L'Chaim

Monday, August 26, 2019

I flew to Charlotte, North Carolina yesterday to visit Cindy and David, friends for almost 40 years.  While their sons have visited New York separately in the near past, the parents' movement to and from Florida, Scotland, Mexico and North Carolina has made it hard to catch up with them.  They picked me up at the airport and we were soon on the major highway leading to the city center, named the Billy Graham Parkway, after one of America's most eminent anti-Semites.  It almost made me want to turn around and get back on the plane.

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From the airport, we went directly to Haberdish, 3106 North Davidson Street, in the center of a gentrified neighborhood now christened NoDa.  They chose this big, sprawling restaurant with a covered patio, because I requested fried chicken and that's its specialty.  However, Haberdish's Southernness does not stop with fried chicken ($14 half chicken); we also ordered and shared livermush toast ($9), a pimento cheese ball ($10), smoked deviled eggs with smoked trout ($8), "Cast Iron" purple cabbage ($6) and biscuits with honey and sweet tea butter ($1.50 each).  

Regarding livermush, served as a grilled slab on toast, covered with pickled cucumbers and onions (not considered authentic by some), I'd rather not identify its ingredients, which sound far worse than they taste assembled together.  The chicken was almost too good, fried real crispy, but so greaseless that finger licking didn't enter my mind.  While I only ate some of each thing mentioned, I came away so full that I skipped dinner, believe it or not.

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Today, after a breakfast of grits and eggs, we walked around the central business district, which contains the headquarters of Bank of America and other major enterprises, more museums than you might imagine and the NASCAR Hall of Fame.  What I didn't expect to see was this sculpture on the lawn of Edwin Towers, a public housing facility for seniors (over 62, oy gevalt!) and the disabled.

Maybe I was dreaming, thinking that there was a big Hebrew letter standing in the middle of Charlotte, North Carolina; after all, the big road from the airport was not called the Golda Meir Expressway.  

I used Google's reverse image search function to identify the sculpture, without success.  Cindy and David were able to learn that it was the work of Doris Leeper (1929-2000), born in Charlotte, graduate of Duke University, who lived most of her life in Florida.  No name was assigned to it and there is no whisper of ethnicity in the information about Leeper on line.
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For dinner, we went to Midwood Smokehouse, 1401 Central Avenue, one of its five locations, where I ate, sometimes from my plate sometimes from someone else's, Burnt Ends ("Crispy caramelized cubes of brisket tossed in our cola BBQ sauce"), hush puppies, a large smoked rib with a dry rub, really fabulous cole slaw and shredded smoked chicken in a South Carolina-style mustard sauce, the only disappointment.  

No surprise, Midwood has a country decor, with license plates and pictures of pigs and cows covering the walls.  The music, though, was predominantly rock'n'roll and rock-a-billy, rather than country and western.  The many booths and tables appeared to be natural oak.  Beer is readily available, 15 drafts, 10 long neck bottles and 10 cans, along with cocktails and wine.  To my Yankee mind (cultural, not baseball), that seemed sufficient, but I learned that bourbon is the local BBQers drink of choice, not beer.  Midwood serves 50 bourbons, yes 50.  I stuck with an excellent 20 oz. draft IPA, which I failed to record.

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I politely passed on Midwood's banana cream pie, very Southern, because I noticed Two Scoops Creamery, 913 Central Avenue, touting its homemade ice cream on the way over.  It was a wise choice.  Two Scoops claims over 50 rotating flavors plus specials, but only about 1/3 are available at any time.  I had two scoops, appropriately enough, chocolate raspberry chip and Boom (chocolate with Heath Bar pieces, one of several uninformatively named flavors) ($4.95).  They were outstanding.  Actually, I pointed to the wrong flavor, resulting in chocolate on chocolate, with no regrets once I dug in.  If I were able to get to Two Scoops regularly, it might replace Ample Hills Creamery in my affections, but we'll never know.

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

I met Cindy for breakfast at The Yolk, one of a dozen food and beverage shops lining the interior of the Seventh Street Public Market, 224 East Seventh Street.  Some have counters, else about 20 tables holding six to eight people fill the center of the large space.  This morning, it was quiet, some spots not even open at 9:30 A.M.  The Yolk, focusing on eggs and chicken, not surprisingly, was up and running.

Trying to adapt, I passed on eggs or pancakes and ordered the very Southern shrimp and grits for breakfast ($13).  It was a mistake.  The dish contained grits with smoked gouda, jerk shrimp and scallion pesto.  Except for the mild grits, the other ingredients had sharp flavors fighting each other for dominance, with no winner.  The counter people were very friendly, however, and the coffee refills were free. 

Before I left, I walked around the market, looking at other vendors.  The Assorted Table Wine Shoppe had a box on its counter with dozens of waiter's corkscrews for sale at $3.25, previously confiscated at airports by the Transportation Security Administration.  I passed on that bargain and instead bought a blueberry lemon scone from La Piccola Gabbia, the bakery counter next to The Yolk, to enjoy on the plane ride home.

Wednesday, August 28, 2019

If I were not in a committed monogamous relationship with America's Favorite Epidemiologist, I might pursue Carol Heckrotte, the author of a brilliant letter to the editor published today. 
Let’s treat every man who wants to buy a gun like a woman seeking an abortion: Mandatory waiting period. Doctor’s note saying he understands what he’s about to do. Make him watch a video about the effects of gun violence. Close all but one gun shop in every state, making him travel many miles, take time off work and stay overnight in a strange town. Make him walk past people holding photos of loved ones shot to death, people who call him a murderer and beg him not to buy a gun.

Thursday, August 29, 2019

This is Charlie Parker's 99th birthday.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryNtmkfeJk4
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Things are mostly back to what passes for normal after my quick trip to Dixie.  However, to completely restore my psychic balance, I went to Ess-A-Bagel, 831 Third Avenue, for lunch.  I was a regular patron when I lived nearby for nearly two dozen years and it served as my office during those periods when the American economy had trouble fully utilizing my skills.  Ess-A-Bagel was responsible for super-sizing bagels, not welcome among all fressers.  I was always sympathetic to its efforts, as I believe that more is more.

From the dozens of salads, meats, fish, cheeses, flavored cream cheeses, I  made the simple choice of egg salad on an everything bagel ($5.65).  Other bagels it offers are plain, cinnamon raisin, nine grain, poppy seed, sesame, pumpernickel, pumpernickel raisin, salt, whole wheat, onion and oat bran.  A buttered bagel costs $2.45; a bagel with whitefish salad, the sign of a connoisseur, costs $9.75.  These nearly reasonable prices explain the long lines at Ess-A-Bagel much of the day, although most customers are returning to their workstations post haste, leaving seats open for those of us of the leisure class. 

 

Friday, August 30, 2019

Speaking of whitefish salad, I went to the bris today of the son of Civil Court Judge Ilana Marcus, who was my colleague during the last couple of years of my employment in the New York State Supreme Court.  I fully anticipated her move to the judiciary and expect the see her move higher in the years to come.  Meanwhile, after the ritual portion, conducted by a nurse-midwife-mohel, the third (cisgendered) female mohel that I have encountered, there was a generous spread of bagels, lox, whitefish salad, tuna salad, egg salad, salmon salad, humus, babaghanoush, babka, rugelach, and greens (for the anhedonic).  Don't worry, I found something to eat.