Q is for Queens, Dining on Dips and Drafts

by: Tania

This week, we decided to board any train headed toward Astoria from Union Square.  At approximately 7:03pm on Friday, we found ourselves on the Q train – Queens bound.

Joining us on this trip was one of my best friends – Caitlin.  Caitlin moved from New York to San Francisco a couple of years ago (a bit of a reverse commute from the ever steady flow of SF to NY transplants).   I always admire, and slightly envy, her courage to pick up and move somewhere new. Looking back, I had always intended to end up in San Francisco as well, and am sometimes surprised that I am still here.

After so many years, NY has become my home and my anchor.  They say home is where the heart is – which is funny because your heart can be in many places – and while many places can feel like home – the laws of time and space only allow you to have one physical home at a time.  I wish it wasn’t so.

After a beautiful sun filled ride on the elevated train, we arrived at the Ditmars Avenue station in Astoria at 7:31 pm.  We had been tipped off that there was some Egyptian restaurant on Steinway with an eyeball on the facade.    We walked around for a bit trying to locate it with our own navigational instincts – and failed miserably.  When Bonnie finally asked a man on the street and his ice cream eating daughter (it seems that August is prime ice cream time in Astoria) – we learned that Steinway was 3 lefts, 5 rights, 2 roundabouts and a train ride away.  No Egyptian eyeball for us, we were hungry!

We found ourselves in front of the Astoria Beer Garden – a large outdoor beer hall where Bonnie and I had spent more than one evening having more than one drink – and decided we could not pass up a quick walk down memory lane.  It happened to be karaoke night.   In less time than it took Mary Carney to bring “a little Broadway to Queens”, we had finished our beers and were on our way.  I would recommend the Beer Garden to anyone – for just one drink or ten.

We had noticed several Greek restaurants in the neighbourhood and decided that would be our plan for the night.  It was difficult to distinguish between them, but we decided on Zorba’s – a restaurant that serves breakfast all day.  We were seated outside and made our selections: 2 Greek Beers (Mythos Hellenic Lager), 1 House Wine, 1 Spinach Pie, 1 order of Greek Style Spreads (Tzatxiki, Tirokateri and Melitzanosalata), Grape Leaves and Chicken Souvlaki.  The food came out at lightning speed.  As one might expect with food that comes out suspiciously fast, it was not excellent.  But it was good.  I particularly liked the Melitzanosalata – a dip made from eggplant, olive oil and lemon.  That being said, I seldom meet a dip that I don’t like!

We paid our bill and headed out.  We did not finish our Grecian feast, and so Bonnie took some of the food to go (a first in End of the Line history).  We boarded the train, and who should be standing right next to us, but a fellow with a subway map on his chest. I bet he can always find his way home!

Caitlin sometimes thinks of moving back (and I hope she does). I sometimes think of moving away.  Home is comfortable and shouldn’t you be pushing your limits in this life – experiencing new things and meeting new people?  Seeing the kind of person you are when you don’t have “home” to back you up or perhaps trying out other homes – representing those other parts of your heart.  The pull of this crazy city which holds most of my good friends and is close to my family is hard to resist.  For now, I feel fortunate to live in a place where I can have adventures at the end of the line with my nearest and dearest.  In the future, who knows!

G is for Grand Gestures, Goosebumps & Gamblin’

Or: A Second Examination on Love and Romance

forGed by: Bonnie

You may have gathered, dear reader, that I’m (ahem, just ever so slightly) inclined toward the romantic. Romantic in that I am obsessed with love, yes. But more so that I am possessed by a desire for adventure and the need to be swept away. I mean, look at this End of the Line Dining project as an example—how I want to be swept to the far corners of this city (that I love!) and discover the undiscovered over a glass too many of wine and eating to excess. That’s romantic if you ask me!

I’ve always been into grand gestures. When I am into someone romantically, I will very often suggest some grand plan, something wild to get into, and if that someone doesn’t jump at the opportunity then I see a red flag and retreat. My friend Mary was the first one to point out that I tend to present big tests to the boys that are showing interest, and then I am disappointed when they can’t keep up. We’ve talked about how maaaaaaybe I need to suggest something a little easier than heading to the beach for a night swim NOW OR NEVER as a first test but I say: why? If someone can keep up with my need for the grand gesture then they are worth keeping. It’s taking awhile to find that but I say it’s worth the wait. Maybe I’ll never love as passionately as I did when I was sixteen but I’m going to keep trying.

Tania has known everyone that I’ve ever been in love with. And sometimes I think she hopes that I find my way back to that one that I loved when I was a teenager. But he’s far away in an “I” state and I’m tucked away in my city with dreams and years between us. Tania has seen my heart almost every time it’s been broken and she’s been rock solid through it all. She, herself, is a deeply romantic person, and I know that our sensibilities really match on that front. In fact, it’s pretty much our favorite topic of conversation when we make our End of the Line Dining excursions.

This trip to Long Island City on the G train Monday evening was no exception.

I sat on the sweaty Metropolitan Avenue G platform, waiting for Tania. Being a half hour early, I cracked open my book in which a young girl meets Lord Death and bargains a reprieve if she can find true love in 24 hours. Yep, I’m serious. Meanwhile there was a woman singing some serious love tunes on the platform such as “At Last” and “Natural Woman,” throwing in some Mary J. and Beyoncé too. Tania arrived just as a train did and at 8:33pm we were heading away from this romancey k-hole and towards Queens.

The ride was 8 minutes.

I used to feel like Long Island City was so far away. But now that I’ve reached a little further into this city, I realize that it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump, really.

When I think of Long Island City, I think of that little hole on the floor when you enter PS1 where a video screen shows a woman pounding on the glass like she’s trying to get out of the hole. I think of my friend, James Rickman, who lives there and who throws magical singer/songwriter shows in his living room and how jerky it is that I haven’t made it to a single one of them. I think of the looming Citibank building. I think of when my friend Stephanie and I used to teach in Flushing, Queens, and how we used to transfer to the 7 train here. That was when we really got to know each other, on those train rides. I think of the time that I gave my phone number to an ex-cop stoner comedian after a comedy show. I think of Materials for the Arts and gathering supplies for children’s theater productions.

I know this neighborhood a little bit. There’s an ease in going there.

When Tania and I got off the train, we started walking toward a vague memory of a seafood restaurant we had been to with my brother back in 2007. It was drizzling out but we both kept our umbrellas in our bags. There was something refreshing about the light rain as we strolled along.

