Mexican food… I wanted and needed Mexican food for lunch yesterday. There are just sometimes food from south of the border is not just a craving but a necessity. My friend and I were both feeling a bit off from the night before and decided something with beans, something with chicken or beef, and definitely something deep fried was in order.
However, right as we were going to search menus.com for a place to rest our heads and indulge in some fine Mexican cuisine, he threw out a suggestion that was anything but normal, let alone Mexican. He says “do you want to go to the Vanity Fair cafeteria?” Now mind you those two words just don’t belong next to each other whether they be written or spoken. They just don’t! That’s like saying kosher bacon.
As it turns out, his girlfriend, who I have met on numerous occasions and quite like works in the Conde Nast building and they have a dinning facility on the premises and she would pick up the tab. Done and done! It was that simple. I mean Conde Nast, they’re the publisher of titles like Vogue, Vanity Fair, and The New Yorker. I’d have to be illiterate to decline such an invitation.
After taking the shuttle to Time Square, it was just a few steps to the Mecca of Magazines. We breezed through security and managed to make it up to the correct floor sporting a rather large unattractive “Visitor” sticker. I noticed my friend placed his on his jeans, just below where his shirt fell, so knowing that he had graced these halls before I quickly did the same. After all, I had visions of Super Models with Magnum bottles of Crystal Champagne and strawberries as far as the eye could see.
But of course I was wrong in my foreshadowing of what I thought would surely be something out of a True Hollywood Story. Or maybe a chapter out of that book The Devil Wears Prada. Once we made it past the beautiful lobby, the perfectly placed black and white photography, and the meticulously placed back issues, we found who we were looking for…
After a quick exchange and nosing through some great looking photos on her desk, we were off to the “cafeteria.” It was a quick trip down in a very sexy and sleek elevator. It was around 1:15 and apparently prime time to grab a bite. I say “a bite” only because I started to notice the details around me, the women were all tiny. Not model, Kate Moss blowing lines of a CD case skinny, not close to that…Just skinny. Every direction I looked, there beautiful woman and not to mention a hand full of gay men. The women were all attractive. Not because they were Brazilian, tall, curvaceous or even wearing promiscuous clothing…it’s just that they were all perfectly put together. Not a single detail was spared. If a woman had her hair up, there was a platinum chop-stick looking devise keeping it up. Even the lunch trays were stylish. They were not your usual rectangular, earthy colored plastic. No, no, no, this is Vanity Fair we’re talking about. They were a soft white, oval shape that seemed once again perfectly placed.
Even though it was just lunch it was an experience not just a meal. That is what I’m living in New York City for…not lunches or hair cuts, experiences.
Thanks for listening