Buffalo Gal

Notice how the more it snows , the more I talk about food. I can't for the life of me figure out how Houston is the fattest city in America.
With cheap restaurants, good food and plenty of stress, I've been doing my part to help Buffalo take its rightful crown.
Had dinner Tuesday night at my favorite Italian place with the killer Mon-Tues-Wed, pasta-meat-bread-huge salad- adult beverage of choice- and ice cream-for-$8.95-special with rail thin journalists who would be featuring the meal in an upcoming "Cheap Eats" column. After enough carbs to sate the Buffalo Bills training camp table, they chided me for ordering the Italian ice instead of the spumoni as the dessert option. You gotta love this town.
We all had plenty left over, so the waitress gave us large , saucy styrofoam containers with our next couple of meals.
I set mine on the passenger seat in my dark car, cancelled my previous errands and head immediately home for a long winter's nap.
The next morning, I noticed the car seat and a portfolio notebook were covered with slick red/ orange spots. My purse had rough orange spots all over the black leather. My first thought had my car surrounded by crime scene tape, until I peeled one icy slick off the car seat and recognized the familiar smell of spaghetti sauce melting in my hand. The frozen sauce was quite easy to clean up as long as I kept the car door open and didn't run the heater.
When I got to work I took my purse into the ladies room, wet down a paper towel and started cleaning off the sauce when one of my colleagues walked in.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Cleaning spaghetti sauce off my purse."
She said nothing further and disappeared into a stall.
You gotta love this town.
The bread was good at that dinner, but conversation turned to the amazing Italian bread just over the border at the Ontario Bakery. The thought has since been embedded. I dreamed about it last night and woke up with a plan.
I'm running over to Canada this morning before work to pick up a dozen or so fresh loaves to share with my colleagues.
Everyone is stressed with the county funding situation and the perpetual cloud we can't seem to duck.
Forget about love, art and music.
In Buffalo we know bread is the bread of life.
Especially if it's from Ontario Bakery.

Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2005-03-03 7:39 AM Italian ice and border runs Notice how the more it snows , the more I talk about food. I can't for the life of me figure out how Houston is the fattest city in America. With cheap restaurants, good food and plenty of stress, I've been doing my part to help Buffalo take its rightful crown. Had dinner Tuesday night at my favorite Italian place with the killer Mon-Tues-Wed, pasta-meat-bread-huge salad- adult beverage of choice- and ice cream-for-$8.95-special with rail thin journalists who would be featuring the meal in an upcoming "Cheap Eats" column. After enough carbs to sate the Buffalo Bills training camp table, they chided me for ordering the Italian ice instead of the spumoni as the dessert option. You gotta love this town. We all had plenty left over, so the waitress gave us large , saucy styrofoam containers with our next couple of meals. I set mine on the passenger seat in my dark car, cancelled my previous errands and head immediately home for a long winter's nap. The next morning, I noticed the car seat and a portfolio notebook were covered with slick red/ orange spots. My purse had rough orange spots all over the black leather. My first thought had my car surrounded by crime scene tape, until I peeled one icy slick off the car seat and recognized the familiar smell of spaghetti sauce melting in my hand. The frozen sauce was quite easy to clean up as long as I kept the car door open and didn't run the heater. When I got to work I took my purse into the ladies room, wet down a paper towel and started cleaning off the sauce when one of my colleagues walked in. "Whatcha doing?" "Cleaning spaghetti sauce off my purse." She said nothing further and disappeared into a stall. You gotta love this town. The bread was good at that dinner, but conversation turned to the amazing Italian bread just over the border at the Ontario Bakery. The thought has since been embedded. I dreamed about it last night and woke up with a plan. I'm running over to Canada this morning before work to pick up a dozen or so fresh loaves to share with my colleagues. Everyone is stressed with the county funding situation and the perpetual cloud we can't seem to duck. Forget about love, art and music. In Buffalo we know bread is the bread of life. Especially if it's from Ontario Bakery. Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top