We ended up passing a French spot called Café Henri, in which a three-piece jazz band was playing. The live music and the coziness and the promise of French cuisine drew us in. Oh well, we’ll keep that crab shack in our memories.

We ordered some wine and then settled upon our feast.

We got:

• Escargot
• French Onion Soup
• Salad Nicoise
• Moule Frites, (Mariniere)

All the essentials in French cuisine, if you ask me! We didn’t ask for a server’s choice. It seemed as if we had enough with our selections, I suppose.

Everything was delicious. The escargot dripping with butter and garlic and the French onion soup cheesy and delightful. The tuna on the salad cooked a perfect medium rare and the mussels as satisfying as we could have hoped.

Not to mention the crispy, salty French fries that sealed the deal. We ate just about every last morsel. Left some of the bread behind that came with the mussels. Tooooo full at that point. But we were happy. Stuffed. Buzzed. Happy.

We sat for awhile after the plates were cleared, discussing our favorite songs… I think I drew Tania over to the dark side with “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke (obsessed!) (sorry, not sorry) and she told me of her aspiration to make a recording of “Hounds of Love” by Kate Bush with her on drums and maybe me on the keys. I love that about Tania. I love how into specific songs she gets. And they are usually the most random like “Big Bills” by Flosstradamus. It’s one of the most endearing things about her. I solemnly swear I will help to make that recording happen, Tania. Hounds of Love. Kills me.

It was still drizzly as we rambled on back to the G train. Happy as little snails. Umbrellas still in our bags. The rainy city night was perfectly romantic. Lights twinkling like dreams.

Maybe it’s the unknown of romance that makes it so enticing to me. I love the gamble of it. The goosebumps. Maybe I’m just hopeless. But I’m going to keep living and loving like there’s no tomorrow. And we’ll see who is up for the ride.

bloGged by: Tania

Like two ships passing in the niGht, Bonnie and I connected briefly last Sunday for a long overdue end of the line dining.  I returned on Saturday from a couple of weeks in Japan and Bonnie left on Monday for 10 days in Vermont.  We first decided a trip on the G line to Long Island City was manageable given my jetlag, but as often happens with the G, there were weekend service changes and so to Church Avenue we headed.

We made a plan to meet up with our dear friend Ralph on the Flushing Avenue subway platform at 3:10.  However, like another ship passing in the night, Ralph boarded the train going in the opposite direction.  After waiting long enough for 2 trains to pass (which can be a rather long time on the G train) – Bonnie sacrificed a swipe and went above ground to give Ralph a call.    Fairly soon, we were back on course.

A few years ago the term “Classic Ralph” was coined.  Although hard to articulate, “Classic Ralph” is that magical intersection of a mix-up and a miracle.  Croquet Sundays have been a source of fun for our friends for many years (some summers we are really on, and others we hardly play).   Classic Ralph is a slow start to the game but a rapid comeback to victory.  There is nothing more than we love than Classic Ralph, or Ralph himself.  He is brilliant and interesting, kind-hearted and fun.  I am certain he will make other appearances in end of the line dining, perhaps even one where we can talk about the time he and Bonnie were in love!

Ok, back to our journey.  Church Ave.  The Church Avenue subway station lets you off on Church Avenue and McDonald in Kensington.  For future reference, the station is also home to a public restroom.

Kensington is residential, with proper houses.  It is also extremely diverse.  We happened upon a mural entitled, “React, Respect, Intersect”, and I think it accurately reflects the neighbourhood.  As we walked around searching for a place to eat, there was a hint of Poland, Thailand, Ireland, Mexico, China, Bangladesh and Pakistan.

We nominated Ralph to go into a Bangladeshi deli and ask for a recommendation.  After a brief confusion when Ralph thought the fellow was directing us to a McDonald’s fast food restaurant, we headed to McDonald Avenue.  We decided upon a restaurant called Ghoroa Sweets & Restaurant.  The restaurant was full, only with men.  It felt like a proper Sunday afternoon at a men’s club, with everyone eating and socializing.

It took us a minute to figure out how to order.  There is a glass counter in the front with many dishes, and pictures of food, but there does not seem to be a menu.  Bonnie picked out a few dishes for us all to share, and $25 later we had a feast for 3.  In the first course (according to Ralph), they stoked the digestive fires with some iceberg lettuce.  We later found out that iceberg lettuce was pretty necessary after some accidental chilli ingestion (Bonnie got the worst of it).  What followed was samosas, chicken tikka, okra, spinach, lentils and garlic naan.  All of it was delicious, and all with varying degrees of heat.

On the way out, Ralph and Bonnie picked up a box of sweets.  I can only describe them as rosewater twinkies filled with cream.  As we stood outside getting ready to head to the train, the waiter who had served us ran out to give us all a business card from the restaurant.  He had been smiling and congenial the  entire time, but there was a reason why.  He had taken a liking to Bonnie and had run out to ask for her number.  She promptly responded “I’m married, man” and held up her ring (an excuse that comes in handy for her from time to time!).  I guess it’s true when they say all the good ones are taken!

7 is for: Lucky Numbers, Dwarves and Notes in a Major Scale

RAZ7AMATAZZED by: Bonnie

This past weekend marked an important passage of time in my life: one decade in New York City. That’s right, ten years ago, my hubby and I packed it up and headed east. We often reminisce about the moment we first talked about leaving the west coast for the Big Apple. We were on tour with the Ghost Orchids. I was in a little fight with one of my bandmates and so put as much distance as possible between us in the fifteen-passenger van. I believe we had just played Portland, OR, and Christian and I sat in the way back seat, dreaming about what life in New York would be like. A year later, I graduated from college and our plans were set.

Ten years can feel like such a blur, but when I slow down and think of all the moments and people that fill up that space, it feels like magic. How can a momentary idea turn into a decade of memories? That’s almost like asking how can a symphony be a series of individual notes? This project itself started as a momentary idea and now look at where it’s taking us.

Roberta’s started as a momentary idea between friends one day while eating at Frank Pepe’s in New Haven. Not one of the original investors or owners could have imagined where that restaurant would take us. It has brought me so many important people in my life. One of them being Casandra Corrales, who joined us for End of the Line dining last Sunday. She and I waited tables together for a couple of years and recently, she helped me put together a play for my fourth grade students in Queens. She is a bright shining light, that Casandra, with a million dollar smile. Her energy and enthusiasm for life is magical. Her passion and drive are forces to be reckoned with.

