Another Little Piece of My Heart
Snow was falling from the sky and everywhere on the ground yesterday as my friend and I met up in Forest Hills, Queens to check out a place he'd heard about that supposedly had great Italian ices. After all, nothing says winter like flavored ice.
Yeah, I know we could simply have scooped some white stuff from the ground, covered it in fruity syrup and ended up with much the same thing, but we didn't want nothin' cobbled together from nature's givin's.
And who would eat city snow anyway? Plus, who carries around fruity syrup? We wanted something conjured by the all-too-human hands of a true Italian icemaster.
How did this guy Ralph do it? Develop a reputation right in the backyard of the Lemon Ice King of Corona?
And, what's this we see not a block from where we're going? It's an Uncle Louie G's; a more easterly outpost of Brooklyn's highly regarded Italian ices place(s). (This icemaster is good enough to survive within a few yards of a major rival? He must be good.)
Adding to the air of expectation was the fact that my pal and I were excited to be having a quintessential summer treat -- from a guy known for making the best -- at the absolute wrong time of year (though I think he was more into that than me). So, you can imagine how we felt when, finally, we were standing in front of the store.
Which had windows covered with paper and was in the process of being converted into a dress store. (How did he do it? He didn't.)
"Why didn't I call?" said my friend.
"Don't agonize," said I.
Then, he tried to take me to a restaurant he knew and that was gone too.
And he got extra-upset when he saw that the big, neighborhood movie theater had been turned into a drug store and an office supplies place.
Where did we end up? -- Johnny Rocket's, a '50s-style burger joint that's part of a chain based in Los Angeles. (As is common in the US, several wonderful neighborhood places were now gone but a chain restaurant pretending to be from an earlier time was going strong.) The double-deck burgers there are made from two full-sized hamburgers which, together, were too big to eat, refusing to blend into a single item like the Big Mac and Big Boy (the original double-decker, from Glendale, CA) do. But the chocolate malteds have crunchy malt particles in them there -- one of life's heavenly delights -- and if you drink enough of them, you get to go to heaven sooner. (You win some, you lose some.)
Suddenly, the adolescent waitstaff (accompanied at first by their adult manager) broke into a choreographed rendition of a BeeGees Saturday Night Fever song and my associate said, "So, this is now a '70s diner?"
Okay, they got their time period wrong, but that wasn't his only criticism -- he also felt the choreography could be improved, the non-pro dancers/pro fry-servers oriented toward more of the crowd rather than having their backs to many. I suggested we come in another time with a choreographer and offer to improve the number. (Wouldn't it be funny if we really could do that?)
More important to me than fixing the "show" (especially in light of the ices debacle) was the fact that I could have more soda. Johnny Rocket's is one of the only places in New York that refills your soda, a standard amenity in the rest of the US.
Boy my Coke tasted good; effervescent and cold against the hot, spicy, meaty, oily, oniony cheesiness of the chili cheese fries.
And the pink and white balloons they were spreading around the room added to the brightness of the mood.
Aaaah. Valentine's Day.
The only thing that could possibly have made it better would have been, maybe, um, love?
__________________________________
15 February, 2007 @ 21:21 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer
Yeah, I know we could simply have scooped some white stuff from the ground, covered it in fruity syrup and ended up with much the same thing, but we didn't want nothin' cobbled together from nature's givin's.
And who would eat city snow anyway? Plus, who carries around fruity syrup? We wanted something conjured by the all-too-human hands of a true Italian icemaster.
How did this guy Ralph do it? Develop a reputation right in the backyard of the Lemon Ice King of Corona?
And, what's this we see not a block from where we're going? It's an Uncle Louie G's; a more easterly outpost of Brooklyn's highly regarded Italian ices place(s). (This icemaster is good enough to survive within a few yards of a major rival? He must be good.)
Adding to the air of expectation was the fact that my pal and I were excited to be having a quintessential summer treat -- from a guy known for making the best -- at the absolute wrong time of year (though I think he was more into that than me). So, you can imagine how we felt when, finally, we were standing in front of the store.
Which had windows covered with paper and was in the process of being converted into a dress store. (How did he do it? He didn't.)
"Why didn't I call?" said my friend.
"Don't agonize," said I.
Then, he tried to take me to a restaurant he knew and that was gone too.
And he got extra-upset when he saw that the big, neighborhood movie theater had been turned into a drug store and an office supplies place.
Where did we end up? -- Johnny Rocket's, a '50s-style burger joint that's part of a chain based in Los Angeles. (As is common in the US, several wonderful neighborhood places were now gone but a chain restaurant pretending to be from an earlier time was going strong.) The double-deck burgers there are made from two full-sized hamburgers which, together, were too big to eat, refusing to blend into a single item like the Big Mac and Big Boy (the original double-decker, from Glendale, CA) do. But the chocolate malteds have crunchy malt particles in them there -- one of life's heavenly delights -- and if you drink enough of them, you get to go to heaven sooner. (You win some, you lose some.)
Suddenly, the adolescent waitstaff (accompanied at first by their adult manager) broke into a choreographed rendition of a BeeGees Saturday Night Fever song and my associate said, "So, this is now a '70s diner?"
Okay, they got their time period wrong, but that wasn't his only criticism -- he also felt the choreography could be improved, the non-pro dancers/pro fry-servers oriented toward more of the crowd rather than having their backs to many. I suggested we come in another time with a choreographer and offer to improve the number. (Wouldn't it be funny if we really could do that?)
More important to me than fixing the "show" (especially in light of the ices debacle) was the fact that I could have more soda. Johnny Rocket's is one of the only places in New York that refills your soda, a standard amenity in the rest of the US.
Boy my Coke tasted good; effervescent and cold against the hot, spicy, meaty, oily, oniony cheesiness of the chili cheese fries.
And the pink and white balloons they were spreading around the room added to the brightness of the mood.
Aaaah. Valentine's Day.
The only thing that could possibly have made it better would have been, maybe, um, love?
__________________________________
15 February, 2007 @ 21:21 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer
posted by Andrew J. Lederer at 6:23 PM
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