sopwith59

12:54 pm: fickle fate

I was about nine years old, I think, when "Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In" aired for the first time. My fourth grade class was immediately wowed. In no time we were all proclaiming  "Sock it to me!" or "Here come da judge!" We argued about the meaning of "bippy."

I especially remember the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate Award. Oh yes, I knew what fickle meant. One day you have a best friend, the next she's a stranger, criticizing your outfit in front of everybody in the playground.
 

I also remember learning about the wheel of fortune later, as a college freshman. The kind in medieval literature, not the game show.

What am I blathering about? The unpredictable nature of events. 

My main "takeaway" from all life's lessons is YOU NEVER KNOW. 

I will now tell an illustrative tale.

On Tuesday night, in the drizzle, my friend Leigh and I waited on line outside the Delacorte Theater but just missed getting tickets. There were only five or six people ahead of us when the announcement came: "Sorry, folks. We're all out."

Leigh immediately strode off and I scampered after him. We climbed up the nearby hill and gazed out over the water, and could see some of the theater seats through the trees. We could certainly hear the audience well enough, laughing uproariously at the wit of "Twelfth Night." But of course we couldn't see the action or hear the play itself.

Humbug.






Then I turned and the twinkle of cellophane and ribbon caught my eye. Behind us, a few people were clustered at a stone wall, busily involved with piles of boxes and paper bags. Caterers, it turned out. They were packing up after some sort of fancy event. One man addressed us as we strolled past, offering, "Would you like some food? We have plenty left over. It's all wrapped. Take some water, too..."

Under  a big green ribbon, nestled in a pretty green-and-white paper tray, lay my incredible manna-from-heaven dinner.  Cold salmon cooked to perfection, with a side dish of  buckwheat noodles and fava beans and avocado, and a heaping of sesame-oiled seaweed salad. I also found an appetizer of light-as-air spring rolls with dipping sauce, and a long wedge of fresh pineapple. Inside the small white shopping bags we had also been handed were bottles of Poland Spring water and wrapped packages of cookies: each with two macarons (lemon poppy seed) and two round scallop-edge cake-like cookies.

I spread two big garbage bags I'd brought from home across a bench in the Ramble, where we sat down. The air was muggy and  mosquito-laden, and fat raccoons waddled nearby.  As we feasted, it was quiet but for the occasional vroom! of a Central Park Conservancy jeep and weird atonal music issuing from afar (maybe from SummerStage, midpark). We also saw a cardinal. "What's it doing here? I think the music woke it up," said Leigh.

I saved the cookies and appetizer to bring home.  Today I ate two cookies. O ethereal macaron! You were perfect.  In the other cookie, I detected almond paste and honey in the dough encircling a dried sour cherry. (I wonder what this delightful morsel is called.)

I now rest my que sera case.





One last thing: the caterer is called Neuman's. I glanced at their website:
caterernyc.com