This morning I read about this wonderful bar at the Carlyle Hotel- Bemelmans Bar- that dates back to the fine period of Art Deco- 1930. It’s reminiscent of the period, and serves cocktails only an experienced bartender of 50 years could serve. It got me thinking.
Here we are in the second decade of a new millennia. Politics has put a cage on every day society, so much so we’ve decided to create a phrase- “politically correct”. God forbid you can an African American a black man, or a Native American an Indian. If you don’t take the time to look at the fat content on a can of Liverwurst or corn-beef hash, lightening will strike you down.
We’ve all decided to speak and tip toe around everything society has to offer because we as a whole have become sensitive. “You can’t say that! I’ll sue you!” people say. It’s the first line of defense- no more fists, just legal paperwork. Its the capitalization of American society. Why if you measured the amount of money made from frivolous lawsuits, I presume we could pay this gargantuan deficit we’ve crawled into. Frankly, I’m tired of it.
I enjoy a few drinks, getting drunk, I enjoy a laugh more than anything else, and I suppose when the intoxication comes I can put aside those problematic every day occurrences. It’s not that I’m always intoxicating myself, but under the influence of even a few beers, I can focus on the ever more important human activity of laughing, listening, and not speeding along at 100 mph- forgetting how I’ve come this far. All to often, in this crazy tri-state area we’re speeding through time like a black jack dealer spitting cards to his next client.
I enjoy doing things that are bad for me. I enjoy juicy fat full burgers, heavy cholesterol steaks, and food that dribbles out of my mouth and down my beard. One day my body will stop me I’m sure, but until then I can live with a smile on my face. George Burns smoked cigars until he was one hundred.
We once had a trip to the Ben & Jerry’s factory in Vermont. At the end of the tour, you can purchase a bowl of ice cream- ALL kinds of flavors. I remember my daughter, who must have been three, eating this chocolate delight- painted all over her face as if she’d stuck her entire mouth into a pile of the cold stuff. An old woman came to us and pointed at my girl and said, “It always looks so much better when they eat it.” I’ll never forget that moment- think about it. The joy and delight is not only in the self- absorption of the moment, but the on lookers realizing, “if only that could be me.”
One night years ago, I went to a Cajun bar called “The Old Bay” in New Brunswick, NJ. I tossed back a few drinks with my good friend Brian over some fine conversation. I planned on taking the last train home from the town which was about 1:30-2am. There was NO WAY I could leave without a trip to a small, but incredible, winger joint called Cluck U- one of the landmark college late night visits. I purchased probably a dozen mild wingers. The meat was layered in this drippy, gooey, red sauce. It was lathered on and the scent grabbed me by the ears. My mouth watered as I waited for the train, until I could stand it no longer.
I walked to the end of the platform, where it was quiet- like some child punished for something he didn’t know what he did. I ripped into those fleshy wings with the delight of a child. The sauce was not only all over my fingers, but my lips, my cheeks, and between my teeth- it was GLORIOUS.
Wouldn’t you know it, a fellow writer and professor approached me cautiously, “Steve, what are you doing here?” Fortunately, being one of the creative type who made his second home at our local bookstore- the Raconteur- he was understanding, not shocked in the least- by my display of a Cro-Magnon man making love to his food.
I suppose this exercise revolves around the joy of a visit to a foreign place; meeting new people, having a laugh, a conversation, learning something new- being myself.
Some journeys we need to reawaken our senses, bring excitement back; for me; the icing could never be thicker.