Chronic Negress

t has taken a pair of weekend excursions on the C and E train to bring my locs up to their usual standard of excellence. On my way from excursion 2.0, with the arch that aches like a mother, I stop in at my local boite and the light dawns. I have fab new hair but I am starving. Apparently I am not alone in drawing this conclusion as the place is packed with happy-looking people with varying degrees of hair fabulousness. I take a spot at an outdoor table, order a Mariah Zinfandel, the fabled mac and cheese and a steak (Hey, hair maintenance is hard work). I sip the wine and I am freezing. The sun fled the sky about an hour ago, the wind has kicked up and I am still dressed as though it’s high noon in Yuma. Before the mac and cheese arrives I snag a set at the bar. The food arrives on my timetable and I’m pleased down to my increasingly toasty toes. The Zin is dating the steak and the mac and cheese nicely; the equivalent of a well-executed tongue kiss. You know the kind where your lips slowly pull apart and your heart is shivering in your chest. The bar is agreeable with another singleton or two reading or drinking or some stable combination of both. I am in a place that feels as at home as my own skin (without the ulcers of course). I manage the mac and cheese, noting that Gruyere really makes this sing like Deborah Voigt. The steak is likely grass fed but that’s fine. I cut small pieces as though I am feeding a child. The things I have done in public when food goes down wrong can (and probably will) fill another post. The Zin is followed by a Rioja that’s muscular but light on its feet. I must drag my aching arch and the rest of me two more blocks to home. I don’t mind the slightly painful trip as I am well fed and have take some unfamiliar wines for a spin. In my case, happiness limps in a circular motion.

Two days earlier, I bought more Zin, some Oregon Pinot and a Caymus white blend called Conundrum and a new bottle of the house small-batch bourbon. The wines came from my new favorite store. Some day soon the ceiling will be done, my foot will stop hurting, the ventilation of the liquor store next door will stop roaring and there will be fabulous potions for the party I deserve. Now let the Rangers be defenestrated by the Penguins and my happiness will be complete.