Tag: food

In June 2024, I revisited New England, which I had left five years ago. After nine years of the dark and cold, it had felt like a good riddance then. But this time, my stay in Providence, Rhode Island, glistened brighter than any memory in a recent decade that I could recall. And I suspected it was thanks to my travel companion and the perfectly nice weather during my visit that made this trip shine.

The primary purpose of the trip to New England was for an academic event. I flew from one of the southern states and arrived in the middle of the night. I took a Lyft ride from the T.F. Green International Airport. As we drove through the night, the Nigerian Lyft driver stressed the importance of trying Jollof, a type of sticky rice traditionally made in Nigeria. He inquired about academia and how his two teenage children can choose the right academic path. I had no answer for him, but I tried to give him as much information as possible. Eventually, his Lyft navigation app showed that he had arrived at the destination. He dropped me off at a location that just looked like the middle of a pedestrian street; there was no obvious door to a hotel or a motel. It was just a street with small commercial shops lined shoulder to shoulder. In fact, the location provided by an email from the hostel where I made a reservation said it was between a Dunkin Donuts and a vape smoke shop. Upon investigating the corners, I found a hidden glass door that led upstairs. Once I walked up the spiral stairs, I found a dorm-like hallway, one of which had the number of the apartment unit I had made the reservation for. I opened the lock with the passcode I received and entered the door.

Upon walking into the apartment room, I was hit by a humid air steamed with wood furniture. The smell of wooden furniture immediately brought a flashback to the college dormitory years. I didn’t realize I missed this smell until I smelled it. It has been more than a decade since I entered that dorm, and the memory has not gone away.

The bed was a queen-size bed made by putting two twin-size mattresses together. There was a therapist sofa, where you lie down with a tilted back bolstered by a cushion. The windows were covered in layers of white semi-transparent curtains, and two interesting oil paintings hung on the wall. I was too tired to care about the details. I spilled the contents from my luggage and found a toothbrush and a toothpaste, and walked to what I thought was a restroom. It was indeed a restroom, but a public one. One where you can clearly see if a dude is dropping poops into toilet through the gap in the door. Thankfully, there were multiple shower cubicles. I brushed my teeth and lay my head on the pillow. Alas, a young, budding DJ working night shift at the smoke shop decided it was the day he/she honed their beat-dropping skills. With a heavy woofer shaking the bed frame with odd-sounding beats, I tried to go to sleep.

Day 1

I woke up early in the morning, undeterred by the private electronic dance music party I had been treated to all night long. I decided to find something to eat for breakfast. On Google Maps, I found Bagel Gourmet Ole (288 Thayer St.). The restaurant was filled with the aroma of freshly toasted bagels, and the kitchen was already bustling with workers who quietly beamed in the morning hustle. The morning cold air and the warmth of the kitchen reminded me of the sense of community and camaraderie shared among those who survive the brutally cold and dark weather of New England. There was no table, but customers came in and out religiously.

Despite its hefty cost, the bagel was not enough for my appetite. I returned to my Google Map and found the East Side Pockets (278 Thayer St.), a Middle Eastern restaurant. As I lingered at the entrance, staring at three large panels of menus, I heard a call from the kitchen counter. A middle-aged bald man with a beer belly and a salt-and-pepper beard was holding out what looked like two fried balls. I sheepishly took them. I couldn’t let him keep holding them or risk throwing them away. And as soon as I bit into these dry, greasy fried balls of fish, I knew I had to order something from this restaurant. I was in too deep already. So I ordered a lamb shawarma, for the sake of the fond memory I had with the food in Tunisia.

The shawarma was not as fresh as the ones I remembered from Tunisia. But its hefty quantity gave me enough energy to face the first day of the academic workshop. Since I had a bit of time until the start of the first lecture, I decided to cut through the neighborhood.

What I appreciated about the neighborhood is its reserved but florid community. Since 1636, the neighborhood has been accumulating its history. Colonial-style apartments were part of the organic system with fauna and trees. If you can get used to walking steep uphill and downhill, it’s a walkable, petite town with an atmosphere of literary chic (you have to be there to know this means). Moreover, it connects to the Atlantic Ocean via the Providence River!

After a morning walk around Providence, I attended the workshop. After the seminar was over, I was asked to grab lunch at Harry’s Bar & Burger (121 N Main St.). Of course, I took up the offer. Unfortunately, I didn’t take any photos in this dive bar. I ordered (I think) Mother of All Burgers with sweet potato fries and a bottle of Heineken (I’d rate it 4/10). I remember (I think) that the beef batty was slightly burnt and dry, and the caramelized onions were sticky with molten American cheese. I was too busy talking about personal experiences and childhood memories. You’d be surprised at how quickly you can get to know me as a person in just a few minutes over a beer and a burger.

When we were done, we took a walk up the hill to digest the greasy food we had just consumed. We decided to walk upwards without giving it much thought. On the way uphill, we came across a fortress-like wall. On top of that fortress, we found a small park. It was the Prospect Terrance (60 Congdon St.).

From Prospect Terrace, I found a panoramic view looking over downtown Providence. Just in time, the sun was setting by the time we sat on the bench. When I was asked what I would do if I didn’t have to concern myself with research, I said I would become a philosopher. I was surprised by my own answer. I heard myself explaining that I was inspired by a book called Love & Free, written by Takahashi Ayumu, and that I’d be interested in traveling around the world and exploring the thoughts of various minds. In turn, my new work friend replied that she wants to become a professional pizza maker (It was at this moment that I realized I had taken the question too seriously). After completing my program, I said I am interested in leading a healthcare institution that serves the underserved community. How I would do it with a research degree, I did not know yet. We called it a day, and each of us walked back to our respective temporary lodgings.

Maybe it was the beer and the greasy burger, but I felt glad to have visited Providence. The weather reminded me of the hard-boiled nine years of living in New England. The greasy dive bar, the salty air of the Atlantic Ocean, and the grace of the sunlight after a season of cold, dark months were what awakened long-dormant memories of living in New England. I remembered the long-forgotten walks, talks, and trips I had with friends in New England. I didn’t know I missed it until I came back.

It took me a while to fall asleep on this day. I wanted to linger a bit longer in the nostalgia. But it was time to go to sleep for another day, and I eventually hit the bed. Thankfully, the DJ downstairs decided to take a break from his side gig in electronic dance music. I took my window of opportunity and fell asleep.

I will continue the story with Day 2 in a separate post!