Spring is almost here…almost. Oh so very almost. But not quite. It’s was still drizzly in the morning and windy in the afternoon. But we dauntless crusaders for pleasure in all forms did not let that stop us. We met in the private wine cellar of a female-owned Tribeca watering hole and sketched out plans for a summer of adventures, to be kicked off just as soon as the damn sun comes out of hibernation. Helios! We’re talking about you! [Taps foot impatiently, looks at watch.]
Not that an evening indoors is anything to regret, not when the libations are plentiful and satisfying, the food delectable (truffle mac and cheese! ceviche! churros!), the pulp fiction tempting us with its come-hither looks (check out this beauty, coming in May from our friends at Hard Case Crime), and the conversation wild and wide ranging. East of Eden. Moby-Dick. “The Whore of MENSA.” Aristotle. Your Mother’s Copy of the Kama Sutra. How to pronounce “Targaryen.”
Glasses were filled, bottles emptied. Chocolate sauce intended for dipping churros wound up applied directly to the bosom. Gallant wait staff valiantly maintained eye contact.
Did we have fun? We did.
And do we have one hell of a fine summer planned?