About twenty-one years ago, I had one of the most fabulous weekends of my life in New York City. When I tell you about it, you will think that I am making it all up. But, it really happened and I have only recently been able to enjoy it because it was so painful to think that those times were over.
I stayed at the delightful and charming hotel called the Wyndham, not part of any chain, but more of an apartment hotel on W. 58th Street, just across from the Plaza. The suites were reasonable and huge and decorated in wonderful chintzes. Lots of folks appearing on Broadway would stay there. So, it was like coming home to stay in one of those suites.
On Thursday night, I took one of my favorite beaus (a man whom I saw off and on for over twenty years) to a restaurant called Aurora where I had been very friendly with the chef for a couple of years. I thought it was oh so French to take a current lover to the restaurant of a former lover and, indeed, we had a fabulous meal. As I walked out of the restaurant which was at 49th Street and Madison Avenue, I had one of those incredible magical moments in NYC. It was a very foggy night and the fog was all around, but you could see the tops of some of the building over it. I stood by myself and savored how lucky I was to be in New York and all that I had to look forward that weekend.
On Friday night, I saw the stupendous show, Jerome Robbins' Broadway which was such a treat for one who loves musicals as I do. On Saturday, I met a good friend for gingerbread pancakes in the cafe at the Hotel Pierre and then saw The Heidi Chronicles by Wendy Wasserstein starring Joan Allen. That night, I went to a restaurant down on Seventh Avenue South that my chef friend recommended. It was called Rakel and there was a hot new chef in the kitchen. I found it energetic, if unremarkable, and returned to my suite where I did the most unlikely thing and went to sleep at 9:30. By the way, the chef's name was Thomas Keller.
On Sunday, I saw a revue called Black and Blue followed by dinner at Cafe Luxembourg. After the dinner was the real piece de resistance of this enchanted weekend--a salute to Stephen Sondheim by the NY Gay Men's Chorus with "special guests" at Lincoln Center
I wore the most divine LBD of pure wool which I had purchased at Jaeger and featured a cowl neck, cinched waist, and came just above the knee. I had on sheer black hose (remember those days?) and three inch black pumps, classy, but not stilettos. I was beside myself with excitement to be wearing this outfit and going to this show and to have had this NYC weekend. I would never have suspected that would be my last NYC weekend by myself for many years which is probably why it has been so painful to remember it.
The show was remarkable. There was Elaine Stritch singing Ladies Who Lunch and the ladies from Follies and the original cast of Company. There was such an excitement in the air because everyone just knew that Sondheim would make an appearance even though those around me said that he was very shy and usually did not attend these concerts. In 1989, there was not one of us at the concert who had not been personally affected by AIDS, so there was a very bittersweet energy as well. The most moving part of the night was when the chorus sang "Our Time" and "Not a Day Goes by". Tears rolled down my face as I saw the looks of yearning and acceptance and devotion and affection on the faces of so many around me. Most people were quietly weeping as well. Suddenly, from the back of Avery Fisher Hall, came a slight, bearded figure running down the aisle with amazing speed. In reality, he was probably just striding, but, in my memory, he was running. He had a huge smile. It was Stephen Sondheim. Every single person leapt to his feet and was clapping, clapping and crying and laughing and hugging the people around him. It took my breath away and remains, to this day, one of my most poignant theater-going experiences. The quality of the show, the affirmation of hope amongst such sadness, and the connection that we all felt in the audience will be with me always.
Later this weekend, I will be going to another show in NYC--this one saluting Stephen Sondheim's 80th birthday. I look forward to letting you know about this show. And, I am grateful beyond words to be back on my path to NYC, having wonderful meals, seeing dear and devoted friends, and wearing a new black dress that may not approach the sexiness of the Jaeger LBD, but which I have to admit looks pretty damn good.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Family of One Has the Chef's Special
I don't know about you, but sometimes when I have been traveling for a few days, I just get so weary of having to make a decision about what I am going to order, especially for dinner. Sometimes, when I run up against cuisine fatigue, I will use the hours before to think through what I want, especially if I have seen the menu. But, sometimes, I just am sick of reading menus and pondering what would be good. I have developed a new strategy that works pretty well. For restaurants where I know the chef (and sometimes even if I don't), I will call the restaurant and tell the reservationist to let the chef know that I will eat anything that he prepares (except, of course, for green peppers) and how many courses I would like. This never fails to cheer me as it gives me the feeling that I am going to a good friend's house for dinner, but I don't have to worry about bringing the wine.
This is an incredibly busy time of year for those of us in college publishing because this is the time that all of our customers (professors)choose the textbook that they will be using for fall. In my case, I work with sales reps and the professors to customize the books to their specific needs and, of course, all of the decisions are being made now, but there is only one of me to get all of the books prepared. I have learned to pace myself during this time and to take time for one fun hour or so a day.
I had a reservation for one at Anson's, one of my favorite haunts in Charleston where a new CIA-trained chef, Jeremy Holste, has recently taken over the kitchen. I met him on one of his first weeks there and we hit it off as we both love the Wreck (the fabulous fried seafood den on Shem Creek), sweet tea vodka, and, of course, almost anything edible.