Like Tania said in our last post, life gets so busy, doesn’t it? Especially for three energetic and passionate ladies. This past weekend was no exception. Tania had plans on Friday, I had to work at a wedding on Saturday, and on Sunday Casandra’s and my students were performing at Queens Theatre in the Park. How would we fit in End of the Line Dining in there?

Well, Tania would just have to come out and see the show, wouldn’t she? And then we’d go from there. It was the perfect opportunity for a trip on the 7 Train out to Flushing.

Queens Theatre in the Park is located in Flushing Meadows, on the second to last stop on the 7 train. After the performance (which was awesome, thanks for asking!),

we had a leisurely stroll through the park back to the train. It was nice to be outside after a day in the theater with 20 spirited ten-year-olds. Tania brought a nice camera along this time for us to play with and it turns out Casandra’s got some photo skillz!

We strolled through the park, hiding our cigarettes from any possible fourth graders that might be heading to the train too. And then boarded from the Willets Point Blvd stop at 7:57pm.

Four minutes later, we were at the end of the line.

Four minutes is definitely enough time to play around with the costumes from the show though!

Flushing is a bustling Chinatown with lots of hidden gems of restaurants and bakeries and shops, I’m sure.

I spent a year out in suburbs beyond Flushing teaching a middle school theater program but had only eaten out there twice. Casandra and I had actually been in that neighborhood just two days before to take a trip to SpaCastle after our students did their in-school performance on Friday. So we had our bearings about the neighborhood a bit better than other neighborhoods we’ve landed in. But we still had to find a new place to dine. Fun Lounge, anyone?

Casandra and I had started the day with hangovers, and after our exhausting tech rehearsal and performance, we didn’t feel the need to venture too far from the stop. We didn’t really have to, though, because there are about a gazillion little places that appealed to us. We ended up at a row of restaurants on Prince Street (one of which I’m PRETTY sure I ate at after my Flushing students performed a couple years ago). We let Casandra make the selection and she skipped over the Chinese options and went straight to a Vietnamese restaurant called “Pho.” Her exact words were, “Mmmmm… broth…”

The restaurant was well-lit with friendly fluorescents and there were a couple other tables of diners giving a preview of the deliciousness in store for us. It was quiet—no music playing—but the silence was comfortable.

We chose a few things off the menu (Casandra got her broth) and we again let our server choose an appetizer for us.

Our selections:

-Vegetarian Spring Rolls (just what you’d expect with a sweet chili sauce accompaniment)

-Shrimp Summer Rolls (which actually had shredded pork in them. Delicious for me! But Tania had to pull those pieces out for her)

-Fish Ball Noodle Soup (mmmm… balls)

-Tom Yum Noodle Soup with Shrimp (Cass-attack!)

-Shrimp with lemongrass over rice (Obsessed with Lemongrass lately, for real)

And our server’s choice… Chicken Satay. Funny enough, we almost ordered that ourselves. The same thing happened at the Lebanese restaurant in Bay Ridge when we almost ordered the spinach pie and then that ended up being our server’s choice. Nice, safe choice there. I’m still kind of waiting for a server to choose something really weird involving brains or eyeballs or something. Though I know that will be all up to me to consume. Tania will hopefully enjoy watching.

Tania ordered a Vietnamese Iced Coffee and Casandra, a Thai Iced Tea. I stuck with water. We were sort of thankful not to find booze on the menu because we probably would not have resisted the temptation and my liver was pretty angry with me that day. Though I did see boxes of Tsingtao when I went back to the bathroom. A cold one could have been a nice accompaniment to our end of the weekend, end of the line dining meal but alas. Restraint.

I loaded our fish ball soup up with Sriracha to boost the flavor but otherwise everything was very balanced with spice and pizzazz. We stuffed ourselves to the gills. Cass and I had eaten pizza with our students at the theater just a couple hours before (Remember the hangovers and wrangling of tiny people? Pizza was a necessity) but there was still enough room for a Vietnamese feast.

And feast we did.

In fact, my ten years in New York have been a feast as well. A series of individual moments that I’ve devoured. I’ve filled myself up with experiences that have made me love and live in ways I never thought possible. I dug up a poem I wrote right before I moved. This is what I gave to all my friends as a parting gift and I’d like to share it with our End of the Line readers here:

the city that loves me
by bonnie pipkin, 2003

Tonight I’m drunk in San Francisco and tomorrow I’ll be hung over without you
maybe you’ll find me asleep on your bathroom floor, or maybe you’ll find me in your bed
hitting snooze over and over
with reluctance that is our every morning when last night was that good
This morning will not be much different
Sometimes I think I’m in love, San Francisco and sometimes I’m just drunk.
You gave me callused fingers, love handles and the taste of bile in my throat, hangovers and greasy breakfasts, kisses and pisses in alleys, bathrooms, and sweaty dance floors
nighttime was a gift you gave to me San Francisco
I screamed your name into the rain wrote it with a stick in the sand and watched the ocean eat it
I eat was eaten
I love was loved
Sometimes I think I’m in love, San Francisco and wonder if it’s just the weather
You gave me sunscreen and boys with wet kisses dry mouthed
The pigeons are fucked, it’s sixty-two degrees and my thigh hurts from your hipbone
I loved you San Francisco when you wiped blood from my nose, when the streets were foggy wet
and you gave me something to dance to, press against
laughing turning into laughing
When I sat on that bench on that hill overlooking the city with skinned elbows and knuckles and
forties of bud, I truly felt happy. I counted seventeen stars and wished on the first one to love and to be loved
I left red lipstick on glasses, cigarettes, collars and sleeves
your hand with the fading stamp
You gave me a song, a wedding ring, long walks,
late night declarations
we swung and sung and sometimes it felt so strong I never thought we’d all leave each other
but we do and we still will
And we’ll remember laughing and staring through the fog, empty bottles, ripped clothing, sore throats,
powdered sugar lips
lying in the grass on those few sunny days
that drove everyone wild
you gave me something San Francisco, and even when I leave there will still remain a piece of this messy heart on your streets, in the wind trapped between buildings
on your hands

Here’s to decades of moments and exploring all the nooks and crannies. To walking with my head and heart open to new magical moments. To letting it all fill us up and make us who we are.

