WHERE DID THE WINTER GO?

It's the first of April and the rain in New York city is coming down hard. This is following hard on the heels of a week of cold, which was preceded by two weeks of tanning and pic-nic weather, during which all of the spring flowers and trees bloomed and then, consequently died during the cold spell. It doesn't seem to matter what I wear when I leave the house for work, I'm always wearing the wrong thing by the time I leave the theatre at night.

None of this, I realize, is unusual in the world right now. I'm getting reports of ridiculous weather from everywhere, (sorry about the snow, Calgary and Salhus) but can I just say, "Jeeez!!".

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I'm still eating my way around New York as much a possible, or rather, when I feel that I can afford it. Recently, my choice for lunch was Felidia, the flagship restaurant of Lidia Bastianich, mother of the grumpy-pants chef Joe Bastianich who is part owner of Eataly with Mario Batali.

I was a little concerned when I walked into the restaurant and saw the well-uniformed wait-staff, the linens and the up-scale decor. Could I have really misread the on-line menu? But the lunch offering was indeed the three-course prefixe for $29.50 that I'd seen on the website.

I started with 'fegatini', the beautifully presented and deliciously creamy chicken livers.

Then, hoping to broaden my culinary horizons, and being in a place where it should be properly understood and prepared, I opted to try the 'trippa'. Tripe. (Please feel free to click the link for an explanation if you need it. It will save me from having to explain in lurid detail.)

Gotta say....not a fan. I made it through almost a third of the dish, which did come with a delicious, cheesy, buckwheat polenta, but ultimately decided that, spicy sauce or not, I simply couldn't cope with the texture. So, I tried it, and now I know.

The meal was finished off with an interesting, though not earth-shattering, lemon tiramisu.

I enjoyed the place and the service and would probably have enjoyed the meal more had I ordered something a bit more conventional.

I also had a chance to eat at another iconic New York City establishment, The Four Seasons Restaurant (NOT the one at the hotel of the same name) courtesy of a birthday gift certificate purchased for me by Tim back in October.

This is a real old-school, business-lunch kind of place. A hand-shake, done-deal kind of place. Gentlemen are requested to wear a jacket, and you really stand out from the crowd if you're not wearing a dark suit. (I was not forced to wear one of their "loaner jackets" since we were eating at the bar.) You may also stand out from the crowd if you're a woman, but most of the women I saw there could pass for men anyway. Except, of course, for my fabulous lunch date, the delightful Glynis Ranney.

The food at this place was simple and well prepared, and served with the kind of well-practiced, subtle, unobtrusive hand of professional waiters. Nothing to write home about, but enjoyable. And boy, are we glad we had that gift certificate, which also covered the tax & tip ! We knew that alcohol would be extra, but we were still more than a bit surprised when the bill for two glasses of wine and two coffees came to $58.00 !!!! Reminiscent of the prices in Venice.

I also continue my quest for New York's best Reuben Sandwich and, in doing so, am discovering a sub-culture of Reuben aficionados who are passionate about the way things are done. Apparently, The Carnegie Deli has introduced a Reuben that they've name after Tim Tebow which has so much meat in it that not even a giant python could open it's mouth wide enough to take a bite. A food reviewer gave this particular sandwich a big thumbs down, complaining that everything just fell apart and became a big mess that had to be eaten with a fork. Also, he was cranky that it came with mayonnaise. Whole grain mustard is the ONLY acceptable condiment for a Reuben.

My most recent sample of this NYC classic was at The Olympic Restaurant/Diner in midtown.

This is the kind of place that's been around for ever but has probably only ever replaced the vinyl on the booth seats twice in their entire history. A real 'blue plate special' kind of place. The kind of place where you really might want to give your cutlery an extra wipe on your sleeve. Love it!

This time, I tried a pastrami (as opposed to corned beef) Reuben. It was served open-face with 94 lbs of cheese melted on top. The pastrami was excellent, but the sauerkraut was a bit too mild and lacked any real 'zing'. This Reuben didn't compare to the excellent version I had at Zoe, but I got what I paid for and enjoyed it.

 Comes with pickle and microscopic serving of slaw
which, I suppose, counts as
 serving of vegetable

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I had the chance to see my new friend Haden Tee's cabaret show at Don't Tell Mama. Hayden has a beautiful, pure, crystal-clear high-tenor voice and a wicked sense of humour. I particularly liked his version of Sir Mix-a-lot's "Baby Got Back" (I Like Big Butts), sung in the style of Gilbert & Sullivan.

Here's Hayden recording for his album 

in front of a live audience in Australia

The room was packed with an eclectic mix of people including Adam Rennie whom I met when I saw him perform in "Love Never Dies" (Andrew Lloyd Webber Never Dies) in Melbourne, and Adam's boyfriend Blake whom I met when he was on tour with a show in Singapore. 

Hayden & Adam

Adam had, literally, just got off a plane from Australia

and come directly to the cabaret

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It was Phumba's birthday (the warthog) at the show this week . The cake said, "Happy Birthday you dirty pig". This love-filled sentiment was organised by his ever-snappy comedy partner, Timon.

Timon stops by our dressing room

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I'm addicted to my Bikram Hot Yoga classes and credit the practice with keeping me strong and healthy enough to wear a thirty pound costume eight times a week. The classic yoga position where the hands are placed in prayer in front of the chest is called "Namaskar". The obvious pun involved here makes me giggle every time the teacher says it. 

I posted this visual pun on FarceBook

but, alas, no one got it

NamaScar