A dinner that's all for SHO

I have not been to all that many fine dining restaurants in my life but the ones I have patronised have definitely left a distinct impression. A couple of cases in point: I will never forget the meal we had at the Jules Verne in Paris for J’s birthday. A girl doesn’t easily forget dining 125 metres up The Eiffel Tower or her resolution to curl up and die inside the restaurant’s cheese cart, even with the smelly Epoisse for company. Likewise the degustation menu I enjoyed at Danny Meyer’s Eleven Madison Park, where I not only managed to gorge myself on some truly beautiful and delicious dishes, I experienced first-hand what exceptional table service is supposed to be.

Last night was another such memorable experience, this time at the 2 Michelin-starred SHO Shaun Hergatt in the heart of the Financial District and the gorgeous (but very confusing) Wall Street neighbourhood.

On the second floor of the impressive Setai Club and Spa, the restaurant boasts Asian-inspired décor that is uncomplicated, sleek and elegant. To get to the dining area, you walk through the most amazing wine cellar, displaying an amazing floor-to-ceiling collection of bottles all lit up and designed to impress. The centre of the hallway is decorated with what looks like a long black table with candles on top, until you realise that it’s actually a water feature – so gorgeous.

The dining area itself is quite unremarkable. The tables and chairs are comfortable and functional, no doubt so that the kitchen itself will remain the star attraction. A huge long (and soundproof) window allows diners to see right into the kitchen and admire the hustle-bustle ballet of chefs and wait staff. At first a spectacle, the kitchen blends into the background once the food service starts. Under the leadership of Executive Chef and Partner (Aussie) Shaun Hergatt, the kitchen is a constant hive of activity and an obvious example of organised chaos in living colour.

Fortunately (for me), the restaurant’s five-course dinner menu is set, so you just have to select one item from each course. As we perused the menu to make our choices, we enjoyed the amuse-bouche (aka fancy-pants hors d’oeuvres) that the chef had prepared. We had little foie-gras and potato balls coated in breadcrumbs dyed with squid ink; baby clams with sour cream sauce; and a ginger mousse creation that had a warm spicy aftertaste that I really liked.

Naturally there were multiple options in each course that tempted me but ultimately I enjoyed the following five dishes:

Chef’s Garden Beets Roulade
Little red and yellow beets with a hibiscus tuile (I don’t know either, but it had gold foil draped across it like a little blanket), horseradish marshmallow (a spicy pillow of awesome) and beet dust (yes, I stuck my finger in it).

Griggstown Farm Coxcomb
Veal tongue ribbons with chicken skin and an autum mushroom pave (I understand the mushroom bit, but not so much the rest). To be honest, the veal tongue was my favourite part of this dish. I’ve never eaten tongue before so I had to seize the opportunity. The meat was so tender – very much like carpaccio actually, and as long as I didn’t dwell on what I was actually eating, I could manage to really enjoy it.

Sous Vide Amadai
Next up was sea bass, with Blue Moon Acres baby turnips with a cockles-mollusc clarification. I really enjoyed this dish too, partly because leaning up against the sea bass was a crispy triangle of skin which was speckled and silvery and looked really pretty. The baby turnips were adorable and I had forgotten about the cockles – they were so tiny, they looked like pistachios on my plate. It was all so yummy.

Beef Cheek Wrapped in Iberico Ham
Course Number 4 turned out to be my hands-down favourite of the evening. The dish was served with baby leeks, and potato parchment (in the shape of a maple leaf no less) and a perigourdine (or truffle) sauce. The beef cheeks are marinated for 48 hours and the effect is incredible. Not only does the meat almost fall apart, the marinade is rich and decadent and almost jammy. It adheres to the beef so beautifully and the truffle sauce just adds to the earthy flavours. I am also a fan of miniatures so the baby leeks also appealed.

Black Mission Fig Vacherin
All good things must come to an end and I rounded out my meal with dessert, which included stewed, juicy black figs with Sicilian pistachios and Manhattan Rooftop honey. Perhaps this choice was inspired by Michael Moore’s figs & ricotta recipe I’d been reading about on the subway earlier, but it was totally the right idea.

The red and white wines that K selected complemented my dishes beautifully and with the complimentary petit-fours and strong espresso afterwards, I left SHO feeling almost buoyant. My wallet was quite a bit lighter so that probably accounted for some of the levity haha. But honestly, I don’t think I could fault the restaurant a bit. For my way of thinking, it’s not easy to navigate a fine dining menu when you don’t really understand 3 out of 4 of the ingredients in each dish. So for me, service is what I tend to remember the most. In our case last night, the service we had at SHO was exceptional. When I bumped into the hostess in the bathrooms at one point in the evening, I found myself raving to her about what a good time we were all having. As awkward as that was (for both of us), she was kind enough to pretended that she cared. Do you see what I mean? So nice.

SHO is certainly not the place I could go back to often, but I will certainly recommend it to anyone looking for a special dining experience in New York. The food was elegant, local and so creative and the service was excellent.

Please Sir, I want some Moore!

I had to blush this morning when I realised that Al had suggested this site as one of her favourite light-hearted online reads. I was touched to learn that she enjoys stopping by but of course now the pressure is really on to keep up with the stories. Fortunately I'm finding that in this City at least, I never have to look too far for them. Take last night, for instance.

I signed up to attend the NY launch of "Blood Sugar", the latest cookbook offering from Australian chef Michael Moore with a special forward by the dishy Curtis Stone. By way of background for you I have to pinch the blurb from Michael's book because the inspiration for the project was quite something:

Michael Moore was busy running his restaurant, cooking on television, climbing the ranks of top chefs in the world and traveling the globe. He was already living with diabetes and for a top chef surrounded by great food, he faced the daily challenge of healthy eating. Then, one day out of the blue, he suffered a major stroke while he was out to dinner with his family, an event that changed his life and his outlook on food, forever.

The result of this life-changing experience was a 239 page, beautifully-photographed hardcover opus. As I took my copy up to get signed last night, I asked Michael whether I would need to buy new equipment or fancy devices to make these recipes. He was quick to laugh and assure me that his latest collection of recipes were all about simple, no-fuss ingredients and preparation designed to give maximum taste for minimal effort. To illustrate his point, Michael skimmed through the book and found me his wife's meatless lasagne recipe (yum!) and his own favourite, the Power Food Salad (salmon, beans, egg whites, pumpkin seeds and more - delish!). I was totally on board and Michael signed my book with a flourish. And PS, the event catering called in as a favour from NYC's Oceana restaurant was amazing!

I got on the subway headed for Wall Street after the event and I opened Michael's book for my first proper look. With each page I flipped, I became hungrier (naturally) but also more confident that I will definitely do my best to reproduce some of these dishes for myself. The figs & ricotta on toast is so damn simple I would be a dummy not to try it. I think the subway lunatic reading over my shoulder quite enjoyed the recipes too. He was muttering to himself most of the way, so I'll never really know, but I can tell you for sure that Michael Moore has made healthy eating look good - I am convinced it will also taste great!

But as for my own dinner plans last night, there's more to come....

No Blood or Guts? I'm outta here!

So Broadway happened and then life returned to normal for a while. Sure I was still watching too much “The West Wing”, assuming of course that there can be ‘too much’ of that. Before I knew it, October was almost over and I took off to Chicago for Halloween weekend.

