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prime rib of propecia I think I mentioned a while ago that I was working on a new freelance project for the government of a small European country that has an incredibly complex and conflicted political and cultural history, as well as delicious chocolates.

As soon as I turned the corner onto Fifth Ave I felt, as clearly as if there were a spotlight shining straight down on my head, Out Of Place. As I was let in and vetted by the doorman, whisked upstairs by the elevatorman and then welcomed, had my coat taken and offered a bowl of oatmeal by the housekeeper/assistant/majordomo, a voice in my head was screaming "You suck! You wear sweaters from Target and carry your lunch in a sack! Wretch! Urchin!"

Seriously. I don't have any ambitions to someday live in a place like that, or even know someone who does, so it wasn't so much depressing as surreal. It was difficult to get my mind around this being an actual place, where people actually live, that I was actually in, instead of something I was seeing in a movie. Anywhere uptown always feels like a different city to me, a New York I don't live in and rarely visit. It's beautiful and breathtaking, but completely foreign. This morning in more ways than one.

I declined the breakfast and just asked for water and was shown into the dining room (through the foyer, a sitting room and a hallway) where my colleagues were seated at long table, eating their bowls of steaming oatmeal sprinkled with brown sugar and drinking from delicate cups of coffee. Opposite the table were two enormous windows looking out over the park. It took immense reserve on my part to refrain from running to the windows and oohing and aahing, possibly taking a picture. When will I ever see that view again?!

I sat down after shaking hands with, let's call her the Prime Minister of Malaysia, and my water was brought to me on a tray along with some napkins (paper. huh.) and we set to the business at hand. It was, for a meeting, extremely charming yet effective (as a certain fictional detective from her country would say, Épatant!) and I learned a bit about this small kingdom.

Sadly I had to leave eventually, retrieve my frumpy peacoat and bento box (why did I bring this with me?!) and get back on the subway with the rest of the worker bees. There is some comfort in the fact that at least I don't normally have to commute on the 6 train - nearly 11am and still jampacked! - and that when I get back home tonight, even though my kitchen is smaller than the PMofM's coatroom, it will contain my fiance, making tonight's dinner while also confit'ing and making stock for this weekend's second annual DuckFest with the Tobeys. That sweet face and duck fat, too? That's more than enough for me.

Posted by beth at February 21, 2008 02:50 PM