New York, One Gay Date At A Time

The Black Amex

I’ve recently found out that the Black Amex, that uber-prestigious spending spree card that people pay lots and lots of money for is now being made in Titanium, yes it actually weighs down your wallet and can now set off metal detectors from afar. I found this lovely information in a straight bar, the card itself was casually being shown off - totted by an egger female bartender that knew the regular and wanted to show of his wealth and prowess.

Actually it was a restaurant, I was sitting at the bar sucking down oysters, cheap vodka and enjoying my status as youngest person in the joint, but man this place has damn good oysters. I was mingling with a contractor from Westchester that imported marble from Turkey, he was sucking down Little Necks and telling me his business woes, I was jokingly guessing that he was a Republican (and was right). We talked a bit about Hillary Clinton and her impending bid for the presidency.

Then it happened, the conversation changed as we felt up a Black American Express card, no longer decked out in plastic, I guess it wears better in titanium, I guess for a thousand bucks a card, they can afford to issue the card in titanium. Isn’t titanium what makes up the hull of the space shuttle? In any case, marble-importer-from-Westchester is bitching that his business partner won’t let him have one.

He asks me rhetorically if I know how you get one? A few years ago when I worked at the Essex House, I heard it was $3,000 a pop, by invitation only and a person needed to spend at least $150,000 a year on travel expenses alone. I guess they’ve since lowered their standards.  Again at the Essex House, the condo director told me that one of these puppies purchased a condo. I could never imagine buying a condo on a charge card.

I guess I’m not up on my showy and ostentatious credit cards, after all I’m just trying to pay down my boring lack luster Capital One. Yet the girls seemed to be into it, I’m sure if he wiped out the card in a gay bar, he would get a reaction, maybe not the show of tits he got in the straight bar, yet I’m sure he would arouse interest. I guess the thousand dollars was well spent.

Chinese Gourmet

I’m probably the only person to treat a Chinese restaurant as a gourmet experience. I mean really, that’s the only thing I can afford now-a-days. I consider actually eating in a Chinese restaurant to be a luxury, most of the time I just order in, from the Chinese food place that sometimes makes me sick.

Yet there are lots of really good Chinese restaurants in the city, I had a chance to experience one on the UWS a few days ago. It was quite cool. I loved people watching, I think that’s the best part of the experience actually, especially when it’s a good cheap restaurant, there are always so many people.

From nannies taking care of kids – to mothers taking out their kids and their kid’s friends while trying to be nice to their growing children, across from me is a guy tormenting his blackberry and another totally engrossed in the newspaper.

This restaurant also has a dim sum cart; a lady pushes it around and asks each person if they want dim sum. I impulse bought one, actually I asked the nice lady which was good, a question I ask lots of waiters, in this place, she cocked her head and looked at me funny, then pointed to the shrimp dim sum.

I got the idea for the post because of the gourmet construction of dim sum. I mean, it’s a paper dough skin, which is really hard to get write. I’ve also eaten my way through enough restaurants to taste when something is made in house. So yes, the dim sum was made in house and then each small dumpling was closed by hand. Truly a gourmet production. I wish more restaurants treated dumplings as serious as this restaurant does.

I also can’t help wondering if everyone in this place appreciates the food as much as I do. In any case. I like Chinese restaurants, especially good ones. Because I can get a good meal on the go for about ten bucks and I can be fabulous while eating it.

Dating Poverty

I've sort of want to date, I haven't been on any bad dates(or good ones) recently, frankly I haven't been on any dates period. I don't really want to. I want to take it easy. I'm enjoying actually being out of the frenzy and out of the heart ache. I have enough to deal with right now. I don't want to deal with the who will pick up the check moment.

Actually I'm really good about telling boys that I'm poor and I need to keep low key. Most just scurry away when I mention my bought with artistic poverty. I don't mind, those are usually judgmental types like accountants (not that there's anything wrong with being an accountant) I just find that the majority of that people judge me in a bar are those from the financial sector. It's an odd little bit of being poor I guess, I don't mind actually, because frankly I don't like dating poor people myself ... unless they're really really really hot. Sigh. Did I mention I'm trying to break old patterns.

In any case, New York dating does require funds for show. The dining and the booze and the happy-go-luckiness. I remember seeing a doctor a while back, he always insisted on going dutch and bitching about how difficult it was to renovate his apartment, I was making a waiters wage at the time and didn't mind going dutch. We started seeing each other a few times each week and it just became financially odd for me.

So hence my moment of pondering. Social etiquette dictates the picking up of a check, yet I want to mention a new rule. He who makes over a hundred thousand dollars a year should pick up the check every once in a while. I'm not saying that it should be picked up all the time, no, because frankly I enjoy picking up the check, just maybe once a week have it picked up for me. Mostly as a gesture.

