Monday, September 28, 2015

CUBAN SANDWICHES

What are the chances that I would eat one of my favorite foods once in the last thirty-five years?

In my Las Vegas years, (1979-1984), my longtime running mate was "Ciro the Hero."  Although he eventually crashed, burned and turned into Ciro the Zero, he widened my range of experiences...most of which I rejected.  However, his mainframe of genius was...knowing where to eat.

The best place he took me to was Tommy B's Casino.  Tommy B's opened in 1968.  It was located in a four-store strip mall just north of the Circus Circus Casino.  By the time I got there with my feedbag on, Tommy's had evolved away from being a casino.  So their only claim to gaming fame was, two antique nickel slots machines.

What Tommy B's had become was a bodega, (an Hispanic grocery store). The long, left wall featured shelves of Goya food products.
I HAD NEVER HEARD OF GOYA BACK THEN BUT TODAY MY CUPBOARD IS STOCKED WITH MOJO, SOFRITO AND ADOBO...PLANTAIN CHIPS...NOT SO MUCH.

The right side of Tommy's oblong space was dominated by a bar.  In addition to rows of alcohol bottles, there was a grill.

It was after midnight when Ciro and I went in to this sleepy, mostly empty dump.  I immediately noticed that the cigar chomping bartender was wearing a white, sweaty and decrepit Cincinnati Reds baseball cap. His neutral expression broke into a broad smile as he caught eye contact with Ciro.

They leaned over the bar and gave each other a hearty welcome.  Ciro whispered something in pigeon Spanish that drew a serious nod from the man.  Soon there after, I was introduced to the proprietor, Javier Cuellar
YOU HAVE TO BE REALLY OLD LIKE ME OR A BASEBALL NUT TO REMEMBER CUBANS BEING BIG CINCINNATI REDS FANS.  THE REASON WAS,  (BEFORE THE 1959 REVOLUTION), THE REDS HAD THEIR AAA, INTERNATIONAL LEAGUE AFFILIATE IN HAVANA.  SO, IT WAS COOL TO ME, THAT CUELLAR HAD A WHITE CAP FROM THE 1950's AND 1960's.  (above) ONE OF MY ALL-TIME FAVORITES, HALL-OF-FAMER FRANK ROBINSON MODELS THE VINTAGE CAP. 

Cuellar turned to the greasy grill and flipped a pancake, fried eggs, a burger and home fries. Ciro grinned, "Everything tastes like a hamburger here."  I nodded, "And everything stinks like cheap stogies."  Ciro ignored me and called out, "Servicio amigo, dos Carta Blancas y dos mixtos."
A CUBAN SANDWICH...OR CUBAN MIX...OR A MIXTO, IS A VARIATION ON A HAM AND CHEESE SANDWICH.  IT ORIGINATED IN CUBAN CAFES THAT CATERED TO BLUE COLLAR WORKERS.  IMMIGRANTS BROUGHT DIFFERENT RECIPES TO THE USA WHICH GENERALLY INCLUDED;  HAM, ROASTED PORK, CHEESE, PICKLES AND MUSTARD ON CUBAN FLAT BREAD...WITH THE WHOLE ENCHILADA PRESSED DOWN ON A GRILL.

On a bar stool, I found a three-day old copy of El Nuevo Herald, (the Spanish counterpart of the Miami Herald).  I thumbed through it as I sucked down my first beer until Ciro nudged me to watch Cuellar prepare his version of our six-billion calorie snack.
I MAY NOT BE THE MOST INTERESTING MAN IN THE WORLD BUT WHEN I DRINK BEER, I KNOW MOST LATIN AMERICAN CERVEZAS WILL BE A LET-DOWN.  HOWEVER IN THIS CASE, I WENT WITH THE FLOW.

My arteries were already stiffening as Cuellar slathered the grill with butter (no mustard) while the added ingredient of bacon sizzled. That Cuban sandwich wound-up being so incredible that I didn't feel cheated out of the Heinekens that I was looking forward to.

