mythplaced_logic

Walking down the stairs to the subway platform, a group of what I assume are tourists are standing right at the bottom, talking and not moving. The train's pulling in and I don't have time to think: I tap my knuckles against the back of the one right in front of me like I'm knocking on a door.

Amazingly, it works perfectly.

What also worked perfectly was twice tonight, getting into the station and to the platform within a minute of the train pulling in, where I walked down or walked up and it's arriving just as I am. It's now something where I have to stop saying it never happens and go to saying it almost never happens. Because it's now happened at least once.

Earlier today I said the most exciting thing that's happened to me at all recently was meeting Tom Cruise at the red carpet, and that's still true. The most luxurious thing that's happened to me at all recently was having lunch today at Le Bernardin.

Yes. That one. The one with three stars.

One of my clients worked in finance back in the late twentieth century and invested carefully over the next few decades, so while she doesn't have the money to eat there anywhere close to frequently, she can afford to do so every couple of years and leave a big tip without worrying about it. She recently had major surgery and decided to celebrate being able to eat solid food again with lunch there. Herself, myself, and the mutual friend who put us in touch.

The website told me business casual, so I wore a nice dress. Not one of my fanciest dresses, but a very nice dress that's got a lot of good memories woven into the fabric. I made sure to clear my calendar and hold my calls - on Monday, I said I wouldn't be available to work today without any elaboration - and arrive with a smile and an empty stomach. I also arrived with good timing, walking up to the door just as my client got out of her cab. I told the woman at the coat check, "I'm with her," and felt a thrill at being able to say it, and another thrill at walking into a space that's designed for people to have a good time. It was like the best Frank Lloyd Wright house done to larger scale, with carpet to catch the noise and polished wooden ceilings to keep the air fresh. Window shades kept the dining room cool, butter came in itty-bitty tureens, cutlery and napkins were swapped out at every course, waitstaff never spoke to each other while serving patrons and instead saved all verbal communication for when they were out of hearing range. Wine was carried on trays instead of by hand, the women's bathroom had tampons and pads in the stalls, four kinds of breads were offered from a basket that got regularly replenished. I asked for one of everything.

There was a three-piece amuse-bouche at the start and a three-piece Petit Fours at the end, all brightly flavored, arranged to provide a nuanced and delightful texture experience - broth with a piece of sashimi topped with a basil leaf, a tiny salmon pie topped with roe, a cod croquette topped with just enough spicy sauce to keep things exciting; a passion fruit macaron, a tiny berry cake, a chocolate-pear truffle.

I thought about starting with a cocktail but went with a spiced thyme lemonade to keep my mind and tongue sharp. First course was cod, second course was hiramasa. Both came with a sauce poured at the table. Both were made of simple ingredients at the apex of quality served freshly cooked and still warm from the kitchen, and I ate as neatly as I could to make sure I didn't miss anything. The real amazement, like with the start and the end selections, was just as much the flavors as the textures. It didn't just taste great. It was fun to eat everything. There was always something going on, whether it was how deep the sauce went or the way the vegetables crunched. When you got it all happening, you had to stop to take it all in. But there wasn't a rush. We were there over three hours and nobody so much as nudged us.

After lunch was an espresso shot and a small pot of tea that smelled like a jasmine black, which tasted even better than it smelled. Dessert was a selection of four sorbets. They were all top-line, with three of the four being flavors you could find elsewhere, though probably not quite as masterfully made: mango, strawberry, blueberry. The fourth flavor was something I've never seen anyone do anywhere else, and that all three of us agreed was the standout item in the meal, more than any of the other courses, more than anything else. Thai basil. Sweet, spicy, summery, fresh. Lawn green, crayon green. It sparked my tongue up. I loved the cod and I had a great time with the hiramasa and the bread was excellent and it was all wonderful, and that almost incidental sorbet had us all awestruck.

The mutual friend left for an errand. The client and I took a taxi uptown, because there wasn't any other way to end the meal. One last moment of luxury for a meal I'll be thinking about for a very long time.

It's bleakly hilarious to me that a couple days ago, I went on about how the new Fantastic Four movie was unlikely to give me what I wanted in a Fantastic Four movie - how it might be a good movie and a good superhero movie, but as a Fantastic Four movie, I didn't think I'd enjoy it - and nobody but nobody at the table knew me well enough to say, "The Thing keeps kosher."

In this case, the humor comes from it really being that easy to get me interested and invested and in not knowing how much more obviously Jewish I need to be for people to understand it's that easy, and the bleakness comes from thinking that a kosher grocery and a synagogue would be newsworthy to me and utterly forgettable to the people who'd gone to see it.