I need to put it out there that I do not like Halloween. Well that’s not entirely true, I just don’t dressing up for Halloween. I have never been into the costume party thing ever, and I just can’t make an exception for Halloween. I know it’s not a particularly popular stance but there you have it.

And the thing about Halloween is that it’s a bit like in that movie “Mean Girls” (which starred Rachel McAdams and Lindsay Lohan when she actually had nice red hair and looked kind of normal). Anyway like Linday’s character in the movie, I always thought that Halloween in the US would be about dressing up as ghosts and zombies and vampires – except now I realise that costumes for women here are “sexy ghost” and “slutty zombie” and “buxom vampire pirate wench”. I mean, really? They’re our options? The scariest part about Halloween for me is seeing grown women who have shoe-horned themselves into those ridiculous costumes that you’d swear are actually meant for kids. And do men have these options? No, costumes for men are normal size. Of course. Ugh. Okay I know I'm ranting and I know that my point of view is not a popular one. So I boycotted Halloween this year and instead chose to go to Chicago, scheduling my return flight to coincide with the Halloween trick-or-treating madness 37,000 feet below. Yes fine, I was a party-pooper, I know. And nobody cares what I think about this stuff - I know. Jeez, can we move on already? Yes!

Landing at O’Hare just after 8.30pm on Friday night, I was almost dead on my feet but I had promised to meet L&D for a couple of drinks. My taxi driver either sensed the urgency or else was trying to quality for Le Mans, because he drove foot to the floor the whole way. I made it to my CBD hotel in just over 15 minutes. I am not sure that’s ever been done before, not that I didn’t appreciate it.

I decided to stay downtown at the Marriott on Michigan Avenue. When I lived in Chicago I never even went inside the property so I wasn’t sure what to expect. But I bargained on the whole “a Marriott is a Marriott” thing and figured it would be okay. Can you please just click on that link and check out the picture? I mean, I should have known better - but I was in it for the price and the location, okay? Anyway, the first thing that told me I was going to lose my mind was that there is a giant bar in the hotel lobby. I knew that from the hotel picture online but that could not have prepared me for the real life experience. I heard the bar before I saw it – the shrieks and boozy cackling of women who, by this point in the evening, were no doubt regretting their 4” stilettos. Then there were the red-nosed tradeshow delegates sitting off to the sides looking at said drunk women and taking bets on which of them would fall down first. Then there were the out-of-towners, in Chicago just for the weekend. You can pick them because they’re the ones doing shots straight off the bat. Then there was me – awestruck by the human zoo in front of her, horrified by the casino-style carpeting and irritated that the website had advertised the lobby chairs as “private oases” when in fact they were in between the noisy bar and the toilets. Plus I couldn’t find the check-in counter, but geography has always been a problem, so nothing new there. Fresh out of king rooms, I was put in a room with two queen beds. Faced with such an expanse of space, you would think I’d spread out, right? Nope. I basically lived in a tiny corner of the room and only crossed over to the other side of the room to open and close the curtains each day. LAME. I clearly don’t know how to life the hotel lifestyle, do I?

Dumping my bags I went out to meet L&D for a drink and some nibblies at Rock Bottom Brewery. And after the long day, air travel, white-knuckle cab ride, hotel culture shock and a couple of jumbo beers (delicious house brews no less), I was done for the night. Well by then it was just after 2am, and for an old bag like me that was a pretty good effort.

Saturday morning came a little too quickly for my liking. I tossed and turned, debating whether or not I should get out of bed and go on the Chicago Architecture Foundation boat cruise. Reason won out and off I went, bee-lining straight for the Argo Tea at the gorgeous Tribune Tower for a peppermint tea as big as my head. Stupid local brew beers. I got stopped at the Du Sable Bridge (also known as the Michigan Ave Bridge) because sailboats were lined up to get out of the harbour for the winter season. So the City was raising and lowering the bridges all day to give them safe passage. I stood on the wrong side of the Bridge, watching my cruise boat just across the River, steadily filling up with tourists. Fortunately some out-of-towners were ahead of me and told Mr City Official Bridge Inspector Guy that they also had tickets on the 10am cruise. They asked him to contact the cruise boat captain on his walkie-talkie and ask him not to take off without us. Genius, and hopefully something I would have thought of, had I not been quietly dying of Local Beer Disease.

Once I was safely onboard, the boat cruise was as wonderful as I remember. I didn’t sit outside though, as the morning winds off the River were pretty fierce. I found a sunny spot under cover downstairs and polished off my peppermint tea and chocolate cookie. It always impresses me how knowledgeable these tour operators are – not just describing the buildings we could see, but they offer up juicy morsels of info about the architects who designed the buildings and how the buildings fit in (or didn’t) with the City landscape as it was at the time. Even in my hungover and jet-lagged state I could appreciate the architectural beauty of the City. Peering at it through squinty eyes through dark sunglasses, Chicago is still gorgeous.

The boat tour must have been quite restorative because alighting at the Michigan Ave bridge I almost bounded to the bus stop to go and meet R&L at their place for lunch. With two adorable kids now, I was so looking forward to spending some time with the family and just catching up - particularly on all the goss of baby sister's wedding and my not-so-new job in New York. We went to a great little Mexican place and I stuffed in a giant burrito (naturally). Relaxing, delicious and a long-overdue catchup, which was great.

R&L dropped me off at my hotel/zoo and I had a little bit of downtime before it was back into get-ready mode, to meet LH. We high-tailed it out of my hotel lobby and headed straight to PF Chang's for dinner. The poor restaurant was having some problems with its lighting and every so often, we got plunged into darkness. Great atmosphere, but rather confusing. But hey, we figured that as long as the dodgy electrics didn't impact the kitchen or the bar, we didn't care what was happening. After dinner we walked to The Peninsula where LH was kind enough to share with me a gift certificate she got for the hotel's 'Chocolate At The Pen' enticement. That it is a chocolate buffet does not do the experience justice. This was a pretty fancy, la-di-da buffet and the chocolates on offer were like little works of art. Mini tiramisu, little parfait glasses with delicately-crafted layers of chocolate, fruit and cream - all so dainty and single-serve and very, very rich. I always make the same mistake with buffets - I go in too hard, too early and I end up stuffing myself. I had a take a break half-way through the circuit and I wished I were wearing elastic pants rather than my little black dress.

After this we waddled out to Michigan Ave and took the bus out to our old neighbourhood, to a dive bar on Broadway called Jaqueline's. In the four years I lived in Chicago I never went into this bar, but I'm the poorer for it I have to say. The bar IS a dive, sure (tacky Halloween decorations, dart board, scary toilets - but it's also a bit of a blast. We had parked ourselves right by the jukebox and subsequently took control of the musical entertainment for the evening. I probably spent as much money on music as I did on drinks, but at least I ensured that my terrible musical taste was experienced by as many people as possible. And fortunately our fellow patrons were on the right side of sober to seem like they were really enjoying our musical offerings. It was great fun!

Sunday morning came, as Sunday mornings often do, and I was actually feeling really good. I put myself on the train to J&D's house, where we had a couple of mimosas and then hit the Chicago Brauhaus for lunch. OMG how long had it been since I'd enjoyed a schnitzel?! Too long I think. A couple of beers, a delicious schnitzel with fried potatoes and green beans, and I was a very happy girl. It was a shame that the full oompah band wasn't starting until later in the day (when we would be long gone) but there was one little old man on the stage playing his keyboard and at least filling the place with some musical vibe. On a soppy note I really thought it was amazing how grown up people's kids get when you're not watching. J&D and A&L have such gorgeous, well-behaved kids and it's so funny to see what little adults they have become in just a few short years.