On two other occasions I went back to Tommy's with Ciro and loved it...but never went on my own. During a private conversation,Ciro implied that he did *business with Cuellar.  Later, that tidbit reinforced my concern over the questionable goings on, (primarily by the low-lifes), hanging out in the storage room out back.

* The term "business" suggested marijuana.  If that was true, Ciro never made clear who was supplying who.

 Ciro convinced me that the seedy men on the other side of the beaded curtain were a part of a social club and that nothing truly sinister was going on.  But on my way to the restroom that first time, I glimpsed through and saw a beat-up wooden table.  Dominoes, beer cans and bottles were strewn about and four grisly Latinos, in their native tongue, were intensely arguing.  I knew Ciro wasn't the most wholesome character and assumed that his idea of savory and mine was different.
EATING AT TOMMY B's WOULD HAVE BEEN A GREAT PLACE TO TURN OTHER FRIENDS ON TO, BUT I NEVER DID.  I DIDN'T SEE GUNS OR KNIVES IN THAT BACK ROOM BUT I WAS WILLING TO MISS-OUT ON A TASTY TREAT IN THE NAME OF SAFETY.

I was in Tommy B's three times and drove by it without giving it much thought countless other times. But its memory, specifically the Cuban sandwiches are indelibly etched in my mind. So, in 2009 during our family Las Vegas and Grand Canyon vacation, I went out of my way to have a drive-by. But twenty-three years is a long time...Tommy B's as well as the whole mini-mall were long gone.

If you were in Vegas in the 1980's, you probably thought the town was mega. Since then, this adult playground has taken steroids and has exploded into super-mega popularity. The quaint little casinos and vacant desert lots that took up the space between giant gaming halls along the fabulous Las Vegas strip have vanished.  The once plentiful, seemingly unwanted land has become so valuable that it's no exaggeration to say that you can't squeeze a credit card between today's expanded properties. So with Tommy B's nearly removed from my memory what are the chances that it would come to mind in Dullsville...a.k.a., Rehoboth Delaware.

Throughout the 1990's and into the 2000's, my family enjoyed long weekends and many vacations in Ocean City Maryland. To get there from South Jersey, the only realistic way to go was the Cape May-Lewes Ferry.  From Lewes Delaware, through Rehoboth, it was a forty-five minute scenic jaunt along the shoreline to Ocean City.
THE CAPE MAY - LEWES FERRY HAS BEEN SHUTTLING ACROSS DELAWARE BAY SINCE JULY 1, 1964.  CURRENTLY, THE DAILY SERVICE RUNS 16-HOURS, EVERY DAY.  FOR THE 80-MINUTE VOYAGE, SHIPS ACCOMMODATE UP TO 100 VEHICLES. DEPENDING ON THE SEASON, A REGULAR CARLOAD COST: $27.00, $37.00, $42.00 OR $45.00.

On the way home, we got into the habit of taking the last ferry and stopping first at the outlet shops in Rehoboth, (the town next to Lewes). Shopping was exciting to my wife Sue and less thrilling for my son Andrew and I. Eventually, I devised a plan to drop mom off for an hour or two which allowed us the uninhibited testosterone rush of exploring and having our own adventures.

When Andrew was nine, (2003), on the way to dropping Sue off, a traffic accident blocked our approach to Rehoboth.  While the other side of the two-lane roadway was at a complete standstill, we inched forward in Dewey Beach, (the adjacent town).  The snail's pace allowed me to noticed a deli's big sign advertising Cuban sandwiches.  My mouth watered as I pined for my long-lost treat and looked forward to bonding with Andrew over this culinary delight...and maybe a sarsaparilla or two.

Unfortunately, the last couple of miles took forever.  I dropped Sue off at the outlet center with a lot less time than we had anticipated. I began to retrace my steps to the deli. Up ahead, I could see the traffic hadn't eased up  There might have been an alternate route but I didn't know the lay of the land.
THE TRAFFIC JAM WAS WHERE THE LAND BOTTLENECKS, AT THE TOP OF THIS NORTHERLY, AERIAL PHOTO OF DEWEY BEACH.

