Friday, March 31, 2017
Culinary & Inn Review: The Daily Nazarene, June 32 AD
I guided my tired and thirsty camel off the Roman Road somewhere near Nazareth and headed for my favorite restaurant—Isaiah’s Falafel Palace—but that and every other eatery in town seemed to be closed. I was so famished that I lifted my hands up to the heavens and cried, “Oh Lord of Abraham, bring this lonely traveler some sustenance.”
Just at that moment there was rumble beneath my feet and a flock of doves circled around me singing an ever-so-sweet song. Out of nowhere a young man with very long hair and a celestial glow in his eyes was suddenly standing before me. Twelve other young men attended him. I had heard some rumors about this Nazarene youth and his ability to feed the masses. I stood transfixed wondering what savory delectable would be on today’s menu.
He placed his warm hand on my cheek and said, “Brother, are you in need of a miracle?”
Nodding my head, I replied, “I just traveled all the way up from Jerusalem and I’m really beat and so hungry—do you know any place open and perhaps a modest inn where I can lay my head?”
The young man first looked to the sky and then said; “Fear not, for I shall make a table before you with a selection of nourishment.” And faster than you could say Anno Domini there appeared a roughly hewn board filled with fishes and loaves. “Oh this is great,” I replied, but I also desired a little libation to go with my repast.
The bearded anointed one then asked for my water sack and said, “I shall change your water into wine and may you both be blessed.” I handed him my leather sack and he laid his hands on it and placed it down on the table with my meal. He then put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Brother, my friends and I must be off now to bring salvation to mankind. Please enjoy your meal and when you need to lay your weary body down, get thee to my home and thou mayest sleep in my shop, but please try not to awaken my mother as she is a light sleeper.” I invited them all to stay but I could tell they were on a mission and I sat myself down to dine. As I watched them disappear on the road south I took an educated guess that those twelve men must have been his line or sous chefs, as feeding the starving masses of Judea must take a lot of work and preparation.
However, shortly after I sat down to enjoy this “miracle” feast, my excitement soon turned to disappointment. Let’s start with the wine; yes a Golan Heights merlot is a lovely treat, but for heaven’s sake not with fish. I was hoping for perhaps a nice Coastal Plains chardonnay or at least a very dry Negev fumé blanc. Granted, his choice of the North Coast merlot is a favorite among the scribes and Pharisees, and its hints of fig and pomegranate are exciting, yes, enticing, with perhaps a fatted calf or a ram, but it’s simply not served with seafood.
Which brings us to the fish. While the tilapia zilli had some zest to it, I felt that the anointed one was a little too generous with the cumin and the cayenne. Indeed, while this piscis was no doubt compassionately net caught in the Sea of Galilee, I was really in the mood for more of a salt water creature, say a swordfish or perhaps a nice filet of broiled leviathan. Not to be too critical of my heavenly host, but I could get tilapia anywhere, and if indeed it’s all a miracle, why not surprise the diner with something different from the usual catch of the day?
Now let’s talk about the bread. Yes, it was warm and yeasty but it was not gluten free. One would surmise that anyone who could walk on the water, bring sight to the blind, and raise the dead could come up with a gluten-free alternative to the usual Judean loaf.
The dessert was lacking as well. I sure hope he didn’t commit that lemon cake recipe to stone. There were lemon peels in the cake and little bits of date pits as well. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but perhaps this young man should just stay with his worldwide salvation thing or carpentry and leave the restaurant business to those with a little more sensitivity.
Things didn’t get any better when I went to bed down at his home. The place was full of sawdust and there were nails and odd tools all over the floor. When I finally made myself a little pallet out of straw and was dozing off, in walked his mother. She then kept me up all night worrying that her son was hanging around with the wrong crowed. Every time I tried to doze off she said something to the effect of “So my son, he’s running around with these twelve men—how is he ever going to get married like that? What kind of mishegoss are these young men up to?”
I tried to comfort her by replying, “Oh Mary, it’s just, you know, a stage he’s going through, a sort of messianic thing, you know. Perhaps it’s an attempt to bond or gain approval from his father.”
