Two shots of happy, one shot of sad

The way dropped toast lands in Dorchester is always buttered-side down. Luckily the floors are spotless, spic-and-span. We were at the Sugar Bowl this morning at 857 Dot Ave. You know the place, across from the New Store On The Block, though how new that store is, I don't know. I was enjoying a slug of java and a scone, watching the foot traffic outside the curved, plate glass window. It was Sunday. Parishioners were filing toward the Blessed Mother Theresa of Calcutta Church for mass. We felt we should be following, but other obligations intruded. I checked my watch and looked at my companion. She was finishing up a blueberry muffin. She said, "Is it time?"

It was.

Donning our helmets we rocketed out of Dorchester on the Littlest Ninja this side of the Charles River, one stoplight at a time. She hugged me tightly down Columbia Road and then down American Legion Highway. The engine screamed in fifth gear. We navigated through Roslindale to Center Street, heading into West Roxbury. Today's mission: to get from the West Roxbury line, where Boston abuts Dedham, to the Charlestown Bridge with as few turns as possible. Sunday morning seemed the best time to accomplish this endeavor.

We pulled a tight U-turn at the Dedham border and headed north. Center Street was no problem, a reasonably straight shot with no traffic and no interference. We hit the Jamaicaway, then the Riverway, then Fenway. Things started to get dicey. We figured Boylston Street was the best bet and it was for awhile. After the Common, our plans all went to hell as we turned and swung around and back again in Chinatown.

Determined not to take the Surface Road, we wove through downtown. It was magnificent to wend through the canyons of old buildings mixed with new with no congestion. Sunday is the day to take a motorcycle through downtown Boston. Though a temperature of fifty degrees is nothing to crow about, it's nothing to complain about either, especially when both parties are wearing polypropylene long johns and wind-proof jackets.

After speeding in circles through back alleys and along one-way lanes, we sighted the Charlestown bridge. Would we cross it? No. We didn't want to go too far afield. Charlestown's delights would wait another day. We headed to Charles Street, found enough room to park the bike and wandered Beacon Hill with our day's second cups of coffee in our hands. Charles Street is picturesque, but it's no Dot Ave.

Dropping our empty cups into the trash barrel in front of Seven-Eleven, we mounted the Little Ninja again for the sweetest ride of all: the ride back to Dorchester. Hurtling through Newmarket, we felt a pull on the front tire that matched the push of the rear. The bike, like its passengers, knew it was headed home and couldn't wait to get there.

Franchise Opportunities

A hungry person can purchase Royal Roast Beef sandwich in East Boston, but not downtown. Something is wrong with this city. Granted there is no beach downtown and a shaved roast beef sandwich is traditionally considered beach food in Massachusetts. This isn't the case in states that call themselves something other than commonwealths. The proliferation of Arby's and Roy Roger's chains attest to this. They have chain outlets clustered thickly around landlocked, highway cloverleaves in Oklahoma, Montana, Nevada and Kansas. Downtown Boston does have a frog pond. Does that count as shoreline? The tykes seem to believe. If they can, so can I.

Downtown does have a Falafel King. As someone who happens to have the last name 'King' I will tell you it does carry a bit of initial cachet, but that wears off soon enough after a bit of familiarity. Boston's falafel king is indeed the peak of the our fair city's falafel vendor hierarchy. Is a falafel sandwich purchased at Downtown Crossing and consumed on the Common as satisfying as a Royal roast beef sandwich bought in Eastie, carried across Bennington Street, and devoured on the shore of Constitution Beach? That's a tough call. I am mostly vegetarian, but Royal Roast Beef is better than good. If the shop were located on Dot Ave, the kids would call it Dottatstic!

I think Kelly's Roast Beef, a Revere-based enterprise with expansionist ambitions has a market built in at Downtown Crossing. Royal Roast Beef is content ruling its domain in Eastie. Kelly's wants everyone to enjoy its sandwiches. There are plenty of hungry students and tourists ready for some shaved, rare beef in Boston's skyscraper canyons. They don't need a beach. They need a point of purchase. The stars are aligned and the opportunity is ripe.

Resistence is Futile

We are sure that in as geek-heavy a city as Boston this observation has been made before but this is an acromymn that bears repeating. The Borg are a race of sentient machines that devour organic life in thier path for thier own, group-think purposes in the Star Trek mythos (the Next Generation). The letters arrange quite nicely if a Bostonian travels from Wonderland to State Street to Downtown Crossing to Park Street Station for a trip out to Riverside.

Blue-Orange-Red-Green. B-O-R-G.

Of course life lived pressed close to the flesh on the MBTA is more free and lively than that conjectured in sci-fi telenovelas. Isn't it Charlie? If there can be a Silver Line, can there be more than one Borg?