The next two posts will be dedicated to all the foodies out there, which incidentally, the older I get the more I realize that I’m a bit of a foodie. This in turn makes me realize that I’m getting old since I’d much rather enjoy a lazy dinner with a good bottle or two of wine with great conversationalists than being on the pull drinking martinis at a loud bar screaming to the person next to me so we can hear each other. These days I’ll take a fine vintage over the Grey Goose with extra olives. I’m just as shocked as you are to be making that statement.

It was with my new social view in mind that I decided to gorge myself on restaurant week lunches and dinners, which this year happens to be 3 weeks long (some restaurants have even extended it through labor day). I’ve skipped the past few restaurant weeks due to the fact that I wasn’t able to get into some of my top restaurants and due to my view that restaurant week menus are sometimes random and subpar. I feel that the caliber of restaurants has slipped over the years. However, I decided to give restaurant week(s) another go. Although the company was always the crème de la crème of the chess world in a show with everything but Yul Brynner (extra points if you know where that’s from), the level of service and food was wanting at certain establishments. My favorites were my first and last stops on the two week tour (the first of which is described in this post).

The First stop of the discount culinary tour was The Water Club, which is located on the East River in Murray Hill (www.thewaterclub.com). I went here with a friend and her mother who was in town from Asia. We all enjoyed the water views and I personally found the view to be relaxing in this crazy city we call home. Although I did not find the staff to be the friendliest, I thought the food was excellent and it is one of the few restaurants that I would return for another meal. The Sauvignon Blanc that ex-pat mom chose was crisp and refreshing. I had a so-so salad for a starter, but the braised pork melted in my mouth, and don’t even get me started on the Bananas Foster cake. Having treated myself to Bananas Foster on more than on occasion in New Orleans, the birthplace of the BF, I wasn’t sure what to expect. In NOLA at the Brennan’s family restaurants, the BF is made table side a la flambé style. Although the presentation was not as lavish as down south, it was just as scrumptious and it had the right balance of richness to satisfy the most discerning palate. As as a Bananas Foster connoisseur I consider my palate to be discerning.

Next stop was Delmonico’s (www.delmonicosny.com), a culinary institution of Old New York. It’s a steakhouse located in the financial district and is the birthplace to the delmonico style steak, Baked Alaska, and Lobster Newburg. I found the atmosphere to be very classic and visually stunning as there were various beautiful murals painted on the walls. Opened in 1837 it was the place where robber barons congregated over lunches. If Wall Street was still what it once was, i.e., if most of the financial brokerage houses were still located downtown and not in midtown, then I could still imagine the power brokers meeting here to talk about money, the Hamptons and their delux apartments in the sky (woah-oh-oh, moving on up). That being said the place was still full of suits. Although I thought the vibe was lovely and sophisticated, I was underwhelmed by the food. The restaurant week lunch menu did not “wow” me to begin with, but it was one of the few downtown restaurants participating in restaurant week and it allowed me to enjoy lunch with two close friends I met on a trip to the Middle East. So if you go feel free to skip the iceberg salad, braised pork, and blueberry composition (especially the composition). However, my friend’s Chicken a la Keene,the original name of what is now referred to as Chiken à la King, was tasty.

Later in the week I headed to Cafe des Artistes snuggled right off of Central Park West (www.cafenyc.com). The decor was reminiscent of Delmonico’s high end old world style. I met some old friends in from out of town and their friends for dinner. The evening at Cafe des Artistes was interesting if for no other reason than I had all I could do from restraining myself when one of the dinner companions, whom I had never met before, said she would do the pre-fixe with wine pairing if it “is a good bottle of wine.” Um, hello. This isn’t the Ground Round and they’re not exactly serving Ernest and Julio, Bartles & James, or Wine in a Box here lady. The other highlight was when my drunk friend who I had not seen in about 7 years asked me, while in the ladies room, if I had a nose job because my nose looked fantastic. For the record I have not had one, if I had, I would’ve told the doc to take a little more off the sides. However, my nose and I were oddly happy that we looked better now than in our younger years. Anyway, although everyone else said they loved the food, I was a little “eh” about it all. I had a nice enough vichyssoise soup, but the filet mignon of pork was over cooked, luckily the coconut pecan cheesecake took the edge off. More importantly, the cocktail list was fun and inventive. Although I did not like the taste of “Death in the Afternoon,” a concoction of Champagne and Absinthe, created by Pappa Hemingway, I greatly enjoyed the “Tarzan,” which is comprised of Pimm’s and lemonade garnished with berries and a cucumber slice or as I like to call it a little slice of heaven. Oddly, when I ordered the Tarzan, the waiter warned me against it. He cautioned that it was a “strong drink.” Yet, he did not bat an eye when I ordered Death in the Afternoon. All I have to say is whatever garcon, you Tarzan, me Jane, now get me my slice of heaven.

