Oh, New York.  You got me.  Frank Sinatra (and every other singer who wants to be him) sang the words “I want to wake up, in a city that never sleeps.” And at 2:47 am – here I am, living the dream.  But, I don’t wanna be awake.  I just am.  The next line of that song has the phrase “top of the heap” and can’t help but think of garbage.  The streets are filled with it at this hour, but I don’t think that’s what great songwriters Kander and Ebb had in mind, initially.  Pardon my snark, I like sleeping a lot more than I like insomnia and even a grand city like New York takes it in the shorts when I’m tired and cranky.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m actually a walking-talking representative of that logo seen on every block here: I < heart> NY.  I really, really do.  There are things I don’t love, but for the most part I truly love New York and everything that it has to offer.  Even the noise.

Typically, noises are not my friend.  I cringe at high pitched squeals (“Buddy.  Get those brakes looked at!”) and I usually the one shaking her head at sounds that other people don’t seem to hear (honestly, grocery store alarm systems and the beeping of the deep fryer in a restaurant.  GAH!!) – but the non-stop sounds of traffic, sirens and horns (actually, they DO stop after midnight) are soothing.  The constant buzz of New York is the music that soothes the savage beast in the concrete jungle.

There is however, an over-stimulation of senses that happens in NYC that helped to create the insomnia I’m experiencing tonight (hence the crack-of-dawn “Tea with T.” this Wednesday morning).  It is really hard to drift off and stay down after all of your senses have been dialed to eleven.  I love it when I’m in the moment, but not-so-much when my dreams are so vivid they wake me up.  But, that’s the Big Apple for ya.

So, what was I dreaming about?

For starters, let me begin by telling you about the restaurant Bouley in TriBeCa.  Chef David Bouley and his team grab your eyes and your nose the minute you walk in the door and call them their own.  The entrance to Bouley is a tiny, but tall, space that is cubby-holes from floor-to-ceiling and Monday night those hundred or so cubbies were filled with ripe apples.  There was also a crate filled with luscious purple grapes it is mouth-watering to an empty stomach (such as mine was).  You walk through the pastel Main Dining Room and every imaginable texture is available for your brain to imagine the touch of (wood, glass, satin, gold leaf, velvet, etc.) – four out of five senses were engaged before I even got to the circular stone staircase that led downstairs to the burgundy and purple fabrics, vaulted Venetian stucco walls and rich dark wood of the lower Red Dining Room.  By the time the food arrived (and arrived and arrived, for the next two hours) I was a goner.  I could go into detail, lead you to their website for you to read the menus – but, like love: this is an experience that words will never adequately capture.  Put it on your list of Places to Dine Before You Die.

One should probably have a palate cleanser of street hot dogs or pretzels before moving on to another fabulous restaurant, but I did not do that.  The next night was spent at Gramercy Tavern, situated sort of in the center of Gramercy Park and the Flatiron District.  Don’t listen to the one grumpy guy on Yelp who called the food “nothing special” – I choose to believe he must have destroyed his tastebuds years ago on nicotine and frozen drinks made in blenders or fast food markets and was then misled by the word “tavern” which might make you think of sawdust floors and pub grub.  Not here.  The people at Gramercy Tavern take their offerings so seriously, that even their charging plates are custom-made, exclusively for them, by Bernardaud (Take a moment and Google Bernardaud – it’s an amazing history about a 150 year old family-owned and beautifully operated business).  Their knives are Forge de Laguiole, not that they’re used to really cut anything.  Everything is so tender.  Even the waitstaff highlights the gentle in gentlemen.

The food is just part of it.  If you’re heading off to Broadway for a week of shows like Kinky Boots, Pippin, Matilda, Big Fish, Avenue Q (know it by heart/never seen it) and the opera Midsummer’s Night Dream at the Met, not to mention continued incredible dining experiences (Le Grenouille, 21, Sardi’s, etc.) – sleep is not on the menu.

That’s okay.  This is the dream trip of a lifetime (thank you Mr. R) and besides, sleep is highly overrated anyway.

Bwahaha!  Ok.  That’s a bold-faced lie, right there.  Truth is, I’m actually eating so well on this trip, I can afford to skip breakfast AND lunch.  Therefore, start spreading the news: Napping… just moved to the head of my packing list.

Besides, next week I’ll get to have tea in London to soothe my weary (happy and well-fed) traveling soul.

xo – t.

“I don’t follow recipes.  You don’t become a good chef by following recipes.” – David Bouley

“Happiness consists of living each day as if it were the first day of your honeymoon and the last day of your vacation.” – Anonymous

“On October 19^th when the moon is full, it is only fitting that I shall have tea and honey to celebrate the end of an amazing trip traditionally labeled honeymoon.” – Mrs. Richardson

“Staying at the Library Hotel in NYC makes insomnia tolerable.  Enjoyable even. Every inch of the place is covered in books.  Really, really good books.  And lovely reading nooks.” – T. Katz