Stuffed Mushrooms and Spaghettini: Sarah Palin Ate Here

Above: Romantic "Barbra Streisand" rose from 

https://cityfloralgreenhouse.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/rose-barbra-streisand.jpg.

Dan and I clinked glasses for our 31st wedding anniversary (February 17) on Saturday--two nights late--at a table for two in Elio’s Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side. We had an 8:30 reservation.

We booked our sitter and friend, Elaine--who kept an eye on the washer, dryer, laundry baskets, dishwasher, kitten and, most important of all, young teen back home while we drove across the GWB. I don’t feel comfortable, certainly not in the city, at this fragile juncture without Elaine in place.

We could go out in Montclair or in the city, I had said. Dan loves to pick fun places for me or our family.

I’m booking a table at the place Sarah Palin ate after testing positive for COVID. It’s supposed to be really good Italian food, he said the next day.

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Those 31 years ago, on that February Sunday, I was a newly minted 30. Dan was 33. He wore black (tux) and I wore white (gown). 

Saturday night, I noticed our age. We are a bit worse for the wear. We have weathered storms. We have seen the sun. We are still together.

So many things in our house are upstairs--our only bathroom, the two bedrooms, Dan’s office. It gets tiring. We didn’t notice that when we bought the house in 1994. We were young.

Saturday night, I forgot my hairspray upstairs. Kids do come in handy.

Skippy, can you please run up and get my hairspray?

She came down with two tall cans and started spraying.

You said you need a shower, right?

No, I don’t. I took a shower.

Too late. She was blasting dry shampoo in my hair and fussing with it, aiming for Jersey-girl height. I had that at my wedding, thanks to Dumont hairstylist Donna.

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It was blustery cold. I had pulled on tights, stepped into black suede shoes with straps and kitten heels. A black dress, a pearl necklace. I hadn’t dressed up like that for years. 

We hadn’t gone out to many fancy places (except Joe Allen in September), not with the pandemic taking hold March 2020 in NYC. Before that, our dinner dance card on memorable nights had included Tavern on the Green. Windows on the World, until a kitchen fire set off the smoke alarm that weeknight evening. The Four Seasons, for after-dinner drinks on a certain Saturday night. Balthazar (Tom Brokaw and his stunning wife, Meredith, sat nearby.) The Water Club. Spaghetto. Minetta Tavern. Once, even Gramercy Tavern. 

I put on eye shadow, brow pencil, mascara. How old was I when my brows became invisible without pencil or a salon tint?

I wore my gold charm bracelet. It, too, is 31 years old, and jingles with memories, from a Hawaiian honeymoon pineapple to a miniature baby carriage and a typewriter. A little-girl charm embedded with Figgy’s peridot birthstone--a gift from Sis. A high-heeled shoe I got at Lord & Taylor with a gift card from Dad. 

It took three people to fasten the tiny clasp Saturday night--Dan couldn’t see it and was getting the driving directions on his phone, then Elaine couldn’t, not without her eyeglasses. Skip came through in the clutch. I was too tired to try, and anyway, I figured I had three helpers to ask.

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After Sarah Palin flap, guests are greeted by a fellow who carefully vets vaccination records against photo IDs.

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I checked the menu online. Prosciutto di parma and melon--$25. I know prosciutto is pricy. We haven’t splurged on an expensive meal like this in a while. We enjoyed it, grateful we could go. We didn’t get back to a second honeymoon in Hawaii. We were changed; life had changed us, for better and for worse. But we could have this luxurious dinner.

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I know a lot about Dan by now. I knew that since we were in an Italian restaurant, he would get a tiny cup of espresso after dinner, with a single piece of lemon peel to rub on the rim and Sambuca on the side. I knew the sweet licorice liqueur would arrive in a cordial glass with a few coffee beans afloat.

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We took close note of the scene, the food and, especially, the bustling service, like a well-practiced game of musical chairs--diners sit, waiters step over with water, bread, butter, silverware. Cocktail order in. Don’t skip a beat. After jotting appetizer and entree orders on pad, place steak knife (if necessary) and cheese grater on table. When plates arrive, approach, inquire "Fresh pepper? Cheese?" After clearing entrees, recite names of delectable sweets, using Italian words like tiramisù and zabaglione and take dessert and coffee requests. Glide to table with hot coffees, silver spoons, sugar packets. Know all the while that all food served will be delicious.

But we were not rushed. We were there until 10, drinking in the glamorous city we love.

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It was, largely, a beautiful crowd. An Indian or Pakistani woman, expecting a baby, wore her long, dark hair loose against a pale cappuccino-colored sweater with fur-trimmed, elbow-length sleeves. Men had stylish eyeglass frames, collared shirts under crewneck sweaters, expensive shoes. I loved the faux white flowers pinned in a blonde woman’s hair. I had to keep sneaking looks. It was so stylish.

We ate stuffed mushrooms (me), burrata (Dan)....I had chicken parmigiana the likes of which I have never seen, pounded flat, thin and big as a saucer. No blanket of rubbery cheese. Dan had spaghettini broccoli di rape that he raved about.

We shared fresh berries and fluffy whipped cream.

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It was a treat to dine in a great place sans Skip for the first time in a while. (She was with us at Joe Allen in September.) Jerry (sp), the maitre’d, slipped my lavender wool coat over my shoulders at the end of the evening and bowed, saying he hopes we return.

And now I read in this NY Times link that Joan Didion (one of my favorite authors) and Tom Hanks have eaten there.

We were among the glitterati for dinner theatre, that’s how it felt. 

We love New York.