The Seltzer Man Cometh

I moved from Berkeley to New York in August, that sticky month of the year, when the city smells like the armpit of a sweaty construction worker, and you really wish that it were permissible to just run around the crowded streets in your underwear. But when Brian and I arrived, in typical Northern California fashion, we still had our light sweaters to ward off a chill in the evening. We learned quickly that a sweater was never needed in August in New York. And that same summer, I also learned about the wonders of seltzer water.

We had been in the city a total of two days. We were still waiting (not-so) patiently for our furniture, which had been sent ahead to arrive from California. We were sleeping on our new “Klik-Klak” sofa-cum-bed-cum-dining table-cum-coffee table-cum-every piece of furniture you would ever need. We Klik-ed and we Klak-ed this sofa for the two weeks it took the rest of our belongings to find its way from the other coast. But I digress, we had been in the city just two days, barely a weekend’s worth of time, when we were invited to a dinner party.

It was at a friend of a friend's house, no one we really knew, but this couple opened up their apartment, and cleared space at the dining table to feed these two new New Yorkers. In typical Manhattan fashion, we were told to be at their apartment in Chelsea, at 8 o’clock. We arrived, and then the rest of the guests invited arrived by 9. After mingling, and noshing on mixed nuts all washed down with a chilly glass of white wine, we sat down to eat at 10. On a Wednesday night.

After hours of good conversation, chilled pea soup, and a large handful of steamed shrimp awaiting a quick shedding of their peel before being popped, naked and unadorned, into one’s mouth, we had drank all of the wine, and had to switch to seltzer. Maybe it was the heat-- at midnight our hosts had shut off the persistent rattle of the air conditioner, and threw open the windows, allowing in the drone of the city, or maybe those shrimp were actually thirst-inducing, whatever the reason, we went through bottles of seltzer that night like, well…it was water.

And since that day, I can’t get enough of the stuff. I would say that I drink seltzer water now, much more than I consume still water. You could say that I even have seltzer coursing through my veins.

October, is a very festive time of year. Gourds abound, it is the month of Halloween (my favorite childhood holiday), and it is my birthday month. And this year I received the greatest of all gifts from the greatest of all friends—home delivery of the king of all drinks, seltzer. Each Saturday there is a buzz at my door, and I let in the seltzer man. Up the four rickety flights of stairs he trudges and drops off 10 of these stunning vintage glass bottles filled with effervescent, nose-tickling, crystal clear seltzer. Each time I open the fridge, a bottle is standing their waiting for me. Perfect. Maybe next year, when I turn the big 3-0 I’ll get home delivery of a genuine soda jerk to go with my glorious seltzer filled bottles.