The Buffalo Effect

Well it happened again, tonight, when I went out to pick up the family fish fry from the local Knights of Columbus Hall. The Buffalo Effect. It is similar to the term "Lake Effect" with respect to snow. A forecaster predicts a few flurries. Then the Lake Effect kicks in, and the next thing you know you've lost your medium sized dog in the drifts that have magically appeared in your backyard, and your driveway is a distant memory. The Buffalo Effect works the same way. I go out to a grocery store wearing some kind of Buffalo-related paraphernalia, and the next thing you know ex-WNYers are throwing themselves at me in the soup aisle, begging me for word of home or wanting to know where they can get a decent pizza. (Short answer: Not in Florida) Well today I had just donned a Buffalo Sabres T-shirt before going off to the Knights. It was an arbitrary choice. I didn't even realize what I had on until the guy packing up our fish frys said, "Buffalo Sabres, eh?" I said, "Yes, not that anyone's playing hockey lately." (For those of you who don't follow hockey, they are having labor troubles and not playing this year.) Then he said, "Well I'm from East Aurora." Of course he is. Buffalonians are everywhere. There are millions of them all over the country, and probably, by now, the world! I bump into them everywhere I go. Another example. This past fall, I was helping out at my son's school. Oodles of parents were needed for an outdoor Fall Harvest Festival and we had to man a bunch of stations involving games. Our particular group had five parents. Well we got to talking. Asking each other where are you from. Because "Where are you from" is the Parent of a School-Aged Child equivalent of "What's your major," from the collegiate era. You just automatically want to know so you can chitchat about Americana such as how great our superhighway system is, and too bad the price of gas is so high. Well in our group of five, four of us had a Western New York connection. FOUR. That is, 80 percent. Now, it wasn't like we were there for a Buffalo Bills football game or a high school reunion. It was simply a local Catholic school class activity. No reason to expect Buffalonians to predominate. One woman was from Hamburg, but her family had moved south when she was in high school. A man wasn't from Buffalo himself, but his father grew up in Tonawanda, so he was familiar with Buffalo folklore. The other woman, I forget what her connection was, but does it really matter what suburb she was from? And I am a more recent economic exile who plans to retire to Buffalo. Of course no one in Buffalo asks where a person is from unless they have some kind of funky accent. Because generally everyone in Buffalo sounds the same unless they're from the "Wesside" or Cheektowaga, which may have Italian or Polish undertones, respectively. We all want the same things here in Florida. We are desperate for decent pizza. Determined to find a real fish fry. Insistent on obtaining quality hotdogs and mustard even if they need to be flown in. And then there's the Kimmelweck Problem. You can't explain the salty Kimmelweck Roll to someone who has never heard of it. They will just look at you like you are one if those bug-eyed aliens and try to sell you an onion roll instead. But! Recently the local Publix Supermarket has added Kimmelweck Rolls to its repertoire. Real ones! It is so new that the bakery people don't even know what they are. They are those funny rolls with salt on them. Problem is, they are not available every day. Nor are they available on specific days. It depends on the whim of some kind of Bakery Nut. If the Nut is feeling salty, we get the rolls. If not, then have a croissant and shut up! So far I have had roast beef sandwiches on plain rolls (several times), and also been exposed to the kimmelweck rolls on days when the roast beef was out of the question. (Hubby does not eat meat on Friday, partly, I believe, in defiance of Vatican II, and partly because he LOVES fish. Oh, yes, and he's doing penance.) So it is difficult to coordinate the meat and the rolls. But when it happens it is a thing of beauty! The best pizza in Florida is merely adequate by Buffalo standards. All ex-WNYers will agree on this. You will be eating a modestly awful pizza, or pizza-like substance, and sometime after the first piece you will just get tired of chewing. You won't want to go on! Because what's the point? It is not going to taste on better than this. Ever. It is hardly worth the calories to continue consuming it. So you give up. And think about booking a flight to Buffalo. Buffalonians and ex-Buffalonians are everywhere. I think we plan to take over the nation one day soon. And I do hope the first order of business is reforming the nation's pizza parlors.