Another trip north and another grand adventure!

View of lower Manhattan after hiking across the Brooklyn Bridge.

Feeling a bit restless and having a few hundred bucks in airline credit to burn, it only made sense for the lovely Miss Wendy and me to take yet another nibble out of the Big Apple earlier this year.

We had visited New York in December, but decided to embrace the ancient Talmudic belief that you can never be too thin, too rich or visit Manhattan too often!

Atlanta chums Margaret and Peter, also in need of a chilly getaway, joined us on the trip north the first week of February, adding a whole new level of fun and adventure.

We spent the first afternoon zig-zagging our way about Midtown, strolling by Central Park and the Plaza Hotel, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Radio City Music Hall and Rockefeller Center, Times Square and the Broadway Theater District.

Yummy way to end the day when visiting NYC.

Another ten minutes and five blocks along Broadway and we found ourselves in front of Ben's Kosher Deli -- can you say righteous hot pastrami? Can you say yummy? We can and we did!

An hour or so later, after a deli-licious dinner of corned beef and hot pastrami, chopped liver, matzo ball soup and a choco-licious slice of warm babka, we managed to shuffle our way onto Broadway and back to the Theater District.

Margaret and Peter were off to see "Come From Away", the Tony Award-winning musical focusing on the residents of Gander, Newfoundland and the thousands of airline passengers stranded there following the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center.

Wendy and I had seen -- and enjoyed -- the musical on our last trip to New York, so we decided to spend the evening with Bernadette Peters, aka Dolly Levi, and say "Hello"! It was a splendid, toe-tapping choice and a grand way to end the day.

Up early the next morning, Peter greeted us with the news that New York's a wonderful town, explaining giddily that the Bronx is up and the Battery's down. Okay, I'm playing a little fast and loose with his words so I can get the lyrics of "New York, New York" into this post. But I'm not exaggerating the ebullient vibe that had us all psyched and ready to take on another day in the city.

Wendy and Peter crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.

After a little "ride in a hole in the ground" -- yes, that's another musical reference, this time to the city's world-class subway system -- Margaret and Peter headed over to Ellis Island in search of their ancestral roots, while Wendy and I strolled around the World Trade Center.

In recent years we've visited the "footprint" fountains on the site of the downed Twin Towers and the nearby museum raised in honor and memory of the nearly 3,000 victims of the 9/11 attacks. But we'd never actually been inside the new building.

The structure towers over lower Manhattan, 104 stories of glass and steel soaring a breathtaking -- and symbolic -- 1776 feet high. There are 54 high-speed passenger elevators, a special few that can zip you up to the One World Observatory on the 102nd floor in a stunning 47 seconds.

Both the ride -- the elevators are equipped with digital screens that offer a unique glimpse at the history and growth of the region -- and the observation deck are 21st century amazing!

Wendy and I enjoyed all the bells and whistles that greeted and welcomed us, took time to watch one last video that set the scene, then stood in amazement as the screen lifted revealing a jaw-dropping vista that stretched off to the distant horizon.

World Trade Center towers over lower Manhattan.

The observation deck -- actually two floors that include a snack bar, restaurant, meeting rooms and gift shop -- circles the tower, offering a 360 degree view that includes Manhattan, Queens, Harlem and Long Island to the north and east, the Hudson River and New Jersey to the west, and Staten Island, much of Brooklyn and the Jersey shore to the south.

If you're lucky -- and we were -- you can see forever. A gaggle of skyscrapers, roadways, bridges and green space dot the landscape. It all blends together like the phantasmagoric work of a master builder, a mighty ode to the greatness of America.

During a 30-minute stroll, high above it all, we managed to spot Central Park and Rockefeller Center; the United Nations, Chrysler and Empire State buildings; the Manhattan, Brooklyn and Verrazano-Narrows bridges; Times Square and the Statue of Liberty.

After making our way back down to earth and meeting up with Margaret and Peter, we wandered about Greenwich Village, visiting Chelsea Market, the nearby High Line, a 1.45-mile-long elevated linear park, greenway and rail trail, and Washington Square.

