A grey Saturday morning visit to Harvard’s art museums. For once, I actually bought the adult ticket not the student variety. For once, I felt like I could afford it and could opt out of the discount. Once inside, I almost cursed my decision. The first floor was modern art, the likes of which I don’t generally warm to.
In the winter wonderland that is Cambridge, a big fat black maduro kept me warm in the fresh snow fall on the walk back from Harvard to Porter Square. Tom Robbins famously said that weather should either be celebrated or ignored; it has taken me a while, but perhaps I have finally learned to do both.
But it evened out with a terrific Asian and Islamic art collection. The fourth floor had a series of Romantic, Impressionist and other such variety that I love. There was an excellent Homer, “Pitching Quoits” of Duryee’s Zouaves. It’s fun just to write, and even better to see.
And there was a phenomenal (Ipad) by Steve Lambert. A New York Times worthy of reading and weeping. Very, very well done.
So in the end, worthy of price of admission.
I continued my wander around Hahvad, stopping at Felipe’s Taqueria off Kennendy St. A grilled veggie burrito of chopped chargrilled zucchini, cebollas, broccoli and peppers, slathered with sour cream and a variety of pica salsas. Little tiny cups of little tiny marinated zanahoritas and slivered cebollas that were like slivered entrails. Washed down with a Mexican coke. Delicious, and worth every peso- which was barato to begin with.
An afternoon flight at the John Harvard brew house. A small taste of all their brews, ranging from a hoppy Czech pilsner to a 3 Rose Imperial red ale to an oatmeal stout. I asked for some water to cleanse the palate, and the bartender suggested a bloody mary instead. A bloooodi mari, how tempting. I replied that vodka would do the trick much better. But in the end, simply a flight. The winner for the pint competition was a brown bear ale that was the perfect mix of full bodied yet smooth.
Amid some facebook banter, I found out that Gore Vidal had a full series of "Empire" beyond Lincoln, so I found a subterranean used book store called The Raven, and picked up a copy of 1876 to read up on the greatest presidential theft this side of hanging chads.