On my way to tour the Mary A. Whalen, I picked up a “breakfast pie” at Dub Pies on Columbia St. Tried a couple of their Aussie meat pies some months ago and was not inspired to return ‘till now, but I hadn’t had anything for breakfast and it was in the way. Once again, there was an Australian woman behind the counter, as if that were the ne plus ultra of authenticity, a façade somewhat undermined by the kitchen staff, who come from where all our kitchen staff come from, and you know that’s not Down Under. Anyway, this breakfast pie was superlative: tasty flaky crust, egg and sausage inside; a good mix of protein, salt, & fat. Ummmmm, that was one damn good Aussie empanada. It may become my new donut, my new twice-baked chocolate almond croissant from J. Torres. The Mary A., however, turned out not to be open: Open House NY had blundered. It’s a god-damned shame you can’t get anywhere near the docks around here. Speaking of Marys, that floating Holiday Inn, the QMII, was docked next to its parking lot, which meant lots of extra security. So I wouldn’t be cutting my way through any fencing this day. This perfect Checkers cab was parked on Amity Street.
Major bee business in the afternoon. The garden hives seem to be doing well. We were pretty invasive, and there was some debate about how far we should go looking for sign of a healthy queen in the deep brood box on the hive closest to Avenue C. The ladies were quite stirred up as a result. One of our party was stung twice. A couple of beers succored him, though. We scraped some honey here and there and shared it with everyone in the garden, gooey lusciousness attached to the comb. You chew it like gum to get all the honey. Yum, but watch out for the squashed bees. (Forgive us, sisters.) A scrum of pre-teen girls celebrating a birthday were cautious at first, but dug right in, then scattered as one of the worker bees showed up to claim her honey back.
Meanwhile, just as I was settling into my new found accordion fetish (read below), I meet a lovely lovely. Interning, no less, on a noble cause, one that's dear to my heart. My motives for wanting to help are therefore suspect.