Tag Archives: food

1.67 Coffee Doesn’t Cause Insomnia

DSC00429

What’s a girl to do at three-thirty-six am when finally sick of counting sheep, backwards and her own breath? (Which btw gets really creepy when you start imagining the monster under your bed doing the same thing – counting your breath.) Well, thanks to three separate demographics in Rye – insomniacs, college students, and the night shift there is only one (reputable) place to go at this hour. The HUB. 

The HUB is a gathering of food trucks situated between Rye University’s dorms and the industrial core (insomniacs motor in) which are open from dusk till dawn. There’s a fair amount of turnover in cuisine choices, but there are a few perennial favorites which haven’t shifted an inch in twenty years (honestly, I am not sure they can – where the rubber meets the road looks permanently fused). 

The oldest among them was my current four-thirty in the morning destination, Fried.

It’s my firm belief Fried makes the most delectable donuts known to man. My favorites are their powdered sugar coated mini donuts – five for five bucks. If I’m feeling truly exotic, I might go for the chocolate covered ones with multicolored sprinkles. But generally, the powdered sugar minis command my full attention (one doesn’t look for exotic in comfort food, or at least I don’t when driven out of bed at this hour).  Today I made an extra purchase, two bags of plain minis in addition to my perennial faves.

Turns out that while my body was tired enough to sleep for a week, my mind wasn’t. Six hours of drifting off and waking up again only to find ten minutes ticked off the clock – does not for a restful sleep make (and the more math you do – figuring out many hours you have left before you need to get up – the more awake you are).

What fun. 

So when I heard the early bird’s first chirp, I bolted from my bed. 

When Little Ben booted me from Nevermore, I never realized how much I enjoyed walking around the grounds in the morning. With all the recent events I’d only managed to arrive at sunset or just after nightfall in Nevermore (the morning I woke up in my car doesn’t count – the rain made it so dark it was basically twilight). Deciding I was fed up with the current state of affairs I decided to eat donuts and watch Nevermore’s four-legged and winged residents wake up. 

The ten bucks of plain doughnuts were for them. Everyone can use a treat every now and again.

Which explains why I am currently sitting on the Princess’s hood, wrapped up in my coat with an afghan under my butt in the back-forty of Nevermore watching the first rays of the sun peek over the treetops. I’d crumbled the plain doughnuts under several trees/snags I’d seen flocks of birds and squirrels perched in previously. Then I settled in to wait and watch.

Despite the quiet peace and the thrill of watching the critters scurry out to collect their breakfast, my mind returned like an owl to gnaw on old bones.

None of the Inebriated Three had a clue who tipped Little Ben off the other night, they hadn’t told a soul what we’d planned (I’d asked). And if the informant knew where we were going why didn’t they tell him who we were? 

The delicious yeasty, sugary smell triggered the correlation. The questions my Uncle asked over his powdered sugared pancakes about the anonymous letter in the Tiffany Grindle case – were similar to my own. When I tipped off the Surliest Ranger, I’d only included the information I knew for proof positive. 

What if Little Ben’s mystery caller did the same thing? 

When we’d gone to and fro from the Lavender Lady the backyard lights were off, making the walkway extremely dark. Both my chauffer’s uniform and pirate costume covered me from head to toe in black (shirt shoes, pants, and hat). Which allowed me to easily blend into the night. 

Unlike myself, the others were decked out in much lighter colors. Their work clothes ranged from a taupe to light grey. Their pirate ensembles all featured white shirts and large white plumes in their tricorn hats. The rest of their pirate regalia while dark did catch the eye when hit by light, Wood’s was sapphire colored, Beatrice’s ruby and Laney’s emerald.  

When the Inebriated Three past thru the narrow patch of the back path illuminated by a streetlamp – the quick flash of three-sevenths of the rainbow could have caught the eye. Dressed in an obsidian colored costume someone might have easily missed my entrance and exit. Especially since I’d lagged behind the others both times locking up. 

More details from the other night flew thru my brain once it started manipulating this twisty piece of logic. I’d parked down the street from the Lavender Lady’s back gate, and the Map Room’s door faces the road. No one looking out the rear windows of the big house could have seen me arrive.