Jeremy had sent me a few taste treats over my last visits that were not on the menu, so I had high hopes for a very lovely dinner. I was not disappointed and I was tickled to be served personally by Jeremy who would then sit down with me in my booth that will hold six and discourse for a few minutes. Here is what I had--
***Chilled cauliflower soup served over diced smoked salmon and tomatoes, very thin celery, and a tiny bit of chopped nut for texture. Outstanding.
***Perfectly prepared diver scallop (albeit a bit salty, but that was fine with me) and perfectly prepared ravioli--one of each with tiny bits of pea sprout, pancetta, and pearl onion
***Thin and tasty carpaccio covered with an array of wonderful tastes including something akin to a caponata, a green tomato relish, pickled garlic with pine nuts, and tiny bit of a mustard/mayonnaise combo. Each bite was unique, but none of it was cloying or overwhelming.
***Pan roasted tilefish with a fingerling potato or two served in a sauce with Anson's bacon and a hint of truffle
***Baked Alaska served over strawberry sauce.
I don't know if I would have ordered any of these taste sensations. I doubt it, since I am always drawn to the oysters and pork products at this delightful restaurant. But, what a marvelous way to rejuvenate my palate for a memorable meal.
And, of course, I was visited throughout the evening by the manager, the bartender, and the waiters whom I have grown to adore in the past couple of years. I have been going to Anson's for fifteen years, but it was never a restaurant where I felt like family. I love turning that corner.
And, of course, I can't wait to go back although, next time, the seven layers of heaven pork belly and cornmeal fried oysters may be calling my name.
This is an incredibly busy time of year for those of us in college publishing because this is the time that all of our customers (professors)choose the textbook that they will be using for fall. In my case, I work with sales reps and the professors to customize the books to their specific needs and, of course, all of the decisions are being made now, but there is only one of me to get all of the books prepared. I have learned to pace myself during this time and to take time for one fun hour or so a day.
I had a reservation for one at Anson's, one of my favorite haunts in Charleston where a new CIA-trained chef, Jeremy Holste, has recently taken over the kitchen. I met him on one of his first weeks there and we hit it off as we both love the Wreck (the fabulous fried seafood den on Shem Creek), sweet tea vodka, and, of course, almost anything edible.
Jeremy had sent me a few taste treats over my last visits that were not on the menu, so I had high hopes for a very lovely dinner. I was not disappointed and I was tickled to be served personally by Jeremy who would then sit down with me in my booth that will hold six and discourse for a few minutes. Here is what I had--
***Chilled cauliflower soup served over diced smoked salmon and tomatoes, very thin celery, and a tiny bit of chopped nut for texture. Outstanding.
***Perfectly prepared diver scallop (albeit a bit salty, but that was fine with me) and perfectly prepared ravioli--one of each with tiny bits of pea sprout, pancetta, and pearl onion
***Thin and tasty carpaccio covered with an array of wonderful tastes including something akin to a caponata, a green tomato relish, pickled garlic with pine nuts, and tiny bit of a mustard/mayonnaise combo. Each bite was unique, but none of it was cloying or overwhelming.
***Pan roasted tilefish with a fingerling potato or two served in a sauce with Anson's bacon and a hint of truffle
***Baked Alaska served over strawberry sauce.
I don't know if I would have ordered any of these taste sensations. I doubt it, since I am always drawn to the oysters and pork products at this delightful restaurant. But, what a marvelous way to rejuvenate my palate for a memorable meal.
And, of course, I was visited throughout the evening by the manager, the bartender, and the waiters whom I have grown to adore in the past couple of years. I have been going to Anson's for fifteen years, but it was never a restaurant where I felt like family. I love turning that corner.
And, of course, I can't wait to go back although, next time, the seven layers of heaven pork belly and cornmeal fried oysters may be calling my name.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Family of One Celebrates Easter
There should probably not be a reason for a single person to feel down on Easter; after all, the holiday is about the resurrection of our Lord Jesus and not particularly wrapped around celebrations with family and friends. In its purest form, it is the holiest of days, a day for reflection about one’s faith and joy about the message that He is risen and what that represents for eternal life.
So, why did I feel so sad? I love my church in the Grove, I have so much to which I look forward (Stephen Sondheim’s 80th birthday celebration in NYC, a visit to Madrid this summer, countless visits from beloved friends, etc). But, I really felt that I was missing out by not participating in one of those lovely, scrumptious Southern buffets that are traditionally served as part of Easter lunch among many of my friends. I had told myself that I was sure it would be OK to visit one of these friends, but I don’t like the thought of intruding on their family time and being seen as one of those dreaded “orphans”, like on Thanksgiving Day.
After lolling on the sectional sofa on Friday evening, pondering a solution to this dilemma, I realized what I needed to do. Being in possession of several fine side dishes that I had brought back from a fabulous dinner at Prime 112 with colleagues AND having just purchased a tres petite ham as well as some lovely white asparagus, I decided to make my own buffet.
