07/17/24

    As I smoked a cigarette I thought about having another. I missed the chance to sit at La Cabra, got my coffee to go. My nipple slipped out of my low cut dress as I was walking.

5:45 pm

    Exceptionally pissed off. Nothing going right. I left work and headed to the gym only to be stopped by an impromptu 30 minute 3-way phone call with my colleagues, pacing outside blasting a cigarette trying to troubleshoot a sudden predicament. By the time I actually worked out an hour had already passed. Dinner reservation at 8 pm.

7:47 pm

    I call A to vent a bit, once again pacing on the corner of Prince and Crosby. I hung up and grabbed a taxi when I realized I was already five minutes late.

8:12 pm

    I paid the taxi fare and jog-walked half a block, arriving at a nondescript French spot in Tribeca for E’s birthday dinner.

    My tension finally released. What you need when you’re stressed is to see at least five friends and to laugh as much as you can. The restaurant was charming. The patrons are on the older side. Our table at least 30 years younger than the next. I caught the chef peering through the kitchen window. The group had already gone through a round of martinis by the time I sat down. Hand-mixed and poured from a crystal jug, not that this matters to a non-martini drinker like me. I ordered a coke with lemon, continuing a two week sobriety streak. Our conversation bounced around with ease. We laughed with no regard to those around us, but they didn't mind. Frank Sinatra and the like played lightly from a small speaker by our table. They had footstools for purses. The menus were handwritten in an awe-inspiring script by the owner herself. J performed his famous party trick, pulling out the most ludicrously ostentatious vape you’ve ever seen. This one displayed a shining constellation as you inhaled.

    Three courses and five or so rounds of pitcher-poured martinis later, we ordered dessert–the whole array with a secret addition. In a truly beautiful act of love, J had asked a week or two earlier whether a corn-flavored ice cream (E’s favorite) could be made, at which the husband-wife duo said ‘no not possible’. Yet, here we were, looking down upon small scoops of maize-colored glace. The chef came up to our table to exchange pleasantries. H and I exchanged questions. Did he puree the corn? Are these fresh tortillas fried on top? What was the base? And did you poach the salmon? How often do you rewrite the menus? Have you ever been to Norway? 

    I could have stayed at that table all night, with our napkins covering the wine stains on the tablecloth, the martinis endlessly pouring out of those crystal pitchers. With the regular who gifted us a bottle of Champagne and the beautifully tipsy woman celebrating her 84th birthday, who stopped to wish E a happy birthday before elegantly stumbling out the door. I wanted to feel like this forever.

Playlist

Ain’t That A Kick In The Head - Dean Martin

Half A Man - Willie Nelson

Don’t Worry Baby - The Beach Boys

Buena Vista Social Club - Buena Vista Social Club

Self Control - Frank Ocean

Tangerine - Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass

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