What if the tipster, like the anonymous letter writer, hit closer to home than we suspected?

1.64 A Conundrum

IMG_0235

(Take-Out from the Spare Rib from a previous visit…)

My half-day flipped into a full-day when a couple of the Senior Center members asked me for a favor. They had a hankering for barbeque and wanted to go to the best joint around, The Spare Rib. Familiar with the unyielding grip of a food craving we came up with a compromise. I would drive them there (it was an hour one way) if they got their food to go and didn’t eat in the Princess (good bbq is Messy with a capital ‘M’). The fact I just flat like Betty and Joan didn’t hurt either.

Moreover, the flu-induced set schedule ended in a couple of days and with it the regular hours. So earning a few extra brownie points amongst the Center’s members seemed wise. 

When I finally dropped them off, bbq in hand, at their apartment building I was starving and had zero interest in cooking. While the bbq whetted my appetite, it wasn’t what my tastebuds hankered after this evening.

My heart’s desire could only be found at the Rusty Hinge – a nice thick Rueben sandwich (they make their own Rye bread, Russian dressing and sauerkraut – it is to die for) and hand-cut fries. When I slid into my preferred booth, the one in the back next to my favorite pinball machine, my bones fused to the vinyl. 

My poor body was unused to the amount of running we did last night and needed a moment to regroup before attempting to retake my Addams Family crown (aka the high score that Benedict stole from me). Leaning my head against the scalloped cushion, I took a deep breath and let my mind float along the waves of ambient stimulus – the aroma of sautéing onions filtering from the kitchen, errant strands of dialogue emanating from the pinball machines and groans from the football fans watching their team commit yet another penalty. Slowly my mind spun until it landed on the conundrum Sarah placed in my lap earlier today (she’d texted me after our marshmallow bargain).

Sarah: Just thought I’d let you know – Little Ben was tipped off that you guys were coming last night.

Me: ?????

Sarah: He let it slip to Seth last night. Someone called him. That’s how he had security, the MacGregors and the groundskeepers on site so fast.

Me: Crap. Are you sure he doesn’t know it was us?

Sarah: Yes. I don’t think he could keep it to himself if he did. He’d have called a meeting to inform all us you were banned from the property. Like he did with Sue.

Me: Any clue who called him?

Sarah: None. This is all second hand, I didn’t want to grill Seth – might send up a red flag.

Me: Thanks for the heads up!

Sarah: NPAT

(Or No Problem Any Time)

Ruth broke into my train of thought to take my order (and Beatrice’s she was meeting me here), which was fortuitous since I might have drifted off in another second.

If correct Sarah’s data spun the previous night’s events in a whole new direction. But who on earth knew we were bound for Nevermore last night? On top of that, other than Little Ben, who would care?

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

My mulling moved to the back burner when a familiar bulky form barreled across the floor towards my booth. 

Little Ben boomed halfway across the floor, “Phoebe! I’m glad I’ve run into you!”

I’ve never ceased regretting telling Little Ben about my favorite greasy spoon.

“Hey, Ben.”

Reaching my table Little Ben’s voice sunk into conspiratorial tone, ”Did you hear about what happened in Nevermore last night?”

“I read about it in the Blotter this morning.” His question told me Sarah’s assessment was correct. If Little Ben had figured out I was among those he’d chased around Nevermore last night, he’d have let everyone hither, thither and yon know it.

Little Ben’s face set into a grimace, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Without so much as a by your leave, he started moving towards the empty side of the booth to take a seat. Unfortunately (for him, not me) he found the booth’s entrance unexpectedly cutoff – Beatrice had arrived. 

Taking off her long purple coat, she laid it down on the seat between us and slipped into the booth, “Sorry I’m late. Things are crazy at Pulp right now. Hello! I’m Beatrice.” 

Biting my lip, I watched Little Ben’s frustration at being thwarted cross his face, “Hi. I’m Ben. I was just discussing something with Phoebe.”

Beatrice, draping herself with an air of innocence, “Oh, you’re Phoebe’s former manager. I owe you a big thank you!” 

1.62 Connections

IMG_9608

(Aunt Pearl’s breakfast spread!)

