Caught some sad news today via Bostonist. Oriental de Cuba, a Cuban restaurnat in Jamaica Plain, had some molotov cocktails thrown thorugh its windows in the middle of last night.
I don’t go to JP often, and I haven’t been to Oriental in years. But I have some fond memories…
I know exactly the last time I was there. It was September 15, 2001, my wedding day. I had spent the night at Simon and Frances’s place in JP. Terri and I decided to keep the ‘not seeing each other on the wedding day’ tradition, which, since we’d been living together for some time, required me to vacate. I was actually happy to spend some time the night before on neutral ground, away from the swarming madness of wedding preparations.
Frances, in particular, was great. The night before the wedding, I was pretty fried and tired, but full of nervous energy. I was trying to remember what I had to do the next day. “Write it down,” she said.
“I’m too tired; I’ll do it in the morning.”
She gave me that look. “Now.”
She was right; I made a list and felt way better.
I know exactly what I heard when I woke up on their spare bed that morning. An airplane. September 15, 2001, as you’ll remember, was four days after September 11, 2001. Many airports had already been re-opened, but Logan was kept closed a little longer (as Sarah and Michael found out the hard way, at the St. Louis airport, which is only halfway here from Oregon). The city had seemed so quiet without airplane noise, an ambient drone you don’t notice until it’s gone.
We went out to breakfast that morning, first trying somewhere I don’t remember, but that was too crowded. We decided to just go to Oriental.
I know exactly what I ordered. Huevos y jamon and a mango batido.
I’m glad the owner is planning on re-opening.
UPDATE: Today’s story in the Globe gives a little more color.