Mary tilted her head and replied, “He should stay here and learn the carpentry business and all will be well.” When she finally left I still couldn’t sleep because of all the bugs in the straw. However, I was awakened by heavenly smells emitting from Mary’s kitchen, where she was preparing my very favorite morning eye opener—shakshuka—and though her harissa was a little on the pungent side, the repast was a most pleasant way to greet the dawn.
All in all a questionable evening meal and a most uncomfortable night at the inn; however, the company was interesting and breakfast was great, so I’ll give my dining and lodging experience here in Nazareth three stars.
Art Review for The Paleolithic Post, April, 15,000 BCE
Anyone worth his or her horsehair brushes or bone tubes for shooting out dyes against cave walls was in attendance during the recent full moon exhibit at Lascaux. It was quite the exciting show as many of the artists in attendance had gone far beyond that whole bison and horse thing, which is so Lower Paleolithic.
There was one artist in particular—I do believe his name is Unk—who is part of the new vanguard of cave painting, as he enjoys employing his own blood on his images from time to time. This exciting new technique adds a titillating sense of realism to those old cold stone walls. I would advise, however, not getting too close to Unk while he is working since he has been known to bite and actually devour those he feels are too critical of his work.
There was a major buzz or perhaps “grunting” going on for a young new artist who had recently worked his way up to Lascaux from Pech Merle. Nomina Dubia was completing his latest work of a nude holding an animal horn. The horn was incised with rows of mysterious lines that kept his fans guessing—were the lines a lunar calendar or a woman’s menstrual cycle? Nomina would not grunt either way, which created a greater sense of excitement about the new work. Nomina has recently signed on with the Flint & Stone Agency and his work will be soon be touring throughout the greater Dordogne area.
Perhaps the most wonderful surprise of the show was my terrific culinary experience at the new upgraded restaurant. Yerk & Saltina have not only changed the name of the eatery from “Paleos” (which is so way too obvious) to the charming “Chow At Lascaux.” This talented couple has changed the bill of fare as well. In the past Yerk and Saltina were legendary for their mastodon ribs. However, I for one felt that consuming these meaty bones directly extracted from the carcass of a recently slaughtered beast was a bit challenging, but not anymore.
Last vernal equinox Saltina attended a workshop up north given by (might I say) a more evolved tribe who referred to themselves as the Parisi. They have this technique in which they strike small rocks together over dried leaves, thus creating an event that they refer to as “fire.” Before consuming any meat, they immerse the fresh carcass within the flames, and the results are the taste of legends. Saltina was a little taken aback when one of the Parisi mentioned that they have been using these flames for hundreds of thousands of lunar cycles. One of the Parisi referred to her as “sort of Neanderthal,” but since Saltina is indeed a Neanderthal she didn’t mind at all.
Saltina’s new and exciting innovative fire technique is now all the talk of the Midi-Pyrenees. One no longer has to chew and chew raw meat for sustenance.
So the next time you have the pleasure of dinning at Chow At Lascaux, be sure to order the ribs, which have been immersed in these roaring flames of the earth. For a few stones extra Saltina will gladly add her “gatherer special” rub of lichen and earthworms, which, when all cooked with the ribs, is simply a joyous festival for the palette.
The open cave exhibition runs for two lunar cycles, and Chow At Lascaux is open from sunrise to sunset except during earthquakes and the occasional invasions from nearby hostile tribes and stampeding hoards of angry mastodons. I give both the show and the eating experience four stars.
Be sure to catch the next show at Lascaux: Charcoal—How Much Is Too Much?
Monday, March 27, 2017
They’d been sitting in the fridge for at least twelve days, and I knew I would never eat them. Yet each day as I looked upon my two little prisoners held captive in a bag of plastic, I somehow convinced myself that they would be consumed. Yes my delusional self thought, I shall use them in a stew or perhaps a lovely and tasty soup. Even the synthetic sack that held my imprisoned fungi was begging for release. Its yellowing tinge seemed to now be in sympathy with the darkening pair held ever so tightly inside.
