Maxwell's Lost Again

I write this after things have ended, not knowing where to begin. My friend Jong Won, JW, visited the USA from Korea for the first time since we were in High School. When we were in Korea together we called our old buddy Dane and made grand plans; visit our school, drink in The Twin Cities, gamble in Vegas, reminisce.

We lost Dane, last year.

JW and I sat quietly on the phone together many times before he came to The States, debating what to do instead. I told him to come to Cincinnati when he was done with his wedding in New York, and we would figure things out from there.

We thought we might visit Dane’s grave in Minneapolis, but thankfully had the bright idea 2 days before our flight to find out where the grave-site was. He was cremated. We cancelled our plans and I showed JW around Cincinnati while in contemplation. He landed late at night and I got to show him the reason we have a restaurant called Skyline, when you round the crest coming up I-71/75 north and the city comes into view. Annyeong Ohio.

To convince him not to go to Vegas, I took him to the Hard Rock Casino. He had only gambled once before, blackjack, and we sat down with some guys in an Electricians Union and played for a bit. He was impressed by how fast you could lose money, how often your 2 card 20 failed to the houses 5 card 21. Bright lights aren’t free, but I was free of the Vegas Flight. Over Cheese Coneys I showed him how cheap flights to Miami were, and with some good advice from friends, we were booked in a quaint little hotel called Esme on the beautiful little Española Way.

JW is a powerful drinking buddy. I left him at Taste of Belgium while I went to work, and came back to a man in much higher spirits. We wandered Over the Rhine, I introduced him to Duck Pin Bowling and let him marvel at all the whiskies in Party Source, one of the largest liquor stores in the US. He tried to buy me a Magnum bottle of wine to thank me for my hospitality, but I would not let him. He told me he still had the note I left on the bottle of Soju thanking him for my stay in Seoul. I was touched but still couldn’t allow such an extravagant gift. I was just happy to show him my little slice of the world, and happier to go soak up some sun. We took a late flight to Miami.

I was already exhausted and likely still hungover when we finally arrived at our hotel, sometime around 11pm. Española never sleeps, we checked in and walked a block before settling down at a little Italian spot for some late dinner. I had a wonderful Tuna Crudo and a little Aranciata soda, I made the waiter say it three times because he pronounced it so well. I went for my beauty rest while JW found a watering hole. I believe he befriended an old Cuban woman, the proprietor of one of the late night restaurants.

I was alive and well the next day. We went out for breakfast, I wanted to find something Cuban for him, and we found a little cafe where I had an egg-filled Arepa and a Cortado, my most beloved coffee, and watched him annihilate a smothered waffle. I made plans for us to sneak into the pool at The Standard with the help of my old friend Rachel. The rooftop pool at Esme was cute and all, but The Standard in Miami is one of my favorite hotels in the world, and it was there that I introduced my old friend to Mezcal.

Anyone can eat at the Standard Grill, but you’re supposed to be a Hotel Guest or Member to use the pool. Fortunately, they reuse the same 10ish colors of wristband to verify who’s allowed in, and my friend had been hoarding wrist bands and had a few for most every day. We met up at the grill and slipped the used bracelets over our fat hands. The weekday crowd was rather tame, we found chairs and small talked a few people. There was only one topless woman at the pool this time, and Jongwon and I spent a while talking to a guy with an iPhone 8 who wreaked of old money, he told us about his boarding school in Switzerland while we all tried JW’s Korean vape, with a tip like an actual cigarette and a taste like a vaporized gum wrapper, which paired surprisingly well with the smoke of the Ilegal Mezcal. After Margaritas we drank it on the rocks and I convinced JW to swim in the shallow end since he doesn’t know how to actually swim. The hours melted away.

We had neglected to eat a real meal since our little breakfast, and the Mezcal was taking its toll. Rachel recommended Smith and Wollensky for the sunset view, and JW and I started off that way until I realized Papi Steak was close. I had to try one of the Grutman restaurants.

I finally fell to JW’s hospitality. He wanted to try the Porterhouse, I argued but relented the third or fourth time he asked to pay for it. We started with Tequila Espresso Martinis, we were one of only a handful of patrons in that early, I gave that drink my highest rating yet. Next came the Wagyu Pastrami, instagram ready under with smoke billowing out of the round cake cover, mind-blowing mustard sauce and little house made pickles. Next the Porterhouse and the monop potato with siberian caviar and creme fraiche. They tried to upsell us a $1000 tomahawk, which they bring out like bottle service. We ate everything, we were new men, full for the first time since Skyline.

We decided to walk up the beach back to our hotel, we found a boardwalk that reminded us of the one at Leelanau, we talked about everyone we knew there, we talked about Dane. I told him the story of when Dane and I were on the same flight to Detroit, it was storming out, the turbulence had the plane rising and dropping what felt like a thousand feet every few seconds, Dane was afraid of flying so I held his hand. He squeezed mine so hard I thought he’d break it. I tried to explain to JW what it was like to see that fear in someone who seemed so much older, so much more at home in the world then I felt when I was new at my little school in the middle of nowhere. We talked about how at home his singing and guitar playing made us feel when we got to school. We used to hum along, too shy for our voices to be heard. I told JW about how I almost moved in with Dane in Chicago, but left when I saw the apartment. Maybe I should have accepted the closet room and just figured it out. Maybe things would have been different if I was there. Maybe.

This all sounded better when we were looking at the skyline and full of Mezcal and Espresso. I’ve debated endlessly on whether to include this or not, I tried to write a song instead, but this was our trip, and this is why we went. I miss my friend Jongwon. Another of the Koreans, who didn’t hang out with us all when I was in Korea, asked if it was awkward when we saw each other after 15 or however many years. He just looked at her dumbfounded. Some friendships are never awkward. Some mutual experiences give you enough of a foundation to always be able to come back. After a full week together, I was ready to go home and enjoy my solitude and sobriety, but I can’t wait to go back to Korea to get drunk with my friend again.