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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A Stop at Algiers

Personal Yummy #106

She is visiting me in Cambridge—Cambridge, Mass., that is.

I am so happy to see her.

She is enjoying an intense African coffee in an exotic copper container with a very long handle.

I am enjoying a mint coffee topped with an abundant, generous amount of whipped cream.

She orders a spinach turnover with couscous and a delicious side salad.

I order a lamb kebab with rice and a delicious side salad.

We eat, and sip, and laugh, and discuss Open to Desire and Mark Epstein.

Café Algiers on Brattle Street in Harvard Square, and your best Pittsburgh friend…

How delightful.

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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