only hope the same ingenuity from Africa, Scotland, Ireland and a few countries in Europe, will come up with alternative affordable food for our tables which by nature of our lessening incomes must be provisioned with less and less.
Which all leads me to Emma’s soul food Restaurant on Harrision not far down the street.
I don’t like to take the LunchBunch to the west side; it’s too easy to go close to home. Except now with my COPD, I am forced to. And we’ve found some pretty good places that even Bob hasn’t blown up in his imagination before we left. Five Boroughs. The Chinese Restaurant. Ron’s Roost. Giovanni’s and Emma’s.
Strangely, Emma’s had been open on Harrison Avenue, a major thoroughfare, for 8 years, and CB and I had never heard of it. Almost literally a hole in the wall. Clean. Good fresh food, but not what I would call a souldfood restaurant.
A compromise between Europe and Africa. A compromise.
I’ve worn myself down writing this …. I’ll finish tomorrow.
Any of you ever been to a hog killing where nearby Negro laborers, who lived in tiny villages among farms in the county, were called to help and given hog guts (chitterlings), ribs, heads and the like for their hard day’s labor.
And we haven’t even touched on barbecued possum and fried raccoon, rabbit, squirrel, edible birds and the like.
Is the story as simple as someone stealing my Dad’s (on my father’s side) and my Grandmother’s (on my mother’s side) recipes and selling them to the highest bidder once they had sampled their rich (fatty) goodness, increasing demand for the junk food which had heretofore feed us at the bottom of the food chain, which, in turn raised prices to fit big time eateries.
Will we, too, be relegated to dog food dinners?
“With or without cereal bits, ma’am et mister? I do recommend the pseudo wheat germ flavor.”
Lunch Bunch August 23, 2012. Eating with the seniors at Giovanni’s in the verdant (except for Giovanni’s) western suburbs of Cincinnati.
I actually got out of bed yesterday. What an adventure! There I was lying in that damned ole hospital bed on a Thursday morning when I felt this quirky tug on my gut (sorry, could not differentiate between small and large). “Must be Lunch Bunch pangs,” opined CB. “Willie and Bob must be spelling you to get themselves out of having to come to us and play Scrabble on your hospital bed.
Giovanni’s Italian Family Dining. Where old folks go to shovel down the soft, yet delicious; the bland, yet tasty, proooducts of the Giovanni Emini family. Courtesy of the scoops provided by the pound by Tony Enimi, son of the family. Scoops unlimited! As tony performs his Russian dance Kazachok
This hospice thing has become a pain in the ass: I truly never know when a Lunch Bunch will be my last, either in-house or in an eatery. It’s a tad frightening to know that there is a relatively small finite number of Lunch Bunches in my future.
But that’s whining. Actually, I’m grateful for the time I’ve left to spend with friends and work on real and imaginary projects.
Time to make believe I can still …… (fill in the blank)
Oh, me! Oh, my! What will they ever do without me? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh! Ooooooooooooooooooooh!
Bob, Willie, CB and I comprised Thursday’s Lunchbunch. Bob stopped along the way and brought us all some fresh tomatoes. God, are they good. Thank you, Bob.
Willie got up early for a dentist appointment and, wouldn’t you believe it, I forgot to admire her new work.
She was almost biblical in that she went first to “prepare a place for us” at the usual table served as usual by Bob Enimi, son of Giovanni. Ordered appetizers: sausage in sauce, fried calamari, and bruschetta.
Even though a busload of seniors beat us to their tables, and even though only Tony was there to serve, he served like a mothuh and nobody had to wait… not even us latecomers.
Let’s see, I had spaghetti and sausage (pretty good), Bob had a cheese pizza (delicious), CB had ziti alfredo (okay) and Willie had lobster ravioli (i donated my portion to the hungry children in Appalachia; others froze theirs to be examined at some distant future time).
Ever try to divide one medium to small piece of tiramisu among 4 people all of who who wanted the biggest piece? especially Willie and me? Good stuff and Bob’s Cannoli wudn’t half bad, either.
A testament to the taste of Giovanni’s: Willie took John Lasagna for dinner and I brought sausage (homemade, of course) and tiramisu for CB’s and my dinner. No leftovers were allowed to languish.
Back to CB’s and my apartment for some Scrabble (copyright til you die) and leftover Rodney root beer.
I won a game.
I also lost a game that Bob says I probably could have won.
Twelve years almost every week we’ve played Scrabble (copyright til you die) and have yet to agree on almost anything about Scrabble (copyright til you die) EXCEPT that we all like it, especially Willie who continues to chase it with a will and with every centime she can borrow from Farmer Jack’s.
The downside is the next morning (today), that damned ole elephant showed up again and sat on my chest until mid-afternoon when I finally managed to calm her/him down by practicing my breathing without my C-PAP mask.
All is well and I am already swelling with anticipation for next week at Eastgate, willing to spend some miserable time in bed to combat edema in my legs in order to make the trek on Tuesday.
A big bunch of my family huddled over hoe cake and beans and blackberry cobbler at yer General Butler State Park in Carrollton, Kentucky, the other day. In part, I guess, it was my birthday which had eschewed Jefferson and Leee weeks earlier when Lee was locked in a breathe freeze over in Cincinnati. I do love these people either because it’s intrinsic or because I’m desperately looking (as Arthur Godfrey is said to have done in his lonely dying days) for a friend I can die happy with or mebbe get him or her to drop down the abyss with me to serenade me on the way down. Mebbe JC could soften my landing with some of his soft and sweet songs. But I digress. Again. Don’t I?
The very best days these days are those I can spend with friends and kin. Was it ever thus and I ignored it? Ronald gave me an electronic picture frame for my my death gallery. Here, he’s showing me the Slide show he put together. I watched it intermittently for an entire day and plan to add more and see more more often. Thanks, Ron.
There was Reanee whom I hadn’t seen in years, since my first marriage when the family used to get together for marathon pitch (card game) battles – I’m told they picked it right up and ploughed straight ahead at Two Rivers. Reaneee who is actually more related to my first wife, Gerry, than to me and who is closely related to my Alexander cousins, mebbe because she’s an Alexander her own self, being progeny of J-B and Sarah. Reanee recerntly graduated (retired) from the IRS after 32 years, says she may spend the rest of her time playing cards while I straw my death letters all over the place (I’m up to 114 before I did 3 more this morning – does that make it 117?). Reanee and my late brother Jacky were good buddies.
Truth is I had almost completed this post yesterday (Wednesday), then I discovered all my work had disappeared. Poof! Everything disappeared into thin air. Musta been karma telling me it wasn’t good enough. So, let’s see. Hell, it’s never good enough is it? I wonder if anyone will give a damn about these precious photographs after I die.
Val and Johnny Alexander who’ve had a much more exciting life (I think) than probably anyone else in the family. Johnny’s the acknowledged brain of his family. Come to think of it there is no one “brain” in ours. We’re more like the ancient Romans. A triumvirate. I suspect if you asked any of the three of us, you’d get the same answer, “Heck yes, I’m the brains of this family.
The Two Rivers Restaurant fare was decent, as usual, if they only learn to cook pinto beans; the hoecakes were good. Johnny says hoecakes come from slave days when for whatever reasons, the bread was actually cooked on the blade of a hoe held over a fire. Grandmother used to make it; I never cared that much about it until I got old, however. This time, it was grreattttt! (Attribution to Tony the Tiger, of course). Carryout is great at Two Rivers! I ordered piece of Blackberry cobbler to go. No charge!
Beat that if you can, Food Network.
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.