Gluttony
1 : excess in eating or drinking
2 : greedy or excessive indulgence
From Meriam-Webster
The Rainbow Room
Blue Bar at the Algonquin
Turks and Frogs
Little Branch
5 Ninth
Barbuto
Employee's Only
That, my friends, is a list, in chronological order, of crime scenes. And, I am the perpetrator. Guilty, as charged! The infraction? Gluttony! One of the seven deadly sins indeed!
These crimes were, I will confess, serial in nature. They spanned the course of four evenings from Tuesday through Friday. By day I prowled the internet and pressed friends for recommendations; by night I attacked stealthily, consuming good wine, liquor, savory and sweet dishes without shame or care.
I know you are thinking that I am a repeat offender; that this episode is not the first nor the last to be communicated through the clicking keys of my inedible keyboard. However, I think seven hits in four days is extreme, even for me and my routinely hedonistic ways. I secretly wonder whether I am becoming an addict, a gastronomic junkie.
Well, it may be true. But so be it!
You may be interested to hear that I did not go out once this week in the East Village or on the Lower East Side or even near Union Square. The week started in midtown, and then I branched out, following the voice in my head that whispered "Go west, young woman! Go west!"
My first venture was a visit to the Rainbow Room on Tuesday night. I was not dining at the Grille, but rather attending a gala in the banquet hall. The reception room had grand views over Central Park, and although I missed the sight, I heard rumors through the crowd that an actual rainbow graced the sky as twilight wrapped its periwinkle tendrils around the City's skyscape.
Upon entering, guests were offered Bellinis made with fresh peach puree and Prosecco. Refreshing and tasty and the perfect lead to the just slightly dirty Belvidere martini that followed.
Guests were treated to equally spectacular views from the banquet room, and my co-workers and I watched the Empire State Building pop out against the darkening sky as the night wore on. The salad was delicious, though a bit salty, and dinner was fine enough if you like salmon. Both red and white wine were available, and of course, I sampled both.
After the gala, following a brief Google i-phone search for bars in midtown, a coworker and I wandered down to the Blue Bar at the Algonquin Hotel on 44th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues.
On my refrigerator, I have a napkin that says, "I love a martini -- but two at the most. Three, I'm under the table; four, I'm under the host." ~ Dorothy Parker.
Oh, Dorothy, how your words speak to me! That napkins invokes fond memories of a very good strong martini with LB and EB following a live show of the Prairie Home Companion several months back. I was excited to go back to the bar at the Algonquin.
However, when we walked in, I realized I was confused. The Blue Bar was the scene of a bad date that occurred back in the Digital Girl days. You may remember... the gentleman who felt anyone over 34 was too old to be of use to him." Yes, that night I stuck to Dorothy's "two at most" rule..
I asked the waiter if there was another bar in the Algonquin, and he said no. I only discovered on my way to the Ladies after a glass of mediocre white wine that he lied! The Lounge just to the right of the Blue Bar is the spot where I had that martini with LB and EB. It's much more elegant and without the terrible 80's rock blasting through the Blue Bar. We wandered out the door after midnight too tired to have another drink in the Lounge.
Rightfully so, I was exhausted on Wednesday, but a true gastronomer cannot rest when there are plans made and drinks to be enjoyed. I met V. at Turks and Frogs on West 11th Street where, in the spirit of extending my vacation, I enjoyed the Clos de Los Siete, a red from Mendoza, Argentina. The wine was listed on the menu under the category: "Full, powerful, often spicy, distinctive." It is a blend of Malbec, Merlot, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon. I enjoyed it enough to have a second glass.
While V. and I sipped and discussed Argentina, our jobs and her impending relocation (sigh), we munched on hummus, smoked eggplant salad, yogurt dip, dolmas and toasted pita. The dolmas had a wonderful cinnamon flavor, and the egglplant and yogurt were delicious. The hummus was also very good, though not as perfect as the hummus from Pita-Hot near my apartment.
The space at Turks and Frogs is comfortable, and the crowd seemingly agreeable and low key (just the way I like 'em). The decor is lovely, and past the long bar and front seating area there is a cozy back room which I have yet to explore. All in all, a great spot to enjoy a glass of good wine and tasty eats.
V. asked if we should have another. Tired from the night before, I suggested wrapping it up, but she had a speakeasy card up her pretty sleeve. I will almost never say no to another cocktail (unless I am on a bad date or completely blotto), and I could hardly turn down a speakeasy (especially since I had all my hair chopped off two weeks ago and am now sporting a new 20's do).