Monday morning was another early start because I wanted to spend the day at the Adler Planetarium, another place that I had never been when I lived in Chicago. Along with the Shedd Aquarium and The Field Museum, the Adler is part of what Chicago calls "Museum Campus", and it enjoys prime lakefront real estate. If you worked at any of these places, how do you not stare out the window all day at those amazing views? I have no idea. But I digress. On my trip to the Adler, I dragged L along with me so we could geek out together. We sat through a couple of really impressive video displays about our solar system and learned about our sun and the Milky Way and what will happen to the earth when the sun finally burns out. Sure, this is not likely to happen for another 4 billion years, but it still gave me the creeps. There is still so much I need to get done. I love chatting to L because he doesn't think I'm a weirdo for being addicted to "Ancient Aliens" on the History Channel. I was telling him all about the ancient astronaut theories and how I used to think they were crackpots but now I think they're onto something. L is a HUGE fan of Ancient Egypt so he (kindly) listened with interest as I talked about the idea that aliens helped the Egyptians build the pyramids so precisely aligned with the constellations. As we gazed up at the planets and stars around us at the Planetarium, I think we were both wondering what else was out there in that huge expanse of outer space. That of course led us to talking about religion and the meaning of life, which we could only do properly once we were in the cafeteria, stuffing in paninis and potato chips.

Before long it was time to get back to the hotel, collect my luggage and get back out to O'Hare. Whenever I visit Chicago I run myself ragged but I always have a really great time. This visit I did things and went places I had never enjoyed before - but it was so much fun. I was exhausted on the plane home, and almost dead on my feet by the time I got back to the apartment. Despite our best efforts to be welcoming to the little trick-or-treaters in our building, K said we only had two kids visit. Now we have a whole stack of horrible candy left in our apartment that neither of us want to eat. I'm sure it will keep until next year...

Giving Regards to Broadway

Yes I know, it’s been a very quiet couple of weeks here and once again I only have myself to blame. Actually, I have the cast of “The West Wing” to blame, because I bought the DVDs and have officially become addicted to that show. Even as the clock ticks 1am I hear myself saying, “just one more episode” and next thing I know the alarm is going off to herald another work day. Oi vey.

But when I’m not watching DVDs or going to work in a zombie-like trance, what have I been doing? I know you didn’t ask, but you were thinking it...

Well, Broadway beckoned a couple of times during my blogging hiatus. I dragged myself to a Sunday matinee to see Samuel L Jackson & Angela Bassett star in the production of “The Mountaintop”. I thought the play was fantastic, but after an amazing run in London it has been getting quite mixed reviews. You can read a synopsis of the play here.

My seat was almost in the back row of the theatre, but by happenstance I was sitting with a bunch of African-Americans and I could see a white family across the aisle from me. I don’t know why, but the white family didn’t find the play half as funny as I did. Sure the play touches on racial tensions, but they are the racial tensions of Dr King’s time. The characters debate about “what should be done about the whites” but it’s light-hearted and conversational and not at all intended to inflame white audience members. I mean how could it? Dr King was all about peacefully acknowledging the sameness of people, not violently magnifying their differences. Anyway for what it’s worth I thought Jackson & Bassett gave really powerful performances and I have been recommending the play left and right. It was just such a different interpretation of what happened at The Lorraine Hotel, the night before Dr King was assassinated.

A week or so later I went along to see “Venus in Fur” (again, with synopsis here). Starring the adorable Hugh Dancy – aka Mr Clare Danes – and the amazing Nina Arianda, the play is promoted as being quite erotic. Maybe I am just not sure what that word means, but for me the play was a smart study in human psychology, with a bit of Greek mythology and mysticism thrown in. The production was all about power plays (not exclusively sexual), and examines whether you actively or passively surrender your power to another person. I mean, how much control do you really have over your own emotions – or over somebody else’s? Sure it’s a sexy play (Nina rocks a bustier and stockings for a fair amount of it), but I thought it was so cleverly written and wonderfully acted that the sexy part was secondary to the intellectual battle raging between the characters. The oldies around us in the audience squirmed in their seats and coughed uncomfortably when the action on stage took a more, um “intimate” turn, but let’s face it, that just adds to the humour really.

Been Hoarsing Around

Once again I have been neglecting this blog but I've been holed up the last week or so with yucky laryngitis and generally feeling a bit flat. I also chose this time to lose my US healthcare cards, and my doctor won't see me without one. So I've had a great time self-medicating on over-the-counter meds to stave off any further germ infestations until my replacement cards arrive (they still haven't, by the way). In the past week, my voice has disappeared and come back again a number of times. Unfortunately for me, it's been more 'pack-a-day drag queen' than 'sultry blues singer' - sigh. Oh well, at least I'm on the mend now and can resume more normal activities (like the gym) soon.

During my blogging hiatus and my icky throatness, I had a great visit from KH who had come down from Canada for work. We had a great night out, enjoying a pre-dinner drink at The Bowery Hotel and then across the street to dinner at the gorgeous new restaurant, Saxon and Parole. The food, cocktails, service, decor - it was all fabulous. Our reservation was at 8.45pm, and we left as the restaurant was closing. We weren't rushed, we were well looked after, and it was just wonderful to soak up the atmosphere. A quick nightcap at The Campbell Apartment (and to admire its stunning decor) was in order and then it was time for bed.

Sunday morning I was up really early and struggling with almost no voice at all. But physically I felt absolutely fine, so I was out the door and off to meet KH for brunch. I dropped the ball a bit on this at first, cause I'm not good at finding brunch venues in New York yet. I am good at coffee though, so I took KH to Culture Espresso for a restorative jolt of caffeine - it was well received, particularly so when we enjoyed it in the sunshine by the fountain at Bryant Park. And it can't be faulted that Culture is so close to Lord and Taylor, so we whipped around the handbag and shoe departments in there too. Emerging empty-handed, we set off again in search of food.

We were talking about hairdressers and I was telling KH how much I love my new salon (even though my hairdresser has just recently been written up in the NY magazine Weddings section as one of New York's best bridal hairdressers so she will probably be booked out till Doomsday!). But the salon is right by the Flatiron Building, which is right next door to Eataly, the fantastic Italian food emporium and I was adamant that KH see it. So on the subway we went, headed in entirely the opposite direction from where we were and in no time at all we were in Italy (well, almost).

Taking a bit of a punt, we headed upstairs to Eataly's fantastic rooftop beer garden/restaurant, La Birreria. The place only opened in summer and has been pretty consistently booked-out every time I've come to Eataly. Still, we managed to snag a beautiful table in a shaded spot after only about a 20 minute wait. It was lovely just to sit still on the rooftop and enjoy a cool beer and a really light, tasty and healthy fish and couscous dish (plus cheese plate and wood-oven bread/olive oil yummmm).

Eataly was getting nuts by this point, so we set off on food up Fifth Avenue in the direction of Tiffany's (just because it's there). We called into The Museum of Sex and looked around the gift shop. I read a few days later that the Museum now has an exhibition of dirty Disney cartoon strips. What the?! I am not sure whether I need to see those. Or do I?!

