Good Cooking in Brooklyn

We had an absolutely delightful weekend in New York with Ed and Sarah. Exhausting too, Saturday we managed to crisscross Manhattan Island both ways – east/west and north/south. And at the end of it, it was a struggle to make the last few steps from the subway up to High Street in Brooklyn. And there was another six or eight block hike to their apartment. (When will this ordeal end? I thought.)  

The morning began from Brooklyn to Battery Park on the east and the south. In the afternoon we trekked up to the Cloisters [here]on the north end of Manhattan. Later in the late afternoon, we headed south for a sunset boat tour of the harbor. It departed from Hudson River in Lower Manhattan. This boat ride made it to the Brooklyn Bridge with all the sights between. Each of these destinations involved train rides and long walks. While the subway station was less than a block from the Cloisters, the hike to the monastery like museum, of Medieval religious art and architecture, was a steep climb up to the top of a 200 foot high hill.

Before Ed took us on this excursion he managed to get in his regular Saturday morning workout: three rounds of sparing in at Gleason’s gym; he spent some time in on the speed bags; and ran the Brooklyn Bridge twice. Meanwhile, Sarah made breakfast, timing it for his return. We ate and then we were on our way. His daily routine is nothing like mine. And he thinks I should walk a three or four miles every day. “The human body is made for walking,” he says, “use it or lose it.”

I was going to tell him that I kind of like a half hour nap after lunch. But I thought best leave that alone and promised him I would make sure to take a good two mile walk every day. He’s tough on his “old man.” (Also, I didn't tell him that climbing out of the subway to High Street was something of a "sonofabitch." It's best to leave these things alone too.)

In all of it the best time was good and gracious company of our hosts – good conversation and laughter. Upon leaving I wanted to tell my son, “I so, so proud of you.” Somehow that didn’t seem to work or maybe it needn’t be said. Instead I parted with an embrace and a simple, “I love you and God bless.”