d i n a n e . n e t 

If only I could afford the time and money to travel so much as to actually go to Utah and China… Well, maybe not China. I have to admit it’s pretty far down on the list of places I’d like to visit. And I don’t think my riding skills are up to the challenge of snowboarding in Utah – yet. But today, I got a tiny taste of both locations.

Lucky for me, I work right in the middle of everything in Boston. Within 5 blocks of me, I have access to just about every genre of food imaginable, and if you extend that radius to a mile, you can drop the “just about.” I get to have lunch at a wide variety of places, eating food that ranges from mac ‘n’ cheese to shwarma to ramen to pizza.

Today, my lunch experience received an A++++ rating (you know, if this was eBay). I was greeted out front of my building with a hug from a red-fleece-clad Josie. I updated my phone with corrected cell numbers, and we waited, somewhat patiently, for the rest of the party to arrive. Soon, Josie’s head perked up, “Ooh! No. It’s not them.” We continued chatting and filling my phone with numbers.

“There they are!”

Josie made some mild fun of me as I bounced over to greet Vickie, Darren, and Joe, who I have been referring to as Utah Joe, just to distinguish him from my coworker, both in my mind and out loud. I hope he doesn’t mind too much.

Hugs! And we were off.

So many topics were covered in the walk past the Public Garden and Boston Common that I couldn’t begin to list them properly. We were all just trying to get up-to-date info on friends we hadn’t seen in weeks, months, or years (depending). After a brief interlude where someone (I won’t say who) almost got killed by a car, we arrived in Chinatown. Just as Josie was asking where we were going, I could point to the sign. Is it Empire Garden or Emporer’s Garden? I don’t know. They have signs for both. But what I do know is, they have excellent dim sum.

The Garden (whatever it’s first name may be) is an unusual place. Outside, the signs read like any other Chinese restaurant: bright yellow backgrounds with strong red lettering, in both English and some form of Chinese. But when you walk in (and make sure you go in the correct doors – no need to go into the bizarre shop next door), you begin to transition. Up a couple flights of stairs and into a strange lobby, and this is when you may realize where you are. The Garden is in an old converted theatre.

The hostess quickly whisks you to a table, giving you little time to take in your surroundings. As you sit, tea and water appear, and before you really get a chance to look around, a cart approaches. And then another. And then another. It’s all you can do to keep up with the offerings. Shumai? Yes. Peculiar looking squid? No. That weird soft dumpling with tons of shrimp? Yes. Chinese broccoli? No. Sticky rice in lotus leaf? Absolutely. In fact, give us two!

For us, once we had filled the center of our table with goodies, we could finally look around. Vickie and I had been there before, a few times each, but it is still worth the look. The walls have elaborate faux painting of beautiful flowers and structures, but that isn’t the real attention grabber. It’s the proscenium arch at the far side of the very large room. It seems they took the level of the mezzanine and simply extended the floor straight out from there. The proscenium stands squat, half of it being concealed beneath the floor. But even with that, the ceilings are high and ornate, and there is a feeling of grandness, which complements well the tiny parcels of food.

Between bites, Joe told us about his adventures to India. We followed paths of digressions to the Caribbean, Poland, and France. We flowed through conversation of music and old friends. And all the while, we enjoyed bites of delicious food. I even discovered a new item that I don’t usually pick, which I must have again in the future. (No, Vickie, I’m sorry, but it isn’t turnip cake.)

It was all over too soon, as Josie had to run back to training, and shortly after I had to head back to work. Hugs were exchanged outside of the Chinatown T station, where we said our goodbyes. Joe is on his way back to what he calls exile shortly. But I know Utah will welcome him back with open arms. How could it not?

I had yet another of my endless supply of dentist visits today. Actually, technically I didn’t see the dentist today; I only saw the hygienist. She’s nice, too, though, so it was tolerable. Actually, after yesterday’s visit (fix broken tooth and replace crappy old filling), today’s was practically a walk in the park. Well, not a real park. Actually, there was pain. But I lived to tell the tale (using the word “actually” far too often).

But who cares about that. The important thing was that I stopped for lunch on the way back to the office. There are three Subway restaurants between my dentist and my office. I chose to go with the first one, the one in my town’s “quaint” downtown. Downtown is so quaint that the sign isn’t in green and yellow, it’s in gold and brown. Classy.

After the very helpful sandwich man helped me through my indecisiveness, I decided to go with a 6″ turkey on hearty Italian. I prefer the hearty Italian, probably because it’s a bit crustier. I like crusty bread. Really, though, before they had the options, I still liked Subway bread. Fresh bread is awesome even if it’s boring old white.

After I paid for my meal-deal (complete with baked lays and my famous mix of Sprite, Fanta, and pink lemonade), I chose a seat in the booth by the window. I was unfolding my paper wrapping when a pile of moms and kids poured through the door. There were three moms, two daughters, and two sons. I’m not sure even they knew who belonged to whom.

Three of the kids were more or less the same age – walking, talking humans who haven’t quite figured out how to take care of themselves yet. Also known as preschool. They were relatively well-behaved, with the worst of it being one of the girls who said only, “I want a cheese sandwich.”

Somehow, all their food got ordered, and the kids selected a table. After some concerned statements involving the location of one girl’s chips, they settled in to eat. Little miss “I want a cheese sandwich” politely waited for her mom to open up the wrapper. She was not excited by what she saw. In a much smaller voice than she’d previously been using she whimpered, “I don’t like the white kind.”

Her mom did her best to convince her that white American cheese tastes just the same as yellow, but I think everyone in the restaurant could tell she wasn’t buying it. Eventually, her mom placated her when she opened the other paper package, which contained a handful each of pickles and olives. “Yay! Olives!” She went on to eat the sandwich and her snacks without noticing a thing being wrong.

All of this sent me flying back to my youth. My parents often took us to Subway for meals. It was easy, it was cheap, and it was more-or-less healthy (depending on the number of slices of cheese). I went through phases as I grew up. For a while, I was all about tuna (with American cheese, tomato, and just a little bit of lettuce – which I always picked off anyway). Later, I discovered meatball subs (with provolone cheese and extra green peppers). That led me through to High School, where I got sick of them after eating them during every evening shift I had working at Hallmark. After being thoroughly sick of their meatballs, I picked up my current taste for the turkey (with or without provolone cheese, depending on the mood, and with nearly every vegetable they have, except only a little bit of lettuce – which I still pick off).

My sister, however, always wanted only one thing: a cheese sandwich with pickles on the side. Everyone in my family can accurately reproduce my sister’s voice saying “on the side.” It probably drove her nuts. She doesn’t say that anymore. Actually, I doubt that she goes to Subway now, though I’ve got no evidence to back up that theory.

So, as I watched this young girl eat her pickles and “veggie delight hold the veggies,” I thought back to days in our Subway, in the strip mall down from the Hallmark store, eating our sandwiches of choice. I think I’ll go with flashback.