I remember the day I brought them home from the farmer’s market. Two big beautiful portobello mushrooms, with stately, bountiful caps and mighty stems. They looked like twins in their color and size. I imagined the pair growing up together from little spores in a lovely manure-seasoned raised bed somewhere out in Monterey County. How happy they must have been with their fellow Agaricus bisporus as they proudly rode together in the bed of the Ford pickup truck heading north to the farmer’s market. I bet they were singing a little mushroom song.
When I first got them home I planned to grill them up for lunch and make a wasabi lemon sauce to spread on lightly toasted francese bread. Or better yet, I’d hollow them out and stuff them with a sun-dried tomato risotto, with little green onion and aged Parmesan cheese on top. I had such bold and delicious plans for them.
For the first five days a six-pack of Belgian beer hid them from view, which was really no one’s fault at all. On the sixth day of their chilly incarceration I swore on my little chef’s heart that I’d marinate them in a tamari ginger sauce and roast them on my gas grill, but alas, that slab of fatted cow would be ever so much more pleasing to my palate.
By the eight day I knew I was never to employ either of theses two dying jumbo mushrooms of the crimini persuasion for any type of culinary pleasure, yet I refused to take them where all vegetables go to lie down, to my large black plastic biostack compost box.
No, I thought, I’ll just leave them in the fridge and each day I will continue to fool myself that I will soon consume them. I wondered if my two captives turned to each other as they were wasting away and said, “Had he only put us in paper we would have kept so much better.” Or “The master’s not getting any younger—surely we are a healthier alternative to the red meat and sea creatures he seems to consume every day?” Or perhaps, “My gills, my gills are wilting away.” Or finally, “Of all the fridges in all the towns, why did we have to end up in this one?
It was day ten—I stared at the bag and realized the fungi were really getting funky. My pair of basidiomycetes were now becoming one. Oh, I thought, first thing tomorrow morning I’ll chop them up with some carrots and onions and make them into a hash and put a little poached egg on top. The next morning came and I chose oatmeal and thus another day of uncertainty for my two little fungus friends. If a vegetarian zealot were to run a news story about my treatment of the two large capped captives, the headline and story would go something like this:
Portobellos Held Hostage, Day Eleven
Somewhere on the west side of Santa Cruz, California, two beautiful mushrooms are slowly wilting away as an aging folk musician turns a blind eye to their plight. Pictures at eleven.
Each day it was the same—I opened the door, I looked at them in the bag, I nodded at them, and they didn’t nod back. Mr. and Mrs. Portobello were shrinking and merging together in some sort of fungi mush. They were not the first pieces of nature to perish in my fridge. I have had my share of dead lettuce, wilted parsley, lumpy rutabagas, and limp celery. It’s best not to even reflect on that pair of rainbow trout I left in the chiller when I went away to New Zealand for five weeks. Suffice it to say, when I opened the door of the fridge I had what can only be called “a gastronomic Stephen King moment.”
Throughout human history the mushroom has been a symbol of the magical, mystical, and supernatural aspects of life. By day twelve they had indeed taken on aspects of both the mystical and supernatural as they had been truly transformed into some form of sinister orbicular amulet. And on the thirteenth day I shook their respective remains out of the bag and into the big black biostack in my back yard. I felt an added sense of guilt as it took a while to remove all their little mushroom parts from the plastic. Sensing an immediate need for spirituality I improvised a little on-the-spot prayer, something like this:
As I lay you back into the earth I realize it will be a welcomed relief from your captivity in a petroleum-based bag that lay within the chilly confines of my Maytag for all too long.
I truly regret never using and appreciating your talents in a stir-fry or a sandwich as I had promised. I do indeed have a real and a sincere sense of remorse that your delicate skins will never know the sizzling heat of my Weber. However, you are now going back to the same place from which you came and with a little luck you may be pushing up spores again soon. Though I have not consumed you I have in my own magical way given you a shot at immortality.
May you mix well and become one with the pineapple skins, potato peels, turnips, eggshells, and coffee grinds. Amen.
Also present were three brown carrots, a half a bunch of cilantro, a very sad little onion (who wept throughout the ceremony), and some form of vegetable that at one time was called a beet. I then took my spade and mixed them all around to hasten their journey back to Mother Earth. I bowed my head in respect as I closed the top of my biostack. After returning my shovel to the shed I went in the house, grabbed my favorite burlap bag and headed down the farmer’s market.
