I started out this decade in a relationship from which I had no idea how to extricate myself and living in a town that I tolerated. I loved my job, but had done it a long time. I could not fathom how I would ever get myself to a place where I was happy. One move to Miami later--well, we all know what happened. Even though I am convinced the best is still ahead of me, I as so grateful that I had the chance to spread my wings in this city that I adore and start another whole new life.
That is pretty much all I have to say about the decade that we just lived through. But, for 2009, there were a few remarkable milestones that I would be remiss in not sharing with you.
UNC WINS A NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP--Truly one of the sweetest victories in a championship game--to see Tyler and company vindicated after the humiliation that they suffered in 2008 was a lesson in perseverance, grace, and teamwork. The regular season was not that much fun to watch, but, oh, the tournament! Perfectly executed play after play coupled with almost blind determination made for a series of games that was a joy to watch. I so wanted my dear dad to see one more championship. He has now seen five championships for the Tar Heels! Which leads me to the next milestone--
DAD IS 90 and MOTHER/DAD CELEBRATE 60 YEARS TOGETHER--I marvel every day that I still have both of my parents and that they are in reasonably good shape. Certainly, Dad is doing well enough to get very upset last week when the Heels lost the Meineke bowl and he just had his Mercury Marquis inspected so that he can continue driving in the greater High Point area. The marriage of these two so completely different people has not only survived, but thrived, and their devotion to one another is so touching.
SOMETIMES IT IS MORE FUN TO SAY "SAYONARA" THAN "BONJOUR"--I am sure you understand how difficult it can be to cut off relationships that have outlasted their "sell by" date. I had a particular problem with this concept. What if this person changed? What if that person really needed me? What if I was misunderstanding what he was saying? In 2009, I finally learned how to say "goodbye" with firmness and very few sentences. What--well, not exactly fun--but something nearing delight. The fact that I have an Eternal Backup who has been in the picture for three years doesn't hurt. What is important is to remember the feeling from when we first connected and make sure that is the feeling for all connections moving forward.
22 DAYS in NEW YORK CITY-here is a place that claims my heart and mind with the power of the most ardent love affairs. The feeling that I have for this wonderful city almost surpasses the great loves of my life. Yes, I was lucky enough to live there for two years, but I think NYC might be a better romance than steady relationship for me. In addition to my holiday weekend jaunts, this year I cancelled a trip to the wine country of Oregon in order to take advantage of nine solid days in Manhattan and it was a wonderful decision. Gramercy Park on a summer afternoon, catching up with beloved friends who happen to be in NYC, seeing friends who live there, marvelous meals, seeing Angela Lansbury and God of Carnage from a third row seat,and watching a blizzard from the best table at Tabla, overlooking Madison Square Park--all of these and so much more made me very happy to get on that nonstop AA jet for LGA.
I DID NOT GET KIDNAPPED or ROBBED--Despite Mother's greatest fears, I was not kidnapped in 2009. Her new obsession is that I could be robbed. Just last week, when I was in High Point, I was carrying a jar of coins to the Harris Teeter to exchange for cash. She became very agitated and said that I was certain to be followed into the store and hit over the head once I had the cash in my hand. It never fails to amaze me that Mother has the scenario all in place. She demanded to go with me so that she could act as a lookout and fight the person who attempted the robbery. As I contemplate trips in the next couple of weeks to Paris and Dallas, I can only imagine the scenarios that will be presented. Oh, Mother!
Family of One wishes you a wonderful 2010 and a decade filled with unexpected delights. I'll be in touch!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Family of One Celebrates Christmas
For the past few years, I have been journeying to NYC for my Christmas holiday. When I first started going in 2006, I had the entire few days completely to myself and I savored every second. I saw A Chorus Line, Ceremony of Carols at St. Thomas Church, Steve Tyrell at the Carlyle, Young Frankenstein (well, not every second could be fabulous!); I took a rickshaw down Fifth Avenue past all of the enchanting store windows; I ate wonderful food; I enjoyed fabulous hotel rooms. Every year, I go to the Met to see the stunningly beautiful tree and the incredibly touching manger scene spread beneath it and I spend some time at the Temple of Dendur.
