I'M BACK
What with being ill, being away and working nights I've been neglecting my blogging duties.
I got back from NY this morning. I flew first class from New York (a bargain for just 100,000 air miles), and, eschewing the videos, nibbles and entertainment on offer, somehow managed to sleep for most of the six hour journey. I landed at 6.45am and by 8am I was sitting at my desk.
New York was great. I really felt alive there. I saw friends, I shopped, I walked and I walked and I walked. And when the frostbiting Hudson winds came at me from both sides, I carried on walking. I also ate. I ate so much in the past four days that I truly believe I could fast for the rest of the week and still feel fat.
The wedding itself was perhaps the most decadent, extravagant, ostentatious eat-athon I've ever had the pleasure to enjoy. My friend, Andrew, had hired the Hyatt ballroom, together with his wife, because it was the only place in town that could hold 750 well-heeled guests. The ceremony began two hours late (par for the course for Persians, I'm told), but when it did happen it moved me to the point of tears.
Next came the reception, aka, the smorgersboard. To get an idea of just how much food was on offer, imagine a 100 metre running track lined with tables and waiters, carving brisket, turkey and roast beef; handing out succulent duck-filled pancakes, lashed with thick, plum source; chargrills of every kind of kebab, skewer and bird; pastas and saffron rice. And then I discovered the sushi bar room, another 50 metre-squared cavern of delights. I was Charly and this was my chocolate factory.
We didn't sit down to dinner (a four-course meal, half of which I didn't see, and much of the rest of which I didn't eat) until 10pm. Then the dancing kicked off, then we ate, danced and ate and danced until the early hours. The Persian grooves began around midnight, men and women twisting and curling their flailing limbs around their bodies. It felt like I was on the set of a Bollywood film.
Then there were the women: cherubic, young debutantes, on-the-shelf thirty-somethings desperate to get hitched, and, most memorably, a six-foot tall blonde with the body of a porn star but without a high school diploma: she was just 17!
The one that made the biggest impression on me was a stripy-dressed cutey called Ella. She was pretty and feisty, but she had a nice way about her. I told her as much and vowed to call. And although I didn't get to see her again before I left for home, I plan to write. Just not yet...
What with being ill, being away and working nights I've been neglecting my blogging duties.
I got back from NY this morning. I flew first class from New York (a bargain for just 100,000 air miles), and, eschewing the videos, nibbles and entertainment on offer, somehow managed to sleep for most of the six hour journey. I landed at 6.45am and by 8am I was sitting at my desk.
New York was great. I really felt alive there. I saw friends, I shopped, I walked and I walked and I walked. And when the frostbiting Hudson winds came at me from both sides, I carried on walking. I also ate. I ate so much in the past four days that I truly believe I could fast for the rest of the week and still feel fat.
The wedding itself was perhaps the most decadent, extravagant, ostentatious eat-athon I've ever had the pleasure to enjoy. My friend, Andrew, had hired the Hyatt ballroom, together with his wife, because it was the only place in town that could hold 750 well-heeled guests. The ceremony began two hours late (par for the course for Persians, I'm told), but when it did happen it moved me to the point of tears.
Next came the reception, aka, the smorgersboard. To get an idea of just how much food was on offer, imagine a 100 metre running track lined with tables and waiters, carving brisket, turkey and roast beef; handing out succulent duck-filled pancakes, lashed with thick, plum source; chargrills of every kind of kebab, skewer and bird; pastas and saffron rice. And then I discovered the sushi bar room, another 50 metre-squared cavern of delights. I was Charly and this was my chocolate factory.
We didn't sit down to dinner (a four-course meal, half of which I didn't see, and much of the rest of which I didn't eat) until 10pm. Then the dancing kicked off, then we ate, danced and ate and danced until the early hours. The Persian grooves began around midnight, men and women twisting and curling their flailing limbs around their bodies. It felt like I was on the set of a Bollywood film.
Then there were the women: cherubic, young debutantes, on-the-shelf thirty-somethings desperate to get hitched, and, most memorably, a six-foot tall blonde with the body of a porn star but without a high school diploma: she was just 17!
The one that made the biggest impression on me was a stripy-dressed cutey called Ella. She was pretty and feisty, but she had a nice way about her. I told her as much and vowed to call. And although I didn't get to see her again before I left for home, I plan to write. Just not yet...
posted by David Cohen at 10:34 pm
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