Another Saturday Night
There's nothing like forcing a New York cabbie to suddenly hit the brakes mid-trip, because your friend has just spotted the legendary Murray's Cheese for the very first time.
I knew I liked Bethanne.
One step inside its doors and it was obvious that this was Bethanne's version of visiting the holy land. The holy land with Morbier, Brin d'Amour and Pecorino Tartufello.
Who am I kidding? I was just as moved by this den of dairy iniquity. We bowed in reverence as we ventured near the shop's cheese cave, weaving our way out of the store, before we started praying in front of the Parmesan. Besides, we had an important destination to get to - Pegu Club.
Crossing West Houston, we rhapsodized about cheese and cocktails, as my heels hit the street clickety-clack and - SPLAT.
My heel had gotten caught on a cobblestone and I went tumbling down. Didn't something like this happen last Saturday night too? And, I hadn't even had a drink yet! Clearly that had to remedied right quick.
It was. Ensconced in a couple of Pegu's comfy chairs, a Rittenhouse Rye riff on the Juniperotivo was my first drink of choice and Bethanne indulged in a Gin-Gin Mule, as we nibbled on Summer Rolls and Smoked Trout-Infused Deviled Eggs topped with crisp, golden-brown slivers of garlic. Heaven. Absolute heaven.
But the sounds of ice cubes being cracked and cocktails being shaken, stirred us. We gave up our cushy spots and grabbed two stools ringside - to get close to the action. Good move. Phil had just taken position behind the bar and delighted Bethanne with a new-fangled Old Fashioned, and dreamt up a seductive Aquavit Fizz for me, complete with a cap of egg white foam.
We were tempted to spend the whole night on those two stools, but we knew real sustenance was called for. So, we hailed a cab and journeyed to Tribeca to the boisterous Blaue Gans, a new Austrian cafe. The joint was jumping. Looked like Austrian was the new Thai. I was certain we'd have quite a wait.
"How long for a table for two?"
No wait at all. A table for two magically appeared before us, as if they had been anticipating our arrival. I liked the place already. Slathering some complimenary Liptauer on a slab of chewy, rustic bread, I thought I might be falling in love with this Austrian hot spot. A glass or two of Gruner Ventliner and I was sure of it.
Bethanne felt the same. The whole experience was a time warp back to her earlier days in Berlin. A bite or two into our appetizer of plump stalks of white asparagus glossed with Hollandaise and topped with gently sauteed ramps, and it was all sortsa willkommen, bienvenue, welcome.
Entrees arrived next. Backhendl, Erd