Family of One Takes a Day Off

How many times do we say I am going to take a day off? And, then, what do we do? We stay on our computer, we can’t let go of the blackberry, we multitask as much as ever. You know. When I went to NYC for my annual Labor Day fiesta, I decided that it was the ideal time to take a day off, so I added on an extra day. My colleges had been in session for two weeks, so most of the start-up drama was over. I had another big push looming with submissions of manuscripts for spring semester due in a couple of weeks. It seemed like the ideal time to take a deep breath. And, so I did.

I started the day with something that I always say I am going to do, but then I never get around to it. I strolled through Central Park on a cloudless, sunny day and enjoyed all of the various sights—for God’s sake, I have even lived in New York and I had never stopped to look at that charming clock with the animals on it that is at the gate to the Central Park Zoo. Frederick Olmstead must have been so ashamed of me. I strolled all around and savored the lovely day and finally plopped down on a bench around Fifth and 70th. I read my Andre Agassiz autobio, I listened to my iPod, I did check my blackberry. But, I mainly thought about the wonderful moments I had experienced during this weekend.

Every trip to NYC has its own personality and, for this one, I had made it a point to try new restaurants and to reach out to fellow dining patrons that I might find annoying in places where the tables are too close together (read, Marea). I had a wonderful Saturday lunch at a charming Austrian place called Seasonal very close to my hotel—outstanding wiener schnitzel. I had my usual beauty maintenance from my dear MeMe at Think Pink where I am now ensconced as one of the regulars. I had a delightful conversation while there with an Australian fellow getting a pedicure who wanted to discuss the Agassiz book with me. I had a lovely meal, especially the sea bass crudo and the spaghetti with crab and sea urchin at Marea; I bonded with a delightful British couple trying to have a night on the town while there three daughters kept phoning them to come home. On Sunday, I started the day with breakfast at Sarabeth’s Kitchen where I perched at the bar and next to a lovely family from DC who just happened to hail from South Carolina. Laughs and charming conversation all around, with special emphasis on restaurant choices. Then, as the patriarch of the group passed by, he said, “how many times do fellow Southerners meet up in New York? I paid for your breakfast”. I was completely stunned as was the waitress. Then, two stylish ladies came up to the bar and asked if I were leaving. I told them that I wanted to read one more chapter and they could have my seat. But, we ended up chatting and have a date for coffee (at the very least) on my next visit. They were smart and witty and I hated to say goodbye. Later, I had an enchanting lunch at a vegan restaurant called Pure next to Gramercy Park where I met with dear friend R with whom I connected over our mutual love for EMP. We sat in the breezy garden and drank concoction of kale and cucumber which were delicious and had one of the best salads that I have ever tasted. And, it was all so good for me!

What else to ponder? I visited my old neighborhood for the first time in 11 years, strolling down East 49th Street and on Beekman Place, ending up at one of my favorite refuges, the park at the end of 57th Street, overlooking the East River. I saw a poignant movie, Cairo Time. I had a fabulous, laughter-filled lunch on the sunny patio at Bar Boulud with my dear friend Cristana and her baby son Aidan who slept like a prince while we threw back champagne cocktails and chowed down on charcuterie and floating island. I had the Moderne bratwurst and tuna tartare and sweetbreads at the Moderne bar room while talking to a delightful couple about dining in Philadelphia. But, one of the most interesting things that happened was that I got the most spacious, lovely room overlooking Central Park at the Park Lane hotel for the unheard-of price at $228. I had booked it on quikbook and thought, “Christ, the room must be horrible, but how bad can it be with a view of Central Park?” When I checked in, my reservation slip from the front desk said $350. I asked if that was a mistake and was told that park view rooms were $550. I showed the clerk my confirmation from quikbook and the hotel determined that an interfacing glitch (an exact quote) had given me the wrong price. They cheerfully honored it and so I was all in a beautiful room that would have made Leona Helmsley proud and a stunning view of the park.

But, my day is drifting away and it’s time to proceed to Esca for lunch. Esca is the kind of place where I always say I am gong to go, but then I get caught up going to my favorites or I forget about it until it’s too late. Even though it is in the theater district, it feels like more of a restaurant that one would find in Rome or Lisbon. The chef, Dave Pasternack, is well-known for his way with a fish and I was so happy with my meal-oysters from Maine, a variety of crudo, spaghetti with crab (a very spicy tang to this one), and a grape sorbet complemented with vanilla ice cream. I read, I looked out the beautiful plate glass windows at the skyscrapers, I enjoyed the murmurs of the businessmen around me. It was divine.

