Picture this-August in NYC-left to live in SF yrs ago so to me, it's deathly muggy. Performing my play in NYC moving back & forth within the same 4 blox of the theatre district so many goddman times all I see is traffic & I don't even feel like I'm anywhere let alone in NYC. Finally Sun matinee is done and I just wanna die & catch my flight home Mon am & SOMEHOW I get talked into stumbling over to the HighLine and catch the Sunday sunset and a salsa concert at the Chelsea Piers. It finally hits me, I'm in NYC. And it's really really special and beautiful.
We make it to the end & I want good, reasonable, uncrowded and UNpretentious. Yeah in the West Village. My food czar friend suggests Moustache. A perfect ending to a perfect evening. It was circulating enough inside that we weren't hot, it wasn't hipster central and I wasn't breathing in some bridge & tunnel douchebag's Axe body spray fumes. Everything was terrific, from the lamb pitza - even the baba was really smoky and creamy. That was the moment, the only one in awhile, where I missed living in NYC.
Then the next morning was a zillion degrees and I was thrilled to be going home again!
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