Sandwich

Saturday, Apr. 12, 2003 -
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

This fellow here, Mangus, is an amusing rapscallion and a naughty Girl Scout and an artist and a blast to read. (No surprise that he's been nominated to the List of the Fallen.) He's also a profligate updater who makes my own inadequacies keenly felt (I look over my year's worth of entries and I'm oppressively impressed with all that I have not written). He speaks of moi in this episode, and also of that most scrumptiously deep-fried demon of reckless gluttony, the Monte Cristo sandwich, which is a favorite comestible of the Big Squeeze. (I have this aberrant notion that Mangus could be the Big Squeeze's long-lost younger brother, if the Big Squeeze had a younger brother, and not just a horde of older sisters who alternately spoiled and terrorized him while he was growing up. The Big Squeeze thrived on the abuse and grew up to become a fierce and puissant Polynesian mangod�he's half-Hawaiian*�who incites awe from all who behold him. Except his sisters, of whom I've met two of the six, Niuhi and Pipi Laho**, direful and redoubtable majesties who could make Pele blanch.)

The Big Squeeze's nom de guerre is no misnomer; he's a thick and meaty specimen, yet eminently huggable. He's a lug and a luv and a reformed homophobic breeder, and we're tight, partly because we went through Asshole Anonymous together, but mostly because we are united in our love for the lost boy named James. (James' birthday is on the 26th. Don't let me forget this year, okay?) The Big Squeeze is not much taller than I am, maybe an inch, but he's at least 50 lbs. wider. Which is at least 30 lbs. less than what he carried when he played football in college. Yet he was smallish for an offensive lineman, and if he had gone pro he would have needed to gain weight. He didn't wanna do that. God knows, he's a good feeder, but acquiring that kind of mass requires more than a diet that would appall the American Heart Association. And besides, he wanted to travel through France for a year, learning about fine wines. Good career choice, because during that year in France he met Nena, his petite amie, and they have been together ever since. On a professional level, the two of them dovetail nicely: Nena is a wine merchant and the Big Squeeze works for a wholesale grocer that supplies upscale restaurants throughout California. He can do it all, from soup to nuts, but his field of expertise is meat and fish. Through knowing him, I've learned what a gourmet chef can do with cheap meat and aging seafood, and sometimes it takes a powerful act of will for me to walk into a fancy restaurant with fancy prices. And if I'm stuck with the tab ... oh, god ... that's absolute torture for my cheapskate soul.

The Big Squeeze consumed his first Monte Cristo at a seedy hole-in-the-wall diner called Birndy's; James and I witnessed this event that later was recognized as the historic commencement of a lifelong passion. Birndy's was 'round the corner from a seedy hole-in-wall comic book shop we patronized almost weekly. More accurately, James and the Big Squeeze patronized it; I had been weaned on the venerable and voluminous collection of my elder siblings, and by the age of fourteen, my interest in four-color literature had flagged. The fish-eyed and somewhat scrofulous comic dealer, Mr. Larkgrae of Larkgrae's Comics, was a flea market habitu� and paperback addict who couldn't resist a box of books. Any box, any books, anytime. While my buds collected the latest adventures of the Batman, the X-Men, Spawn and Spider-Man, I sat on the floor behind the counter and picked through hundreds of old ratty paperbacks, finding an occasional Harlan Ellison or Fritz Leiber or Michael Moorcock, for which I traded comensurately ratty copies of Alistair Maclean or Louis L'Amour or Barbara Cartland. (With four sisters, I had access to a considerable quantity of soft porn girl romances�if you wanna get an idea of my childhood lusts, find a copy of The Flame & the Flower by Kathleen Woodwiss, or The Golden Hawk by Frank Yerby, and replace the ravished heroines with boyishly lithesome heroes).

If James and the Big Squeeze still had money after buying stacks of great American art form, we would adjourn to Birndy's for sandwiches and shakes. Birndy's made a superlative chocolate shake that set the standard for all chocolate shakes in my life, most of which have suffered in comparison. According to the Big Squeeze, the Birndy's Monte Cristo has never been surpassed, not even by the pricey concoction designed by Nancy Silverton at Campanile. But Birndy's closed its doors several years ago, and it is to Campanile we go on those Thursdays when the Big Squeeze has a yen for batter-fried cholesterol. Concerned for the health of her beloved, Nena has tried to discourage the yens, and out of respect for Nena's concerns, but through no convictions of his own, the Big Squeeze has cut back.

I've been besotted with the boyfriends this past year, and the Big Squeeze, like all my friends, has seen less of me. So it's been a while since we've parked ourselves at my bud's favorite table in the garden room and shared a Monte Cristo. The Big Squeeze always picks up the tab, to keep me from whining, and always eats half my sandwich in addition to all of his own. Which is a tradition established at Birndy's, where he'd eat half of James' Reuben too. James is no longer with us, and the sandwiches at Campanile are smaller than the ones from Birndy's, so the Big Squeeze is indeed cutting back. But only when he can abstain from the cheese fritters.

~

* His other half is a mix of Polish, Scottish and Corsican blood, with a smidgen of Shoshone Indian in there somewhere.

** Niuhi: A large, gray, man-eating shark. Pipi Laho: Bull scrotum. The Pocket Hawaiian Dictionary, University of Hawaii Press

<~>
Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

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