Little Branch, lies on the corner of Seventh Ave South and Leroy, though you would most likely walk right by it if you weren't in the know. It is a true speakeasy. Behind the unmarked metal door in the inauspicious building, lies a basement paradise for the avid cocktail appreciator. Those suspendered sexy young men in long-sleeve white shirts behind the bar certainly know how to make a cocktail. And, in authentic speakeasy style the volume is low, making it easy to carry on a conversation about... well about things.
I ordered a Bartender's Choice, which based on my tastes, was a mix of bourbon, vermouth and milk chocolate bitters. V. had a concoction featuring her liquor of choice: scotch. And, as befitting to our style, we ambled home slightly buzzed and completely satisfied.
So it was, that Thursday, I was tired again, but less tired, ironically, that I had been Wednesday. Good thing, because I had plans to meet the crew from the recent photography class I took for drinks. A poll among my co-workers for a good happy hour spot led to a meeting at 5 Ninth on Ninth Avenue and Little West 12th in the Meatpacking district. I have always admired the building 5 Ninth occupies with it's light brick and wooden door and was happy to finally have drinks there.
At the bar, I reverted back to an old favorite and ordered a citron and soda. The happy hour goes until 9:00, and the bar was relatively quiet until we left. At some point, I will go back to try the cocktails and the food.
After two rounds we decided to wander over to the former location of Florent. When last I walked by, a new restaurant was open in its place boasting to have the same chef. Alas, when we arrived, there were signs pasted on the door and the place was dark and empty. One of the last times I was at Florent, I sat at the bar around 5:00 a.m. in an elegant pink dress with Mrs. O in her wedding gown and Mr. O in his tux. We were high on champagne and wedding exhaustion and having a grand time. It was sad to see the closed restaurant.
One of my companions suggested Barbuto, an Italian spot on Washington Street and West 12th. Not knowing where to start with Italian wines, I left the ordering to my fellow diners who chose rosso piceno ‘vigneto contrada vallone’ 2006 from Rio Maggio in the Marche region of Italy. Yes, the name is a mouthful. And, so is the wine. You know that I am still a complete novice when it comes to deciphering or understanding wines, but I felt that this wine was noticeably smoother after it had a chance to breathe. Once it opened up a bit, it seemed to go quite well with the food.
As starters, we split the crudi, bruschetta allo scalogno and grilled asparagus. If you are as unschooled as I am in Italian food, you may be wondering what the heck crudi is. I enlightened myself by looking it up. Crudi is simply raw vegetables. In this case, it was a salad of finely sliced and lightly dressed arugula, asparagus, carrot, radish & fennel. The freshness and crunch of the well chosen vegetables invoked spring on the tongue.
The bruschetta was a ciabatta bread served with ricotta. I have already mentioned my developing fondness for ricotta. I no longer see it as the tasteless lumpy goo that comes in plastic containers at the grocery store. It has the potential to be a fresh, creamy spread that goes so well on fresh bread with a variety of flavors from pesto to figs. The ciabatta was sprinkled with ramps, and their onion-garlic flavor was well complimented by the ricotta. The grilled asparagus was perfectly done with a slight crunch and just enough char.
As an entree, I ordered the gnocchi primavera with snap peas, asparagus, ramps and spring onion, and it was delicious. I truly appreciate when restaurants use key seasonal ingredients in their cuisine, and there were plenty of greens in the primavera. The gnocchi were browned on the outside and wonderfully tender on the inside with a deep, enjoyable flavor.
Dinner was seasoned with lively conversation about photography, travel, the French and their countryside, Italian wines, terroir, nutrition and music. It was a bit hard to hear above the noise echoing through the garage-like space, but within time, the crowd, and the noise, tapered.
For dessert, we split some sort of cake. Forgive me, but I failed to record which one. It was too sweet for my liking, but I am quite picky about dessert. Few really satisfy my palate without leaving an undesired sugary aftertaste.
All in all, however, it was a great meal. I am sure, at some point, I will go back to Barbuto.
Thus, again, I was tired on Friday. But I had plans with Jennifer and Kendal to seek out inventive cocktails. Jennifer and Kendal are the fellow gastronomers who write the fabulous blog Jersey Pie documenting their quest for the perfect cherry pie in New Jersey. They also filled in for me while I was away with their Brooklyn adventure: Hunger for Finer Fare.
I went to a yoga class after work to shed my stressful day and prepare myself for the meditative bliss of sipping. As Jennifer described it, it's that state of mind where "one third of everything is missing." Which is why, we all agreed, it's crucial to have enough time to enjoy one full cocktail (if not two) before any food arrives.