But, a funny thing happened along the way.
I started making connections which turned into friendships and now I have a plethora of folks that I cannot wait to see--my dining family at Eleven Madison Park, my darling Frank at the Mandarin Oriental and my Cristina who recently had a baby, my nail technician Meme, my former colleague and adored reading/restaurant correspondent, Shani. Now, I have to make sure that I will have time to see the Georgis O'Keefe exhibit at the Whitney and see one of George Cukor's early films at the Film Forum.
I can think of no better place to be. And I can buy a Georgia O'Keefe book and look at the drawings that are in the exhibit.
For, this year, in addition to the aforementioned, I am having an assignation with a new friend whom I met through the folks at EMP. When I sent them the T-shirts earlier this year, they gave two to a couple who regularly goes there. The lady wrote to thank me and we struck up a correspondence that has become very dear. It can be such a wonderful thing to discover a new friend, don't you agree?
Mrs. R and I agreed that we should definitely have lunch at Eleven Madison Park which would also give me the opportunity to have my Christmas dinner there as a Family of One. We also agreed that we just had to get together prior to EMP, so we are meeting for a cocktail on Sunday night--her husband, Mrs. R, and me.
What a wonderful holiday!
It wasn't always this way. I spent five very sad years in the 00's, tending to my parents for a week. It was not a holly, jolly Christmas. But, I felt that it was the respectful thing to do.
Then, it hit me that I was only short-changing myself by not having a true Christmas celebration. Being a martyr can only take one so far. I made my decision that it was OK to have a Christmas and I never looked back. I go to NYC for a few days, fly directly to High Point, and never say a word. Remember, this is our secret!
I think it is one thing to celebrate Thanksgiving alone because it can turn into something dark with a twist of the stuffing pan, so I am happy to be on my own. But, Christmas is different. Religious connotations or not, there is something so necessary about being around people who bring us positive energy and to whom we bring the same.
That is why I am happy to be heading for NYC once again and seeing all of my various family members--dining, grooming, publishing, and one representing an opening door.
Now, I better get my doodlebugs down to first floor of the triplex and finish packing. I have a taxi coming at 4:45 AM!!
But, a funny thing happened along the way.
I started making connections which turned into friendships and now I have a plethora of folks that I cannot wait to see--my dining family at Eleven Madison Park, my darling Frank at the Mandarin Oriental and my Cristina who recently had a baby, my nail technician Meme, my former colleague and adored reading/restaurant correspondent, Shani. Now, I have to make sure that I will have time to see the Georgis O'Keefe exhibit at the Whitney and see one of George Cukor's early films at the Film Forum.
I can think of no better place to be. And I can buy a Georgia O'Keefe book and look at the drawings that are in the exhibit.
For, this year, in addition to the aforementioned, I am having an assignation with a new friend whom I met through the folks at EMP. When I sent them the T-shirts earlier this year, they gave two to a couple who regularly goes there. The lady wrote to thank me and we struck up a correspondence that has become very dear. It can be such a wonderful thing to discover a new friend, don't you agree?
Mrs. R and I agreed that we should definitely have lunch at Eleven Madison Park which would also give me the opportunity to have my Christmas dinner there as a Family of One. We also agreed that we just had to get together prior to EMP, so we are meeting for a cocktail on Sunday night--her husband, Mrs. R, and me.
What a wonderful holiday!
It wasn't always this way. I spent five very sad years in the 00's, tending to my parents for a week. It was not a holly, jolly Christmas. But, I felt that it was the respectful thing to do.
Then, it hit me that I was only short-changing myself by not having a true Christmas celebration. Being a martyr can only take one so far. I made my decision that it was OK to have a Christmas and I never looked back. I go to NYC for a few days, fly directly to High Point, and never say a word. Remember, this is our secret!
I think it is one thing to celebrate Thanksgiving alone because it can turn into something dark with a twist of the stuffing pan, so I am happy to be on my own. But, Christmas is different. Religious connotations or not, there is something so necessary about being around people who bring us positive energy and to whom we bring the same.