The walk up Fifth Avenue is a beautiful one, if you can stomach all the crazy crowds. We wandered past the NY Public Library and like always, I reminded myself aloud that I must go in there someday.

Before we knew it, we were up at Tiffany's and what can I say about that store that I haven't said already? All manner of sparkle, shimmer and silvery shine. I was so happy just browsing though admittedly I did see a few things that probably need to come home with me someday.

By now the afternoon was getting on a bit and we both agreed a nana nap was probably in order. Mind you, the rest was brief because I was back at KH's hotel about an hour later to pick her up for our evening Broadway show. Sensibly though, we took a cab to Times Square - still all hustle-bustle, even in the early Sunday evening.

"Rock of Ages" was a fantastic production - it was silly, campy and chock-full of 1980s rock ballads. I had no voice whatsoever by this point but if I had, I would have helped belt out the tunes - Journey, Whitesnake, Europe - just classics. Plus the show was really funny, and the audience really got into it. My heart does hurt a little bit that the show is now being made into a film (with Tom Cruise in an entirely unsuitable role, as far as this little bunny is concerned). But hey, we all know I'll still see it.

After the show, and despite my squeaky protests that I'd never do it, we bought some falafel kebabs from a street vendor not far from Times Square. It was delicious at first, but then tasted of regret as I battled stabby stomach pains on the way home. I blame the hot sauce. Still, it is always a pity when such a fantastic weekend leaves a yucky taste in your mouth through no fault of your own!

Playing Tourist

I have been coming down with a cold over the last day or so and at first I wondered why that might be, but now I figure it has to do with two things. Firstly, there has been quite a rapid change in weather lately. I’ve had to bring out my opaque stockings and leather jacket already – not that I’m complaining, but a sudden change in temperature usually stuffs my immune system around a bit. And secondly, I have spent the last couple of days playing frantic tourist and I suspect that keeping up that crazy pace is equally to blame.

With LH and BK in town from Chicago, I had a day off on Friday and tagged along on a bunch of really fun sightseeing and tourism adventures.

Our day started early, with a two-hour Circle Line boat tour. The day was clear and sunny, and it was wonderful to appreciate the beautiful city skyline from such a relaxing vantage point. Our guide pointed out key architecture and cultural icons along the way, and as we cruised past The Statue of Liberty, I thought the boat might tip as tourists clambered over each other to lean out for premium photographs.

Returning to shore, we took the bus to the NBC Studios in Rockefeller Center (the infamous "30 Rock"), to collect our tickets for the Late Night with Jimmy Fallon TV show. I have a thinly-disguised crush on Jimmy Fallon, so I was all colours of excitement that day. Where would we be sitting? Would we meet him? What would I say if we did? In the end, all that came to naught. Though we had been giving almost poll position in the line-up for tickets, we ended up seated close to the back of the TV audience. Though the TV program screens after midnight during the week, filming actually took place from 5.30pm (after which time the content is edited for later screening). Jimmy’s guests when we were there included Clare Danes (to talk about her new Showtime TV series, “Homeland); Jeff Musial - a crazy animal handler guy who freaked us all out by bringing onstage a massive python that shed its skin everywhere; and the Reverend Al Sharpton, whose previous appearance on SNL had made Jimmy almost laugh himself off the chair. When the Jimmy episode screened later that night, it also featured a musical performance by Pearl Jam; but in reality they had taped their part a few weeks before so we didn’t get to see them. We still had to erupt with applause when Jimmy introduced them for the show, so we all got drawn into that TV illusion. For my part though, the best bit of the production was Jimmy’s in-house band, The Roots. They are so talented and entertaining and they had us all grooving along. How one guy ran up and down the stairs carrying a tuba is totally beyond me – it looks like it weighed a ton!

Once we got out of the taping, we headed upstairs - 70 floors upstairs - to Top of the Rock, to get a birds-eye view of Manhattan. The sun had gone down, and the City looked so beautiful with all its twinkling lights and traffic down below. The neon lights of Times Square looked particularly impressive from where we were. In the blackness we could also trace the dark outline of Central Park, the centre of which was flashing up nice and bright with the concert lights of the Black Eyed Peas. We could hear a bit of the music too, but only muffled noises – it was pretty cool.

The next morning (Saturday) was another early one. We were at Battery Park by 9.15am to take another boat cruise, this time over to Liberty Island and Ellis Island. I’d done this cruise once before, but not for a couple of years and so I was glad I got to take the trip again. Even though it was bright and early, there was a substantial line-up already and the airport-quality screening processes are quite intense. We had tickets to go inside the Statute of Liberty – which I hadn’t done before – but only up to the Pedestal level, not all the way to the crown. The Statue closes at the end of October so that they can install another stairwell inside, so we were very fortunate to get our tickets now.

Ellis Island was equally crowded and admittedly I didn’t see much of the Museum this time around. I closeted myself in the gift shop and found some truly ugly postcards for Granny (and a couple of nice ones too). Before I knew it we were back on the boat to Manhattan.

Docking at Battery Park again, we made our way to Lombardi’s, a city institution that lays claim to having invented NY-style pizza. I don’t know if that’s entirely true or not but I have to say, their pizza is sensational (and the simple yet satisfying margherita pizza really hit the spot).

By now the weather on Saturday had started to take a turn for the worst – grey skies, splotchy rain – it wasn’t looking too good. But we had a couple more stops on our tourist adventure remaining.

We took the subway over to the 9/11 Memorial and I was very taken with it. Tickets are free but you need to book them well in advance – they are currently booked out until the end of October. As we walked around the sombre memorial, it seemed somewhat fitting that light rain fell solidly the whole time. The gift shop needs a bit of work in terms of stock variety, but every purchase made helps to fund the upkeep of the memorial, so it’s well worth the look.

By this point in the day I was starting to fade, but we had one last stop to make – The Empire State Building Observation Deck. Given that the monolith is literally down the end of my street, I soldiered on and went right to the top. I’m not sure which view is more impressive – the Empire State or Top of the Rock. Perhaps they are equally beautiful, though the Empire is 16 floors higher up. Let me just say with certainty that The Empire State Building gift shop wins hands-down. So many trashy postcards and glittery souvenirs – I was in heaven.

Being Aboveground

This past week was the UN's 66th General Assembly session, but it was my very first one. I had been warned about what this week would be like (busy diplomats, clashing meetings, no sleep, grouchiness) so for the past few months I had been mentally prepping myself for what the past 7 days would bring.

Let me tell you that from what I saw, Australia should be really proud of its New York team. I am not saying that to be up myself at all, but I was stoked at how well we all worked together - sleep deprivation and all - to get out of this week alive. I mean, despite the odds, we ended the week with a zero body count. Amazing.

And I loved UNGA, as mad as that obviously makes me sound. I really enjoyed the energy, the camaraderie and the feeling that I actually made a tangible contribution to the week that was. I didn't get to hear any of the meetings or debates, but I stayed behind-the-scenes (where I was happiest) and sourced last-minute documents, shuttled delegates around to non-stop meetings, and just generally fought spot-fires wherever I found them.

All that aside, UNGA really was as frenetic and nuts as my colleagues had suggested it would be, so I'm glad it only happens for one week a year. I don't think I could maintain that cracking pace for too long. But I do hope that the bosses were proud of us and that we did good work for Australia.

