wednesday, april 23rd, 2008

A few weekends ago I did something I vowed to never do ever since moving to New York and falling in love with The Yankees (the affection seeps into you and you have no control over it, similar to all the lovely smells that waft up from the subway as the temperatures rise). I went to a Mets game. Worse, I had a great time. It didn't hurt that I was with a group of a few dozen fun loving people who turned our multiple rows of seats into one giant beer, sausage and pepper, cotton candy laced party. I barely had time to watch the game between all the random acts of weirdness taking place and therefore, since I essentially didn't see it, I wonder if I can still claim that I have never attended a Mets game?

Probably not, but in the end I had so much fun that I feel my rule breaking was justified. Following the game we decided to go on an impromptu pub crawl of Queens. Our plan was essentially to not have a plan, unless you call hopping on the 7 train, getting off at every third stop and having a drink at the first bar we spotted a plan. Then we did indeed have a plan. We also decided that since it was our friend's birthday, we had to collect random gifts for him at the first stop.

As our giant group invaded the first neighborhood and everyone else searched for birthday gifts and a pub, I was fixated on the food vendors. In nearly every direction there were stalls spilling over with incredible offerings; tamales, black beans, fried plantains, tomatoes, tortillas, hot churros and what really did a number on me; glistening ears of golden corn on the cob baring some of the biggest kernels I've ever seen.

My favorite snack when I lived in Guatemala was the beautiful simplicity of a fresh ear of corn still in its husk handed to me hot and steaming at the farmer's market nestled into the heart of Antigua. Just before it reached my hand, the stall owner would spray it generously with juice from a fresh lime and then sprinkle it with a sparkling pinch of sea salt.
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