No words

Took my wonderful neighbor Ann to dinner at Market Table, new on Carmine Street for a nice dinner and a sort of tribute to Petey, who died on Friday. I know... shocking, sad. I'm not sure how he died but it was nearly exactly the same way MeMe died (suddent spasm, dead in an instant). And yes, if you didn't know, I'm talking about my cat(s). Petey was a good guy, the quintessential tabby cat and just a darn fine specimen: loving, cool, mellow, happy. I'd post a picture (again) but I'm too sad to look for one. And pissed off that I had to pay $85 for have him cremated (wtf?). Living in the Village is insanely expensive.

Anyway, dinner with 82-year old Ann (who takes/took care of Petey, and MeMe and now O. Henry when I'm out of town) was lovely. I can recommend the swordfish highly (ate every last scrap) with fresh off the cob corn and avocado/frisee salad) and probably the crabcake, which Ann devoured and then took home the bun with the lettuce and tomato tucked inside). Nice place (we got the last unreserved table) but too much space wasted with a weird selection of things I can't imagine anyone would want to spontaneously buy.

Other weekend highlights included a successful trip to Housing Works and a bad epidemiological thriller that made me want to do some detective work to find out who/what killed Pete. First stop: the exterminator who looks like Alec Baldwin (O. Hen had some fleas) and then possibly Purina.....

Update: there were no fleas. O. Henry just had a mild ear infection.

And now for some lighter fare...

Well, not exactly lite light. More... French light. C. and I spent a few perfect minutes at Cercle Rouge restaurant this afternoon, nibbling at eggs Florentine and enjoying the cool (ah) cloudy (yes!) weather and challenging each other to see who could buy movie tickets for this evening first via mobile device (I won).

We indulged in our usual fake star sightings ("Hey, behind you. It's Rusell and Kimora!" "Nah. They've split. You lose."). I idly announced that that woman over there was designer Vera Wang, leaving the restaurant.

"No! I'm mass market now! Not luxury!" Wow, it really was her. She looked great... normal. Younger than on TV. We finished our meal, star-struck (well, me at least) and left arguing about how I'd bought the wrong tickets. I had meant for us to see "Delirious." We may or may not now be watching "Superbad." Oh well.