September 2009

Apologies for the hiatus! I’ve been making excuses again. But, seeing as how all other forms of writing are back on the horizon for me, I figured blogging could squeeze its way into my schedule as well.

Here is a little something to satisfy your palates – literally. I realized with all the wining and dining I do in New York, it was high time I wrote some commentary on the subject.

This is a list that I started after a dinner at the West Bank Cafe, located at 42nd and 9th.


1. The bathroom stalls have floor-to-ceiling length doors and sinks that look like bowls of pottery.
2. There is at least one item on the entree list that is in a foreign language – even if the restaurant is not ethic.
3. The “pre-meal” item does not consist of bread.
4. Sorbet is served between courses to “cleanse” the palate. We all know it’s served just because it tastes amazing.
5. The cognac list is as long (if not longer) than the regular dessert list.
6. Gratuity is automatically added to your bill regardless of party size.
7. The waiter is incredibly skilled at opening bottles of wine – you’re not sure, but you think you just saw him do it one-handed.
8. You don’t get a choice of salad dressing and there are no croutons.
9. There are no children in sight. If there are, they have napkins neatly folded in their shirts.
10. You know it’s going to be a night you’re everywhere you want to be – VISA is in your back pocket.

Something about having a new trumpet-playing neighbor whose music wafts through my open windows makes me feel even more New York.

I get to create a whole back story for this person – perhaps they’ve always lived there, but they just started playing. Or maybe they are someone’s child who has just started taking music lessons or an out-of-town relative staying for an extended period. It doesn’t really matter, plus, the mystery of it all is part of the fun.

It reminds me of another set of windows where another instrument could be heard. During my sophomore year of college, I lived in a dorm that was part of a  pseudo-quad set up. A very talented drummer lived across the way in the dorm just diagonal from mine. It was the only kind of noise I didn’t mind distracting me from a paper or reading. In fact, I welcomed it.

Now, here I am, six years later, in my apartment in the city that was only a dream back then…

You can take the girl outta Jersey, but you can’t take Jersey outta the girl.

Granted, my homestate is a bloody mess in almost every other respect, but it’s nice to know the governor cares about marriage equality – even if, in true political fashion, he’s using it for votes. Civil unions yesterday, marriage tomorrow.