Of Mud and Ice

 

Just off the phone with Village Pizza.  I asked the pleasant young lady on the call: “What did you used to be?  Were you a Carvel or something?”  She suggested that they had been a drive-through burger place in years gone by.  Vintage Americana, it looks evocative and regrettable in equal measure.  “How much time do you need?”  I’m going to pick up our pies in thirty minutes, then. 

 

We’re on our second round of local establishments this month.  Last week we made a second visit to Rino’s Pizza, near Gadaleto’s, which is pronounced, I learned when I called, like the gambling Medina in northern Nevada, and not like the horned animal, which is what we’de been calling it.  My dad thinks it’s the one he likes best.  I get it.  It’s good, certainly.  But the search for great, continues. 

He and I had another good walk today.  Wary of mud and ice up on the mountain, we repeated the same logic we used last week when we met in Rosendale.  This morning he came by and we drove down to Gardiner.  As with last week, we started at the furthest point I’ve ever driven to.  And proceeded into the unknown.  I appreciate the chance to talk about what I’m reading, and what I’m doing in my business, every week with my father.  This way we get to follow a thread. 

Today was sixty and sunny.  In Silicon Valley who cares?  Every day is sixty and sunny.  But here, where things have been twenty, and covered in snow, the change to warm is astounding.  As always, we New Yorkers have earned our spring.  Walking on the trail yesterday I dusted off my Seek app, which hasn’t been much use to me all winter and found two new plants:  the crisped pincushion and wild garlic.  Those pizzas are going to be ready in fifteen minutes.  ‘twill be the end of three days of fasting and I look forward to eating garlic knots on the drive home. 

 

 

 

Friday, 03/12/21