Looking far more alert than he had a few minutes previously (I blame the bacon, coffee would never do this to me) Wood went on, “Yeah, Morticia and I met Ranger…Ranger…Ranger Lade when we stayed at the Hilltop Hotel, on Ross Lake.” Eating a slice of bacon thoughtfully, “Morticia did you ever send him those scones you were talking about?”

My Aunt glanced between Wood and I, “Why would she send him scones?”

Please let the toaster catch on fire. 

Before I could answer Wood lept in, “Morticia and the Ranger lobbed some pointed words at each other, which she regretted afterward. She thought sending scones might make up for her part in the episode. So did you?”

Tap dancing around my actual actions, “Nope, no bacon maple scones for the ranger. I thought it set a poor precedent to send pastries to anyone I crossed swords with, plus it felt a wee-bit stalkery.”

Please let my Aunt take the bait.

Okay, I know this conversation doesn’t sound dangerous. However, I saw the trap that Wood’s words inadvertently placed before me. 

While strangers might not be able to figure out the part I played in leading the police to Mr. Grindle – these three could. Wood’s curiosity and intelligence could knit together Aunt and Uncle’s facts with what happened on our trip – thus leading him to me. My Uncle’s intuition coupled with a few peculiar incidents from my childhood (and Wood’s commentary) would allow him to make the same leap. Then there’s my Aunt, whose lie detector is finely wrought after four decades worth of students filtering through her home economics classroom. She can sniff out a lie at fifty paces. Which would cause her to ask more and more awkward questions until Wood and/or Uncle figured out I sent the anonymous letter.

(Just for the record, I don’t generally try to lie my way out of awkward conversations that my…..knack……occasionally places me in. I might hedge, nudge or massage the truth sometimes – see above – but outright lying I work hard on avoiding. The consequences, when you get caught, are never good. Especially when Wood discovers one. But that’s another story entirely.)

Fortunately, Aunt Pearl was unable to resist the softball I pitched her way, “What have I always said Phoebe? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” These advise adjacent words caused Wood to smirk into his coffee cup and my Uncle to pat me on the back. My Aunt simply waited for my agreement.

Interjecting before the required response could leave my lips, “In Morticia’s defense he did call her stupid….” Wood’s words sent my Aunt and Uncle into fits. In the hubbub he’d created I cleared away my dishes and grabbed a slice of bacon for the road.

Knocking the conversation off on a new tangent (and further away from flimsy ground), “Uncle can I bum a ride back to the Lavender Lady? My shift starts in an hour, and I need to shower and change.” 

Pushing himself away from the table. Uncle cleared his plate and headed towards the door, “No problem.” He paused for a moment while I gathered up the bits and pieces from my pirate ensemble. Eventually, I followed him to the door. 

Both he and my Aunt ignored the rubber ducks which spilled out of my bag and onto the floor while I fumbled with my jacket.

1.56 Yo-ho-ho and A Shot of Rum

IMG_8413

(The ingredients for spiced rum according to Wood’s Gran’s recipe.)

Practically dancing in place waiting for Orin’s return I couldn’t work out which of the three fates would be worse if we were caught – becoming fodder for the police blotter. Explaining to the police (and Little Ben) what possessed us to bury rubber ducks in an empty field in the first place. Or the horror of calling Aunt Pearl to bail four pirates out of jail at one a.m.

The tree of humiliation bore rich fruit tonight.

Apparently, the Inebriated Three didn’t share my anxiety of capture (while they all still wore their tricorn hats, they currently embodied the philosophy of Yo-ho-ho And A Bottle Of Rum, thus their new nickname). The flasks of spiced rum they insisted on passing around each time we slowed down or stopped bore a portion of the responsibility for their lax attitudes (yet another one, or possibly two, made an appearance in my Orin inspired absence). 

The joys of being the designated getaway driver.

Me (trying for calm): “Time to put that away, guys. We need to get ready to run.”

A scene from a Three Stooges movie ensued while they endeavored to comply with my request. Helpless I stood back and tried not to split a seam at their earnest efforts to simply stand. 

