Category: The Grill on Murray Avenue

Out of Character

Personal Yummy #112

“Two Budweisers and a fuzzy navel, please!” I call out, just about out of breath. I have five tables going at once, and I really need to get these drinks to the table that was last sat. They’ve been looking at me all thirsty and irritated for the past ten minutes.

I watch Curt—he’s at the cash register punching in an order. But he doesn’t acknowledge me. I usually get a nod of the head, or an index finger up in the air, or something. Well, I mustn’t be loud enough again. I love Madonna’s music (and “Borderline” is one of my favorites), but I really wish she would pipe down a bit.

“Two Budweisers and a fuzzy navel, please!” I call out again, but this time with a little more gusto. I wait patiently at the end of the bar, holding my tray tightly, and take a deep breath, determined to make myself relax a bit. Certainly he heard me this time. But—if that’s the case—why is he reaching in the cooler for a couple of Heinekens?

“TWO BUDWEISERS AND A FUZZY NAVEL!!!” I yell once more—almost not knowing what’s gotten into me—this time leaving out the formality, this time being quite pushy, and this time giving it all my effort, so much so that my voice cracks a bit.

(And I thought that the third try was supposed to be a charm.)

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My Friend Mariano: His Loves Are Mine

Personal Yummy #108

We met one perfect almost-spring evening at Rosebud, a dance hall in the Strip District. He asked me to salsa. “You must have been Latin in a previous life!” he said after about two minutes, his genuine face beaming. “Why haven’t I seen you here before?” And he led me into an underarm turn.

“Believe me,” I replied, as I spun around twice, “I would’ve been here if I could’ve, but I just turned twenty-one a few days ago!”

Ah, that evening of fate. It was such an effortless beginning, and it’s been so effortless ever since.

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John Irving and Jonathan

Personal Yummy #103

His black hair is so greasy. Greasy and stringy. So much so, that as he sits contentedly at the bar for two hours and sips from his pint glass full of ice, Pepsi, and a straw—as he does almost every day—it practically clings to his fingers when he brushes it to the side, out of his eyes.

He’s really not unattractive, however. About five-six, not dangerously overweight but a bit chubby and out of shape, he dresses decent enough and wears serious, smart glasses. And although he’s quite reserved, eccentric, and unusual, I’ve never seen him be mean to anyone, and never can imagine him being so.

Plus, today he has a thick, cream-colored hardcover along with him, keeping company with his Pepsi…

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