HUNGRY GERALD

Leon Trotsky, the fiery Russian revolutionary (murdered with an ice pick by Stalin’s henchman), said about his defeated political opponents: “Go where you belong from now on: into the dustbin of history.” Americans are equally unforgiving about losers. Witness that very silly, super hyped, mega commercialized, goofy event known as the Super Bowl. Peyton Manning was idolized as the ultimate quarterback, deserving of monuments and immortality, following his surgical dissection of the New England Patriots. Today, after being overwhelmed by the Seattle Seahawks, Peyton and the other Denver Broncos, are losers, locked in “the dustbin of history.” Yes, America treats losers badly. Statesmen once touted as the hope of the nation, become pathetic losers after being defeated in a presidential election. Aged HG, armed with the wisdom of advanced years, is dispassionate. HG knows nobody wins all the time and losing is just another aspect of life, a wondrous thing from which no one emerges alive.

Air travel is tedious and tiring these days. There is a whiff of fascism to the utterly nonsensical rules, regulations and procedures demanded in flying from one city to another. Some 13 hours of transit altogether from Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, to a one night stay in Denver. HG and BSK were tired, grumpy and very hungry when they arrived in the Mile High City. Time for comfort food. Off to Little India (the Sixth Avenue location). Great food (a new chef, perhaps?). Chicken Tikka from the tandoori oven was juicy, full of flavor — nestled on thinly slcied sweet onions and peppers on a sizzling platter. Excellent onion kulcha bread. Fluffy saffron rice. Greaseless papadums with two good dipping sauces. Cooling Raita and a bowl of mango chutney. The surprise was the vegetable dishes: an eggplant stew and a bowl of okra. The vegetables retained integrity and were miracles of Indian spicing. The restaurant has a nice wine list and good Indian beers as well as Anchor Steam Ale from San Francisco. Finished with pistachio ice cream. No, not that green crap masquerading under the label pistachio. This was Indian pistachio ice cream that was saffron in color, contained chunks of pistachio and was delicious.

Breakfast the next day (before the 5 and 1/2 hour drive to Santa Fe) was at Racine’s, a Denver landmark. Three-egg omelettes stuffed with green chiles and then smothered in a porky, green chile sauce. Crisp home fries and warm biscuits. Yes, HG and BSK really felt they were back in the great West. Much chatter in the big, handsome restaurant about the coming of the Football Messiah (Peyton Manning). Denver folks have been waiting for the next Messiah since the retirement of the original, John Elway. Lots of Super Bowl dreams. BSK is oblivious. HG will observe with focused interest.