Weekend I’d Forget
Somewhere
over the last two or three years, I decided I liked Valentine’s Day. For so
long I had decided to down play it that I suppose in the end I forced myself to
like it. The last time I had been out to eat on Valentine’s Day was back when
Hubby and I were dating. We waited at least two hours for a table he had
reserved weeks in advance.
No,
wait. That sentence doesn't do that experience justice. We waited in the
entryway of a little Italian restaurant in South Jersey crammed up against what
felt like every other couple in South Jersey. The restaurant was open enough
that we could see other couples sitting and enjoying their dinners, but the
waiting area was close enough to the front door that we needed to keep our
coats on or else endure cold winds every time the door was opened. We stood for
so long that at some point, probably around the two hour mark; one of the
employees came around and gave every woman waiting a tiny gold heart pendant wrapped
in a velvet envelope as some sort of peace offering.
After
that experience, Hubby never wanted anything to do with restaurants on
Valentine’s Day again. During the rest of our dating years, we would go out a
few days before or after, noting that the day really held no significance.
After we were married we began taking turns being responsible for dinner. One
year, he ordered food, picked it up on his way home from work, and served it to
me on china. Other years, we cooked for each other. You might recall last year,
and the surprise trip I planned to Baltimore.
Hubby didn't fail to live up to last year’s standards. He planned an entire weekend
in my favorite place: NYC. Though the temperature was somewhere in the
not-at-all-human degrees, we still enjoyed ourselves in my favorite place on
earth.
Originally, he wanted to get us a room at The Plaza. There is a tiny dork inside of me who desperately wants to one day stay there because of one of my favorite movies, Home Alone 2: Lost in New York.
Don’t
judge.
However,
the prices were enough to make you scream, so he booked two nights at the hotel
directly next to The Plaza: Park Lane Hotel. Same view of Central Park, same
exact block, only it was a hunk of cash cheaper.
We
really let our inner foodies shine this weekend. For all the times we have been
to NYC we have never had a NYC bagel or pizza.
Take
a moment to recover from the shock. It’s overwhelming, I know.
So
they were, obviously, two important stops for us to make.
Then,
for the first time in over ten years, we went out to eat on Valentine’s Day. I’m
not sure how Hubby researches or discovers such awesome restaurants, but our
Valentine’s Day meal was out of this world. We had an eight-course dinner that
at first made me afraid, then in the end made me want to experience it again
and again.
It
would only be right to discuss our foodie ventures over at The Orange Strainer. So that is where you will find them.
When
we weren't eating, we were shopping. When we weren't shopping, we were rushing
to catch the Subway before we started to frost over. Despite the bitter temperature,
most of NYC was wide awake and hustling to and from as if it was any other
weekend. It made me feel good that we weren't the only people daring enough to
take on single digit temperatures with a negative Real Feel.
The food was certainly my favorite part of the weekend, but a close second was sleeping in, sharing champagne with my Hubby, and sitting back and enjoying our view.
I can’t wait to go back in the spring.
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