Monday, December 11, 2017. My radio show was pushed off the schedule by football games every day since last week. It was a long holiday for me, and felt as if I had a few more free days coming. I am further disappointed that I will miss the NPAS concert scheduled at five. Indeed, we have no rehearsals for several weeks. I miss singing when we don’t do it.
I do get lunch. MA and I go to Lola in Covington, across from the courthouse. That location brings in a strong, steady clientele. Originally, those people were served sandwiches, salads and the like. But every time we show up at Lola, the menu gets more interesting.
Today both of us have a high-class fish sandwich. Mary Ann has grilled salmon on her house-baked bread. I get a special of thick, fresh grilled swordfish, served atop what looked like a brioche hamburger bun but is much better. Along side of this sandwich is a salad of several different greens, none of them matching the dressing on the bread. This could be credible even on a lunch menu with near-fast-food prices. Indeed, the sword was completely credible on its own. I precede that with the soup of the day, a sort of Mexican chicken-tortilla broth, which on a chilly day like today is very welcome.
And in general Lola continues to improve every time we try it. It always has been better than we expect.
Tuesday, December 12, 2017. I drive to town for the radio show for the first time since last Wednesday. We are visited by Ron Swoboda, Jr., who is the general manager of Lagers, the beer and hamburger club on Veterans near Severn. Great location for such a restaurant, and they take advantage of it with no fewer than seventy-five different beers on tap. We talk about that and what it takes to keep the quality and freshness high.
Meanwhile, we kid around a lot. That’s the perfect mood for beer and burgers. The Marys have not dined at Lagers, despite the distinguished qualities of the hamburgers. (An ongoing shtick on the Food Show notes that the Marys are both hamburger lovers, and that I say burgers are for kids.)
I have a good story about Ron’s father, who was a major big-league hitter for many years, most famously with the Mets. During a fund-raising for a big local charity some twenty years ago, a number of celebrities stood at the plate (as in home plate) in Zephyrs Field and tried to hit the incoming ball. I was among these. I have no explanation as to why anyone would ask me, but I was thrilled. I played a lot of baseball in my preteens and later in the UNO Alumni league, but I was set to embarrass myself. Especially when the other celebs in the dugout razzed me for batting left-handed. (But I really do bat left, although I throw right.)
Through dumb luck I get a good swing at the ball, which bounced into middle left field. Ding! Score one for the charity. I was very proud.
Then Ron Swoboda Sr. stepped up. He was by then as well known as a sports reporter on Channel Eight as he was a major-league player. He hit the ball squarely, and walked away with a home run. My moment of glory was stolen from me. Well, we took in a bunch of money for the charity.