« July 2008 | Main | September 2008 »
August 27, 2008
Matador Cantina
Last Monday we weren't sure of where to go, but hadn't had Mexican food in a while, and Tracy had a coupon, and the menu on the website looked good, so we drove to Oakhurst and got a seat at the Matador Cantina.
Oakhurst is clearly in the middle of a gentrification process. I'm of mixed opinion about the transition from affordable-yet-run-down to upscale/yuppie, but I like good restaurants, so in the end I guess I am a supporter.
The decoration was of a roadhouse with Christmas lights and lots of neon beer signs, which was a little odd given that most people eating were either children or older couples. But that changed after 8:00 or so.
The staff seemed to outnumber the guests when we first got there and three people offered to get us drinks when we sat down. The staff all looked to be very young as well, but that could just have been me feeling old.
The musical act started soon after we got there: a guy playing covers of popular songs from the 80s. We hadn't anticipated having live music on a Monday, but it was a pleasant surprise.
The singer was good, although the songs were the same ones you'd hear on the P.A. system at a shopping mall.
The act got better though when his friend came up with his violin to accompany him. He was talented, and the new arrangement of guitar, voice, and violin made everything sound much better.
The high point was when the singer's brother came up to sing Poison's "Every Rose has Its Thorn". With the violin it was very nice.
The other customers seemed to be mostly friends of the singer, and it felt a bit like being in a stranger's living room.
What was most odd about the people was that they all reminded me of people from New Jersey.
Having lived in New York and Delaware, we have a strong bias against a certain kind of person that seems very common in New Jersey.
They're difficult to describe because they are not particularly remarkable, not the richest, or smartest, or best-looking; in fact very average in most respects.
Perhaps it is their averageness and uniformity that distinguishes them.
Tracy sometimes uses the word "frathole" to describe a particular kind of loud, oafish young man who always wears a baseball cap for some reason.
The food was great, and fit my criteria: tasty (good flavor and texture), interesting (unique, or at least new to me), and cheap.
I had the lobster taco and the buffalo shrimp taco. The latter was $2.99. Both were delicious and both were things I had never even imagined before.
So, all around it was a good meal.
Matt says:
The booze was good too. The beer was $1 drafts of PBR and toward the end I got a very nice añejo tequila. I don't recall the name, but it was $7 and probably the smoothest tequila I've ever had.
Tracy says:
The vegetarian platter was excellent. The vegetables were well-seasoned and perfectly cooked.
Posted by mslaybau at 12:13 PM | Comments (0)
August 13, 2008
Gravestone
I used to go to the cemetery every Sunday to visit my dad. When the weather was good I would sit on the grass by his gravestone, if not I would park in the road about 30 feet away and sit in the drivers seat with the door open. Sometimes I would sit on a little hill with my back to the stone in order to watch the sunset. His stone was in a good spot, under the canopy of two trees, a little bit removed from most of the other sites. I usually went in the late afternoon, but sometimes later if I had stuff to do.
One Sunday it was later than usual and the Sun was beginning to set. I parked and heard some giggling and the sound of glass bottles coming from near my dad's stone. The cemetery only recently cleared the vines to open up this section and my dad was one of the first ones in. As such, different people liked to linger near his stone, to sit with their backs against one of the trees or lie back on the little hill.
This night there were three teenage boys drinking and laughing and staggering about trying to be funny for each other. As I got nearer I saw one of them kick one of the older gravestones over and pick it up and throw it. That made me mad and I started walking with more determination.
Then I saw one kick my dad's stone. I was speechless for a second, but then stopped and shouted, "Hey, stop that!" or something of that nature.
One of the boys seemed to twitch, like he was going to bolt, but the one kicking my dad's stone just laughed and kicked it a second time - harder than necessary to make his point. Then the third boy threw one of the bottles against the stone, smashing the bottle.
This made me very angry and I looked down to see if there was something to throw at them. There was an old crumbling tomb to my right and I walked over and picked up a tennis-ball sized lump of stone and threw it at the boys.
I had never been a top athlete, but I could throw and catch as well as any average guy. I could see them all look up when I grunted as I threw it, but they must have lost sight of the stone against the darkening skies.
I think we were all surprised when the rock I had thrown hit one of the kids square in the center of his face. Of course I was aiming for his head, but I never thought I could actually hit him.
I just stood and felt like I must have seemed like a near-god to them, silhouetted against the dusk, unarmed yet smiting them from afar.
The twitchy boy paused a second or two and then ran off. The kicking boy knelt to examine his friend but glanced up at me.
I was scared to death of what I had just done and couldn't speak for a few seconds. Finally I collected myself and started walking toward them. I tried to speak, but my throat was so dry all that came out was a rough growl. When I was close enough to see his face, the kid stared at me, waiting for me to take another step. I took another step and he ran.
The night was very quiet other than my pulse surging in my ears and I listened to his footsteps and I could hear that he stopped abot 100 feet away. I heard a voice shout-whisper what sounded like "Andy!". The two boys must have foud each other.
The bushes on the side of the cemetery rustled, as though they were taking a shortcut to the street.
