One steamy night this past summer I had the most ridiculously wonderful dinner in New York City. As some of you know, my daughter moved to NYC in August to start graduate school. I traveled out there to make sure she got settled into her new apartment and provide some moral support. Actually, she didn't need the moral support, I did, but that's another story.
Ban made the trip east with me and since he'd never been to New York before I wanted to spend some time in the city, in addition to time on Long Island with family. We spent a glorious day walking, biking, and taking the subway all over Manhattan. I posted about our adventures here and here. But late that night, we ventured out on foot into the Hell's Kitchen area and walked around until we found somewhere that appealed. Being New York City, you can imagine how many delectable temptations faced us but one stuck out in particular.
It was a little French bistro with sidewalk seating. I can't remember the name. I even looked back through my credit card statements (Ban must have paid). But I do remember the steam coming up through the manhole cover, and the crisp, refreshing taste of the glass of champagne, and the creamy smooth texture of the mussels that we ate. I remember feeling simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated and promising one another that we'd be back for more explorations sooner rather than later.