There were hopeful signs. Trees still bare, but there were buds on the forsythia and a few carefully-tended blooms along Fifth Avenue. People were out and about, strolling in the Park and hailing carriage rides along Central Park South. All in all, a lovely time to be in the city.
And then it snowed. Okay, a spring snow. Fine. Pull the puffer out of the closet. After all, it will melt overnight; gives us bragging rights when we head back to California. And it’s pretty!
We warmed up with coffee and calories. Sip an espresso over at our favorite Turkish place, Beyoglu. An evening with Daniel at Peter Luger. Lunch at Nougatine, where the current iteration of their roast chicken is served with a frothy mustard sauce. Nothing to complain about here.
BUT THEN IT SNOWED AGAIN! Giant wet clumps of wind-driven snow, snow and more snow. Not the foot they were predicting, but at least that much blocking every crosswalk; icy snow-walled moats of slush. One wrong step and you are going down. No one looks amused.
Beware the ides of March.
Et tú, New York?
New York, how could you? Four days on and we are still skidding through crudely-hacked sidewalk paths. Today they are promising more snow. Or rain. Or, as some creative type at weather.com described it the other day, a “Wintry Mix”. Like it’s something we would choose off a menu. A succotash of snow. Thank you, no.
But I just can’t quit you, NYC. The snow may not melt anytime soon, but my heart does when I see a gorgeous sunrise over Fifth Avenue (not that one would see it through today’s blanketed skies) and that gorgeous bouquet at the entrance to Balthazar. Full of promise. Spring is out there somewhere…