Check for Doneness

The social ramble done passed us by years ago. Shoot, out to sup with other people on a Tuesday night? You crazy kids. Back here in suburbia, it was the microwave and the Mets.

More or less how Brett Myers prepared things.

Mrs. Paul's just introduced a grilled salmon dinner with the oddest directions. Cook on high for four minutes and then take a fork, split the fish in half and “check for doneness”. It's a real word, according to Merriam-Webster — “the condition of being cooked to the desired degree” — but I'd never seen it. And I've read a lot of frozen entrée boxes.

It barely took four minutes to check for doneness where Tom Glavine serving up meatballs was concerned. It took four batters. Pat Burrell stuck the fork of confirmation in him. The rest was Phillie gravy. Glavine's now had six starts. Four of them have come out of the oven ice-cold.

Allowing for all the caveats (it's early; you're never as bad or as good as you look; he's considered by some a future Hall of Famer), is Tom Glavine done as in the Big Done?

Does Mrs. Paul's use only whole fillets?

Fortunately, there was another way to check to see if a pitcher was done Tuesday night: Is he Brown? If he is, then he is cooked.

I have to admit that I've been ordering off the YES menu more than I ever dreamed I would. If we're gonna lose an unwatchable 10-3 main course, the least I deserve is a sample of the 11-4 salad bar the Devil Rays opened on the Yankees' ample behinds.

Who am I kidding? This was one of those deli salad bars where you go right for the treats. Kevin Brown giving up six runs in the first inning is a meal unto itself. Junk food? Well, technically it's not part of the Mets Diet, but with all the conflicting research out there, who's to say chowing down on Yankee misery isn't good for us? Especially in May when it's so rarely in season. It's one thing for the Yankees to turn sour in October. It's become as delightfully dependable an autumnal event as pumpkin pie. But to taste the possibility that the Yankees won't even be invited to the harvest ball that is post-season is to drool unapologetically.

Ooh, I know I should lay off the sweets, but I gotta have another bite of that creamy thought. Tomorrow, I'll eat my blue and orange veggies. I promise.