Afternoon Nourishment

Over the past week or two, clouds have blanketed, and rain has fallen on, this part of the world more often than the sun has shone.  But the days have grown noticeably longer:  Every day, it seems, the sun sets a few minutes later.

That means I can start early in the afternoon and still get a decent ride in.  On Monday, I rambled along local streets and roads to the North Shore and central Queens to Flushing Meadows-Corona Park.  

The cherry blossoms were, well, not quite blossoms, not yet.  But the buds were visibly more open than they were over the weekend: open enough that I could envision the pink canopy the grove will soon provide.

I deliberately used the word "provide" because such sensual spectacles are sustenance for me:  They sustain me on my journey and the journey.

The following day, I didn't see cherry blossoms after I pedaled a few miles from my apartment.  I pedaled north and east, across the RFK Bridge into the Bronx and Westchester--into Connecticut.  I realize now that the difference in latitude, however slight, may have been enough to make a difference in the blooms:  Festivals in Washington, DC and much of Japan happen early in April (or even late March) because their trees, at a more southerly latitude, are exposed to the necessary sunlight, and therefore bloom, earlier.

I did, however, enjoy a snack or late light lunch*, depending on how you look at it, by a bed of tulips:

The soldiers, sailors and flyers commemorated at the Greenwich Memorial aren't buried there. Throughout my life, as I've become increasingly anti-war, I have become more pro-veteran.  Maybe I still have the hope that one day, whether or not it happens during my lifetime, no one else will have to do what they did--and that beauty can flourish in the ruins.

All right, enough faux-profound commentary.  It was great to start after noon and finish a 145 kilometer ride well before dark--and to chow down on some Italian American soul food--baked ziti and salad--after feeding my apartment mate.**

*--A quarter of a whole wheat baguette with Brad's peanut butter and Bonne Maman preserves--cherry on half, wild blueberry on the other half.

**--I always feed Marlee before I feed myself.  I got into the habit of feeding my cat(s) first years ago, with my first feline companion.

  

Moving Forward: Cultural Unity--Or Clash?

 In case you were wondering how I resolved the Columbus Day/Indigenous Peoples' Day dilemma:  I cooked both spaghettti and spaghetti squash.  Well, sort of:  I cooked pasta, but it wasn't spaghetti:  Instead, I made penne with a medley of vegetables in olive oil, swirled with some mozzarella cheese.  And I baked a spaghetti squash.  Ironically, it does look like translucent spaghetti when you scoop it out of its husk.  Even though it is native to the Americas, I doubt that the indigenous people called it "spaghetti squash," because they never saw spaghetti.  Ironically, I topped it off with tomato sauce and rationalized it with the knowledge that tomatoes are also native to the Americas. (Europeans didn't have tomatoes--or potatoes--before they exploited the Americas!)

Anyway, I enjoyed both, and ate leftovers from both, today.  I'm happy.  Now I need to get on my bike.  I'm not complaining!

On something entirely unrelated:  Accompanying the umpteenth "Will the pandemic bike boom last when the pandemic ends?" I've seen was this illustration:

I don't know why it was chosen, but I like it!

It's Great To Be Back So I Could Tell You How Much I Wish To Be Back In Italy

Now I'm back in La Grande Mela.  I'm still on Italian time and, really, want to stay on it for as long as I can.  I'm not talking, of course, about being six hours later than New York, but about living like an Italian.  

Of course, for my first meal back, I had two bagels.  I mean, after being in Italy, what was I going to eat in New York--pizza? Pasta?

I'm going to tell you more--and share those photos that would still be uploading had I tried to share them in Italy!--after I redecorate my apartment:

and take a nice Italian-style lunch break!

What Would You Eat If....

In this blog, I often talk about foods that I eat--and have eaten--before, during and after rides.

I got to thinking about that while reading something that appeared in my mailbox:  The Worst Foods To Eat In Every State.

Now, even for someone with my refined sensibilities (Yes, I typed that with a straight face!), such a title is "click bait". I am sure that Wil Fulton, the author of that article, or the editors of the "Thrillist" website know as much.