We then began a slow and chilly trek up Fifth Avenue. In fact, trekking pretty much filled the next day or so.

Margaret takes a little spin on a carousel in Brooklyn.

Before calling it quits and heading back to the land of cotton and warmer temps, we criss-crossed midtown yet again, traveled back to lower Manhattan and hiked across the Brooklyn Bridge into the Heights and the gentrified district of DUMBO.

We then stumbled about SOHO, NOHO and the East Village before making our way to Rafele -- can you say sangria? It's one of our favorite New York restaurants just the other side of Bleecker Street in the West Village and only a hop, skip and a cannoli away from Rocco's, a pasticceria worth visiting if you're in the neighborhood. We were and we did!

Weary, but happy, Wendy and I bid our traveling companions a fond farewell the next morning and returned home -- Margaret and Peter hung around Gotham another two days. To paraphrase Julius Caesar: We came, we saw, we ate, drank and conquered. And so it goes!

Denise, Earl and living the good life in Zichron

After doing my volunteer thing with Sar-el recently, I wanted to spend a few days checking out another region of Israel where I could rest, relax and pull myself together for yet another 12-hour flight back home. That’s how I ended up in Zichron Yaakov, a small resort community just south of Haifa.

Denise and Earl, friends who once upon a time lived here in the Land of Cotton, moved to Zichron about a year ago. They were gracious enough to put me up for a few days and schlep me around a bit.  Zichron is a lovely community built across and atop a mountain range that gently slips into a valley along the Mediterranean.

It offers up world-class views in all directions – a patchwork of cultivated land in the valley, giving way to a maze of lush and lovely vineyards on nearby hillsides; twist about and the Mediterranean quietly roars to life in the far distance, the perfect spot for each day’s setting sun. This might be heaven!

That’s not to say there aren’t challenges in calling this place home. Denise and Earl – their children Reuben, Levi and Gabi – are mostly living the good life in the Jewish homeland. They’ve been warmly welcomed, are members of the local Masorti synagogue and community, and have friends who are warm, caring and helpful.

But like most olim, there’s a steep learning curve that involves mastering the language, the customs and dealing with the high-cost of just about everything. I’m delighted to report that Denise and Earl are still smiling, even as they go through the cosmic effort of finding and buying a home.

Spending time with them and visiting Zichron was a perfect way to end my trip, a chance to see up close and personal how Israelis go about their daily lives. We took a few small road trips to area sights – a nearby resort community and, later, the ancient ruins at Caesarea. But, frankly, I found it just as enjoyable and enlightening to visit a local mall and several markets with Denise and venture out with Earl to buy a bouquet of flowers for Shabbat.

Sitting out on their deck one evening, sharing a splendid bottle of Syrah from a local vineyard, we chatted about this and that and watched the sun slowly sink into the sea. For a month or so I had been dashing about, revisiting ancient and iconic spots across Israel, in search of that elusive something that would define and stamp this trip as special.

I’m thinking there was much that was special – the spiritual secrets hidden away in the Old City of Jerusalem; the upbeat and cosmopolitan vibe in Tel Aviv; the like-minded and friendly folks I worked with at Tel HaShomer. But the quiet and calm that settled across Zichron as the sky grew dark and my soul grew light is what I’ll be remembering.

High tech hijinks: John saves the day!

It was all a very high-tech puzzle to me, but John, weekend pal and IT guru extraordinaire, managed to work a little magic the other day and re-introduce my lame printer to its high-tech host. For at least a week or so I had been searching about my computer’s innards in a futile effort to fix the problem.

Truth to tell, in this case – and many more involving the digital world we live in – it’s not what you know, but who you know! I’ll explain.

My problem began quietly enough earlier this month when I attempted to access the Internet on my laptop and got that irritating page that announces something is amiss and the web is now outside your reach. Generally that has meant I need to start pulling wires from modems and routers, shutting my network down and, when all else fails, tossing a bunch of chicken bones into a paper sack and waving it around my head while reading a few verses from the Book of Lamentations!

