So, Thursday was a bit of a depressing day for me--at least it started that way. For some reason to which I don't know the answer, I started the day without my usual black cup of coffee which threw everything off.
Nearly my first full hour of being awake was spent "checking Facebook." Then I tried to do some reading, but was too unmotivated. I decided I'd do some writing instead.
... I've been feeling the itch to write more too (and more than just on my blog).
But I think there's a fear of failure keeping me from doing so. I want the very first thing I write (and publish) to be as good as Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's. I also think the other problem is, that although I know I enjoy writing, I have yet to find my writing niche.
My "book," or "novel," which I began work on over a year ago, has gone nowhere. I've more or less given up on it even though I keep telling everyone that I just "have it on the back burner." From my book, I came away with just 1 piece that I was completely happy with and I submitted it to New York Times Magazine's "Lives" column, but it was rejected. That really put a damper in my spirit.
I actually had plans to go to a wine tasting at Cipriani that afternoon, but all my (decent) clothing was at the dry cleaners and I 1. didn't think that they'd be ready for pick up yet and 2. if they were, I'd have $20 less for my dinner date with Cynthia later that night.
Later, during lunch, I asked David why artists were at their best when they were in pain.
"That's not neccesarily the case... Are you talking about Lady Gaga?"
I went on to tell him that I felt like I was up against a wall with my writing. His answer to my unspoken prayer? Answered Prayers by Truman Capote.
I've always been a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. And reflecting upon what I'd written just that morning, David's reading suggestion, which he placed on the kitchen table before me, seemed to be an affirmation of my belief loud and clear...
I returned to bed and began to read the Editor's Note and it did, even if just a little, renew my inspiration.
3:30. I had to get ready to meet Cynthia at Lure.
I tried on nearly a dozen different outfits before finally settling on an unordinarily casual look.
I arrived at Lure later than we had originally planned on and it was jam-packed. I texted Cynthia and told her to meet me at Woo Lae Oak instead.
I recommended that we go somewhere totally different for dinner; we always ended up at our same old haunts. But by the time we finished our first drink at Woo, I was already feeling hungry and decided we scrap the idea of strolling about the city until we found something that struck our fancy.
"Let's just go to Blue Ribbon."
Even though it was only 7 o'clock, on a Thursday, there was a 45 minute wait for a table. But Cynthia and I were having a casual afternoon and didn't mind waiting...
At the bar, Cynthia and I each ordered a glass of cava and before we had even finished our first glass, our table was ready.
Our server, Ben, informed us of the evening's specials; they were serving Whelks again.
The first time I'd heard of them there, my server gently nudged me towards not ordering them.
"They're pretty intense..."
But hey, Cynthia and I are pretty intense too.
Cynthia: "We'll take 6."
Me: "And the Pork Chop special."
(The girl sitting next to us at the bar was having it and it looked delightful!)
The Whelks arrived, surprisingly large. I picked up my first shell and pierced my fork deep into the dark and cavernous opening. Out came a large, curled hunk of meat.
Intense.
I drizzled a little lemon onto it and touched it down upon the mayonnaise dressing. After a deep breath, I placed the aquatic creature in my mouth.
"I don't like it...
But, I'm going to eat them anyway."
It definitely took some courage to eat my share of the 6 Whelks, but I've eaten some pretty courageous dishes before--this should be cake. I think what bothered me most about the Whelks was that the outer part of the Whelk was rubbery while the inner part was mushy. And they were just so big! Cynthia also mentioned that she thought she'd like them better if they weren't served cold, to which I agreed...
I finished my last meaty morsel with the only solace of knowing that a good-old-fashioned pork chop was about to arrive.
Even though I didn't find the dish as delicious tasting as it looked, nonetheless, it was still quite good. It came with a nice side of mashed potatoes (with a touch of lumpiness) and some fresh, sautéed spinach--a perfect contrast to the dish.
At the end, Cynthia and I used the delicious warm bread to sop up the remaining dressing.
Later, Ben came over to our table and said, "Now that's the kind of meal I like: Whelks and Pork Chops!"
> > > >
Trying to keep my wallet as full as my appetite, I opted against ordering dessert and Cynthia and I left Blue Ribbon in search of some dive bars to finish our night off with...
We headed west and stopped at Sway (façade: McGovern's Bar) on Spring Street. The venue had a heavy Moroccan vibe (thanks to curved archways and mosaic-tiled cocktail tables) and expensive drinks.
"I'll just take your house vodka this time."
"$16."
"You mean it's only a dollar more for top shelf??"
The DJ was pretty great (at times) and Cynthia was pretty impressed that he was spinning vinyl.
Much later that night (and after Cynthia found out some good news from her cousin in San Diego), we both found ourselves feeling a little peckish and ended up back at Blue Ribbon.
"We're celebrating--dinner's on me!"
We hopped into a cab and headed west for B.R.
It was nearly empty (and 3:16 a.m.) and the maître d' sat us right away.
"We'll have the Endive Salad and the Duck Club."
(I couldn't believe we were there twice in one night.)
Cynthia and I hit that club like hungry wolves and somehow, the cavas kept on coming...
We shut Blue Ribbon down.
> >
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