So in my post-UNGA lull, how does my body recover? Sleeping till lunch time, that's how. It was absolutely blissful to wake up this morning (uh, this afternoon) without an alarm screeching at me. Then I busied myself with dish-washing, laundry and the general tidying up that I had been neglecting, or just totally ignoring, all week. And as Sunday draws to a close and the rain clouds roll in, I've set myself up in the kitchen to make Jamie Oliver's minestrone recipe - delicious!

Remembering

9/11 will always be one of those days that make people say, "Where Were You When...?". For my way of thinking, it's up there with the JFK assassination, the death of Elvis, the wedding of Charles & Di, and then the death of the Princess sixteen years later.

I remember the events of September 11, 2001 really well. I was house-sitting for a friend back home and I had been out late that night (dinner or something I guess) and I figured that while I was getting ready for bed I'd put the news on. TV noise in the background - good distraction, and whatnot. When Sandra Sully told me that the first plane had hit the World Trade Centre I, like everyone, thought it had been pilot error. I remember thinking to myself, "That Tower was huge - how could he have hit that?!". So I forgot about the pre-bed routine and sat down to watch the story unfold. I remember Sandra periodically looking off-camera as the news came in, almost as if she too could scarcely believe what the teleprompter was telling her to share with us. And as the live cameras rolled, I stared open-mouthed when the plane hit the second tower.

The phone rang. I picked it up almost immediately and managed to squeak a barely-audible greeting. "Are you watching this?", was all my mother whispered. I was so glad to have somebody with whom I could share this unbelievable tragedy that seemed right out of a Hollywood disaster movie. We stayed on the phone together that night, both of us watching the same TV news, not daring to talk lest we miss vital developments. When Sandra told us about the plane hitting the Pentagon, and the crash of fourth plane in Pennsylvania, Mum & I knew that terrorism was the only explanation that made sense - and I think it spooked us both pretty well and proper.

Over the next few days, I was glued to CNN - it almost got to be quite unhealthy I think. I just couldn't look away. I wanted to know all about these terrorists - who they were, what they wanted, and why they would hurt a bunch of innocent people who were just going about their daily lives on an otherwise normal morning. The news saturation didn't answer all my questions, but I think it did help wake me up a bit to the very real fact that sometimes, bad things happen to people who don't deserve it. And even though I wasn't in the US on September 11, the impacts of that day are felt every time any of us go through an airport. None of us get to escape what happened that horrible day.

So here we are 10 years on and I promised myself I wouldn't overdose on anniversary footage. I did cheat a little though, and read some amazing articles in The New Yorker and my New York magazines. One article helped me cement how I would personally approach the 10th anniversary of 9/11 when it said that the day is a chance "to remember the dead and, with them, the survivors, the firemen and the police, the nurses and the doctors and the spontaneous, instinctive volunteers, the myriad acts of courage and kindness".

And so in that spirit, I could barely sleep last night and was out the door by 7am to have breakfast at Sarge's Deli, not far from my house. A pastrami omelette with a toasted bagel and bad coffee seemed as good a NY tribute breakfast as any. Afterwards at the gym I got through some of the 9/11 memorial ceremony on TV, but I didn't have the stomach for the reading of the names part, so I had to turn it off.

Enough has probably been said about 9/11 and what it means to people is a personal thing anyway. As a new arrival to NY I can't possibly imagine what that day - and its aftermath - must have been like. But the New York I know is gritty, resilient, stubborn and relentless. I guess all signs point to a concrete jungle on the mend.

Reality Bites

Early Saturday night I joined some work friends at 230 Fifth, a fantastic rooftop bar with some amazing views over New York City.

In a way I was a bit disappointed that the weather was so good, because when it's not you can wrap yourself up in one of the bar's Snuggies and stay outdoors to sip your cocktail. I've never worn a Snuggie - I suspect I'd look like a Druid (or Yoghurt from Spaceballs) - but I really like the idea that the bar doesn't let the cold weather stop its patrons from enjoying the atmosphere. Then again, it's probably rather tricky to look "NYC cool" when you're draped in burgundy felt...right?

Anyway, we took advantage of the warm evening air to have a couple of martinis on the rooftop, and we chatted about everything from the anniversary of 9/11 to the pros and cons of reality TV. In the interests of levity, the latter subject got me thinking about what reality show might I be on, if I could have the choice?

I don't like watching reality TV shows, so I doubt I'd ever stick my neck out to be on one. I just don't think they're very real, as dumb as that sounds. So that people keep watching, situations always seem trumped up for the cameras, and the vast majority of reality TV "stars" are the sorts of people I'd never EVER want to know in my real real life. So I don't think I could ever put myself through reality TV - not even for the cash & prizes. For now I think I'll stick to writing this blog and remain a reality commentator, rather than a reality star!

Of course, there are times that I do admire the people who volunteer to stand in the spotlight and put themselves up for public scrutiny. Because every so often, someone with actual talent does it and it makes all our realities much more interesting. Take my friend Caskey, for instance. This week Caskey bravely launched his web-based series called Fat Guy and Episode 1 is available for viewing here. This isn't reality TV per se, but the series is inspired by stories from Caskey's real life (and rich imagination) so I think it is deserving of some real praise and admiration. Caskey has put himself out there for the world to see and I'm really proud of him and the talented cast of characters he has assembled. Here's hoping that the right people (the powers that be) can stop watching Jersey Shore or Real Housewives for a second, and recognise Caskey's obvious talents. Stop rewarding the train wrecks and give real talent a boost!

And if anyone needs me, I'll be curled up in a Snuggie somewhere, nursing a french martini.

Moving and Shaking

In the lead-up to the trip back home, I was trying really hard to eat well and exercise at the gym. I even made valiant attempts to stick to the crazy weights regimen that my personal trainer had set for me, but to be honest I mostly just stuck to the treadmill, bikes, and my ballet Pilates class.

Fortunately that effort paid off, and I was proud that my bridesmaid dress had to be taken in before baby sister's wedding! I had more energy, I felt stronger, and I was ready to enjoy my two-week holiday at home. In the week leading up to the wedding, I even did a couple of classes at a studio near where I went to high school and a couple of workouts at a gym close to Mum & Dad's house. I was on fire!

After the wedding of course, all that went out the window and I got stuck into pursuing the hedonistic pleasures of being amongst friends, family, and all the food & wine that I have missed. While I missed out on Haighs chocolates, excellent Thai food, and pies & pasties on this trip, I did indulge some other Aussie pleasures (some, but not all, of which I can get in the US - but they just seem to taste better back home):

• Farmer's Union Iced Coffee
• Fruchocs (the regular AND giant sizes)
• Crown Lager
• Coopers Pale
• Kraft Peanut Butter (Smooth, of course)
• Pub schnitzels & fat chips

Now of course I'm back in NY and on the treadmill, attempting to right the dietary wrongs of a holiday well-spent. Easier said than done, perhaps?!

The Blog Less Travelled

Okay so it’s been a long time since my last blog entry and I’m not even going to try and excuse myself. By way of explanation though, I was back home for baby sister’s wedding (awesome) and catch-ups with family (ditto), so the idea of sitting at a computer to write about seemed a bit silly. But I’ve been back in New York for almost a week now, so I can slowly reflect on the weeks that were and begin to share some of the standout stories with you.

I’m not one to tell tales in chronological order at the best of times, so this post is devoted to stories of coping with air travel – before, during and after.

