Got those taxes in?
Remember the Titantic? No, I wasn’t
there.
With MFO scheduled to arrive this afternoon, I have to get
to arranging the house. But I did want
to make a couple of quick Sunday morning comments.. about (what else) food, traffic, and
sports.
Food First (as it should be)
Last night I was invited to liven up my bachelordom by
joining some friends for dinner down at the Ridge American Legion Hall. Once (twice?) a month they have a “Steak
Night” where for 14 bucks you get dinner.
(price soon to rise a dollar). A
couple of generations were in our party so I was advised to be there at
5:30. Despite some snarky thoughts about
is this dinner or late lunch, I said “Sure”.
The Legion building in ridge is just below the meeting of Routes 5 and 235, so It’s
pretty far down there. I suppose it’s
like a million other American Legion posts in America, a low brick building,
neon beer signs in the window, and a cluster of smokers outside the door. Inside is a comfortable timeless bar, with
probably the only modification in the last decade is the addition of flat
screens. Obvious “regulars” populated
the bar, everybody knows everybody and conversation flows easily. For the “nighters” you pass through the bar,
give the lady your fourteen dollars and receive a little ticket, and enter the
hall. Lined with tables and oilcloth
coverings, place mats are set along with rolled up pressed silverware. There were many people there, almost giving
it an air of a social event, which, in reality is exactly what it was. Friends gathering together to chat about their
week, how’s Uncle Ralph doing?, have you put in your garden plants yet?, did
you hear about…. Although there were a
few family groups with kids, most were at least my age.
To obtain food, you sit until a (?) volunteer comes along to
take your order. There is pretty much a
ritual to follow, and thank goodness I had a guide (although I had been there
once before a couple of years ago). The
delivered dinner consists of a steak (to your choice of doneness), green beans,
corn, a roll, and a baked potato. For veterans of the event, all this gets
reduced to ordering “medium rare, beans”. Or for
the more hungry: “medium rare, both” indicating you want beans AND corn. That’s it.
Off it goes to the kitchen. Meantime
you can go into the bar, get a (reasonably priced) beverage, and then over to
the side table which contains help yourself soup, salad, and fixin’s. The soup (as I remember) was in actual
melamine bowls, but salad (from a huge bowl in ice) only has Styrofoam bowls available. Dressings and fixings are provided are all in plastic packets,
those creations of the devil that are almost impossible to open, never do where
they should, and then the dressing dribbles out from some unexpected spot. You also pick up sour cream (in little
plastic tubes) and (ice cold patties of) butter for the potatoes.
Eventually (upwards of a half hour last night) they bring the (melamine)
plates of food, auctioned off by a recitation of “well done both; medium rare corn, etc.” and you surrender
your little orange ticket for the plate.
Classic Legion fare I suppose, the beans and corn look like they came straight
from a Del Monte can, the potato is wrapped in foil which somehow retains the
potatoes heat forever, and a steak with one of those little colored plastic
stabbers indicating the doneness of the meat.
As I observed around the table, the stabber was pretty accurate. My medium rare was just that, which is a
pretty good trick for a piece of meat less than an inch thick. It had pretty good flavor although you had to
cut around the odd piece of sinew here and there.
But of course you’re not really there for the food, it is
just a reason to gather together, enjoy company of friends, catch up on local
gossip, and maybe have one more bud light than you usually do. Community and food. A great combination.
Last Thursday I left the digs about ten to six to head to
the Dry Dock for my one good dinner.
Upon turning north on 235 at Millstone landing road, I was faced with
three lanes of stationary cars, i think due to an earlier accident somewhere. A nice
person let me in (I gave a wave as you always should) and pulled into the
nearest lane since eventually I would be turning right on 4, and going over the
bridge. And a good 35 minutes later I did
exactly that. Once again, by the time I did
that I was frothing at the mouth, and yelling at the local morons. I do not understand why they feel they are so
important that they can use the “right turn only” lane as their personal
expressway. I suppose they are going so
fast that the signs saying “Right Lane MUST Turn Right at Intersection” are not
readable. Or, if experience shows there
is an island at the next intersection, you merely turn on (or not) your blinker
and just shove over until past the island, then accelerate again. What do we pay the police for anyway?? Grrrr.....
Sports
With college basketball and the Master’s over, the NHL
playoffs have begun. As a rule, I don’t
much watch pro hockey during the season (which has little meaning) but get more interested
as the holy playoffs begin. Readers may
remember that both FOJTE and Y played for years in youth and high school and E
also in college. Plus dad coached for
twenty some odd years, so I think (in my own mind) that I know a little bit
about the sport. I won’t go into the “fighting”
rant here (although I could), but rather another thing sort of caught my eye
last night. When I coached kids I would
spend a few minutes of precious ice time each practice on the “power play”, a
crucial part of the game. And indeed the
operative word there is “play”. Basically,
since you have (at least) one more player on the ice than the other team, they
cannot cover everyone. The legendary
coach Bob Johnson would preach power play tactics in clinics, give out reams of
diagrams, and discuss at length things like “the umbrella”. The goal (ha ha) is to have an open man in
good scoring position with the puck on his stick. Give and goes, drive down, dish off, all
orchestrated to provide that good scoring chance. A thing of beauty when it clicks. Well, in the professional ranks (supposedly
the pinnacle of the sport) they still use the term “Power Play” but it bears no
resemblance to anything like a planned play.
Pass the puck back and forth at the points, maybe dish behind, back to
the points, until somebody feels like they can blast a slap shot toward the
net, hoping by a miracle to score, or to create a rebound. No looking for two on ones, no drawing
defense away from net, just pass, pass, pass, blast.
Sigh, I can be a beautiful game if played right. Too bad..
and for the Legion dinner there was no apparent custom to
DFD
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