I Don't Know Art But I Know What I Like

Thursday in Cleveland. We had another great breakfast to gear up for yet another long walking session, this time through the Cleveland Art Museum. We traded in my driver's license for a couple of headsets that would explain some of the exhibits. I feel like I earned three credit-hours that morning. I marvel at how I can look at something and go, "Hey, dude, that's old," and then by the end of the explanation of how significant it is I can barely believe I was allowed to see it.

We spent the first long stretch in the museum alternating between looking at old Egyptian, Roman, Etruscan, African and other people's stuff and running from the day care swarms. There's a special kind of annoying frequency occupied by 20 or 90 little kids in T-shirts looking at mummies. Isn't there a nice playground or water park to take these cherubs to? But I digress.

The kicker was when we had walked for two hours and my dear wife's back was starting to ask when we were leaving. Then and only then did we find the Picassos, the Van Goghs, the Monets, the Manets, etc. She got a second wind and I discovered something that might sound smart-alecky but it's not. You can just sit and look at one of those paintings and it's as entertaining as watching a movie, especially the Van Gogh. On some level it was as cool as hearing a great band, and I say that even admitting that I don't know half of the reasons why it was so great. Note to self: keep learning about art. I can't wait to go back there.

Okay, so after the museum we made another kind of ill-advised move. We had heard about these cool beaches on the lake which were to our east. After spending some time getting spun around (courtesy of "Lance," our GPS voice) and our innate ability to screw up simple directions, we arrived at this, uh, beach. Well, it had sand and it had a lake, but it was no Rehoboth. We stood there for a while and left.

By now we were getting hungry again. We had accomplished a lot in terms of getting our bearings but our lay of the land still had holes in it, so we stayed in our comfort zone and went back to Little Italy. We intended to try another restaurant, but looking at the menus at various eateries we realized we were going to pay a lot for cloth napkins and fancy place settings when we could get a perfectly perfect Italian meal at -- you guessed it -- Mama Santa's. Joreen had the chicken parmagiana and I went with the manicotti and meatballs. Good St. Rocco smiled on us again.

Now we had time on our hands and decided to go shopping. We found a mall which was almost exclusively exclusive. How exclusive? We were far and away the two worst-dressed people in the mall, and that includes the maintenance staff. We didn't spend a dime (I don't think they even take dimes there) but we had fun window-shopping and planning on how we would dress when we hit the lottery.

To cap off the night, we headed up a street from University Circle that we should have explored earlier. We were looking for a nightcap, and decided to check out Melt. This is a new restaurant that is hipper than hip in Cleveland, and has been visited both by the Diners, Drive-ins and Dives guy (who is a real d*****bag, but I digress) and the Man V. Food guy (Hey, I'm gonna try and eat five pounds of food! How cool is that?). The location we tried is the second Melt in the area, after the first one went nuclear. We arrived at 9:30 at night on a Thursday and found out it's about the only time there isn't a line to get in. Melt's founder has really hit a nerve, and it's genius. Combine a whole lot of kitsch and buzz with a couple dozen high end beers on tap and something as basic and comforting as grilled cheese sandwiches in a college town, and then just count the money.

Here's the kicker. We're having beers, and looking at the menu, and we thought it might be nice to have a bite to eat. Joreen ordered a small salad, and I chose this sandwich called The Kindergartner. It's white American cheese on bread. My brothers, you remember what Mom's grilled cheese sandwiches looked like? That's not what I got. This thing was about three and a half inches thick, and since I substituted Havarti for white American and had the grilled onions, and since I didn't look at the menu and realize it came with fries and cole slaw, I ended up doing what everybody does. I took a to-go box with me. Once again, I had experienced art -- the art of the entrepreneur, taking something as mundane as a grilled cheese sammidge and turning it into a goldmine. It was delicious. My only complaint is that we didn't go there when we were hungrier.

Next up: the farmers' market of your dreams and the ride home.