Despite my best efforts, nothing seemed to fix the problem and I realized I had little choice but to call my Internet provider. An hour later, after yet again pulling wires from my modem and router, typing in secret IP addresses that only IT specialists on the mother ship know, and zipping about the control panel of my hard drive, I was back to square one.

It was about then that the Internet rep suggested we try changing out the modem and router that has been part of my network and my life for the last few years and update the system with a combo modem / router that had been sent to me a few weeks earlier. I, ahh, acquiesced. Big mistake!

After spending another hour updating everything and still not being able to access the Internet, I heard Priscilla – that would be the IT specialist on the other end of the phone – say a word you never want to hear an IT specialist say – oops!

She then explained that she had just checked out the status of Internet service in my neighborhood – that would be my entire neighborhood – and it turns out that, well, the service was down! Can you say %&&$ %&$# *& %$ *@#%&!

Service was expected to be out the rest of the day and Priscilla said she’d be back in touch the following afternoon to help me setup the network she had me rip apart moments earlier. Check please!

Priscilla did, in fact, get back in touch the next day. We did manage to get my network up and running and, relatively quickly access the Internet. One itty-bitty problem remained; re-establishing contact between my printer and my new, updated Wi-Fi network.

Here’s something else you don’t want to hear your Internet provider’s specialist say: “We don’t have any documentation on printers.” Apparently that cute little aphorism that suggests if you break something, you own it doesn’t apply to high-tech idiots!

Thankfully, John – feeling good and atop his digital game after a quick visit to Five Guys – was willing to swing by my neighborhood and see if he could work up enough magic to bring my printer back to life.

I’d like to say it was a simple fix; just a little twist here and wiggle there. But, alas, John was forced to jump out onto the web and search for specialized documentation that he went about reading with gusto. I mostly stood about nodding my head, occasionally murmuring a few digital-centric words – cache, firewall, Microsoft and Apple – to offer my support and show my deep understanding of the problem.

The problem is we couldn’t seem to find the oh-so special program that would allow the printer to find and reconnect with my network. Despite John’s best efforts, the program remained hidden, just a little electrical impulse that seemed content to play hide-and-seek. And then, after an hour or so of searching, John suggested we take a look for the thingy on my laptop. And, as the saying goes, the rest is history.

I’m thinking there’s some sort of deep meaning behind all this high tech hijinks – perseverance, friendship and the importance of having a good burger joint in your neighborhood! I’m also thinking, as I already mentioned above, often it’s not what you know, but who you know; which essentially makes this entire posting a long and windy way of saying, “Thanks, John!”

Food, friends and one really bad joke

It was friends and fun Saturday evening, first dining out with the gang at Ippolito’s, then spending a chilly night at Margaret and Peter’s home, cheering for LCU – you know, Land of Cotton University, more commonly known as The Dawgs!

Highlights included bunches of warm bread and garlic-infused marinara sauce during dinner; peppermint ice cream coated with Margaret’s dee-licious fudge sauce; and, of course, LCU’s HUGE win over cross-state rival, LCT – that would be Land of Cotton Tech, the hated Yellow Jackets!

Stan, jokester extraordinaire, managed to keep the warring parties – that would be Margaret versus everyone else – in good spirits as the game played out. He spent most of the evening ignoring the 100-inch, flat screen tube, while searching his smart phone for jokes on the web.

Meanwhile, the lovely, svelte and always charming Denise, stayed busy reading the latest gossip in People magazine. Between Stan’s jokes, and Denise offering a blow-by-blow account on the marriage plans of Kate and William, I almost missed Tech’s kicker blowing the game, missing an extra point attempt in the closing minutes of the annual meeting.

I also almost missed the play because I was still chuckling over a joke Stan shared a bit earlier. “Why is Al Gore getting a nipple ring? Because George Bush has a Dick Cheney!”

Okay, Stan needs to keep his day job and there’s a good chance the Dawgs still need a new coach. But at least for one evening in late November, my tummy was full with good food and heart filled with good friends. I don't think any of us can hope for more!

