Quick Trip to NYC and The Cooking Conundrum

Vernon, in his natural habitat, writing with a glass of Pinot Grigio.

I’ve been doing some quick-trip traveling this summer. I did not mean for it to evolve as it has but it did and will so I’m just going with the flow. It has been most satisfying so far. Looking back on all of it, I think I’ve lined it all up to keep myself occupied after still being spent and burned out once I finished the third book manuscript. And that still drags on me.

As most of you will recall, I’ve already zipped up to North Carolina and Virginia and Delaware and Pennsylvania. I’m headed next week to San Francisco and Berkeley to check in with my youngest. All of these are just ‘finger in the wind’ sorts of zoom ins-zoom outs. On each trip, I’ve learned things-history, horses, houses and met up with old friends.

About two weeks ago, I got a text from some old friends from California-their son played football at Chapel Hill and a mutual friend made the introductions-alerting me that our ‘mutual friend’ was wrestling with some serious health issues. I had no idea and it was so kind of them to give me the heads up. I immediately called my old, long-time buddy, whom I’ve known since the late 1960s-we were fraternity brothers at Chapel Hill-and in my typical, subtle, sneak up on it style once I got him on the line, asked “Yo-what’s going on? I hear you aint feeling so good…?” We’ve known each other that long; no need for the nuanced minuet of well-mannered niceties.

He laughed, noted not even the basic “Hello” from me and acknowledged that he was beset and walked me through it in detail.

I listened quietly and once he had finished his recitation-and it was a difficult one-told him I was coming up to see him as quickly as possible.

Of course, he said Oh you don’t need to do that.

Yes, I do. Haven’t seen you in too long, haven’t been in the City in too long and we need to laugh a little.

His resistance was minimal. I asked him if he had wine. He said Of course. That settles it. I booked my flight for a one night hit and run and flew up first thing this past Tuesday morning.

I stayed at the grand dowager of the upper east side, the understatedly resplendent Carlyle. Pricey, you bet but worth it…room was so fancy with bells and whistles, it took a masters in hospitality electricity and about a half-hour to figure out where all the light switches were in my room.

My friend and his wife live just around the corner so after checking in, I was instructed to get on over asap. I hoofed it over there and was whisked by the staff up to their place on the 10th floor. They are beloved residents of the place. That I knew them was an instant badge of credibility.

I had not seen him in over five years. No matter. We just all picked it up as if our conversation had been interrupted only ten minutes before. No topic was off limits or forgotten or worn by time. The laughter and memories came easy.

He’s not drinking these days so I helped him out on share allocation. He’s got so much stuff going on, he’s weak and his pain, mostly adequately controlled by medication (and he’s on a lot of medication) does come and go. His coordination is sometimes spotty. His mind is top shelf as is his sense of humor.

So, after a couple of hours, it was obvious he was flagging. It was time for a good nap. As I took my leave, his marvelous wife asked him if would like to try to go out to dinner. He brightened and said Hell yes, let’s give it a shot. It had been months since he’s been out save for trips to doctors and therapists. I asked ‘You sure? I’m not here to wear you out.’

He was happily positive about it all so we agreed to meet at a very good, two steps up, three steps down hole in the wall Italian around the corner on Lexington at six.

There was a very light splatter of rain. Walking back, the city smelled so clean. I know they’ve got their troubles up there but from my narrow lens, things looked good.

After laying in bed reading (no nap for me-I was going to get my money’s worth out of my very expensive mini-palace), I hitched my britches up and walked to meet them.

Right on the button, there they were and the folks that ran the place were all over them-long time regulars. I tried to pick up the check and was waved off. My friends have had an account over there for more than twenty years and the proprietor gently explained to me that I was the guest and protocol would not allow such a thing.

We had a fun dinner and then with his wife on one arm and me on the other, we glided him back to their place, lots of hugs and final laughs and they went on in and I went back to the Carlyle.

I went straight into the wonderful Bemelman’s Bar, found a good, high perch in the corner where I could people watch and think about my friend and proceeded to get consciously over-served. The ambiance was its usual classy way. The live jazz was great. There were all sorts of folks and fashions on display and it sure looked like 90% of them were on the make, one way or another. The cheese biscuit bar snacks were eternal.

And then my eyes teared up. I knew it would happen.

I quickly snuck upstairs, turned all the lights off, balled up and turned to the wall.

I was back at LaGuardia by 7:30. I promised him I was coming back and I will.

began

Now, onto the cooking conundrum.

It is true that once, a long time ago, I was a pretty good cook. Now, we’d probably have to send out search parties to find the few surviving witnesses who could swear to that but By God!, It is true.

My slide into culinary oblivion was not precipitous; rather, it was a languid slide. When my Sell By Date on my most recent marriage expired and I was on my own again, the erosion of skills began. First couple of months were de minimus. I made lots of guacamole and ate chips and Stouffers cream chipped beef and eggs and toast. And being a gregarious soul, I started going out to eat. I like being around people, not necessarily to visit (though that can be nice too). I quickly habituated to sports bars and holes in the wall and the occasional cloth napkin venue. I learned to always carry a book and newspapers-why not learn a little something while I’m choking and chewing. And the rails were laid. I recently estimated that in the past 10-11 years, I have, in actuality, prepared six meals in places where I have lived-and at least four of those were breakfast.

Throw in the phenomenon of UberEats, which my children patiently explained to me and then downloaded the app for me, and with the advent of Covid, there was no incentive to go back to turning an oven or a stove on.

Ah well, not quite. Things happen. A dear friend, who happens to carry in her Swiss Army Knife of life skill sets among other talents the formal designation of Master Chef, with serious interest quizzed me closely on all of this and then kindly chastised me about it and then gave me a lovely cookbook and with the help of my oldest and quite accomplished daughter, I am putting my training wheels back on.

I have also, on my own initiative, to spur me along, ordered and received two other cookbooks.

Predictably, one is ‘Cooking For Dummies’ and the other is delightfully titled, ‘UNF**K UPABLE-50 Recipes That Even You Can’t Screw Up’.

And even the gods of food karma have weighed in with a recent New York Times article entitled, ‘The First Steps to Kitchen Mastery’, 10 recipes too get your engine running again.

So I’m trying. I really am. But, cooking for one is still something that is not very appealing. But I am happy to report that my wine and mixed drink skills are coming along nicely. Watch this space for further developments.

So, that’s it for this round. Stay safe out there and keep thinking.

All my best,

Vernon