A Glamour Girl’s Time in NYC — Day 2

The Adventure Begins

A Day of Delights

Thanks to Google Maps (and the fact that I’d spent hours studying a map of NYC, memorizing Midtown’s major cross streets and avenues) I reached my destination with ease…and, lucky for me, Chef Boulud’s restaurant was just down the street from one of my bucket-list clothing stores, Alice + Olivia. I’ve been obsessed with this fashion brand for longer than I can remember, and getting a chance to try on some of their pieces was high on my glamour girl bucket list.

The sweetest retail associate, Megan, helped me find and try on so many fabulous pieces that I literally couldn’t keep from grinning. I wanted to buy it all! (But, alas, this was the first stop of many. I restrained myself.) That being said, I was obsessed with everything I tried on. If you’re on the lookout for the perfect holiday dress, this beaded cape frock is beyond-words gorgeous and a real showstopper. Searching for a showstopping suit? This black-and-gold cropped jacket and skirt set is a complete dream, and the perfect day-to-night look. Finally (and I’ve never really thought of myself as a cape girl before, but you never know until you try) I fell in love with this black cape with a statement white bow. Too cute! Alice + Olivia, you forever have my heart (and my money, lol).

Considering that Louboutin was in the area, I couldn’t resist stopping by to try on a pair of red-soled beauties for myself. Their penny loafers (though pricy) were admittedly adorable, especially with their shiny silver “Louboutin” coins in place of pennies. However, seeing as how I’m really more of a high heel girl, I had to resist. Instead, I headed over to E.A.T. Gifts, a variety store that sold a little bit of everything, and picked up a few fun stocking stuffers. 

I was just about to start flagging when I spotted another bucket-list boutique…LoveShackFancy. The epitome of fanciness and femininity and all things, well, lovely, LoveShackFancy is known for its on-trend yet old-fashioned styles that one could rock on the red carpet or in a quiet booth in a jazz club. And, again, I wanted to buy everything. My favorite from the visit was this black tulle halter dress (I’m still dreaming about it!) but I was equally enamored with this white beaded feather-and-lace confection (maybe this was the perfect Christmas dress?) and this nubbly pink knit skirt-and-sweater set.

At that point, we were up near the Metropolitan Museum of Art—also on my bucket list—and I decided to pop in. At that point, I realized that tickets really needed to be reserved in advance…there were no more for that day! Despite my disappointment, I realized that there was a different (and edible!) “work of art” waiting nearby…namely, a Jewish deli sandwich.

My mom grew up in Hollywood, and visiting Jewish hole-in-the-wall spots was a regular part of her childhood; for twenty-four years I’ve heard stories of the magnificent trifecta that is, for her, a pastrami-on-rye, kosher dill pickle, and bowl of matzo ball soup. Luckily, Pastrami Queen (est. 1956) was in our midst, and it did not disappoint. While the sandwich was good, the meat was a little fatty (but the mustard was great) and the real highlight of the visit was that mystical matzo ball soup, which made me question why my Italian ancestors insisted upon making balls out of meat instead of carbs. Additionally, the atmosphere was like something from a movie—right down to the black-and-white checked floors—making me feel fully justified in the many hours I’d spent compiling my “New York in the Movies” playlist…for just such a time as this.

After all of that salt and brine and deli deliciousness, I was feeling in deep need of a sweet—thankfully, Venchi (est. 1878, Turin, Italy) has overtaken Midtown Manhattan with several chocolate boutiques, selling not only candies and bars but also some of the creamiest, most decadent pistachio gelato I’ve ever had. A small scoop of pistachio satiated my sweet tooth and satisfied my palate as I turned, once again, toward Central Park. I stopped for a while and watched the carousel, contemplating a ride to indulge my childish side before staying my course back to Columbus Circle, where I perused their shops to no avail. (I’m sorry, H&M, but you can’t hold a candle to Alice + Olivia.)

And then, suddenly, the sun was setting and I was back in my room, getting ready for one of the best dinners of my life.

Dinner with Daniel

I planned my trip to include an impressive retinue of restaurant reservations, totaling to over a half-dozen Michelin stars. However, fate and flu bugs intervened, requiring that I adjust my plans. For that reason, I was incredibly grateful to have scheduled Chef Daniel Boulud’s infamous restaurant Daniel for my first night’s dinner. Because to miss out on such an experience would surely be a travesty.

After a last-minute wardrobe malfunction that resulted in me being literally sewn into my dress (not the smartest thing prior to a reservation at one of New York’s best restaurants!) we had the doorman hail us a cab. I could go on a major tangent at this point, complaining about the NYC taxi system itself, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll simply say this: If, at any point in your journey to New York City, you can walk somewhere…do. If there’s an explanation for the stereotype of “rude New Yorkers”, it can be found in the front seat of the vast majority of the city’s yellow cabs.