GEORGE'S CHENEY: Truch to tell, Dick (photo above) really didn't offer much comic relief during the Bush administration.

Friends and food with an Italian accent

Road-
house is the word that comes to mind when I pass LaStrada out here in my neck of the woods. It’s a little Italian restaurant that has been around for decades, doing business out of a pieced-together shack that rests uncomfortably close to a major thoroughfare in the Land of Cotton.

It really has no shape or form and I have no idea what it housed before it became a little ristorante that has the feel of a neighborhood trattoria. Unpretentious sums up its interior – a few dozen tables and booths on a rickety wooden floor, small bar in one corner, a few photos and tchotchkes sprinkled about to provide a bit of, um, atmosphere.

Balancing out the look, however, is the food, iconic Italian dishes that are hearty and dee-licious – ravioli, lasagna, linguini and spaghetti. There’s also a creative chef back in the tiny kitchen, kicking out daily specials that ooze with Italian flavor and charm.

The Shrimp Sambuca, for instance, will have you humming “That’s Amore”. It’s a lavish and sophisticated dish featuring sautéed jumbo shrimp in garlic, flavored with onion, basil, and kalamata olives, blended together with a tomato sambuca sauce and served over a herbed pappardelli pasta and feta cheese.

I’m thinking it was the aroma of all these tasty delights that smacked me in the kisser when the lovely Miss Wendy and I met up with weekend pals, Susan and John, at LaStrada a few nights ago. Before we could say ciao and offer up a few air kisses all around, there was a basket of garlic bread and a small bowl of black olive tapenade to whet our appetites.

The menu is expansive, but manageable; and being in a no frills sort of mood, and only moderately starving, I had little difficulty sorting through the salads and pasta, meat and fish dishes before pulling together a euphonic blend of Italian delights.

Ignoring the hellish temperatures outside, I started with one of the evening’s specials – chicken vegetable soup, a hearty blend of fresh veggies and hunks of chicken, swimming in a rich tomato-based broth. For my entrée, I went with the manicotti – large tubular pasta shells stuffed with ricotta cheese and herbs topped with marinara sauce and melted mozzarella cheese.

I was so lost in all this Italian goodness – a perfect blend of sweet, hearty sauce and gooey cheeses and pasta – that I have no recollection what my partner in life and friends were feasting on nearby. I do recall the clinking of dinnerware and some vague sounds of contentment around me.

So, what about desert? Well, I’m glad you asked. There were no bad choices, just a difficult decision – cheesecake and gelato and tiramisu, oh my! What about Cioccolato al Forno, a warm flourless chocolate cake served with a chocolate sauce topping? Why, yes, let us all eat cake

It was rich in a light and airy sort of way, amusingly garnished with two delicate swirls of cream, sensually caressed with a layer of silky chocolate sauce. And it was good.

Now it’s gone and so is the weekend, our Italian feast just another warm memory of good times, with good friends. Bella notte, I think, is the appropriate phrase – a beautiful Italian night, at least for a few hours, before stepping back out into the heat and humidity of the Land of Cotton.

LOOKS ITALIAN: Take a couple of large tubular pasta shells (photo above), stuff liberally with ricotta cheese and herbs, then top with marinara sauce and melted mozzarella cheese and, bingo, you’ve got manicotti!

Southern comfort food and a piece of pie

I hunkered down Saturday night with good friends Susan and John, Margaret and Peter at Greenwoods, the popular eatery in the suburbs north of the Land of Cotton. It’s a special place with food that is plentiful and hearty, southern comfort grub that my yiddishe mama use to make – after a fashion.

Which isn’t all that surprising since the restaurant is owned and operated by Bill Greenwood, a nice Jewish boy who has managed to pull together a menu filled with southern soul food – pork chops and fried chicken, collards and black eyed peas. But there’s also lots of mainstream comfort food – pot roast and meatloaf, crab cakes and fish specials, mashed potatoes, creamed corn and other such veggies. On Fridays, just in time for Shabbat, Greenwood falls back on his Jewish roots and adds matzo ball soup to the menu -- it ain't kosher, but it ain't bad!

