If you think restaurant portions are large now, you should try eating out after throat surgery. For once, the waiter who asks “Are you still working on that?” is using the right verb.
After our dinner with the Serbian waiter we walked down the street to Ann’s Florist and Coffee Bar. I was thirsty for a beer, beer having recently joined pastis as one of the few alcohols that didn’t burn my healing throat. Walking past the counter of pastries I spotted some delicious pieces of blueberry cobbler.
We got a seat outside on the terrace. The waiter, kneeling to address us at eye level, went through the long list of beers, which included craft beers as well as national brands.
“I’ll have the blueberry cobbler,” I told him.
“Would you like that on draft or in a bottle?” he asked.
Yesterday marked one month since my surgery, and while the pain has lessened considerably – there’s no longer a small pool of saliva on my pillow when I wake up – swallowing solid foods is still a problem. And I’ve found that I miss not just eating, but the anticipation of eating. When you don’t have mealtimes to look forward to – just another round of soup, smoothie, protein drink, ice cream (yes, it’s possible to get tired of ice cream) – it makes your days unimaginably dull. Especially during a pandemic.
Recovering from throat surgery I've been watching a lot of food shows, sort of like a eunuch who becomes addicted to X-rated movies.
Heritage doesn’t advertise Italian home-cooking but it has something else I remember from the homes of my Italian friends back in ’50s New Jersey. On a narrow wall by the kitchen hang three small paintings: one of Mary, one of Jesus, and one of Padre Pio. They give that buzzy room with its sophisticated diners a sweet and unexpected touch.
One evening last week Hania and I went to the MASS District for dinner, the name standing for Music & Arts South of Sunrise. MASS and nearby F.A.T Village are the two most interesting neighborhoods in the city, filled with the innovation and entrepreneurial spirit that high rents long ago banished from Las Olas.
We arrived early, so wandered over to Batch for cookies. As often, there was a line. We got talking to the couple behind us; they had driven up from Miami for some chocolate chips. We got one chocolate chip with walnuts and one gluten-free lemon blueberry cookie.
Then we walked a few steps to Heritage. Hania got the squash blossoms and calamari stuffed with sausage; I got a pizza. The man eating pasta at the table next to us told us he had driven down from Delray Beach. On a weeknight. For Italian food.
It was as incredible as it was heartening to think that Ft. Lauderdale – the MASS District in Ft. Lauderdale! – has become a South Florida foodie mecca.