Usually, I will prepare a lovely plate and either eat while watching something on TCM while stretched out on the blue sofa on the second floor of the triplex OR I will curl up on the sectional sofa on the first floor of the triplex while listening to music. It had never occurred to me to create a buffet for myself, but it was wonderful fun.
I heated the ham and roasted the asparagus and placed those on one plate. Then, I filled faux Chinese porcelain bowls with the sides from Prime 112—mashed sweet potatoes, cauliflower au gratin, and creamed corn with truffles. I opened a half bottle of a 2006 St. Estephe that I brought back from Paris. I stretched out on the blue sofa since there was a wonderful documentary about Hollywood musicals filling the screen. I was happy as Peter Rabbit.
And, then, of course, today I had a wonderful time at my church service, particularly enjoying a rousing rendition of Widor’s Toccata in G and a thoughtful sermon, followed by brunch at my dear Jaguar where I saw a colleague from Boston as well as friend from book club.
I must point out that when I told Mother about the buffet, her immediate response to my description of a tiny ham was “that ham did not come from a pig because no pig could produce anything tiny—that ham must have come from a squirrel”. I really could not argue with her logic.
On another Mother related note, I was surprised that she did not become obsessed by the recent storms that decimated many homes in the High Point area. Thanks to many of you who wrote to make sure that Mother and Dad were OK. The night of the storms, she called and said very mildly that there seemed to be some bad storms heading for Guilford County.
A couple of days later, she recounted the following—“on the night of the storm, someone rang our back doorbell (an outside door that leads on to a sun room of sorts)—I peered out to see who it was and it was a person dressed in a long, black coat with a ski mask and a big, black hat. I said, ‘dear Lord, please don’t tell me that Carson and I are going to be killed tonight’. It was Mrs.C.W. Scott, Jr, from next door who braved the storm to tell us that our phone was off the hook. She had put on every conceivable piece of clothing she could find. “
I pointed out that the killer probably would not ring the doorbell and, hence, she was not in immediate danger. But, she came right back—“they ring the doorbell to throw you off the track”.
Our thoughts and prayers are with those folks who suffered considerable damage during the terrible storms.
And, hoping that you have a lovely Easter or Passover or beautiful spring day.
So, why did I feel so sad? I love my church in the Grove, I have so much to which I look forward (Stephen Sondheim’s 80th birthday celebration in NYC, a visit to Madrid this summer, countless visits from beloved friends, etc). But, I really felt that I was missing out by not participating in one of those lovely, scrumptious Southern buffets that are traditionally served as part of Easter lunch among many of my friends. I had told myself that I was sure it would be OK to visit one of these friends, but I don’t like the thought of intruding on their family time and being seen as one of those dreaded “orphans”, like on Thanksgiving Day.
After lolling on the sectional sofa on Friday evening, pondering a solution to this dilemma, I realized what I needed to do. Being in possession of several fine side dishes that I had brought back from a fabulous dinner at Prime 112 with colleagues AND having just purchased a tres petite ham as well as some lovely white asparagus, I decided to make my own buffet.
Usually, I will prepare a lovely plate and either eat while watching something on TCM while stretched out on the blue sofa on the second floor of the triplex OR I will curl up on the sectional sofa on the first floor of the triplex while listening to music. It had never occurred to me to create a buffet for myself, but it was wonderful fun.
I heated the ham and roasted the asparagus and placed those on one plate. Then, I filled faux Chinese porcelain bowls with the sides from Prime 112—mashed sweet potatoes, cauliflower au gratin, and creamed corn with truffles. I opened a half bottle of a 2006 St. Estephe that I brought back from Paris. I stretched out on the blue sofa since there was a wonderful documentary about Hollywood musicals filling the screen. I was happy as Peter Rabbit.
And, then, of course, today I had a wonderful time at my church service, particularly enjoying a rousing rendition of Widor’s Toccata in G and a thoughtful sermon, followed by brunch at my dear Jaguar where I saw a colleague from Boston as well as friend from book club.
I must point out that when I told Mother about the buffet, her immediate response to my description of a tiny ham was “that ham did not come from a pig because no pig could produce anything tiny—that ham must have come from a squirrel”. I really could not argue with her logic.
On another Mother related note, I was surprised that she did not become obsessed by the recent storms that decimated many homes in the High Point area. Thanks to many of you who wrote to make sure that Mother and Dad were OK. The night of the storms, she called and said very mildly that there seemed to be some bad storms heading for Guilford County.
A couple of days later, she recounted the following—“on the night of the storm, someone rang our back doorbell (an outside door that leads on to a sun room of sorts)—I peered out to see who it was and it was a person dressed in a long, black coat with a ski mask and a big, black hat. I said, ‘dear Lord, please don’t tell me that Carson and I are going to be killed tonight’. It was Mrs.C.W. Scott, Jr, from next door who braved the storm to tell us that our phone was off the hook. She had put on every conceivable piece of clothing she could find. “
I pointed out that the killer probably would not ring the doorbell and, hence, she was not in immediate danger. But, she came right back—“they ring the doorbell to throw you off the track”.
Our thoughts and prayers are with those folks who suffered considerable damage during the terrible storms.
And, hoping that you have a lovely Easter or Passover or beautiful spring day.
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