That is why I am happy to be heading for NYC once again and seeing all of my various family members--dining, grooming, publishing, and one representing an opening door.
Now, I better get my doodlebugs down to first floor of the triplex and finish packing. I have a taxi coming at 4:45 AM!!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Family of One Ponders the Future
Before I continue with descriptions of four more fabulous meals in the greater Spain area, I wanted to bring you up to date about Aunt Louise and let you know a bit of what has been on my mind about the future.
You may recall that Aunt Louise's assisted living facility was saved from being sold out from under her when it was disclosed that the church managing the facility violated all sorts of regulations in offering the property to the local university. Residents were told that they had at least a year to find a place and that the assisted living folks would help them. So, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Aunt Louise could remain in her apartment, as she so dearly desired, for another year.
I had encouraged her to move up an early December appointment with her doctor so that he could be aware of her living situation. On Monday, November 2, she went to the doctor. When I spoke with her that evening, she was unusually exhausted and could barely speak. She said that the doctor thought she was doing well.
The next day, Mother called me to report that Aunt Louise was being rushed to a nursing home to live. I could hardly process it. What had happened in less than 24 hours? It turned out that Aunt Louise had been keeping a lot of secrets about her health and was relying more and more on the other old ladies to take care of her. One of them became very worried and went to the assisted living administrator who asked Aunt Louise about her condition and she confessed all. She could not move her leg, she had terrible bed sores, her ankles were swollen double their size--these are only a sample.
The assisted living lady called Aunt Louise's doctor and cussed him out and told him he was an insult to the Hippocratic oath. He weakly said that he thought she was doing OK for 93. This lady leapt into action and found Aunt Louise a place in a very lovely nursing home and also paid for a nurse's aide to stay with her since she could not be left alone.
I was intrigued by the timing of this as I was leaving on my trip. Should I cancel it and go to High Point to be with Aunt Louise for this traumatic move? The move that she had said that she never wanted to make? Or, should I let the process unfold as it seemed to be doing so as to spare as much emotion and drama as possible?
I spoke with Aunt Louise and asked her what she would like me to do and she said emphatically that I was to go on my trip and she wanted to focus on getting herself to the nursing home. So, a friend took her away from her apartment of twenty years and left all of the sorting out to the incredible assisted living administrator with some help from Mother.
She is now receiving excellent care. She was listed in critical condition for a couple of weeks, but she is now able to take meals with others and has been moved to a room with a roommate. This, of course, was her worst nightmare, but she is handling it pretty well.
Back on Monday, November, 2, I asked myself what I would like to happen. My fondest wish had been for Aunt Louise to pass quietly away in the apartment that she loved, surrounded by her things. But, I also realized that she needed care quickly or she was going to meet a very grisly and unhappy end. I asked that she be cared for if that would be the best way to insure a comfortable end of her life and that wish was granted.
Of course, I tortured myself that I should have been more forceful in making sure that she was taken care of, but this is a woman who wouldn't even sign a power of attorney, so I had to accept the fact that I had done the best that I could.
And, then, of course, I pondered my own future. What was the lesson that I could learn from this cautionary tale and share with you as well? Leaving out the fact that I will have no living relatives that I even know if I live that long and that my closest circle of friends could be living in that great Bookstore in the Sky, I realized that I would need a plan. But, not right this year or even next year.
But, I have decided that when I am 75, I will make sure that I have a plan A and a plan B in place to make sure that I have the care that I might need. I think that is realistic. Any earlier seems a bit premature. Although I think it is incredibly important to continue going to the Biltmore gym and save a bit of money.
Most importantly, this is the lesson that I have learned. Aunt Louise feared two things more than anything--being a burden and leaving her apartment for a nursing home. She was always talking to me about how important it is to be close to one's family--even though I don't really know any of mine--because they will always be there for you. While she was pontificating about this, she was becoming more and more reliant on the old ladies around her who simply couldn't take it any more and are, of course, also trying to avoid going to the nursing home. She completely lost her perspective on being a functioning member of a family and what that means. It seemed inconsequential to her that she was causing so much stress and anxiety to those around her. The family that really cared about her was on the brink and, in the end, there was really only one solution which could give us some relief.
