I was particularly hung over a few Sundays back. We had spent the previous day celebrating Mina’s birthday, first at Monmouth Park betting on the the ponies and then later at Mulberry Street Restaurant, one of my local hangouts, where drank and had cake. Whether it was the rum buckets I sucked down at the racetrack or the four negronis I had with the birthday cake the got me to this point is anyone’s guess. It was a celebration of a woman who very much deserved one.
But now it was early Sunday morning and I had to snap myself into shape. A bagel and a cappuccino certainly helped to that end. I collected myself, kissed Mina goodbye, and dragged myself off to the train station. With a canopy tent strapped to my back, I was Asbury Park bound.
My friend, Pat, met me on the train in Red Bank. We’d have to transfer in Long Branch for the shuttle train to Asbury Park and then walk a mile or so from the station to the largest LGBTQ Pride celebration in the state of New Jersey.
This marked my third year attending Pride as a representative of the Central New Jersey Socialist Party and I have to say I relish the opportunity.
As a brief aside I should mention that I adore Asbury Park. Even on a normal day there is so much to do there. It’s not the place I call home but it is a place and an experience that I value and enjoy. In fact, I was already there the Thursday prior to have brunch on Mina’s Birthday. Afterwards we spent a few hours wandering around, I stopped into Groovy Graveyard, a nostalgia shop, and found a Nikolai Volkoff doll made of rubber that I didn’t somehow already own. That was the easiest 11 dollar purchase I’ve ever made in my life.
It’s also my absolute favorite locale to do some real day drinking in. Not really relevant but it needs be said.
Anyway, there we were all set up at the location the festival organizers gave us. The table next to us was hawking a $500 dollar gift card as a door prize and all they needed was all of your personal information! Behind us was the baby Trump balloon and some guy giving out free copies of the US Constitution. I didn’t need a copy of something I already know pretty well but I absolutely needed my picture taken with baby Trump. I didn’t care that I was still drenched in the sweat from the trek from the train station. This needed commemorating!
We had a great spot and a lot of interest. Like I said, I relish the opportunity to be here. We talked to some really amazing folks, I got to rebuke someone’s argument that “third party candidates help republicans”, and someone yelled at us about Fidel Castro taking her pony. In the midst of all this I realized I was pretty hungry and decided to take a lap of the grounds and find something to eat.
I shook my head at all the corporate groups displaying their rainbow capitalism and I had a laugh when I noticed that the Democratic Party’s table had the same amount of people working it that ours did. But it was time to find something to eat. I stumbled upon a food vendor called Hoboken Cucina. They had spaghetti and meatballs! They had mozzarella sticks! Guess what else they had?
I paid 15 bucks for my chicken parm sandwich and iced tea and ran back to our spot where I sat down out of sight and savored every sloppy bite.
The chicken was little more glorified chicken tenders rather than true cutlets but they were thin and crisp enough that I didn’t at all mind. What’s more is that the generous amounts of both sauce and cheese did not serve to make the bread soggy. This was solid sandwich bread, better than what most pizzerias have to offer.
When I come to Pride I look to interact with members of the LGBTQ community, particularly the politically radical ones. Our presence at this event always seems to be appreciated and it just means so much to go to a place I love and do this kind of thing. Talking, networking, supporting.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’ll also be looking forward to this sandwich again. It’s the only food I’ll look for when there in the future.
It was supposed to rain that day. Early and often. But the clouds never showed. No rain on the Pride parade. No rain at the festival grounds. And no rain on my pursuit of chicken parm sandwiches.
There’s pride in Asbury Park…and chicken parm too.
Semi-Parmed Life 