I was introduced to Norma by my dear friend M. We went for a girl group luncheon with S one day. Since then, my friend I, who also lives in its environs, enjoyed a meal there as well.
Last night, after Carol drove me to see her friend Ron on the jazz trumpet uptown, she drove down Park Ave to show me the sculptures the local Park Ave supporters put up. Where to dine?
It is probably obvious to you and to my besties by now that, if we go out somewhere, I am likely to report on it.
Or find something interesting in the outing. At least interesting to me.
For instance, guys, last night we tried Tacombi, a place usually very accessible, and it was full. Packed. I know, maybe it’s Taco Tuesday, and that 6:30 is not an early bird hour. The happy diners here were young and loud.
M. and I moved on to the Beach Cafe, at her suggestion. This is more her nabe than mine, while I do live close by.
The happy diners at the Beach were older and settled in, but we got a booth made for a bigger party than we two. By 7:45, or so, the restaurant had pretty much emptied out.
What happened to the City That Never Sleeps?
The Beach has a neon ad over the bar that says Burgers til 1am.
We were pretty dubious and even snickered on our way out.
BTW, Tuesday is for tacos here as well although they are co-opting the cuisine.
Searching can be a pleasant way to pass your time.
Anyone with a smart phone has a feel for that experience.
We know that all conversations can lead to you pecking into the keyboard. Oh, yes, so-and-so is….
Wish that my search had been as simple as that. I was looking for a more elusive thing.
Something that I could not just see on my screen, but needed to have on my plate. I wanted a piece of the pie.
It’s strawberry rhubarb season, well it’s always strawberry time but rhubarb, well that’s short lived.
In fact, I was going to resort to boiling up my own; couldn’t find it at any green grocery.
That didn’t bode well for my pie quest!
I remember when, because it was its season, you could walk into most local area diners to enjoy a piece of my favorite pie.
My phone search told me that I could find a piece of strawberry rhubarb pie at JG Melon. I took this as encouraging, and intended to stop by for a slice.
Thwarted, again. Lines waiting for a table were discouragement enough.
Amazingly, there was a huge pie at Citarella. So, yes, this story of a pursuit has a happy ending.
Some of the strawberry rhubarb pie is now waiting in the freezer. Some has been digested, and yes, it was good.
I don’t know if it was the exotic setting or the plangency to a Swedish film, but these wild strawberries in a restaurant in Italy were fresher and sweeter than anything I had ever tasted.
Redolent of the forest from which they were picked, they had a taste unlike an ordinary strawberry or any fruit I ever ate. Then or since.
Rich, fragrant, tiny, and perky, wild strawberries were a once in my lifetime experience.
They remain a strong, much favored sensory memory.