Concettina Died and Other Stories of the East Side

Easter Parade, posted April 15, 2007 at 01:48 AM


I have a lot to say. But instead of saying all of it, I'm going to address one issue at a time. The issue at hand: ADRIENNE ZAZA ROCKS.

I might have to explain that I know a lot about perfect holidays--I mean, I grew up in the house of Marc & Marie. I know from perfect holidays. I was schooled in the Martha & Joe tradition of perfect holidays. So trust me when I say that Easter 2007 goes down in the books as a Perfect Holiday™.

If you're living in New York in 2007 and you need anything 'Perfect', your first stop is of course Florent, which has always been and will always be the perfect restaurant. That's where Adge and I met at 12 noon. But I'm getting ahead of myself.... Let's go back to 11.30am.

I get a text from Laura--she says "Happy Easter!!!" I text back: "The Lord is Risen!" She says--I kid you not--"And Florent takes credit cards!" I'm delighted by the news, but know that she'll be even more excited by mine: "I'm on my way there now, and I just left Li-Lac Chocolates!" She must be winking somewhere in Connecticut when she texts back: "Oh Sweet Jesus."

I meet Adge at Florent. We both have steak and eggs. The champagne flows. Vive la France! As expected, it's a perfect meal. We walk out like rock stars into the dreary cold New York Spring and hail a cab. 6th and 52nd, please.

The Easter Parade in New York is not a parade at all, actually. It's a promenade. A passagiatta. They simply close off Fifth Avenue from 57th down to--down to--down to, uh, somewhere south of there--42nd maybe? Peut-ętre. Anyway, it's a wonderful tradition--the people gather, the greetings are exchanged, the bonnets are worn. Well, the bonnets are made, shown off, and photographed extensively. We didn't wear bonnets ourselves--no thanks, just browsing.

This year Easter in New York was colder than Christmas. This delights me, but it makes Adrienne act as if the last ginger ale has been sold by some other street vendor to someone else in some other part of the metropolis. And just as we were discussing this--I had said "Jeez, all it needs to do now is snow" and then, um, it started to snow--we were in the vicinity of The Museum of Modern Art. Well, more specifically, we were in the vicinity of The Modern, which is the bar/restaurant at The Museum of Modern Art.

I love Adrienne because she can match me for stamina and desire for fun. When everything's going right she's not impatient--in fact, when everything's going right, she's downright indulgent. So after a misdirected trip to the loo, and after a first deliciously prepared cocktail, and after a second, instead of calling it quits, she firmly put it out there: She'd rather have a third cocktail than go look at the art. God Bless America. We had a third, took our picture in the mirrored pillar, and then headed back out into the Winter Spring air.

If you're anything like Adrienne, or anything like me, and you've had three large cocktails on a snowy Easter afternoon and you stumble out onto 53rd Street and trip your way over to 5th Avenue, the thing your do next--the only thing you can do next--is hail a cab down to an East Village karaoke bar. And then what? Then you sing a full Kenny Chesney album, half of Jesus Christ Superstar, as many other grunge rock & weepy country ballads as you can muster and then after three hours Adrienne says "You know, I could go for another hour," so you do and then you check out of your private room four hours later with a voice like an eohippus and a desire to see your pillow.

Like I said, a Perfect Holiday™. Thanks, Adgeycakes.

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