Of course, "worst" can be interpreted in all sorts of ways.  Mr. Fulton seemed to use the term to mean "whatever looks or sounds grossest to someone who's never eaten it before".  And, I have to admit, I probably would have to be stranded in North Dakota before I'd try lutefisk.  On the other hand, Illionois Gravy Bread doesn't sound any different from what I've eaten during, or at the end of, many a meal:  bread used as a sponge for gravy or meat drippings.  Nothing wrong with that.  But people actually have it delivered?

Anyway, I've eaten a few of the items in that article--yes, before, during and after bike rides.  Interestingly, even though I lived in Brooklyn until I was twelve--and have lived in New York City since I was twenty-five--I have eaten the Garbage Plate proper (Is that an oxymoron?) only twice in my life, both times during bike trips upstate.

This is what you eat during a ride in New Jersey

One food I often ate during rides, as well as devant and apres, is Pork Roll.  No one in my family, or I, had even heard of it while we were living in Brooklyn.  But, after we moved to New Jersey, it became a staple of our diets.  Of course, I didn't see it when I was living in France, but even after I moved to New York during the mid-80s, no one in the Big Apple seemed to know about it--or they thought it was something pornographic.

Now stores in this town are selling it.  I think people here were introduced to it a few months ago, when Dunkin' Donuts offered a "limited-time special" sandwich that included it. When I was living in The Garden State, I often had the "Jersey Classic"--a sandwich of pork roll, egg and cheese--at diners, coffee shops and roadside stands during rides.  

What does pork roll taste like?  Some might say it's a better version of Spam, or a milder version of their favorite ham.   It really tastes better than it sounds:  It's pork with a nice combination of sweet and mild spices with salt. 

Is it "healthy"?  Of course not!  (Well, as a "comfort food", perhaps it's good for your mental health.) But I have eaten all manner of pizzas and baked goods during rides, not to mention chili, burgers, tacos, take-out Chinese foods and such delicacies as the jambon-beurre.

By the way:  I have eaten scrapple, the Pennsylvania Dutch-country "mystery meat".  It's actually pretty good--though, I confess, I prefer good ol' Jersey Pork Roll.  Or jambon-beurre.

On Time Changes And Food

Landed at JFK on one side of midnight. Got back to my place on the other.  A day change, on top of a time change.  My body is in a kind of temporal spasmosis, drifting off and waking up between Eastern Daylight Time and Greenwich +1, which is six hours later.  So, even though there's been nary a cloud in the sky, I haven't ridden today. 

In the past, it's taken a day for my body to acclimate to time shifts.  I'm hoping the same holds true this time.  The trip that just ended was the first I took across multiple time zones in four years.  Does age diminish one's ability to acclimate to time changes?

I'm sipping an iced tea and thinking about some of the food I ate in Paris.  As I was there for only ten days, I decided to stick to more or less traditional French food and not to try, for example, the Korean barbecue  near the hotel or any of the other "exotic" restaurants one can find in the City of Light. 

On previous trips, when I spent more time in Paris and in France, I tried and enjoyed local versions of Chinese, Vietnamese, Middle Eastern and other cuisines.  I also have eaten French regional specialties on their home turf:  bouillabaisse on the Cote d'Azur, cassoulet in the Toulouse region and quenelles in Lyon, for example. 

I have eaten enough meals in France (I once lived there and have returned several times before the trip I just took) that I can say that not every single one of them was wonderful. However, some were and I can say that, on average, one has as good a chance of enjoying a savory meal in France as in any other country.  

Of course, good food is always a result of good ingredients and preparation. But part of the sensual pleasure of eating has to do with its presentation:  something the French seem to understand better than just about anyone else.  Nearly all foods have at least some inherent appeal; it seems that the only people in this world who rival the French in their ability to enhance that appeal are the Italians.

One sees such skills on display equally in four-star restaurants as in local cafes, in the homes of French people (the ones into which I've been invited, anyway) and in hotel kitchens.  It can even be seen in a local fruit shop, like this one just up the block from the hotel in which I stayed:

 

There are definitely worse things to see on one's way out of a country.