Supper

We had the big anniversary party this weekend, New York and I. To celebrate, I spent a night out in the big city with friends and wine and laughter and dancing. I felt incredibly loved and happy and thankful for the people in my life here who came and danced alongside me. It was a fantastic night. However, I can tell you more about that another time, because what I really want to talk about is what happened before the party. A big bowl of lemon spaghetti happened, and I wanna tell you about it.

Allison has been talking about Supper for almost a year now, as she used to live in the LES before moving to the UWS. It's sisters to Frank and Lil' Frankies in the village and has that same thrown together perfection, exposed brick and all. We were able to snab an outside table and before I knew it, I met a plate of spaghetti that would soon deny my ability to ever love another pasta in the same way again.

It was simple, really-- an obvious combination of fresh lemon, olive oil, parm, and a little pasta water for thickening. I plan to make it for myself at some point this week (Giada has a great version of course) but Supper's portion reached a Platonic idealism I fear I cannot replicate.

Maybe they fly in lemons nightly from Sorrento; maybe the olive oil was laced in white truffle; or maybe the Parmesan was made by Hera herself. But the plate actually hovered above the table in a divine light with angels singing in the background and I choose to attribute its goodness to New York and our mutual love. It was New York's little anniversary gift to his girl, Sarah.

Thank you, New York. For two lovely, lovely years. Here's to many more. :)