So, moving forward, I am going to try to always remember that in growing old, there are responsibilities not only in taking care of oneself, but in not taking too much advantage of the kindness of others. Family of One or Family of Twenty, we owe that to ourselves and those around us.
Where is Mother in all this? Well, she went to Aunt Louise's apartment and took the family heirloom water set for me as well as the manger scene that Aunt Louise made in ceramics class. An antique sewing machine from the 1880s only warranted scorn--"who in the world would want that old thing?" But, touchingly, she was very moved by Aunt Louise's china baby doll whose head I had inadvertently busted open as a child and for which Aunt Louise had carefully crocheted a cap to cover the hole in its head. The china doll is now living at Mother's.
You may recall that Aunt Louise's assisted living facility was saved from being sold out from under her when it was disclosed that the church managing the facility violated all sorts of regulations in offering the property to the local university. Residents were told that they had at least a year to find a place and that the assisted living folks would help them. So, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Aunt Louise could remain in her apartment, as she so dearly desired, for another year.
I had encouraged her to move up an early December appointment with her doctor so that he could be aware of her living situation. On Monday, November 2, she went to the doctor. When I spoke with her that evening, she was unusually exhausted and could barely speak. She said that the doctor thought she was doing well.
The next day, Mother called me to report that Aunt Louise was being rushed to a nursing home to live. I could hardly process it. What had happened in less than 24 hours? It turned out that Aunt Louise had been keeping a lot of secrets about her health and was relying more and more on the other old ladies to take care of her. One of them became very worried and went to the assisted living administrator who asked Aunt Louise about her condition and she confessed all. She could not move her leg, she had terrible bed sores, her ankles were swollen double their size--these are only a sample.
The assisted living lady called Aunt Louise's doctor and cussed him out and told him he was an insult to the Hippocratic oath. He weakly said that he thought she was doing OK for 93. This lady leapt into action and found Aunt Louise a place in a very lovely nursing home and also paid for a nurse's aide to stay with her since she could not be left alone.
I was intrigued by the timing of this as I was leaving on my trip. Should I cancel it and go to High Point to be with Aunt Louise for this traumatic move? The move that she had said that she never wanted to make? Or, should I let the process unfold as it seemed to be doing so as to spare as much emotion and drama as possible?
I spoke with Aunt Louise and asked her what she would like me to do and she said emphatically that I was to go on my trip and she wanted to focus on getting herself to the nursing home. So, a friend took her away from her apartment of twenty years and left all of the sorting out to the incredible assisted living administrator with some help from Mother.
She is now receiving excellent care. She was listed in critical condition for a couple of weeks, but she is now able to take meals with others and has been moved to a room with a roommate. This, of course, was her worst nightmare, but she is handling it pretty well.
Back on Monday, November, 2, I asked myself what I would like to happen. My fondest wish had been for Aunt Louise to pass quietly away in the apartment that she loved, surrounded by her things. But, I also realized that she needed care quickly or she was going to meet a very grisly and unhappy end. I asked that she be cared for if that would be the best way to insure a comfortable end of her life and that wish was granted.
Of course, I tortured myself that I should have been more forceful in making sure that she was taken care of, but this is a woman who wouldn't even sign a power of attorney, so I had to accept the fact that I had done the best that I could.
And, then, of course, I pondered my own future. What was the lesson that I could learn from this cautionary tale and share with you as well? Leaving out the fact that I will have no living relatives that I even know if I live that long and that my closest circle of friends could be living in that great Bookstore in the Sky, I realized that I would need a plan. But, not right this year or even next year.
But, I have decided that when I am 75, I will make sure that I have a plan A and a plan B in place to make sure that I have the care that I might need. I think that is realistic. Any earlier seems a bit premature. Although I think it is incredibly important to continue going to the Biltmore gym and save a bit of money.
