vip in the city

BBQ for 13

When I was about 4 years old, my parents bought me the Caldecott Honored book, It Could Always Be Worse illustrated by Margot Zemach. The story is described as “A Yiddish Folk Tale” and tells of a man frustrated with the cramped conditions of his humble hut: he, his mother, his wife and six children all under one roof. He seeks counsel from his rabbi, who much to the man’s confusion, keeps suggesting he move a growing number of farm animals into his house: first chickens, geese, and a rooster, then a goat, and finally, a cow. The noise and crowding reach progressively intolerable levels when all at once, the rabbi advises the man to remove all the animals. And after he does, the man comes to appreciate his original home situation as pure bliss compared to a house full of animals.

Why do I bring this up — other than to mention my first exposure to the words “Yiddish” and “rabbi”? As this two month period of 7 line construction hits week #6, I look forward to Easter weekend, when that uninterrupted ride from Manhattan will never feel swifter.

The detour home sent me through the park once more where I spied this pair of pedicab drivers taking a dirty water dog break against a backdrop of two of the most luxurious hotels in New York City.

S and J had organized a trip to 32nd Street (a.k.a “Korea Way”) for some K-town barbecue. We had a reservation for 13 at Seoul Garden which the restaurant seemed to have some difficulty accommodating on that busy Saturday night. Things got off to a shaky start with the seating logistics and ordering delays, but once the panchan began arriving, most was forgiven.

The MSKCC crew, a few of whom were getting their first introduction to Korean cuisine that night, seemed to enjoy the meal. We all did. In addition to the “greatest hits,” there was a seafood surprise, and heaping piles of meats, which we cooked ourselves over the smoking table grills — what’s not to like? Despite the valiant efforts by everyone, we were ultimately unable to finish all the food. (The soju and hite, however, were another story.)

Afterwards, someone suggested Ginger Man for post-dinner drinks, a venue which sent me and SC down memory lane. Ah, good times. The bar was closed for a private party, though, so our group ended up across the street at Under the Volcano, which boasts the same owners as Ginger Man, but a lower key, less meat-markety vibe, and an impressive selection of tequila and mezcal. The bar is named for the semi-autobiographical novel by English writer (and lush) Malcolm Lowry, which was named the 11th best novel of the 20th century by the Modern Library.

“It’s sexy time!”