Blake and his precious mom, aunt and cousin visited the city and I got to spend an amazing Friday night with them last weekend. They’d made reservations at Valbella, a delish Italian restaurant in the Meatpacking District. After hoofing it halfway across the island to get there, I’d worked up a hefty enough appetite to take down an entire plate full of filet mignon-stuffed pasta. Who knew that was even possible? (Stuffing pasta with steak - not my ability to eat it all. We all know I can clean my plate with alarming speed.) Looking around the table after the meal, I wasn’t alone -- there wasn’t so much as a morsel left. Aunt Angela even said it was the best meal of her life. For updated BAA restaurant recommendations, click here.
After Valbella, we cabbed to Mercury Bar (“It’s mahh first taaahme in a cab,” said Angela in her Southern accent to her perplexed taxi driver), where Blake had us all impatient to try the delicious cinnamon martini he’d sampled when in town last year. Unfortunately, Merc Bar was fresh out of Blake’s favorite, and we were all momentarily crippled with disappointment. You know what cures disappointment, right?
Singing.in.a.bar. Naturally. I took the crew + roomie Jorel to our old standby song and dance joint, Mr. Biggs, for Glee, Hell’s Kitchen-style. The visitors were shy at first, but by the end of the evening Hollan and I were blowing the crowd away with our spirited renditions of Santeria and I’m Just a Girl, and Blake and I pretty much set Mr. Biggs on fire with a duet of Kanye’s Gold Digger. By set on fire I mean, people ran out screaming as though they were engulfed in flames. Just kidding. It rocked. Just kidding. It was terrible. Just kidding, just kidding, just kidding.
On Saturday, giant, sticky snowflakes swirled outside for several hours, but none stuck to the ground. Something seriously terrible happened on Saturday. Something not even karaoke could cure. I know, it was awful. The trauma of it has caused me to wipe the memory right out of my head. It was the worst time in 22 games, I'll tell you that much.
But back to the best of times. The rest of December is slammed full of visitors, Shakespeare plays, holiday parties and Heisman festivities. And if my family will send me their Christmas lists, I may buy them presents. If not, tough luck.
Scheduled visitors for the rest of the year:
- Dec. 10-13 Josh + Casey, Tim Tebow
- Dec. 18-20 Erica’s bro Todd
- Dec. 30–Jan. 3 Hodgie + friend