NY to the C

(so this post is horribly out of date but thought it might amuse anyway). (just imagine it's the middle of November). (thanks for your indulgence).

Two days in the city that never sleeps with the Brits -- my dear friend Tanya and her gentleman friend Adam, who both make googobs of the cold hard at a 1.85 dollar to 1 pound sterling exchange rate in the LDN, as chronicled through the food we ate:

-Monday morning at their hotel (the Helmsley no less) -- Tanya and I had corned beef hash with poached eggs (delicious!), Adam had granola with raspberries, then bacon and eggs. Coffee, oj, brown toast.

-Lunch: first, a round of hot dogs from a vendor on Park Ave (mustard, ketchup, onions), then on to a lovely Italian hole in the W 73rd St wall ("Let's have a lovely boozy lunch!" said Tans -- so we did). A bottle of Pinot Grigio. Cold asparagus dressed in a vinaigrette and chopped hardboiled eggs. Prosciutto that could serve as butter -- that creamy and fantabulous, with mozzarella di buffalo and a little oil & balsamico. Adam had veal carpaccio (I shuddered, and then tried it -- it tasted like dry roast turkey) with a nice tuna & caper sauce. Then dessert -- a not-too-sweet, not-too-coffee tiramisu, and pistachio gelato with tiny little bits of nuts. La, la.

-a campari and soda in the hotel bar before it was off to Soho to dine with Adam's mate from Oxbridge, Dan. Now, Dan, bless him, in that balding, roundish Anglo-male way, can never look anything but a bit rumpley, and has a lovely smile. Then I found out he writes the scripts for Grand Theft Auto ("Bitch, gimme my money!!" wtf?). We ate at a Korean/Japanese restaurant. It was a relatively slow night, and the owner, or somebody else important, waited on us and we had an AMAZING meal.

When English people of reasonable (or drunken) means, in my limited experience, "go for an Indian," or any other non-English, non-Continental meal, tend to order pretty much anywhere between two-thirds to three-quarters of what is on the menu. The number of people you are dining with is irrelevant. None of this wimpy American each-person-gets-one-thing-
and-maybe-you-share nonsense. You might talk about what looks good before you place the order, you might say what you will or won't eat depending on your dietary needs, but it all goes out the window as soon as the server approaches your table.

"We'll start off with some ...
oh, and we'd better get some of that...
and let's not forget that ...." etc etc etc

Unbelievable. T and I shared a bottle of white (well, Dan had one glass, but otherwise the boys drank beer).

We had: Grilled eel (takes me back to Tokyo) on skewers. Spicy tuna roll (& spicy it was!). steak tartare with a raw egg -- the steak so cold you could almost crunch the ice crystals with your teeth. Crispy sauteed beef. Mountains upon mountains of yummy sushi and sashimi of every kind -- a veritable rainbow of pouisson. Cold spinach arranged into wee little mounds with a tangy sesame dressing ("Oh, there's our greens, then," sighed Dan). Luckily no miso soup, since it tastes like old socks to me (I really want to like it, I really do, but it tastes like old socks).

And the awesome thing about it was that I took Tanya's lead and just had little bites of everything -- she looks like a bird and she eats like one too, except for breakfast, bless her heart -- so I tasted everything but I didn't eat mountains of food like the boys, which would have made me feel quite ill. They can really put it away though -- reminds me of my father in his prime. Gotta love some rangy tall metabolism.

Tuesday morning we got bagels & lox -- yum.

Then we went to sushi -- again. Bear with me. "We can't get good sushi in London," they said. "We're going to some odd Mexican/Thai restaurant tonight," they said (the name of the restaurant was Blue Chilli -- what else could it be?). So we had some more -- admittedly, incredible -- sushi. Tuna tartare with a raw quail egg on top. Spicy tuna roll. Rock shrimp tempura. Salmon skin roll -- that was brilliant. More of that lovely cold spinach thing. A sashimi platter -- salmon, yellowtail, mackerel, prawn. Gorgeous.

