October 22 – Day 46: Profiteroles!

I can’t say I did much of anything today. I woke up and felt like crap, so I decided to stay in bed as long as I could. I wasn’t totally unproductive; I caught up on some television and read some newspapers, but I didn’t plan on leaving the apartment until I had to.

I did want to get a newspaper and some cold meds, so I knew I was going to go out sometime, but taking Pidge’s advice, I decided to get a massage to see if that would help. I checked Yelp and saw a place over on 6^th that had a five-star rating, so I called and got an appointment right away.

 I don't get the name, but the massage was good.

I walked over to a little storefront. The woman was sitting in a recliner listening to something Chinese on the radio. It’s a small place, but clean and well-organized. There were no real preliminaries; she pulled back a curtain, showed me the table, and asked me to get ready. When she came back, she gave me a great massage, and worked on a lot of areas I’ve never had worked on, like the tops of my shoulders, my hamstrings, and my ribs—all of which were welcome. One thing I appreciated is that she used hot towels to wipe off the lotion she used during the session. I always hate going home feeling all gooped up.

I left, hit the 7-Eleven, Starbucks, and Duane Reade (I wanted to get a bagel, but they were closed), then home. I wore only one jacket, so I was a little bit chilly, but I knew I wasn’t going to be out long. As I walked back from the drugstore, I saw the Pardon My French wasn’t busy at all, so I thought about finally going there for supper.

Came home, read some more papers, napped, and then thought it was about time I got something to eat, so around the corner I went. PMF was still almost empty (I think it was a combination of being Monday night and cold), so I went in, was greeted by the French bartender who told me I could sit anywhere. I bellied up to the bar, ordered a glass of wine from her, checked the menu (which was not easy, given the dim light), and ordered the steak frites and a Bibb salad.

As I was sitting there, three people came in and sat around the bend of the bar and proceeded to ruin the atmosphere with phone calls and talk of business. They were from Nashville and “investors” in some company (a fly-by-night outfit, no doubt) and were up here for “meetings.” They just reeked of douchebaggery, and I was glad when they left. (They ordered only wine and dessert.) While I was sitting and eating, I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar and saw my hair. The masseuse had given me a good scalp massage (complimenting my “strong hair”) and my hair was still in a state. I looked kind of startled. I tried to correct it the best I could, but there wasn’t much to be done.

 Seriously. Do you need anything else?

When I saw the desserts, though, I realized I had to have the profiteroles. Having them on a menu is like a magnet for me, and I couldn’t resist. The waiter brought them and drenched them in chocolate sauce, and I was a goner. Food was pretty good. Actually, too many French fries (I couldn’t finish them), but the steak was well-cooked and the salad fresh. The dessert was superb, but then it was profiteroles.

 Well, other than this, that is ...

After that, I put my outer jacket back on, walked back around the corner, and settled in for the night. I expect to turn in early again, given how tired and poorly I’m feeling. I’m actually afraid I might be in danger of laryngitis, so I’ll be doing some salt-water gargling tonight and heading over to the herbal store tomorrow to see if they have anything I can use. If all else fails, I have a “sure-fire” emergency cure that involves malt vinegar and sage, but which I’d rather avoid if I can.