I got to my dad's stone and knelt to look at the kid with the smashed face. He wasn't dead, which I had feared. His breathing was heavy, but unobstructed.
I picked up the broken glass near my dad's grave and tossed it on the ground where the kid lay. Part of me hoped he would wake up and roll over on it.
In my head I apologized to my father as I returned to my car. Once I was a few blocks away I called the police to say there were a bunch of drunken teenagers defacing gravestones.
If they found the kid, then it was his lucky day. If not, I didn't feel responsible.
I don't visit my dad anymore.
Posted by mslaybau at 05:41 PM | Comments (1)
August 04, 2008
A Landmark East Harlem Institution Celebrates its 75th Anniversary
Patsy's 75 years and counting!
Grilled 12 ounce New York cut steak, 90 cents? Grilled Salmon filet served with fresh lemon, 90 cents? Original coal oven pizza, 60 cents? Soda, ice tea, bottled water, 10 cents? Yes, unbelievable but true. Patsy's Restaurant a landmark East Harlem institution will be celebrating its 75th Anniversary by rolling back to the 1930s.
Patsy's first opened its New York City location at 2287-91 1st Avenue in 1933, having been the dream of a pair of Italian Immigrant newlyweds, Patsy and Carmella Lancieri. Patsy's established itself as a family style" old fashion type" neighborhood restaurant immediately. Positioning itself in the neighborhood, Patsy's catered to the growing population of Italian immigrants who longed for the cuisine of their fatherland in a casual family style atmosphere.
As a result, almost immediately, Patsy's atmosphere, style and cuisine began attracting many popular famous personalities. Actors and singers such as Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Dean Martin and others became regulars. Famous New York Yankees, Phil Rizzutto, Joe Dimaggio and Yogi Berra made it a convenient stop. Elected Officials to include Rudy Guliani, Mike Bloomberg, Spiro Agnew and others visited after a day of vigorous campaigning.
Patsy's will be celebrating this momentous occasion by rolling back all its prices on its menu. Proclamations will be presented by the office of, New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg, Congress Member Charlie Rangel, Manhattan Borough President Scott Stringer, Council Member Melissa Mark Viverito among others. We will enjoy music, food and yes, the traditional cutting of the cake. Happy Birthday Patsy's!
Date: Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Time: Press Conference begins at 11:30 AM
Event begins at 11:00 AM - 10:00 PM
Location: 2287 First Avenue, New York
(117 - 118 Street 1st Avenue)
Posted by mslaybau at 07:27 AM | Comments (0)
August 01, 2008
Beesting
I finished my second lap and crouched in the shallow end so my chest remained below the surface.
Before I begin a swim I exercise my compulsion to keep the pool tidy, and I paddle about collecting the stray leaves that have settled on the water and tossing them out. I aim for the shrubs by the fence, but they almost always land near or on one of the deck chairs. I don't mind that. It's not tidy, but I know they won't stick to my face as I plow through the water.
As I crouched I saw something floating, something alive. A bee bobbed upside-down, one leg twitching.
I walked through the water, lifting and lowering my legs like an astronaut, and peered down at the bee - wanting to get a close look, but cautious.
I thought I remembered learning from a nature show that insects breathe through their skin, or exoskeleton, or whatever. Which meant the bee, covered in water, was drowning.
I cupped my hands under the bee in order to toss it up on the pavement. The water splashed and the bee tried to right itself. Then it stung me.
"Fuck!" is what I said.
I droped the bee back in the water and stared at my finger. The stinger was embedded on the inside of the ring finger of my right hand, in the soft tissue opposite the knuckle. It hurt, but not as much as the bee stings I had as a child. The skin immediately around the stinger was red and the ring of skin around that slowly turned white, creating a bulls-eye.
The moment of anger was already passed, so I cupped my hands again, much more cautiously, even though I knew that the bee's stinger was still in my finger and it couldn't possibly sting again. I also remembered that once a bee had stung it would soon die. And as I looked at the bee in the water it was no longer twitching, and its body had curled up in typical insect rigor mortis. But the bee needed some dignity, didn't it? And I didn't want to bump into a bee carcass as I swam anyway. I splashed the dead thing to the edge and managed to splash it up over the side without having to touch it.
I stared at it for a while. It wasn't moving much, but one wing seemed to flap a little - although it may have been the wind.
I wanted it to be grateful to me, but knew an insect was not capable of gratitude. I wanted it to be safe and healthy and be able to return to its hive, but I knew it wouldn't and even knew that it didn't matter. That's the thing with bees: there are always more to take the places of the fallen.
I turned back to my position at the edge of the pool and studied my finger and then looked out at the pool for any more debris.
There were three more bees floating in the water.
I very carefully splashed them up on to the pavement without getting stung and watched their tiny bodies writhe on the cement, as though they were trying to wipe the water off themselves - weakly trying to overcome the surface tension of the water.
Once I was finished I got ready again for another lap and saw more things floating in the water. This time it was two big black ants. They looked like they were trying to swim, clawing at the top of the water with their forelegs in that instinctive way that all creatures seem to employ.
I watched them struggle, then said "Fuck it," dried off, and went inside.
Posted by mslaybau at 07:29 AM | Comments (0)