Daily Blague

When it emerged that Mme NOLA was going to stay with her daughter in Brooklyn a few days longer, I decided that we had to do something about her birthday. And, in the process, to introduce her to some of our other regulars. And to give her a chance to see Kathleen, who was in Seoul for most of Mme NOLA's visit.

It was clear that only Balthazar would do. So, on Thursday afternoon, I called the restaurant to see about a table on Sunday. Imagine my impudence. Balthazar is one of New York's most popular restaurants, and it's easy to see why. The only advantage that Le Grand Colbert, an equally popular spot tucked behind the Palais Royal, and the setting for the antepenultimate scene of Something's Gotta Give, has over Balthazar is that it is actually in Paris, although, now that I think of it, there's no corresponding disadvantage on Balthazar's part, since we're all here together.

Mme NOLA purred, "I feel like I'm in Paris." We were all purring.

"I have tables at 5:30 and 9:00," the reservationist had said. Now, I'm as inclined as any New Yorker to gag at the thought of a 5:30 reservation. It's not so much the thought of eating early that's repellent; it's the insult of being forced to book a table at a child's dinnertime, of being excluded from the adult, "hot" hours of the evening. But I resisted the impulse to say, "No, thank you." Wasn't 5:30 ideal? Mme NOLA would be flying back to New Orleans the next day. It was a school night for the early-rising PPOQ. Kathleen and I would still have an evening together. No, 5:30 was perfect.

Balthazar is a great big brasserie with a voluble clientele. It feels like the relaxed center of the world. The light in the high room is just dim enough to keep curiosity at the bubble. The mirrors, the caryatids, the tile floor, the ancient woodwork, the paper tablecloths - there are hundreds of restaurants in the United States that aim for this atmosphere without capturing it nearly as well as Balthazar does. The troop of waiters in white shirts and aprons convey something of the darting reassurance of emergency-room personnel, which, while that may not seem the most inviting association to you. perfectly meets the average Manhattanite's neurotic pursuit of just so in a tumultuous city. Located on the edges of SoHo and NoLIta, Balthazar is perhaps the only "downtown" destination that many Upper East and West Siders have ever ventured into. There are families - grown-up families, to be sure - everywhere.

M le Neveu wore a suit and so was quietly overdressed. I myself wore some of my best duds, under the inexpensive corduroy jacket that I can fit into again since, perhaps because I've found what I want to do with my life, I'm slowly, unprogrammatically losing weight. Mme NOLA sported her anti-war lavaliere, a miniature Tour Eiffel on a silver chain. She and Ms NOLA had just returned to New York from a wedding in Philadelphia and were stylish in just the right way. Ms G looked terrific, and it's heartwarming to see that she and Ms NOLA talk like old friends. PPOQ reminisced about his NOLA days, comparing famous murders with the birthday girl. Kathleen, who had slept most of the day (bien sûr!), had managed jet lag with sufficient expertise to enjoy the party whole-heartedly.

I didn't think, "I'm in the movies." I thought, "this is what movies about New York try to convey." With more or less success.

The proprietors of Balthazar have imported a Parisian enterprise to Manhattan. Manhattan has responded by providing deserving customers.