I also can't understand why people are so afraid to talk about their state of finance. Since I've known rich people to be very poor and poor people to be very rich (this paradox) is very very true. It's all about how we treat each other. I won't forget the days from when I worked at the Essex House and we had a resident that went through bankruptcy, we were instructed not to give him access to his apartment, because he was renting. Soon very soon, he found himself another apartment in the very same building. He treated us well, we liked him and we took care of him in his moment of trouble.

I don't want to seem self righteous, yet I've noticed a habit of mine, the giving away of my last dollar to the chinese food delivery guy in the form of a tip. I'm happy with the habit, I figure the dollar will go farther for him then it does for me. I can only hope that someday I'll meet a guy that feels the same way I do about my last dollar.

So I've begun to understand poverty is a very relative thing and something I can readily fix.

Officially a New Yorker

I think its the unspoken moment one graduates to true New Yorker status. When one meets people that they've worked with, in a decent restaurant,they  exchange pleasantries, don't want to talk to each other and politely ask the host for another table.

I was very stressed running from meeting to meeting and wanted a fabulous lunch (this was a few weeks ago, when I could afford such luxuries). I walked by Fleur de Sel a little upscale bistro I've always wanted to try.

I enter and got a table.  My boss, is right there. My old boss. Okay maybe not my boss at The Modern. Yet this person fained friendship, didn't stand by me and was in a position of leadership. Basically I hate her turncoat ass.

I was being sat at a table next to her. I tried not to scream on the outside, as I'm screaming on the inside. I pretend not to notice that I'm being sat next to her. We shake hands, do air kisses, she politely asks me to join her at the table next to her. I politely ask the host for a table across the room. I'm actually surprised how accommodating the host is and how unflinching she is. I guess this sort of thing happens all the time. It is a small restaurant and a small city non-the-less.

Regarding the restaurant, it was good, at three courses for 25 dollars. Totally a steal. The parsnip soup was lightly garnished with truffle oil and perfect as can be.  Hake, a light white fish, was excellent in its port wine reduction. The desert and service rocked. For the price this restaurant is offering for lunch, it's an amazing value.

Now I have to go on a tirade about sauce spoons. Restaurants are starting to provide guests with fish knives and sauce spoons. Yet both are completely unnecessary.  Maybe, it's possible this new culinary trend has to do with new and improved education.

The fish knife (yes I know the history behind a full range of cutlery) is shaped in such a way to take the bones of a fillet. Yet any restaurant really does take the bones off for you and I have to say, that in all the faults I find with restaurants, I've never actually found or served a fish bone in the fish. So it's sort of pointless, just sort of annoying to eat with.

Sauces spoons are another pet-peeve. Really, they are unnecessary. I've never seen someone actually make use of them. Besides the fact that one can't actually pick up the sauce with a sauce spoon and they're mostly meant for service: to artfully drizzle something onto a plate. I don't get it.

Next time I encounter such awkwardness. I'm actually going to request regular cutlery. Now there's an ethical consideration to this request. How badly do I want to get my server fired. Yes, when I've worked at hard to work at places. I've gotten this request. I wasn't able to fulfill it because I knew the management would get very upset with me for replacing the all important specialty silver with just boring old guest request silver. So yes, I would have to take that into consideration, do I really want to get my server in trouble because I can't really stand a fish knife and a sauce spoon.

Truly the things one has to put up with when eating out in this city is a gas (insert laughter here).

 

Check out pictures of the food.

 

The Chinese Place That Always Makes Me Sick

There’s a Chinese Place right around the corner from my apartment, every time I order from them the food ends up making my tummy somewhat icky. Yet every time I have too much to do or just don’t have the patience to whip up something great in my kitchen. Or I’m really poor, as is the case now. I order from them. It’s a strange little habit. Actually as I write this post, I’m waiting for my lunch delivery, wonton soup and shrimp dumplings.

Mind you I know that and I’ve analyzed this before. There is about a thirty percent chance the food will make me feel not-so-good. So it’s rolling the dice. I mean, my kitchen is almost ready. I just have to clean it.

Most of my friends know me to be a really good cook and a tosser of really good cocktail cotillons. So it’s a wonder that I keep on going back to the same really bad Chinese Place, I mean it doesn’t even have a real name.

I’m likely to ask a server at a restaurant if they have loose leaf tea or bag tea. I prefer loose leaf and really don’t like bag. So I know what I’m getting, I’m always informed. Often when I go out with friends, they’ll order what I’ve ordered because I have this strange six sense; regarding what is truly amazing on a menu. Okay maybe I’m being a bit delusional at this point. Yet I’m making a point as I wait for the delivery person to arrive. I know what I’m getting myself into. It’s not even like the Chinese food is really good. It’s sort of, to not-that-good, good. Yet it fills a strange void I have. A void I’ve yet to identify.