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
It was an old black and white movie whose title, plot and stars fall far from my memory. What I recall was the kiss, and not a little quick peck, as my parents would occasionally engage in. This kiss was different; they were rhythmically drinking the passion from each other’s lips. It was as if the man and woman were inhaling each another. I wondered how they could breath. Their arms and hands caressed in concert as their lips danced across their mouths and then he began kissing her neck and she started to kiss his neck. “Oh this is so great” I thought, you could kiss anywhere that’s kissable. They were smooching so intensely I thought they would roll right out of the TV and on to the living room floor. It was fantastic, stimulating but yet puzzling to my fifteen-year-old psyche. I sat mesmerized on the living room sofa transported by the kissing couple on the black and white DuMont TV wondering— where do the noses go? Is there some kind of special romantic signal between the two? Does one head go left and the other to the right? At what angle should the head be to kiss correctly? I noticed they closed their eyes a great deal. That would surely make for some unfortunate accidents? What if one person ended up with their lips on the nose and the other’s lips on the chin? And the teeth what goes on with the teeth? Could one chip a tooth if you kissed too hard? As baffling as it seemed I was comforted by the fact that that there was a new and exciting dimension to my reality, one which seem to consist of High School, baseball and the constant specter of Nuclear Armageddon. As our young president Mr. Kennedy stood in front of a divided German capitol in 1963 proclaiming Ich bin ein Berliner and as Sandy Koufax was leading the Los Angeles Dodgers to the World Series all I could dream of was my first kiss.
One of the few things that I had going for me in Midwood High School was that I was in the chorus. The boy’s tenor section and the girl’s alto section were always close together. I found myself constantly looking or perhaps staring at Tina. Tina was tall, as tall as any boy in the chorus. There was a certain stigma attached to tall girls especially in a stratified High School like Midwood where the football team was God and nasty little cliques seem to insert their influence on every floor.
Tina was the same height as me, which would be great if we ever kissed, as we would both be on the same level. She was either Italian or Greek which only added to her mystique.
Some of the guys in the chorus would make fun of her and refer to Tina as an “Amazon” or a “Watusi” but I saw her differently. With her long iridescent black hair, olive skin, and green eyes she was my Mediterranean Goddess a face that could launch a thousand ships with her beautiful voice. She was also one of the only girls in high school to wear colorful and dangly earrings, which always caught my eye as they danced down her long thin neck.
A few months earlier I had made my first contact with her during our Christmas show. This performance was a major deal as three choruses were chosen from New York City Schools to give a holiday concert at The Brooklyn Academy of Music. We rehearsed for weeks and knew that all our families would be in attendance. An hour before the performance as everyone was nervously pacing back stage Tina walked up to me clamped her hand on my arm and said, “Oh I’m so flustered and nervous I’ve forgotten the entire third verse of Carol of the Bells. Quick, quick sing it to me so I can remember.” The combination of pre-show jitters and Tina holding my arm sent a flash of electricity through my body. It sure didn’t feel like this when my guy friends squeezed my arm. I felt little bits of fireworks as I replied,
Oh, how they pound, raising the sound
Tina lit up and without missing a beat sang the rest of the verse to me:
Gayly they ring while people sing
And then we both sang:
Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas
As we were finishing the second line Tina began to initiate a series of friendly punches into my arm as she said, “Thanks man you’re a pal, now we won’t embarrass ourselves in front of our parents.” The concert opened with Carol of the Bells and Tina’s section was placed on a wing thirty feet above the stage. As our choral leader slowly lifted her baton to start the show I looked up and saw Tina smiling at me from above and I was hooked. I was smitten, but I needed a plan, a subject to discuss with her that might stimulate her interest in me.
The previous week I noticed her walking around school with a copy of the recording West Side Story. “Yes,” I thought I’d use music to get to know her better and after all we did speak to each other back stage at The Christmas Show. The lunchroom was a mirror of the levels of social strata at Midwood High.
The football team and their coteries gathered in the middle of the large cafeteria. Other sports teams had their own spots but never too close to the football team. The math and science nerds would sit together and talk science talk as they examined each other’s slide rules.