Thanks to business class work trip to Australia back in May, I had some healthy frequent flyer points in my back pocket for the trip in August. In fact, I had enough points to upgrade myself to business class on at least one leg of the international journey. Unfortunately Australia’s national airline had other ideas, and wouldn’t let me upgrade myself – apparently my cheapass airfare precluded me from reclining in the lap of business class luxury. I even tried the “but it’s my birthday” sob story (which it was), but the airline was heartlessly unmoved.

The flight over to Australia actually turned out to be OK, all things considered. I didn’t sleep on the NY-LA flight (which was my plan anyway), so that tired me out for the LA-Sydney leg. I managed to score a bulkhead seat on that long flight too, so I had a bit more legroom than usual, and was able to curl up next to the window and get about 7 hours of sleep in between half-watching some rather average movies. [Just as an aside, why has QANTAS included “Snowtown” on its in-flight entertainment package?! Surely 37,000 feet above sea level is no place to be distressed by a horrible true story about Australian psychopathic killers and bodies in barrels?!]

Fast forward now to the return journey to NY, and our national airline AGAIN refused to upgrade me but this time they said it was because business class was entirely full. You can’t really fight that explanation, can you? On the red eye Adelaide-Sydney leg, I sat alongside an Australian national hockey player (wearing his regulation green & gold tracksuit no less). Mr Hockey Man fell asleep before take-off and snored the entire way to Sydney! It seemed that sleep, at least for me, would prove elusive on that flight. The aeroplane coffee I chugged didn’t even touch the sides, but it didn’t help improve my mood either. On arrival in Sydney, I had to almost run through immigration in order to make my international connection. Fortunately it is easy to rush through airports when you’re travelling alone, darting around half-asleep travellers and foreign visitors with no idea how to stand in a queue. So there I was on the Sydney-LA flight and surrounded by young parents and their children – the worst seating assignment EVER! Now I do spare a thought for parents with young kids on a plane. Nobody can blame the kids for their behaviour on takeoff and landing; their poor little ear drums are popping and they’re not yet old enough to know how to deal with it – so they just cry and cry, and I can totally deal with that. But during the flight itself, surely parents can do something to manage their child’s behaviour. The child in my row was an absolute darling, but she would not shut up. She jabbered away to her Mum incessantly, and stubbornly refused to sleep. I am sure her mother was as exasperated as I was, but I worked really hard to control myself. I self-medicated with three little bottles of wine, two bad movies, and an eye mask, but STILL my senses refused to be dulled. As a result, I was wide awake the whole time. On arrival in LA, suffering what can only be described as delirium by this time, I tried to distance myself from the kids, only to realise that they were all following me to New York! ARGH!! I escaped the chatterbox kid, only to be seated behind 4-year old twin girls who fought over their personal DVD collection for the whole flight. While their parents slept through it all. Where’s the justice?!

Landing at New York’s JFK Airport on Monday, I was so pleased to be back – and only a short taxi ride from my own bed. Because it was a public holiday here, the taxi driver got irritated with me when I told him I couldn’t pay in cash. “But it will take me days to get my money from the credit card company,” he moaned. Tough bikkies, buddy – I was over it, and I flatly refused to let him stop at an ATM so I could get money out for him. Naturally I had the whole taxi ride to feel guilty about my inflexibility, so I tipped him way too generously. I am such a bleeding heart sometimes.

The jetlag has hit me pretty hard this time around, no thanks to me sleeping the whole day at home on Tuesday (rather than keeping myself busy during the day and only sleeping at night). As it is this week, I’ve been going to bed at 9pm, and waking myself up at 4am – unable to get back to sleep again. It is quite frustrating. You would think that given the number of flights I’ve taken in my life, I would be quite accustomed to jetlag and how to deal with it. I’m hoping that if I have a quiet weekend, I’ll be able to regulate my sleeping patterns a bit more so that by next week, things will be back to normal. Well, that’s the plan anyway. All that aside though, I bet I would not have had any of these problems in business class!

A Donald and Daisy Day

If you're a duck living in Manhattan, today would have been your ideal Sunday. The rain started late last night, continued while we all slept (though admittedly was broken up by some delightful thunder claps), and then proceeded to fall sans cesse during the daylight hours.

As we all know, I am not a duck and therefore today's weather pissed me off.

Okay let's be fair about this. I love rain and after the hot weather we've been having I guess on one level I was actually pleased to see the drop in temperature and the cool raindrops falling. But I don't own gumboots and the universe should know this. The universe should also be well aware that my jeans are perfectly hemmed so they almost - but not quite - touch the floor when I'm wearing flat shoes.

So Universe I ask you, why could you not just stop the rain for the 30 minutes it took me to get to the Museum of Modern Art (by bus mind you, because no friggin' cabs would stop for me)? But noooo - Mother Nature had to keep the drops coming! I got all the way to the front door of the MOMA too, only an hour after they opened this morning, but the line was already almost around the block. And my shoes were squelching and my jeans were literally soaked three inches from the ankles. I was so disheartened. So I did what any sooky baby would do and hailed a cab from outside MOMA to take me back home. Cause I had no trouble getting a cab there did I, Universe? You sick bastard.

My mood lifted somewhat once I got home and took off the wet clothes, stringing them around our apartment/Chinese laundry. Looking at my gym timetable, I realised there was a Pilates class starting in an hour, and I felt confident that would buoy my spirits too. Gym clothes on, and out the door, dodging the fattest raindrops and up the street to Club H.

I don't know what it was but I was terrible in today's class. This was a traditional Pilates Mat class so we did all our exercises on the floor. Lots of leg lifts, ab work and resistance with the Pilates ring. I just wasn't coordinated today and my hip joint kept popping and then my leg went dead at one point. Something was just off. I looked around the class (always a mistake) and off to my left was this woman who I'm sure was the New York Pilates Champion 2011 - all taut muscles and expert Pilates ring control. Bitch. Me, on the other hand, I struggled to remember to breathe (a sure sign I am distracted) but I did some good sit-ups and the instructor told me I had a "nice line" (I don't know what that means either). The hour lesson was over pretty quickly, but I was still not cheered. Some treadmill and weights work helped (ditto filling my head with the "Empire Records" soundtrack), and so when I left after about 45 minutes, the gym was starting to fill up and I was too tired to be grouchy anymore.

The rain however, had not changed a bit and I got splotched the whole way home. I'm looking outside at dark skies and rain that is falling straight down, and showing no signs of stopping. I'm not in a bad mood per se, I am just disappointed that the day turned into such a wash-out. Why can't it be like this when I'm cooped up in my office five days a week?!

Dames and Dresses

While my mouth was recovering from its peroxide treatment yesterday, I took myself to the Westside Theatre to see "Love, Loss and What I Wore", the new play by Nora Ephron ("When Harry Met Sally", "Julie and Julia") and her sister, Delia Ephron ("The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants", "You've Got Mail").

While I waited for the show to start, I looked around and realised that the average age of theatregoers yesterday was about 80. Not surprising for a matinee perhaps but it still made me smile (which didn't hurt my face). I could see mothers, daughters, grandmothers - generations of women were spending the day together and I just thought it was really nice.

The stage was set up very simply - just five barstool chairs, some music stands to hold script folders, and a clothes hanging stand.

In addition to the simple staging, the casting of this play is really smart. Every show has a cast of amazing female actors who play the roles for a month, and then a new group of actors comes in for the next month.