Most importantly, this is the lesson that I have learned. Aunt Louise feared two things more than anything--being a burden and leaving her apartment for a nursing home. She was always talking to me about how important it is to be close to one's family--even though I don't really know any of mine--because they will always be there for you. While she was pontificating about this, she was becoming more and more reliant on the old ladies around her who simply couldn't take it any more and are, of course, also trying to avoid going to the nursing home. She completely lost her perspective on being a functioning member of a family and what that means. It seemed inconsequential to her that she was causing so much stress and anxiety to those around her. The family that really cared about her was on the brink and, in the end, there was really only one solution which could give us some relief.
So, moving forward, I am going to try to always remember that in growing old, there are responsibilities not only in taking care of oneself, but in not taking too much advantage of the kindness of others. Family of One or Family of Twenty, we owe that to ourselves and those around us.
Where is Mother in all this? Well, she went to Aunt Louise's apartment and took the family heirloom water set for me as well as the manger scene that Aunt Louise made in ceramics class. An antique sewing machine from the 1880s only warranted scorn--"who in the world would want that old thing?" But, touchingly, she was very moved by Aunt Louise's china baby doll whose head I had inadvertently busted open as a child and for which Aunt Louise had carefully crocheted a cap to cover the hole in its head. The china doll is now living at Mother's.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Family of One Has a Top Ten Meal
As promised, I want to tell you about the most wonderful meal that I had on my trip to Spain. In the next few days, I'll share with you the runner-up meals, but this one has such a special patina that I decided to lead with it.
I had been told to try Sergi Arola's restaurants and so I made reservations at his restaurant at the Arts Hotel in Barcelona and at what appeared to be a casual restaurant at the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid. Because I had so many other high-maintenance reservations, I decided that would be enough of his cuisine.
On Monday, November 9, knowing that it was a national holiday, I scampered over to the Reina Sofia Museum to see Guernica and to have a delightful lunch. I had checked the guidebook and it said that the museum was open on Mondays, even holidays. When I arrived, it was closed up tighter than Dick's hatband (a favorite expression of Mother's which I don't completely understand). I was not particularly disappointed as I was a bit jetlagged and the thought of a long nap on the Heavenly Bed was fine, especially since I had recently partaken of the enormous buffet at the Westin Palace dining room. I decided to stop for a Coke Zero and a can of Pringles and climb into bed with my book. I had seen about as much of Madrid as I wanted to and it was a cloudy, gray day.
Returning to my room, I put on my Queen Bee pajamas and flung myself across the bed. I decided to look over my restaurant reservations for Barcelona and, as I was doing so, I noticed that the reservation that day for Arola was not at the Reina Sofia, but on a street whose name I did not recognize. I realized that American Express must have made the reservation at one of the "real" restaurants. Cuss a rutabaga, I said to myself. I should probably go down and tell the concierge to call and apologize for my not cancelling the reservation which was for 1:00 and it was now 2:30. I placed on my casual walking clothes and went to the concierge.
As soon as they saw me approaching, there was much consternation. "Where have you been? They are looking for you to be at Arola", they screamed. I explained what had happened. They got on the phone with the restaurant and much high-pitched Spanish ensued. They looked at me and nodded, "Yes, she will be there in ten minutes". They hung up and said, "they only have a few reservations today because it is a holiday and they are getting ready to close and we told them to hold the restaurant open for you". I was aghast. "Oh, that is not necessary", I said, "I will be OK going another time". "No, you must go today. There is to be no more discussion. We need to get you into a cab".
I am most happy when I know where I am going. I don't think that I am alone in this preference. I had absolutely no idea where the cab was going. I only knew that I had over 200 euros, so I should have enough to cover it. I called my beloved K from the cab and said, "do you think this is going to be OK?" She screamed with excitement and said, "you are having a surprise meal--how incredibly fun--enjoy every second". And, it's true. When you are traveling by yourself, you always know where you going to eat, so it is very unusual to have a meal for which you have no advance knowledge.
