Five More Early Summer Thoughts

1) Has anyone noticed that the “Beach Reading” displays in most bookstores are really just the books you were forced to read in high school? I expect to see something airy and vapid and get “Moby Dick” and “My Antonia” instead. I don’t think I’ll be reading “A Tale of Two Cities” on the beach this summer, but don’t let me stop you. If you’re among the ones who read the Cliff Notes and feel you’ve cheated yourself, just about any Barnes & Noble will help to assuage that guilt. For me, despite being among the Cliff Noters, I still remember what happens to Pip, Captain Ahab, et al, and thus will go the more contemporary route. My guess is we’ve been through enough hard knocks to “get” life without reliving what transpired on the Pequod…especially in the summer. Maybe I’ll finally break down and read the “Da Vinci Code”, or the latest from Masha Hamilton.

2) Seems the biggest news of the NBA Finals was that nobody watched them. Oh, but there was the draft too.

3) For those of you who get thirsty walking around New York City, worry no more, Big Gulps are here. For the first time in my life I saw a 7-Eleven in Manhattan on the NE corner of 23rd and Park. At first I thought it was a sick joke, like, who knows, maybe it was a vintage clothing store with a convenience store motif. They do that kind of stuff in New York; like making shoe stores feel like subway cars and so forth. But no, this 7-Eleven is for real. It hasn’t opened yet, but God willing it should soon. Nothing better than a Slurpie during the dog days of summer. And you thought life was getting worse...

4) I think I’m conflicted about all these chains moving into New York. I talk about this a lot, so here I go again. Union Square Park, the main epicenter of all things Left, has this “Farmers Market” there all the time. For us Urbanites this is supposedly a good thing; a vast array of stands with “organic” products from little upstate towns. There are flowers and vegetables and cupcakes and syrup and all those wonderful things you’d buy next to a cornfield along a country road. After walking past this Farmers Market dozens of times without giving it much attention, I finally broke down when my insatiable sweet tooth steered me towards one of the bakery stands. I purchased a bigger-than-average, but not huge, cookie that was admittedly overpriced. I thought what the heck, splurge a little, it’s going to be yummy coming from the Farmers Market. Well, unfortunately, calling the cookie sub-par would be generous. It was extremely bland and crumbled in my hand like a dead leaf; hardly an auspicious way to get introduced to the Farmers Market. Nevertheless I went again because I wanted to like this Farmers Market the way a Star Wars fan wants to like Jar Jar. This time I was thirsty, and figured some cold cider would hit the spot. So I go to a different stand and, again, get an admittedly overpriced cup of cider that’s slightly bigger than what’s affixed to your standard office water cooler. It took only two gulps to finish and so I asked in a half- joking, half-serious tone if there were free refills. She says no, somewhat scoffingly, of which I get the most searing “what a dork” look since trying to boogie to “Rock Lobster”. Strike two.

So, earlier this week, I had bunch of loose change in my pocket. I had a craving for those Jamaican meat patties at Golden Krust. It’s a tasty, cheap snack, and very filling. But what drives me nuts is that, for the nine-millionth time in my life, something that costs $2.85 on the menu ends up being $3.08 with sales tax, and I NEVER have that @#&*#$! eight cents when it comes in handy. Dig? Anyway, with the 92 cents that’s destined to get lost in my shorts, I figured I just spend it on a little afternoon dessert at, once again, the Farmers Market. I got a mini gingerbread man (the fluffy, spongy kind) for 75 cents. Once again, it was admittedly overpriced; considering its volume and density were about the same as two and a half marshmallows...but what the hell. Much to my dismay, my mini gingerbread man had the flavor of an unsalted rice cake…and…dare I say it…was as dry as the Mojave Desert. For me that dryness is a real showstopper. Strike three for the Farmers Market.

Meanwhile, as previously mentioned, the Invasion of the Chains has dangerously encroached the main epicenter of all things Left. Just south of Union Square Park, a Whole Foods Supermarket made Fourteenth Street home a few months ago. I like Whole Foods, at least the one in Time Warner Center off Columbus Circle, but I assume the one on Fourteenth is pretty much the same. It’s perhaps the only supermarket in the world that’s also a tourist destination. I kid you not, I’ve seen clusters of people gawk at the porterhouse steaks like it was the Mona Lisa. The place is massive, where the ushered checkout process feels like going through customs at JFK. And, yes, once more the place is also admittedly overpriced, though if you know where to look some bargains can be found. The key difference is quality. I don’t shop there for groceries, but I’ve had a few meals from the variety of self-serve food bars and it’s been A+ every time (meats succulent and juicy, sauces tangy and balanced, breads moist and textured…good stuff). However, with Whole Foods being the Neiman Marcus of supermarket chains, the downtowness of Union Square has gotten chafed. If the Farmers Market is the yin of Union Square, Whole Foods is the yang. But at the risk of committing blasphemy, I must be fair and say that Whole Foods kicks the bejesus out of the Farmers Market. I already sense lightning ready to strike me. In fact, dark clouds are forming as I write this. Early rumblings of thunder make their warning sign, and I’m in search of some rubber-soled shoes. But the truth will always set one free. Whole Foods begrudgingly wins, chalk one down for the Chains. Time for a good long cry.

5) Was celebrating my mom’s birthday this weekend and took her and my girlfriend out to dinner at a place called Luigi’s in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. Anyone familiar with the Denver area will see where I’m going with this. Luigi’s is a fine place, real down-home and local, sans much of the inflicted quaintness found elsewhere. Huge, rich, delicious portions with friendly service from waitresses who call you “Hon” and “Dear.” Just about everything is great, but Luigi’s is especially known for their pizza. I had their pizza special Saturday night: barbecued chicken with bacon, onions and barbecue sauce (and my cholesterol level has jumped to???). It’s hard to describe, but the pizza has this special flavor that I’ve had only once before. I pondered the déjà vu my taste buds were experiencing and…eureka…it hit me…Beau Jo’s pizza in Idaho Springs, Colorado!!! They didn’t have the honey for the crust, but if you’ve been to Beau Jo’s you know what I’m talking about. We have great pizza here in New York, but it’s not as ubiquitous as Big Apple propaganda would like to suggest. Beau Jo’s is some of the finest pizza on the planet. Same goes with Luigi’s. Make the effort whenever you’re in those areas.