Last Thursday was a microcosm of all that I love about living in Miami. Wifey and I drove down to Brickell Village, and met some old friends for dinner at Perricones. Thursday is "Pasta Night," where many entrees at the fairly upscale place are $10, and when we arrived at 730, the place was packed. I'm talking easily 100 folks waiting for a table.
But Darriel and Paul had secured a reservation, and were already sitting when Mike, Loni, Wifey, and I joined them. Mike's siter Jeannine was there -- we hadn't seen her for quite awhile, as she and her husband were in Virginia while Ray worked on a highway engineering project. They're moving back to Stuart now.
The guitarist played and sang, and the good cheer flowed from we old buddies. The food was eh, due, I guess, to the overwhelming crowds, but we were sitting in the beautiful courtyard, the weather was perfect, and the soggy eggplant was no trouble at all.
Jeannine is a Miami native, and hadn't seen up close the development in the Brickell area. She was most impressed to see the crowds of folks strolling the streets, going into and out of the many restaurants and bars.
D1 invited us over to her place, and I stopped and got some dessert from the Perricone market. If the $10 pasta is a loss leader, the market makes up for it --$25 for a few brownies and small cakes.
Jeannine and Mike's Dad was my professional mentor, and, like me, a lover of the City. He couldn't have imagined what would become of a Downtown area that shut up tight after 5, during his day.
D1 and Joel were watching the Indiana Hoosier game, both wearing red IU shirts. D1 made some coffee, and she and Joel graciously hosted the invasion of the oldsters. I don't think anyone in their building is older than 40. It's nice to be around the young and vital for a change.
Wifey dognapped our grand-dog, and we all left for the suburbs. Darriel, Loni, Paul, and Jeannine marvelled at the view from the 36th floor balcony. Miami had truly become a different city.
It's funny -- some folks who lived here 30 years ago can't imagine the changes. I figured it out, though. If you were young and vital in a place, and now find yourself well over the hill, then the hometown will NEVER be the same to you. Ana Menendez, the fine Cuban writer, captured that idea so well in "In Cuba I Was a German Shepard." The old fellows playing dominos in Little Havana go on and on about how much they miss Cuba, but what they truly miss is being young and virile and important, instead of the sad has beens their exile has left them.
The title comes from the observation that for one fellow, in Florida he is a little dog, while in Cuba he was a strong, majestic Shepard dog. Glory days, as The Boss noted -- well they pass you by...
So anyway, it was a magical night. At the dinner table, we toasted to another reunion -- this October, in Chicago. Our beloved Canes travel there to take on hated Notre Dame, and we're planning to take a large contingent of Canes fans there, for deep dish pizza, a great steak, and hopefully a victory over the sanctimonious Irish...
My friend Norman, like me a gourmand, has sampled all the top Chicago steak houses, and determined that the Chop House is superior to Gene and Georgettis...A lot will ride on his choice, but I know he has the wisdom and stomach to have chosen wisely.
So here's to more great times with great friends. It rarely gets better than that...
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