The taxi drove down several beautiful tree-lined streets and suddenly pulled up at a restaurant in a very posh district. The most handsome man was standing in the street waiting--for me, it turned out. He was anxiously looking from side to side and smiled happily when he saw me. He ran over to open the door and said, "we must get you into the restaurant". I apologized profusely for causing him to stay open and he said, "not another word, just relax and enjoy yourself. You will be the only person in the restaurant".
Well, that wasn't exactly the case as I entered a long, narrow room decorated very sparsely, but in an attractive contemporary style. I was seated on a banquette towards the back, about four tables away from a couple who was finishing up their meal.
The treats immediately begin arriving--cod fritters, Catalonian olives, tiny potatoes with a tiny bit of potato foam. There was a lovely glass of wine.
I was treated respectfully, but with alacrity. I could barely process what was happening, but I knew it was wonderful.
My first course was chestnut cream soup with sweet potato puree and bacon ice cream. Incredible.
The server asked me if I liked mushrooms and I assured her that I did. She said, "the chef has some extras from today and he would like to make them for you". I was served the most tasty range of mushrooms--delicate, earthy, chewy, smooth--in an incredible sauce that did not overwhelm the mushrooms.
It was about this time that I got just a little perspective on what was happening. Do you know that feeling when you suddenly find yourself with the opportunity to have incredible, passionate sex either with a stranger or your partner? You want to have that moment forever--the desire, the anticipation, the sensuality--but, you can't hold on to it for too long because real life will intrude and ruin the moment. That is how I felt--like I was being swept off my feet by one of the most magical meals that I would ever have. Part of me wanted to weep at the fact that I did not have hours to enjoy this experience, but the practical side of me knew to savor and enjoy every second, every moment. Because these folks wanted to get the hell out of there and enjoy their holiday, so I had to be considerate of that.
I could see into the kitchen and there was no one there except for a lone female chef and a fellow mopping the floor. She was literally cooking this meal for me. The other patrons had left. It was the most empowering, humbling, hedonistic sensation to be alone in that restaurant.
Next up was one of my favorite fish that I always order on my European adventures, red mullet served with cucumber and what I can only decipher as cream of flores in my rushed handwriting. Lovely. Simple. Perfect. It was accompanied by one of the most interesting taste sensations ever--perfect tiny Kenyan green beans with peach sorbet. I wonder if I could duplicate that in the triplex kitchen? Probably better not to try.
The dessert is one that I will remember forever--the taste, the texture, the temperature, the saltiness, the sweetness--coconut curry souffle.
The lovely staff started bringing out the petits fours, the macaroons, etc. I said (even as it broke my heart to have to leave this enchanted vacuum), "please just pack those for me so that you can go and enjoy your holiday".
Thank goodness I know that I can return to this restaurant so that I can have a more leisurely experience. But something tells me that no return visit will every duplicate the intensity, the excitement, the joy of this unexpected gastronomic adventure.
I had been told to try Sergi Arola's restaurants and so I made reservations at his restaurant at the Arts Hotel in Barcelona and at what appeared to be a casual restaurant at the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid. Because I had so many other high-maintenance reservations, I decided that would be enough of his cuisine.
On Monday, November 9, knowing that it was a national holiday, I scampered over to the Reina Sofia Museum to see Guernica and to have a delightful lunch. I had checked the guidebook and it said that the museum was open on Mondays, even holidays. When I arrived, it was closed up tighter than Dick's hatband (a favorite expression of Mother's which I don't completely understand). I was not particularly disappointed as I was a bit jetlagged and the thought of a long nap on the Heavenly Bed was fine, especially since I had recently partaken of the enormous buffet at the Westin Palace dining room. I decided to stop for a Coke Zero and a can of Pringles and climb into bed with my book. I had seen about as much of Madrid as I wanted to and it was a cloudy, gray day.
Returning to my room, I put on my Queen Bee pajamas and flung myself across the bed. I decided to look over my restaurant reservations for Barcelona and, as I was doing so, I noticed that the reservation that day for Arola was not at the Reina Sofia, but on a street whose name I did not recognize. I realized that American Express must have made the reservation at one of the "real" restaurants. Cuss a rutabaga, I said to myself. I should probably go down and tell the concierge to call and apologize for my not cancelling the reservation which was for 1:00 and it was now 2:30. I placed on my casual walking clothes and went to the concierge.
