We don't have any family in New York with the exception of Fang's aunts, a trio of sisters who live in a Polish section of Queens. These lifelong New Yorkers range in age from 84 to 92, but they're sharp of mind and tongue and entirely conversant with any topic in the news today. The read the New York Times AND the New York Post daily and watch Jon Stewart and David Letterman. They like a good meal, a glass of wine and a hearty laugh, so passing a day with them is an easy pleasure. Yes, they are a bit hard of hearing and they tend to talk over one another, so a conversation between two people usually evolves into a conversation with six people, with everyone talking over each other just to be heard.

Aunt Bert lives in the house that her husband built after they were married 60 years ago. The eldest sister, Stella, lives in the apartment upstairs. Aunt Fran is a few minutes away. This trifecta of women couldn't be more different and occasionally they bicker, as siblings do. Sometimes during the recollection of some nostalgic event in their remarkable long lives, one will interrupt the other and contradict some perceived inaccuracy in the story. And then six people are talking over each other again.

While their company, conversation and warmth are enticements enough to lure me out to Queens, they are particularly known for their generous hospitality. A bountiful meal for every visitor is their mantra. If the meal is taking place upstairs at Stella's apartment, you know there will be well cooked meat or chicken and a variety of no less than three boiled root vegetables. The aunts grew up on a farm in rural Long Island, the children of poor Polish immigrants, so it is their nature to rely on vegetables to flesh out a meal. I've no qualms with root vegetables save the cooking of them fills the air with a distinctly fart-like smell.

Now, if the meal is taking place down in Bert's place, loosen your pants because you are going to eat. Bert is the aunt I identify with the most. She is lively; always the life of the party. She's a woman who has lived out loud her entire life. She is the peacemaker between Fran and Stella. And she's the woman who will say, "What's a little butter? Have a little butter. Enjoy it today, as much as you like and worry about it tomorrow." She is also the woman who will pat my backside and say, "You're getting a little round back there, no? Well, me too. Sit down and eat and worry about it tomorrow." I adore her.

We went out to Queens today to raise a glass to celebrate the Mets three game sweep over the Dodgers last night. I knew maintaining my low carb diet was in danger the moment I walked in. Bert's dining table was set and she announced, "A new Polish deli just opened so I had to buy some things for us to try for dinner." Now, Polish food is similar in many ways to southern cuisine. There is lots of orange food that employs a fond intimacy with pork. The diet was doomed.

And so it came--pierogi stuffed with cabbage and mushrooms, covered with sauteed onions, butter and sour cream, bigos or hunter's stew, with thick pieces of pork back in it, kielbasa, potatoes, salad and curiously, a big platter of fried chicken. And a cheese babka as big as your head for dessert. And then she sends us home with leftovers.

I'll get back on that diet. Tomorrow.