Tonight, I enjoyed an after-work dinner with my Quinn & Company colleague, good friend and chief blogging supporter Carla. Our meal coincided with two milestones -- Carla’s tenth anniversary at Quinn & Co., and the one-month mark of Single Gal In The City.
Carla suggested Madison & Vine for our evening repast. Located a quick stroll from Grand Central Station in the boutique chic Library Hotel, the cozy, laidback bistro delivered a palette-pleasing meal that included wild striped bass drizzled with chorizo dressing and the “vine” burger, smothered with Gruyere cheese, red onions and mayo.
Our taste buds were most dazzled by Madison & Vine’s macaroni au gratin, topped with Gruyere, bacon, truffles and toasted bread crumbs. Not so dazzling was the uneven service -- being asked half a dozen times if we were done with our entrée only to then wait several minutes for our dessert order to be taken.
With cocktails in hand (Sauvignon Blanc for me, mojito for Carla), we talked about the expanding social media universe and its many tiers -- from all-access Facebook to by-invitation-only site A Small World. We also reflected on nostalgia for first loves, the kind that lingers once you know the romance is rightfully over and yet you can still appreciate, as friends, the rich history you share.
A scrumptious Smores sundae with meringue ice cream and graham cracker shavings put the perfect exclamation point on our girls’ night out. With a quick hug in front of Grand Central, Carla and I parted company and I found myself feeling grateful all over again for the serendipity that led me to Quinn & Co. and such a great friend.
Happy anniversary, Carla!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Requiem for the Telephone
Earlier this week, H, a guy scheduled to attend a concert with me, decided to cancel -- via text message. H’s decision to cancel our date using an alternate communication method led me to wonder, whatever happened to picking up the phone?
We live in an era where technology enables us to be connected 24/7. And yet, despite email, instant messaging, text messaging, Blackberry devices and the like, it seems like there’s becoming more and more of a disconnect, at least when it comes to what is considered appropriate to communicate in a high-tech fashion.
H’s text is only the latest example that I’ve experienced of this unfortunate trend that would have Miss Manners pointing a disapproving finger at the opposite sex.
During my Match.com days, a guy cancelled our Sunday evening date by sending an email to my work account. Never mind the fact that he had my number and had lamented only days before the disappearing use of the telephone.
In the same vein, a real estate analyst tethered at all times to his Blackberry chose to confirm our recent after-work date by sending me an email after 6pm instead of calling. I happened to log on from home that night, opting to forgive his gaffe and meet him for a drink -- an exception which occurred strictly because I was craving a goodnight kiss and knew he would deliver.
Perhaps this is a hopelessly antiquated notion, but I think picking up the phone remains the most appropriate way to cancel or change plans. Emails can go astray, as can text messages. Calling and or leaving a voicemail demonstrates respect and consideration for another person’s time. And there’s nothing antiquated about that.
We live in an era where technology enables us to be connected 24/7. And yet, despite email, instant messaging, text messaging, Blackberry devices and the like, it seems like there’s becoming more and more of a disconnect, at least when it comes to what is considered appropriate to communicate in a high-tech fashion.
H’s text is only the latest example that I’ve experienced of this unfortunate trend that would have Miss Manners pointing a disapproving finger at the opposite sex.
During my Match.com days, a guy cancelled our Sunday evening date by sending an email to my work account. Never mind the fact that he had my number and had lamented only days before the disappearing use of the telephone.
In the same vein, a real estate analyst tethered at all times to his Blackberry chose to confirm our recent after-work date by sending me an email after 6pm instead of calling. I happened to log on from home that night, opting to forgive his gaffe and meet him for a drink -- an exception which occurred strictly because I was craving a goodnight kiss and knew he would deliver.
Perhaps this is a hopelessly antiquated notion, but I think picking up the phone remains the most appropriate way to cancel or change plans. Emails can go astray, as can text messages. Calling and or leaving a voicemail demonstrates respect and consideration for another person’s time. And there’s nothing antiquated about that.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Opening The Vault: Part Three
There’s nothing like getting hit by a truck to make you appreciate life’s fragility. On the night that happened to me in London, I was craving the comfort of my parents back home – and some comfort of the local variety from my on-again/off-again fling and floormate Fabian.
I now open the vault and take you back once again to Halloween night 1993.
Sunday October 31, 1993
Commonwealth Hall, London
Dear Diary,
I told Fabian about the accident and he immediately gave me a hug.
My room was a mess and I didn’t feel like dealing with it, so I suggested we go to his room. We did and I sat down on his bed. As I began to describe what happened, my voice quivered and I broke down in tears again. Fabian came over and put his arm around my shoulder.
“It was really scary, Fabian,” I said between sobs.
I began to shiver, both from anxiety over the accident and the sudden chill in Fabian’s room. I pulled his comforter over me and lying back, asked—
“Will you just hold me please?” Without hesitation, he replied—
“Of course,” getting up briefly to turn off the main light so that there was only the low glimmer of his bedside lamp.
