Making noise to drown the roar

It's my birthday weekend and instead of ignoring it I am filling it in order to muffle the roar of the existential crisis, which, while ongoing, is amplified on occasions like this...

So this evening's drink is the cocktail du jour - cider-based and delicious (recipe will be in the book). Estorbo has deigned to keep me company while Vince has social-bonding drinks with his colleagues.

Planning Supper is an age old trick to thwart universal angst.

Tomorrow the day will start with Champagne. For breakfast. A flute of Billecart Salmon. And perhaps a sliver or two of smoked fish. Crises don't like Champagne - in the face of its tingling and authentic mousse they run whimpering, before gathering strength again. Which is why we'll have a flute every day. Crisis-juju.

Tomorrow night we'll have supper at EN . We last ate there in the spring, when my mom was in town. I dithered around with three simultaneous reservations (yes, I did call to cancel) before settling on Japanese comfort food served in impeccable style, on Hudson Street in the West Village. There will be sparkling sake. I just found it on their menu.

My mouth is watering as I type. Dessert will be the creamiest custard ever to pass my lips, with a barely mobile dark black caramel coating shimmering on the smooth surface. Also good for scaring away The Big Why.

Others dishes that call my name:

Freshly-made scooped tofu ("made hourly"). It is divine. I loathed tofu until I tasted this.
Fresh sea urchin custard
Blue crab miso soup
Thin buckweat noodles in warm broth with duck breast
Crispy fried chicken (!?) with grey salt

Here's the dinner menu. What would you order?

Sunday, if it is not raining, we will catch the subway to Inwood and wander the forest and its turning leaves with a picnic. I need spice bush (Lindera benzoin) berries for the cookies that I will feed my foraging class at the BBG. There are plenty, up there. If it is raining it'll have to wait.

Ahead of the predicted storm, which is going to coincide with a full moon and its extreme tides on Monday and Tuesday, we'll take a break to batten down the roof hatches, move some roof farm pots, and deliver the terrace pots from the edges to the stone table and floor. And secure the climbing roses.

And perhaps we'll slurp an oyster on Sunday night at Fort Defiance.

Yeah. Birthdays. We've come a long way from wobbly jellies and cake with candles. What would we say then, to what we know, now?