Autism Vox

Back to the Old Neighborhood

by Kristina Chew, PhD on May 10th, 2008

Or back, that is, to a certain restaurant we used to like to go to when we were in the mood for something “a little special.” It’s a Spanish restaurant in Bayonne, not far from where I work in Jersey City. They make a fine paella, served by old-style waiters in vests and bow ties and long aprons. Dinner starts with bread, then soup and then the main course, accompanied by plates of fried sliced potatoes and overcooked string beans and peas. Charlie especially loved the “yellow rice,” yellow from the saffron and rich with sauce from the shrimp, scallops, clams, mussels, and lobster.

There’s a bar at the front of the restaurant which was always smoky; the food and the liveliness of the other diners, deep in their sangria and loud in a friendly Jersey kind of way, were more than worth it. Smoking was banned in NJ bars and restaurants in 2006, but we had not been back to the restaurant in years, after one evening a few years ago whe Charlie threw himself down on his back in the middle of the restaurant and howled as we left (he had already come close to breaking some breakables).

Charlie’s had his best school year ever this past year and we’ve gradually been trying to dine out more. It’s the end of the spring semester for Jim and me and we have a few other things to celebrate, and so to Bayonne we went.

It was pouring. Newark Bay is on one side of Bayonne and New York Harbor on the other, and the Kill Van Kull at its southern tip: Water was everywhere, and Charlie sat up straight in his seat as we went over the highway 78 bridge in mist and falling dark. Jim remembered the way and we found a place to park right across the street and Charlie was all smiles as we entered.

He sat next to Jim and indicated I was to sit opposite. He and Jim emptied the bread basket in no time and Charlie tried some soup from Jim’s bowl. Then the paella came: Jim spooned out a plate of rice and clams and Charlie, wide-eyed, took it and ate busily. He helped himself to chips, ate the vegetables I spooned onto his plate, and asked for “brown drink.” He kept an eye at the several generations of a Filippino family occupying a long table in the middle of the room. He asked for more food and licked the rice spoon clean.

We were all full when we left, for sure. We stopped at a 7-Eleven on the way home: While Jim went in for sodas, Charlie serenaded me with the Pledge of Allegiance and then (per my request) “This Land Is Your Land” and “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.” And ran through the rain and to his bedroom, and his pile of fleece blankets and blue backpack.

Always good to be back where things are familiar, and there’s a big, hot pot of rice.

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POSTED IN: Charlisms, Food and Diet, New Jersey, Water, Weather