09.10.2007 -12 °C
We have already been through my gypsy cab arrival in the Big City. So, moving on…
Before I even arrived, Maria had made a reservation at a great restaurant to kick off the evening – after late night pedicures, of course! With Maria ruling the world at work by day and Melsie running around Europe, I had to go the shopping alone. Well, not entirely alone in that I had plenty of plastic in my wallet!
First order of business, however, was a stop at Starbucks for that perfect American, super-sized, early morning, steaming hot, non-fat, decaff, skim milk, macchiato, no whip cream and extra chocolate shavings in an environmentally friendly to-go cup for good measure. Just kidding, I don’t even know what a macchiato is and only drink highly caffeinated, venti, skim soy lattes
Fully charged up on caffeine, I jumped on the subway (unlimited day pass for $7) and made my way down to Bleecker St. That’s where it all happened, love at first sight! There they were sitting in the window of a gorgeous little shop (Olive and Bette's)… a perfect pair of dangerously high patent leather beauties with a stacked heel just begging me to take them home. *Look, in my world, shoes can talk and that is exactly how it happened! It didn’t matter that they were the colour of a slutty zinfandel from Napa because I believe in buying outfits for the shoes instead of the reverse! Besides, I left that morning with the intention of buying the desperately needed pair of running shoes! The way I see it, I was halfway there having gotten the shoe part right!
After a few more shops and an uncomfortable conversation with the woman from my bank who was concerned (given the number of purchases recently made in four countries) that my credit card had been stolen, I made my way back to Maria’s for quick change before dinner. Just as I was running out of the door, Maria came through wearing the exact same dress (one of the great purchases made in Paris)!!! It was absolutely hysterical and quite lucky that we didn’t agree to meet at the restaurant! We quickly agreed that one of us needed to change. Maria took mercy on me given that I was still technically living out of a backpack. She is a very good friend!
So, there we were, perched safely near the bar in Public. Now, take notice that I mentioned ‘near’ the bar but not at the bar. I bring this up because, as it turns out, it doesn’t matter where you are sitting in a flash New York restaurant/bar… they still bring you alcohol!
If you haven’t been to Public, you should know that it is Melsie’s favourite. Still unclear if the reason being is that they have a fab Australian wine list (stuff I couldn’t even buy at the vineyards in WA!), excellent fusion food or the super hot bartender??? Either way, I would back her on all counts!
As Maria and I moved food around the plates, we managed to get through the first bottle of reasonably priced (Thank God because the one I wanted was $250 and this one came recommended by the nicest waitress ever as a consistently good drop) Australian wine pretty quickly. My funny friend Sam would show up somewhere between the first and second bottle. * Sam is a great friend from LA who helped facilitate my love for The Killers by downloading their first album on my then MP3 player whilst on the way to the airport for my move to Boston. Given that I only had one friend in Boston, Sam saved me from going quietly mad by having done that for me. I listened to that MP3 player all of the time - in the grocery store, running along the Charles, in the laundromat, etc.
Back to the wine!
Now, those of you who know me well also know that I have my limits when it comes to amount of alcohol I can safely consume without embarrassing myself. Lets just say, I must have exceeded that limit on that particular night! That said, from what I do remember, it was a fantastic night that ended with the perfect dirty martini shaken not stirred by Melsie’s bartender while Sam talked to us in a perfect “I speak French and only bits of English when I must’ accent that almost made me pee my pants! Maria doesn’t remember getting home but I do - Yellow Cab not gypsy