Clybourne Park. And a Jamaican beef patty. (But no Gray Davis, no Grover Norquist, no rabbi.)

I was just at a pizza place on Clybourne Ave (Pequod’s; great crust but I prefer the sauce at Lou’s), and that reminded me that I’d never seen Clybourne Park, despite having gone many times to Steppenwolf (mostly positive experiences except for a performance of Uncle Vanya that was so horrible we left after intermission; on this trip we saw The Thanksgiving Play, which was excellent), so I picked up a copy of the script of Clybourne Park and read it. We read A Raisin in the Sun in English class one year in high school but I don’t remember it well.

Clybourne Park was hilarious. I would’ve preferred a bit more plot and a bit less shtick, but that’s just my taste. Also it could be different in performance than on the page. Years ago I saw a play called Dealer’s Choice which I absolutely loved—it’s the best representation of poker I’ve ever seen in any form—so much that I bought the script, which also is great, but for that I now have the opposite bit of uncertainty, which is to what extent my enjoyment of the script was conditioned on having seen the play live.

P.S. On the way to Pequod’s, I noticed a Jamaican beef patty place on the side of the road. I was gonna keep on pedaling, but I felt like I owed it to the readership to try one out. It cost $4.95 (more than it cost in New York last time I tried one, but still only a very tiny fraction of the cost of meeting Gray Davis, Grover Norquist, and a rabbi). The flavor of the spices was excellent, but I have to say that I otherwise didn’t enjoy the patty—the grease level was too high and I’m just not so into beef anymore, so I didn’t finish it. I have the feeling I’d have had the same reaction to a Golden Krust patty. I think I’ll have to try Bob’s advice and make something for myself using my own baguette dough and some sort of lentil concoction in the middle.