The kids in drama and the chorus would end up in the outlying areas and just sit wherever they felt like sitting. Tina would sit in the very last table and always near the wall.
Knowing it was the final week of school before summer vacation I summoned all my courage and boldly put my tray full of meatloaf, milk and some unknown desert down next to hers. She looked up and said “Hey it’s my friend from the chorus who remember lyrics a lot better then me. Have a seat or as they say where I live in Canarsie, cop a squat man.”
Looking at my tray Tina smiled and said, “That’s why I stay so skinny, the food is just to frightening to put on fork, know what I mean?” Feeling more confident I smiled and took a seat.
Tina leaned back on her seat and said, “So have seen or done anything exciting lately?” Gulping down a piece of Meatloaf I replied “My folks took me to see that new musical Fiorello.
Without any hesitation she commenced to sing me the entire love song from the show titled “Till Tomorrow.”
Clouds drifting by echo a sigh
Parting is such sweet sorrow
I'm drifting too dreaming of you
Till tomorrow comes.
Other students stared and shook their heads but Tina just kept looking at me and singing and then silently bowed her head after the last line and vanished into her long dark mane. The world stopped and there was only Tina lifting her sparkling face laughing and saying, “Tell the truth how far off key was I?” Before I could say anything she started poking me in the shoulder and excitedly said, “I’ll tell you the song I really love from Broadway, you know that one, you know from My Fair Lady when Eliza Doolittle gets really mad at Dr. Higgins and she marches around singing,
Just you wait Henry Higgins, Just you wait I mean I love that one cause you get to march around and talk and sing and it’s so funny. I was Eliza in Junior High and it was just so much fun. I like to sing and move around at the same time, know what I mean? Here I show you.” She then proceeded to sing and act out the song while she marched around the lunch table.
The bell began to ring for the next class but she kept going. Many of the students at the table were shaking their heads but not me.
All I could think of was “This is the girl for me, she’s so alive and fun.” As she returned to the table to get her books I put my hand on her shoulder and said, “Lets go out this weekend, would you like that?” Tina replied, “I’d love to, yeah lets do something fun. My mother and are I’m staying out at my aunts house on Neptune Avenue you know right near Cony Island, here’s her address come over Saturday afternoon.” As she was disappearing into the staircase I called out “What do you like to do?” She turned her head and shouted out, “I like to have fun.” Basking in the wake of Tina’s lunchroom performance I gleefully bounced up three flights of stairs to my Algebra class.
That Friday evening I contemplated what Tina and I should do on our date. I gathered all my money together, which amounted to a little over $12.00. A Broadway musical was my first choice but it would be a lot more dough then what I had. I thought of a trip to Greenwich Village and go to one of the cafes and see folk music. There was this new singer Bob Dylan but he didn’t sing very well so that was out. Then there was always a movie, but I had the feeling Tina might want something more fun. I decided I’d just go to where she was staying and we’d figure it out.
The next morning I got up, took a shower, brushed my teeth really good and made sure none of the clothes I was to wear and any tears or stains. As the city bus rumbled down Ocean Parkway I kept thinking of Tina singing me that love song in the cafeteria and how she danced around the table afterwards. Tina didn’t wear a mask like so many of the kids in Midwood; she was “earthy” and easy to be friends with.
Tina was staying on the 8th floor of one of the many red brick apartment houses that seemed to grow out of Neptune Avenue. The buildings always smelled of food, a sort of wonderful confluence of Chicken Soup meets Veal Parmigiana meets Moussaka.
I took one look at the worn and tired elevator and elected to take to the stairs. I was still haunted by my childhood memories of that horrible red elevator that once kept me prisoner for almost an hour when I was seven. It was not only the the fear of getting stuck, it was the thought of the cable breaking and me trapped and falling in that tomb of death down a darkened shaft to my certain death. Before I could ring the bell the door opened with the chain still attached. Tina stuck her head out and best she could and said, “My mom’s here so get ready for twenty questions, don’t worry, it won’t last too long and then we can go have fun.”