Then it's off to the shops -- Tans was on a mission to buy Seven jeans (lord forgive me) so we went to the Barneys co-op, and then to Diane Von Furstenberg's boutique, where she paid -- I kid you not -- two hundred dollars for a SHRUG (it looks stunning, & I'll be the first to admit that, but come on) and then I took her to the Strand, which is my particular shopping mecca. We bought de Bernieres and Frayn and Lethem and Ridley and Butler and Alexie, and then cabbed it back to the Helmsley for a restorative Baileys.

Blue Chilli was not, as we had thought, a godawful Thai/Mexican fusion catastrophe. It was, rather, a very swank Japanese restaurant (!!! I haven't eaten this much raw fish since Tokyo!). We were joined for dinner by the aforementioned rumpley Dan (who's name, when pronounced in Adam's accent, sounds like "Diane", which was the cause of quite a bit of personal confusion for yours truly), and their mates from college Rowan ("Rone"), India ("Ind-ya") and Yen ("Yen"). India has Barbie's body (sized down -- she's only about five feet tall) and Barbie's long blonde hair and Patsy from AbFab's bangs, poochy-out lips, voice, and mannerisms. Needless to say I couldn't get enough. She'd already drunk two saketini's by the time we arrived and spent most of the night standing up, making her chair fall over, striding about, interrogating Tanya and Adam about their relationship, and making pronouncements such as "I never drank when I was married, but now I'm divorced, and I drink all the time, and it's lovely." Bless.

A repeat of the amazing food from before -- only now with a plateful of raw oysters as well, plus steak, plus some sort of fish, which was lovely. Thoroughly stuffed and watered (three or four cocktails I believe -- which would not have been a problem had I been in practice as I was living in London or Ireland, but here -- jeez), I cabbed it waaaaay uptown for a quick glass of wine with L and new new beau, who I thoroughly approve of, before nodding off.

(Fast forward to tonight when Dore wants to go to dinner and suggests Japanese (she's pining, poor girl) and I really, really want to do this thing for her, but I. Just. Can't. So I suggest Whole Foods. Why not, really? She can get her california roll on and I can go buckwild with some latkes. Yum, yum, yum).

Best Site Ever!!

Or will be for the next four years.

It's so true.

Update bo bup date

First, I want to plug Chris Kaminstein and Max Goldblatt's new musical "The Terrible Parable of Leni Riefenstahl" which debuted this weekend at Wesleyan University. Now I was in DC debuting my own show and as such was unable to see it, but come on. You can't go wrong with those two lovely young gentlemen and that title.

So, it's been a while. Last post was 30 October. That night I dressed up in Ellie's pink cable knit sweater and pearls and house slippers and an apron and was Drunken Housewife for Halloween. I don't remember very much about the night other than that I screamed a lot when DB came in, and Amber was there, and we were in Mount Pleasant and I had a martini glass that my minions were very good at keeping filled. Also, the next morning I received a text message from an unknown number: "Restaurant & sex still an option?"

So I gather I was rather on my game.

31st I got up and took a cab to work (how horrible). Luckily it wasn't the busiest of Sunday brunches because I would not have been able to handle it. Walked home. Laid on the couch and then managed to briefly rouse myself and put in an appearance at Adancito's birthday party (make your own pizza?!?!) and then came home and laid on the couch some more.

The first I have what I did no idea except I found out that we didn't have to be in the theatre all day Tuesday as I had previously thought, which angered me because I would have gone to Philadelphia to knock on doors. Which is where Ellie, the troupiest of troupers, comes in. Monday night we had a frantic drive to Philly, stayed at J's lovely abode, woke up early in the am, connected with the MoveOn people, and spent Tuesday morning knocking on doors. Mostly cute little old Italian nonnas, and one crazy anti-Semite. Then we went to Shanks and had the best sandwich ever and went to the market and bought amazing cheese and drove home in time to vote and get to the theater. Yay! What a lovely impromptu adventure.

