Last week, we inducted my husband and my brother's girlfriend into our yearly tradition of getting up at 5:00AM, packing various empty coolers and assorted shit into the car, and driving to the Bronx to shop for goodies for Christmas.
There were six of us this year - all packed in to a rented white minivan with a heater that brought the car from oh-my-god-i'm-going-to-throw-up cold to jesus-christ-Rob-stop-taking-off-your-clothes-we'll-turn-the-heater-down hot.
It was dark when we left the house - dark and icy cold. Kevin and I commandeered the captain's chairs as I had not yet discovered the beauty and spaciousness of the back bench.
I identified buildings in the skyline to Kevin; Amy wanted to know where the twin towers had stood; Rob drooled and petted the window when we passed Giants stadium.
Driving into the city was the easiest it has ever been. Thanks to the NYC transit strike it took us 5 minutes to get over the GW bridge (with the sunlight blinding us from the Hudson) and the Major Deegan was clear all the way to the Bronx. Amazing, really.
The Bronx was packed like usual - 3-5 cars all occupying the exact same space within .01 seconds of each other. We drove by Mrs. Genovese's stoop (all the kids were nice to her, lest they get whacked by Frankie), the Bronx Zoo, the Botanical Gardens, White Castle, Mamma's house - where my dad and aunt grew up - on E. 191st Street, and saw the new buildings at Fordham.
We even found parking in the Belmont district off of Arthur Avenue - the whole reason for our trip.
I love this place - cheeses and salamis hanging from wood beams, Italian nuts by the boxful (that would be chestnuts, by the way), ribbons of honeycomb tripe displayed in refrigerated glass bins, people speaking in Italian wherever we went. We ate combination antipast and spaghett (the vowels at the end of words are silent if you're a New York Italian) at Mario's (for you die-hard Soprano's fans, you've seen it on the show). Their clams oreganate are incredible...
While in Mario's, I watch the scar-faced, wine drinking guy behind us lean over the pink-clothed table to talk to his friend. His friend is complaining about a problem in his house. Scarface tells him to talk to Sal's "wall guy" - he can fix anything.
In that moment, it dawns on me that everyone in NY has got a "guy" or a "lady" to take care of problems. In other places of the country, I hear words like "contractor," "carpenter," "repairman," "stylist," "salesman," etc. etc. In NY, everyone knows a "guy" or a "lady" who can take care of things. Sal's got a wall guy to fix the plaster. Joey knows a loan guy who can hook you up. My dad swears by the cheese guy past Belmont street for dry mozzarella and romano. Everyone's got a guy.
We made it to Addeo & Sons, the Market and spent around $300 with the cheese guy. And we're still eating whip-cream eclairs from Egidio's. January will be filled with Slim Fast and exercise.
I love the Bronx. I love the fact that my husband experienced the sights and sounds of it. I love that my favorite Christmas song (The Waitresses' "Christmas Wrapping") was blaring through the narrow streets as we walked to the salami and pork store. I love that when we left the Bronx, we drove into Manhattan at sunset to go see the tree in Rockefeller Center. I love the Bergdorf windows and the ceiling at FAO Schwartz. I love midtown, and taking newbies to experience Times Square.
I love watching my dad drive through the city, bouncing up and down in the driver's seat wearing his Yankee's jacket and Santa hat and singing along to the radio as he cuts people off. I love that we laughed so hard we were crying (and sometimes nearly peeing).
I love the city.
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