These were the pre-cell phone days.  So only a fool would've risked becoming a victim of circumstance with the potential for making Sue wait and worry.  The Cuban sandwich idea suddenly wasn't an option.  I couldn't chance the disaster of missing the last ferry and getting stranded or being forced to drive all through the night to get home.  I made a reluctant U-Turn.

During that next week at work, I struck up a conversation with a man who coincidentally lived in Dewey Beach.  I told him about my frustration about missing out on Cuban sandwiches.  Even crazier!!!  What's the chances...this man owned that deli!

Since then, I have had one Cuban sandwich at a restaurant called Babalu's.  They wanted to justify charging $13.00 so they called it a "gourmet" Cuban sandwich. But it wasn't special and tasted antiseptic.  I guess some foods by their nature require being greasy.  That meant to me that a gourmet Cuban sandwich was an oxymoron. Either way, my Andrew has still never had the pleasure.
(stock photo) BABALU'S HAD A LOCATION IN ATLANTIC CITY, (I'M UNCERTAIN WHETHER IT WAS ASSOCIATED WITH OTHER EATERIES OF THE SAME NAME).  IT WAS PRICEY AND NOTHING SPECTACULAR....IT CLOSED WITHIN TWO YEARS.

Until recently, I again hadn't thought about Cuban sandwiches for a long time.  So what's the chances of me seeing the exact spot where Tommy B's Casino had been located, in an old movie, (thus conjuring-up the great memories of Javier Cuellar's grill mastery).

The 1967 film, "IN COLD BLOOD," was based on the Truman Capote novel from the previous year.  The book was based on the 1959 killing of the Clutter family in Kansas and the ultimate hanging of the two assailants.
THE BOOK, "IN COLD BLOOD," WAS AN INSTANT SUCCESS.  IT RANKS  BEHIND VINCENT BUGLIOSI'S, 1974 CLASSIC, "HELTER SKELTER" AS THE SECOND BEST SELLING CRIME NOVEL IN PUBLISHING HISTORY. 

Last week, those Cuban sandwiches memories gushed out of head, three quarters of the way through the movie. That's when I noticed something interesting when the two murderers were so broke that they gathered deposit bottles.  Just before getting apprehended, they cashed them in for chump change in Las Vegas.  In the establishing shot, like an epiphany, I saw the supermarket was in the space where Tommy B's was, (before it was divided into the four-unit mini-strip mall that I was familiar with...ten plus years later).

Due to the movie, the idea of Cuban sandwiches was fresh in my mind last Sunday.  I was at work, dealing roulette when I struck up a conversation with a player.  He told me, he was from Dewey Beach.  I told him the same story I told that other man from Dewey Beach twelve years ago.  He said, "That was me!" What an amazing coincidence, it was the same guy. You tell me, what are the chances of that?

Monday, September 7, 2015

NOBODY NEEDS A CRASH LANDING AT THE AIR SHOW

In 1998, I was driving south on the Garden State Parkway with my son Andrew, (behind me in his car seat).  Suddenly, I experienced a patriotic eruption of goosebumps when out of the eastern sky, a Flying Wing elegantly coasted down, crossed in front of us and descended for an apparent landing in Egg Harbor Township, at 177th Fighter Wing, (a military installation, adjacent to Atlantic City Airport).
AN ENGINEERING MARVEL, THE NORTHROP B-2 SPIRIT, (aka STEALTH BOMBER OR FLYING WING), IS AN AMERICAN HEAVY STRATEGIC BOMBER, (WITH A TWO-MAN CREW), FEATURING LOW OBSERVABLE STEALTH TECHNOLOGY DESIGNED FOR PENETRATING DENSE ANTI-AIRCRAFT DEFENSES.  THE FIRST OF THE 21 MADE, (AT A COST OF $737 MILLION PER UNIT) WAS INTRODUCED INTO SERVICE IN 1997.

I knew this cutting edge boomerang was something incredible.  I shared my scant aeronautic knowledge with my incredibly bright four-year old but I'm certain he thought I was blithering because Andrew probably couldn't see it and even if he did see it, he just too young to appreciate the rare bird's grandeur.

