serinde

Lovely night out with Kathryn last night; we started at the new Flatiron location of Morrell's, where the wine was excellent and the service was crap. Three bartenders at a not-full bar, of which one was being co-opted by the new bar manager to minister hand and foot mixing all sorts of odd drinks for him and his friends, another was working the other end of the bar from us, and the third spent all his time chatting up the name-dropping harridan to our left. We were Not Amused. So, we left after one drink and proceeded to Bar Demi...only it wasn't there. Wrong address? No, that's the old white wooden bench we sat on the first time we came because they weren't open yet. "Hmmm." It apparently went the way of the dodo, and what's there instead is Bar Jamon, which also specializes in wines, but it's all Spanish wines, and tapas instead of vaguely-French-influenced tasting plates. We shrugged and said "why not". And it was good--damn good. I knew it was the right choice when I saw the plate of three kinds of manchego on the menu.

Missed my train by >< that much, took the next Main Line train, and entrusted Steve to finding Hawthorne Station so he could pick me up. This was not an idle trust, as the thing is tucked away in a tiny backstreet corner with no signage. He made it...eventually. Alas, another late night, made worse by the fact that the sick pooky was h0rking his lungs out all night, which meant I didn't get any sleep either. Urgl.