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I thought it appropriate that I report on our visit to 21 last night.
In short, we had a great time.
After yesterday's post, I heard from the restaurant's PR manager, offering us a round of drinks on the house (what a nice touch, no?), and when we arrived, the staff fussed over us a little bit (though our waiter seemed a smidge disappointed when he learned that the anniversary we were celebrating was just our six-month one).
Flo and I each enjoyed two glasses of complimentary champagne -- one to open the evening, another to close it. The first one tasted better to me, but I don't know whether we were served a different champagne after dinner, or if my palate was just impacted by what we'd eaten and drunk. Both were perfectly fine, though. Flo enjoyed a glass of Pinot Noir with her meal, while I indulged in a couple of really good tequila gimlets.
We split a half dozen oysters on the half shell (and they were great -- maybe the best we've ever had, we both thought), and Flo enjoyed mussels marinara (her first mussels ever, and they got a big thumbs up), while I went for seared filet mignon (medium rare).
Both entrees were damned tasty.
For dessert, Flo selected the chocolate fudge cake with five-spice ganache and fruit compote, accompanied by quite acceptable coffee (and Flo is choosy), while I had the After Eight torte -- bittersweet chocolate, peppermint, and mint chocolate chip ice cream. Both desserts were delightful.
With our dessert, we shared a 15-year-old single malt scotch called Dalwhinnie, neat, that we both quite enjoyed.
We had requested the Bogart table, but ended up right next to it instead (it's a four-top, and we were only two) at Alec Baldwin's favorite table (thankfully, Baldwin did not show up demanding we surrender his spot), but when the foursome from Atlanta left the Bogart table vacant, I slid over for fifteen or twenty seconds, just to be able to say I'd sat there (yes, I'm just that big of a boob).
The decor is kind clubroom/attic/wacky. Red leather banquettes and dark wood are accessorized by odds and ends the management has accumulated over the years. The ceiling is blocked from view by hundreds of toys hanging there, and shelves and ledges around the restaurant are filled with tchotchkes of various stripes.
The staff is composed of career servers, or at least that's the impression. The sommelier was on the jolly side, joking with customers, but the other servers were less outgoing, though not at all stuffy.
All in all, it was a memorable evening and a satisfying celebration, and we will happily return to 21 on some future special occasion.
Today marks the 75th anniversary of the debut of the very first drive-in theatre, Richard Hollingshead's Camden Drive-In in on the Camden/Pennsauken Township border in New Jersey. The fare on that historic night was the comedy Two White Arms (1932), which was then in rerelease as "Wives Beware."
Mr. Hollingshead's theatre only lasted a few years, but the second one built, Shankweiler's Drive-in, in Orefield, Pennsylvania, which opened for business on April 15, 1934 (was that tax day back then, I wonder?), is still going strong.
I had hoped to patronize a drive-in tonight, but getting to a drive-in from NYC requires a minimum of a two-hour drive, and I couldn't swing that because it's a busy week at work.
I'm not happy about it.
If you live anywhere near a drive-in, tonight's the night to stop by. Every night is a great night to the drive-in, actually, but tonight is a must, I say.
What I am happy about is that Flo and I are just two days away from our six-month-aversary. That's right, half a year of married bliss, and the honeymoon's not over yet.
We're celebrating by dining for the first time at the storied 21 Club, and I couldn't be more excited. I've wanted to eat there since I arrived in New York nearly 26 years ago, but I could never quite see my way clear to spending that kind of dough. But tonight, budget be damned!
Flo, bless her heart, requested Bogart's table when making the reservation. I'm not holding my breath for that, but I do hold out some hope of getting seated near it in the Bar Room.
If not, Bogart's table, J.J. Hunsecker's table in Sweet Smell of Success will do (I've not yet managed to suss out just which table that was).
Speaking of Flo, I couldn't be more proud of her. The latte art throwdown for charity she spent weeks organizing was a huge success last night. Joe on 13th Street was packed to the rafters, and the vibe in the place was so fun and celebratory that even non-barista types like me had a grand ol' time.
A ton of money was raised (we don't have a final figure yet, but it's going to be impressive), a good amount of beer was imbibed, lots of impressive latte art was created, and hopefully, a few struggling people in Myanmar and China will experience some lessening of their misery as a result.
Flo is quite the gal, and I am very lucky to have her.
While sitting at the outdoor cafe at Half King at 23rd and Tenth last evening, friends and I spotted Lorne Michaels and a female companion (a colleague, I would guess) strolling east toward Tenth Avenue.
I spotted Sam Shepard, accompanied by an unidentified, mildly schlubby male, walking south on Fifth Avenue near 13th Street.
I served Shepard a cocktail or two on more than one occasion back in my bartending days -- in fact, one quiet Sunday night, a few months before I departed on my four-month, 48-state, cross-country excursion in 1992, we spent a couple of hours talking road trips, and he offered me a tip or two on places I should visit.
It crossed my mind to stop him and say hello, see if perhaps he recalled that conversation. But then I came to my senses. Not only has it been 16 years since we chatted about travel, I served him probably three or four Jack Daniels (if memory serves) that night.