M noodle shop, with its 2011 Zagat Rating was tasty, but if I go back, I’ll definitely get something besides the lo mein. Down Ainslie St., one of my favorites in the city, underneath the high sycamores to Fortunato Bros. bakery, we shared marzipan and espresso and cookies.
It was an early autumn day, still warm enough to wear t shirts. By the river other couples canoodled on the rocks, watching the early sunset. A model was being shot. Waves of nostalgia lapped at the edges of my mind like the East River on the shore. When we left and walked down the industrial streets a tag that I choose to use as the title of this post made us wish we had a camera.
On Manhattan Avenue we walked into a Polish store. I love entering ethnic food shops.Down the aisles of sauerkraut and hanging meats, at the end was a freshly smoked salmon. Its black eye and small sharp teeth made me feel out of my element. An gray-haired, high-cheekboned, blue small-eyed, man told me the going rate in his Slavic tongue. He cut with a fish saw, which might have been a hedge trimmer, a large chunk about three bites, of greasy pink salmon. I was alarmed at the freshness. I thought about buying some, but we wanted to sit down for dinner.
Krolewskie Jadlo (King's Feast) has knight’s armor in its facade. We shared borscht and a Polish platter with stuffed cabbage, pierogies, kielbasa, and potato pancakes (just crisp enough, and not at all soggy). Alex forgot it for lunch, as I hoped she would, so I get to eat the leftovers when I get home tonight.
We walked home and Alex found a small ceramic Corinthian column, which she knew I’d love and which I carried over my shoulder, down Morgan, and put my hardy fern atop. Beat and still full, we relaxed in Sunday night.