The restaurant is a rambling affair, a wooden shack that has been busted out and added onto, bits of eclectic art and hippified posters, a mix and match assortment of wooden tables and chairs, all nicely blended to create a one-of-a-kind dining experience.

The portions are huge, hot and dee-licious. But when I think back to last weekend – friends, laughter and good food – it’s the pie that lingers in my mind.

Now, of course, there are all sorts of sweet pies – cream, custard and those filled with fruit. And the bakers at Greenwoods know their way around an oven. Their pies are huge masterpieces, featuring flaky, tasty crust, filled with sugary confection and oozing bits of apples, cherries and peaches.

There were six of us and after we studified the menu a bit, we wisely chose two slices to share – peach and coconut. Trust me, it was plenty! The table was cleared by our young and energetic waitress and we made small-talk as we waited for our just desserts!

There was a bit of anxious maneuvering as the slices were strategically placed at one end of the table, six pairs of eyes zeroing in on the layers of sweetness as we fumbled around chatting about the weather and waiting for someone – anyone – to strike.

Margaret and the always lovely Miss Wendy, who, btw, has a fierce dislike for the distinctive flavor of coconut – her loss, our gain – dipped into the dessert, scooping up a bit of the chunky and fluffy stuff, then passing the slices on to Susan and Peter, then John and, finally, me.

Everyone sat in silence, the merry-go-round of goodness circling the table a half-dozen times or so, bits of peach goo and flaky coconut dribbling from our smiling mouths. I’m not sure, but I fear the last little taste was just one bite over the line, sweet Jesus!

Okay, I imagine this sort of thing happened with some sort of recreational drugs years ago in someone’s past. (I swear Peter, your secret’s safe with me.) But I think all of us, serenely sated at Greenwoods, can manage our sugary highs today.

Next time, I’m thinking Apple and Key lime might be the way to go. I mean, you know, just in case I’m near the restaurant like, ahhh, tomorrow!

The Song of Norway -- sleek and beautiful!

Booking a cruise for later this summer had me waxing nostalgic for the first cruise I sailed away on years ago. It was 1976, I'd been married a whopping six months to the lovely Miss Wendy and we decided to vacation in the Caribbean.

I have absolutely no recollection how we went about choosing a cruise, but apparently we made some really good choices and ended up booking a week aboard the Song of Norway. Our good friends Linda and Barry -- who have remained our good friends for nearly, gulp, 35 years now -- decided they could deal with a holiday also, and joined us on our adventure. Then again, perhaps we joined them!

The ship and trip remain a vivid memory for me, but the Song of Norway, one of the premier ships of the Royal Caribbean Cruise Line once upon a time, has seen better days.

The painful truth is we've all seen, ahhh, better days. Age has a way of catching up with each of us in one fashion or another and certainly the once beautiful and sleek Song of Norway now comes off a distant second when placed up against the behemoths that cruise lines feature today.

But in 1976 -- America's bicentennial year, you might recall -- when I still had hair, was 20 pounds lighter and had a thing for "leisure suits," walking aboard the Song of Norway was like entering a fantasy world.

The ship's innards were a maze of color-coded and coordinated hallways, lavish public rooms and expansive dining areas, bars, lounges and one tiny casino. Staterooms were smallish, but oh-so cute -- little bed, little bureau, little chair and itsy-bitsy bathroom. Interestingly, it all felt so big!

The one feature, however, that defined the Song of Norway was the distinctive sky lounge on the funnel, a circular bit of whimsy and charm that sat high above the ship, offering a delightful panoramic view of the sea as we cruised, and all our ports of call -- Puerto Plata in the Dominican Republic, St. Thomas and San Juan.

All this beauty and luxury seem, well, quaint today. Now ships boast shopping atriums that soar skyward in their bellies, theaters that can hold hundreds, and multiple dining rooms and lounges. Staterooms, while still tiny, often come with huge windows, even large balconies. There are wave pools and rock climbing walls, Jacuzzis, saunas and expansive exercise rooms.

