Manhattan feels like Paris this morning, except people are ordering everything-bagels with cream cheese instead of petit pain au chocolat (thanks to those who pointed out the correct spelling). People are walking, dressed in quilted spring colors, Burberry cuffs peeking out, a bent arm carrying a Fendi Spy bag. I’m sitting in Guy & Gallard, drinking fresh pink grapefruit juice. The woman beside me, a foreigner with a lot of “gulk” sounds in her language, is sipping nectarine juice as I gulp mine. Bitter, tart, and irresistible. I think it takes a distinguished palate to favor grapefruit juice to orange. It’s more sophisticated. Orange is too easy and obvious.
I love the idea of milk bottles. They’re right up there with baskets of brown eggs. Farm in the city. I want to own milk bottles, miniature ones, for milk at breakfast, or on my desk, beside the laptop, filled with seasonal flower stems. I like old-fashioned quaint, but I don’t like antiques. Which makes no sense, but I’m okay with that.
I think breakfast should be glorious, even a simple sample of oatmeal should be served in a crock with a heavy spoon. Shallow bowls of soft brown sugar and pots of stewed fruits at the ready. Soft-boiled eggs served on square plates, garnished with a tumble of parsley. I ordered an egg white omelette with chicken-sausage, roasted red peppers, and caramelized onions. Sweet vegetables. The onions stripped so thin, they looked like cappellini. I will roast more peppers in hill country, will save pockets of sausage from dinner, crumbled for the next day’s breakfast. Caramelized onions are good on anything because they’re rich and sweet, textured, adding depth to the simple. Today I will enjoy the simple things. I will look up for the moon, stand in a spotlight of sun, and I will inhale with a purpose. I’ll notice the breeze through my clothes, in my hair, through me. I will slow down and enjoy every pleasure today has. This day is going to be delicious.