When you’ve been in Boston as much as I have, the weekends tend to blur together. Only certain memorable visits stand out above the rest, whether by the singular nature of their purpose (such as a wedding or birthday) or by the seasonal aspect or traditional slant of their occurrence (such as the Holiday Stroll or the Children’s Hour). Much of the time, however, nothing terribly special happens. Such was the case last weekend in Boston, when I rode into town in the midst of a raging rainstorm (that so soaked my clothes I actually had to put jeans and coat into the dryer – a first in all these years of dodging rain and snow). That didn’t mean Kira and I didn’t make our own moments. Every visit, no matter how typical or seemingly-mundane, carries some magic. It’s Boston, after all. This time around, however, much of the magic was garnered from staying inside.
A brief January thaw was coming to an end in dramatic fashion, as high winds and rain slashed through the city. Fortunately, after an early run to the market I had everything we needed – fresh limes and cilantro, and the bulk of a Mexican dinner that I’d prepared the night before: carnitas and a Mexican chipotle fried rice. Kira arrived, wind-battered and bedraggled, but a Paloma cooler soon revived her. She brought a single plantain for frying, and we set to work heating things up, cutting limes, and assembling a proper dinner.
We fell asleep to ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ while the winter weather returned in the night. All vestiges of a January thaw had frozen and disappeared as the wind wailed and the window screens rattled. By morning, the sky was beginning to clear, but in the treacherous way that always seems to bring colder temperatures.
We found a few good sales along Newbury Street before pausing for a lunch at Roost: two burgers with fries. On a cold winter day, a hot hamburger and side of fries is almost as good as a bowl of pho (and that would come later). Fortified for a few more hours, we meandered to Boylston where I found my Mom’s birthday present, then headed back to the condo for a siesta.
I cannot extol the virtues of a siesta enough. It seems to be a sadly-forgotten tradition in our hustle-and-bustle lost country, but other nations still embrace the mid-afternoon rest session with gusto – and whenever I’m away from home I do too. Traveling takes its toll, and a mid-afternoon break from whatever you’re doing is a welcome method of rejuvenation. It’s also one of my favorite times to be in the condo – just as the sun is pouring in through the bedroom window.
We settled in to start ‘Heathers’ – a movie I’d never seen, much to Suzie’s great chagrin. As long as it wasn’t as wretched as ‘Dirty Dancing’ I didn’t care. A quick cat-nap, and then it was time for dinner at Buttermilk & Bourbon. (Not to throw out any additional hubris, our Mexican meal was better than what we ended up getting at B&B. Just saying.)
We wrapped things up with a drink and snack at Douzo, then it was back to the warmth and coziness of the condo. It welcomed us with open arms and comfort, and a bed thick with heavy blankets and lots of pillows.
