A Glamour Girl’s Time in NYC — Day 4

Breakfast in Bed

A French Sort of Feeling

While I hear that European Christmas markets are in a league in and of themselves, the Bryant Park Holiday Market was recently voted the second-best in the world. And I can see why—it’s a magical maze of holly-jolly vendors selling everything from handicrafts to toasty drinks and snacks, and it’s in one of the most beautiful Manhattan parks. All that to say, I was feeling positively Parisian (and looking forward to my impending lunch at Angelina Paris) as I traipsed up and down the market rows.

I was intrigued by several shops (especially Paintings by Yvoni, which almost gave Melsy’s a run for its money), but I was really there for one vendor alone: Melsy’s Illustrations. Ever since I discovered the insanely talented self-taught artist at the market last year, I have been obsessed with her adorable “girly-girl” drawings and have several displayed in key locations throughout the house. So, while I made time to stop at every stall, it was with a certain sense of purpose and direction that I hunted for Melsy’s bow-bedecked spot.

Finally, after being tempted by the likes of apple cider donuts and a million other treats at the food court, I found it. Just as I’d hoped, it was crammed to the brim with countless adorable drawings of girls being girls—shopping, brunching, taking bubble baths…doing basically everything I’d done since my arrival in the city. And best of all, there was Melsy herself!

And, obviously, great minds had thought alike that day, because I heard a familiar voice call out behind me as I admired a rack of art prints. “Hi, Taylor!” I turned around, and—what were the chances?—there was Lauren, whose photo shoot I’d crashed the day before. We chatted a bit about our shared love for Melsy’s work (and bargain fashion finds at T.J. Maxx) as we shopped, and I realized that the old Disney song really did say it best—it was a small world, after all.

After Lauren and I said goodbye, I made my purchases, grabbed a photo with Melsy, and went on my way…straight to Angelina Paris for a quick lunchtime pick-me-up.

This Instagram-famous cafe got its start in…well, Paris, where its over-the-top hot chocolate service helped it go viral. It had been on my own bucket list since I read about the confection as a teenager in one of my favorite series, The Mother-Daughter Book Club, by Heather Vogel Frederick. My favorite character, Megan, got a chance to visit the original location during her trip to Paris, and I’d been craving that hot chocolate ever since my mouth watered when I read the scene for the first time.

Truth be told, I was fully expecting the cafe, what with its perfect Parisian facade and white-aproned waiters, to disappoint. After all, nothing on the internet is all it’s cracked up to be, is it? And, while I was decisively underwhelmed by their afternoon tea service (an assortment of half-stale savories and sweets so small I could barely taste them…and where were the scones?) I was completely, totally, 100% enamored with the pitcher of hot chocolate and accompanying bowl of freshly whipped cream.

My mom’s avocado toast and bowl of French onion soup? Now, that soup was the stuff of dreams.

Sweet tooth satisfied (and tongue burnt on soup so good I couldn’t wait for it to cool) I set off for my next destination: the New York Public Library.

The library which, I discovered, was forever destined to be a disappointment. I’ve visited twice, during different weeks, in different years, and its exhibition of rare literary artifacts (including THE REAL WINNIE-THE-POOH) has been closed “for renovations”. At this point, I’m well aware that I’m going to have to suck it up and accept the fact that I might never meet my favorite fictional bear in real-life, but, really…what an awful disappointment for someone who, as a teenager, used semi-permanent ink to give herself a Winnie-the-Pooh tattoo. (However, I will admit that the NYPL gift shop made the visit worthwhile, as I did purchase a fair amount of Christmas presents.)

And then, it was time to go because my elegant evening was off to an early start.

Perfectly Pampered

Dinner that night was at Jean-Georges, the two Michelin-starred establishment right in my own basement, so to speak (or, at least, the lobby of the Trump Hotel). After my meal at Daniel, I had understandably lofty expectations—not only for the food and atmosphere but also for my own aesthetic for the evening.

And, since I was spending the night at the hotel, I found it only proper to begin the night at the patrons-only Trump Spa, getting myself in tip-top shape for another sure-to-be-unforgettable meal. 

The spa was on the same level as the fitness center, so I snuck in for another glass of flavored water before being led to a well-appointed dressing room with an adjoining relaxation lounge filled with tea and treats, to be enjoyed before and after treatments.

Ninety minutes of pure bliss (thanks to a diamond body polish that left me feeling relaxed; my skin invigorated) later, I was back in the room, NYC spread out like a glittering diamond-spread cushion before me, dressing for dinner. And then I was taking the gilded elevator down to the lobby, stepping outside to grab a quick picture with Jean-Georges’s understated yet elegant sign, and being shown to a table by the window for another impeccable restaurant experience.

As at Daniel, I simply adored my main server, who took great care to ensure that everything was, in a word, perfect for the entire duration of our dining experience. While Jean-Georges offered several exquisite tasting menus which would have typically stymied me with the breadth of their options, our server helped me make the difficult decision, and I settled on the pescatarian version of their classic six-course tasting experience. (My mom got the vegetarian.)

Also similar to Daniel were the warm hand towels presented prior to our first course—delightful. But, unlike at Daniel, the bread service was cold. As a bit of a warm bread snob, I was unimpressed at first…until I took my first bite. Between sourdough, sesame, and dark rye, I was hard pressed to pick a favorite slice. Perhaps that’s why I had two of each! (This was an improvement. At Daniel, I’d had about eight.)