But, I digress—and how can I, when I have an entire world of culinary magic to share with you?

Prior to this experience, I had never dined at a two-Michelin-starred establishment before, and I was admittedly a little nervous. For a foodie such as myself, this was an experience not unlike a fashionista attending their first runway show or an aspiring author getting the autograph of their favorite novelist. 

So, it was with shimmering trepidation and excitement that I pushed against the revolving door into the red-carpeted lobby. And, right away, I was at home. 

After a warm welcome, we were seated in the lounge and given tall goblets of the coldest, crispest ice water I’d had all trip. We were only able to enjoy the ambiance for a moment, though, before our host appeared to take us to our table. And, oh, what a table it was. Although the restaurant was fairly bursting with dining parties, we were given a table for four—a wide, cushioned banquette which curved elegantly around a white-clothed table, giving us a perfect view of the rest of the dining room.

The table decor was minimal yet beautiful, featuring exquisite chargers printed with iconic New York City vignettes and flooded with gold foil as well as flickering tea light candles and live orchid plants. And then, our waiter approached with Chef Boulud’s signature “first course” and our epicurean adventure began.

Those “in the know” may not be surprised to learn that said “first course” was, in fact, not edible. In true Boulud fashion, our waiter laid down a plate bearing two minuscule rolls of cloth—and then, brandishing a steaming kettle of aromatic-infused water, turned them into the most divine hot scented hand towels. Feeling refreshed, we then turned to our menus, where we each made several difficult decisions.

The first thing I ordered was a mocktail—which, unfortunately and through no fault of its own, I did not enjoy. (It was carbonated, which, in my opinion, is one of the worst sins a cocktail can commit.) In only a few minutes, it was whisked away and another—uncarbonated—drink returned in its stead, free of charge. It was clear: hospitality was Daniel’s mission, and it succeeded at every step.

Next came the amuse-bouche, a magical tower of bite-sized creations designed to be eaten one after the other in quick succession. I can’t recall what each one contained, but I’ll never forget the savory celeriac “napoleon”. Earth-shattering. Then came bread—an entire basket of it on the arm of a server, who explained the four different kinds and offered us as much as our hearts desired. Of the four (miniature baguette, cheese “bagel”, brioche bun, and wild seed roll) I would be hard-pressed to pick a favorite…although I’ve never been known to turn up my nose at brioche, especially when this one tasted and ate more like a croissant than a humble bun.

Finally, at long last, it was time for our actual first course. I enjoyed my vodka-cured hamachi (and nearly died over the adorable miniature cucumbers in its accompanying salad) but it was no match for my mom’s salad with spiced tuile and decadent whipped cheese. However, my next course—an oversized seafood ravioli stuffed with shrimp, octopus, uni, and other maritime marvels—more than made up for it. (Though my mom’s cauliflower risotto with, of all things, grapes was pretty fantastic, too.)

It was the next course that, for me, truly solidified my belief in Chef Boulud’s culinary prowess—grilled swordfish with miniature einkorn croquettes, gingered carrot sauce, and a carrot millefuille. The flavors were strong yet sophisticated…I was in love! (Mom’s wild rice with sunchokes and a licorice crumble was quite the revelation as well.)

Finally came the entrees, and I was nervous. Instead of playing it safe by ordering beef, I’d decided to take a chance on the lamb chop, a protein I previously hadn’t explored too often. My risk, however, proved to have a great reward. I was blown away by both the seared chop and its “crust” of braised lamb shoulder, as well as its many accoutrements. The only problem? I wanted more.

Of course, we still had several courses to go, but they were on the sweet side. In honor of our birthdays, we were given some sort of caramel-mousse magnificence (it wasn’t on the menu, so I’m not exactly sure how to describe it other than yum) in addition to our selections, and it stole the show. Nothing—not roasted figs and honey ice cream nor apple sorbet and chantilly—could top it…until a plum-scented “floating island” meringue dessert, featuring plenty of luscious crème anglaise gave it a run for its money.

And then came mignardises—orange blossom-scented madelines so petite and perfect I thought I had slipped straight from a food coma into heaven, plus earl grey mousse piped onto tiny tuiles, house marshmallow gelées, truffles…they kept coming until I was stuffed. And then our waiter (our incredible, half-telepathic waiter who I absolutely adored although I forgot his name) appeared with a to-go bag filled with take-home treats and, just because he knew we loved them, more madelines. 

We regretfully rose from our chairs and prepared to depart—and then, it happened. Chef Daniel Boulud himself emerged from the kitchen! I flailed. I fangirled. I got a picture.

And then, wrapped up in some sort of bliss I’d never before experienced or encountered, I went home. 

My first full day in New York City had ended, but my trip was just beginning…

I hope you enjoyed the second installment in my NYC travelogue! Stay tuned for the next episode, coming sooner than soon. Reliving my trip with you is just too much fun!!