For my performance, the five actresses were Marylouise Burke, Emmanuelle Chirqui ("Entourage"), Ann Harada (who played Christmas Eve in "Avenue Q" - you must see this video clip), Rosalyn Ruff, and Yeardley Smith (yes, THE voice of Lisa Simpson).

The play itself doesn't have a plot so much, but it's a collection of really great stories about women and the clothes that have influenced their lives. Running through these stories is a common thread of Ginger's story - and how she remembers the dresses and outfits that she wore in her life from childhood, through her marriages, and into the dress-up box that her grand-daughter loves to ransack.

It's funny though because despite the age-range in the audience, I found myself laughing at just the same parts of the show that the 80 year old woman next to me found amusing. We all cringed at the story of the first bra, or the one about buying so many clothes in black - and I particularly liked the stories that involved all the actors, where they all pitched in and told the story together.

Even though the actors never even got off their chairs, I was still really transfixed by the stories and their performances. I wonder what energy the other actors would bring to these same stories - I get the impression that even though the actual script was the same, each group's performance would be subtly different. A really cool idea.

Champion Chompers

Whenever K goes out of town on a netball or business trip, I get these grand ideas about exploring the city on my own. I develop weekend itineraries that encourage me to set off early, roam the city, and return to the apartment utterly exhausted but a little better acquainted with New York than when I left that morning. Two or three days before these adventures however, I start to second guess my own abilities and so I go online and print out detailed maps and WALKING DIRECTIONS (for pity's sake) so that when I charge out my front door on the Saturday, I can look and feel confident.

To set the scene for this weekend's adventure, it's important to mention that I could hardly sleep last night. I am so excited about going home this coming Thursday, to start the celebrations for baby sister's wedding on August 27. I have been eating properly, kicking ass & taking names at the gym, and I have even scheduled a cut & colour with a celebrity hairstylist the morning that I fly home. See? Who can possibly sleep when there is such anticipation in the air?!

This morning I had an appointment in Greenwich Village to have my teeth whitened. Obnoxious, I know. And I probably never would have come up with the idea myself, but when I logged onto my email a few months ago, there was a Groupon certificate for two whitening sessions at Magic Smile and I figured I had nothing to lose. Plus I knew that with all the photos I'll have to be in at the wedding, a shiny white smile would certainly be a lovely accessory.

I chose the store/clinic in Greenwich Village because the other one is on the Upper West Side about a block away from my beloved Zabar's and I didn't want to go up there lest I be tempted into buying cinnamon rugelach or other goodies that I knew would not be part of my eating plan (always thinking, me).

So I left home this morning in plenty of time, walked up the hill to the nearest subway station, only to find that the Downtown route was shut and I would have to go Uptown to Grand Central and change from there. I did exactly that but managed to get myself completely spun around when it came to switching subway lines and given that time was ticking on, I gave up and grabbed a taxi. Catching every red light along the way, the taxi driver dropped me about 4 blocks from where I needed to be and I almost ran down Bleecker Street to my appointment.

Arriving hot, bothered and breathless 10 minutes late, I strapped myself in to the chair at the "surgery", the "nurse" explained how the procedure was going to work and made me sign a very long waiver to absolve Magic Smile of any liability should my teeth fall out, or I go blind, or my gums get dyed weird colours or whatever (I don't know - I skimmed it). I had to wedge a weird mouth guard into my face that did not feel good. It didn't look good either. I looked like my lips had been peeled right off leaving my teeth and gums totally exposed. Nursey then put a paper bib on me and began to paint my teeth with the whitening agent. I tried to concentrate on the Cooking Channel playing on the TV over my head, ignoring the tingling and kinda painful sensations going on in my mouth. Did the waiver cover this? Probably.

Just as I had acclimated to the tingles and pain, the slobbery spit started. Let's just say that it is very hard to remain ladylike and discrete when you have great gobs of drool sliding out the corner of your mouth, plus a mouthguard wedged in your face that makes it impossible to call out for help. Nursey heard me whimper and suspended one of those dentist spit-sucking things in the corner of my mouth to syphon the dribble away, but a fair portion of it slid down my chin and onto my bib anyway. So gross.

Donning a pair of pink sunglasses that were definitely not a fashion statement, Nursey wheeled over the UV light and stun-gunned my mouth for 15 minutes. It's not just a matter of lying there passively while all this business is going on either. You have to will your lips not to move. You have to make sure that your tongue doesn't lick your teeth (peroxide does not taste like toothpaste - trust me). You have to try and half-swallow drool that the spit-sucky thing can't get to, but not swallow so hard that your mouth involuntarily wants to close, which might make you gag or choke. All that concentration is exhausting!

After 15 minutes, Nursey asked me to rinse & spit and then we repeated everything for my second procedure of the day. By now I was an old hat, so to speak, and the second 15-minute bleaching exercise went very smoothly (and quickly).

I never did get to see the end of the schnitzel & potato salad recipe episode though.

As I readied to leave the surgery Nursey gave me a one-page list of instructions including all the things I should NOT eat in the first 24 hours (dark foods, fruit & vegetables, alcohol, coffee etc) and the things that ARE okay to eat (rice, pasta, bread, potatoes) are all the things I've sworn off on my eating plan. So typical.

All this aside, I have to say that I'm really fine with this food inconvenience because my teeth are now 4 shades whiter than when I went in this morning. I am really happy with the results and even though I have a splitting headache and major teeth sensitivity, I'm hoping that these symptoms will pass soon. My headache horse pills and Sensodyne toothpaste will help, I'm sure.

Wrong Tracks, Three Rats, Hip Cats

A lot of people say that the best nights you have are the ones you don't plan. I'm a bit of a planner - okay, I'm a lot of a planner, but combine that with my dodgy geography and you usually get a choose-your-own-adventure sort of evening. Case in point: tonight.

I have a membership to the gorgeous American Museum of Natural History. I can say it's gorgeous because I have looked at it extensively online. I have never once set foot inside its doors. So when I scored two membership tickets to the Museum's almost-closed Brain: The Inside Story exhibit, I was excited to finally get down there and check the place out.

Starting the journey from the Bryant Park subway station (not far from my office) was simple enough. The tunnel to our platform smelled like most subway tunnels in the City (or anywhere in the world for that matter). Taking the B line would get us directly to the Museum's front door. Only the D train came along first. "Can we take that one?" asks PL. "Sure," says I - after a rudimentary scan of the adjacent subway map. B was next to D on the map, so why not?

Friends, let me tell you that the D train does indeed go to the Museum; it just doesn't stop there. Oh no, it goes shooting past the Museum at lightning speed and catapults you an additional forty blocks beyond it, ultimately depositing you in Harlem. Silence from PL - he is totally used to this with me. I just laughed - what more could I do?

Alighting at Harlem, we got on the Downtown platform and waited for the B train. I looked down to the tracks where PL was pointing and saw not one but three rats just going about their business. Up to this point, I had never even seen one rat, so three was a real (creepy) coup! Judging by their size they weren't particularly well-fed rats but I got a good enough gawk at them anyway.

The B train came along in a few minutes and got us back to the Museum smack at the time we were supposed to start our behind-the-scenes guided tour. Much to our chagrin all the obvious Museum entrances were bolted shut and entirely unattended. It became clear that we were not going to see the exhibit after all. Sad.