Once he was beside me, he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. I placed my hand over his and slowly, felt myself calm down. Fabian caressed my face and kissed my cheek, urging me not to think about my brush with death. He also told me about being hit by a car himself at the age of 5.
I turned to face him as he spoke and rested my head on his chest. He stroked my hair and we laid in silence for awhile. Sometimes, nothing surpasses the security and warmth to be had from this kind of quiet closeness.
…Of course, there is only so long that two youthful, excitable bodies can be in close proximity to one another before the hormones start getting charged up.
Soon, our cheeks were brushing and we were looking right into each other's eyes. Finally, we kissed, a long, lingering kiss.
“You know,” I said, planting kisses on his neck for added emphasis, “I don’t think (kiss) you and I are destined to have a platonic relationship.”
Before Fabian, I never experienced such physical excitement. Given the circumstances (i.e., he has a girlfriend), I often feel guilty about our intimacy, even though my virginity remains firmly intact.
Fabian's guilt was obviously resurfacing, because in the middle of fooling around, he suddenly sat up.
“I know I’ve said this before,” he said, “but I really think we should just be friends.”
I burst out laughing. Fabian had made this recurring suggestion as recently as a week ago.
“I think we should play it by ear,” I said.
It was late (after 2am), so I left his room. I had gotten what I needed from Fabian and felt much better for it--apart from lingering soreness in my knees because of the accident. Ouch.
* * *
I still remember the many nights I would creep out of Fabian’s room at some ungodly hour, hoping none of our floormates would see me. I could never have imagined that the real romance between us would blossom months and months later, after I was back in New York.
Up next…a sweet Dave Matthews tribute band and the downside of warp-speed romance.
I now open the vault and take you back once again to Halloween night 1993.
Sunday October 31, 1993
Commonwealth Hall, London
Dear Diary,
I told Fabian about the accident and he immediately gave me a hug.
My room was a mess and I didn’t feel like dealing with it, so I suggested we go to his room. We did and I sat down on his bed. As I began to describe what happened, my voice quivered and I broke down in tears again. Fabian came over and put his arm around my shoulder.
“It was really scary, Fabian,” I said between sobs.
I began to shiver, both from anxiety over the accident and the sudden chill in Fabian’s room. I pulled his comforter over me and lying back, asked—
“Will you just hold me please?” Without hesitation, he replied—
“Of course,” getting up briefly to turn off the main light so that there was only the low glimmer of his bedside lamp.
Once he was beside me, he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. I placed my hand over his and slowly, felt myself calm down. Fabian caressed my face and kissed my cheek, urging me not to think about my brush with death. He also told me about being hit by a car himself at the age of 5.
I turned to face him as he spoke and rested my head on his chest. He stroked my hair and we laid in silence for awhile. Sometimes, nothing surpasses the security and warmth to be had from this kind of quiet closeness.
…Of course, there is only so long that two youthful, excitable bodies can be in close proximity to one another before the hormones start getting charged up.
Soon, our cheeks were brushing and we were looking right into each other's eyes. Finally, we kissed, a long, lingering kiss.
“You know,” I said, planting kisses on his neck for added emphasis, “I don’t think (kiss) you and I are destined to have a platonic relationship.”
Before Fabian, I never experienced such physical excitement. Given the circumstances (i.e., he has a girlfriend), I often feel guilty about our intimacy, even though my virginity remains firmly intact.
Fabian's guilt was obviously resurfacing, because in the middle of fooling around, he suddenly sat up.
“I know I’ve said this before,” he said, “but I really think we should just be friends.”
I burst out laughing. Fabian had made this recurring suggestion as recently as a week ago.
“I think we should play it by ear,” I said.
It was late (after 2am), so I left his room. I had gotten what I needed from Fabian and felt much better for it--apart from lingering soreness in my knees because of the accident. Ouch.
* * *
I still remember the many nights I would creep out of Fabian’s room at some ungodly hour, hoping none of our floormates would see me. I could never have imagined that the real romance between us would blossom months and months later, after I was back in New York.
Up next…a sweet Dave Matthews tribute band and the downside of warp-speed romance.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Buddakan Dazzles
Last week, I made my first visit to meatpacking district sensation Buddakan. Joining me was one of my dearest friends and most favorite people on planet earth, Morty, for a belated celebration of his birthday.
As soon as we entered Buddakan, I knew immediately why the producers of Sex and the City chose it as the location for Carrie and Big’s rehearsal dinner. The cavernous 16,000 square foot space – formerly a Nabisco cookie factory – manages to feel grand yet sublimely intimate, thanks to a labyrinth of softly-lit dining nooks around every corner.
