#78: Click for Chocolate Cake

What I ate, wore, browsed, and complained about in New York.

New York City is so expensive that when you mention you’re going to/from the East Coast, lamenting the extortionate cost of things (taxis; nipple covers and hair ties at CVS; food and wine; TIPS) supersedes even talk of weather, which we all know is the treasured British pastime. Now at least, that’s out of the way.

Even through a ten-day stretch, as we did in January, the city feels like a sprint; so four days feels like nothing at all, or rather everything vacuum-packed into a pill in the palm of your hand. (I thought of a pill because I spent not an insignificant portion of our trip hungover, which lent our activities a dreamy, if somewhat somnambulous, afterglow.)

As in January, we were there for a marriage of dear friends, which was gorgeous and teary and cinematically soggy in the rain. We stood outside the brass door and got giddy every time it cracked open (twice it was takeaway being sent in to city clerk staff). Kes was dapper in a Bode suit that my memory marked as pistachio but upon review was more pear; Grace was a vision in Danielle Frankel. A truly New York couple!

We dined at Jupiter, where I enjoyed the chocolate cake so much I ignored the rest of the cornucopia that was the dessert table, and we danced at Silence Please. I wore a silk dress by Rohé, which I borrowed for the trip; sandals from Alohas; earrings from House of Tuhina; and my trusty Porto pouch, which fits a pair of size 39 flats, FYI. I was so happily inebriated that I didn’t even need to change into them.

Scroll below the paywall for Floss’ first negative restaurant review; a capri-forward weekend wardrobe; new and old Chinatown favourites; the perfect ice cream pairing.