Laney, the first to get up, stood on the tails of Beatrice’s greatcoat. This caused Beatrice to fall over when her ascent to an upright position was unexpectedly arrested. Wood was fine until Laney careened into him when Beatrice yanked her coat out from under Laney’s foot. All the while, trying to maintain radio silence, they pantomimed their displeasure to each other.

When they were upright and moderately stable (and trying to figure out exactly where they’d misplaced their dignity), I turned around to see if Orin had returned. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I discovered him standing inches away from the end of my nose.

Me (aggrieved): “Seriously, are doing that on purpose?”

The peanut gallery gathered behind Orin broke into a chorus of chortles at my demand. And judging by the number of Residents gathered on such short notice the Inebriated Three and I had managed to cause quite a brouhaha this evening. Their questions/comments solidified this idea; Wow you really are dressed as pirates./Did you miss us?/Did you know the police are here?/I’ve never seen Little Ben move so fast./I haven’t had this much fun in forever…. Their comments went on for a while. 

The fact I was at the root of this uproar added to the Resident’s delight – the pirate costumes were just icing on the cake.

Wood: “Morticia are you talking to someone?”

Me (using the spirts they’d drunk in my favor): “Nope.”

Me (speaking to the Residents: keeping my voice low so hopefully the Inebriated Three wouldn’t hear): “Thanks…” 

Orin (cutting in, turning to the Residents): “Here’s the plan. John, Peter, and Stu follow us to the west. Ruby, Sandra, and Iris the same to the east. Alice, you run ahead to the gate and call the all clear – if it is. I’ll lead them on. Everyone else fan out and keep a weather eye for incoming trouble. Ready?”

While Orin relayed orders to the Residents I eyed my friends – Wood looked to be holding his liquor well, Beatrice wove just slightly in place, and Laney was dancing to music only she could hear. Fantastic. The perfect illustration of the influence body mass played in drinking. With a sudden flare of inspiration (or perspiration or both) I knew how to navigate them through the marble maze which stood between us and the gates.

Me: “Laney take my hand, Beatrice you take Laneys, Wood you take Beatrice’s.” 

Laney (in a slurring reworking of a Beatles’ song): “I want to hold Wood’s han-an-and.”

Me (trying to keep it together): “Ok, Wood switch with Beatrice.”

Beatrice: “Why?”

Me: “This way I can lead you through the headstones, and you won’t trip and break your necks.”

Orin (thoughtfully): “Well it has been a while since we’ve had a newcomer….”

Beatrice: “But I want to hold your hand.”

Ignoring both Orin and Beatrice, I lead our chain out from the safety of our hiding spot. With a few initial herks and jerks, we settled into a nice rhythm.

Laney (singing softly): “Following the leader. The leader. The leader. Following the leader where ever she may go. Tee dum. Tee dee…..”

Laney’s love of aliens is only eclipsed by Disney – figures she’d find a fitting song – from Peter Pan no less. 

Why couldn’t our pursuers helpfully tick like the Crocodile? I ejected the analogy from my brain quickly. My heart didn’t care for it one bit since the Crocodile got Captain Hook in the end. Maybe we were one of the Lost Boys? In disguise? Stifling a giggle, I banished the picture of Orin zipping around us like Tinker Bell. 

The Inebriated Three picked up the chorus (softly): “Following the Leader. The Leader…..”

We were a quarter mile away when I heard Alice’s faint all clear call – perhaps sensing my relief – the Fates threw a spanner in the works.

1.34 Competative Hiking

IMG_8687

(Maple Ginger Bacon Carrots with Sesame Seeds! This was one of the great side dish from this evening! And the only one which featured a sauce!)

When I finally made the lobby, after a thrilling twilight boat ride, the front desk clerk informed me that the rest of my party had assembled in the dining room. 

They saw me first.

All together they called: “Phoebe!”

I made my way over to the large round table under a rustic chandelier, made from antlers, where everyone sat.

Me (feeling corny): “Cheers everyone!”

This met with a round of laughter, clinking of plates, silverware, and glasses. With a slight sense of deja vu, I sat down to my second family-style meal in under a week. Which featured at least one entree covered in bacon sprinkles, one platter held jamón wrapped root vegetables, and we weren’t eating off paper plates. 