In sum, I’d recommend The Water Club, Delmonico’s is a skipper, and I recommend saddling yourself up to the bar at Cafe des Artistes and picking yourself up a Tarzan….awwwww-ahhhh-awww (that was my Tarzan roar).

Sometimes there are weekends when I go out in New York and wonder if I haven’t been transported magically across the border into B&T land (a/k/a “the B&T” as termed by an Aussie friend) and then there are legendary weekends where I feel like I’ve packed so much into the weekend that I’ve lived a few different lifetimes. The B&Tesque weekends happen when my favorite island is invaded en masse by a specific breed of our neighbors to the south and west. It is for this reason that I refuse to head to the Meat Packing District on the weekends and various other parts of the city unless a friend comes to visit from out of state and puts in a special request.

Sometimes even would be “failsafe” spots fall prey to the invaders! For example, I went to Kingswood recently for drinks. Kingswood upstairs was a goldmine and was host to delish and creative libations and beautiful people. Downstairs, at the “private club,” not so much. A friend of mine hit it off with some dude I nicknamed the “Mayor of Kingswood” because he was “that guy.” You know, that guy who knew everyone at the place and had a “in” to get us downstairs. Holy Holland Tunnel Batman, no sooner had we entered the basement than another friend and I wanted to make like a banana sundae and split. We left and headed to the Rusty Knot. Sweet baby Moses, if I ever go there again someone shoot me. Never in the history of my NYC nightlife have I seen a group order drinks and down them faster than we did there. Never again!

So there are Mayor of Kingswood nights and then there weekends compiled of nights like I had this weekend that make me heart New York all over again where anything is possible and random incidents run rampant! Friday nights where I start the night off at a Senegalese restaurant with a dear friend where we enjoy martinis made with berries native to Senegal, followed by a rendez-vous with a friend I met in South Africa where we enjoyed decadent Italian wines and excellent conversation with each other and with other random barflies, followed by a mini-reunion with college friends which also involved good conversation and a conversation with an angrier taller version of Rafa Nadal.

Sometimes I’m struck by how small New York is. Yes, we live in a city of 8 million and some change, but I bump into more people here than I do if I go to smaller towns where I’ve lived previously. For example, I met a British guy on Friday night in Chelsea only to run into the Russell Brand look alike in the East Village the following night (evidently it was the weekend for celebrity lookalikes). I had just finished dinner in the West Village at de Santos (recommend it for the outdoor patio alone) when we breezed in and out of a birthday party in the EV. There we were walking on East 4th Street headed to the LES when I looked at Russell Brand’s shorter twin and blurted out “Aren’t you from London?” and he replied calmly, “yes we met last night.” I replied, “that’s crazy!” and in a spaced out tone he said, “it’s a crazy small town.” He even sounded like Russell in Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

It would only get more bizarre as the night progressed. After cocktails at Stanton Social, I headed to Kush to join another birthday party in progress. I was looking forward to sharing an apple flavored Hookah, but Hookah time had passed and everyone was in the no parking on the dance floor mode. Even though I had been nursing watered down drinks all night, I found myself shaking my money maker all over the dance floor with the Indian birthday gal. The bday gal almost missed her own birthday party because her hubby got her slightly smashed on celebratory champagne earlier in the day. Shame, shame, I know your name birthday hubby! So I was surrounded by my favorite Indians (for the record dot Indians, not feather) and I felt like I was an extra in Slumdog Millionaire. I had all I could do not to shout out Jai Ho (ok, I may have done that once). I have got to look into Masala Bharanga classes!

We finally left and I caught a ride home in “the birthday mobile.” On the way home, someone mentioned getting falafels at Mamoun’s in the West Village which sounded perfecto. It was on the final leg of our journey where all the freaks came out. Mamoun’s, as usual was hopping. Upon arrival we saw a guy with one albino/yellow boa constrictor and a parrot and he had a buddy with a black boa constrictor (a little Ebony and Ivory living together in perfect harmony, perhaps?). Here’s my question, is it legal to walk the streets of NY with lethal animals? If that wasn’t odd enough, some college kid accosted me and kept touching different guys and asking me to confirm whether they were the most beautiful men I had ever seen in New York. For the record, they weren’t! So rather than be rude I tried to change the subject at which point he asked me if birthday hubby was the most beautiful man I had ever seen and then asked if we could “all fall in love together.” It was then that it dawned on me that touchy feely guy was high on E! When I asked him, he denied it. It was during my third accusation that he confessed that he was in fact on X. Where is Johnny Depp and the 21 Jump Street gang of narcs when you need them? He then gave a ringing endorsement for the drug and, at the top of his lungs, declared that it was the “best drug in the world.” Ok thanks dude, I just want a falafel and based on how much you’ve been touching my friend and I, I’d like to be doused in Purrell before eating it. I will say that it was all worth it for the falafel.

So it was the crazy jammed packed, going off the rails on a crazy train kinda weekend and I loved it! It’s crazy off the wall, yet innocent weekends such as this, that makes me think I’m a NYC lifer!