Walking to the restaurant on Second
Avenue in the 90’s requires stepping over a fallen traffic light with a wire
stretching into the broken sidewalk. It looks dangerous and I make a mental
note to dial 311 because someone is going to get electrocuted. Puddles and dog
shit are frozen on the sidewalk and the wind is slicing through our coats like
a high quality Japanese chef’s knife and we think our eyeballs will freeze in
their sockets, fall on the sidewalk and crack into little pieces. This is not
good.
So, there are about 18 of us
sitting around a table at Mole where we always meet. Mexican food in a dark,
crowded and noisy space. Spanish cerviche: shrimp, octopus in a reddish sauce which may involve chorizo and the dish is lined with large tortilla chips. Only four reds on the wine
menu so I order an Argentinian Malbec, $36.00. The wine glasses are set on the
table. Like, 4 or maybe 6 glasses and
its dark and informal so the waiter just opens a bottle and doesn’t do the
usual pour for sniffing and swishing, which suits me just fine. All the glasses
are filled and now one bottle is empty. Killed. Bravo! It’s good and fun and
I guess someone else orders another bottle of the same and a few other people
order sangria and margaritas. The music is loud and the kids are sitting
in their own area and the smart phones are out and on fire with activity which
the adults ignore and probably appreciate. There is a large order of spicy guacamole set out on the table and a
gigantic basket of tortilla chips with a small and uneventful (and ignored)
dish of salsa which one of the kids asks for so she can mix it with her soda,
water and hot sauce for a magic potion.
Andrew hobbles in on crutches and
thus begins the saga of how he broke his leg (or knee) skiing which is an
interminable and humorous story. Currently, he is not in pain and we hear all
about how he cursed out his first surgeon so he hopes the second one will work
out. His description of falling down the mountain is so ridiculous and includes
eye rolling from his wife followed by a trip to the bar for a shot of tequila
and a promise that he will never ski again. I guess we will see about that.
It turns out that Stuart and Mike practice (very different) law in the
same part of midtown and coincidentally they go to exactly the same Korean
barbecue place. Mike describes a dish loaded with tuna and pear. Stuart
recommends the bento box which is an exceptionally good deal for $15.00. I am
not sure what is in a Korean bento box but I would definitely try it if pear and tuna are involved but not beef. I've never been a kimchi person.
The other end of the table also has
a large guacamole appetizer and before I know it the empty app dishes are gone and plates of burritos, soft shell tacos and sizzling
platters loaded with whoknowswhat but include swimming pool size sides of rice,
beans and sour cream appear. It’s dark, so its
hard to see what everything is but everyone seems happy and digs into their
dish as the wine appears for the second or third time into our glasses and
waiters are summoned to bring more margaritas and sangrias. (Yuksel's chimichanga still hasn't arrived but with some prodding, the waiter remembers and brings it out.) Time doesn’t matter
and the kids have shuffled positions a bit and their entrée dishes have been
removed and the green soda bottles have become a great source of musical entertainment.
The adult conversation veers to the
topic of live and interactive theatre of the “Eye’s Wide Shut” ilk and without
much explicit response I can see everyone slightly leaning it to hear more
details and reaching into a pocket to google sed venue (which is in Chelsea and involves a
large freight elevator and masks). Cost
of tickets is shared and a mental note is made: affordable.
The little magician comes back to
see if there are any extra sauces available for her concoction. We are fairly
certain she starts speaking in a made up Spanish dialect when we refuse to give
her the requested sauces. She is incredibly cute and accommodating when we tell
her no means no.
“The kids want dessert.”
Fine. Five orders of ginormous
slices of chocolate cake and one order of flan which looks like it slid right out
of a Campbell’s soup can, doused with syrup are all brought to the table by 4
balancing waiters. All dishes have heaping mounds of whipped (not sour) cream
swirling on the plates. Looks safe enough to ski down!
Finally, the pleather bill holder
is placed on the adult vicinity of the table and someone generously does the
math. Everyone is prepared with plenty of cash so the final count goes fairly
smoothly. It is a really nice time and nobody expects that a quick last minute
request for a drink would turn into a Beat the Winter Blues dinner party.
Everyone is warm and exits into the
cold. Happily heading home.
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