Page 22 of Challenged By You
Shrugging off bags and letting them drop, I relock the door before placing them both down on my bed. Stripping off the essentials, I grab my phone before crawling into bed. Using the light, I check their faces to see that while Chris’s hair is slightly matted, his fever is down. Praying it lasts, I check Annie. She looks no worse for the wear, though I know that can change on a dime.
I make a note on my phone to have the pediatrician check them both when an incoming text interrupts my typing. Frowning, I don’t recognize the number, but I quickly realize who it’s from as I read.
In the upcoming weeks, I’m going to take you on a tour of the food true New Yorkers eat. You may be asking yourself why would a man who critiqued Cinq’s halibut for being overcooked and advised my readers to be forewarned about Marie’s infamous Bolognese sauce for being too salty do something so utterly incomprehensible?
It’s because I was challenged to.
In no uncertain terms, I was told my reviews lacked depth. As someone who has critiqued others for so long, I took a hard look at both them and myself, and I found them both lacking. In doing so, I decided to find the hidden gems of New York.
And within myself.
Today, I visited the inconveniently located Louie and Ernie’s in the Bronx. I make that comment because all of my readers should be forewarned that a subway, an Uber, or excellent footwear is necessary for visiting this establishment.
And it should be visited.
Although the flavor of the cheese explodes on your tongue the minute you take that first bite, the sausage is a must for anyone who loves the taste of red pepper melding with fennel. As many New Yorkers have a tendency to reach for those silver-topped canisters of dried red pepper flakes, I plead with you to hold off and just get the sausage instead. It’s a much better option for your palate and for your local business. The sausage used at the pizzeria is procured from a local business — S & D Pork Store.
As I sit in my home office munching on the last of the tangy, cheesy decadence, I have two regrets about this establishment. The first is I didn’t buy more than a few slices of this ridiculously delicious food. I’m already craving more of it. The second is the pizzeria is not located closer to my Midtown location so I can reach it with more ease.
I strongly recommend you take time to make the trek to the Bronx to visit this choice find.
Four and a half stars.
Without thinking I immediately type back,What made them lose the half a star?before I save Jonas’s name and number in my phone.
He immediately writes back,They served my pizza with plastic utensils.
A travesty.I press Send and am about to add a laughing emoji when I have to stifle my outburst of laughter lest I wake the kids tucked in on either side of me.
Right? I donut understand.He sends that with a winking emoji.
I hesitate, but then my thumbs fly.Was that a typo? I mean it’s not possible that the great Jonas Rice sent me a pun, was it? And about food of all things?
I see dots move, then stop. Then they start again before I get aCrap. I meant to send that to my brother.
I pounce on it like someone just told me I could create my dream dessert menu with no limitations.You DID send me a punny!
I get a face palm back.I don’t suppose there’s any way we can forget about that can we?
MyNois immediate.
I didn’t think so. Yes, Chef. I actually have a sense of humor. Surprised?
My fingers pause for a moment before I type slowly,Since you can actually make jokes about food, let’s make it Trina. Okay?Pressing Send, I hope I didn’t just make a mistake.
A minute, maybe two go by with no response. I shrug. All I did was try to ease the formality between us. If he wants to keep calling me “Chef,” I can revert back to call him “Mr. Rice.” “It makes no never mind to me,” I reach for the cord to charge my phone, which dangles off the shelf above my head. Setting the alarm for six, I place my phone on the shelf and snuggle down between my two miracles.
Glancing to my left and right, I make sure Annie and Chris are tucked in snugly. Fortunately, with the day bed and pillows tucked in, I’m not worried about them falling off. Reaching over, I feel Chris’s forehead to make certain his temperature hasn’t gone up. I let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully it was just a quick bug and not something more serious. Wrapping an arm around each of them, I quickly fall asleep.
* * *
Five hours later,my phone beeps. I grope for it, complaining, “I hate mornings.” I rip the phone down and slap Snooze for an extra eight minutes of sleep before I know I have to drag myself out of the cocoon of love we’re all tangled in.
“Mama?” Annie asks, confused. “Why in your bed?” Chris still is sleeping, which isn’t unusual.
“Grandma said Chris wasn’t feeling too well, so we’re going to see Dr. Bradshaw this morning, baby girl,” I tell her on a yawn.
Her response is to snuggle back against me, content to be right where she is. Chris rolls over and rests his head against me at that exact moment. Secret twin communication? Realization their mother simply adores them? I don’t know. All I know is I want to capture this with a picture before it’s too late.