Brooklyn Girls

Compos3d by: Tania

3. Harlem bound.  Life gets busy, and sometimes even a bi-weekly dining event is difficult to fit in.  This past rainy Friday, we decided an after work quick trip to Harlem on the uptown 3 fit the bill.  Joining us this week was Sarah, a guest that is so much like family, you can hardly call her a guest at all (and that is the highest of compliments).  Bonnie and I have known Sarah for many years, Bonnie first in San Francisco, and then myself in New York.  Sarah has a bun in the oven, so I guess you can say that we had two guests!

We met on the platform at 14^th Street and 7^th Avenue, and boarded the train at 6:33pm.  In the blink of an eye, allowing just a moderate amount of catching up, we arrived at 148^th and Lenox Avenue right at dusk – Hamilton Heights.  This was not the Harlem that I usually have in mind – the Apollo Theatre and the stores of 125^th street (where I would sometimes shop with my teenage Big Brothers/Big Sisters little sister, trying to convince her out of buying underpants that were far too scandalous).

The streets were wide and filled with brownstones, beauty salons, barbers and community centers.  It was immediately clear that this was a place where people took pride in their neighbourhood.   Beds of flowers lined the sidewalks and music was audible on most blocks – even the abandoned brownstones had a sense of dignity.  A place for families, a place for community and I imagine a place for some fabulous gossip in those beauty salons.

What Hamilton Heights was not a place for however, was a sit down restaurant.  We were tempted by some of the seafood take-out and soul food buffets (I bet they are amazing) – but 1) it was cold and raining and we wanted to sit and 2) we have seen one too many ‘shame on you’ segments with a black light and a buffet (and I would say that about any buffet in any city, in any state, in any country in the world).  We continued to walk west through the neighbourhood, winding through the streets – past Frederick Douglass Blvd, St. Nicholas Ave.  and Amsterdam.

After a good deal of walking and a somewhat unsettling encounter with an intoxicated man in need of a belt, we eventually asked what appeared to be a college student (wearing spectacles and carrying take-out) for a recommendation.  He pointed us in the direction of Broadway.  As we walked, the change in the neighbourhood and the clash of its inhabitants, became more distinct.  We arrived at The Harlem Public House, which looked decidedly more college town bar than Harlem dining establishment.  While we were immediately hesitant, we decided to stick with the recommendation and approached the ski cap wearing door girl with a overwhelming sense of being underwhelmed.  By some divine act of intervention, the fan in their kitchen had broken, and they were not serving food…..but they “still had booze”.

And on to recommendation number 2, with a now healthy dose of skepticism.  We arrived at Trufa, a small cozy looking cafe on 140^th and Broadway and paused outside to look at the menu.  While we were discussing, the waiter came out to greet us and it was a done deal.  The menu was quite similar to one at the restaurants that we frequent in our own neighbourhood, but it had its own charm.  It was not the soul food we expected to find, but it was not without soul.

The waiter, who took to calling us ‘his Brooklyn girls’ brought us out a rustic bread with roasted tomato  jam to start, a glass of Prosecco, a glass of Pinot Noir and a Coke.  We decided to share and ordered Caesar Salad, Crab Cakes and Linguine Puttanesca with Shrimp.  As a chef’s choice, they brought us out an off-the-menu appetizer of clams, mussels and shrimp. Their Marinara sauce (which was used in the pasta and the appetizer) was remarkable – just the right degree of sweetness – and their seafood extremely well prepared, particularly the clams.  Overall, everything was solid and satisfying.

As we finished the meal with some wine (except for Sarah) and a piece of Oreo cake (including Sarah), we discussed some of the recent passages within our lives – graduations (our good friend Ralph’s which just happened and Bonnie’s which is upcoming), pregnancies, births, as well as the dear things that have left our lives.  We toasted to my grandma, Alma Ryalls, who has recently passed.  Her door was open to anyone – and many passed through those doors – gay or straight, psychic or average cognitive ability, gangsters, addicts, angels, family, friends and neighbours – and she treated them all like family.   I not only loved her, I genuinely liked her – and I will miss her for the rest of my days. We also toasted to Sarah’s grandpa, a sweet man, very dear to her heart, who gave everyone a nickname – often with the name Bartholomew.

Our lives, like these neighbourhoods that we visit, change and evolve, sometimes in ways that we would rather they not.  The things that we are familiar with and find comfort in disappear, to be replaced by things that sometimes pale in comparison.

But then sometimes they don’t…and the doors that close lead to doors that open to amazing surprises.

F is for: Friends, Ferris Wheels and Free-lovin’

ConFessed by: Bones

Guest Photographer: Kevin Hagen

Beware! Contained within this blog post is a close examination of that crazy phenomenon of LOVE. Let’s face it: spring is in the air and slow-cooking us for those sizzly summer nights, when sweat and skin are on everyone’s minds. I found myself on an adventure to Coney Island last Sunday afternoon with four old pals, each in our own degree of love—the spectrum from very single to very attached and all that lies in between.

We’ll start with ME: the single-est of the bunch. The boy crazy one that hasn’t been in a relationship in five years. I love to fall in love but I rarely attach myself. Still, I’ve been happy with my flings and love affairs along the way. I’ve been free and addicted to the thrill of the romance. It’s a good spot to be in for now.

Next up is our photographer, Kevin. What a dream boat, don’t you think? I’ve intermittently entertained the idea of having a crush on this one because ummmm, do you have eyes? I even got him to make out with me once in his car in front of my apartment while another friend waited outside in the rain for us to finish. How awesomely 1980s brat pack rom com is that? But our Kevin is fairly recently out of a long relationship, on the healing road. Single but unavailable (makes us want him more, doesn’t it?) So he and I are the singles of the crew, but representing different rankings.

Then there’s Kate Schlichter. Kate is in a NEW RELATIONSHIP! How exciting is the beginning? When you’re still figuring each other out and buzzing with passion and excitement. I love the beginning. People are free. No pain. No ammunition for pain. Just admiration. They are so new to it that I, one of Kate’s best friends, have not even met the object of her affection. He gets to go through the Bones test next weekend though. Looking forward to that. Don’t be nervous. I’m usually pretty nice.

One step up on the romance spectrum is Mathew Falkoff, whom I refer affectionately to as Mateo, or Mat. Mateo is here visiting from China but is an old friend from SF. I fell in love with him on a very close friend level once upon a time in this crazy whirlwind we call life. Not anything serious. But adventures and slumber parties were regular occasions on our agenda back in the day. He used to make me wash my feet before getting into his bed. I’m a little stinkier than he is but that’s why we love each other. He’s now been in a relationship for awhile with a girl that lives in Bangkok. I assume she’s pretty clean and not very stinky. He says she’s a real good girl that keeps him solid.

