I knew I shouldnâ€™t have stayed home yesterday. But it was a gray and dinky type day; I waited until time to leave for dinner, on Ninth Avenue between 45th and 46th, which used to be Hells Kitchen, and turned into Clinton at least two decades ago.
Spring was in the air, if not the temperature. I should have been out all day, and long into the night. Dinner was excellent and fun, and I even got to bring home my dessert. Everyone who knows me knows that I usually eat one third of the meal in a restaurant, and take home the rest.
Over the years my insistence on taking home food from a restaurant has turned into something of a joke. Who could forget the time that The Blender Busters, (what my three best friends and I called each other) were staying at Dianaâ€™s house in Sag Harbor, and I took most of my lobster dinner home from The Lobster Inn. They gave way too much food, didnâ€™t accept reservations, and by the time the meal would start I wouldnâ€™t be hungry. I took each girl aside and made her personally responsible for guarding my lobster. It was there in the morning, and I had the most delicious breakfast.
The Lobster Innâ€™s still there guarding Route 27, and I always think of it as the real beginning to The Hampton’s, but who would want to eat in a restaurant that doesnâ€™t take reservations, is incredibly noisy and somewhat of a schlep from anywhere but South Hampton?
South Hampton is my least favorite of The Hampton’s, but I prefer Montauk, anyway, which is expansive, and feels more like a New England seafaring town than part of the Hampton’s. The Long Island scenes of the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind were filmed there, and I hated parts of the beginning as it felt like I was riding on the LIRR which I have done too much of in real life. But never to the Hampton’s; thatâ€™s what friends and The Jitney were invented for.
I really should have walked around, visited somebody, done something, and not come home until the wee morning hours. But I did though Desperate Housewives and Boston Legal werenâ€™t on, and I forgot all about Deadwood. I should have gone to Montauk for the frigging weekend.
But I came home.