I wake up in the morning and take my coffee to the window where I look at the flower beds and the buildings lining Park Avenue, at the joggers and the dog walkers, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the distance, and I tell myself: You’re going to miss this when you’re gone.
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On a bitter cold day in New York—thunder-grey skies, snow threatening—we headed for Benoit on West 55th Street. When so many bistros in New York are pale versions of those in Paris, such is not the case with the charming Benoit, owned by Alain Ducasse. Indeed, this Benoit is a reincarnation of the century-old Benoit in Paris, likewise owned by Mr Ducasse, and featuring many of the old reliable standards of French cooking.
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Hi Guys and Gals!
There are days when you can’t get to first base and days when you hit a home run. Thursday I hit a home run when an article I had written, In Search of Lost Loves, was published by Journeys Thru Grief.
If you click on the link, it will bring you to the site.
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