I also think hook ups are starting to be like this Chinese Food place for me. I don’t know why I do them. I know I won’t like the boy. Yet I still manage to make a fool out of myself and get my heart broken. Or sleep with yet another actor-model-dancer that I have no desire to call (because I’d be yet again repeating my past) who has the intelligence of a gnat. Or I’ll sleep with a guy that I really really like and he won’t call me because I’ve blurt out odd personal things that I shouldn’t; like: “I’d like to see you again”.

So, maybe if I master the art of not ordering Chinese food from this one restaurant anymore, maybe then I’ll finally get the boyfriend I’ve always wanted. Yes. That's the plan, that’s how it works.

A Tale of Two Restaurants

Post I didn’t release (written in December)

Who would have thought, that I would actually enjoy a restaurant in Time Square. I've often wondered where all the cute boys go, the boys that I’ve seen milling about Times Square, the cute corn fed ones from Arkansas, or Nebraska apparently they go to Bubba Gump Shrimp for dinner. Or pre-theater.

Two nights before my Bubba Gump dining experience, I enjoyed a black truffle tasting menu at The Modern, spent over three hundred dollars on food; that's per person and got the saddest service in the world. I was expecting for the chef to greet us, for an extra desert at least, to be treated with courtesy, well let’s just say; something, anything, slightly special. I would have settled on not waiting half an hour for our food. Yet it took twenty minutes for our appetizers, thirty five for our desert (we started counting and looking at our watches after ten minutes had passed). I asked for the Sommeliers assistance with wine. He never showed up. I didn’t order three bottles of water; they just showed up and appeared on the check. At the beginning of our dining experience, the waiter came to our table, assumed that it was “a special occasion” and brought over Champaign. We started blankly at him for a moment, then stated a flat “no”. Despite the offer, my friend requested a Cosmo; we both assume it was a courtesy drink offer, yet it showed up on the check and not the Champaign.

After sitting in the same place for three and a half hours, we were raging bitches. We started noticing small details, such as lack of diversity in the staff. All the waiters were in essence Americans and all the support staff wasn’t (at least that night) i.e. the Captains spoke good English, the support staff didn’t. We finally left The Modern skipping down the street, gleefully stating. “We’re free. We’re free.” I mentioned all my service concerns to the management the next day and they just didn’t care. So whatever. I’m not going back and probably will never spend that much money on food again. Yet eating with silver was fun; ever so senseless though. The food was unbelievable and the only saving grace of the experience.

Bubba Gump is a friendly place. In the silver clad restaurant, no one smiled; as they approached our table the service staff was visibly and emotionally weary. I didn't feel at home or feel like we could have fun, as people floated by in sadness. My friend and I just watched puzzled waiting for our next course. Yet Bubba Gump Shrimp was so different. I sat at the bar to actually write this post. The people were funny even in their overwhelmed work environment, they actually poked fun about how tough their day had been. It was quite cool. They made good recommendations about the food and drink too. Even though I went alone. I would go back in a heartbeat with a friend or a date, just because it’s a fun place to people watch and interact with the staff. While my dining experience in The Modern’s Fine Dining Room, was simply; as a friend mentioned later, a place where miserable people serve miserable people.   

I’m basically posting this story to remind everyone: a great date can be had anywhere and has nothing to do with price.

A Great First Date: Cha An

I have come to realize that a lot of my first (second, third, etc…) dates have ended in misery: from too much alcohol, the gay bar that I’ve been, or simply the lack of the romantic. I’m in a conscious mood to change. I’ve also realized that I’ve spent far too much time in bars; gay straight whatever. Far too much time drinking, if you’ve read my recent pages, you know I’m trying to change. I’m looking for old patterns to break. One of the things I’ve always loved but never sought out has been, assorted tea houses.  I’ve always loved tea and fancy shmanzy service. Recently I found the most amazing Japanese Tea house with my friend Margaret. The ideal first date, I’ve know her for a few years, she’s sixty and always makes me feel sexy. Besides I have better conversation with her then any Actor, Model, Dancer I’ve ever meet. So yes, she was wonderful to discover this little gem with me.

Cha An is also the only place I’ve seen were you can participate in a real Japanese Tea Ceremony, something I’ve wanted to do for ages. The Tea House is also very reasonably priced, from four to eight dollars for the average pot of tea. Truly gorgeously done nibble things can be had for nine. I sat with my friend for two and a half hours and only had a fifty dollar check that included tip and tax.

I found this place through TeaMap.com a great resource for small intimate and romantic settings, it’s a great page for you all you readers both in and not off New York. 

I’m seriously going back with friends and maybe even Mr. Right. My favorite thing about the joint was the unrushed and truly quite environment, not only did I not have to shout like with most bars I’m in, but we could actually have a great conversation.