But as Reverend Mother used to say, "When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window". And so it was that I suggested to PL that we head over to Broadway and check out my favourite, Zabars. I had been nagging him about this store for weeks. "Now then, which way to Broadway?" I asked, only somewhat rhetorically. We both pointed in opposite directions. Again, neither of us were surprised.

Doing gourmet foreign food shopping works up quite an appetite, so we walked Downtown past Lincoln Center and through Columbus Circle, and headed to Guantanamera where we cashed in one of my Groupon vouchers for dinner.

I remember buying the Groupon because the restaurant sounded so cool. The online menu looked great, but I was quite taken with the promise of a live band and cigars. The latter only appears on Friday & Saturday nights, but the band was on from 8.30pm tonight and they were fantastic. Reminiscent of the Buena Vista Social Club album that I love so much, the band had energy and talent to burn. The seafood stew and warm chocolate cake & ice cream dessert that I stuffed in were probably not on my eating plan but did I care? Hell no.

On the plan, tonight was supposed to be good but geeky. Instead I went to Harlem, saw my first NY rats, and escaped to Cuba through music and food. Who can complain about that?

Death By Reps

I had my first workout with a personal trainer tonight. I am blogging about it immediately afterwards because I fear that come tomorrow morning every muscle in my body will have seized up and even blinking will cripple me.

Years ago when I did Weight Watchers, the instructor (?) told us that when you go walking, you should be able to talk but not sing. I know that sounds really dumb but it's true and it has always stayed with me. So tonight while I was exercising, I was really conscious of working hard enough to talk to my personal trainer, but not serenading her. We solved all the world's problems tonight - wedding speeches; famine in Somalia; riots in London. No subject was off-limits and we got along really well.

Bearing in mind that I'm new to this weights game, some of these measures may seem sissy to you, but I really felt them working. My trainer reckons if I do this workout even twice a week (though three is better), I will see results.

• Leg Press at 40lbs - 3 x 15 reps (not too tough, just need to remember to push from my ankles and not my knees, or I can forget about a Riverdance career);
• Tricep Push at 10lbs - 3 x 10 reps (piece of cake at first, but gets a bit harder as you go along);
• Side Cable at 10lbs - 3 x 10 reps (works the obliques and you need to be careful that the cable doesn't twang back and rip your arm off);
• Bicep Curl at 7.5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (I didn't know I had biceps. Enough said);
• Fish Tails (an abdominal exercise working the obliques where you lay down on your back and twist your body so you reach down and tap the side of your ankle. Manageable);
• Step Ups at 15lbs - 3 x 10 reps (a basic step-up, step-down exercise while you hold onto some hand weights. A very natural motion for anyone's body but mine. I have no balance and need to concentrate on this one. Shameful);
• Rowing at 12.5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (otherwise known as the "boobs out" exercise to maintain posture and stretch your shoulder blades. I am awesome at this one. Figures);
• Leg Lifts - 3 x 10 reps (from the seated position, lean back and raise and lower both legs to 45 degree angle to work the abdominals. Again, I've got this one in the bag - thank you, Pilates);
• Chest Press at 7.5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (tricky, complicated by the fact I am perching my head and shoulders rather precariously on a medicine ball, AND trying not to drop weights on my face at the same time);
• Ball Between Legs (about as humiliating as it sounds. On your back, put your legs up in the air and the medicine ball between your calves, squeeze slightly and then reach up to tap the ball. Oddly enough - or not - I am good at this one);
• Wide Squats at 5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (last week I squatted prodigiously but this time I was also holding weights and had to squat down far enough so my elbows touched my knees. And I had to remember to gawk at myself in the mirror at the same time, lest I fall forward and humiliate myself. Awkward);
• Front-Side Laterals at 5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (arms were jelly at this point. Lost interest in talking to my trainer and just glared at her menacingly until even my eyeballs started to hurt);
• Elbow to Knee Crunches - 3 x 10 reps (invented by sadists. Basic ab crunches except your knees are up at 90-degrees and with your elbows behind your head, you pull up so that elbows reach forward and touch your knees. Biologically impossible for me at this point but I did them all. Didn't complain because I couldn't form the words.)

After the workout my trainer stretched me and I had to lie on one of those massage tables in the middle of the weights area, looking like a proper athlete and everything. Pretty sweet.

I know I wasn't the most coordinated person in the gym tonight but I feel like the exercises we did are things I can do for myself and I'm just so proud I didn't die. Or worse, give up.

Let's see what tomorrow brings, shall we?

Meeting Mr Right On(line)

I am not sure if it is pretentious to subscribe to the New Yorker magazine, but I do. Admittedly I don't understand some of the articles - they rely a lot on the reader's local knowledge and awareness of City politics, art and culture. But I value the weekly magazine for its restaurant and theatre reviews, feature articles, amateur fiction efforts, and the silly caption contests. Simple pleasures.

In the July 4th issue I read an article about online dating. I thought it was quite amusing at the time that the magazine had put the feature in the "True Romance" department. Perhaps the New Yorker is an optimistic periodical after all, I thought. But as I read on, I realised that its author is not only a happily married man, he's never done any online dating for himself - other than the tinkering he did to research his article. So what I'd hoped was an article about a man's search for love online was really a study in the hardcore business, maths and science of online dating. And the article really got me wondering whether the internet has sucked the life out of romance, or whether romance itself was entirely overrated to begin with. Read the article for yourself here - and you can decide.

On the back of this feature article the New Yorker decided to focus its monthly Big Story event on the subject of internet dating. I dragged SK (a fellow romantic cynic) along for the ride.

We steeled ourself with a lovely dinner at the Chelsea Market first and shared stories about friends - and friends of friends - who had enjoyed success or otherwise in the online dating world. Never having done any online dating ourselves, it was interesting to compare stories with SK about why we've hitherto avoided it. I think we were both quite intrigued about what the lecture panelists might say and whether we'd ultimately be convinced to give online dating a try.

The event was held in cabaret-style format at the Highline Ballroom, and was actually pretty cool. Extremely well-subscribed, the night attracted people of all ages. The panel was moderated by the author of the New Yorker article and he was pretty terrible. I just don't think he had the charisma to engage his panel or generate sufficient debate on the pros and cons of online dating. Complicating matters was the fact that three of the four companies represented on the panel (Match.com, Chemistry.com & OKCupid) are all owned by the same person. Biased much? The woman representing Chemistry.com is also a Professor of Biological Anthropology at Rutgers University and she contributed some really interesting insights into what men & women are really looking for out of the dating experience (either online or in 'real life'). The fourth panelist was a woman who had been dating online for 11 years, with varying degrees of success. But by the very fact of being up there, doesn't she just demonstrate that despite all the mathematical matching and personality profiling involved in online dating, the system doesn't always work? It took balls for her to be up there, that's all I can say.

One of the other trends that stayed with me from the lecture was prompted by a question from the audience. I guy got up to say that he had subscribed to OKCupid and he was enjoying their new smart phone app. You log on via your phone and the website will use your location to flash up potential matches based on your geographical location (by zip code). So the OKCupid guy says that if you're standing in line at Starbucks, the app can tell you which of your fellow customers would be a good match for you, assuming the ladies are also registered on the site of course. I don't know about all that. I figure if you've got your eyeballs glued to your smart phone, aren't you missing the potential to lock eyes with someone on your own? If we're attracted to someone first and foremost by the way they look, why do we need a smart phone app to tell us when to look up?

Or am I too much of an old fuddy duddy and I should really just shut up and get with the times?