New York Lines

The Manhattan Mafia (Friday/Saturday)

After dinner at the vaulted, celeb-friendly Mercer Kitchen (assisted by New York restaurant week and a fabulous Marlborough Sauv Blanc) E and I headed off into town by taxi. It was here that I was briefed on how awesome, phenomenal and gorgeous her friends were. I was briefed several times I hasten to add: maybe that was down to the level of awesomeness and phenomenalness, more iikely it was the Marlborough.

Going from a very ‘New York’ venue to an almost spit & sawdust-style British (?) pub was a bit of a surprise but at least the surroundings didn’t detract from the stunning M, D and indeed E herself. A slightly sobering Starbucks later and back into a cab hurtling downtown again to a rather trendier bar where were it not for a surprisingly accommodating bouncer yours truly would have suffered from his first New York faux-pas.

I’d long since dispensed with my exploring bag and had just brought a credit card and cash: I hadn’t counted on needing ID to get in anywhere. I no longer look anything like 21 so was genuinely amazed when everyone else in the group proffered driving licences and passports. This was, hopefully one of my few, gaijin-style lapses in the Big Apple.

By this stage I was flagging, without much sleep the previous night having walked most of the day and body clock ready for its wake-up alarm on London time: hopefully I didn’t spoil the atmos too much and thankfully it wasn’t the last time I met E’s magnificent mafiosos.

posted by Paul Campy @ 8:18 AM