Tuesday: 11 straight hours of work. Which required numbing ourselves afterward with a rich, decadent dinner at Asia de Cuba.
Today, a new day. Though it was also full, it wasn’t so bad: just a little over nine hours at the office, finished with a team dinner at the Wapping Project.
This restaurant, located inside an old hydraulic power plant built in 1890, is remote but casual and cool.
Moody candles and retro television sets adorn and decorate the old machinery.
We had a family style meal of chilled cucumber soup…
… roasted duck, carrots and mash (tres English, non?)
… and black pepper ice cream with the most perfect raspberries. Heaven.
But the best part of dinner was the Yohji Yamamoto installation, a satellite exhibition of the V&A exhibition that I wrote about months ago.
Through an unmarked door, we entered a dank room filled with water and one gondola.
A huge silk wedding dress with bamboo crinoline hung from the ceiling. The lighting and music were austere and atmospheric.
Expectations for tomorrow: more work, lots of rain and cool temperatures, another afternoon of too many Cadbury and Haribo treats, dinner in Soho, and hopefully some news from New York. Life is good.
It was a relatively last-minute assignment, and it unexpectedly brought me to London. So, after a busy week in New York (finished the book—done with edits!; finished my apartment refinancing—done with paperwork!; baked Nutella brownies for my family reunion, which was this past weekend in Connecticut and which was brilliant… and said brownies, which I made from scratch, were pas mal!; plus a couple other significant meetings and accomplishments… future details about Belgian chocolate and macarons in America writing assignments to come), I boarded a redeye last night. I was asleep before takeoff and, miraculously, slept for pretty much the entire six-hour flight.
So waking up and going straight to work wasn’t too horrible. Especially since everyone in Ogilvy’s London office is so nice. Someone actually came by to welcome us with bags of sweets: gummies + Cadbury = fast friends and assured loyalty for the remainder of the week.
And then I got back to the hotel this evening and was welcomed with a handwritten note and a cupcake. Quel service!
And then Sally and I went to a lovely little French restaurant, Terroirs. The menu was French, the wine selection was French, and our waiter was French. So we got to relive our glory days in Paris, practice our paltry language skills, and eat lovely food: a pork chop for Sally...
...anchovies on toast pour moi...
plus a tuna, bean and tomato salad.
Looking forward to another day in London tomorrow!
Last year, it was Breathless, outdoors at the foot of the Champs-Elysées.
This year, it was Breakfast at Tiffany's under the Brooklyn Bridge, with Manhattan's downtown skyline across the river.
Which would you rather see? Where would you rather be?
How come I've never read any of of Ruth Reichl's books before? How come, after all the years of hearing her name spoken in respectful worship, while knowing who she was, never actually picked up one of her books?
By chance, I bought Comfort Me with Apples on Friday night. I couldn't put it down all weekend (well, I could, but only to eat). I just finished it. It's the first book I've read in eons that I simply didn't want to end. When I came to the last page, I then savored the acknowledgements, flipped to the title page, read the back cover, and even went through the reader's guide questions (who ever does that?!)
A little late to the game perhaps, but I now get it. I join the ranks of respectful worshipers. I'm also in love with Ruth Reichl. Just read this:
The hot-pink soup was dotted with lacy green leaves of cilantro, like little bursts of breeze behind the heat. Small puffs of fried tofu, as insubstantial as clouds, floated in the liquid. I took another spoonful of soup and tasted citrus, as if lemons had once gone gliding through and left their ghosts behind.
Holy cow, that woman can write. Tender at the Bone, you're next.
I have been ravenous lately. And giving in to too many whims and cravings. A banana s’mores bar while we wait for brunch? Okay, sure! Fried cheese to go with that beer? Might as well! A midnight cupcake to chase those two sidecars? Oh, pourquoi pas.
Reality. It returns this week, my friends.