After a web search for specialty cocktails in the West Village, I suggested that we try Employees Only, another neo-speakeasy joint on Hudson Street near West 10th. When I called for a reservation, the nice gentleman on the phone told me we would need to eat dinner to reserve a table. I agreed to this condition and reserved for three. However, when we arrived, we were told that we did not have a reservation for dinner and would have to wait. Annoyed, but intrigued by the possibility of unique cocktails, we clarified that we were there for dinner and then went for a walk while another party finished their meal.
When we came back, we had to wait a bit longer before being squished into a little round table at the end of the row by the stairs where Kendal continuously had waitstaff and patrons rushing past the back of his chair. As if our physical discomfort were not enough, 70's and 80's rock blared from the speakers requiring that we shout at each other to be heard. Every other sentenced was peppered with a "What!?" from one of the three of us.
In a flash surely inspired by the noise, Kendal suddenly deciphered the term speakeasy as having meant a place where one needed to "speak easy" to maintain secrecy. At the time speakeasy's were born, it was Prohibition, after all. Blaring music and shouting patrons would have brought the cops as surely as a neon bar sign in the window.
Employees Only has a cover business of a psychic who sits in the front window offering readings. Their ruse pales near the authenticity of Little Branch with its quiet space and basement atmosphere. But, we had decided that we were all "in" no matter the ambiance or initial confusion with the reservation. We had also been quite charmed by the dapper, well dressed man standing at the door letting patrons through.
This was our first round:
Myself:
The drink: Yellow Jacket with Partida Reposado Tequila, Yellow Chartreuse, St. Germaine Elderflower Cordial, and Regan's Bitters
The consensus: tasty floral tones, but aftertaste like a cough drop
Kendal:
The drink: Roselle with gin, house-made hibiscus cordial, lime and grapefruit juice
The consensus: sweet and too much like Gatorade
Jennifer:
The drink: Ginger Smash with muddled ginger root, fresh kumquats, Gran Centenario Plata tequila and Clement Creole Orange Shrubb liqueur
The consensus: fantastic! Kendal and I were envious.
For the second round, we all ordered the Mata Hari with Courvoisier VSOP (cognac), chai-infused vermouth and pomegranate juice. The Mata Hair is a superb drink. It is served with three tiny dried roses floating on the pink liquid surface. The fragrance of the roses mingles with that of the chai as you sip. It mixes surprisingly well with food.
As we waited for our starters, we nibbled on fresh bread accompanied by a delicious sour cream and chive type of spread. All three of us ordered and thoroughly enjoyed the arugula salad with oyster mushrooms, fig vinaigrette, hazelnuts and Parmesan. The arugula was plentiful and fresh. The savory oyster mushrooms had the texture of meat, and the hazelnuts added depth and crunch. The fig vinaigrette lightened the spice of the arugula bringing the salad into perfect balance.
For dinner, I had a special with asparagus served over bacon and topped with a fried poached egg. I have absolutely no idea how one poaches and then fries an egg, but it was great. Jennifer had salmon which she reported as tasty, and Kendal had the three sides as his entree. (FYI, the black-eyed peas are not vegetarian.)
For dessert, we ordered flan... or was it custard? Yes, I forgot to write it down. Either way, in Jennifer's words, it was more like jello. Fortunately, Jennifer had brought along a bar from Pure Dark, an amazing chocolate shop on Bleecker Street, which friend M. introduced us to. A square of that fine dark chocolate pacified our regret at having ordered a substandard dessert.
And now, here I am, at the end of a long week, sipping a glass of Malbec from Argentina. I finished my week of gluttony with a BLT at Superfine in DUMBO, Brooklyn earlier today with Mrs. O. We spent the day at the NY photography festival being saturated by art and commentary.
I apologize if this week's blog is riddled with typos. It's with bleary eyes and a gluttonous heart that I type these words. Forgive me and stay tuned! Who knows what indulgence next week will bring!
1 : excess in eating or drinking
2 : greedy or excessive indulgence
From Meriam-Webster
The Rainbow Room
Blue Bar at the Algonquin
Turks and Frogs
Little Branch
5 Ninth
Barbuto
Employee's Only
That, my friends, is a list, in chronological order, of crime scenes. And, I am the perpetrator. Guilty, as charged! The infraction? Gluttony! One of the seven deadly sins indeed!
