Wow. Today. So that was a blur. One of those where I was so up to my eyeballs that the only way I knew it was 6:00 was from the throbbing that is my butt bone from sitting behind my computer for far too long.
But this weekend. Now that, my leetle fashionable friends, was just fine.
For starters: SoHo Grand. I don't know why we always stay there--maybe because due to my old old job, I always could score an upgrade. No upgrade this time--room was okay, though really small. Some air conditioning regulation would really benefit occupants (me). Options were 800, or four, degrees.
And you know how, for example, you see that one, say, fuschia handknit Balenciaga sweaterdress at Kirna Zabete that looks so fab on you but you just can't pull the trigger because, realistically, how many times can you wear a fuschia handknit sweaterdress (that you know you'll drop "thanks--it's Balenciaga" EVERY SINGLE time someone comments on it because you just can't help yourself even though it makes you look like a pompous ass) before you overdo it and it sits in your closet and right when it's about to become truly fantastically retro a family of moths gets to it? BUT for the rest of your shopping trip, nothing else looks good because it's not THAT dress?
That's kind of how shopping was. Well, it was a little about the dress, but much more about the 8 kazillion dollar Oscar Satio Oiwa painting that I've been longing for for about three years. It's still there, at this awesome little shop on Mercer, in need of a home--one that can afford an 8 kazillion dollar Oscar Satio Oiwa painting (which isn't mine). So there was that.
But the food: now that was a whole other story. For starters, Lure. It's kind of like bigger hardwood Fly with food. And Prada. On a boat. If that makes any sense. Oh, and there were potato chips and a drink recipe I texted to TLM in a drunken stupor. So yes, Lure = good.
Then if it's Saturday and it's NYC, it's brunch at Balthazar. Because no one gets their percentages of horseradish, vodka, and tomatoes just as perfectly precise as those geniuses behind the bar. No one. It's summer, so the crowd was mainly comprised of tourists casually looking around to see who they could see. Answer = no one, just more tourists. But yum. Tip: there's an attendant in their very stocked bathroom at all times. So your options are: a.) bring your purse b.) forget your purse, then have to head all the way up, down, and back up 20 crickety stairs to tip said attendant or c.) feel guilty all day. I went for option b. this time--have never, ever been bright enough to go for a.).
Then shopping. See above. But add in the stellar Pucci vintage collection at What Comes Around Goes Around, the fab hippy snotty Plenty dress I got for next to nothing at Scoop, and the great Hendrix shirt I got my son at same.
Next, a little irony: the Meatpacking district for Craftsteak. Oh, and I in my favorite comfy-blanket Manoush grey dress from Alex. Was stopped three times by pretty awesomely clad people asking about it (including a fabulous man who ran up to ask if it was French). Between that and my husband who was given the nod and stopped about 50 times to ask about his Wilco shirt whilst shopping, we actually felt a wee bit cool. In NYC. Kind of unprecendented.
So back to the meats. So Proof (has it opened yet? Anyone?) is modeled on the Craft concept. And if they nail it half as well as the Craft people, then holy bejezus it will be the BESTEST restaurant in DC (at least until Ris' restaurant opens). From the innovative, impeccable decor, to the flawless service to the humongo wine list (Cadence Cabernet--not hugely expensive but a solid choice) to the "medium rare plus option" offered for the greatgreat dinner to the peanut butter caramel deliciousness that was dessert, they just got it.
And just when that was quite decadent enough came the encore--with your check, you get individually wrapped homemade cinnamon muffins for the next morning. And they are frigging perfection.
Dear Mr. Kuller,
Please do that.
So be ready to spend the equivalent of a Balenciaga fuschia sweaterdress on your meal, but no regrets at all.
Things we did: saw Tatum O'Neill (who I see EVERY time I'm in NYC, I swear it), debated buying the way cool photograph of Keith Richards with a bottle of Jack that we almost buy every time we're there, napped before going out because we're damn old.
Things we didn't do: Stop a Broome Street, Barneys or Bergdorfs, see the fabulous Holly at HollyWould (damndamndamn!), stop to see preggers p.r. maven K who rules the town, 5 college roommates, or favorite former co-worker L. Had to focus.
So that's about it. I've lost about 10 pounds in the last few months due to stress and sheer laziness, but think I put them all back this weekend. But to spend three days with the man who somehow still loves me, starting it all with great music, ending with great muffins? Yeah, worth it.