I was knocked out by a 1967 book we saw at Duane’s place a few years back on the Asmat people, the isolated but culturally advanced New Guinea tribe that had no contact with outsiders until they were be-friended by Nelson Rockefeller’s son, Michael. He was amassing a collection of so called primitive art for his father and it eventually wound up in the Metropolitan Museum but you couldn’t see it. The Michael Rockefeller wing was closed for renovations for years. While anxiously awaiting the reopening I bought a used copy of the book on eBay and read another one on Michael’s adventures and disappearance. Cannibalism? The wing’s reopening mandated a trip to Manhattan.
We flew to JFK and took the Q train to Duane’s where he had lunch waiting for us. We had coffee, hummus and eggplant with pita and hung out for a few hours before taking the F train to the Meatpacking District where we had booked a hotel. We ate dinner at a nearby Spanish restaurant called Bartolo’s, played a few hands of gin and then slept like babies. The next morning we met Duane in the lobby of the Met and let the Rockefeller collection sweep us away.
We had plans to meet our nephew in Midtown at the end of his work day and we had an hour to kill so we walked across the park with Duane and he took a train back to Brooklyn. Peggi and I continued along 72nd, past the Dakota where there was some sort of Lennon tribute going on, to a record store called “Westsider.” I had read they had a good jazz collection and they did but when we asked the old guy (our age) behind the counter if he had any jazz 45s he laughed. “Jazz people don’t like 45s and the the 45 people don’t like jazz so you’re in a something of a black hole.” I said, “I know.” We left empty handed.
Knowing that our nephew likes steak we made reservations at a place called Quality Meats on 58th. He ordered a sirloin and Peggi and I split a filet minoin, first beef we had had in years. We ordered a few side dishes as well, broccoli, a Caesar salad and bacon/peanut butter thing that the waiter recommended. I was thinking what a crazy combination that was but it tasted so good. And then it dawned on me, my mom, a butcher’s daughter, used to make peanut butter and bacon sandwiches for us when we were kids.
Leave a comment