Her mother was quite tall as well and looked a lot like Tina. “So sit have some tea, you can tell me about yourself.” Tina leaned across the table and said, “What’s to tell? He’s just like me he’s fifteen, goes to High School and sings in the chorus.” Waving her hand at Tina to stop she then asked me, “So what are plans for today, are you going to take my Tina some place nice, like to a movie or dinner or both?” Placing her hands on the table Tina leaned in and said, “We don’t know yet mom we haven’t decided yet.” Frustrated Tina’s mom said, “Might be nice if you’d let him speak at least a little bit.” Placing her hand on her mother’s shoulder Tina replied, “Hey mom I need take him in the other room there’s something I want to show him. Don’t worry I’ll bring him back and you can continue to interrogate him.” Placing her hands in the air Tina’s mother replied “It would be nice if we could talk a little, Christ your just like your father.”
Tina dragged me into the living room and pointed out the window saying, “What’s that, tell me what that fabulous thing is?” The very sight of it made me feel ill. Turning slowly to Tina I replied, ”That’s the famous Parachute Jump. It’s 250 feet high and you sit on a little plank of wood and you go up real slow and then hopefully the chute opens and you float down.”
“Yeah is that not just the most boss thing you have ever seen? I mean I’ve been on it over fifty times and every time it’s great. It’s the Eiffel Tower of Brooklyn; I mean it’s so beautiful. Tina turned to me and said, “How much dough do you have, come on pony up, how much you got?”
Still a bit shaken with the thought of my body floating up and down on that steel structure I replied “Oh I think I have around a little more then eleven dollars or so.”
She then gave me a friendly punch in the arm and continued punching me in the arm as she said, “Ok we have enough for a couple of dogs at Nathans and then we can go to Steeplechase and do all the rides and finish it all off with a ride (or maybe two) on The Parachute Jump.”
I quickly tried to make a deal “Well how about we go on the Cyclone (the gigantic wooden roller coaster) instead of The Parachute Jump?” Squinting her nose, Tina laughed and said, “I’m tired of The Cyclone I’ve been on it so many times it’s just not scary anymore, know what I mean? It’s got to scare you to be fun, right?” Not wanting to seem like a complete coward I agreed, figuring I could somehow wiggle my way out when the time came.
As we walked back into the kitchen Tina announced to her mother “Mom guess what, we decided the best thing to do is just walk a few blocks and have fun at the amusement park, and can you believe it he’s never been on The Parachute Jump.” Tilting her head and looking at me Tina’s mom said, “Maybe it’s just not his cup of tea.” Before she could speak another work Tina said, “Oh mom everybody loves that ride” and turning her head to me Tina went on —“Your going to love it, just you wait. I mean that Steeplechase Park has been there since 1887 and you know what most of it will close down next year so now’s our chance.” I silently stood between Tina and her mom wishing it were now 1964. As we were making our exit Tina’s mom called out “Be back by seven we have to go home to Carnarsie tonight your dads coming home.” Tina replied “yeah mom, yeah, yeah.”
Tina motioned me to the stairs and as she scooted down at a rapid pace she said, “I mean what could be better, a beautiful day, an amusement park by the beach and your first trip up to the sky on the old Parachute Jump? You know it was part of the 1939 New Yorks World’s Fair. They moved it all the way from Queens, the whole structure isn’t that amazing?” As I tried to keep with Tina’s descent down the stairs I was praying for rain, as I knew they wouldn’t operate “The Jump” in bad weather.
We quickly scampered down three blocks and soon found ourselves chomping down our dogs at Nathans. “Hey you know” Tina said between bites, “My family might be moving to Boston over the summer I think my dad’s company wants him there.
What a drag, I mean to leave Brooklyn and you know the people in Boston really talk funny, I mean you can’t understand a word they say.” Gulping my coke I replied “Yeah I’m leaving next week to work in a camp in Vermont.” Nodding her head Tina replied, “Seeing that this might be our one and only date we need to have as much fun as possible. Oh man, I can’t believe you’ve never been on The Parachute Jump, you are going to love it. I once rode it three times in a row and then I couldn’t walk straight for two hours, I mean is that crazy, is that fun?” Trying my best to hide my anxiety I replied, “Yeah that’s amazing and it’s so tall and high in the air.”
