Some shocking news has come my way over the last two days. If shocking news makes you uncomfortable, stop reading right now. This sentence is just here to give you time to stop reading. Stop reading. Let go.
For the rest of you, here is disturbing news item number one: I thought it had been settled long ago: middle A is 440 Hz. If somebody stops you on the street and says, "Hey, you, what's middle A?" Then you say, "Young man, middle A is 440 Hz." Right? According to two music nerds I spoke with at Doug's party, it's not so clear. These days, many people are tuning their harps, pianos, and what not to 442 Hz, and in Japan, it's up to 444 Hz! This is ridiculous. Neither of the candidates has a plan to address this problem of A creep, either.
Disturbing news item number two: When I heard that a Krispy Kreme donut shop was opening in Dupont Circle (that's in Washington, D.C. for my foreign readers), I was very excited. You see, friends, I have never had a Krispy Kreme donut right out of the fryer. People who have describe it variously as a spiritual and/or orgasmic experience. Dining on a fryer-fresh Krispy Kreme donut is a necessary (but not sufficient) condition for this bjournalist to have a fulfilling life. But today I picked up the Washington Post business section, only to learn:
The famous Hot Doughnuts Now sign may be in the window of the Connecticut Avenue shop, but the doughnuts are made out on Highway 1 in Alexandria. They truck them in, heat them up and then drizzle on the hot glaze that ups the calorie count from obviously-bad-for-you to obesity-inducing.
Take it from a doughnut junkie -- a Krispy Kreme fresh out of the fryer tastes better than a batch imported from Virginia, despite the assurance that it is as close to the original experience as you're going to get.
And a Krispy Kreme in a box at the supermarket might as well have been made in Minnesota. Hot doughnuts have the half-life of a sub-atomic particle. Hostess cupcakes hold up better over time. Cartoned up in cardboard, Krispy Kremes taste as fresh as an Amtrak sandwich.
Sigh.
n the beginning, when God created College Park — the town being unformed
and void, with darkness over the surface of the university and a wind from
God sweeping over the ODK water feature — God said, "Let there be
Gourmet East"; and there was Gourmet East. And God ate at Gourmet East,
and it was good. They served "Chinese Food, the Fast Food Way!"
A young man named David ate many meals at Gourmet East. He always ordered beef-fried rice, noodle chips, and water. It cost him four dollars and change.
After many years, the restaurant closed, and there arose in College Park a freshman class that knew not Gourmet East. In its place followed Ricky's Rice Bowl, Java Head Cafe, and Terrapin Taco House. Hidden from the view of Route 1 traffic, they withered, and died.
And the people of the Lord cried up to Him, saying, "Why hast thou forsaken us? Yea, though our sons and daughters, rejected by Brandeis, are cast out from Brooklyn to the Maryland wilderness, thou provideth but one kosher restaurant, the cafeteria at the Hillel center, and the food is bland, and the portions are small! You want we should fast every day?"
And the Lord remembered his people, heeding their cry, and he called unto to his servants, Shaul, Maya, and Doron, saying, "Go out from Silver Spring, to a place I will show you. Make a restaurant there, and serve kosher Israeli food. Provide falafel for your customers, and shwarma, and Iraqi kebab. Ooh, and hummus. I almost forgot hummus."
And they opened the restaurant, and they named it Pita Plus, meaning, "The Lord hath blessed us, and commanded us to serve pita ... plus a whole lot more!"
I hope Pita Plus survives. Their falafel is divine. During my first visit, the restaurant was nearly empty. A waitress, seeing me read a place-mat menu, helpfully provided a menu I could keep, and explained my options. One of the owners yelled out, to no one in particular, "We need more business!"
The second visit was similar.
This past Sunday evening, however, they were packed! The kid behind the counter warned me I'd have to wait twenty minutes, because they were swamped and there were four tables ahead of me. I decided I could wait. While taking my order for a falafel to go, he said, "OK, do you want to make this easy and get that with everything, or do you want to pick out each individual item when he makes it?" I compromised and had him record my wishes.
Here's a warning: the guy who assembles your falafel may remind you of the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld. There's a counter under glass with all the ingredients from which you can choose. The first time I ordered, it went something like this:
Falafel Guy: [pointing to hummus] You want this?
Me: I want Tahini, ..
Falafel Guy: [pointing to hummus again] No. You want this?
Me: Ummm, yes.
Falafel Guy: [pointing to cabbage] You want this?
Me: Uh, yeah.
...
Falafel Guy: [pointing to tahini] You want tahinah.
Me: Yes.
Then he handed me a free falafel patty, and then he threw another one in the bag, for good measure.
You have to follow their system.
Friends: let me know if you'd like to try it out; I'll go with you.