The bacon almost made up for the shocking lack of sauce.

Wood (in-between bites): “According to the Rangers the best hiking weather is tomorrow. So I rented a boat. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have enough time to see Pumpkin Mountain. It’s a two and a half day hike if you’re focused.”

Beatrice (helping herself to a bowl of roasted vegetables): “Boat? My map didn’t show a landing anywhere on the trail.”

Laney (taking over for Wood, who’d just took an enormous bite of steak): “Not on the official maps, but the locals made their own version, augmented with all the tricks and trivia outsiders are unaware of. Sam told me there’s a natural landing just under the trailhead we can use.” 

Beatrice (looking very interested): “Do they sell copies of these expanded maps?”

Laney: “I don’t know. They’re lending us one for tomorrow. You can take a picture of it if nothing else.”

Beatrice excused herself from the table for a moment.

Sarah (ever efficient): “How will we know what to look for?” 

Wood: “They’ve spray-painted the landing bright orange or something. They’ll show me some pictures of what I’m looking for tomorrow, we’ll be fine.” 

Talk shifted away from the trip onto more mundane matters, Laney wondered what I thought of FLYT, and Sarah asked Wood about the boys. It wasn’t until we’d practically licked the platters clean that we noticed Beatrice hadn’t returned to the table. Just about the time, we were going to mount an expedition to find her she reappeared in the dining room doorway, waving several folded sheets of paper above her head in victory.

Beatrice (her smile wide): “I got a copy of the map!”

We all started at her blankly. 

Beatrice: “The augmented map! I got a copy!”

Me (speaking for the group – hesitantly): “M’kay…and this cause for celebration?”

Beatrice: “Yes! It means I can win!”

Wood: “Win at hiking?”

Beatrice (finally realizing we were confused): “No. Geocaching. My archenemy, Horus….”

Wood: “Wait, archenemy? Seriously?”

Beatrice: “Yes. An annoying player who says my caches are pedantic and pedestrian.” 

Wood (trying and failing not to laugh): “He’s just needling you, Bee.”

Beatrice (haughtily): “I am not boring.”

Turns out Beatrice had bamboozled Sam into loaning her an augmented map, then fetched her unaugmented copy from her room. While we stacked the empty serving dished upon one end of the table, she snapped opened the two maps at the other. Then, using a wide array of colored pencils, she started transferring information from the former to the latter. We all watched her with varying amounts of humor.

Beatrice (concentrating on her task): “This isn’t funny, it’s serious.”

Laney: “Of course it is, but you can’t say you have an archenemy named Horus without us at least asking if you are driving on three wheels these days.”

Beatrice’s eyes didn’t waver from her task, but she did smile, Laney has that knack. When the waiter cleared the table, we ordered a round of drinks and continued watching Beatrice (from a distance she growled when we got too close, I mean she politely asked us to refrain from standing in her light). When she finished with a triumphant flourish, I warily approached her and studied her handiwork.

Me (tracing tomorrows trail with my finger): “That blue triangle is the authorized camping spot, but what are the blue circles just past it?”

Beatrice: “They’re the unofficial camping spots. Sam says the locals avoid them now, but they’re still on the map, I thought one might make an excellent place to hide a cache.”

Me: “I agree.” 

Those unofficial dots would indeed make excellent hiding spots – for all kinds of things.

1.30 Takeaway

IMG_8268

(Teriyaki Salmon, Miso and California Rolls were the first items we unpacked! So Good!)

Recalling my initial reaction to Sunny Valley Farm, I decided to wait until I got home before calling Sarah. Crashing the Princess due to distracted driving (i.e., Little Ben drives me to distraction) wouldn’t fit within my budgetary constraints at the moment. So I opted to sit on the garden wall in the Lavender Lady’s back garden and watch the squirrels and birds fight over acorns while I dialed her number.

Waiting for Sarah answer, I took stock of all the good things surrounding me – my toes felt warm and cozy in my wool socks, my crochet scarf kept the brisk air off my neck, and a handful of cookies kept my tummy full on this fine fall day. Sarah picked up on the fourth ring.