I glanced at my watch and realized that since I had a 7:00 curtain for Promises, Promises, I needed to get along with my afternoon, so returned to my palatial room for a savoring of the fabulous view and a quick check of email. Nothing urgent, so I headed for my front row seat, excited about seeing Sean Hayes and Kristin Chenoweth up close. As I sat down, the announcer said, “there will be a special guest star in the show tonight”. The people close to me asked me, “who do you think it will be?” Perplexed as to why they thought I had the answer, I took them seriously anyway. “I’ll go with Rosie O’Donnell”. There were less than positive murmurs. “Or, for my second choice, I’ll go with Donald Trump”. The murmurs become disappointed. The accountant from Chagrin Falls, Ohio seated next to me says, “My money is on Al Pacino”. I am screaming with laughter. The murmurs take on a disgusted tone.

The show is very engaging with outstanding dancing and costumes. Some of the songs are a little weak and I find the story line challenging to embrace, but what the hay? There’s Sean and Kristin right in front of me and everyone is at the top of his/her game. And, then, without warning, Ellen DeGeneres appears in the role of The Nurse. The theater goes wild! She is so terrible!! She is ghastly! But, there is so much warm feeling towards her that everyone is laughing and screaming, even the stars. It is a very nice moment. At intermission, several people say to me, “Well, you were not far off in your prediction”. One of the things I liked best about my front row seat was that I could watch the conductor as he mouthed the words to every song. Like a prompter from days of old! I also liked hearing strains of Satin Doll played by the trombone during intermission and peering into the orchestra pit to see a lone player having a little fun.

I raced out of the theater and into a waiting cab (and how many times can you say that?) which took me to my beloved Eleven Madison Park. But, not just any night at EMP. This was the opening of their newly renovated room and menu which you might have read about in the NYT. Chef Humm and Will, the manager, are trying to do something unique at EMP by having a menu that gives only the basics of the dish on the menu, sort of like a bingo card. The customer is then encouraged to interact with the server to select his dish prepared exactly as he would like it. Chef and Will want the dining experience to be more about the interaction between restaurant and customer and less about being entertained by the chef. Of course, I knew none of this only that I would have a lovely evening. I was met at the door with a glass of champagne and escorted to a sitting area to visit with my favorites. I knew this was because my usual table wasn’t ready, but I loved the aperitif in a different location and, of course, it was wonderful to chat with everyone.

Since I usually just ask Chef Humm to cook for me, I didn’t care what the bingo card said, but I played along and chose four dishes which were, of course, exquisite. There were several courses of amuse bouches and lovely preparations of foie gras, tomato, and lobster. For dessert, I chose, well, I can’t remember now, and they didn’t have menus for me to take home that night. But, it was absolutely awful and looked like someone had dropped it on the way to the table. I tried very hard to be a good sport and get it down, but my server, the inimitable Kevin, took pity on me. He said, “please pick something else”. It was late and I was getting tired, so I said “chocolate” which turned out to be a bit of a misnomer as it was more of a mint, but it was delicious with an ice cream and a little dessert which tasted fabulous.

I am reserving judgment about what I think about the new EMP until I return at Christmas because, after all, it was their first night. I loved being part of the excitement, of course. But, I was not fond of having the kitchen staff serve me. I tried to start a conversation with one fellow by asking him his name. When he told me, I said, “oh, I think I saw that on the bus station wall last week” a line that usually slays them at, say, DBGB or the Moderne. He stared at the floor and I felt absolutely horrible. Later, I pondered that I should not be made to feel horrible at a fine dining place. Of course, I shouldn’t have been so flippant, but part of the fun of EMP for me is the wonderful exchanges that I have with the captains and the managers. As more kitchen staff served my dinner, I sat quietly and mumbled kind things, but it took a lot of the fun out of the dinner. But, all of this is nothing compared to the horror that I expressed when Kevin said that there is no cheese cart. I love cheese carts. The one at EMP may have gotten my prize for the best one ever. And, now it is no more, gone the way of desserts flambé and lobster thermidor.

But, what am I squawking for? For God’s sake, I am at EMP, my NYC dining family. We are laughing and screaming and talking and Megan, the service director, brings out a printed copy of the article that will be in the Food Section of the NYT the next day about the changes. Everyone is in high spirits and, so, around 1:30, I leap into a cab and go back to my Central Park South lair with a day and an evening to remember.