It's summer and you have been invited to a three-month-long party as your reward for living through another lousy winter. Here's what to expect for the next 99 or so days:
Incredibly fresh, sweet corn from that little farm stand on Sagg Main just south of Loaves & Fishes . . .
Ice-cold beer, beefsteak tomatoes, clams, lobsters, a big, beautiful steak marinating in soy, garlic and ginger, fresh-cut flowers . . .
Jimmy Buffett singing "Cheeseburger in Paradise" on your car radio. Jack Johnson singing about making "Banana Pancakes" . . .
Margaritas . . .
Eating at ESTIA'S in Sag Harbor, featuring the best breakfast in the Hamptons served by the nicest people. Lunch and dinner are great, too . . .
Scoring a table at the LOBSTER ROLL Restaurant in Amagansett. Home of the best lobster salad in the universe . . .
The incredible sliced steak at BOBBY VAN'S in Bridgehampton . . .
Good healthy, tasty food at FRESH in Bridgehampton. Get the skate. It's delicious . . .
Grab yourself a perfect hamburger at THE CUDDY in Sag Harbor – nobody does it better…
Join the jockeying to get a reservation at DAVE'S GRILL in Montauk which, in my opinion, serves the best food on the East End . . .
THE EAST HAMPTON GRILL, THE PALM and NICK & TONI'S in East Hampton; THE BELL & ANCHOR in Sag Harbor and Bridgehampton's OSTERIA SALINA, which proves how great authentic Sicilian food can be . . .
Now that the late and lamented Della Femina Restaurant's incredible chef Michael Rozzi is running the kitchen at THE 1770 HOUSE restaurant, scoring a reservation on a weekend will be the hottest ticket in the Hamptons . . .
My new favorite for Italian food, CAPPELLETTI at 3284 Noyac Road in Sag Harbor, is a modest, unpretentious treasure. Wonderful for families and kids. Luigi and Robin Tagliasacchi are the perfect hosts (he does the cooking), and I swear, their made-on-the-spot cannoli is the best I've ever tasted. Their wonderful cannoli puts Ferrara of Little Italy to shame . . .
Browse for a great summer book at BOOKHAMPTON in East Hampton. This summer it's a must. The only bookstore in the Hamptons had a rough winter and it's important for their future (and ours) that everyone reading this column goes to Bookhampton to buy a book. Buy a book for your kids, too. For crying out loud, take that cellphone out of your ear and put some knowledge into your head. Read. We can't afford to lose this bookstore . . .
Traffic jams around Exit 31 of the LIE that last for a weekend . . .
Orange traffic cones wherever you drive . . .
Margaritas . . .
Little kids coming out of the surf so teeth-chattering cold that you want to hug the warmth back into them . . .
Nasty hedge fund guys hopping off their own planes with a jaunty, arrogant strut. They have so, so much – why don't they look happy? . . .
The worst of the hedge fund guys is a creep who has earned the title "the neighbor from hell" from those who live near him . . .
Being the token Republican at a dinner hosted by and surrounded by smart, wealthy Wall Street Democrats who are frantically jumping on the Hillary bandwagon. These are the same people who abandoned her for Obama six years ago. Now that they've had their fill of "hope and change," they go on the offensive against the only Republican in the room. I smile and say, "I heard that Chuck Schumer is about to announce that he's discovered Republicans are in favor of flesh-eating disease." Across the table my wife, the beautiful Judy Licht, flashes me her famous "stop being a shmuck" glare . . .
Cut-off jeans and T-shirts with dumb inscriptions . . .
Bike riders testing your driving skills and nerves on Further Lane . . .
LIPA wimping out on the first real hot summer night. No one has done more for the candle business than LIPA . . .
Dumb drunks who should know better, aiming two-ton cars at innocent people. We need more Saturday night inspection roadblocks in the Hamptons. We need police cutting drunk drivers' licenses into little pieces right before their eyes . . .
Three-charity, multi-party nights where the same 50 people jump from party to party. A conversation starts at one party and finishes two parties later. It doesn't matter, nobody's listening . . .
Undressing at night, reaching into your pants pocket and yelping as a cocktail toothpick is embedded in your palm. Check your blazer pocket and you'll find a half-dozen cocktail toothpicks and God knows how many cocktail napkins . . .
Stretching out on a big soft chair in your backyard and finally finishing a book you started at the end of last summer . . .
Enjoying a beach party on a moonlit beach while keeping a close eye on the little kids as they watch the marshmallow they're holding on the end of a branch going into a raging bonfire and magically turn from a white little pillow into a brown caramelized treat . . .
Margaritas . . .
Runners clogging up the roadway with their, "I'm healthy and you're not" eyes . . .
Adorable six-year-old kids (with profit-making skills genetically bred into them) selling lemonade on Lily Pond Lane at outrageously high prices . . .
A late-night lightning storm that produces a magnificent light show; LIPA blows again . . .
Hurricanes that never materialize. Then one that comes too close . . .
Margaritas . . .
Sipping a drink and taking in a beautiful sunset . . .
Feeling your tennis shirt starting to stick to your body while you warm up to play one early morning in August and wondering if the temperature is going to break 100 . . .
Margaritas . . .
Bluefish, nutty as fruitcakes, following their prey right into shore, right to their doom. Overhead, gulls fly in lazy circles taking it all in . . .
Grown men hiding behind their sunglasses as they sneak lascivious looks at their children's teenage nannies . . .
Starring in your own romantic movie as you watch a full moon turn the ocean or the bay into a shimmering silver carpet . . .
The East Hampton bees (smarter than the average bee) that stalk your cookouts and terrorize your kids all summer long . . .
Basting your children with suntan lotion with the same care you give your Thanksgiving turkey . . .
Lost sunglasses, flippers, goggles, youth, bathing suits, nose clips, romance, boogie boards that you never seem to find again . . .
Spinning around town in the Kafka-like "land of no left turns," searching for a parking space that doesn't exist. You're always under the watchful eyes of the traffic Gestapo (sweet-faced young kids in brown uniforms who have the dream job of enforcing the law on their elders) . . .
Falling into a 20-something hot new place in Montauk, feeling age-challenged and realizing for the first time in your life you don't belong . . .
The Artists and Writers Annual Softball Game, where for a few hours the players can live out their childhood dreams of being Mickey Mantle. Watching guys who 20 years ago used to huff, now puff as they round the bases . . .
The Sunday night Land Rover/Mercedes/BMW parade on 27 . . .
Feeling disappointed and awed at the same time as you see the first beautiful Monarch butterfly of the year. They only seem to show up on the last week of August . . .
Biting into the last hamburger you can possibly eat on the Monday night of Labor Day weekend and realizing that the potato trucks have started to roll and it's all regretfully over . . .
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