Oyster Bar, Urena and MI3

This past Monday was the Boy's birthday, so for the past week, we've met up with a couple of the Boy's friends for dinner.

First off was last Thursday where we had dinner at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central with one of the Boy's old coworkers ('The Greek'). Because of my newfound love for oysters, I'd been meaning to go and was finally there. The Greek's a funny guy. He says exactly what's on his mind and doesn't hold back. Once, we went to the Pearl Oyster Bar, and the waitress took forever to come and take our order. When she finally got to us and asked, "Can I get you something?", the Greek replied with "You can get me a lot of things." We ordered a dozen different oysters to share. I loved them all! Then I had a clam chowder while the guys each ordered fish entrees. My clam chowder was cold and not as good as the ones I'd tasted in SF. The Greek was pissed off because the waiter forgot about his order and didn't bring it for a really long time.

Next, we had dinner with another of the Boy's friends ('The Russian') on Saturday at a Spanish restaurant called Urena. The food there was wonderful! Like, iron chef wonderful! The chef there is very creative with food and likes to play with your senses by mixing opposite tastes together. We ordered three appetizers to start: sweetbreads, grilled shrimp over risotto and a trio of fois gras. Normally, I hate fois gras. But the way it was prepared here, you wouldn't know that it was fois gras at all. The first preparation was a fried ball with fois gras in it. The second was a fois gras terrine with cocoa nibs and chocolate on the outside. The third preparation was like a fois gras yogurt cup. It was so pretty and fun to eat! The shrimp and sweetbreads looked normal and tasted really good. I'd never eaten sweetbreads before, and the Boy insisted I not tell the Russian what sweetbreads are until he'd eaten it or else he might not eat it (it's a thyroid membrane). I knew what I was eating was disgusting, but it was flavored so well that I liked it. For the main, we ordered pork bellies, braised short ribs and seared sesame crusted tuna. Everything tasted great. When it came time to order dessert, the Russian distracted the Boy with work talk while I asked the waiter to add candles to our dessert. He decided to do better and brought out a mini cake with candles in addition to our dessert. So, the Boy got a nice little surprise. For dessert, we ordered the coffee and donuts. The plate came with a gourmet donut, cream flavored ice cream, a small cube of strong coffee jelly, coffee foam smeared across the plate and a crunchy topping thing. If you mixed all of the ice cream, coffee jelly, foam and nutty stuff together, it tasted like you were drinking a real cup of coffee. Yes, I know-why not just get a real cup of coffee then?! Because that just wouldn't be as fun!

Finally, on the Boy's actual birthday, we made dinner together and went out to see MI3. Because of the convenience of Netflix, it was the first time that the Boy and I had gone to the movie theater together since I moved to New York.

Spa Week Specials

Spa week in New York was two weeks ago, and I managed to book an appointment for the Boy and I at the Lia Schorr Day Spa in the Upper East Side for last Saturday. Even though it wasn't spa week anymore, Lia Schorr was extending their spa week specials as a promotion. So, I booked a facial for myself and a massage for the Boy for only $50 each.

I was a bit excited because Lia Schorr got rave reviews, and I'd never had a real facial done before. I made the appointments in order to give us enough time to catch a movie premiering at the Tribeca Film Festival.

But I have the worst luck with appointments. Quite often, my appointments and reservations equate to nothing because the staff usually forgets I'm there even though I remind them occasionally. I showed up 15 minutes early for my 11:45 appointment and waited an hour before the facialist took me. The Boy went in for his massage right away, pretty much defeating the purpose of going to the spa together and not having to wait for eachother.

By the time the facialist took me, the Boy had about 10 minutes left to his massage. My facial was supposed to last 75 minutes, so the Boy would have to wait about an hour for me, too. The facialist could tell that I was annoyed. This is exactly why it's called a Day Spa-a one hour appointment will take up your entire freakin' day.

The facialist was a soothing, pleasant lady, though, so I forgot about the wait and decided to be nice. She gave me a very relaxing neck and shoulder massage. The facial wasn't bad, either, but I found out that my skin's too sensitive to have all of these things done to it all at once. The facialist massaged my face, steamed it, squeezed it, picked it, and slathered on various masks and lotions. My face looked red, irritated and worn out for the next week and a half.

It was so late by the time I got out that we missed the Tribeca Film Festival movie. The Boy and I ended up running errands together in the Upper West Side for the rest of the day. The upside of this is that the Boy and I both discovered that neither of us finds the whole spa experience to be a pampering one.

Cafe Boulud

When it comes to food, the Boy has become impossible to please. Last Friday, we finally made our dinner reservation at Cafe Boulud in the Upper East Side. We'd cancelled before due to bad weather and other things.

The place was nice and very welcoming, but the crowd was older and a bit stuffy. I'm pretty sure we were the youngest diners in the restaurant for most of the evening. At first, I was worried this would equate to crappy service, because that's usually been the case in the past. But to the contrary, the service was extremely attentive and welcoming.

We each ordered appetizers and entrees and then shared a dessert. I ordered a seafood appetizer (langoustine?) which was the size of my entire entree at Eleven Madison Park. It had a whole lobster tail in it which was delicious. The Boy ordered the crisy frog's legs, which I reluctantly sampled at first. The Boy wasn't impressed with his appetizer (he thought it tasted too Asian), but I thought it tasted so good that we switched appetizers after a few bites.

Next, came the entree. I ordered rabbit, and he had a Morroccan tagine. The dishes were good, but not incredible. I'd had rabbit at a much less expensive restaurant in LA that tasted just as good. For dessert, we shared chocolate banana crepes.

Both of us had a nice time enjoying eachother's company. I thought the food was fine, but the Boy is now going to scrap his 'fridge list.

What Happens When You Drink Too Much Coffee

The Boy was especially jittery last Friday afternoon at work. So jittery that he inadvertently pressed a combination of buttons on his work phone which forwarded all calls to my workphone. Late Friday afternoon, my phone rang.

Me: Hello, this is LANYtransplant speaking.
Other End (The Boy's Friend): Hi, may I speak to the Boy? (Interesting, what's the Girl doing at the Boy's workplace on a Friday afternoon answering his phone?)

Complete and utter confusion.

Me: Huh? Umm...
Who the...? What the...? What am I supposed to say? I'd love to hand the phone over to the Boy, but right now we're not even in the same state. Why am I getting the Boy's calls?

Me: Umm...you want to speak to the Boy? This isn't the Boy's number.
Other end: It's not? Oh, well then...

Me: Uh, wait!
Who is this? Maybe it's a business contact. Would it be unprofessional to introduce myself as his girlfriend? I hate girlfriends who pick up their guy's phones and say, 'This is his girlfriend' before demanding to know who the other person is.

Me: Who is this? I actually know the Boy. If you'll leave your name and number, I'll have him call you back.

Other end: (The hell's wrong with her?) Yeah, sure. Please.

Me: (Please what?! I can't very well have him call you if you don't give me your name!) I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Who is this again?

Other end: The Boy's friend.

Me: The Boy's...OMG! That is sooo weird! It's LANYtransplant. How did you end up calling me to reach the Boy?

Other end: What number did I dial? You know the Boy? You KNOW the Boy? You've got to be kidding me! You just KNOW the Boy?

Me: This is my workphone! I had no idea who you were!

Other end: WTF?! Your work number is xxx-xxx-xxxx?

Me: No, that's the Boy's work number. He must have forwarded all of his calls to me. Why would he do that?

Other end: Let me try again.

Click . Ring ring.

Me: Hello?

Other end: It's me again. I'll call the Boy's cell.

Me: Haha.

Other end: Haha.

Click.