Showing posts with label margaritas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label margaritas. Show all posts

Friday, September 14, 2012

Pizza Crawl

It started when Sheila and I went to our regular place for coffee. A yellow paper stuck to the wall announced a pizza crawl.
We'd heard of pub crawls, but I'd never been on one. The pizza crawl was the same kind of thing but we would go from pizza place to pizza place then vote at the end for the one we liked best.
"That sounds like fun," I commented last week.
This week, we were back at the coffee shop with another friend who pointed out the pizza crawl. "Yeah, we were thinking about doing that," I said.
So when I got home, Sheila had sent a message to our group that said she and I were going to take part in the pizza crawl.
"Wait. I don't think I committed to that," I responded by email.
"I think you did," she replied.
So that how I ended up walking to our small downtown on Thursday evening.
I stopped by Sheila's house first where she blended up a couple of margaritas and put them in to-go cups, those cups people use to get iced coffee drinks, with lids and straws. I like to think of myself as a rule breaker, but I was pretty nervous about walking around with an alcoholic drink. We have open-container laws here, which means you can't walk the streets with an open drink. Sheila pointed out the drinks were closed cause they had lids.
I warned Tucker that he would need to come bail me out of jail if I got arrested.
Our first stop was right around the corner. A thin crust white pizza, which meant no red sauce. We picked one that had tomato slices with dots of spinach. I liked the flavor of olive oil and that the pizza wasn't overwhelming.
At the very first place, Sheila and I agreed that if we tried to eat a whole slice of pizza each, we wouldn't make it very far. So we decided to buy one slice of pizza at each restaurant and split it in two. That way we could try more.
Each slice of pizza was $1. By the time we had finished, we had visited 6 pizza places and spent $3 each. Not bad.
After the first nearby place, Sheila suggested we try some of the farther flung pizza places that we wouldn't usually visit, so we began hiking along the road and hit the two farthest ones.
One of them was in a bar. We walked in to head-banger music. Sheila called it 80s hair band music. She admitted that she used to hang out in this bar and do her homework when she was in high school because they were lax about checking IDs. She pointed out the bathrooms: "One was for using the bathroom and the other was for doing drugs."
After we got our slice of pizza, she texted her youngest, 14-year-old Thomas, and told him and his friends not to walk all the way to this bar for pizza. It didn't seem like a good idea for the unaccompanied teenagers to come to the bar. Of course, Sheila didn't have that rule for herself when she was a teenager.
The pizza in the bar was saucy and cheesy, but not too spicy. When we finished, that was our 4th shared piece of pizza, equivalent to two whole pieces. I was starting to get full. We decided to head to the farthest place in the opposite direction to try a piece of pizza another friend had recommended.
So we started walking. Throughout the evening, we walked 4. 6 miles, according to Gmaps pedometer. Walking in my Birkenstocks, after running 4.5 miles that morning and working 8 to 3, I felt the day wearing on me.
We sat down at the last place to a piece of pizza with artichoke hearts, black olives and dried tomatoes. The toppings were tasty. I ended up eating the toppings and leaving the end of the crust.
Finally, Sheila and I walked toward her house. We stopped at one last place and grabbed $1 slices of pizza to take home for our kids. I bought two very heavy meat lovers slices to take home to Tucker, covered with pepperoni, sausage, bacon and meatballs -- holy cow.
It was worth it though, cause he was happy, and I could finally put my feet up -- full of pizza and maragarita and enough exercise to not feel guilty about it.
Next time, I think I'll try a pub crawl.

Thursday, May 05, 2011

Lonely Cinco de Mayo

I worked from 7:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. today and forgot to take a lunch along. My stomach growled and around 2, I texted Tucker, suggesting we go out for Mexican food to celebrate Cinco de Mayo. I got no reponse. When school let out, Spencer texted me to say he was hanging out with Casey. I suggested Mexican food again. He seemed ambivalent.

My widely mixed heritage includes Scottish, Irish, British, French, American Indian and African, but no Mexican, so celebrating Cinco de Mayo was not a necessity. But the day was sunny with pure blue skies, the only break from rain in weeks with more rain on the agenda in the coming weeks. I could practically taste the tangy margarita that I planned to order with my dinner, allowing Spencer to drive us home.

The minute I got off work, I called both boys, my stomach really churning and my mouth watering. If we hurried, we could beat the crowd and sit in the sun. They both blew me off. Tucker said he had Mexican for lunch, Qdoba or Chipotle, no doubt. Spencer said maybe another time, and later came home with a Taco Bell cup. I guess they celebrated in their own way.

I stopped at Rancho Allegre and ordered a burrito. I asked whether they'd give me a margarita to go, but the lightly-accented waitress said, "Sorry, but it's against the law."
Whatever.
I came home and ate my burrito, chased with a pineapple Smirnoff Ice. Not nearly the bite of a margarita.
This isn't the first time that I've failed to celebrate Cinco de Mayo, Mexico's independence day.
When Earl and I were living in Tampa, we worked with a fascinating group of people. One of our friends, Dave, left the Tampa Tribune for a job at the Miami Herald. As Cinco de Mayo approached, our friend Rosalva, a California native whose family came from Mexico, suggested we take a road trip down to Miami to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.

So we did. We piled into a car and drove the four hours to Miami. We all crashed in Dave's apartment, ready for the big Cinco de Mayo celebration. It wasn't until we were walking the streets of Miami Beach that we realized Miami's latin influence is Cuba, which doesn't celebrate Cinco de Mayo.

It wouldn't have been so bad if the assumption had been made by a bunch of transplanted Midwesterners, but the fact that Rosalva was the ring leader made it a little embarrassing.

Hope everyone else got to sip a maragarita today.

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