An Easter Sunday Family Fish Fry

I made plans to meet up with my cousins for an Easter brunch in the West Village on what turned out to be the first really warm day of the spring.  I stood on the corner of Waverly and 7th Ave S in front of Morandi, waiting for the cousins to show up at the scheduled meeting time of 1:30 pm.  Attractive families with mamas in silky sundresses, sky-high wedge heels; hubbies in pastel shorts, casual button downs with sleeves rolled up and deck shoes; and their army of children bedecked in Burberry and pushed around in the trendy baby stroller du jour littered the patio along with the usual crowds of fabulous gays and stylish women pretending to eat the food.

(a single turquoise Easter egg in a planter, surrounded by cigarette butts - how charming)

I stood and waited, texting friends and enjoying the spectacular weather but it soon became apparent that the cousins were on Caribbean time and running VERY late.  Lateness in my family is hereditary and I have fought my whole life against my late genes so as to not piss off my boss or alienate all my friends.  As the minutes ticked by I grew more and more impatient and I could feel my blood pressure surging - I called my parents to vent who encouraged me to "just leave already!"  Finally I shot off an angry text "Where are u?  I'm waiting another 10 minutes and then I'm leaving since I will have been standing here for an hour!"   Fortunately, Bad T and Little T arrived not too long after, offering up apologetic hugs and we were seated on the patio.  My foul mood soon lifted once my beloved ricotta fritters were placed in front of me.

Snap, snap, snap - several photos were taken by the waiter with cameras, camera phones.  Bad and Little love taking photos of their beautiful smiles and photogenic faces.  I on the other hand have a serious problem keeping my eyes open any time a camera flash goes off and when a photo cannot be avoided I resort to a cheesy grin with eyes wide with surprise in order to prevent looking like a heavy lidded alcoholic bum.  Little T said I looked "shine" in the pic which is apparently a good thing and does not mean that you need to Proactiv your pores.  I also learned that shine can be used as a verb (like "I'm shinin') when you're getting yourself all pretty.  Man I feel old.  Cousins Big T (brother of Bad T) and Fighter T (brother of Little T)  met up with us for drinks and people watching/weirdo spotting at a bar along W 3rd and then they brought me into Queens to visit the family in NY that I have not visited in my 4 years living here.  About a half an hour later I found myself in Jamaica, Queens surrounded by relatives and piles of yummy food.  The smell of the lamb and duck curries lingered heavily, permeating my hair and clothes but I was too busy taking down a roti filled with crumbly, dried yellow lentils to really care.  I sat on the floor, cross-legged happily eating and catching up with family.  Snap, snap more photos - munch, munch more food.  I was sent home with a couple rotis and as a bonus...fry fish pulled straight from the hot oil (not "fried fish" but "fry fish"- that's just what they call it).  I piled into the back of Bad's compact, 2-door car with my paper bag full of fry fish to catch a ride back to the PATH train and had visions of being followed home by stray cats.  I feared being ostracized by my fellow train riders for the greasy food smells emanating from myself and my doggy bag but luckily I was surrounded by French tourists who themselves are not strangers to odorous foods.

After a shower to scrub the spice from my skin, I settled into bed, exhausted but happy.  There were no Easter bunnies or egg hunts, but who needs any of that boring stuff when you've got family, fun and fry fish to make you feel totally "shine".