But, really, what Chef Daniel Boulud does as opposed to Jean-Georges Vongerichten is completely irrelevant, because these two chefs are very different people and their eponymous establishments are beautiful reflections of this fact.

Right away came the amuse bouche to prove it. Servers placed three petite dishes before each of us and instructed us on the order in which we should indulge (clockwise) before leaving us to our enjoyment. My tasting trio began with uni—perfect, creamy, buttery uni with a beyond-words yuzu glaze—before moving on to uzu trout over crispy rice and a “cappuccino” of onion and sunchoke. Mom’s featured avocado and a crispy brussels sprout in lieu of the fish, which (I tried a nibble of each) were equally delicious. After those three bites, I was more excited than ever for my first official course.

And excited I should have been, for, while I faced the slight urge toward jealousy over Mom’s beet salad with marcona almond milk, all temptations fled my mind the moment my course was laid before me. One of Jean Georges’s signature creations, the “Egg Toast” was a culinary revelation. Featuring decadent cured egg yolks sandwiched between paper-thin pieces of crispy brioche, the fancy sandwich of sorts was topped with an inconceivable mound of caviar. Eating such a creation felt decadent, indulgent—borderline hedonistic. I realized later that, as it was served with a knife and fork, the dish was meant to be cut into pieces and savored slowly, but I enjoyed it just as much as finger food.

After that, I didn’t care how good my mom’s veggies looked…all I wanted was my own next course!

And there it was—a ceviche of sea bream elegantly garnished with avocado, scallion, and macadamia nuts and finished tableside with a tomatillo broth. Mom’s flowering tofu soup was definitely a nice bit of eye candy, but my gaze was fixed firmly on that impeccably prepared and seasoned fish. Next for me was a sort of risotto topped with crab, vermouth butter, and crispy rice—delicious, although Mom’s course was admittedly more inventive. Her celeriac “katsu” was served chicken-finger style, with a duet of sauces for customizable dipping. (If I’m honest, I stole more than a few bites of that course!)

I was beginning to wish I’d sprung for ten courses instead of six (I also wanted a blanket, because the large, window-walled room was chilly and I was in a cocktail dress…and, what would you know, the establishment actually kept large, fuzzy shawls on hand for just such an occasion!) when the next course was upon us. My plate bore perfectly-cooked and flaky halibut swimming in a sea of aerated ajoblanco (chilled almond-garlic soup) and topped with a fennel gremolata. Mom’s was equally appetizing—three petite chèvre dumplings floating in a rich orange butternut broth and topped with pepitas, sage, and, according to the menu, white truffle shaved tableside. (However, we both hate truffles to a degree so vehement that we masquerade under the guise of sever truffle allergies. So, sans truffle, it was delicious.)

Fully convinced that Chef Jean Georges had outdone himself and that no other course could compare, I was still overly excited for our entree course. Mom got a sweet potato “steak” smothered in sesame sauce and finished with a smoked serrano oil while I got a special lobster dish accompanied by baby cauliflower and finger limes. While mom’s sweet potato was phenomenal and the flavors of my dish were rich and vibrant, I was disappointed by the texture of the lobster—tough. Almost too tough to cut. However, this was through no fault of the chef, and I attributed it to a particularly crabby crustacean, perhaps irate over being fished out of the Maine ocean and one-day delivered straight to the heart of Midtown Manhattan. Anyway, dinner was done—but dessert was just beginning. 

I was beyond excited for my sweet, Chef Jean Georges’ famous “sugar pumpkin” which had been well-hyped on Instagram in the weeks leading up to my visit. Featuring butternut squash mousse encased in a pumpkin-shaped sugar shell, spiced pumpkin sorbet, gingerbread “leaves”, and a cookie crumble resembling dirt, the dessert was art on both the plate and my taste buds. And my mom got a whole pie—apple, served with a duet of crème fraiche ice cream and green apple sorbet the likes of which made me nearly, well, green with envy. We tasted each other’s dishes and fell in love with Jean Georges all over again.

And for our birthday treat? A decadent pot de creme topped with luxuriant salted caramel and served with shortbread for dipping. I took it back to my room (peeved by the “boxing charge” but willing to pay the price for good food) and enjoyed it later as a midnight snack.

But that was later—my experience at Jean Georges was still ongoing with the arrival of the mignardise cart. I lost count of how many tiny treats I tried, but there was everything from vanilla marshmallows and pumpkin spice macarons to champagne gummy bears and pear caramels. Amazing! 

When at long last we left, it was with a bag filled with treats for the next morning—almond frangipane cakes about which I had heard nothing but wonderful things. I went to bed that night excited to try a slice for breakfast in the morning. And, if you want to know if they lived up to the hype…well, you’ll just have to wait for the next episode of A Glamour Girl’s Time in New York!

So sorry to leave you on a bit of a culinary cliffhanger, but, as this series draws to a close (only two more days to go!) I have to stretch it out and savor the memories as much as possible. I hope that, through reading this series, you, too, have been inspired to make the most of all of the magical moments in your life—whether they take place at Jean Georges’s table or in your very own kitchen. Life is lovely, but only because we make it so…and we can do that anywhere!