Alcohol and jet lag go together like scrambled eggs and chocolate ice cream with tomato sauce on top.
Seasoned boozers as we are, it took just one cocktail to basically knock us over last night. Well that, and splitzies in a bottle of vino. We sat on the roof of the Peninsula Hotel and watched the blackest and most dramatic storm roll in over Central Park.
The bar was full of New Yorkers, many of whom had spent considerable time under the knife. There were boobs that defied all laws of physics and faces obviously altered so that they all have that creepy, zoned out appearance. And scary lips everywhere.
After the storm passed, we asked the concierge where a good restaurant was locally. Not only did he have a recommendation, he phoned ahead and got us a table, printed out the establishments details and whipped out a map and penned in our route. All in under 60 seconds. It was a joy to witness. Thank you Faisal, concierge of The Peninsula Hotel.
We walked to the restaurant called Quality Meats. Yes, I know. I thought it was a very strange name as well. It was packed with trendy people. Americans are friendly and you can pretty much strike up a decent conversation with the person standing next to you. The person standing next to me was a middle aged Head and Neck Surgeon from Alabama. Alabama Bob. He was very conservative and so our conversation was quite short.
We chatted to an English Hedge Fund Manager who was delightful and on his own, so we invited him to join us for dinner. I am not quite sure he was used to two mouthy Aussie Mums, but once I told him to stop being so wankery with the wine and just order a bottle already, he immediately slipped into normal.
The food was fantastic, the wine flowed freely and the meat was of excellent quality. And I think the whole evening can be summed up in one photo.
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I am in New York thanks to
