food

A piping hot plate of Pad Siew from Triple Tum Tender calls to me today; the steam rising off the wide noodles, the thick gravy, the beef, ginger, the broccoli, the sweet smell, my mouth awaits the taste reminding me of summer rains in Bangkok, the hints of chili, garlic, oyster sauce, a bay leave, a coconut, chopped nuts, a touch of cilantro, all of it chewable, melting, authentic.

There was something about the search for food that gave us little comfort…Us being myself and a few of my white, entitled, supremely middle class, 19 year old droogs. We had no idea how to fend or cook for ourselves. We had lunch passes to the cafeteria, no cookware, no resources to get off campus and explore. Well, we did have our feet…we could’ve walked someplace, but the places walkable were shit. Places like, Doug’s, where they served potato bread smeared with wood. Or, McKorkle’s, where they just served gravy… you had to bring in your meat, potatoes or rice, they did not supply it. The Kettle was where they melted things, The Blue Crab served beer nuts and beer, The Shack had their famous French imported tables and dripless candles from Hungary before dripless candles had been invented, fine silk table cloths, cutlery from Portugal, a smartly mustachioed man of 67 years old who never spoke but was the best Maitre’D in town. He waited silently, patiently for customers each afternoon beginning at 5pm sharp. No one bothered to tell him that the bar stopped serving food in 1974.

Salvation arrived when we found Runza Hut…a staple of our childhood. Someone had a car or stole a car and by accident we found Runza Hut blocks from the capitol. A Runza starts with daily homemade dough, stuffed full with ground beef, onions, cabbage and secret spices, baked and then served hot. Add a side of onion rings and a Coke... Man, that’s good eatin’.

Ma grandma Tilly used to spend the night. She would come out to our suburban home from her brick house in South Omaha, the old place on 36th street, across the street from Richmond Gordman’s, down the street from the packing house that still worked off the stockyards. She was Lithuanian, still…even though she had moved to the states in the late 20’s.

My grandmother made blintzes for us in the mornings she would spend the night. She would wake up at 4 in the morning and start the batter. These were the best, and were never recreated quite the same by her daughter. They were eaten with butter and jelly on the inside, sometimes powdered sugar sprinkled over. They were as thin as paper and melted in one’s mouth. At one sitting in my childhood, I ate over 23.

Last week I felt fat. So I took a tennis lesson. Saturday I rode my motorcycle out of town and ate continuously; Mexican food in Lake Arrowhead, a half rack of pork ribs at Pappy & Harriet’s, more Mexican food in Banning, a bunch of grilled chicken, salad, mac n cheese last night for dinner. Today I will fast a little bit. Probably bake some cookies. I spoke out loud this morning about how I need to start eating right, doing some sit ups…it’s fun to finally imagine beginning a physical, healthy practice too.