It takes only a moment to crunch a few numbers to really appreciate the difference between the Song of Norway and ships today. The original Song of Norway was 18,000 gross tons and carried 724 passengers. The ship I'll be cruising on this summer, Norwegian Cruise Line's Sky, is actually small by today's standards at 77,104 gross tons, but can hold well over 2,000 passengers. Then there are the floating cities, cruise ships as big as aircraft carriers. At the top of the list is the Oasis of the Sea, coming in at a mere 225,282 gross tons and easily able to handle well over 5,400 passengers.

Somewhat like an aging dowager, the Song of Norway has fallen on hard times in recent years. She was sold to Sun Cruises in the mid-1990s and became the Sundream, her distinctive sky lounge and much of her charm removed as part of the deal. Over the next decade she changed hands several more times, cruising primarily around the eastern Mediterranean -- Israel, Cyprus, Turkey, Rhodes and Greece.

In 2006, the Dream Princess became the Dream, was anchored near New Orleans and served as a floating dormitory for students from Tulane University after Hurricane Katrina. That deal only lasted a year or so, but she has yet to sail into the sunset or been sold off as scrap metal.

Somewhere the Song of Norway rests silently moored to a dock, gently rocked by the movement of the tides. I like to think if you spot her in just the right light, you might hear laughter spilling from her decks and see glasses being raised in good cheer way up in her sky lounge.

After all, the Song of Norway is one of my memories and everyone knows that memories remain the stuff of dreams.

IN BETTER DAYS: Song of Norway (photo above) could be spotted easily by the sky lounge on its funnel, a lovely bar offering delightful panoramic views of the sea and ports of call.

Something peachy from the Land of Cotton

The waitress, perky and wanting only to please, was asking what we'd like to drink. It was our big night out, a Saturday and time to relax, so booze seemed the way to go. The question, of course, is how best to take our poison.

I got no problem here -- Gin and Tonic is my default. Stan is a Scotch sort of guy and John is all about beer -- Samuel Adams if it's available.

Denise mulled over the possibilities, then took the easy way out -- a glass of white wine. Susan was obviously in a tropical-breeze sort of mood and ordered a Mojito. The lovely Miss Wendy knew she wanted something with a bit more zing than water with a twist of lemon, but what?

The restaurant was offering the usual mix of sugary martinis, cute names and garnishes at no extra cost, but when Susan opted for a Mojito, Miss Wendy apparently caught island fever also and moved in that direction.

There was just one special request -- could they make it with peaches?

Okay, so I know most of you are thinking that a Mojito is a euphonic blend of rum, mint and limes and, well, if you play around with it too much, it just isn't a real Mojito any longer. Au contraire mom frere!

When the drinks were delivered and we'd all taken an initial sip, Miss Wendy's Peach Mojito was passed around. Everyone agreed it was refreshing and bubbly with a nice hint of mint and jolt of rum. But it was the peachy flavor that made it special, just about perfect for a hot summer night in the Land of Cotton.

But, you might ask, how do you make such a drink if you're planning a party and want to get everyone sweetly smashed? And I might just respond with this easy to handle recipe from myrecipes.com. Enjoy!

NOR'S PERFECT PEACHY MOJITO

• 3 cups coarsely chopped peeled ripe peaches
• 1 teaspoon grated lime rind
• 1 cup fresh lime juice (about 4 large limes)
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup packed mint leaves
• 2 cups white rum
• 4 cups club soda, chilled
• crushed ice
  

PREPARATION: Place peaches in a blender or food processor; process until smooth. Press peach puree through a fine sieve into a bowl; discard solids. Combine rind, lime juice, sugar, and mint in a large pitcher; crush juice mixture with the back of a long spoon. Add peach puree and rum to pitcher, stirring until sugar dissolves. Stir in club soda. Serve over crushed ice. Garnish with mint sprigs, if desired.

How I spent my long holiday weekend -- burp!

