09 September 2007

Big Pink Meatballs


I was walking around on eggshells as the Peruvians sawed away merrily on holidays and during quiet hours, as established by Condominium Regulation. I remember living in base housing and having some old by-the-book-bastard call the Shore Patrol on you for infractions of the regulations. Like cutting the lawn before ten in the morning, or worse, not cutting it at all.

Anyway, the work is done and the Peruvians have gone back to the mountains and the kitchen gleams, an island of modernity surrounded by dust and bits of padding stuck to the staples that once held the rug to the parquet floor. That is another challenge which must be addressed, but not today.

Last night, to commemorate the grand completion, Ms. Hamilton, and Sarah I and Sarah II with whom I have spent the last three years sunning at Big Pink's lovely azure pool stopped by for a house-warming cocktail.

Andra the Czech lifeguard seemed to be at loose ends after padlocking the gate for the night, so as he was coiling up the umbilical extension cord that connects his laptop to my outside electrical outlet, I asked him in.

In preparation, I did the first cooking in the new kitchen. I went for the old standby, meatballs in that fiery Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce, and had plenty of vodka. The ice-maker works, and the big pass-through window I had pierced in the end wall of the kitchen worked just fine.

The leadership of the Cement Workers International thinks I am quite the bee's knees with the young ladies, which is useful in Big Pink's social hierarchy. They are all our age, and being occupied with the International, all have units in the building. In fact, in the hard-knocks labor world, they have risen from the local union halls to the leadership of a vast enterprise.

One of them- I won't say who- asked if, given the current circumstances, it would be useful if the Ex could be disappeared.

It is useful to be liked, but I stammered that since I used to be "in the business" that would only have the State Patrol at my door as the first prime suspect. "I appreciate the thought,' I said, "but no thanks, please."

The girls showed up fashionably late and were dressed to the nines- hot pants on Ms Hamilton, topped by a silk camisole that shimmered in the light. The Sarahs were in Little Black Dresses. They all looked fantastic. Their ages range from late twenties to early thirties, and they were tanned and buff.

The point was not to look good for us, I told Andra, but it was that they were going to soak up my vodka and head downtown to look for someone interesting.

Sarah I brought some chicken bits in a plastic tub from the Whole Foods, and we inaugurated the new stainless-steel fronted built-in microwave to heat them up. There are metal racks in the thing, and don't ask me how that is supposed to work. I always heard metal and microwaves were bad, like exploding bad, but I am old school about a lot of things.

I will stand with my meatballs, tried and true.

Recipe:

One bag of Italian-style meatballs, frozen
16 oz glass
Crushed ice to taste
Lime juice, fresh squeezed
1 liter tonic water (Diet Schweppes)
16 oz bottle of Sweet Baby Rays Hot n; Spicey BBQ Sauce
12 oz bottle of Frank's Original Louisiana Hot Sauce
1.7 liter bottle Popov Vodka, decanted into used expensive brand bottle

Stand next to stove. Combine vodka, lime, ice and tonic in glass. Take internally. Rip open bag of frozen meatballs and defrost in a Swiss-brand diamond non-stick skillet on medium heat, drinking steadily. Turn occasionally, and the meatballs, too, as the sweet light of the dying season fades. When lightly browned, squeeze the Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce over them to a depth of half way. Take a deep sip of the drink and smell the delicious aroma. Add Frank's hot sauce to liven the palate, until additional cool liquid is needed to put out flames in mouth. Cover. The meatballs, too. Simmer gently until summer is done, and the good-looking girls who are young enough to be your daughter are fashionably late. Look for the goddamn toothpicks in the brand-new empty cabinets.

Sometime after eleven we ran out of critical party supplies and the wreckage of an errant meatball had been cleaned from the front of the lovely silk chemise. The Red Top Cab arrived, and Andra wobbled off on his bicycle for his dorm room in Rosslyn. He has the week off before his last two days at poolside next weekend, and will go to Philadelphia to take in the attractions.

The Girls were headed for trouble on the newly fashionable U Street Corridor, and I slowly mounted the stairs for the fourth floor, where my real bed waited patiently.

The Big Pink Security detail was nowhere in sight, so the Grand Opening came off without a hitch.

Today, I think I have to clean up down there, and see if I accounted for all the meatballs.

Copyright 2007 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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