“I’ve decided that from now on, I want my food to be so delicious looking, that people regret their life decisions that led then to that moment of not having ordered it.”
Today I took a break from my SoHo wanderings at my favorite French Bistro, Bistro Les Amis, to people watch the tourists on Spring Street. It was a bright and chilly afternoon, and to fight the natural sleepiness of this tine, I enjoyed an expresso martini from the shelter of the absurd outdoor covid seating (with a heat lamp and a TV playing a fake fire at my side).
The waitstaff recognized me as I arrived, one of the few patrons who, in a desperate attempt to keep the restaurant alive, had continued coming by throughout the pandemic. I love this place. Fortunately, they are expected to survive.
The martini arrived and was that incredible combination of sweet and delicious, with enough caffeine to bring life back to my tired brain. It was perfect, served with a bit of froth on top just as I enjoy it best. Of course, no drink may be served without food these days (we must keep up appearances), and so, after a bit of fumbling in deciding what to order, I fell back on my default, FRENCH ONION SOUP. God, I love that salty, cheezy, messy soup. Incredible.
The whole experience lasted maybe 20 minutes, barely enough time to get some on my shirt (yet I succeeded!). This is the nature of the good life. A beautiful afternoon, with a handful of locals amidst swarms of tourists, reminding me that the lifeblood of my city continued to flow despite the direst of predictions. I could not have enjoyed it more. And yes, I do pick at and eat some bits of cheese caked on the side of the little pot, long after the remains of the soup have cooled off and the dish is done. After all this time, it’s hard to grow past one’s barbarian roots. I’m not certain I wish to.
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