VeraBlue
Executive Chef
We just got back from Rutt's Hut in Clifton. My parents grew up with Rutt's Hut and they always took us kids during our childhood, too. It's nothing fancy, just a really great fried hot dog with a killer tasty relish. I know my mother was wishing for one and this was the last thing on our to do list. My dad got some great pizza last night. Apparently there is not a decent slice of pizza south of the mason dixon line.
I've poked lots of fun at them and written about lots of it. They can be so irksome at times, but you know...what's the big deal? They are both 72 and pretty set in their little ways by now. My mother and father have hearts of gold with just a few streaks of tarnish. My dad still has larceny in his heart and my mother still wishes she could afford to be one of the Kennedys.
They are packed now and we're just about to sit around with the rest of the strufoli and perhaps a glass of cognac. Yea, I know, how do you follow fried hot dogs with cognac and italian pastry?
But, I just don't want to make the last night anything less than pretty. I noticed a letter on the dining room table addressed to me. I didn't open it but demanded to be assured they didn't put any money in it. I'm worried about their pension and would be forced to return anything they might have left in that envelope. They say it's just a letter, but I'm not to read it till I get home from work tomorrow night... Home to a house that will suddenly seem just a bit bigger but ever so much quieter. No more half bananas on the counter, or hand towel draped over the sink, or bar soap in the bathroom, or saved and dried paper towels on the counter, or ladles hanging with pot holders, or frying pans hidden in the oven, or entire fios systems unplugged to accomodate a blow drier, or single slices of italian bread wrapped in the refrigerator, or an endless parade of plastic water bottles, or the black man's toiletry bag in the bathroom, not to mention the pink one, either, or their tiny shoes in my foyer, the neatly folded napkins in the drawer, the endless questions about which remote to use, the hugs and kisses every time I walk past them...........
Thanks everyone for keeping us company. How am I gonna keep you all down on the farm now that you've seen Paris?
I've poked lots of fun at them and written about lots of it. They can be so irksome at times, but you know...what's the big deal? They are both 72 and pretty set in their little ways by now. My mother and father have hearts of gold with just a few streaks of tarnish. My dad still has larceny in his heart and my mother still wishes she could afford to be one of the Kennedys.
They are packed now and we're just about to sit around with the rest of the strufoli and perhaps a glass of cognac. Yea, I know, how do you follow fried hot dogs with cognac and italian pastry?
But, I just don't want to make the last night anything less than pretty. I noticed a letter on the dining room table addressed to me. I didn't open it but demanded to be assured they didn't put any money in it. I'm worried about their pension and would be forced to return anything they might have left in that envelope. They say it's just a letter, but I'm not to read it till I get home from work tomorrow night... Home to a house that will suddenly seem just a bit bigger but ever so much quieter. No more half bananas on the counter, or hand towel draped over the sink, or bar soap in the bathroom, or saved and dried paper towels on the counter, or ladles hanging with pot holders, or frying pans hidden in the oven, or entire fios systems unplugged to accomodate a blow drier, or single slices of italian bread wrapped in the refrigerator, or an endless parade of plastic water bottles, or the black man's toiletry bag in the bathroom, not to mention the pink one, either, or their tiny shoes in my foyer, the neatly folded napkins in the drawer, the endless questions about which remote to use, the hugs and kisses every time I walk past them...........Thanks everyone for keeping us company. How am I gonna keep you all down on the farm now that you've seen Paris?