These crimes were, I will confess, serial in nature. They spanned the course of four evenings from Tuesday through Friday. By day I prowled the internet and pressed friends for recommendations; by night I attacked stealthily, consuming good wine, liquor, savory and sweet dishes without shame or care.
I know you are thinking that I am a repeat offender; that this episode is not the first nor the last to be communicated through the clicking keys of my inedible keyboard. However, I think seven hits in four days is extreme, even for me and my routinely hedonistic ways. I secretly wonder whether I am becoming an addict, a gastronomic junkie.
Well, it may be true. But so be it!
You may be interested to hear that I did not go out once this week in the East Village or on the Lower East Side or even near Union Square. The week started in midtown, and then I branched out, following the voice in my head that whispered "Go west, young woman! Go west!"
My first venture was a visit to the Rainbow Room on Tuesday night. I was not dining at the Grille, but rather attending a gala in the banquet hall. The reception room had grand views over Central Park, and although I missed the sight, I heard rumors through the crowd that an actual rainbow graced the sky as twilight wrapped its periwinkle tendrils around the City's skyscape.
Upon entering, guests were offered Bellinis made with fresh peach puree and Prosecco. Refreshing and tasty and the perfect lead to the just slightly dirty Belvidere martini that followed.
Guests were treated to equally spectacular views from the banquet room, and my co-workers and I watched the Empire State Building pop out against the darkening sky as the night wore on. The salad was delicious, though a bit salty, and dinner was fine enough if you like salmon. Both red and white wine were available, and of course, I sampled both.
After the gala, following a brief Google i-phone search for bars in midtown, a coworker and I wandered down to the Blue Bar at the Algonquin Hotel on 44th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues.
On my refrigerator, I have a napkin that says, "I love a martini -- but two at the most. Three, I'm under the table; four, I'm under the host." ~ Dorothy Parker.
Oh, Dorothy, how your words speak to me! That napkins invokes fond memories of a very good strong martini with LB and EB following a live show of the Prairie Home Companion several months back. I was excited to go back to the bar at the Algonquin.
However, when we walked in, I realized I was confused. The Blue Bar was the scene of a bad date that occurred back in the Digital Girl days. You may remember... the gentleman who felt anyone over 34 was too old to be of use to him." Yes, that night I stuck to Dorothy's "two at most" rule..
I asked the waiter if there was another bar in the Algonquin, and he said no. I only discovered on my way to the Ladies after a glass of mediocre white wine that he lied! The Lounge just to the right of the Blue Bar is the spot where I had that martini with LB and EB. It's much more elegant and without the terrible 80's rock blasting through the Blue Bar. We wandered out the door after midnight too tired to have another drink in the Lounge.
Rightfully so, I was exhausted on Wednesday, but a true gastronomer cannot rest when there are plans made and drinks to be enjoyed. I met V. at Turks and Frogs on West 11th Street where, in the spirit of extending my vacation, I enjoyed the Clos de Los Siete, a red from Mendoza, Argentina. The wine was listed on the menu under the category: "Full, powerful, often spicy, distinctive." It is a blend of Malbec, Merlot, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon. I enjoyed it enough to have a second glass.
While V. and I sipped and discussed Argentina, our jobs and her impending relocation (sigh), we munched on hummus, smoked eggplant salad, yogurt dip, dolmas and toasted pita. The dolmas had a wonderful cinnamon flavor, and the egglplant and yogurt were delicious. The hummus was also very good, though not as perfect as the hummus from Pita-Hot near my apartment.
The space at Turks and Frogs is comfortable, and the crowd seemingly agreeable and low key (just the way I like 'em). The decor is lovely, and past the long bar and front seating area there is a cozy back room which I have yet to explore. All in all, a great spot to enjoy a glass of good wine and tasty eats.
V. asked if we should have another. Tired from the night before, I suggested wrapping it up, but she had a speakeasy card up her pretty sleeve. I will almost never say no to another cocktail (unless I am on a bad date or completely blotto), and I could hardly turn down a speakeasy (especially since I had all my hair chopped off two weeks ago and am now sporting a new 20's do).
Little Branch, lies on the corner of Seventh Ave South and Leroy, though you would most likely walk right by it if you weren't in the know. It is a true speakeasy. Behind the unmarked metal door in the inauspicious building, lies a basement paradise for the avid cocktail appreciator. Those suspendered sexy young men in long-sleeve white shirts behind the bar certainly know how to make a cocktail. And, in authentic speakeasy style the volume is low, making it easy to carry on a conversation about... well about things.
