wideeyedfunk

Tag: Joe’s Deli

  • What happens when one of your top five take-out places gets a liquor license and installs a bar?

    Nothing good and everything wonderful.

    Last weekend I was starving, STARVING after cleaning the house, doing the laundry, walking dogs, and visiting the car show. Sliding gracefully in and out of dreamy luxury sedans (I recommend the Audi A7 for sheer comfort and interior silence) and climbing into wee-electric cars (the Chevy Spark doesn’t feel real) works up an appetite. We stopped at a newer restaurant that’s supposed to be good  – a two hour wait and hairblowingly loud music in the bar. The WideEyedSpouse looked down his nose. “No. Much No.” We tried a BBQ joint. One hour and 15 minutes. Good food but not that good. Drove past our number one sandwich take-out joint. Closed.

    Friends, we were now out of our milieu. We were in downtown Buffalo after dark. Unusual. We were looking for food without a plan. Rare. We weren’t calling for pizza. Shocking. In fact, we had given up on the very notion of take-out. The universe shook and I was cast adrift, hungry, helpless, sad.

    The Mini motored us up Elmwood Avenue past trendy food joints. Nothing looked right. A kale salad at home was, I feared, inevitable. Then we saw it. Joe’s Deli, our number two sandwich take-out option and a top five regular. They’re in my phone. But this was a new location, with neon beer signs and open past 8pm. The Spouse cranked the emergency brake for a mid-traffic bootleg turn and slid into a snowy parking spot less than 20 feet from the door. At least that’s what it felt like. That’s how it should have been.

    It was wonderful. A long list of crafty tap beers for the Spouse, a Dark and Stormy cocktail for me. A short list of bar snacks  – not enough to baffle and just enough to provide multiple tastes. We ordered one of each. Who needs a sandwich when there are Bar Snacks? I smiled over the table at the Spouse. Reasonably decibeled music played. Kids ate with their parents. Everyone looked happy, no one was especially hip. It could not have been better.

    Which is no good. Because now, instead of take out in sweatpants, glasses, and end of the day poor attitude I’ll have to decide – do I want a quick and easy sandwich or do I want to be out in the world, smiling at the Spouse over a table full of snacks…

  • Are you heading to the basement?

    Cruising on the Kulana Huli.

    Are you heading to the basement? The Spouse asked me. I glared at him, turned a page in the LL Bean winter coats catalog. I didn’t want to head to the basement. The basement is where the fitness gear is kept. The stationary bike. The weights. The Bowflex that came with the house. The basement is a place of boredom and discomfort. I dislike it. On the other hand, I do like reasonable blood pressure and the ability to be agile as my person betrays me with age. So, as a household the Spouse , the dogs, and I frequent the basement. The people use the wretched gear. The dogs sniff the cat box and chew things.

    Joe’s Deli has new specials up today, the Spouse continued on in an apparent non sequitur. It was a sneaky tactic. In the secret language of our long association he was suggesting two things: 1) Get take-out – and house rules state that if you SAY take-out, we GET take-out. Period. He didn’t quite say it though. 2) Avoid the basement – take-out and basement rarely occur on the same day.

    I flipped more pages in the catalog.  It was a crummy choice. The basement and good health but no delicious take-out OR take-out and an escalation of the impending waistband emergency.

    What if – and here I looked up to make direct eye contact with the Spouse – what if we rode our bikes over to the deli to get the take out?

    The bright light of my genius flared the room and the Spouse stood straight and tall. He looked at me with love and awe. And so it was.

    Buffalo Zoo bison at dinner. Dining in tonight.

    And it was great. I saw wondrous things on the ride to the take-out. A small red rubber ball, the kind that come from gum machines and dentist office chests, sadly lost and alone on the street. A jogger, a thousand joggers in the park, sweating and puffing. I smiled at them from my dignified, scarfed position aboard the mighty Kulana Huli. I bet they weren’t getting take-out.

    I stopped at the zoo to look at the bison munching  their hay. We saw a butt made of pumpkins – with a stuffed straw person built around it to look like someone’s pants were drooping as they bent over. An angry or mean young person was flinging cds into traffic from atop an apartment building. A dog ran into the street and was saved. A cop car went by in massive fury, sailing over bumps at high speed. I smiled at a guy mowing his lawn and he smiled back.

    Blurry Pumpkin Butt. Me and the Kulana Huli cruised by too fast for a clear shot.

    Within 30 minutes of the decision, the Spouse and I sat the stools at the kitchen table with a cheesesteak for me and a turkey reuben for him. His beer bottle fitzed when he opened it, and my wine gurgled into a glass. We smiled pretty smugly at each other and I think at the same time sneaked soggy take-out chips to dogs.