Chronic Negress

The Negress pretty much has the feet and the knees working in tandem so she’s been out gamboling. She’s also in the hands of a personal trainer who doesn’t nkow a thing about nutrition but is superb with imbalanced and deconditioned muscles. Sore but happy, we celebrated by navigating the subway for the first time in ages. We’re back in French (zut alors!) as of April 6, and after that we listened to a band in Central Park playing  jazz. Kids were dancing to  “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.” This is what everyone in New York puts up with all the crap for — spring, dancing kids, impromptu outbursts of music, people smiling. So off the Negress went to the Museum of Modern Art to check out a pair of new exhibits, one of various photographers’ images of the American West, the other a Martin Kippenberger retrospective. The exhibits were splendid except for a large blister growing on my right foot from old socks and new sneakers. So  I adjourned to the bar at the Modern. They ran out of Booker’s mid-pour so my first small-batch bourbon was on them. I followed up with Baker’s and then headed to dinner at LaVagna with the members of the Jeopardy! cabal. I broke my Lenten fast  with some open-face ravioli and duck, but felt strangely forgiven. We shared a stunning Nebbiolo and I forgot to write it down but there was a red wiener dog on the label named Tom. At home, I’m almost done with a bottle of grippy 2006 Catena Malbec. It opens up in the glass pretty well, but it’s more a rustic than uptown Malbec.

Spring in New York in Central Park

I also drank some house Champagne with Chambord at a lengthy brunch I went to on Saturday. Blisters have been treated, and the gym beckons tomorrow.