Credit Where Credit is Due: L’Express

I forgot/was too tired to post this yesterday, but it has to be done. Even in NYC, a restaurant experience as flawless as the one we had Sunday is worth writing about.

After Sunday’s concert, we had a passionate hunger for cheeseburgers…

It was already late on Sunday Night. I said that we should forego the taxi and just walk up through Gramercy before cutting west toward Penn Station. We had plenty of time before the last train to Suffern (where we left the car), and I figured we would happen across a place for cheeseburgers, even if it meant having to settle for a 24-hour fast food joint. Well, we didn’t have to, and it was all thanks to L’Express (Google street view).

The place seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t tie it with a previous visit, mostly because I couldn’t think of the last time I was East of 5th Ave.

The service was awesome. Now, I know it doesn’t seem like that should be difficult at 11:30 PM on a Sunday, but the place was actually pretty busy. Everything was aces: our server was attentive and delightful, our food came fast, hot, and perfectly to order (when I ask for a medium-rare burger, I expect a medium-rare burger).

The burgers ($11.95) were DELICIOUS, perfectly prepared and served on a toasted bun. Our server had gotten us both on the bacon upsell ($2.), but the add-on price was more than justified by the burger-load of bacon that came with it.

As a result of our days in food-service, we tip REALLY WELL for exceptional professionalism. Now, when I’ve been drinking I can be very generous with tips even for average service; when I’m sober, however, I can be very calculating with gratuity. As the night’s DD (for our drive home from Suffern station later), I was stone sober.

It didn’t halt my generosity; I had ZERO complaints. The ambiance was great for a post-concert-going setting, the service was perfect, and as far as the food went, I was happy with the portion-for-price and delighted with the presentation and preparation of the burger. The fries weren’t anything special, but they were crispy and munchable, and come on–I was there for THE BURGER.

Right. You might be saying “it was just a burger”, but it wasn’t just a burger. For this kind of experience, even my sober mind knew that a tip pushing the 35-40% line was appropriate. For us, this wasn’t just a meal, it was a seamless part of a fantastic evening out, and the staff at L’Express did a wonderful job.

We will certainly be back.

A Post From Bed

I never use my phone to type and it makes me feel like I’m falling behind the curve.

Actually, I normally feel like I’m behind the curve where technology is concerned. In the world of paranoid fears, I would say that this “falling behind” idea consumes me more than any other. It’s this sense that I’m going to be one of the have-nots in a world that is changing more and more rapidly. Is that silly?

Few things are as important to me as the digital interconnectedness I’ve been raised with for the past fifteen years. Chat rooms taught me confidence and quick responses in conversation, not to mention speedy typing. The web gave me a home when I felt alone. It gave me the sanctuary of other minds when I was at my most fragile.

Much as I love and respect my parents, there’s a sense that, after 10 or 11 years old–I was raised by the looming meta-mind more than I was raised by them. I don’t at all see that as a bad thing; it’s not as if my parents were absent–much the opposite. It’s more that they weren’t helicopter parents, for which I am eternally grateful. They truly allowed me to explore and to grow unimpeded around the start of my teenage years, and I believe that’s one of the biggest reasons I am who I am today.

More on this later, though.
I think I’ve done enough thumb-typing practice for one night…

Ten years later…

Ten years ago this week, I was doing nothing more than waiting for my graduation day. I was dual enrolled my senior year, so my college-term classes had ended and I no longer had any high-school requirements left.

Mostly I would just go into school and bother my old design and drawing teacher, Mr. Leogrande, and my chemistry teacher Mr. Dermody. I was one of those kids that hung around after school in favorite teacher’s classrooms for a few hours–and, you know, this was back in the day when your teenage-self could exist on school grounds for no reason without the faculty thinking you were some kind of criminal.

When I was in school, I regarded school as a neat place to be–spending free time looking up books and old periodicals in the library, going to one of the tech rooms and work at a drawing desk outside of regular class time, talking to one of my science or math teachers about something I thought was interesting (but was told to ask about it outside of class so that we could cover the material that needed to be covered). Continue reading “Ten years later…”