Sarah (chirping): “Hey mom! I can’t talk right now. I’m at work. Mind if I stop by for dinner tonight?”

Me: “Little Ben’s right there?”

Sarah (still chirpy): “Yup! So dinner?”

Me: “Seven sound good?”

Sarah (still channeling her inner cheerleader): “Great! See you then! Love you!”

Click.

Little Ben must have been standing right next to her. 

Which isn’t as creepy as it sounds, Sarah Armstrong is Nevermore’s Chief Funeral Director (she prefers the title mortician, but Big Ben won’t let her change it). Who often works within close proximity of Little Ben. I texted Beatrice and added an extra entree to the Chinese takeout order for this evening.  Then thought about it and added three more and a side of hom bow to my request. 

Fortunately, my earlier tasks ate up enough of the day that seven pm rolled around rather quickly. Three hours flew by while I disassembled Laundry Island, made my bed and participated in a lengthy discussion Harold S. Ellington (Beatrice’s skeleton) about my current inquiry while dusting the front room (nope not stalling at all).

At a quarter of seven, Beatrice rolled thru the front door juggling two large boxes filled with takeout containers plus her bag and briefcase. Relieving her of the boxes, I breathed in the wonderfully spicey smells of General Tso’s Chicken and Mongolian Beef. Setting the boxes down on the entryway table I perused the selections, egg rolls, yakisoba, all kinds of veggies covered in multiple sauces (I love sauce) and a variety of rice dishes. At this point, my stomach realized the pancakes and cookies left the building hours ago and threatened to attack the takeout boxes directly, Alien-style.

Beatrice (a bit out of breath): “So, why did I buy enough food to feed a small army?”

Me (wishing I could filch an egg roll): “I might have invited one?”

Beatrice: “That’s a good reason. Why?”

Me: “To help move my table and stuff into the garden shed.”

Beatrice (smiled and arched her eyebrow): “Nothing to do with not wanting to go by yourself?”

Me: “Nope.”

And with timing only Dourwood can muster, he knocked, saving my bacon from Beatrice’s follow-up funny.

Wood: “Bee! Morticia! How are the new housemates doing? Hmm…do I smell Chinese?”

Me: “Sure do. Sushi too! And you’ll get some right after you help me move some stuff into storage.”

Wood: “Morticia, I would love to, but I’m not dressed for it. My suit….”

Me (crossing my arms over my chest, trying to look stern):”…Is perfectly fine. And after you help me move my boxes, we’ll eat the takeout in the shed. Where you can pay Beatrice the ten bucks, you owe her.”

Wood (laughing, looking between Beatrice and I): “Ahh, you told her about the bet? Thick as thieves already! I knew you guys would be great together! Let me grab my sneakers out of the car and roll up my sleeves. That food smells terrific by the way, had an emergency ear infection come in, so I missed lunch.”

He gave me a quick squeeze then darted back outside again. 

Beatrice (shaking her head and laughing): “Can I change? Or should my penance extend to trying to bend and lift while wearing a pencil skirt?” 

Me (smiling): “No, go change. You bought food, that was our deal.”

Sarah walked in with Wood who’d retrieved his sneakers. Things moved quickly with three people (Sarah only carried the food down, wasn’t fair to rope her into Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum’s atonement), everyone laughed when I recounted (with Wood providing sound effects) why I disliked garden sheds. My 50’s style Formica and aluminum kitchen table fit perfectly into the middle of the shed – providing a flat and stable surface for both eating and map reading. 

Fortunately for Wood and I, tonight the former came before the latter.

The Most Interesting Thing I’ve Ever Eaten?

IMG_2927

The upside for driving with FLYT? I get to see all kinds of new things, like restaurants, I never knew existed in our fair city.

For example? Heads & Tails a little sushi place (which qualifies as a hole-in-the-wall-joint because my old kitchen has more square footage than they do) where I ate this unique dish, shishamo (I say unique because I’d never eaten it before).

It was pretty tasty, but needed some kind of dipping sauce in my humble opinion to cut the smokey flavor.

This was the rest of my lunch, both delicious and pretty!

IMG_2923