Blustery Saturday in P-Town

Plotnik sits at BZWZ'S kitchen window on the third floor of a charming, older building on the East Side of Providence. The late afternoon wind howls, large objects hurl into each other somewhere in the yard below, rain shoots right in the window. Plot closes it a little more. Duck took BZ to look for new sheets while Plottie finishes up the huge meal of beef rib bones and potatoes that he has been readying all afternoon, to be consumed tomorrow night when the gravy has been skimmed.

This is the kind of meal you ought to be messing with on a blustery, wintery day. The butcher insisted Plot and BZ buy the beef bones instead of the short ribs he'd asked for. "Dese are da best," he said. "Pure candy." He kissed his fingertips. "You'll t'ank me, I promise yuz."



The woman at the Portuguese liquor store near BZ's house was also very helpful. When Plotnik inquired about local wine, she said "You don' want nuthin from Rhode I'lan. It's horrible. But lemme show you something very nice. It's a Portuguese wine. We sell fifty cases a week. You'll be very happy with this wine."

Same with the kids at the bakery, where BZ and Plottie bought bread and biscotti and sandwiches and coffee, and same with the merchants behind their damp tables at the Farmer's Market, where BZ and Plottie bought Eastern MacCoun and Empire apples, cilantro and a dozen and a half fat Little Neck clams. "Have some extra clams," they said. "Here, taste these apples."



Why are people in such a mood to be helpful? The weather is awful, the traffic is incomprehensible and life here can't be as simple here as in grouchy Shmalifornia.

They're even politically progressive -- the woman at the liquor store looked with Plot and BZ at her television screen and said "those gay people marching in San Francisco? We Catholics think different, but if you ask me, if somebody is stupid enough to want to get married, let 'em. It's their headache."

The ribs smell really good and the potatoes are just about done, but the clams are for tonight.

Now The Great Plotnik sits at BZ's desk. She's got the nicest room she's had since she left home, and it's cheap. She says she thinks Providence is a great town to go to Graduate School in, because it doesn't have the distractions of The Shmapple, plus Brown is such a fantastic seat of knowledge. But she misses the action, and her friends, and the many other little beauties of living in the greatest city in America.

The Big Bagel is about more than bagels. It's also knowing the bagels are there whenever you want 'em.

Who knows how anyone will like anywhere? Plotnik has never really decided if he loves Saint Plotniko or if he even likes it all that much. The truth is it's a great city, but it's not home, not really, or maybe just not yet?

One look at his kids settled for now in the East, plus his Map of Unanswered Pins, and he realizes his roots have never been set all that deeply. He knows he is both anxious to get back home and sad to be leaving tomorrow. He knows Ducknik will treasure getting back to the endless construction site, while Plotnik will wish he was setting off on another adventure, or at least back to Brooklyn for a few more days, after which he would want to come back up here.



Beezie busy and smiling, Belly leaping forward, her Dad and Mom discovering their new lives in their new city, this is how it's supposed to be. Meanwhile, Papa is supposed to head home, put on his robe and slippers and strum his guitar. Ouch. Papa and Bobo aren't ready for the rocker yet, you know? Too many empty spots that need more pins.

Breakfast time! Maybe heading for Newport today.