A Couple Second Choice
Courses
Between the emotional
stress and waking up every minute and a half to peek at the drain, we slept
pretty late the next day.
Running out for
midafternoon church breakfastless, we found ourselves desperately needing to
return home for a quick lunch before any Ad-veeeeen-tures *Jazz Hands*.
Rain was predicted and
she still wanted no part of Times Square.
I tried to entice her interest by revealing the surprise that I was
going to take her to Alex Guarnaschelli’s restaurant. Since she’s one of her
favorite Chopped judges, I figured
we’d be Manhattan bound.
It turns out all the
hours watching that show had inspired my daughter to cook like them, but not
eat their food.
The next option was
mini-golf, but with the forecast the outdoor one we knew wasn’t an option…and
with the giant horrifying clown in the local Monster Golf, the indoor one we
knew was out too.
A bit of hunting found
one connected to an only semi-snooty golf club in Bergen about a half hour
away. It had eighteen full holes and a bunch of nicely arranged fountains.
Working up the hills on
the front nine, all those lectures from her Dad telling her to stay focused
even when she messed up finally paid off.
Sadly, her dad did not learn from
them, and she creamed me. I beat her by
a smidge coming down the back nine, but not nearly enough to close the gap.
At least she was kind
enough to not hit me with the Vader line:
“When I left you, I was
but the learner; now I am the master.”
Once we totaled her
(impressive) and my (embarrassing) scores, she started peppering me with
questions about what the driving range was and how it worked.
Then she admitted to
having no interest in it at all and wanted to leave.
The batting cages and
basketball courts generated similar levels of no interest without the question
phase.
That’s my girl.
We called the Peruvian
fast food place we usually hit for Pollo alla Brasa, and learned they were out
of Yucca for the day. Anyone who knows
my family will realize what an immediate deal breaker a loss of that particular
fried root vegetable would be.
Instead we decided to
reschedule our visit planned for later in the week to Marino’s Café, our
favorite larger scale Peruvian restaurant. (The favorite part is authenticated
more by Rosa and her family’s opinions than mine, making it more accurate.) They served Salchi Yucca (pictured above) which threw some fried hot dogs on top of Anabelle's addiction forming side.
I thought it was a
fantastic opportunity to let the smartphone GPS show me the best way to get
from a point East of home to Route 46 west of home. I never know the optimal highway switch
point.
Sadly, the GPS found El
Marino, owned by the same people, and a couple blocks away, but closer to the
Rockaway Mall than Route 46, wiping out the experiment, and leading to some
crazy hungry inspired driving words.
We had an excellent
lunch, as always. It was extra excellent
as the chef was working who can make the garlic shrimp they took off the menu
for being too spicy for everyone but us.
It’s nice to know the
staff sometimes.
Leaving Rosa’s umbrella
behind was a mystery that would remain unsolved until she returned and we took
her there…
It’s REALLY nice to know
the staff sometimes.
We stopped to get some
guava mango juice for Anabelle’s ice pop plans on the way home.
There was a bit of
organizing and cleaning up before I introduced her to yet another of the
favorite films from my youth.
Gene Wilder’s Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother. YAY!!!
Watching it immediately
after Blazing Saddles (A Brooks film
Wilder acted in) and Young Frankenstein (a
collaboration between the two) really shines a light on which parts of the
black and white comedy masterpiece were likely to have come from each man.
It was another night of
missing Mami and worrying in general, leading us from films to her TV comfort Food
Network- and Cooks Vs/ Cons. As usual I kept the mood light by suggesting
what the chef’s real occupations were if they were cons:
International Mercenary
Circus Mime
Axe Murderer
The calming efforts
continued with reading her some old goofy blog post lists from 2012.
(Sorry anonymous reader,
this writing exercise was never first and foremost about you.)
Going for peak quality
and critical acclaim, I read some Fraction
Hawkeye comics, and some Morrison Doom Patrol.
Before the latter could
lead to extensive brain damage, the sadness hit her again, requiring some more
snuggling and comedy reading to get us both to rest for the evening.
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