Impromptu dinner date at Aldea last night, one of our favorites. The first snowfall and the quiet city streets reminded me of the wonderful night when it seemed we had all of Midtown and Times Square to ourselves.
I’m not sure if he planned it this way but he chose a good moment to break the bad news: his friend at Alinea told him they’re closing for the whole week of Christmas so we won’t be able to go when we’re in Chicago. It’s only something I’ve looked forward to for months (if not years, since this fascinating article and also this whole thing and this night when he said, Meh, Alinea’s better and we’ll go there soon).
… but over sea urchin toast, nothing seems so bad.
(Can I request that, Universe? Deliver all bad news with a side of Santa Barbara uni? That’s be just swell. Cheers.)
PS: The venison detritus, bottom right, is for Dad. Because I know the use of eucalyptus for fragrance — the dish came topped with glass dome to contain the smokey aroma that was theatrically lifted in our faces — would appall your delicate sensibilities. People pay for this crap?
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