Saturday we didn’t have much planned, beyond dinner and attending a performance by the Upright Citizen’s Brigade.
One of Mrs. Underhill’s goals for the trip was to get to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
After a most delicious brunch at Upstairs at Bouley, we headed uptown to the Met.
We spent much of the day looking at cultural artifacts, old and new, got a quick snack at La Petite Abeile, then headed back to change for dinner and a show.
The Upright Citizen’s Brigade was a typical improv show. Occasionally funny, sometimes not really. Some amusing moments resulted when one of the cast members forgot that there were children in the audience and launched into a rant composed almost entirely of the “F” word. Ah, improv.
After the show, we caught a cab over to WD~50, where we had dinner reservations.
We got there a bit early, so had time to savor a drink or two and jockey for position at the bar. Mrs. Underhill had a Coney Island Lager, whose great label alone might qualify it as Beer of the Week. I had a couple cocktails, probably left over from Eben Freeman’s tenure here. Carbonated Rye and other unusual items. My first cocktail had Plymouth Gin in it. I noticed that they still had the old style Plymouth Gin bottles behind the bar and asked the bartender if he was refilling his Plymouth bottles. He replied, somewhat defensively, “How do you know I am refilling them? I could have the largest stash in the world of old Plymouth bottles in the basement?” I said, uh, well, it’s been over a year now, that would be some stash. He replied, “The chef’s Father hates the new Plymouth bottles,” and insists that they only have the old ones behind the bar.
Dinner was about what I had expected. Some really cool things, some OK things, and some things where you wonder if they were stoned when they thought of them. The “Pizza Pebbles” were one of the more amusing items. Little blobs of flavored stuff that seemed to nearly exactly replicate the flavor of a pizza hot pocket.
Maybe it’s my Midwestern Lutheran upbringing, but I always have a hard time enjoying myself on the last night in town. There’s always a sense of impending overness. Where you know, the fun here is coming near the end.
After our very late dinner, we headed back out of the restaurant, where we found Mr. Dufresne sitting at the bar. Mrs. Underhill, being the outgoing person that she is, didn’t hesitate to tell him how much we had enjoyed out dinners. I hung back.
We caught a cab, and headed back to our hotel and fell into bed.