Memory.

I've not formally cooked anything since the big pizza project, but I feel the need to update, so I thought I'd share something with you -

The last time I was in New York City was for my 16th birthday.
It was February.
It was cold.

My father flew my mom and me there to see my favorite broadway musical, which, despite the title of this entry, did not involve ballet dancers dressed up as felines.

I remember that we went to this little cellar restaurant that had really good cappuccino. It was served in a cup that was the size of a small soup bowl. I had to use two hands to drink it. And I had some kind of pasta, but I forget what kind.

Ravioli?

They were really good about getting us out of the restaurant and into the -30 degree street in time for the show.

So - here is the thing I really remember:

After seeing Phantom at The Majestic, we ended up in Little Italy. The little cafe we went to had the most amazing chocolate chip butter cookies. And some awesome cappuccino. It was warm and intimate, and I just remember feeling really comfy and nurtured there. Soft, yellow light and that clattering ambiance you associate with neighborhood hang outs.

It has stuck with me all these years as the feeling of true contentment. I wish I could go back there again, but I know I'd never find it. I'm not sure how we ended up there in the first place.

The hotel we stayed at was across from Winter Garden, right on Broadway. I don't remember anything remarkable about it, except that the cappuccino in the hotel restaurant was really good.

I didn't sleep at all for the 3 days we were there.
It took me months to figure out why....