Restaurant People

The strangest thing a guest has ever asked me, and this has happened recently mind you. Was to witness the signing of power of attorney, for her soon to be hospitalized mother. They asked it so haphazardly that I was a bit shocking. I apologized and mentioned that if I signed I would be signing as a representative of my company. She seemed to understand, sort of.

I've been in hospitality for quite a while and have noticed some really cool things. Someone, back in the day when I worked room service actually answered the door naked, he was really really ugly if you want to know, He had me leave his tea on the bed and he closed the door. I remember he didn't even leave me that big of a tip.

Working corporate events is also very interesting, everyone always seems to dress the same, or drink the same beverage. Some companies only seem to drink ice tea, others diet coke or regular coke. Some a certain kind of wine, stock brokers and venture capitalists right out of college invariably prefer beer, while those that are more senior prefer wine, once they start feeling comfortable doing business lunch after business lunch and casually talking about million dollar deals, they start to know their wines and can taste the difference and what makes a good wine.

All the executives of Victoria Secret look the same, they also hold their note pads in the same way, one leg bent over the other. This was back when I worked for the Essex House, we hosted a Victoria Secret world executive meeting or something. That's what I was struck by the most, the conformity, how much they looked the same. I still to-this-day remember, they all have a different variance on the same Channel suit, a mole somewhere on a very pretty face, they all looked like they could have just come out of the yearly catalog or been on the cover of Vogue, they walked like supermodels.

Some families also look the same; you can sometimes even seen their dysfunction during the ordering process, or in how they treat us the wait staff and the managers.

Sometimes I like this job, only because of the variety of people.

Jehovah’s Witnesses at My Door

I've mentioned before the recruiting venture of Jehovah’s Witnesses in my area recruiting on a Street Corner (a few months ago during my hiatus). They came knocking on my door. Oh My.

I've had fantasies of what I would do, if this event actually happened, if they actually came a knocking on my chamber door.

The first notion involved letting them in, taking the two; because they always travel in pairs, I'd let them in my front door, we'd have a long healthy discussion about religion and homosexuality, on my very comfy couch.  After a few hours, they would naturally come out and confess that they're gay.  We'd then move to my bedroom and well, the rest can be left to your imagination. I'd score one for liberalism and for helping two new gay boys out of the closet.

In reality. I had salmon steak on the stove, cooking to medium rare perfection. I thought the UPS guy was bringing me books from Amazon, so I rushed to the door to find one really hot boy and one not so hot pudgy boy, both wearing name tags, rapping on my front door.

My jaw dropped, and quickly, I had to make the anxious decision of, entertaining hot boys or destroying my lunch. My brain is ticking, I'm analyzing, their both young. They both have "Elder" name tags, I immediately feel like I'm in a scene from Latter Days. By they way, when I cook around the house. I like to wear a really beat up tank top and my little PJ bottoms with sailboats. I looked hot. Now I must make a decision.  The salmon or the twenty year old boys. I'm hungry so the cooking salmon wins. I'm hungry so I don't turn of the stove and devote full attention to the cute boy trying to convert me.

They start, introducing themselves. Before they have finished, I blurt out “I’m gay." they pause. I continue with "and I know how Jehovah Witnesses feel about gay people." This is when the cute boy, clearly in charge. States, "We're Mormon." with a perverse twinkle in his eye.  "We accept gay people." Sigh. So much for them reeling in shock.

The conversation stalls and I'm worried that my food will burn. There's an odd moment of awkward silence, before I claim to be uninterested. They leave, I hope they'll return, to try again and win me as a prize for their religion.

It hasn't happened and probably won't. Drat.

Le Pain Quotidien

I'm sitting at a coffee shop, a European inspired coffee shop. I rather like the chain. I'm glancing around the room and noticing the diverse yet very gentrified people. I'm at the corner of 58th and 7th at the moment. The guy at the table next to me, with an orange sweater, sitting with his parents, is quite yummy.

I come here actually, because I've found out that it's the perfect place to think and create my play. To people watch. Often that is the best way for me to create. Dame this writer's block, it's odd actually the words and images are stuck in my head, yet i can't get them onto paper.

The women across from me are talking about someone "they think is gay", because he has hang ups about sex, he apparently can't come out of the closet because he's to religious. This is good stuff. i think one of my charcaters might be bi. After all my play is about the things people admit during a table conversation in a resturante. I love these women, now they are talking about how badly straight men dress. It's true. Direct quote: "He came to the door in leather spandex." Do they actually make that, i'm scared.

The waiter has a nice bum, I'm sure he's straight. I've talked to him before, so I know he's an actor. That eliminates the possibilty of dateing him. He's also straight. I love this place.

The soup is good to. But the people all look the same in their light pastel sweaters, it's winter btw. Their mostly  women, and gay men, actually I've come to realize that all the peopel at my great big cafeteria table are somen and they are all talking about relationships.