Text 5926, 167 rader
Skriven 2006-09-27 09:00:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: visitors 320
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UA 424 IAD BOS 1153 1336 733 2A
My brother took me to the airport on his way to work, and
as he clocks in at 10, I was there shortly before. There
was only a short line at security, maybe five minutes'
worth, but the TSA opened another lane up anyhow; so the
procedure took only a minute or so, and off I was, ready
for breakfast, by 10. Breakfast was 3 5-oz cans of Ocean
Spray grapefruit juice. They were also offering orange
juice by the carafe, apples, and the funny little orange
pound cakes in cellophane. I did a whole lot of e-mail
and 10, count 'em, FIDOs; read the Financial Times; tried
to call Carol; and spent altogether too much time getting
rid of that grapefruit juice. When I looked up, it was
11:30, so I hustled to the gate only to find people lining
up there for a secondary screening. The person in front of
me asked someone exiting if everyone was being screened,
and the answer was yes. I stood there for a few minutes
watching the sheeple having their carryons torn apart,
poked, prodded, and sniffed. Oddly, there was not a big
pile of confiscated guns and knives on the table; even
more oddly, there were no Chap-Sticks, Fruit2O bottles,
or mascaras either. I did see someone busted for a fast-
food packet of mayo, though, and after much pleading they
were allowed to squeeze the stuff onto their sandwiches,
where of course it absorbed into the bread and was no
longer a liquid or gel and thus not any longer under the
purview of the Department of Homeland Security. A lesson
for the wise: dress your salads and sandwiches before you
get to the gate. There was supposed to be a relaxation of
the rules at noon, but of course this was at least 15
minutes before, so all the bells and whistles had to come
out. I was somewhere between amused and exasperated by
this charade; I asked the gate agent if it was mandatory,
and she said, did they tell you to get in that line? and
I said nobody told me to get into any line. I handed her
my boarding pass, which she ignored - started doing some
stuff on her terminal which, I knew as I could see what
she was doing, had no effect: clearly she was waiting for
the TSA to come take me away. Well, they didn't. So at
length she had to process me and grudgingly give me the
stub: "here you are." No "thank you for being one of our
best customers"; no "sorry for the inconvenience." I
took a squint at her badge so I could report her for
being a bitch, but by the time I got aboard I'd forgotten
her name. The main issue was that she was letting people
line up into a line they didn't have to be in, either
out of laziness or sheer bitchiness.
Got to my seat fairly late to find that the purser, with
whom I've flown a few times before, was in an animated
conversation with the passengers in 2B and 2C about
motorcycles. His service hadn't been bad before, but it
was clear this time that he was more interested in gabbing
about Kawasakis and Harleys than taking care of his
passengers who didn't ride hogs. Eventually he did get me
my pre-departure water, not offering the usual choice of
orange juice or water with or without ice. My water was
warm, which is fine, as I prefer it that way.
We bounced around the tarmac a while before taking off
into a rather bouncy sky. This didn't bother me, I was
too busy doing the sudoku puzzle in my head (got much
of it done before I lost interest) and then nodding off.
Soon it was snack time: lovely Gourmet Supreme snack
mix (pretzels and crackers with an almond or two) - I
had instead two individual serving packs of Walker's
shortbread that I'd taken from the club before; these go
nicely with Courvoisier, of which the purser ended up
pouring me a double (so he could get away with doing one
drink service: but how onerous is it to provide two
drink services for 8 passengers?). The trip took fifty-
some minutes, and we landed a good half hour early.
Went to the club and called the Swishers, hoping to hook
up with them in Boston or someplace, but their voicemail
was on (turns out that they had been at the Salem Witch
Dungeon and had to keep the phone off). So I sat around at
the club for a while doing more e-mail and munching on the
Sun Chips that are provided at this club; eventually we got
in contact, and I said that I'd try to catch the bus to
Salem. Checked the schedule and found that I had just time
to catch the Airport-Salem direct, so I ran out of the
terminal ... only to find that the schedule had changed yet
again, and it now came 4 minutes earlier (so I missed it by
a minute or so). More calling, and it was agreed that I'd
go north on the train, and they'd go south in the truck,
and we'd meet in the middle. They were eager to get out of
Salem - too creepy I guess. So we met in the middle and
started discussing the order of the day, which was dinner.
A hard thing to think about at 3:30. The Kiss and Ride
equivalent at Wonderland is on northbound rte 1A, so I
figured we'd just continue north and I could show them Old
Town Marblehead. We got to Town Hall just before 4, so they
could feast their eyes on the original Spirit of '76 - not
so polished as the numerous imitators, but with a certain
authentic charm. Then a stroll around town and a beer at the
Landing (I had the local Ipswich Ale; I will draw a discreet
veil on what Bill and Connie had). Following this, we went
to see Fort Sewall, guarding the town since 1742: it was
built during the French and Indian war for the remarkable
sum of L550 and was not decommissioned until after the
Spanish-American war. It was pushing dinnertime, so I showed
them to Zafferano, which is my favorite restaurant within
walking distance of my place and may be one of my top ten in
the entire Boston area.
There was one couple enjoying a light supper when we
arrived. Nobody else eating. The chef-owner, the waitress-
chef's wife-owner, and some kid were sitting at a table
near the kitchen chatting or playing cards or something.
Of course, it was Monday night.
The waitress looked grumpier than usual, and her accent
seemed more Natasha-ish (as in Boris Badenoff and Natasha).
We started with the Angelina Pinot Grigio 05, a pleasantly
lemony wine that is not substantially better than the Mezza
Corona that they also serve here for a couple bucks less, and
in fact opens up somewhat sulfury and noxious (this blows off
in a minute or two). It goes well with the food, especially
when the off-odors dissipate.
Bill and I split the trofeo di melanzane, which I've written
about here before several times: this was the oiliest that
I've seen it and the least cheesy (I gave all the cheese to
Bill anyhow). Still tasted quite good and went with the
Italian peasant loaf that comes to the table.
He then went on to vitello al limone, some pretty nice veal
(the pink stuff, not the white stuff - there have been
recent articles in the local papers about how all the chefs
have gone for free-range veal, which is more colored, more
flavorful, more humanely raised, and a bit less tender) in a
hugely lemony sauce with mushrooms (I've never seen this dish
with mushrooms before). Connie had a standard but well-made
veal Parmigiana which she liked very much.
I ordered the portofoglio di pollo ("chicken briefcase"),
because the menu description made it sound a bit like the
veal valdostana that I used to love twenty to thirty years
ago at the famous Castle restaurant in Leicester. It was
kind of different (in addition to the chicken not being
veal). The other dish had been a chop stuffed with fontina
and prosciutto, pan-fried, and served with a madeira-tomato
brown sauce. This one was a real portofoglio - a big
rectangle - stuffed with too much fontina and not quite
enough prosciutto, fried, and served a la schnitzel,
sauceless, with a wedge of lemon. Pretty good though.
Everything comes with pasta in a lightish tomato sauce
with lots of fresh basil. My linguine were al dente and
good.
We were too full for dessert (though the tiramisu is pretty
nice, I didn't try to sell it to my dining companions).
Bill says hi to the echo (he's driving to Florida now and
is putting the truck into storage; then flying back to
Alaska for the winter; then flying down to Florida to pick
up the truck so he and Connie can drive it back in the
spring - so don't expect too much participation from him).
Oh, also, he says he had a great time visiting with Uncle
Dirty Dave on his way across the heartland.
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