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.
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.