And maybe we get to a point where solid means everything.

Rounding out the order of things is my girl, Tania. Hers is a relationship spanning many years built on companionship, understanding and respect that’s downright adult if you ask me. And I guess you have since you’re reading my blog.

SO! As I was saying, last Sunday, which also happened to be Mother’s Day, we set out on an adventure.

Five lovebirds flying downtown on the F train. Destination: Coney Island. What a perfect backdrop for my examination of what it’s like to love and how much we want it and need it. We need the roller coaster of it. The over-consumption of sweets and booze of it. The secret kisses on Ferris Wheels of it. (Fun fact: One of the five of us in this group has done a LOT more than kiss on the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island. I’m not saying who!) At amusement parks, we pour quarters into skee ball slots, trying to win giant stuffed animals for our girls. More quarters into Zoltar’s fortune-telling box, crossing our fingers for a lifetime of happiness and true LOVE. And if we’re brave, when the sun goes down, a moonlit skinny dip or a smooch on the empty life guard’s chair. Coney Island is a cesspool for romance of all kinds. And I love it for that.

I have so many memories on that boardwalk, which made me excited to go a little deeper into the neighborhood and find a place to eat that was off the beaten track…

We met everyone on the F train platform at 6^th Avenue and 14^th Street so Tania and I could complete another line (F and R are now done! Top to bottom!) Then set sail at 1:46pm. Five salty sea men, each in love in our own right and each itching for experience.

The train ride out is always about catching up and this ride was no exception. How’s life? How’s work? How’s love? I hadn’t seen Mat since January so I spent a good chunk of the ride catching up with him. He likes to joke that coming to NYC is like going on a baby tour. So many babies here. We’re old now. In our (GASP!) thirties which means baby time, apparently. As the train went on, Mat and I were getting pretty graphic, discussing ways in which my gay husband could impregnate me and that’s when we realized we were the only ones on the train besides the sweet older lady sitting next to Mat. And boy was she getting an EARFUL.

But hey! We’re the only ones on the train! Let’s play! Kevin instructed me to lie on the ground (don’t have to ask me twice! I’m the dirty, stinky one, remember?)

Some climbing and revelry ensued…

And then… Final stop: Coney Island/ Stillwell Avenue.

And guess what? We were having too much fun to remember to check our arrival time. But I believe the ride was about 50 minutes.

Then we were loose. The wind was blowing and the possibilities were wide open. I kept asking Kate which direction to turn. Out of the station she commented, “I’ve never gone THAT way” meaning AWAY from the boardwalk.

And so we traipsed. And traveled. And tripped. Laughing and smoking. Winding through the neighborhood that was hit very hard by Hurricane Sandy. And while it has been majorly cleaned up, it’s still spotted with gutted out storefronts and crumbling buildings from the storm’s brutal hand. Mold and mildew smells still waft out of some of the buildings. But the neighborhood is alive. People are out and feeling the spring time air. Sniffing around for love perhaps.

After not much success away from the boardwalk, we headed back toward the water. And there was our oasis on Surf Avenue.

Footprints. A Caribbean restaurant that looked like a strip club from the outside with velvet ropes and all. Kate and I poked inside and with Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” blaring in our ears (don’t tell me you don’t believe in love after watching TITANIC. I admit it, I’ve seen that movie at least ten times) we decided this was the place. There was an hour wait unless we wanted to sit in a loungey booth with a low table. Which, why not!? We took what we could get and dove into the four pages of cocktail options and the extensive Jamaican/Caribbean food offerings (meanwhile the music switched over to some cool island jams).

It was a tough choice but here’s what we went with:

Kate: Vegetarian Rasta Pasta

Tania and Me: Fish Roti and Jerk Shrimp

Kevin: Jerk Chicken Bammie

Mateo: Oxtail

Then we asked the server to surprise us with an appetizer or a small plate and she stepped up whole-heartedly to the challenge. She brought us the cod fish cakes with guacamole as well as fried calamari. YUM!

The food came on island time but we weren’t in a rush. The restaurant was packed and we had great company. Everything was delicious and the flavors were vaguely reminiscent of Mexican food. We thought Kate’s Rasta Pasta tasted like nachos and the jerk sauce had a distinct molé flavor. It was all rich and flavorful and except for when I bit into a fish bone and it stabbed the roof of my mouth, I enjoyed every bite.

Stuffed and happy, we moved ourselves toward the boardwalk. Lookin’ for action.

Mat suggested I enter the karaoke contest but it wasn’t the time. Though I do have amazing memories karaoking with Mat in China in the year 2004. Ya heard.

We opted for Skee Ball instead.

With our tickets, we raked in the following prizes:

1 Whoopee Cushion

1 pair of Magic Glasses

1 plastic Army Dude.

I was way into the magic glasses. Though we couldn’t quite figure out where the magic was. Upon further inspection of the packaging, we learned that the glasses were supposed to make you magically smart. I’ll have to test the product further. We never used that whoopee cushion though so watch out if you spot me at a party in the near future. You know I’m going to bust that thing out.

It was a perfect day to be in love. Over-stimulated and stuffed full. I thought about summer and how fun it is to frolic around. To squeeze into a roller coaster seat with that special person and plummet toward certain death together on that old rickety wooden dragon’s back, screaming and laughing at the absurdity of it all because who gives a fuck when you feel so good?

Adrenaline-filled after riding The Cyclone, we decided it was time to head back. And on the train ride home, I sat between two of my best girls, staring across the train car at two of my tallest and most amazing dude friends and I felt swollen with pride and love. Proud of Tania and me for getting this project off the ground and to all the great adventures in store for us. And so deeply in love with my friends.

I want to be in love all the time. I’m in love with this city, with my friends, with the boys I run around with and give secret nicknames to. With the spring time that wakes everyone the fuck up. Even if that leads to breakups and heartache, it opens you up for summer. The freest time there is.

So, to the four other lovebirds that spent a spring Sunday afternoon with me, I send you BIG LOVE!

And especially to Tania. AKA T Bag Stallag.

She’s who I rode the roller coaster with, by the way.

The End!