I ordered a Bartender's Choice, which based on my tastes, was a mix of bourbon, vermouth and milk chocolate bitters. V. had a concoction featuring her liquor of choice: scotch. And, as befitting to our style, we ambled home slightly buzzed and completely satisfied.
So it was, that Thursday, I was tired again, but less tired, ironically, that I had been Wednesday. Good thing, because I had plans to meet the crew from the recent photography class I took for drinks. A poll among my co-workers for a good happy hour spot led to a meeting at 5 Ninth on Ninth Avenue and Little West 12th in the Meatpacking district. I have always admired the building 5 Ninth occupies with it's light brick and wooden door and was happy to finally have drinks there.
At the bar, I reverted back to an old favorite and ordered a citron and soda. The happy hour goes until 9:00, and the bar was relatively quiet until we left. At some point, I will go back to try the cocktails and the food.
After two rounds we decided to wander over to the former location of Florent. When last I walked by, a new restaurant was open in its place boasting to have the same chef. Alas, when we arrived, there were signs pasted on the door and the place was dark and empty. One of the last times I was at Florent, I sat at the bar around 5:00 a.m. in an elegant pink dress with Mrs. O in her wedding gown and Mr. O in his tux. We were high on champagne and wedding exhaustion and having a grand time. It was sad to see the closed restaurant.
One of my companions suggested Barbuto, an Italian spot on Washington Street and West 12th. Not knowing where to start with Italian wines, I left the ordering to my fellow diners who chose rosso piceno ‘vigneto contrada vallone’ 2006 from Rio Maggio in the Marche region of Italy. Yes, the name is a mouthful. And, so is the wine. You know that I am still a complete novice when it comes to deciphering or understanding wines, but I felt that this wine was noticeably smoother after it had a chance to breathe. Once it opened up a bit, it seemed to go quite well with the food.
As starters, we split the crudi, bruschetta allo scalogno and grilled asparagus. If you are as unschooled as I am in Italian food, you may be wondering what the heck crudi is. I enlightened myself by looking it up. Crudi is simply raw vegetables. In this case, it was a salad of finely sliced and lightly dressed arugula, asparagus, carrot, radish & fennel. The freshness and crunch of the well chosen vegetables invoked spring on the tongue.
The bruschetta was a ciabatta bread served with ricotta. I have already mentioned my developing fondness for ricotta. I no longer see it as the tasteless lumpy goo that comes in plastic containers at the grocery store. It has the potential to be a fresh, creamy spread that goes so well on fresh bread with a variety of flavors from pesto to figs. The ciabatta was sprinkled with ramps, and their onion-garlic flavor was well complimented by the ricotta. The grilled asparagus was perfectly done with a slight crunch and just enough char.
As an entree, I ordered the gnocchi primavera with snap peas, asparagus, ramps and spring onion, and it was delicious. I truly appreciate when restaurants use key seasonal ingredients in their cuisine, and there were plenty of greens in the primavera. The gnocchi were browned on the outside and wonderfully tender on the inside with a deep, enjoyable flavor.
Dinner was seasoned with lively conversation about photography, travel, the French and their countryside, Italian wines, terroir, nutrition and music. It was a bit hard to hear above the noise echoing through the garage-like space, but within time, the crowd, and the noise, tapered.
For dessert, we split some sort of cake. Forgive me, but I failed to record which one. It was too sweet for my liking, but I am quite picky about dessert. Few really satisfy my palate without leaving an undesired sugary aftertaste.
All in all, however, it was a great meal. I am sure, at some point, I will go back to Barbuto.
Thus, again, I was tired on Friday. But I had plans with Jennifer and Kendal to seek out inventive cocktails. Jennifer and Kendal are the fellow gastronomers who write the fabulous blog Jersey Pie documenting their quest for the perfect cherry pie in New Jersey. They also filled in for me while I was away with their Brooklyn adventure: Hunger for Finer Fare.
I went to a yoga class after work to shed my stressful day and prepare myself for the meditative bliss of sipping. As Jennifer described it, it's that state of mind where "one third of everything is missing." Which is why, we all agreed, it's crucial to have enough time to enjoy one full cocktail (if not two) before any food arrives.
After a web search for specialty cocktails in the West Village, I suggested that we try Employees Only, another neo-speakeasy joint on Hudson Street near West 10th. When I called for a reservation, the nice gentleman on the phone told me we would need to eat dinner to reserve a table. I agreed to this condition and reserved for three. However, when we arrived, we were told that we did not have a reservation for dinner and would have to wait. Annoyed, but intrigued by the possibility of unique cocktails, we clarified that we were there for dinner and then went for a walk while another party finished their meal.
