Sunday in New York

Grace texted this morning: “I’m coming in sweats and sneakers okay?” My wife and I tried to figure out what the subtext was. Is she asking us if this Taiwanese restaurant has a dress code for their breakfast? Is she intimidated by our impeccable taste for fashion? Or, is she so Christian that she thinks everyone should dress in their Sunday best?

We picked up Victoria on our way. On weekends, she often looks like she is hurting from partying all night long. She reminds me of my roommates in college, Janet and Michelle. They were quintessential club kids of the 80s. On Sundays, they were often recouping from the previous nights, walking around in our apartment with dark shades, trace amounts of makeup, hairdos partially ruined by their pillows, and, yes, sweatpants.

The wait for our Taiwanese breakfast was half an hour but it passed quickly as the weather was beautiful. We walked around chatting, trying to secure a cup of coffee to wake up Victoria. The Taiwanese breakfast was excellent.

After we cleared our plates, Grace declared that she is still hungry, so we hopped over to another Taiwanese restaurant a few blocks away. We cleared two more bowls there.

In the evening, I crossed over to Greenwich Village for an informal gathering of writers and poets at Otis Berger’s, whom the Times describes as a “West Village Warrior.” She’s been hosting this at her place for 60 years.

As I listened to the lyrical voices of these writers, I realized that, when the language is too poetic, my mind switches to the listening mode for instrumental music, ignoring what they are saying.

I capped the day with yet another Taiwanese restaurant in the East Village which is quickly becoming Little Taiwan. This one is very new, called Nu Noodle. (The last 2 photos) The food was excellent but the place was empty, so, I sat there alone for a while typing this.

Since we tend to avoid making ambitious plans on Sundays, in New York, if you passively let the day unfold, it can be pretty surreal.