We started with The Steeplechase Ride, which were a set of six Iron Horses that were carried along the rails in a circle around Steeplechase Park. The horses went up inclines, down small iron hills, across streambeds and even a small set of hurdles. Tina pretended that she could make her horse go faster saying, “Look out for me I’m on old lightening and were headed to the finish line.” It was not the easiest ride in the world as one’s mount was suspended on an iron rail and the only thing holding you on was a worn out old belt and one’s hands which by the end of the ride would be wet with perspiration. I was glad when we came to the finish line.
We then went inside the park building where the first thing one would encounter would be a sort of evil clown who would snap two pieces of wood together right under one’s butt. Tina would just laugh at him and quickly zip her thin frame out of his reach. Next to the clown there was also a great whoosh of air, coming from the floor that blew up the women’s dresses. Seeing this Tina looked to me and said “That’s why I always wear slacks when I come in here.”
We then rode on the enormous slide, the house of mirrors, and soon came to giant revolving tunnel known as The Mixer. Tina stopped me before we began. “Ok the trick is you have to walk straight but on sort of an angle or else your body will be rolling around with a bunch of people who not only you don’t know but probably won’t want to know. Just wait till I start a do what I do and I’ll see you on the other side.” As we danced through we both fell down and laughed as we went spinning around. I put both my hands on Tina’s hands to lift her up and as I did I felt that surge of electricity again, little bits of fireworks.
As we exited The Mixer Tina turned to me and said, “This is getting boring, it’s time for some real fun, it’s time for The Parachute Jump.” We walked outside and gazed up at the 250 feet of metal and the six silk chutes descending and ascending. Tina turned to me and said, “People have gotten married on this ride that’s how much they love it. I mean could it be more beautiful and such a big blue sky today.”
Noticing my apprehension she turned to me and with her large green eyes wide open said, “Don’t even think of punking out. I mean your not going to let me down, are you? I go on this ride all the time there’s nothing to worry about. You just need to let go and have fun, this ride is more fun then all the other rides put together. Look there are three guys on the ground guiding you down with cables. Your not free falling through the air it’s controlled all the way.”
I listened and then I responded, “Tina I need to tell you something about myself, I don’t like doing anything where my feet leave the ground. Sitting on a little plank of wood and going 250 in the air is, I mean it’s like just too much. Those Steeplechase Horses that’s my idea of adventure and fun. How about a ride on the Carousel that would take us up in the air?” Tina then put her hands on each of my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. “First of all the wood is padded, so it’s not just some plank. Look you seem like a reasonable guy, how’s about I make you a deal, a really sweet deal?” Taking as deep a breath as possible I replied, “Ok Tina I ready to hear your deal.” She then started her little punching me in the arm motion and as she did she said, “Come on ride that Parachute Jump with me and after we get to the top we will “make out” all the way down, how’s that sound? You do want to kiss me, right?” I nodded a not very convincing nod. “Right so lets cut to the chase and get on the ride.”
She stared at me and I stared at her until I said, “What about that ride over there, that would be a fun one to make out in?” She leaned back her head and scrunched up her face and replied, “That ride, The Tunnel of Love? That’s where the skankie little trampy girls go to make out with their looser boyfriends. We are so much better then that.
Hey man why go riding around in some lame dark thing when you can be ascending to the heavens with a beautiful Macedonian girl who will kissing you in the clouds while the birds fly and sing around us. Where’s your sense of adventure? And I’ll tell you right now what’s going to happen if you chicken out, want to hear it?” Lowering my head I replied, “I have the feeling I’m going to hear it no matter what I say, so go ahead.” Poking her index finger hard into my chest Tina raved on, “Just think you’re on your death bed right? And you’re all sort of falling apart and corroding and you smell really bad and then your going to think “Gosh I should of gone on that ride with Tina, if only I had done that I could now die in peace,” so I’m here to save you that agony, get what I’m saying? Just listen to your buddy Tina Fiordelisi and all will be well.”
“Firodelisi is an Italian name I thought you were Greek.”
“My father’s from Sicily and my mother’s from Kastoria but that doesn’t matter don’t try and change the subject.”
