Friday, October 22, 2010

Cortadito...

... the REAL reason I came back to Miami Beach. Not the ocean, not the international population, not the general craziness; I came back for the cuban coffee. The closest beverage I have ever found that is accurately described by the word ambrosia (excepting maybe a couple wines) is the cortadito. A half and half mix of sweetened cuban coffee and steamed milk. I have been able to make a barely suitable replication in other places, but nowhere in the United States, that I have found, can you find anything like what you can get here for $0.75 - $1.50, depending on where you go.

Speaking of general craziness... I enjoyed my day off. I went back for my tips at 4:00 when the restuarant was supposed to open. The owners were talking with the GM of the hotel that occupies the rest of the building. All three were obviously stressed. The rumormill said they might have to stay open for another week. No, there is no way I will subject myself to that for another day, unless god tells me to. I wait 30 minutes, still they don't show up in the restuarant, so I pour myself a drink at the unattended bar, and leave for a couple hours.

When I came back, the day cook was just leaving, she got her money, and the owners were in their little corner where the money is. I only had to wait for about 20 minutes to get everything they owed me, less maybe five bucks. I took it and ran. Actually, something unusual happened as I walked down the steps.

I had thanked the owner for letting me work, thus concluding our relationship. I walked out the door, down the first flight of stairs, and suddenly, completely without thinking about it, spit on the landing.

Now, I don't spit. I think it is a waste of water. But something welled up and said spit me out... NOW! So I did. And that act, I think, actually concluded the relationship. I will not earn one more dime for those two ever in my life, unless god tells me to. And whatever me spitting set in motion, maybe nothing, I will probably never know.

My friend whose parking space I am living in is close to normal, but showing signs of stress. She cleaned today for about seven hours. Not straight, she took a nap, but she didn't look for a job. She says she will go back to Paris in December if she doesn't find a job. I really hope she does find a job, because I've made a pretty comfortable bivouac (all possible meanings) in her unused parking space.

Nothing is ever as simple as it seems. It's like the buddhist story about the couple who couldn't conceive, then they did. Kid got a horse, fell off and broke his leg. Broken leg stopped him from getting conscripted, you just never know.

It just goes to show you, if it's not one thing, it's another... if it's not toilet paper on your shoe, it's little green things stuck in between your teeth. God bless Gilda Radner and everything she set in motion. Remind me to tell you about the Xlerator, and Dyson's contribution to eliminating landfill... what do you think google will come up with for ad's for this posting?

Thanks for reading.

No comments:

Post a Comment