Before we left Maine we snagged a case of Old Thumper to start our new lives with and some fresh haddock at Gilmore’s fish market…and we couldn’t resist a snack of golden fried clams, so added that in to our order as well. Yum. Nothing like hitting the road on a belly of delicious, perfectly crisp, piping hot, briny fried clams…
We rolled in to Witch City and unleashed the hound on Babci. I sort of figured Babci would be a little indifferent to the Four-Legged Beast, but they became fast friends (despite the fact that Babci kept referring to the poor doggy as “he”—I guess technically she’s an “it” at this point, but I don’t think we can make a case for “he”). Babci tried to offer “him” some food—ham, perhaps? And something to drink—milk, maybe? When I told her the pup eats kibble and drinks water she seemed a bit surprised and a little bit dejected—after all, a good Polish Babci is put on this earth to make sure no one goes hungry, dogs inlcuded! It was only a matter of time though until Babci treated the dog—with a piece of misguided lobster that launched out of her lunch-time roll and smack onto the floor. She dismissed it saying, “Oh, ‘he’ probably doesn’t like that.” Figuring it could do no harm, we gave the nod and the Salty One was treated to a choice piece of Homarus americanus and soon realized this Babci lady was all right, even if the gender thing was a bit puzzling!
We had some good times catching up with the eldest member of my clan. Some typically choice mixed metaphors and comments about various athletes and politicians made it all the more humorous. One comment in particular should be relayed:
An ad for McCain came on the TV during an Olympic break. She disgustedly remarked that she received a letter from him. He wanted money. Hubby and I chuckled and I asked what she did about it. “I shredded it,” she said with disdain. Way to go, Babci!
After a scrumptious lunch, we said our goodbyes (with the majority of the sentimental moments being handed to the Fuzzy One) and we hit the road again—armed with home-grown tomatoes, Toll House cookies, and some Bagel World loot. That Babci, she’s okay.
We made for points south, but were way-laid by 35¢ tolls and a hella lot of NYC traffic. So, we decided for a dinner break on Exit 151 of the Garden State Parkway. If there’s one thing NJ can do well, it’s Italian food (and apparently Jamaican food too), so when we cruised by a little Italian joint, complete with shady parking, we decided to do a walk-up investigation. A quick assessment told us it was the right choice, but in our Seattle casual we would have stuck out like, well, an REI shopper at Tony Soprano’s hang-out. So, back to the car to reconsider dinner plans. But ah-ha! The virtues of carrying all of your belongings in a car is that, like Clark Kent, you can change! So, we pulled out some respectable but wrinkled togs and looked for the nearest phone booth. With those public changing rooms having gone the way of the dodo, we made like Hawaiians and discretely dressed up right there next to our car! Off we went to join Tony and his friends at dinner (note to Seattleites: we were still woefully underdressed). And it was a worthwhile stop. Good stuff. Maybe New Jersey is civilized…nah.
We’ll huff some natural and artificial flavors on the NJ Turnpike before turning in for the night, a few more states down and a few more to go.
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