My Gluttony (In Two Parts)

Sunday August 26^th, 5:16pm. I'm sitting in Reagan National waiting for my connecting flight to Pitt. Boarding won't begin for well over an hour, so I have some time to fill (Maybe the right word here is 'kill', but I would have to address my utility of time, a discussion I am not willing to have). I consider myself fortunate for having vultured a table so close to a power drop. The man next to me left his copy of "Dune" and his padlocked gym bag on the adjacent table so he can be more comfortable while standing in line for a burger. If the bag's contents deserve a padlock, why would he leave them beside a stranger? Perhaps I'm looking exceptionally trustworthy today. There’s a blond woman wearing white shorts on the other side of this power station who pushed two cafeteria chairs together to form a makeshift office. She’s using her power drop to charge her Ipod, while sorting official-looking papers from her tote bag.

I've had an excessively exuberant ten days. Summer is ending and I managed to squeeze in some vacation time before the flurry of school begins again. So sit back, or stop reading whenever you wish. This one will be of some length.

(---===Part I: My Peanut Butter Weekend===---)

Last Friday I was picked up from Boston’s Logan international (after a six hour delay in my flight. Thank you very much, United Airlines), hurried to D’s apartment to drop off the bulk of my luggage, then, at midnight, began the four hour drive to the Adirondacks with our tumblers maintaining our French pressed, black coffee at a tongue burning temperature, just how we like it. We drove through a terrifying rainstorm, which slowed traffic to that of a highly monitored school zone, and arrived at the cabin around 4am. We were greeted with 'sleepy time' tea and friendly conversation. When I woke up, my room was pitch black, which led me to the assumption that I could not have gone through more than three hours of sleep. Strangely, I was refreshed and feeling invigorated. Imagine my surprise when I opened my door and was assaulted with blinding rays of sunlight. It turns out the blinds in my windows refused every single particle of light from entering my room. The real time was 10am. I went for a walk and by the time I returned one of the cabin dwellers was awake. After inhaling peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, we went fishing. I caught my first fish and consequently chopped the head off a live animal for the first time in my life. “I’m sorry, little guy”, I apologized, at which point I began hacking and sawing as quickly as possible. He was delectable. That night, another cabin dweller had the brilliant idea of cooking some of the fish using peanut butter as a base. So for dinner we had peanut butter fish and non-peanut butter fish tacos as a side. To think that our food was alive less than 12 hours ago, it was definitely one of those "it really makes you think.." moments.

On Sunday, our party grew to seven. A party of four, not including myself, went out at dawn and returned triumphantly with four fish, a king's bounty in aquatic animals if I had ever seen one. Later that afternoon five of us took a quick hike to a small summit with a magnificent view. While waiting for sunset, we watched butterflies congregating (and possibly mating?) in the surrounding trees. After our descent, D and I ravenously annihilated a half pint of Ben and Jerry's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream. With our silver spoons colliding, we denied every molecule of the frozen treat to regress to its less appetizing liquid form. Dinner was started slightly later. I helped D conjure her Native dish of fry-bread wrapped veggie dogs (The Injuns had veggie dogs, right? Made of corn?). That same genius who came up with the peanut butter fish made a more refined sauce using the same peanut butter, and used it to cook bacon. It was little slices of amazing (don't judge me, I'm from a country where dirt is considered a toy). Lastly, the biggest of the morning's fish, Captain Stubbs (I named him in post-consumption), was stuffed with vegetables and seasoning before being slowly broiled. There were no plates, no napkins, and no burden of dividing the victim into equivalent pieces. It's a bit of a blur now, but I scarcely recall seven hands gripping seven forks clawing at the good captain and reducing him to nothing more than a semi-symmetrical skeletal structure.

We were in for a slightly more demanding hike on Monday. Not only was the trail longer and steeper, but we had to sneak into a country club and smooth talk ourselves onto their snooty bus to get to the foot of the trail. The summit overlooked a leisurely river slowly weaving and arching across the valleys of tree covered mountains. Naturally, we had to sneak back on the bus to return to W.A.S.P. territory. D and I left that same day and had dinner on the way back to Medford. Where and what we ate will be our embarrassing secret.

(==--My Week of Thai and Fried Fish--==)

Tuesday was spent getting lost on what was supposed to be a half hour walk to the closest metro station. My poor sense of direction was countered with my neurotic planning (I counted on myself getting lost and/or distracted, so I allotted myself more time), and I arrived one minute late to meet my friend, N, for a Thai lunch. At the Chili Duck I ordered mango fried rice, a dish I haven't seen in a forever. Admittedly, I was jealous of N's drunken noodles, a dish I have only seen at the Chili Duck.

I met D for lunch the next day at a different Thai restaurant. Hoping beyond hope that this place would have drunken noodles as well, I was sorely disappointed and opted for some greasy duck to cheer me up. I was dropped off at the Museum of Fine Arts, where I spent the rest of the afternoon meandering through galleries. I was confused about a particular painting in the American section, John Singleton Copley's Watson and the Shark. The confusion came from my viewing of this exact painting not more than two weeks ago in DC. I asked the closest attendant if he knew anything about the painting (mistake!). Although he did provide me with the information I asked for, which was that this painting was Copley’s second version, it turns out that simple question gave him the justification he needed to provide me with a detailed lecture on Copley and American art in the colonial period. In the end he pointed me to the most important American painting (which was by Copley). I was surprised. He was disgruntled by my surprise and soon allowed me to escape. That night N and I went to little Italy where we drank wine, sipped on tomato soup, and split a deliciously greasy plate of fried calamari. Desert was had at Mike’s Pastry where I could only hope my canolli was made by a greasy Italian stereotype hiding in the back with his slick, curled mustache.

This blog is getting too long for my taste. I'm only going to address meals from now on. Tursday's lunch was leftover duck. After she got off work, D and I went to the Institute of Contemporary Art and had dinner at the Barking Crab. We ordered beer, fish and chips, and the fisherman's platter, which consisted of scallops, calamari, shrimp, and cod (all breaded and deep fried). Somewhere in our feeding frenzy D and I realized that the problem with us eating together is that we've already seen each other at our worst and therefore have abandoned any sense of restraint and inhibition. As a result of our guiltless consumption, the food vanished in minutes and we were both incapacitated for the remainder of the night.

Friday's dinner was at a place called My Thai. The menu was all vegetarian; once again I ordered the 'duck'. It always amazes me how some places can get the texture of the 'meat' just right. Best all veggie, Thai place ever. For nighttime fun, N and I got our drink on at The Middle East and The People's Republic where we sat under a leaky air conditioning unit and criticized a marginally attractive girl across the bar for not smiling enough and leaving her wine glass practically full (Who the hell orders wine in a seedy bar, anyway?). We are charmers.

Hamilton beach was the destination for our Saturday outing. The ocean was a little cold, but that didn’t stop us from going out too far and subsequently getting whistled at by the life guard. After an unfortunate injury involving murderous waves bent on our destruction and a swollen ankle, the three of us had lunch at a local cafe. Once again I feasted on fish and chips. That was my last night in Boston and we spent it watching Cannibal the Musical and Suicide Club with a Dunkin' Donuts break for intermission, a bittersweet combination for a bittersweet ending.

(===---:---===)

It is now Friday, August 31^st, 10:03am. I’m riding an Amtrak to Philly. Maybe I can make an unnecessarily long entry of this weekend as well. Congratulations for getting through the longest blog ever.