October 17 – Day 41: A Series of Random Disappointments Gets Salvaged
Because of our twin matinees, we left the house together. I had had my usual quick breakfast and we worked our bathroom schedule around each other.
It was a beautiful morning—sunny and cold—and we walked over to Astor Place to pick up the W. We got off at 47th and 7th, Pidge walked over to her theatre and I got in the TKTS line to get my ticket. I’d tried twice Tuesday night to buy a ticket online, but was still plagued by the “transaction cancelled because of unusual activity” problem. The odd thing was that, even though I couldn’t buy a ticket, Wednesday morning, there was an email in my inbox from Telecharge giving me details about the show I was going to be seeing. I called and was told that I hadn’t been charged, but it struck me as odd. As it turned out, I got a better seat from TKTS for about half of what Telecharge would have cost me, so I was happy.
Pidge was seeing The Ferryman, which I’m seeing next Wednesday, and because of its length (over three hours), the matinee curtain is at 1:00, rather than 2:00. That meant I had an hour to kill, which was fortunate, since I’d forgotten my headphones and had time to walk over to the Best Buy on 44th and 5th to buy a new pair (that I can keep in my jacket pocket).
When I got to Best Buy, I was actually kind of shocked I found the headphones so quickly, so they were easy to buy. I still had some time, so I stopped at a Starbucks on 44th and got a smaller hot tea than usual, so I could drink it all before I went to the theatre.
I was seeing Kenneth Lonergan’s The Waverly Gallery (which was the theatre right next door to Pidge’s), and when I got there, the line was literally around the corner—and way, way down 8th Avenue. It was moving fast, though—until I got into it, then it ground to an immediate halt. It eventually started moving again, and as soon as I heard the ushers shouting at people that there were two lines, not just one, I bolted for the other line (which also immediately halted). I finally got inside the theatre (the Golden, which is where I saw my first Broadway show, back in 1977: Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy in The Gin Game), got to my seat—5th row center; take that, Telecharge—and waited for the curtain.
Despite the show, it was a perfect fall day.
The show was a disappointment. It’s a very good cast—Elaine May, Joan Allen, David Cromer, Lucas Hedges, and Michael Cera—and it’s directed well, but it’s not much of a play; it’s felt to me like Lonergan had dealt with similar issues in his own life and needed to write something to process it. It’s really not much more than a chance to watch May slowly fall into dementia over two hours. (That she can do that eight times a week at the age of 86 is remarkable.) I don’t know if something had happened during the performance, but Cromer looked pissed off about something in the curtain call. I might have been able to tell more if I’d been standing, but I wasn’t. Not for that.
Since our shows were next door to one another, the plan was that whoever finished first would meet the other one at their theatre, and that was me. I had to wait only about five minutes before her show let out, so we met up and decided to get something to eat. After I described The Waverly Gallery, she decided to see Aasif Mandvi’s Sakina’s Restaurant, so we stopped at the booth for her to get a ticket to that. I was trying to think of where we could go, and remembered a Sarabeth’s on Central Park South, so we headed there. We sat in the sidewalk seating, and even though it felt like it was going to rain at any minute, it didn’t. (We were under an awning, regardless.) She had what she said was a good seafood Cobb salad, and I had tomato soup. Good and hearty, but nothing to write home about.
When we finished, she took off to take the subway down to the Village and I headed the two blocks to the theatre. We had a good show, I thought. Things are starting to click into place, and everyone seems to be finding new things and capitalizing on them, even if the audiences continue to be mostly quiet. After the performance, we were asked to participate in a podcast, and all of us (except Dared) gathered in the house to do a quick group interview. It was painless, and I don’t think any of us sounded like a boob (which is always a risk with any kind of interview).
Pidge and I had talked the night before about having dinner after the show—our last one together on this trip—and I told her I’d like to eat at Boucherie in the Village. When I was here last year, I spent a good portion of a cold and rainy Sunday night trying to find a place to eat. I kept checking Yelp for restaurants and, even though it wasn’t all that late (10:30, maybe?), between the hour, the day, and the weather, restaurants were empty enough that they were closing early. I must have gone to six places to no effect before finally coming across Boucherie on 7th Ave. Completely bedraggled, I tottered in and asked the host if they were still serving. He said they’d just closed the kitchen, then asked what I wanted. I told him steak frites, and he said “Wait a minute.” He went to the back and soon came back, telling me they’d make one for me and that I should sit at the bar. I did, and rarely has a meal tasted better. I’ve always been grateful to them for that, so I want to go back as a “thank you.”
Boucherie. Been there twice.
Eaten there once.
Unfortunately, history rarely repeats, and as I was walking to the restaurant (while getting lost, thanks to my inability to read Google Maps), I got a text from Pidge that they were no longer serving and that she’d find an alternate place. A few minutes later, she texted again to make sure I’d gotten the message, and I, between my frustration at having gotten lost, the kitchen being closed, and a dislike of texting while walking on a dark sidewalk, stopped and started to text her back when she called. I barked at her, and when I got to the restaurant, she was (rightly) pissed off at me. I apologized and we hashed it out, but there was still some tension. We overlooked that while we tried to find someplace else that was going to be open by the time we got to it.
We were looking for a place called Joseph Leonard, and we walked to where it was supposed to be, but just couldn’t find it (I was starting to have flashbacks to that Sunday night last year). We stopped in front of a place that had just closed while we tried to decipher the Google map. A waiter came out to roll up the awning and asked if he could help us. We explained we were trying to find a restaurant. “What do you want?” “Steak frites. He mentioned one place, then said “Or you could try Joseph Leonard.” “Where is it?” “Right across the street there.” (Less than 50 yards.) We thanked him, walked over, and went it.
The place was hopping, and it took a moment to get the waitress’s attention. I asked if they were still serving, and she said the kitchen was open until 12:00, and that we should sit wherever we liked. We took a window seat, ordered some wine, then got down to the business of steak frites (for me) and roast chicken (for Pidge). We discussed what a jerk I had been, then moved on. We thought about dessert, but Pidge had bought cupcakes that were waiting for us at home, so we passed.
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