Lynn liked The Harrison, she had the Trout; I thought the place was okay (pork belly enchilada and Halibut). We cook pretty good at home and I am beginning to be bored with American food in restaurants. Lynn doesn’t like saturated fat, for health reasons, so my penchant for French food is infrequently satisfied, funneling us into ambience as our main restaurant prerequisite, with good value a driver.
The restaurant was more rustic and casual than I had expected (a lot of people wore jeans), and the men’s room resembled something you would see in an old high school. I thought that the food was on par with The Red Cat and we were able to find a very nice cheap bottle of wine: 2001 Haut Segottes (lowly Grand Cru St-Emilion).
I liked the view of the Hudson and a cool black guy pulling away from dinner on an old Harley outside our window reminded me of past fun times. I like the waterfront part of town. The best thing about the experience was the wait staff: as good as it gets: perfection.
Itzocan Bistro in Spanish Harlem was a trip on Friday night, as usual. Fantastic Franco-Mexican fusion and an atmosphere all its own. Urban rustic, like 40-year-old outdoor park benches in a train station rest room. Very cheap with a fitting wine list. We ordered a rioja with tempranillo and Grenache for $25. The most expensive red wine was $35. The rioja was fine. The service there, like at the Harrison, was spectacular.
Getting closer to living on a fixed income, I am experimenting with going tourist class. We stayed at the modest Bedford Hotel on Lexington and 40th on the top floor with a three-direction view under a couple of gargoyles. Lynn thought the Bedford was a little dusty, but loved the fact that The Fugitive movie was just beginning on TV when we got into bed.
Before dinners in that area we often stop at the Buzz Bar across from Grand Central Station on 42nd Street for a glass of chard. We like the name and the atmosphere. Reminds us of Old Albany. The Buzz Bar and New York City are feeling more and more like home to us.
I tried to get Lynn to stop at The Gramercy Tavern on the way back from the Harrison, but she didn’t want to. She scolded me for having to be right. What difference does it make, she said, if we smell smoke there and some other people don’t? She’s more evolved than I am and I do pretty much what she tells me.
But she is a compassionate god. Driving back on the New York State Thruway in the Nor’easter on Sunday – it was like being a lone pin standing through ten frames of a novice bowling competition – I suggested pulling off the paid highway to get a decent lunch. Usually I order something to make Lynn proud, but I saw a half-pound buffalo burger on the menu and said it sounded good. Lynn started to give me a little shish as the waiter approached, but then said make it two.