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Bonus! Check out the interview we did on Heritage Radio at Roberta’s. Within it, Tania and I talk about our project and then Patrick Martin REVEALS the naked waitress! Her first ever public interview 😉 If you keep listening to Steve Jenkins after us, he has a lot of great stuff to say about cheese and olive oil and Fairway Markets. Tania and I chime in here and there. I even make a little naughty joke at the end. 

http://www.heritageradionetwork.com/episodes/4108-The-Main-Course-Episode-177-End-of-the-Line-Dining-Steve-Jenkins

DraFted by: Tania

This past Sunday, Bonnie and I had the good fortune to actually make it to our intended destination (Well, not Brighton Beach like we’ve been hinting at for weeks but to Jamaica where we thought we were headed last time). After Sexcamaids practice (the beautiful Bonnie will be dancing in the Mermaid Parade with these sassy tail shakers for the 2nd year in a row), we departed from my house. Our trip was so effortless, and we were so busy catching up on birthdays and bachelorettes, that I dropped the ball on documenting the time of our debarkation. I estimate that we left 14th Street and 6th Avenue around 5:07 and arrived at 179th Street – Jamaica at 5:52.

Jamaica is by and large, residential. There is that quietude that permeates whenever there are tree-lined streets, front yards with men trimming the hedges and bright colored tulips planted in boxes. However there weren’t any children.  And there was this grayness that we likened to the kind of place one goes to live with their parents after getting out of rehab. Not to mention it felt like we were being watched the whole time.  Away from the residential pockets, the streets are wide and filled with the barbers, dentists and 99 cent stores we have come to expect, as well as some things we did not….

In the midst of our hunt for food, we happened upon a “famous actor/professional juggler”. At least that’s what his buddy, an aggressive and bellowing man sporting an MTA shirt and perched under the hatchback of his mini-van, proclaimed. We were unable to substantiate the “famous actor” part. But we were informed that this man had extensive experience juggling jobs and women. And, oh wait sir, and what else do you juggle?

Horses?

Famous actor/professional horse juggler? You don’t come across that every day! Prompted by the MTA employee, Bonnie gave the horse juggler a dollar. Apparently it is not such a lucrative career.

As we crossed the street, MTA man was so kind (read: insinuating and obnoxious) as to tell us that we were not in Kansas anymore. Well, I have never been to Kansas (except perhaps on a quick drive through), but I certainly had no illusions that Jamaica Queens would be anything like it. I did however expect there to be RESTAURANTS in the far reachings of Jamaica Queens. Although feeling a bit shy, we decided it would be best to ask the locals. Where was the good food to be had? There must be some street we had missed that was full of delicious eating establishments, right?

Wrong.

One man told us we needed to get on a bus and go FOUR MILES down the thoroughfare. Another told us that we should check our food first for cleanliness if we did decide to eat in the neighborhood. All seemed to be concerned about our ability to handle spicy food. What? Doesn’t this lady on the left look like she likes things a lil hot sometimes? Geez.

Feeling a bit deflated, Bonnie and I decided to walk a bit more before calling it a day at the White Castle.

That was when we spied a Peruvian restaurant sign from across the street, and then an A grade from the health department in the window and we knew we had hit jackpot. We hadn’t traveled four miles, there was an indicator of cleanliness and maybe we could get something SPICY.

The Restaurant is called “Rocoto”, and we were greeted warmly by a lovely woman (who we later learned is named Jenny). “I have not seen you around the neighborhood before” No, not us – first time off this stop. See? They’re watching us!

Jenny was eager to tell us about Peruvian food and make recommendations on their traditional dishes. She comes from Trinidad, but married a Peruvian man – who we met and was equally lovely – and spent time there. The restaurant has been open now for 4 months (so you can forgive the people we asked on the street for not recommending the place straight away). There were bongo drums in the corner for live music on Saturdays and a warm atmosphere – principally created by the owners and their family.

“If you don’t see what you want, please ask”. – That was printed on the menu. I have had meals at many a fancy restaurant and I can tell you without reservation that the service at Rocoto was some of the best I have ever had. Jenny recommended that we share the Tripple “A” – a huge platter of arroz con mariscos (rice with seafood), ceviche (of corvina), jalea (lightly fried shrimp and squid covered in Peruvian salsa) and leche de tigre (a delightfully spicy seafood cocktail). We took her up on that, as well as two glasses of sangria. We felt that it might be a bit of a risk ordering a seafood platter (though Bonnie thinks a bout of food poisoning might make an interesting End of the Line Dining story. Me? Not so much), but it was a risk that paid off. Everything was so delicious, and the sauces they provided were AMAZING! I will very technically call them green sauce, spicy red sauce (this one actually had the same name as the restaurant – Rocoto) and spicy orange sauce (with a hint of cucumber). I could never do justice in describing them so I won’t even try!

By the end of the meal we were stuffed and had decided against dessert, but Jenny insisted on giving us a complimentary piece flan she had just made. Bless her soul, it was incredible.

The station was right in front of the restaurant and we boarded the train home, reflecting upon how one genuinely nice person can change your entire experience. Delicious food doesn’t hurt either!

See you in 2 weeks at the last stop….

R is for: Reconnecting, Rendezvousing, Reminiscing

wRitten by: Bonnie

guest photographer: Bertie Pearson (serving black and white REALNESS)

Throughout my life I’ve been a collector of people. The wild ones, the sad ones, the tricksters, the pranksters, the lovers, the mischief makers, the music makers. The ones I trust with everything and the ones I trust with just the little bits and pieces. The ones that make my heart burst or break or bubble. Once you’re in, you’re in. I keep you. Maintaining my collection of friendships makes my life richer, more interesting, more entertaining.

The most recent End of the Line Dining excursion included a cast of characters from a couple periods in my life and while sometimes worlds colliding can be awkward, this was a perfect combination of personality, adventurous spirit, open-mindedness and the up-for-anything mentality that is key for this project.

Allow me to introduce the rail riders that joined Tania and me this time up the R Line:

Bertie and Little Sarah hail from the wild days of San Francisco. The days of Prince houses, Ghost Orchids, Cat Clubs and Arrow Bars, Bordellos, dancing, debauchery, after parties, secret swimming pools, weekends of white, late night declarations… The friendships have since mutated into something real solid, even grown-up.

Bertie officiated my wedding. I was a groomsman at his. We like to talk about life and love and scholarly things and music and words and it’s just grown into one of my most valued friendships. And of course we have the same initials (BP!)

