I used to use my bread machine a lot. When we lived in Buffalo, we would load up the machine in the evening, set the timer, and wake up to the smell of bread baking. Which is the best smell in the entire world. Period.
Today I unearthed the thing to make pizza dough. Ben was adamant about helping me make pizza. I loaded the machine with water, olive oil, salt, sugar, flour, and yeast, and put it on the dough setting.
3 1/2 hours later, I went to retrieve my dough only to find that I had accidentally made a rather tasteless and extremely dense bread.
I am still completely flummoxed. (We ordered pizza for the kids and my sister, Joyce, who babysat as John and I ventured off on our biannual date night.)
We are adventurers who ventured off into the coolish evening without a particular destination in mind. We drove down Park Ave and were turned off by the crowds of people who were jam-packed into trendy bistros, so we turned and headed downtown. John took me to a pub on St. Paul that was quiet and cozy. We parked in an empty parking lot at the end of the street and walked into Scotland Yard, which was surprisingly calm for a Saturday night. Too calm, I think.
The restaurant specializes in Wood Fire pizzas, but they also have sandwiches and an array of appetizers and nightly specials. I chose the eggplant parmesan sandwich special, which was delectable. John had a pizza. The service was outstanding. The pub has a classic, old-world interior. It would be the perfect spot to watch the World Cup, though you may have to cheer for the English. There’s also a pool table and darts and so on and so forth. It’s within walking distance of Water Street Music Hall and is open for lunch starting this Monday. You should probably go there. I’ll meet you for lunch if you pay.
If you do go, I would not park at the empty lot at the end of the street. Though it has no signs that indicate parking is not allowed, a meathead in a white SUV told us we were lucky we showed up when we did because our car was about to get towed. This was after the meathead parked his car diagonally, the car’s butt about three inches from the front of our van. He did this while looking at us as we were walking to our van. His parking job perplexed me becausewe were in a large parking lot and there were plenty of other spots. I was giving him the evil eye when he opened his big meatball mouth.
“Yeah. You can’t park here. This is a private lot. We all park diagonally here, so I know when someone parks like you did (in the lines) that you don’t belong. And when you park like that (in the lines) it messes up our delivery system.”
“Sorry. We won’t park here again.”
“Yeah, well, we tow a lot of cars like yours who park who think they can get free parking. You’re in the city. You should always expect to pay for parking in the city.”
“Sorry to inconvenience you.”
“This is a private lot. You can’t just park in a private lot.”
So there you have it. Always expect to pay for parking in the city. Unless, of course, you park in a parking garage during the evening or weekend if there is not an event going on. Then parking is free. Ya jerk.
Today I unearthed the thing to make pizza dough. Ben was adamant about helping me make pizza. I loaded the machine with water, olive oil, salt, sugar, flour, and yeast, and put it on the dough setting.
3 1/2 hours later, I went to retrieve my dough only to find that I had accidentally made a rather tasteless and extremely dense bread.
I am still completely flummoxed. (We ordered pizza for the kids and my sister, Joyce, who babysat as John and I ventured off on our biannual date night.)
We are adventurers who ventured off into the coolish evening without a particular destination in mind. We drove down Park Ave and were turned off by the crowds of people who were jam-packed into trendy bistros, so we turned and headed downtown. John took me to a pub on St. Paul that was quiet and cozy. We parked in an empty parking lot at the end of the street and walked into Scotland Yard, which was surprisingly calm for a Saturday night. Too calm, I think.
The restaurant specializes in Wood Fire pizzas, but they also have sandwiches and an array of appetizers and nightly specials. I chose the eggplant parmesan sandwich special, which was delectable. John had a pizza. The service was outstanding. The pub has a classic, old-world interior. It would be the perfect spot to watch the World Cup, though you may have to cheer for the English. There’s also a pool table and darts and so on and so forth. It’s within walking distance of Water Street Music Hall and is open for lunch starting this Monday. You should probably go there. I’ll meet you for lunch if you pay.
If you do go, I would not park at the empty lot at the end of the street. Though it has no signs that indicate parking is not allowed, a meathead in a white SUV told us we were lucky we showed up when we did because our car was about to get towed. This was after the meathead parked his car diagonally, the car’s butt about three inches from the front of our van. He did this while looking at us as we were walking to our van. His parking job perplexed me becausewe were in a large parking lot and there were plenty of other spots. I was giving him the evil eye when he opened his big meatball mouth.
“Yeah. You can’t park here. This is a private lot. We all park diagonally here, so I know when someone parks like you did (in the lines) that you don’t belong. And when you park like that (in the lines) it messes up our delivery system.”
“Sorry. We won’t park here again.”
“Yeah, well, we tow a lot of cars like yours who park who think they can get free parking. You’re in the city. You should always expect to pay for parking in the city.”
“Sorry to inconvenience you.”
“This is a private lot. You can’t just park in a private lot.”
So there you have it. Always expect to pay for parking in the city. Unless, of course, you park in a parking garage during the evening or weekend if there is not an event going on. Then parking is free. Ya jerk.
(I don’t get out much, so when someone is not only rude, but aggressive and intrusive of my van’s personal space, I get very bent out of shape. I spent the rest of the evening thinking of things I should have said to him. Like: So, Meathead, where are the signs that say we shouldn’t park here? Hmmmm? That would’ve showed him. He would’ve been all like… ummm…. And I would've been like... Yeah. I thought so.)
Other than that, it was a lovely evening. When John and I are finally alone together, we have deep deep conversation. It would blow your mind the deep stuff we talk about. Here are some exclusive snippets:
John: I really like the smell of babies’ heads. I think it’s because they’re the only part of a baby’s body that doesn’t smell like sour milk, puke, or poop. We should get jobs in the church nursery so I can smell some babies’ heads.
(As we pass by a group of people sitting outside a restaurant on Park Ave)
Holly: Look at all of the beautiful people in the world.
John: What? No. They’re not beautiful.
Holly: They are! Look at them!
John: No. It’s the cheerleader effect. Whenever you look at a group of nicely dressed people all together, they look good. Look at them individually.
Holly: (pause) Oh my gosh... they're hideous!
John: Told you.
(After Meathead leaves…)
John: Why are you holding that key up in the air?
Holly: We’re going to key that guy’s car.
John: That’s probably not a good idea.
Holly: I would feel a lot better about all of this if we keyed that guy’s car.
As an end-note, since this has been a blog post about, among other things, pizza, I encourage you to check out The Rochester NY Pizza Blog. Run by one “Pizza Guy,” it provides reviews about all of the best- and worst- pizza eateries in the greater Rochester area. I hope he will check out Scotland Yard. Though I hear he’s not always a fan of wood fire pizza. (Josh- don’t read his first review of Checker Flag. Read the second review. You will feel better.)
Did I end up keying the Meathead's vehicle? Maybe. Just maybe.
2 comments:
Thanks for the plug, but one correction - Scotland Yard is not open for lunch, although I was told they would be "soon."
I do like wood-fired pizza, when it's done right. One of my pizza peeves is going to a place with a wood-fired oven, where they don't seem to know how to use the oven to its best advantage. I've read good things about Scotland Yard, so I'm optimistic. I'll get there eventually.
The waitress said, "We will be open for lunch this Monday." Oh well. Look forward to your Scotland Yard review:)
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