When we came back, we had to wait a bit longer before being squished into a little round table at the end of the row by the stairs where Kendal continuously had waitstaff and patrons rushing past the back of his chair. As if our physical discomfort were not enough, 70's and 80's rock blared from the speakers requiring that we shout at each other to be heard. Every other sentenced was peppered with a "What!?" from one of the three of us.
In a flash surely inspired by the noise, Kendal suddenly deciphered the term speakeasy as having meant a place where one needed to "speak easy" to maintain secrecy. At the time speakeasy's were born, it was Prohibition, after all. Blaring music and shouting patrons would have brought the cops as surely as a neon bar sign in the window.
Employees Only has a cover business of a psychic who sits in the front window offering readings. Their ruse pales near the authenticity of Little Branch with its quiet space and basement atmosphere. But, we had decided that we were all "in" no matter the ambiance or initial confusion with the reservation. We had also been quite charmed by the dapper, well dressed man standing at the door letting patrons through.
This was our first round:
Myself:
The drink: Yellow Jacket with Partida Reposado Tequila, Yellow Chartreuse, St. Germaine Elderflower Cordial, and Regan's Bitters
The consensus: tasty floral tones, but aftertaste like a cough drop
Kendal:
The drink: Roselle with gin, house-made hibiscus cordial, lime and grapefruit juice
The consensus: sweet and too much like Gatorade
Jennifer:
The drink: Ginger Smash with muddled ginger root, fresh kumquats, Gran Centenario Plata tequila and Clement Creole Orange Shrubb liqueur
The consensus: fantastic! Kendal and I were envious.
For the second round, we all ordered the Mata Hari with Courvoisier VSOP (cognac), chai-infused vermouth and pomegranate juice. The Mata Hair is a superb drink. It is served with three tiny dried roses floating on the pink liquid surface. The fragrance of the roses mingles with that of the chai as you sip. It mixes surprisingly well with food.
As we waited for our starters, we nibbled on fresh bread accompanied by a delicious sour cream and chive type of spread. All three of us ordered and thoroughly enjoyed the arugula salad with oyster mushrooms, fig vinaigrette, hazelnuts and Parmesan. The arugula was plentiful and fresh. The savory oyster mushrooms had the texture of meat, and the hazelnuts added depth and crunch. The fig vinaigrette lightened the spice of the arugula bringing the salad into perfect balance.
For dinner, I had a special with asparagus served over bacon and topped with a fried poached egg. I have absolutely no idea how one poaches and then fries an egg, but it was great. Jennifer had salmon which she reported as tasty, and Kendal had the three sides as his entree. (FYI, the black-eyed peas are not vegetarian.)
For dessert, we ordered flan... or was it custard? Yes, I forgot to write it down. Either way, in Jennifer's words, it was more like jello. Fortunately, Jennifer had brought along a bar from Pure Dark, an amazing chocolate shop on Bleecker Street, which friend M. introduced us to. A square of that fine dark chocolate pacified our regret at having ordered a substandard dessert.
And now, here I am, at the end of a long week, sipping a glass of Malbec from Argentina. I finished my week of gluttony with a BLT at Superfine in DUMBO, Brooklyn earlier today with Mrs. O. We spent the day at the NY photography festival being saturated by art and commentary.
I apologize if this week's blog is riddled with typos. It's with bleary eyes and a gluttonous heart that I type these words. Forgive me and stay tuned! Who knows what indulgence next week will bring!
You're the third person who went to Employees Only recently and only one person I spoke to was even halfway impressed.
ReplyDeleteKendal and Jennifer and I have passed many a pleasant evening there in its former incarnation, Cafe Sha Sha. Silly name, to be sure, but one of a dying (dead?) breed of West Village cosy, antiquey cafe that used to be so relaxing and pleasant.
Wish I could have joined you (especially because it would have been so easy to stumble home from there). As for me, I was out at BAM seeing The Merchant of Venice by Propellor. It was more like the Merchant of Oz (HBO's, not Dorothy's), as it was set in a prison cell and the prisoners acted out the entire play. Interesting to frame it as two rival jail gangs, but somehow less moving. I mean - I expect to be nauseated at the end of that particular play, and I was left with a general sense of "hm. that was an interesting take on it." Of course, as always, Propellor came through with great performances.
But this is a blog about food, not theater, so I'll sign off for now...
We had a great time! Thank you!! 'Til next time.
ReplyDelete