Breaking Bread

Almost every weekend as a child, my father would take me to my sports games, whether it was Rye Youth Soccer or CYO Basketball. Inevitably, after the game, the question would come up, "What do you want to do for lunch?". We would always end up at the original Post Road Market. Being before the time of cell phones, I would take a quarter to the pay phone outside with the whiz of Post Road traffic in the background, dial up the Langeloh Residence, to which Mr. L would pick up and I would tell him how rare the roast beef was looking. With his roast beef sub and our sandwiches in hand, we would drive over to Cowles Ave to find Mr. L sitting in the sunroom, reading the local newspaper and awaiting our arrival. He always ate half the sub and then lamented how the subs were always so large and that he would have to save the second half for Kate or lunch tomorrow. "Breaking bread" with Mr. L was a ritual I did almost every weekend growing up and led to many great times, laughs and memorable turns of phrase that I will not soon forget. He was an excellent friend and confidant to my entire family and he will sorely be missed. I hope they have the rarest of the rare roast beef in heaven.


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