Little Sarah was the photographer at my wedding (10 years ago Friday! Whoa!) and we were definitely closer in the San Francisco days but I keep her in my collection too. How could you not? She’s just so charming and fun. She has an awesome magazine called PUT A EGG ON IT that we here at End of the Line Dining fully endorse (www.putaeggonit.com). She brought her lovely lady friend, Jen, a very sweet and interesting gal who works as a personal chef and has done cool social work projects in Thailand among other things, I’m sure.

My friendship with James Long (visiting NYC from London) certainly has its roots in debauchery as well: one weekend of skinny dipping and psychedelics over the Fourth of July so I could really show him how to celebrate my favorite American holiday and an unforgettable camping trip to Stonehenge where I fell on my back like a cockroach and was thus inducted into the Hackney Slags—just to name a couple.

But as I’m prone to nostalgia and you’re probably sitting there thinking yeah yeah get on with it and get to the adventure, I will honor the intentions of this blog and not slip into tooooo much reminiscing. Though I’ve known all these people for so many years, it’s hard.

On to the here and now….

We met up in Union Square to grab the R train Uptown.

We were all abuzz with that New York springy feeling and the itch of adventure. We thought we were going to Jamaica. In fact, at 3 in the morning Bertie, Rahel (his missus) (wish you could have joined us!) and I were looking up the Wikipedia entry on Jamaica. On the train ride up there, Tania peeped at the map and said, “You want to know something funny?” Yes, always. “We’re not going to Jamaica.” Yeah, pretty funny.

Note what it says on the sign above our heads in the following picture, snapped while waiting for the R Train:

Yep. R Train to Forest Hills. Plain as day.

The train ride took 39 minutes, getting us there at 4pm.

Let me tell you, we were transported into another world once we got off at the end of the line. Have you ever been to Forest Hills? It’s gorgeous! After the dearth of restaurant choices Tania and I were up against in Bedford Park and the strangeness of the velvet roped restaurants in Bay Ridge, we kind of felt like we struck gold. It was hoppin’!

We wound deeper into the magic land of Forest Hills. I don’t really know how to describe architecture without comparing it somehow to The Lord of the Rings so I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Yeah, that’s really New York City. I wondered what it looked like at Halloween and Tania wondered what it looked like at Christmas. What does that say about us? James commented that it seemed like we had stepped into England. And yeah, it felt that way.

We strolled back to Austin Street which seemed to be Restaurant Row (Austin Street? Bertie lives in Austin. Good omen, we thought). While we were pondering which direction to go, this lady asked us what we were looking for

and then directed us to the spot she had just hit for lunch: Pinang. She closed her eyes as she spoke as if visualizing our walk there (“Your landmark will be the fire station on the right”) and then continuing to visualize the deliciousness in store for us.

Malaysian food! Perfect!

Though since I am celebrating my ten year anniversary of marriage to an Argentinean man, we probably should have gone here:

This is what it looked like inside:

But Pinang was the recommendation and we took it!

Hmmmmm…. What should we get???

We went family style, duh. I could totally go off on a rant about people that don’t like to share food but I will mind my manners right now and just say I was with the perfect dining companions that were ready to taste EVERYTHING! And here are some things that we ordered:

Thai Fish Cake (yummy little bite-sized pieces with sweet chile sauce)

Satay Bean Curd (stuffed with cucumber and smothered with peanut sauce)

Achat (pickled things)

Roti (bread thing with curry dipping sauce)

Kerabu Mango (spicy!)

House Special Sizzling Bean Curd with ground pork, shrimp and vegetables (SIZZLING!)

Chow Kueh Teow (noodles)

Pineapple Shrimp (sweet and satisfying)

Chicken with lady fingers in Belachen sauce (imagine Little Sarah saying “lady fingers” and keep your giggles to yourselves)

And “Server’s Choice” (he chose this yummy crunchy noodle dish in gravy. More creative than our last server who chose the spinach pie. Although when we asked what his favorite dish was, he did say it was plain rice.) (Okay, the plain rice was delicious.)

Let’s look at the food pics and start drooling into our iPhones or wherever you’re reading this blog from.

We, of course, did more reminiscing. We tried to figure out at what point James and Bertie had maybe met and thought it could have been at Eagle the Terrorizer but that discussion came up non-conclusive. We talked about ballet schools and travels and Chavs and lamb face sandwiches and Texan cuisine and our middle names (Forbes, Lee, Claybourn, Michael, Jeanien, and Brooke). We didn’t hear any Taylor Dayne but “Brown-Eyed Girl” played when we sat down and I took that as a good sign too. My brain was a little mushy from the fun weekend and as we talked about food we like to eat and what we don’t, I said, “I like really dirty tasting things.” You can imagine how that statement became a recurring joke for the rest of the meal.

Tania became obsessed with the idea of anagramming the letters in our name so I gave my best shot at Tania Lee Ryalls and she took a crack at Bonnie Brooke Pipkin. I came up with: ANAL REALLY TIES. And she came up with something like: POOP BONE BIKE IN RINK. I don’t know what it says about us that I spotted the word anal and she spotted the word poop and that’s what we decided to work around, but I think it says something good.

I tried Bertie Claybourn Pearson too and got: BUT BONNIE, PEARS REALLY CRY. That, in turn, reminded Tania of the children’s book, Rat Stew by Craig Silvis:

 Sue was an apple and Peter a pear. They sat in a fruit bowl with hardly a care. But along came an orange who started to gripe, saying Susan had worms and Pete was too ripe.

That’s pretty cute.

Nerdy word games and children’s books and delicious food and good company? Yes please. We tossed back some Singhas and some glasses of white wine and we feasted like kings. Afterward, we all sort of felt that exhausted feeling you get after a day at the beach. I like to think of us as adventurers after a successful sea voyage. As we were strolling back to the train, James said: “There’s something about this blog that makes you feel quite young.” (Imagine that with a British accent).

And it’s true. Maybe it’s the incessant nostalgia that, sorry folks, I probably will always fall back on in this project. I think food really lends itself to nostalgia. Maybe it’s the fuck it, let’s go somewhere and look for fun feeling. Maybe it’s the fact that we aren’t relying on our phones for directions—looking up instead of down. Maybe it’s just that feeling of being with your friends and not being on a schedule of any kind. But yes, it does kind of make you feel young. At least it makes you feel free. And that’s the best.

I love my funny collection of friends.

I think I’ll keep ‘em.

