Paul's House Diary

I’ve been serving noodles, rice and raw juice at Faneuil Hall for over a year now, and the lessons I’ve learned are vast though almost completely useless outside of this environment. Working here has however changed how I view the world and it’s often disgusting inhabitants. Here’s a quick rundown of some of the more concrete rules I’ve confirmed about people, the city and myself over the past four, tumultuous seasons.

1. Child predators apparently no longer exist, parents, so it’s okay to let your precious’ run out of sight into a crowded marketplace. When I was a kid, I was always holding someones hand or being yelled at for leaving the 5 foot safety radius around my mom. There were villains waiting around every corner to snatch me up. Maybe I was more appealing a child then the new batch out there these days, but I was brought up to be terrified of strangers. I guess parent’s don’t perpetuate the predator myth anymore, and children who can barely stand are free to run away from their careless parent’s down uneven cobblestone, straight toward street performers juggling chainsaws. I don’t get it. I don’t think I ever had as much energy as these kids do. But I guess they need it, since their responsibilities are greater now than they were when I was a tike. Now it’s the 5-year-old’s job to chase after the stray 3-year-old so Mom can finish her Jinja-Nashi. I’ve almost melted small children with steaming bowls of ramen because their parents let them stray into the busy kitchen line. Even if you aren’t afraid of child predators, parents, Quincy Market and Faneuil Hall are a disgusting circus on most days. Buy more baby-bjorns or child leashes.

2. Urban Outfitters is now a stop on the Freedom Trail. It’s the go to spot for tourists of all stripes visiting this, the American city. You come to Quincy Market for a taste of Boston, and I hate to admit it, but Urban Outfitters may actually reflect contemporary Boston better than the local jeweler or the MFA store it neighbors. Quincy Market long ago conceded it’s Bostonian authenticity to be a tourist friendly mall (not a bad thing because if it hadn’t, I doubt my place of work would be there). So when the Freedom Trail brings you to the centuries old colonial meetinghouse at the head of the marketplace, keep walking and check the Levi chords on sale for $58 on the second floor at Urban’s.

3. Half of the foreign tourists who come into our restaurant seem to have no idea what country they’re in, let alone how they got here. Asking them questions is futile, as they all seem to be deaf. If I was in Mumbai or Prague or Minsk I might not know the language, but I’d understand a group of people in uniform yelling at me probably want me to stop and give them my attention. I would not, for example, enter a clearly designated restaurant zone and just walk into the kitchen, ignoring a half dozen red-shirts who’ve been following you yelling “excuse me? can I help you?” for the past 80 paces. I have this theory that there is a black-hole behind Pizzeria Regina sucking people from the black-holes behind other Pizzeria Regina’s the world over and planting these poor souls in Quincy Market, dazed, confused and grumpy.

I have other lessons, but they get progressively more negative, which isn’t worth anyones time. On a positive note, I got a foodler t-shirt in the mail yesterday! In it’s honor I cut my hair, accenting my beard, and rocked that mail all day! Pics to come.