In Case You Were Worried

01.7.14

There was almost a tragedy here. You see there’s this pair of booties that I’d been coveting.

Fendi booties

Like everything covetable they were ridiculously expensive and teetering into the range of overpriced. So I waited. Then I waited some more. Then Christmas week arrived and they were 40% off at Bloomingdales and I thought about it. Then there was another 20% off and I thought, “Why the hell not?” And a trigger was pulled.

Of course by the time they got to be 40% off and then another 20% off on top of that for a grand total of 52% off (trust me on the math okay) all the good sizes were gone. By “good” sizes I mean my size. The guy in the shoe department gave me a song and dance about how there are only 3 pair left in the system and he’d order them and hope they arrived.

When we came back from our trip I was greeted by an enormous box from Bloomies and I assumed it was my new bed linens. Remind me to tell you about my new bed… actually remind me to buy a new bed. All we have now is a mattress set. The bedroom is looking a little neglected.

The box. The box was massive and rattly and lo and behold it had my booties in it. I squeed a little and slipped them onto my feet. They would have fit  if my toes naturally came together into a perfect little point. I love everything about these shoes except they’re torture devices.

I did what every blogger does when shoes don’t fit and there are no replacements to be had. I tweeted.

And Bethany answered.

I was actually considering keeping the shoes because I love them so much but then a few minutes later Bethany tweeted this

 

I took it as a sign and last night I packed up my booties and headed to Bloomies for a refund. I also needed to grab some Wen at Sephora. So I did the late night bootie return. I was wearing my son’s favorite outfit. Yoga pants, a tee, Nikes and a smattering of cat fur. I hear it’s like glitter for the lonely. I walked up to the shoe department and asked to return the shoes.

“Fendi runs really small.” Karen in shoes said, “Would you like the next size up?”

I stammered, “You have the next size up? Will you honor the sale price?”

When the answers were yes and yes I almost cried and Karen disappeared into wherever shoe people go to retrieve me a yellow box of self esteem.

I practically danced out of Bloomies with my new shoes at the old price and popped into Sephora where I picked up some hair conditioner and lip treatment. My kids are dying in the heater/air conditioning climate we’re currently in. While checking out at Sephora I flipped past a $50 Bloomingdales coupon that expires on January 8th.

“What day is it?” I asked the clerk. She checked her register and told me it was the 6th and I fairly ran out of Sephora to Bloomies.

“Hi Karen, you’re not going to believe this. I found a coupon!” I declared, wrongly thinking she’d be happy for me.

“Oh those never work on Fendi.” She said, “But we can try.”

So for the second time in 20 minutes I returned a pair of booties and a miracle of all miracles occurred and the $50 coupon worked.

So basically my shoes were ThisClose to free. Or not. But they fit and I’m going to wear them everywhere so get used to them.

Northern Italian Food in the Southern Tip of Manhattan

04.29.11

Mr G and I had a fabulous day in Manhattan. We started our morning with a much needed trip to Bloomingdales (shut up I have my own definitions of need). We found him a beautiful pair of shoes, that I worry may end up never being worn again, but they delight me in that they are neither black nor brown and they are not loafers. We also replaced the Hugo Boss slim fit shirt that the dry cleaner lost. It’s an impossible shirt to find, and it’s the loveliest crisp white shirt to wear with jeans.

From Bloomies we went to meet friends for lunch, and from lunch we went to the Highline. Two worldly friends who told me that the Highline Park is one of the most beautiful places they’ve been. Mr G and I made our way downtown and climbed the stairs to an immature garden on an abandoned railway platform. We entered the Highline near 20th Street, which is clearly the newest part of the project, as we walked downtown the plants and trees grew lusher and more mature. It appears that the project began at the southernmost point and procceded north. The progression is spectacular and I love that the the tiniest saplings are at one end while only slightly larger ones are a few blocks away. New sections appear to be opening sometime soon.

The Highline is simply awe inspiring in that it offers spectacular city and river views, it’s the poster child for urban reuse, and the sounds. Do not miss the sounds. There are bells in the 14th street passage that will make you believe in the goodness of man. Stephen Vitiello traveled all over the city and recorded the sounds of bells ringing. Bells from the Stock Exchange, bells from bicycles, bells from Buddhist temples, and on the top of every hour there are 59 bells ringing together. You can sit in front of a list of the bells, and every minute another bell rings, it’s another tone, and another part of the city. The sound resonates and just as it disappears another bell chimes. The sounds are so crisp, so pure, and so fleeting that I could easily have sat for an hour.

After the Highline Mr G had some work to do so we separated and he headed back to midtown. I tromped around the meat packing district and then decided to listen to some friends and check out Century 21. I went down into the subway and didn’t exactly pay attention to where I was headed, when I came back above ground I was stunned to be standing at the World Trade Center.

I’ve been to New York a dozen times since the towers were bombed, but I’ve never made the pilgrimage to the WTC. It never pulled at me or my husband, and we didn’t feel like bringing our children there. I stood on Broadway slack jawed while staring at an enormous hole in the ground. There are mural sized advertisements everywhere showing a generic woman enjoying the view of a planned memorial. This was my first glance and as much as I’ve missed seeing the towers guiding me into the city, and as much as I thought I was prepared, I was utterly stunned by the size of the destruction.

I hated Century 21 because it made me go to the World Trade Center, and I hate that sort of shopping, but I managed to find a few things anyhow.

I went back to the hotel, dropped off my haul and freshened up. We had drinks with friends and then headed to the southernmost part of the city for the best meal I’ve had in many years.

If you are thinking of opening a restaurant go to Scalini Fedeli and watch them. Making a reservation was a pleasant event. I do not know of any other restaurant where the simple act of calling for a reservation is a warm and welcoming experience. The service is impeccable and the food was magnificent.

If you’ve ever tried making focaccia you know that there’s  magic in the onions. It’s easy to char the onions and difficult, but just as devastating, to undercook them. The olive oil and salt can make or break the bread. The focaccia at Scalini Fedeli was perfection and a sign of things to come.

Before appetizers we all had a single mushroom and black truffle ravioli in a light cream sauce. It was both hearty and light. Next was seared foie gras and roasted apples over braised spinach and toasted hazelnuts drizzled with port wine if I could eat this every day for the rest of my life I think I would. The main course was a light fish plate, that had crabmeat which was cooked to perfection. I seldom order crab or lobster outside of New England because it’s so often overcooked, but this was beyond amazing.

Dessert was a napoleon for me, and a souffle for him. I love that you don’t have to preorder a souffle here. Before dessert arrived we were each presented a small taste of sorbet, pineapple for me and cheesecake for him.

Again, I must reiterate, the service was best I’ve seen in at least a dozen years with every plate prepared to perfection, and just the right amount of attention from every member of the wait staff.

Sidenote: Mr G didn’t like it. Too snooty. Oy.