Morning Coffee and oatmeal (I am taking a break from my green juices and tea)
Afternoon Salad from Amy’s Bread: romaine, avocado, pumpkin seeds, cannellini beans, roasted tomato and zucchini (yes, it’s as delicious as it sounds)
A raisin roll
Carrot sticks
Smoked almonds
Evening My new favorite salad of romaine, apple, golden raisins, peanuts and toasted sesame seeds
I don’t know if it’s the heat, the hangover or what, but I am just blissed out on life in New York today.
It started Friday with an early dinner at ’ino. I hadn’t been there in years and the bruschetta, salads, wine and waitstaff were every bit as soul-satisfying as I remembered them to be (especially the walnut and sundried tomato pesto bruschetta—mercy). And on my way to the restaurant, I had stopped at the bookstore and picked up a copy of Comfort Me with Apples on sale. A little late to the game, to say the least, but after reading it all weekend, I am now officially smitten with Ruth Reichl. The book, the dinner, and afterward, it was onto Film Forum to see the El Bulli documentary.
A delicious, auspicious kickoff to the weekend.
Saturday morning started early with Summer Streets. Essentially, the city closes the stretch of Lafayette and Park Avenues from the Brooklyn Bridge to the Upper East Side to cars and it’s free range for bicyclists, joggers, skaters and strollers. I love this tradition and walked for hours, literally. (So did Wylie Dufresne, apparently.) The truth is, I was in pursuit of one of the best sandwiches in the city: the Bingo at Shopsins inside the Essex Street Market. Fried brussels sprouts, guacamole and jack on ciabatta?! I had to have it. I read about it on Serious Eats Friday morning, dreamed about it Friday night, and was devastated Saturday morning when I got to the market and saw Shopsins was closed for vacation (where does Kenny think he is, Paris?!).
But the tears quickly dried. For I marched a few blocks north to Torrisi for the turkey sandwich. Deelish.
Later in the day, I watched the Red Sox slaughter the Yankees while eating fried mozzarella and drinking Sam Adams at a sports bar. Already a full and brilliant day, but it wasn’t over yet.
It was time for Saturday Night Out with AJ. How awesome is it to be best friends with someone since the age of 13, and just always have the best time with them? Pretty awesome, let me tell you. We tried to go to the Alexander McQueen exhibition, but—no surprise—the lines at the Met were too long, even at 9 o’clock at night. So we taxied downtown, scoping out Lure, Peasant and Public before finally having cocktails at 1534, midnight cupcakes at Little Cupcake Bakeshop, and a final round at Weather Up Tribeca.
Today, the feeding frenzy continued. While Ben, Merrill and I waited for AJ, Michael and Max to arrive at Homemade in Red Hook, we had—pourquoi pas??—a few pre-brunch snacks at Baked. As decadent as that thumbprint cookie, banana s’mores bar and brownster—a chocolate chip cookie enveloped in brownie—were, they almost had nothing on our brunch.
I can’t even convey to you how delicious this plate was. The eggs, has browns and thickly sliced walnut toast were all steeped in butter. The French toast was a good two inches thick, topped with peaches, swimming in a sweet raspberry coulis. And we sat in the restaurant’s magical garden, sharing conversation, the summer day and ourselves. It is for moments, days, meals and weekends like this, and that I was with my mom, stepfather, brother, niece and nephew last weekend, and that my dad will be coming to the city this week for work this week and I will show him the High Line and we’ll have dinner, and that I have a family reunion with all my cousins and aunts and uncles in beautiful Connecticut next weekend, it is for these things that I gave up Paris.
Enjoying l'heure bleu... That magical time between day and night... When the light is ethereal and haunting... Making you linger on terraces and riverbanks... Before, finally, saying goodnight.
We have Anne Fontaine and agnès b. Comptoir des Cotonniers and Cotelac. Isabel Marant and Zadig et Voltaire.
When I saw this sign that Maje is coming to Bleecker Street, NYC’s Frenchie Ghetto, I thought, the only store we’re missing now is Sandro. Then I rounded the corner.
