Once or twice a year, Marcy, my wife, and I like to go into New York City. We see a Broadway show and go out to eat. Earlier this year we saw "She Loves Me." For her birthday, I figured Marcy would like to see another show. I kept asking what she "might" want to see and never got a definitive answer. I took it upon myself to pick a show.
I get lots of emails from various sights selling discounted Broadway tickets, but the ones I really wanted to see never have specials. Both of us would like to see Disney's Aladdin, but the tickets start at over $100 each, and that's for seats all the way in the back.
Today Tix came out with a Pre-Christmas promotion and there were quite a few shows available. One of those was Cats, the Andrew Lloyd Weber show based upon the T S Eliot novels. The original Broadway show lasted sixteen years; this version had just opened in July.
I gambled and spent $69 per ticket plus taxes and fees. Wouldn't you know it? We got tickets in the last row of the mezzanine.
It was raining when we left the house, and by the time we arrived in Manhattan, it was pouring. Luckily, we both brought umbrellas and I wore a Mets hoodie to keep my head warm.
It's not easy to walk around Manhattan, with umbrellas, on the street. You are constantly raising it up and down as to avoid everyone else using one. It's really quite easy to get your eye poked if you're not careful.
At this point, we were getting hungry, so we stop at a café on 7th Avenue for a quick snack. I have plain croissant; Marcy has a cranberry scone. We weren't going to eat until after 4:30 pm, when we were going to meet our friend Greg at Patsy's on 56th street.
We decided to visit Rockefeller Center and see the tree. It's still pouring, so I manage to get a couple of pictures of the tree, and a selfie with the two of us and the tree in the background. At this point, all I want is a place to sit down and relax, and find a bathroom.
Finding a place to sit down at 30 Rock is next to impossible unless you go into a restaurant. All the self-service seating is being used downstairs, so we settle for finding the bathrooms. Ah, sweet relief.
We walk around a little more, and start walking up to the theatre district. It's about 3:45, and we're meeting Greg in 45 minutes. So we walk slowly towards 56th street, and I'm starting to run out of gas. It's still raining.
We pass the theatre on 52nd street, and make our way to Patsy's Italian Restaurant. There are more Patsy's in Manhattan than you can count on two hands and two feet. We used to go to the Patsy's Pizzeria on 23rd street, but that location has closed down.
Their website says that this is the Original Patsy's Italian Restaurant, since 1944. At this point I'm so hungry I don't care. Marcy and I go inside to see if Greg made a reservation, but he didn't. The maitre de says he can seat us when our party is complete, as long as we're out by 6 PM. I'm okay with that.
Greg shows up at 4:35, and we get seated shortly after that. The waiter finally brings bread, and we devour it and place our order. Whenever we go out to a nice Italian restaurant, I order my favorite dish, veal parmagiana. Marcy orders an appetizer portion of eggplant rollatini, and Greg gets a Chicken Contadina, which looks delicious.
We finish dinner, and order coffee and a big piece of chocolate mouse layer cake. Wow, is that cake awesome! It's light and airy with big taste. It's almost 6 PM, and we say good-bye to Greg and head over to the Neil Simon Theater.
The Today Tix concierge is supposed to show up at the theatre at 6:30 with the actual tickets, and there she is in her red coat at 6:35. I look at the tickets, and row UU, which turns out to be the last row on the right side. Oh well.
If you don't know anything about "Cats," read about it on Wikipedia. That's what I did when I got home, and the show made a lot more sense. Don't get me wrong, the show is great, with magnificent singing and dancing. The costumes are wonderful, and help to convey the personality of each cat.
When we get out of the show, the rain has stopped. We walked back to Penn Station, waited for our train, got the car, drove home and climbed into bed.
It was just another rainy day in New York City.
Matt Seinberg lives on Long Island, a few minutes east of New York City. He looks at everything around him and notices much. Somewhat less cynical than dyed in the wool New Yorkers, Seinberg believes those who don't see what he does like reading about what he sees and what it means to him. Seinberg columns revel in the silly little things of life and laughter as well as much well-directed anger at inept, foolish public officials. Mostly, Seinberg writes for those who laugh easily at their own foibles as well as those of others.
Click above to tell a friend about this article.