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Tania and I are back at it in two weeks. I hesitate to say we’ll be taking the B Train downtown the next trip because that’s what we always seem to say but we are going to try to finally make it down to Brighton Beach. Stay tuned to the Boxcar Girls’ adventures to see if that pans out.

The Arrrrrrrrrr Train!

Since one good turn deserves another… The Boxcar Girls are headed UPTOWN today to finish up the R line they started two weeks ago. Joined by olden golden friends: Bertie P, Little Sarah and James Long. Adventure will be posted this week. Wish them well on their journey to the far seas of Queens. Ahoy!

wRitten by: Tania

B.  The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray.  And while Bonnie and I are neither mice nor men, we found ourselves in need of a plan B.  The night before our Saturday voyage to the far end of the B line – Brighton Beach – Bonnie was at a show for our good friends, Wild Yaks (soon to appear on an episode of SVU).  She was approached by a friend who said, “I have something to tell you!”  Bonnie braced herself for some horrible news, given the girl’s tone, but was simply informed that the B does not run on weekends.  You would think 2 ladies embarking on an extensive end of the line journey would bother to check the train schedules.  No, not us. Thank you to Carina Elizabeth for being so informed about MTA schedules and interruptions!

What to do?  Should we remain purists and take the B on a weekday?  Should we take the Q, which runs on the B line and just get off at Brighton Beach?  Or should we select another line all together?  We make the rules to this trip, do we not?  Even so, there is some unspoken code to adhere to, we are being held to some standard. In Bonnie’s words, “No pretends!”

R. We decided the best course of action was to meet at noon and take an entirely different line all together.  At 12:26PM we departed on the R train headed to Bay Ridge.   At first we were not entirely sure that we were even on the R line – there was no sign, it was on the wrong track and went express to Canal Street.  None the less, at 1:10PM we stepped off the train at Bay Ridge.  Neither of us has spent really any time in this neighborhood  and I didn’t have any time to prepare my envelope of Wikipedia reports and demographics, so we were going in cold.

Sometimes I find myself annoyed when people sing out loud in public, but as we ascended thestairs into the sunlight, a dude was belting out a pretty glorious rendition of NIN’s Closer, and it felt like a good sign.  At the very least it made us smile.

We quickly came to a consensus that Bay Ridge is a pretty solid place to live.  We speculated that perhaps all the fancy homes we expected in Bedford Park had been picked up in some extreme weather event, and relocated in Bay Ridge.  Somehow the Wikipedia folks never caught on.  The view of the water and the Verrazano bridge is breathtaking.  There are parks and flowers and signs of life.

There are also a lot of lounges, and valet parking and “restaurants” with velvet ropes.  One such “restaurant” was called Club Cats and the logo was of a cat in an extremely suggestive position.  There were no windows.  I would have like to have eaten there, but alas they did not open until 4pm.  What do they serve there at the Club Cats?  I was dying to know, so I called the Club.  It’s Pan European – just in case you are as curious as I.

After some pleasant exploring, an old time diner caught our eye.  I am a sucker for an old neon sign, and we got sucked in.

Hinsch’s is a 65-year-old soda fountain on 5th Ave and 86th.  It looks quite authentic, except the banner noting that it is under new management.  After being seated, we took a look at the menu, and it looked a bit too familiar.  This is not the end of the line burger tour (please refer back to our first trip on the B train uptown for more info), and I can’t say exactly why, but we were slightly put off by the extensive list of paninis on a soda fountain menu.  On the fence as to whether we should stay, we ordered some coffee and an orange juice and waited for a sign.  And then it came.  Taylor Dayne’s sweet voice asking us to tell it to her heart, and telling us we needed to find somewhere more interesting to eat than another diner that plays Taylor Dayne (no disrespect, LOVE Taylor Dayne).  That aside – the OJ was fresh squeezed and delicious, the service was friendly and there is a surveillance tv in the ladies bathroom aimed at the front door of the restaurant.  Worth a stop if you’re in the neighbourhood, you might even run into these ladies…

A few more blocks of walking and we happened upon Le Sajj, serving Lebanese & Mediterranean Cuisine.  It looked inviting enough, and there were two other people in there, so we decided to go for it.

There was a bar in the back lit by a skylight, which gave us the distinct feeling that we were on vacation (perhaps a Mediterranean vacation if you really suspended disbelief), elaborate wood moulding and a white pressed tin ceiling.  After a bit of a wait, they brought us out pickled vegetables and our menus. The restaurant is named after a type of Lebanese flatbread, which the menu claimed was “a timeless tradition practiced by our grandmothers and mothers and is preserved only at our restaurant”.  I can’t say for sure if the bread is only made that way at that restaurant, but I can say that we have never had anything like it before.  It is extremely thin, and was delivered to us folded in a basket.  It was good for wrapping what was still to come!

We decided that we would order a few appetizers and leave one for “chef’s choice” (something that we decided to do going forward at other end of the line dining destinations).  We ordered the Lebanese wine (white and red), halloumi cheese, the “Lebanese garden” platter (hommos, baba ghannoj, tabouli, stuffed grape leaves) and then we asked the waiter to pick out an appetizer for us.  He didn’t quite get our drift.  He recommended a whole fish entree.  Ultimately, he brought us out some spinach pie.  Not as exciting as we had hoped for. On the whole, the food was really good, and we left feeling satisfied and sleepy.

Earlier in the day we had discussed taking a walk by the water, however after our meal, we were feeling a bit tired and sluggish. It’s been a long week – we both celebrated birthdays – a brunch filled with piñatas (which ended up on Bonnie’s head) and tamales and drinks aplenty.  We threw around the idea of just boarding the train, and getting some much needed rest at home, but then we changed our minds.  We were glad that we did.  The park at the water was beautiful and even spending just a few minutes there was worth the walk.

I don’t have many regrets in life, but there are definitely times when I wish I could reverse the decision to stay in and snooze rather than go out and experience.  Bonnie can attest first hand to times in college that our plans to go out dancing were foiled by a nap that even Bonnie’s jumping on the bed could not awake.  Bonnie on the other hand, gets magical second, third, fourth and fifth winds!  Even later that night after end of the line dining, she went out dancing till 3am at a going away party. She contemplated staying in but I told her to go. It was the right thing to do.  I knew the winds would come—they always do!

Stay tuned for the next installment of End of the Line Dining, when Bonnie and I (hopefully, successfully) take the B train DOWNTOWN to Brighton Beach in two weeks! We will be joined by some very special guests!