I have never seen another Flying Wing but if I ever get the craving, I now know a likely place to see one, the Atlantic City Airshow.
EVERY AUGUST SINCE 2003, (ON A WEDNESDAY), ATLANTIC CITY HAS HOSTED THE AIRSHOW THAT BEARS ITS NAME.  SPECTATORS (75,000+) GATHER ALL ALONG THE SHORE FRONT AND BOARDWALK FOR THIS FREE EVENT.  THE FLYBYS AND DEMONSTRATIONS ARE DOMINATED BY MILITARY PRESENTATIONS OF THE AIR FORCE THUNDERBIRDS, NAVY BLUE ANGELS AND ARMY GOLDEN EAGLES.  SO THIS WOULD BE A GREAT OPPORTUNITY TO SEE A FLYING WING.

My father would have loved the air show.  Back in the 1970's and 1980's, he and my mom would take friends and family to the Air Show in Rhinebeck New York.
THE OLD RHINEBECK AERODROME (SINCE 1966),  IN RED HOOK NEW YORK, (TWO HOURS NORTH OF NYC),  IS A MUSEUM WITH EXAMPLES OF AIRWORTHY AIRCRAFT FROM THE PIONEERING DAYS, THE FIRST WORLD WAR AND THE GOLDEN AGE OF FLIGHT, PRIOR TO WWII.  (above) MY GRANDMOTHER TOOK  THE TRIP IN JULY 1972 TO SEE AERIAL STUNTS, STAGED DOG FIGHTS ETC.


I never joined my folks on their trips to Rhinebeck, (hey, I was a teenager with better things to do). But I do remember my first time up in an airplane?
MY FIRST FLIGHT WAS A FAMILY TOUR IN THE SKIES ABOVE HERSHEY PENNSYLVANIA (SEPTEMBER 1963).  
My father took home movies during our less-than-mile-high excursion. Nobody would ever compare dad's camera artistry with Fellini or Bergman.  But weeks later, after seeing those 8MM home movies, I realized (between the blurry monotony of the landscape below and immediate head-ache inducing shakiness of the images) that we defied death by being so high.

It's possible that those home movies encouraged me to avoid high places and hampered me from being inspired to fly.  I think it also dissuaded me from becoming a daredevil.

I was always uneasy looking down from high places and my self-preservation mode didn't allow me the luxury of going on roller-coasters till I was in college.  So scaling tall ladders to get to the second story of my house was and still is...completely out of the question.
I LEARNED A LOT OF LIFE LESSONS FROM CARTOONS.  ONE IN PARTICULAR WAS, IT'S A LOT FUNNIER TO SEE SOMEONE ELSE SUFFER A FALL FROM HIGH UP. LIKE BUGS BUNNY IN 1944's, "STAGE DOOR CARTOON," AS HE DUPED MORONIC ELMER FUDD (above)  INTO DIVING FROM A RIDICULOUSLY TALL TOWER...INTO AN ORDINARY GLASS OF WATER.  DUE TO MY SHORTCOMINGS RELATING TO HEIGHTS, THIS FEAT WAS HILARIOUS TO ME.  PLEASE NOTE - FUDD WAS A PROFESSIONAL (WHO DID HIS OWN STUNTS).  HE WAS OBVIOUSLY OKAY AFTERWARDS BECAUSE HE WAS RIGHT BACK OUT ON STAGE FOR THE NEXT SCENE.


Remember the old, "ED SULLIVAN SHOW?"  While I tolerated the musical acts, my two loves were the acrobats/specialty acts and the comedians.  I didn't need to see death defying mayhem, I found it thrilling to see the guy spinning thirty-seven dinner plates to the accompaniment of Khachaturian's "SABRE DANCE."
I HAD NO USE FOR SWORD SWALLOWERS AND I COULDN'T WATCH THE KNIFE THROWER PEG DAGGERS AT HIS LOVELY ASSISTANT.  OF COURSE MY FRIENDS WANTED TO SEE ALL THE PLATES BREAK,  BLOOD SPURTING FROM THE SWORD SWALLOWER'S GULLET AND THE POOR KNIFE THROWER'S ASSISTANT WITH A  BLADE STICKING OUT OF HER FOREHEAD.

