dinner with zelia (lyn)

Between my trip to the Cape, and Zelia’s to Brazil, I haven’t seen her in almost a month.  We decide to have dinner at a new, inexpensive restaurant, Luke’s Lobster.  It serves $14 lobster rolls.   We’re both excited.

I weigh myself before leaving and think my scale may be off.  I’m under 120 pounds.  That liberates me, and I feel I can order anything I want for dinner.  Maybe even fries if they serve them.

I meet Zelia at the restaurant, where there’s a note on the door.  Not a good sign.  “We are closed tonight due to a small electrical fire in our kitchen.  Sorry for any inconvenience.”  Awww, we are both disappointed.  We don’t want to walk far, which isn’t’ a problem.   We are in NY, on the Upper East Side, where there are probably 10 restaurants at least, for every square block.  We rule out Italian  (too fattening), Sushi (Zelia’s not in the mood); and Mexican (too long a line at the better one).  Eventually we settle on a tiny, cramped place called Flex Mussels.  Its specialty is easy to guess.  Mussels in about 25 different varieties of broths. 

I chose one of the more basic ones:  Fra Diavolo without the hot pepper.  Now if that were the whole dinner, I would have eaten a very healthy, low point meal.  But the fries are too good to pass on.  We split an order.  And the crusty bread is needed to sop up the sauce.  I stop at two pieces.

It’s a perfect night.  We sit outside.  We catch up on life.  We talk to the table next to ours.  And we watch the line grow on the sidewalk beside us.  Several groups of people are now waiting for tables.

In the time we are there, we are never rushed.  Our waiter is oblivious to the impatient line of would-be diners.  He must not know that more tables equal more tips.  We have to tell him we are finished so he’ll clear our plates.  We then have to find him and tell him we’d like our check.  Then we have to wait for him to get us change.  What should take 5 minutes turns into about 20.  We don’t care, but some of the people in line do.  The line grows shorter as people decide to leave.

I get home and Alexander suggests watching the end of Animal House that we began the other night.  (I rejoined Netflix for the summer).  Though I’m full, I take out one of those mini cups of mango Häagen-Dazs sorbet, relax with my son, and fib my way through some of his questions on my illicit college experiences.