The store is empty of buying customers. Instead, my day is primarily spent directing drunken, green-clad people to the nearest restroom.
I am meeting Valerie (my sister) and Abbey (my brother-in-law) for dinner at Mastro's, a steakhouse in midtown.
By day's end, the little make-up I wear is faded. I stop by the Chanel counter asking for a touch-up, "Nothing on my eyes, a neutral lipstick, and some blush on my cheeks." Gina, the make-up artist replies, "You are no fun." I leave with overly red cheeks and too-bright a lipstick. I feel very not-me.
I meet Val and Abbey after work. We are seated soon after arriving at a nice corner table. There is live music from a small, but talented group.
The servings are huge and the food and drink are amazing — starting with the oversized Cosmopolitan I order. The dry ice is so cold the drink literally smolders. My glass looks like it's about to erupt as steam and bubbles emerge from it. The end result is an ice-cold, flawlessly made and presented Cosmopolitan.
The enormous tuna tartare is also probably the best I've ever had. It is served layered with fresh fish, avocado, and something crunchy on the bottom.
I am full after eating it and the dinner hasn't yet been served.
We get fries and asparagus for the table, and I order the strip steak —charred on the outside and medium rare on the inside. It's perfection, and I still have half for tomorrow night's dinner.
Though I bring my camera, I don't want to embarrass my sister by requesting a group photo. But when dessert arrives, Abbey takes out his phone and snaps a picture.
Both the food and company are great. And those desserts are not all mine.
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