The importance of being white fish

Back in my graduate school days, I once delivered a paper where I mocked one of the inane catchphrases so popular in the sophomoric critical theory of that era: “Exile Egg Salad and the Exile Egg Salad of Self in Italian Literature.”

Don’t get me wrong: I love egg salad. But while I could probably live the rest of my life without eating another egg salad of self sandwich, I could not live without white fish salad.

Early yesterday morning, as the city that never sleeps continued to slumber and a snow storm covered the cityscape in white, I visited the legendary 2nd Ave. Deli.

The 2nd Ave. Deli may not be what it used to be. It’s not even on 2nd Ave. anymore. But, man, that white fish salad was awesome.

The crummy weather on the east coast yesterday left me stranded last night at the Baltimore airport on my way back to Tracie P. But, hey, when life gives you lemons you make lemonade, right?

As the saying goes, when life gives you crabs, make crab cakes.

According to the owners, Timbuktu is so-called because at one time, it lay so far from the center of town that it might as well have been as far away as the Sahara desert.

Since I moved to Texas, I’ve had a lot of great crab cakes in the Houston area. But I’m here to testify: the crab cakes at Timbuktu take the cake. The best I ever had. The creamed crab soup was also excellent on a packed Friday evening in one of the restaurant’s two immense dining rooms (there was no room in the bar, the hostess told me).

I’m not sure I would make the trip to the outskirts of Baltimore for the sake of a crab cake: thankfully, Timbuktu’s crab cakes can also be ordered frozen online.

Happily headed back to Austin and warmer weather this morning. More New York stories to come…