BESTSELLERS & BEST FRIENDS
My book publishing blog, with murder mysteries woven through it.
If this is your first visit, be sure to start with “1. Let’s do it!”
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Recall 1) my job in Little Brown’s Medical Division where I met Curtis and Randy, and 2) that I grew up in Ligonier, a small town of 1,500 in Western Pennsylvania.
My family only left Ligonier for the hour’s drive to Pittsburgh to see relatives or a Steelers game; and for our annual one-week vacation to Ocean City (MD) which started with a drive over the mountain to meet up with the Pennsylvania turnpike in Bedford.
My hometown was 100% white and Christian (but for one family).
My mother baked the best apple pies, and each day served a delicious (and traditional) supper of meat, potatoes, and a green vegetable. Spices like oregano and basil were considered exotic.
And we rarely dined out, except for Mother’s Day. My dad, a child of the Great Depression, just couldn’t understand the logic of going to restaurants to spend money on meals that were not as good as my mother’s.
Oh, and I was never in an airplane until senior year of college when my then girlfriend and I flew to visit her aunt and uncle in Baltimore.
To say the least, when I arrived to Boston and that first job in publishing, I was not “worldly.” One day, Steve, my boss at Little Brown’s Medical Division, announced to several of us (including Randy), “Let’s go to Chinatown for lunch. I’ll treat. I’m in the mood for Chinese.”
Boston’s Chinatown
I panicked. Chinese food?! Holy hell! What’s that like? Bats? Snakes? Do I have to use those sticks to eat? Is it spicy? What the hell do I order? I can’t read those weird letters. Maybe they’ll have a children’s menu with chicken tenders. I could do that.
We walked out of Little Brown on Beacon Street and down across Boston Common. Steve was a yapper, always had to be the center of attention.
I desperately wanted to pull him to the side and discreetly tell him that I’d never eaten Chinese food. I needed him to, you know, watch out for me, and help me through the crises just minutes away.
Finally, Steve paused his yapping.
From Little Brown on Beacon Street, across the Common, and into Chinatown
I whispered to him. And in the middle of Boston Common, he pulls back, looks at me, and screams, “HOLY HELL! NEVER?”
Tourists in shorts with fanny packs stopped and looked. Steve pointed to me, “JESS HAS NEVER EATEN CHINESE.” He paused, “IN HIS WHOLE LIFE!” He burst out laughing. And my colleagues and the tourists joined in.
I was so embarrassed.
We walked into the restaurant. There were huge aquariums filled with fish and octopi and crawling things. I about fainted.
My colleagues ordered dishes that we all shared. Which was cool, passing this and that about the table. Sort of like our family’s Thanksgiving.
(Oh, and a non-Steve colleague was kind enough to ask the waiter to get me a fork.)
All of it was of course delicious.
Tomorrow (continuing the theme): The mini-bar and me