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Sep. 16th, 2005 10:27 am
"If you like pina coladas..."
Last night, I decided to move all this speculation about Turkish food from the theoretical plane into the physical and planned a foray to Turkish Cuisine and Bakery. It was spitting rain and I had to choose between a several-block dash from the el stop and a longer but more sheltered bus trip. I wimpishly choose the latter--completely forgetting what September 15th represents on the Mexican calendar.
After inching for blocks past huge clumps of adolescents literally wrapped in Mexican flags, I called up![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
welcomerain and rather unnecessarily asked, "This is the night of la Grita, isn't it?" Actually, what made the trip so excruciating wasn't the streams of honking cars or the crowds of spectators in comically oversized sombreros, but a virtual police blockade of one of the intersections. There were at least two paddy wagons and four squad cars, all blocking the northbound lane of traffic, plus more than a dozen officers, some standing right in the road. And for what? There were no signs at all of mad looters running amok through the boutiques and bodegas of Rogers Park. What, did they intercept some suspicious "chatter" or something?
South of there, it was basically smooth sailing. I dithered for a bit at the restaurant before ordering the pastırmalı pide with a glass of ayran. I sat near the door with a speaker over my shoulder blaring Turkish dance music and two small knots of Turkish men talking quietly at nearby tables. The pide was really more than generous enough for my needs, but I simply couldn't pass up eating a kazandibi in memory ofcaitalainn. When I left, one of the cooks was embroiled in a serious game of backgammon with a white-haired gentleman who had the air of someone with an interest in the place.
Round as a pasha, I began making my way home--and got caught in a downpour. At first, it was only an amusing drizzle and by the time I realised it was serious, there was no place nearby to wait it out. So I simply pushed on; arriving home in wet clothes isn't my favourite sensation, but it certainly beats the hell out of ending up anywhere else in them.
After inching for blocks past huge clumps of adolescents literally wrapped in Mexican flags, I called up
welcomerain and rather unnecessarily asked, "This is the night of la Grita, isn't it?" Actually, what made the trip so excruciating wasn't the streams of honking cars or the crowds of spectators in comically oversized sombreros, but a virtual police blockade of one of the intersections. There were at least two paddy wagons and four squad cars, all blocking the northbound lane of traffic, plus more than a dozen officers, some standing right in the road. And for what? There were no signs at all of mad looters running amok through the boutiques and bodegas of Rogers Park. What, did they intercept some suspicious "chatter" or something?South of there, it was basically smooth sailing. I dithered for a bit at the restaurant before ordering the pastırmalı pide with a glass of ayran. I sat near the door with a speaker over my shoulder blaring Turkish dance music and two small knots of Turkish men talking quietly at nearby tables. The pide was really more than generous enough for my needs, but I simply couldn't pass up eating a kazandibi in memory of
caitalainn. When I left, one of the cooks was embroiled in a serious game of backgammon with a white-haired gentleman who had the air of someone with an interest in the place.Round as a pasha, I began making my way home--and got caught in a downpour. At first, it was only an amusing drizzle and by the time I realised it was serious, there was no place nearby to wait it out. So I simply pushed on; arriving home in wet clothes isn't my favourite sensation, but it certainly beats the hell out of ending up anywhere else in them.