Reaching for any reason not to go skyward I said, “Well you know it’s more in the nature of the Greek and Roman Gods to sort of fly around, I mean it’s in your blood. I’m Jewish and we just don’t do the flying thing as much as the Mediterranean people do.”
Tina laughed and said, “Ok your one of The Chosen and I Tina Fiordelisi choosing you to go on the Parachute Jump with me and that’s it.” She firmly grabbed my hand and led me to the ride. It grew bigger and bigger as we approached. While we were being strapped in Tina turned to me and said, “See here we are like two little peas in a pod. Just think your happiest thought and you’ll be fine.” We were now thigh to thigh and I could feel those little bolts of energy again as our bodies touched. As we were lifting off Tina said, “You know what song I just love?” Unable to speak I just shook my head. “That one by that blind piano player Ray Charles it’s called “Unchain My Heart” here I’ll sing you a little bit of it:
Unchain my heart, baby let me be,
Unchain my heart, Cause you don’t care about me
Noticing I was starting to shake at 75 feet Tina put her hand in mine and said, “Don’t look down, look up into the sky and just be up here with me. Hey, hey look, look at me I want to tell you something.” At 150 feet I worked up the nerve to turn my head and say “Ok.” Placing her large green eyes right up to the bridge of my nose she said, “I’m so happy to be here with you. I’ve always liked you ever since that Christmas show, and when you asked me out I was so excited that I couldn’t stop singing, really I’m not just making it up. Hey we don’t have to wait to hit the top.”
The one factor I hadn’t thought of when it came to kissing is that she would simply kiss me. Tina put her warm hand on my neck and slowly moved her mouth on mine. It was so easy, especially when one is suspended in the air on a small piece of wood. The noses fell into place, our teeth didn’t bump and I discovered I could even make contact with my eyes closed.
Just then there was a sort of jolting bump and our heads suddenly separated. “Don’t worry” Tina said, “We hit the top and now the chute will open and we will slowly float back to Earth.” She rested her cheek on mine and continued, “Lets snuggle our heads and just watch. It’s as close to flying as we will ever come at least in Brooklyn” and she laughed. “Not too bad is it? Come on kiss me again before we land. It’s like magic, it really is. Do you feel it?” We were now as close as two bodies could get. I began to smile as Tina kissed me on the nose and said, “Yeah man you’re my new hero and by the way I’m hungry again got any dough left?”
We went back to Nathans and I spent the rest of my money except for my bus fare home. Looking up at the clock Tina said, “Shoot it’s after eight I was supposed to be back at seven, we have to go back to Canarsie tonight. We walked back to the apartment and as we waited for the elevator Tina smiled and said, “It’s a really slow elevator so we can make out some more.” Somewhere between the 5th and 6th floors I felt Tina’s Greco-Roman tongue enter my mouth and start to wiggle around and I wiggled my tongue with hers and it was easy.
Little did I know that part of the gene pool that produced Alexander and Aristotle was now mingling with genes that fabricated the patriarchs who led a wondering tribe to the Promised Land, and all on the tips of our tongues. When we hit the 8th floor a little bell rung. Tina looked at me and said. “I’m not done yet are you?” Without waiting for an answer she punched the lobby button giving us 16 more floors. On the way back up she said, “Kiss my neck, kiss my neck.” Fortunately I remembered that movie I had seen on TV and I felt confident that starting just about anywhere would work. As we neared the 8th floor she said, “Kiss the other side now.” On the way over from the right side of the neck to her left side there was a slight collision between my nose and Tina’s chin, which caused Tina to say, “Don’t worry, it’s ok” as she positioned my head to the correct angle. I had the feeling that Tina had done this before but it was all right.
The door opened and Tina started punching my arm and said “What a fun day huh? And you lived to tell the tale. Here’s my home number, call me soon.” I watched her disappear down the hall and right before she reached the door she swung around and blew me a kiss.
I decided to walk home that night and as I did I looked to the sky and I saw The Pleiades, the seven mythical sisters that guided the Greek sailors through the Mediterranean. There’s a belief that there’s yet another sister that flies through the heavens and sings her beautiful song to help the weary Marnier find his way home. It’s said that no one knows her name or can even see her, no one that is, but me