Only I Could Have A Birthday Like This!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                               Girls, it was a fabulous day, but things that happened along the way..well, they could only happen to me.

                                 The day began with routinely enough with an early breakfast, coffee, and me reading.  I finished "Barrel Fever" by David Sedaris; more on that, another post.  Then I opened my birthday cards, with David and Baby Gojira.  We were all so happy.

                                  It was when we got out of the house, things got really interesting.

                                  We had to travel to the Fifth Avenue stop on the R, because the restaurant, conveniently, was, literally a block away. We literally stepped to and from the train, and back again.

                                    But, riding on the train,  there was this street musician, playing for money, of course, which I have nothing against, who boarded the train.  I can read through anything on a train, because I zone out, so I don't have to deal with all the wackos.  I have dealt with enough of them in my time, darlings.  The musician was playing an accordion, and I had a vague recollection of the melody but could not recall it--until he got to the mid-section.  You know what he was playing???? It was Fantine's song from "Les Miz," "I Dreamed A Dream."  Now, I have nothing against this song, or Fantine, God knows, but on MY birthday, THIS is what I had to hear?  For a second, it gave me an odd foreboding of the year to come, but David helped put me that from my mind.

                                     We arrived at the hotel--the Sherry-Netherland, and the restaurant, which was Harry Cipriani, and just one step in from the street.  Things got off to a rocky start, when our table was not quite ready.  Seems they had a big lunch rush, and were still recovering.  So, we were dismissed to the bar, to have a drink, where, it seemed The Raving Queen was about to explode.  Nothing like that December luncheon at Delemarchier--I do not think anything will top that--but I was simmering.  David, and the fact that it was my birthday, and I was here to enjoy, prevailed, and I kept my cool.  We were soon shown to a lovely table that gave us a perfect view of the room, and, believe me, there was plenty to observe.

                                       The service and cuisine were superb.  For drinks, David had one of their famous Bellinis, which I had a sip of; it was delicious.  I just stuck with club soda and a lemon twist.
For the appetizer, I went simple, with vinaigrette asparagus sticks.  Yummy.  David had a bowl of Chic Pea soup, and a veal platter with capers.  I ordered a glass of Merlot for my main course, which was Veal Piccatta, minus capers.  It was luscious.  With it, came the most delicious rice, crisp, and curried so lightly there was just a hint of exotic flavor, but not a bit overpowering.  David had the Mediterranean Brranzio al Forno, with Saute Broccoli Rabe.  I did not try the fish, but the latter was delicious.

                                      I was so proud of myself.  We had kept the meal light, because I did not want to overeat, because of gastric issues that can arise from my diabetes medication.  But, we went overboard on deserts.

                                        We could not decide between the Whipped Vanilla Cream Cake, or the Freshly Whipped Vanilla Ice Cream, made on the premises.  So, we got both, with coffee, and, I am telling you, it was like eating Baked Alaska.  The best meringue I have ever eaten, creamy and whipped, not stiff, and the same with the ice cream; it was more like meringue.

                                          We were stuffed, but not to the gills.  The coffee was luscious and rich, as were the little petite cookies we were given. Cipriani's definitely knows how to keep its customers happy.

                                            This was followed by a floor show that only we observed.  At a table almost perpendicular to us, came in these blowzy male business types, with these women--wives, mistresses, who could tell?????? The one who stood out the most sat closest to us, had more than a middle-aged spread, and looked like she was trying to channel Dorothy Loudon, going elegant.  And I have no doubt, looking the age she did, she would have known who Dorothy Loudon was.  But her acolytes--because they all fluttered around her, like she was some celebrity, looked collectively the same--breast implants, or those who needed them, the same shade and style of blonde hair--dyed, of course!!!!!!--almost the same cut of dress, if different pattern, and faces where the skin has been pulled back so far, any more, and the skull would be visible!  Wives, mistresses, trophy wives, I have no idea what they were, but I can tell you, as a unit, who they were--"that invincible bunch!  The dinosaurs surviving the crunch!   The Ladies Who Lunch!!!!!!!!!!!"  Only this wasn't lunch; this was dinner. How do they keep their figures?  Drink, I guess.  Which is where those face lifts come in handy!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                              But, even at Cipriani's, this group was upstaged.  Because, while we were waiting for the check, in walked this gigantic Goombah, tall, in a tailored suit, with his hair down the back, longer than Frank Mills.  He was definitely Mafiosi, and he gave me a look, like he knew I knew he knew I had his number. Which I did.  Especially when I saw what he walked in with--this buxom, wide hipped, hair piled high thing, who, I am certain, was a mistress, if not a prostitute--probably runs a nail salon, in New Jersey---with the most outrageous outfit--a white blouse,  sleeveless on one side (like it had been torn off) and sleeved on the other.  She was trying to create a fashion statement, but, honestly, the poor girl looked like she had been in a fight. An d what I want to know is, how the hell did she balance herself, on those tiny heels??????  This was capped off by maroon toreador pants--when have we last seen those, darlings--which were so tight they seemed to be part of her skin!!!!!!!!!!!!  I have no idea how she got into them, but she did, but I can tell you this; it will her longer to get out of them.  The capper of it all was that each ankle on these pants had---now get this!!!!!!--a black rosette, wrapped around it.  I mean, is this a look or what??????  No wonder her escort looked at me; I looked classier than she did!  Still, I will never forget those rosettes on the ankles!  And neither will anyone else, who saw them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                             On that note, we left, got on the train, and rode home--satisfied, relaxed, I could read all the way, and so could David, and no sad songs this time.

                                               It was a birthday, like any other.  For me, that is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!