When This Is Over
Today is my birthday. The great pandemic of 2020 has ensured though, that I won’t be able to celebrate it like I usually do. Because my city, New York, is closed for celebration. For the first time since I moved here in 2001, I will not be able to commemorate the anniversary of my birth with my loved ones at some dining establishment in my city. New York’s restaurants are its playlist, they capture its pulse and define its tone. Not being able to access them, or knowing when I will even be able to, is very disorientating. I cannot wait to feel normal again, to have my city back, to celebrate again. I cannot wait for this all to be over. Because when this is over, I have some plans.
When this is all over, I will celebrate by taking my wife and two little boys to the Odeon. We will walk in and give Roya, Mary, and the rest of the Odeon team hugs. Long, tight, hugs. The type of hugs you give those you weren’t sure you would see again. We will sit in the booth by the kitchen doors. I will order the chicken dumplings to start, the steak frites for my entrée, and the cheesecake for dessert. As I eat my food, I will breathe a sigh of relief that the city is still there. That despite having been forced to shield ourselves off from it, it didn’t vanish. Because on the worst days of all of this, it felt that it just might.
When this is over, I am going to pick up a bunch of pastrami sandwiches from Katz’s Deli and bring them to the doormen in my building. I am going to hug them. And keep hugging them. I am going to tell them that each day the social distancing lasted — and I saw them dutifully go about their work — that all I wanted to do was hug them and say thank you.
When this is over, I am going to Wo Hop in Chinatown with my friend Lee. I am going to order the hot and sour soup, the chicken in black bean sauce, the shredded beef Szechuan style and some lo mein. I will tell Lee about my theory that maybe this was the planetary re-set we needed. That having faced a common adversary is what may allow us to be united in the belief that we are all frail in the same way. I will admit to him that I had hoped what brought us all together would have been discovering aliens. But Covid-19 may also do the trick. The check for all the food would come out to barely $40. We will tip 200%.
When this is over, I am going to have my friend Nick come down from Boston and go to Minetta Tavern. I will order the bone marrow to start, followed by a black label burger. We will spend the evening reminiscing about the days after 9/11 and the financial crisis. One of us will probably remark that the main difference between those dark days and these recent ones is that those ones had clear villains, while this pandemic had clear heroes. From the healthcare workers who were on the front lines, to the grocery store workers who dealt with our panic buys, the heroes were easy to see. The other will probably remark that just because they were easy to see, doesn’t necessarily mean they will be thought of when the next stimulus package is written.
When this is over, I am going to go to meet my friend Josh at Barney Greengrass for lunch. I am going to order the roast beef, chicken liver, turkey, coleslaw, and Russian dressing triple decker sandwich. I am also going to share an order of the French toast. He will probably be stressing out about the financial markets and how long the recovery will be and why I didn’t tell him to buy stock in Zoom. I will change the subject to how weird it was watching Lebron James win the NBA title without fans, but how important it was to our psyche that we could all collectively tune into something that wasn’t news.
When this is finally over, I will celebrate my birthday with my wife by going to Raoul’s. I will convince her to go on a Friday night, even though we won’t be able to get reservations and will have to wait at the packed bar for at least ninety minutes. When we finally do sit at our table and I order my steak au poivre, we will likely spend most of our time talking about what we lost: the people and the places that made our city New York. As we work our way through this list, perhaps the conversation would shift to the new. Initially we will talk about the new fears that we will take with us forever, and the new routines we must now follow. Then perhaps we will talk about my older son’s new school, the new teachers my wife will be teaching at Hunter College, and if we should go see the new exhibit at the Met.
As we walk home from dinner, I will announce to my wife that all that has been lost makes New York not not feel like New York anymore. That its rhythm has forever changed. But that it is now our responsibility, those of us fortunate enough to have survived, to remind everyone that we are not New Yorkers but that we are New York. That we need to pick each other up and give to our city all that we can. We will need to adapt to our beloved city’s new rhythm and learn to revel in it. Because no matter what comes our way, when it is over, we, this city, will still be here.
If you want to help New York’s restaurant industry, I urge you to make a donation to the Restaurant Workers Community Foundation Relief Fund
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