This is largely a repeat of Chris' blogpost today...but it's an example of how little things can make an experience approach or depart from, perfection. Of course we're being privileged, here. We are not in Darfur or quaking in Baghdad. Nor on the street outside waiting for our next fix. So...perspective, and the ridiculousness of life must be taken as a given.
Regardless, and donning the shell of apathy without which we'd be hanging from sheet in a mental institute:
We had lunch at Lucien. I like Lucien (the place, I mean. I'm less sure about the man, Lucien Bahaj, who treats his waitstaff with medieval contempt, with the exception of our waiter, FluffBomb, today, who was both inept and favoured, apparently. Hm, what's up with that??), despite seeing how...deliberate it all is. It's a small place, maybe 30 covers, and the owner is almost always there. Same as Al di La, in Brooklyn. He greets us as friends, gives us little gifts of wine, figs (today), kisses my hand when we leave and tells me I bring sunshine to the place. I simultaneously smile in pleasure and grit my teeth in, oh-this-is-so-obviously-a-ploy...
But it is nice. And it makes us go back. Though I argue the good food helps, too. Good, not extraordinary.
But his gift of figs today, at Monday lunch, really was sweet, and I adore figs. I also adore Chris' iPhone which took the picture. Sigh.