Hip is defined by 20-somethings taking up space in a hotel bar where no one can afford to drink much less stay. Usually in a part of NYC no one wants to be. Above the din I catch snippets of conversation like trout..."Dude, what's with the Red Wings and flannel shirt? Lumberjack is so dead." "But it's Mark McNairy?!" "Last year. He's moved onto 8th grade metal shop teacher." "Damn! No one told me."A few blocks east on Park Avenue South (bet. 28th & 29th) Les Halles is a throw back to another time where patrons are defined by gray hair, reading glasses and safe driver insurance rates. Les Halles is one of those restaurants where all stress and angst slide off your back like a creme caramel. Is it the best food in NYC? No. But as I look around I'm struck by who is here. And they are me.
I ask about the 50 wines for 50% off on 50 Mondays and I'm told Valentine's Day ain't one of those Mondays. Just as well. They have 700 reservations for tonight. And that's okay. I'll be far away. But I do have plans to go next Monday when Les Halles turns back into what I love. An old friend.
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