Scotch

It’s been four months since we did this, but Hy and I are back, with two more dissolutes. We have one notable change this go-round. We no longer aspire to publishing our picks for you on the first Monday of…

I meet, and prepare to use, Luna.

Is a good thing.

Friends of T’s and mine bought me a bottle of Scotch. A really nice bottle of Scotch. Before I say much, know this about my whisky-drinking: I’m a boor. I know what I like, but am not a snob. I…

You read my version of the beginning of the evening. Here’s V’s: I get there a few minutes early on purpose– my little way of having some control before the night begins. Being in the bar settles me into the…

I had planned for Véronique to receive a paper copy of the note from the bartender.* But I was running late. As I drove up the block, in the rain, toward the bar, I saw her approaching the bar herself.…

Véronique went first. So before I say a word, let me observe a couple of moments from the evening that I began describing here, and that she began describing here, that she omitted, whether because they weren’t significant to her,…

I find myself remembering something from long ago as I go down on Mara…. It’s the taste of an Israeli pussy.

I just finished my second reading of Can Love Last:  The Fate of Romance Over Time, by Stephen Mitchell. It’s a little dense, and if you’re not into psychoanalytic theory and ways of thinking, you’ll find it baffling and uninteresting, I…

It was a terrific restaurant in a spectacular location – New York’s Grand Central Terminal, on a terrace overlooking the grand main waiting room. They had delicious shellfish and an ambiance that couldn’t be beat (as compared to their competitor…