Morty and I started off in the bar area, where our perky Aisha Tyler-lookalike waitress Jasmine debriefed us about Buddakan’s celebrity quotient. In the house that night were a Project Runway contestant along with my former Fox News colleague, anchor Rick Folbaum. Earlier in the week, Lionel Ritchie and Depeche Mode had dropped by.
I asked Jasmine if the restaurant has seen a bump in visitors because of SATC. While Buddakan already does brisk business, she said the fanfare leading up to the movie’s release definitely brought in new customers. And yes, I will admit it was Carrie and Big who prompted me to make my long-awaited visit.
Over a pair of perfect cosmos, Morty and I caught up on our own version of current events. He told me about his relaxing jaunt to Northampton, Mass with his longtime beau. I shared the scoop on my recent Facebook connections with more than one old flame.
When we were escorted to our table, I was delighted to discover we had a perfect view of the Chinoiserie – the majestic two-level grand hall seen in SATC. The chandelier-lit space and banquet table seating 30 are even more spectacular than they photograph, and the perfect focal point for people watching when you’re dining upstairs.
Morty and I turned our attention to Buddakan’s sumptuous nouveau Chinese menu of shareable dishes. For appetizers, we feasted on chili rock shrimp, pork potstickers and duck spring rolls. Next up, steamed red snapper with black mushrooms and ginger-glazed veal cheeks so tender and flavorful, I couldn’t stop myself from mmmmming aloud. We satisfied our sweet tooths with a banana-laced millefeulle and chocolate peanut butter bombe, decorated with a candle of course in honor of the occasion.
Morty is someone I celebrate not just on his birthday but every day – a man of such irresistible charm and wit that he can melt the heart of the most hardened journalist (no small feat when you work in PR). More than that, he is the epitome of a true friend. It is with good reason that I have affectionately referred to him as my rock – because on more occasions than I can count, Morty has been the person I’ve leaned on to carry me through the darkness.
The night before my father died, Morty managed to do what no one else could have – he made me laugh. A heartfelt laugh that helped me believe I could somehow survive my second parental loss.
I couldn’t have picked a better place than Buddakan to celebrate Morty’s birthday. With its dramatic ambience, first-class service and delectable menu, Buddakan delivers a dazzling dining experience. Sharing it with one of my best friends only made it even sweeter.
As soon as we entered Buddakan, I knew immediately why the producers of Sex and the City chose it as the location for Carrie and Big’s rehearsal dinner. The cavernous 16,000 square foot space – formerly a Nabisco cookie factory – manages to feel grand yet sublimely intimate, thanks to a labyrinth of softly-lit dining nooks around every corner.
Morty and I started off in the bar area, where our perky Aisha Tyler-lookalike waitress Jasmine debriefed us about Buddakan’s celebrity quotient. In the house that night were a Project Runway contestant along with my former Fox News colleague, anchor Rick Folbaum. Earlier in the week, Lionel Ritchie and Depeche Mode had dropped by.
I asked Jasmine if the restaurant has seen a bump in visitors because of SATC. While Buddakan already does brisk business, she said the fanfare leading up to the movie’s release definitely brought in new customers. And yes, I will admit it was Carrie and Big who prompted me to make my long-awaited visit.
Over a pair of perfect cosmos, Morty and I caught up on our own version of current events. He told me about his relaxing jaunt to Northampton, Mass with his longtime beau. I shared the scoop on my recent Facebook connections with more than one old flame.
When we were escorted to our table, I was delighted to discover we had a perfect view of the Chinoiserie – the majestic two-level grand hall seen in SATC. The chandelier-lit space and banquet table seating 30 are even more spectacular than they photograph, and the perfect focal point for people watching when you’re dining upstairs.
Morty and I turned our attention to Buddakan’s sumptuous nouveau Chinese menu of shareable dishes. For appetizers, we feasted on chili rock shrimp, pork potstickers and duck spring rolls. Next up, steamed red snapper with black mushrooms and ginger-glazed veal cheeks so tender and flavorful, I couldn’t stop myself from mmmmming aloud. We satisfied our sweet tooths with a banana-laced millefeulle and chocolate peanut butter bombe, decorated with a candle of course in honor of the occasion.
Morty is someone I celebrate not just on his birthday but every day – a man of such irresistible charm and wit that he can melt the heart of the most hardened journalist (no small feat when you work in PR). More than that, he is the epitome of a true friend. It is with good reason that I have affectionately referred to him as my rock – because on more occasions than I can count, Morty has been the person I’ve leaned on to carry me through the darkness.
The night before my father died, Morty managed to do what no one else could have – he made me laugh. A heartfelt laugh that helped me believe I could somehow survive my second parental loss.
I couldn’t have picked a better place than Buddakan to celebrate Morty’s birthday. With its dramatic ambience, first-class service and delectable menu, Buddakan delivers a dazzling dining experience. Sharing it with one of my best friends only made it even sweeter.
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