Beantown

Mistah and I had the great good fortune to go to Boston for the night last weekend. Or the other weekend. Or some weekend recently. Who really even knows what day it is, lately?

Anyway, to Boston we did go . . .

. . . clearly.

. . . on the Amtrak like the civilized peoples we are.

This is the alleged reason we went . . .

. . . and this is where I spent my time instead, after lasting about 15 minutes in there.

Except for Ken Sanders. Ken Sanders was the highlight of the Book Fair. Because look at him. Bill runs into him every year but this was my first time seeing him in the flesh since I was in his book shop in Salt Lake City during our Westy years. We discussed our dear departed Chuck Bowden, and the fact that he was going to see My Morning Jacket's lead guy playing solo that night because of course they're friends. Ken Sanders is gracious and charming and lovely. Plus look at him.

The wind, she was a-blowin' . . .

. . . but not on the T.

Mistah has gone to the Boston Antiquarian Book Fair for years and years, usually alone. He typically takes the train up, goes to the show for a few hours, takes himself out to a lovely meal, then takes a late train home. This year he said, "Why don't you come with me? We can go out to dinner in the North End, get a hotel room; we'll make a Time of it."

"Okay."

"No but . . . wait. What? Really?"

"Sure. Sounds fun."

So this was the second reason we went to Boston:

Carpaccio . . .

Mussels . . .

Meats and cheeses . . .

Broccoli rabe, of course . . .

Salad . . .

Pasta . . .

. . . and wine.

. . . And lots of it.

It was brilliant.

And in the morning? Well, there we were. In Boston . . .

. . . clearly.

We walked and walked and spied a table behind giant windows in the sun and we went in and said, "Can we sit there?"

"Right there?"

We stayed for hours and watched the Newbury Street parade, as our next-door-table-mate called it.

Finally, after a long lovely day of wandering about, our livers and our wallets begged us to get back on the train home. And so we did. But man, what a Time.

Until next time, fair city . . . 

. . . until next time.