A few weeks ago, all the memories I mentioned above rushed to mind when I ran into an old friend, (JP). During our conversation, JP (who's two year older than me), mentioned the finer details of taking a serious household fall.  He said, "It happened right after Thanksgiving.  And now ten months later, I'm finally 90%  pain free". In our chat, he described his accident in the style of old comedian (and veteran of the Ed Sullivan Show), Jackie Vernon.
JACKIE VERNON (1924-1987) WITH A GENTLE, LOW-KEY DELIVERY SPECIALIZED IN SELF-DEPRECATING HUMOR.  HE WAS FREQUENTLY REFERRED TO AS, "THE KING OF DEAD-PAN" AS HE'D SAY, "TO LOOK AT ME NOW, IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE I WAS ONCE CONSIDERED A DULL GUY."


JP croaked, "I'm too old to climb up on the roof," as he explained his accident while imitating one of Jackie Vernon's "vacation slide" routines.
BACK IN THE DAY, THE EPITOME OF BORING WAS TO SEE OTHER PEOPLE'S VACATION SLIDES.  ESPECIALLY WHEN YOUR UNCLE MORTY WOULD GO OFF ON A TEN-MINUTE TANGENT LIKE, THE POPULARITY OF DR. PEPPER DOWN SOUTH. SO MY FRIENDS WERE NEVER FORCED TO ENDURE OUR SHAKY AIRBORNE HERSHEY PENNSYLVANIA FOOTAGE.

Jackie Vernon's comic genius was proven as he used his drollness, to wrap jokes around his pantomiming the use of a non-existent slide projector. So JP had me laughing immediately when he pretended to press an invisible clicker and said, "Here I am in my garage."

(click)  "Here I am loading the Christmas lights into boxes."

(click)  "Here's my neighbor's cocker spaniel running through my yard."

(click)  "Here I am half way up that rickety old ladder."

(click)  "Here I am slipping on the dog crap I stepped in and falling off the ladder."

(click)  "Here's the EMS driver scraping the shit off my sneaker with his finger and saying, 'Oops, I thought it was pudding.'"

Last week on Wednesday August 26th, I was thinking of JP and his concussion, the collar bone he broke, his messed-up shoulder, elbow, fingers and other injuries as I removed the leaves from my gutters, (the lowest ones I can get to with a five-foot ladder).
I NEED YOU TO BOTH LITERALLY AND FIGURATIVELY LOOK BEYOND THIS GRATUITOUS  PHOTO FROM 2002 OF MY SON ANDREW. I NEED YOU TO FOCUS ON THE FLORIDA ROOM EXTENSION ON MY HOUSE, SPECIFICALLY THE HEIGHT OF THE GUTTERS.  BECAUSE LAST WEEK, I WAS TAKING LEAVES OUT OF THEM . 

Due to the narrowness of the gutters, I had to use my hand to grab out the wet, disgusting leaves and other debris.  I don't relish this filthy chore but after almost twenty years of practice, I'm secure in my abilities.  The big difference this year was JP's words of wisdom, "I'm too old to climb up on the roof."  So the whole time I was up there I kept repeating to myself, "I'm not gonna fall.  I'm not gonna fall."

The job itself is fast and easy.  Once you recall the best procedure and get into a rhythm, the whole shebang takes twenty minutes, (plus twenty more to wash the yuck off).  While up there, I never stopped chanting my 'I'm not gonna fall,' mantra as I finished the first side and advanced to other.  I was just about done with side two when I heard the unmistakable sizzling roar of three fighter jets, zipping across the skies above my neighborhood. Before I could connect their presence with the airshow (ten miles away), I forgot my Zen-like, "I'm not going to fall," pledge of positive karma.

Stupidly, I contorted my back, squinted into the sun to catch a patriotic glimpse and lost by balance.  Luckily there would be no cliffhanger that day.  Despite my split-second failure to be careful, I grabbed the gutter (after all these years I'm thrilled it supported my weight) and righted myself.

Trust me, even at the cost of missing out on seeing a Flying Wing...whether you're at the air show or not, nobody needs to see or be a part of a crash landing, (except maybe my friends from when I was ten).