It was bitterly cold yesterday -- for here, I mean; not, say, for Canada -- but it didn't stop us from taking the train and taking the subway, and another subway, and another, till we found ourselves at Allen and Delancey Streets in New York's Lower East Side.

We splashed through barely melted snow puddles to Hill & Dale, a gastrolounge in a location that's seen its share of turnover. The latest incarnation seems to be an homage to the golden age of radio, as seen through a hipster lens. There are gramophones, and comfy sofas, and a showcase of vintage bric-a-brac, and a honeycomb-patterned mirrored ceiling. There's also a leg lamp, perhaps (let's hope!) left over from Christmas.

We sat in a booth and shed our layers and drank glasses of a spicy virgin bloody mary. M. had a full-on southern repast, complete with smoky grits and biscuits and gravy, while I had delicious baked eggs with spinach and roasted tomatoes and mounds of fluffy ricotta.

Both of us cleaned our plates and said, yes, we'd come back. Then we trugdged through the drifts to Sugar Cafe, on Houston Street, where we had treats and chai and I attempted to sketch the views outside from behind the large windows, stealing glances in between the buses and cars and trucks that sped by.





We ended our day by walking the length of the High Line, which is as beautiful in 20 degree weather as it is in the summer.


Happy new year!