Celebrating New Year’s in August at a Secret Underground Supper Club
10:30pm
Oh glory hallelujah—dinner has been announced and it’s back to the basement, where—oh Jesus—there appear to be assigned seats. Fortunately, formalities are discarded once again as everyone hunkers down wherever the hell they want and I at least have my husband on one side to do the heavy lifting as far as conversation is concerned.
10:45pm
Definitely digging my tablemates—a producer for the Tribeca Film Festival, and one from This American Life (surprise—my husband geeks the hell out over that one). Tribeca and I ease into a philosophical conversation over whether or not the hatred of cilantro represents an ingrained character flaw, as plates of squid ink-marbled lobster and cauliflower ravioli with champagne cream are set down before us. I may just survive this night after all.