A good knish

Knishes and more. Much more.

I remember when there were knish wagons everywhere on the streets of NYC. This was back in the days when reality was in black and white. Perhaps there still are knish wagons on every corner. I don't know since I live in the woods these days.

I always wanted a knish. From the first day I saw one, I wanted it. You'd think this would work out for me, but it didn't. I'd buy one and hate it. Couldn't even eat it; threw it away. But this encounter didn't diminish my urge to eat knishes. So I bought them again and again -- but it always ended the same way. It seems I don't like knishes.

Even at Ratner's, the Jewish restaurant on 2nd Avenue, I didn't like the knishes. (Frankly, everything at Ratner's was a little too clean and pure for me. I like grease with my breakfast, thank you.) But still, my knish situation didn't change. I wanted one.

I would kill for a good knish this morning.