Before yet another early doctor visit, I asked Florence what she wanted to eat.
"A roll. With butter."
She got hers from the corner carts or at Zafi's. When she was young, her friends and admirers could find her in the morning at the neighborhood's luncheonette having her one meal of the day - a coffee and a roll,
I once indulged with one from the French bakery that used to be on 6th Avenue. It looked like any other basic bakery, but big enough for tables and everybody went there in the morning for a cup of coffee and whatever pastry or bread they wanted. The baker used to bake on Grand Street. I got an onion roll with butter and almost died and went to heaven.
One of Florence's ways to say good-bye to, well, just about everyone - doctors, nurses, me, strangers on the bus - was, as she trotted away, to call back over her shoulder, "See you in my dreams!"
That bakery is gone.
So's my mom.
So are rolls in my diet.
See you in my dreams.
Sunday Memories: Fine Dining At Chez PS 134