A cocaine-dealing brother-in-law

Saturday night Nana, Aunt Freya, and I were supposed to eat at the Hofbrahaus in celebration of Nana's 97th birthday (that's right...97...a "holy moly" is warranted here).  But after taking a look at the menu and seeing only meat, meat, and more meat (all in German, I might add), Nana declared she'd rather eat at Pizzeria Uno.  I secretly seconded her opinion.  Unfortunately, at 5:45 pm on a Saturday night, Pizzeria Uno had a 25 minute wait, so we went to the next best place - Bertucci's.

I can't tell you the last time I ate at Bertucci's.  I CAN tell you the last time I ordered Bertucci's rolls to go, took them across the street to a bar, and then proceeded to throw up my 3 Cape Codders into the bag of rolls, ruining the food for everyone and cementing the "Lisa and the Bertucci rolls" story for the rest of my life.  I digress.  We walk into Bertucci's and I am immediately hit with a wall of sound.  Every table has a mother and father and at least two children sitting at it.  All of whom are less than 5 years old, playing with some kind of toy, and screaming.  Normally when I'm out in Longmeadow, Nana takes me to a place called The Grapevine for dinner.  And at 6:00 pm, the place is filled to the rafters with senior citizens, not children.  So this was a new experience for me.  A new and very loud experience.  

Freya orders the steak.  Nana and I order the salmon with the intention of splitting it.  The rolls come.  I eat two.  WITHOUT throwing up.  Nana mentions that she thinks my brother-in-law is dealing cocaine in Mexico.  Freya mentions that she thinks I'm losing my mind.  I mention that I could eat the olive oil with garlic and parmesan cheese perpetually until I die.  

Here's what fathoms me about Bertucci's, though.  My salmon had absolutely no bones in it.  Freya's steak had absolutely no fat on it.  The green beans and asparagus were not only cooked to perfection, but were the most desireable shade of green, and the mashed potatoes were like heaven.  How do they do this?  How are they mass producing salmon, cows, and green beans so that the meals are picture perfect every time?  I was too busy being freaked out by this to enjoy the taste of it all.  Though I quickly got over being freaked out and enjoyed 3/4 of the salmon and a quarter of Freya's steak.  

Restaurants like Bertucci's and Olive Garden and Applebees are mindboggling.  I rarely eat at those places, feel disgustingly full and gross when I do, and typically make fun of the people who frequent there.  But last night, as I created the perfect bite of meat, green beans, and potatoes, I ignored that nagging voice in my head that kept repeating, "You are eating the food of the people who shop at IKEA, watch Desperate Housewives, throw Pampered Chef parties, and laugh at Adam Sandler movies."

3 homeruns, 1 hot dog, one beach ball incident, and one drunk guy ralphing

Last night Nana and I went to the Red Sox vs. Angels game at Fenway Park. According to 96-year-old Ruth, our seats were along the first base line. In reality they were way out in right field. But for a price of zero dollars, I’d take Red Sox seats behind a fat guy challenging another fat guy to a hot dog eating contest. (Please don’t actually tempt me with this offer because I don’t know that I would actually follow through.)

Here are the highlights of the night….

Nana: “Do you know who’s pitching tonight?”
Lisa: “Actually I don’t. Who?”
Nana: “Dike-a-sake.”

Nana: “Is that Ortiz? Oooh, I hope he strikes a homerun!”

Nana (to the 115-pound college girl in front of us who dined on two meager slices of Papa Gino’s): “You ate too much pizza!”

Nana (to the same girl earlier in the game): “Can you scrunch down a bit? I can’t see.”

A beachball came our way during the 5th inning or so and miraculously landed in Nana’s lap. I told her to pick it up and hit it. So she took the ball and, with all her might (which isn’t a lot), pegged a guy sitting two rows in front of us right in the back of the head. So he took the ball and jokingly turned around and pretended like he was going to nail her in the face with it. I think that kinda scared her because she put her arms up in defense. The man then realized that he could possibly be responsible for an old woman having a heart attack and apologized profusely saying he didn’t really mean it. I told him that while maybe he was joking, she surely wasn’t and meant to hit him.

Then, when we were trying to find the bus after the game, I’m pretty sure I made Nana walk around the entire perimeter of Fenway Park. Probably not the best idea in the world, but I told her that at least she wouldn’t have to go to the gym the next day (and yes, she actually does go to the gym).

So while the Red Sox lost 7-5 to a team with a guy named Figgins, I certainly can’t complain about a lack of entertainment or fun.