As soon as they saw me approaching, there was much consternation. "Where have you been? They are looking for you to be at Arola", they screamed. I explained what had happened. They got on the phone with the restaurant and much high-pitched Spanish ensued. They looked at me and nodded, "Yes, she will be there in ten minutes". They hung up and said, "they only have a few reservations today because it is a holiday and they are getting ready to close and we told them to hold the restaurant open for you". I was aghast. "Oh, that is not necessary", I said, "I will be OK going another time". "No, you must go today. There is to be no more discussion. We need to get you into a cab".
I am most happy when I know where I am going. I don't think that I am alone in this preference. I had absolutely no idea where the cab was going. I only knew that I had over 200 euros, so I should have enough to cover it. I called my beloved K from the cab and said, "do you think this is going to be OK?" She screamed with excitement and said, "you are having a surprise meal--how incredibly fun--enjoy every second". And, it's true. When you are traveling by yourself, you always know where you going to eat, so it is very unusual to have a meal for which you have no advance knowledge.
The taxi drove down several beautiful tree-lined streets and suddenly pulled up at a restaurant in a very posh district. The most handsome man was standing in the street waiting--for me, it turned out. He was anxiously looking from side to side and smiled happily when he saw me. He ran over to open the door and said, "we must get you into the restaurant". I apologized profusely for causing him to stay open and he said, "not another word, just relax and enjoy yourself. You will be the only person in the restaurant".
Well, that wasn't exactly the case as I entered a long, narrow room decorated very sparsely, but in an attractive contemporary style. I was seated on a banquette towards the back, about four tables away from a couple who was finishing up their meal.
The treats immediately begin arriving--cod fritters, Catalonian olives, tiny potatoes with a tiny bit of potato foam. There was a lovely glass of wine.
I was treated respectfully, but with alacrity. I could barely process what was happening, but I knew it was wonderful.
My first course was chestnut cream soup with sweet potato puree and bacon ice cream. Incredible.
The server asked me if I liked mushrooms and I assured her that I did. She said, "the chef has some extras from today and he would like to make them for you". I was served the most tasty range of mushrooms--delicate, earthy, chewy, smooth--in an incredible sauce that did not overwhelm the mushrooms.
It was about this time that I got just a little perspective on what was happening. Do you know that feeling when you suddenly find yourself with the opportunity to have incredible, passionate sex either with a stranger or your partner? You want to have that moment forever--the desire, the anticipation, the sensuality--but, you can't hold on to it for too long because real life will intrude and ruin the moment. That is how I felt--like I was being swept off my feet by one of the most magical meals that I would ever have. Part of me wanted to weep at the fact that I did not have hours to enjoy this experience, but the practical side of me knew to savor and enjoy every second, every moment. Because these folks wanted to get the hell out of there and enjoy their holiday, so I had to be considerate of that.
I could see into the kitchen and there was no one there except for a lone female chef and a fellow mopping the floor. She was literally cooking this meal for me. The other patrons had left. It was the most empowering, humbling, hedonistic sensation to be alone in that restaurant.
Next up was one of my favorite fish that I always order on my European adventures, red mullet served with cucumber and what I can only decipher as cream of flores in my rushed handwriting. Lovely. Simple. Perfect. It was accompanied by one of the most interesting taste sensations ever--perfect tiny Kenyan green beans with peach sorbet. I wonder if I could duplicate that in the triplex kitchen? Probably better not to try.
The dessert is one that I will remember forever--the taste, the texture, the temperature, the saltiness, the sweetness--coconut curry souffle.
The lovely staff started bringing out the petits fours, the macaroons, etc. I said (even as it broke my heart to have to leave this enchanted vacuum), "please just pack those for me so that you can go and enjoy your holiday".
Thank goodness I know that I can return to this restaurant so that I can have a more leisurely experience. But something tells me that no return visit will every duplicate the intensity, the excitement, the joy of this unexpected gastronomic adventure.
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