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Sunday, December 16, 2012

Adventures in Eating

It was a chilly and misty evening, and I had time to kill.  I was in the West Village.  I was hungry.  I wanted to eat.  And so I thought I should eat.  And then I picked out a place to eat in my mind.  And then I walked there.

What was this place, you ask?  It was Taim, an Israeli falafel establishment.  It's a small place with some counters and benches.  I ordered a sabich sandiwch, a concoction filled with roasted eggplant and other things, which I'll describe shortly, in amazing detail which will make your mouth water, and which will make you feel like life is whimsical and pleasant.  And then we can all feel like we're fun, whimsical people, and we can congratulate ourselves and be overall excellent.

As I sat I waiting for my sandwich, I noticed a man seated next to me, furiously jotting things in a notebook.  His lips were like sausages and he reeked of lemonade.  He noticed me peeking at him and suspiciously tilted his body away from me so that I could not glimpse his sketches.

"I'm quite sorry," I said.  "I didn't mean to pry, but those were some very nice sketches."  They were actually not very nice sketches. They were amateur in method and trite in subject.

"Well," he finally said, "I studied at the Sorbonne."

"Oh," I said.

My sandwich was brought to me and I took in the wholesome, deep aromas.  The pita smelled of Egyptian summer, and the earthy, deep eggplant was covered in bright, crisp cucumber salad with garlic, oil and lemon juice, rich tahini, piquant pickled cabbage, and a hard boiled egg.  The flavors melded and danced in my mouth.  I was ablaze with passion.

I was so caught up in my sandwich I didn't notice the Sorbonne student had left.  Disappointed, I wandered out of Taim and decided I needed a treat to recover.  I went to some Italian pasty place on Bleecker street and ordered a pastry filled with cream and topped with chocolate crunch sprinkle things.  The cream was as light as clouds and so wonderful.

As I sat in a park eating my cream, I noticed a smell - a smell of lemonade.  I turned and saw the Sorbonne student.

"It's you," I said.

"It's me," he said.

Near 7th Avenue South somwhere

Some Italian Pastry Place
On Bleecker close to 6th Avenue