It was a festive Memorial Day weekend. My wife, that would be the lovely Miss Wendy, and I helped celebrate the marriage of the son of our good friends, Denise and Stan.

The wedding was a quietly elegant affair in Buckhead at the Intercontinental Hotel -- think expansive public spaces; chandeliers the size of small mountains, walls of granite and floors of marble; smiling doormen and wait staff. The guests were dazzling, darling and aglitter -- a few men in black tie, others in dark suits; the women in evening gowns and cocktail dresses. Black, with sequins, was the color of the night.

I had an epiphany when the evening was still young. The cocktail hour buzz had yet to wear off and the reception on Sunday had entered that almost perfect place that party planners worship -- the music was energetic, the food was warm, the company and conversation were familiar. That's about as good as it generally gets at such festivities.

Miss Wendy and I sat with our weekend playmates, Susan and John, making small talk as the band moved into its obligatory set of Jewish tunes, the kids swallowed up on the dance floor by wives grabbing for their husbands, all circling to the energetic melody of Hava Nagila.

It was right about then, as I swirled about the room in a frenzy of good cheer, that I realized that I had eaten the equivalent of a small elephant over the preceding 24 hours, somewhere around 11,263 calories. Have I mentioned there was drinking?

The chow fest started slowly enough the evening before with the rehearsal dinner, a lovely affair at 103 West. It began with a "chopped" salad -- crispy romaine lettuce, tomatoes, hearts of palm, avocado, sweet onions, peppers and garbanzo beans, all layered carefully beneath a creamy basil dressing.

The affair then quickly picked up speed as I revved my appetite and eating skills into second gear, opting for the sauteed Atlantic salmon, tantalizingly garnished with lemon parsley gremolata. I also managed to scarf down a bit of my wife's ricotta cheese ravioli in tarragon sauce, before moving on to Chef Joseph's Grand Dessert Display -- chocolate-covered strawberries, mixed fruit in dainty pastry shells, assorted cakes and cookies.

On Sunday, after the prayers were spoken and the glass was smashed (trust me, it's a Jewish thing), the marathon continued at the Intercontinental, first in one of the hotel's massive foyers, filled with tables holding an assortment of spreads -- hummus, eggplant and olives -- baskets of crackers and assorted flat breads, trays of sushi and other hors d'oeuvres that for the moment have been forgotten in an alcoholic haze. Did I mention there was drinking? Why, yes, I believe I did.

Then the seated dinner started and we finally managed to get down to some really serious eating -- organic greens in a radicchio cup, hearts of palm and tear drop tomatoes, strawberries, blueberries and candied pecans. But the piece de resistance of all this gluttony was the heart-shaped Vol au Vent with mushroom ragout. And that was just the salad!

Winded, but unwilling to call it quits, we proceeded with the main course -- roasted French chicken, amusingly presented with pearl onions, haricot verts, fingerling potatoes, wild mushrooms, squash and zucchini tornadoes.

And desert? Why, that would have been the marshmallow, pound cake, pineapple and strawberries, all conveniently diced and sliced for easier dipping in the CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN! Oh yes, there was also wedding cake.

We then were allowed to grab a few hours sleep, before the celebration continued with breakfast -- assorted breads and pastries, scrambled eggs with mushrooms, various cream cheese spreads, jams and jellies, cake, cookies and assorted fruit.

I'm not certain, but I think we managed to hit all the major food groups over the weekend. I'd worry about the alcohol in my system, but I'm pretty sure the simple and complex carbohydrates, proteins and other such stuff now floating through my veins have created such a vast array of roadblocks that booze is the least of my problems.

Of much greater importance, the happy couple, Amanda and Hilton, remain married after a day or two of wedded bliss. Here's hoping they make it to their first anniversary and I get invited to share a bite of their remaining wedding cake.

SERIOUS SALAD: Heart-shaped Vol au Vent with mushroom ragout (photo above), flanked with hearts of palm and organic greens, tear drop tomatoes, strawberries, blueberries and candied pecans.