Well, yay until Tuesday night anyway. I piled on Ellie's bed to cry and freak out, then G came home and joined us, and then K and Z came home, and we had a nice albeit apocalyptic snuggle before going to our respective sleeping quarters to fitfully doze through the wee frantic Ohio morning.

I am still in shock and inarticulate about the entire hullabaloo.

Wednesday the third it was a blessing to go to the theatre and have a routine and be able to have to physically move, not just walk around in a little heartbroken shell. The crowd wasn't great in numbers but was indeed great in spirit, and that's what we needed, anyway.

The daytime of Thursday the fourth is again lost to me; the show was good -- Rachel and assorted Wesheads came. Then Rachel and I went to the Wonderbar, and had a delicious kielbasa and managed to not depress ourselves too much. Ellie joined us for a beer, and we made a new and I believe to be a strategically important friend. It was a late night, but supremely enjoyable, if I do say so myself.

Friday morning I got home around 7:30 and laid on the couch -- watched the last ten minutes of Tom Jones, Finding Nemo, The Knack (an awful movie, never rent this), and -- of course -- Bridget Jones. Tried to decorate my room in time for Leana and Heather's visit, and was unsuccessful, although I did nail the corkboard up and it looks quite lovely.

I thought Friday night was a good show. We were in the CityPaper, and it was our first sellout crowd. A really lovely crowd -- got many of the jokes and little bits that had theretofore gone unnoticed.

Saturday I had brunch with my parents and my aunt who was in town for the weekend. Missed the Liverpool-Birmingham game (they lost 1-0 at Anfield... it's going to be a long and tough slog to fourth place). Went and got the girls. Leana and I hung out in the afternoon and then I dropped her off to meet Heather for dinner (I had a 6:30 call).

It's so wonderful when really good friends that you don't get to see that often come for a visit. It was so brilliant to be with the girls. They both seem to be doing well in NYC. After the show we went home, the three of us and AB (be still my beating heart), and drank & smoked a little and then went to Wonderland with G and Ellie and David. Yippee!!

It was packed and smoky and the people-watching was fabulous. Max bought the first round and I bought the second and then G bought me a beer right before he left. It was one of those lovely evening when some you time your eating and beer intake perfectly right so that you are happily drunk for a long time, but never too drunk, and never tired. Excellent. I ran into two regulars from the restaurant -- two regulars that I even like, which is the best -- and one of them remembered my fake name for him, which made me very pleased. Good music as always -- Superstitious, and that Radiohead song I can't remember the title of that goes "Transport, motorways, and tramlines ..."

I challenged G to a mission and was sorely disappointed in his efforts and his ultimate failure to succeed in said mission, but all was well. And AB stayed for not just one (as he had previously mooted he only had time for) but two beers, which was nice. I am trying to not read too much into that.

We went home and went to sleep and in the morning Heather's brother came by with bagels and bagel accoutrements, and we had a too-short footie chat (I hadn't known about Santini leaving, yikes!) and then he drove the girls to the bus and I went to catch the last half of the Manchester derby. Can't imagine that the United-Yankees parallel can go on much longer if they keep playing like that. Which isn't to say that City had a good game, because they didn't, really, leaving Richard Dunne's excellent defensework aside. Anelka was nowhere to be seen. SWP had a few good breakway runs, but they were ultimately stymied. United -- what is going on? Giggs was trying to make it happen, Keane was trying to make it happen, Scholes and then Rooney -- and no follow through. Most frustrating. Of course Poll was the ref. Of course. He wasn't as bad as he's been, though. Smith definitely deserved to get sent off.

It was strange to have the last show -- I think we were really starting to breathe into it. Of course I forgot things on the last night, of course. Overall, not bad. Had a lovely post-show beer and burger at Tonic with AB, Sabrina, S, the irrepressible T, and the cocky faux-Parisian. Riotous, actually. The kind of table I love having as a waitress.

Which brings us to today, and What Comes Next.

What Comes Next?