First, Margaret drinks a lot.
That said, my day began early in Minneapolis. After 5 hours of sleep, I was up and at 'em. My flight
left at 7:30 a.m. and I'm traveling light. Had a sweet little month old girl in my row; she slept
the entire trip. The trip was uneventful--the best kind.
From LaGuardia I took a Super Shuttle to Margaret's swanky Upper East Side address. She was happy to
see me when I asked the concierge to notify her that the cat had dragged in something from
Minneapolis.
After a cup of coffee and some rugelach, we cabbed to La Cote Basque for an exquisite lunch with
Marcel. I felt like Ma Kettle in my jeans and cheap holiday turtleneck. The wait staff seemed not
to notice.
When the waiter inquired if we would like an aperitif, Margaret's eyes lit up. Sot. She had a glass
of red wine (cab or merlot, she didn't care), Marcel ordered Kir, and I was forced to order a
Manhattan in order to be sociable. Margaret said. The waiter cringed, but said naught.
Margaret ordered the pate platter for her appetizer and it held two slices of pate, a scoop of
rillette, a lovely celery root salad, two cornichons, and a mixed salad of baby greens. Also aspic
bits that I swear tasted of anise.
Marcel and I enjoyed Lobster Bisque from silver salvers. It was wonderful. The restaurant was
festive with white trees with white lights.
For our entrees, Margaret ordered Veal Scaloppini (sp?)-- three substantial slices were served with
piped potatoes and a mushroom sauce over "some kind of spinach." (Per Margaret.) The portions were
far larger than I would have expected from the lunch menu. Midway through, Margaret ordered a second
glass of wed wine whilst Marcel (he is such a sweet!) and I contented ourselves with one libation.
Marcel ordered the salmon with french fries. The salmon was moist and delicate; the fries were
pretty good, too.
I ordered the lamb, sliced from the leg. Again, a far larger portion than I was expecting -- five or
six slices, roasted to medium doneness, atop haricot vertes, and topped with an incredible sauce--
our waiter said it had its basis in roasted white eggplant; there were also chopped shallots in it.
It looked rather like tartar sauce in that it appeared to be mayonnaisy and with texture. Awesome,
totally awesome. My lamb dish was accompanied by a roasted potato shell filled with a rosette of
mashed potatoes.
Dessert was the straw that broke this camel's back. Marcel ordered the tarte tatin and on his
recommendation I ordered creme brulee and a cup of coffee. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. His
tarte tatin came with a scoop of raspberry sherbet. Margaret chose the chocolate cake with the soft
interior, accompanied by a chocolate lace cookie cradling a small scoop of chocolate ice cream. She
doesn't eat dessert--until I broke the cake and had the first taste.
Oh, our waiter was quite impressed with my tattoo. He also was curious about how it was done. Aren't
they all. I was aware of La Cote Basque and never dreamed I'd actually dine there one day. You
should go.
I have not been so uncomfortably full in a very, very long time. We walked from the restaurant to
Fifth Avenue and made a stop in St. Patrick's Cathedral where I said a prayer for a dear friend
who's in St. Louis pretty well laid up for now. We went to Rockefeller Center just in time to be
shagged back away from the area. The weather is brisk and clear and I was comfortable with my coat
open. After being quite uncomfortable for a long time, that fever passed and I gained my second wind
as we walked several blocks home from the bus stop. I managed to keep Margaret upright and now we
are home and she's feeding me again -- mango slices for their enzymes and booze-laden chocolates
because she got a deal on them. Light a candle.
-Barb, posting from Margaret's account