The Diarists Step Out

Spritopias & Suburban Island:
Existential Detectives

Tuesday, I took the Metro North Commuter from Union Station in New Haven to Grand Central Terminal in Manhattan so I could meet Marie, the Eminence of Suburban Island, for dinner as she was in the City for business.

Normally, my train trips are uneventful because I plug myself into the iPod, fall asleep, and wake up in New York ready to march around the City. A moving vehicle is a moving vehicle and as long as I am not operating it, I am sleeping in it. This trip the battery in my iPod petered out and I was woken by the Poltergeist of Public Transportation. You know of whom I speak, that loud white man pontificating in ignorant, crude language about something, about which he knows next to nothing. I looked twice to make sure I wasn't the one annoying the entire train, and realizing it wasn't me, I tried to read Dante’s Divine Comedy - which I keep in my overcoat pocket for such occasions – but even that ancient poetry could not drown out this ignoramus.

Upon arriving at Grand Central Terminal, I top-sided into Manhattan and in keeping with tradition, promptly got lost. Keep in mind that Marie’s hotel was on the same block as the Terminal and there was absolutely no reason why I should have walked around as I did. I know my way around Manhattan, I insist on getting lost for the comedy.

Tiny Elvis as Hotel Clerk

Upon hooking up with Marie at her hotel, we asked the concierge where our restaurant was and both Marie and I assumed the other paid attention to those directions. I had also assumed that I had listened to those directions, got us lost and then called directory assistance for directions and got us lost again. This walking around Manhattan was not without purpose – we were burning calories in anticipation of our meal. The only cruelty of it was that Marie was wearing beautiful walking slippers and no socks.

We finally found our restaurant, Salute!, which goes against my morals of eating upmarket Italian food. I believe in the wholesomeness of the Italian people and making their food pretentious reminds me of the French who embody, in my Hebrew/German brain, everything that is wrong with the world – especially when it comes to food. The reason that French women do not get fat has more to do with the food being terrible than an inborn or cultural virtue.

We started dinner with martinis, I had a Macintosh Martini, and Marie had Frozen Grape. I have rules about time spent with Marie, namely because Kipp and I are jealous of the time she spends with her own children and the things they do. An outing with Marie must include: martinis, Starbucks Coffee, blogger gossip, blog inappropriate gossip, and a rich meal that ends in dessert. I normally do not drink on a school night because I cannot hold my liquor, but this was a special occasion.

My food was fantastic, and because I am boorish: I tried Marie’s too; hers was even better than mine was. If you are in New York and are unwilling to mortgage one of your children for a great meal – this is your place. It was not inexpensive but it was not insane either. I had a pork chop made with some cherry pepper sauce and Marie had exquisite ravioli.

My Dad is a chef so I will admit to being a snob about food but especially about ravioli. While we were still children and before he was a diabetic, he would make us ravioli filled with anything, we wanted (veal, spicy beef, tuna, and salmon were all favorites). Marie’s ravioli last night was as good as my father’s – which is the best grade I can give food.

This restaurant was all New York, with one exception. They had the snobbish host and waiters, the man who helps you wash your hands in the bathroom (I hate that) but it had a waiter with a mullet. Only out of deference to Marie did I not take his picture. The lighting in the place precluded good camera phone use so it would have been a full-out digital camera with thermonuclear flash. You will have to take my word for it that this person had a mullet - topped, oddly enough a faux hawk.

We shared a desert of caramelized banana chocolate mousse with lasted as long as it took me to type it. I was not a fan of the caramelized banana but it made a beautiful decoration. I never know when it is appropriate to eat the decoration but I do know that it is not appropriate to tell me what I am doing is inappropriate and I bank on other people being politer than I am: we ate it. Bananas with mousse is a perfect match. I would go back just for that dessert.

One reassuring thing about this very swank restaurant was that there were children – albeit well-behaved children – present in the dining room. This makes the place seem a little less posh and a little more assessable. I would prefer to never see children when I am not at work but sometimes they are nice to have around because then you know that everyday people are welcome if they are letting children – the unholy hybrid of STD and WMD into the place.

After dinner, we headed back toward the train station where we were waylaid by a Starbucks. We might not have made it down the next block if we had not gotten our dose of caffeine. While we were crossing over for the Starbucks, I noticed the Library Hotel. This place was set up like a library and unlike other unique places in New York, the people let us roam around their hotel unattended and for free. We poked around the different floors, and checked out their piano lounge and rooftop garden bar. The building was arranged along the lines of the Dewey Decimal System and each floor was themed along those lines.

I did try to steal two pieces of their china from the piano lounge – but Marie was opposed to me pilfering their dishes. If Hillary Clinton can take couches with her when she leaves the White House, I have a hard time feeling ashamed about a coffee mug. I was going to get her one, too.

After the Library Hotel it was time to board the train for my two hour ride home, plus the thirty minutes back in the car. I had a great time and I hope Marie did as well. A special thank-you as well to Tiny Elvis for stalking us in the city.

Comments

[liz]

sounds like a perfect evening...and might I add that you are looking very suave!

[Alex Vance]

I don't think I've ever been to a restaurant so posh that they had a man to help me wash my hands in the bathroom. Are you sure he worked there?

[purple chai]

Mwah! Love you guys!

[Margaret]

What a fun outing and I love Marie. I would like to meet her too--but you are closer. I love anything caramelized within reason.

[l-empress]

Okay, so French women don't get fat. According to a doctor who examines post-baryatric patients, Indian women don't get fat either. I maintain that is because the men eat all the food first.

[cosmic]

Instead of New Haven next time, I think we should do NYC. I loved it the one time I went. I am a geek though. I want to arrive Friday morning so I can be at the Today show again.

[Suburban Island]

That was so much fun - I just got finished writing up our NYC adventures too - http://www.suburbanisland.us/2005/10/nyc_high_notes_.html.

[Yvonne]

Hopefully I can catch you two on the next go-around! By the way, I froze my feet off in upstate NY. Literally.