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Hotdogs and Opera: a NY experience!


Maybe it was just my wacky liberal arts private high school stocked with industry offspring, but every year when prom rolled around (okay, I went three years in a row) we got a kick out of directing our limo driver to maneuver through the drive-thru of the local McDonalds so we could suck down a Big Mac and milkshake before stumbling up the front steps to our homes.

I have continued the tradition as an adult, but on a different level- Opera and hot dog stands.

On a recent ballgown-obligatory Manhattan, NY evening I had an insanely indulgent, uber-luxurious date that began with gorging myself on rose champagne and too many dishes to remember at The Four Seasons- one of New York’s most stayed restaurants, before mermaid’ing (you know the walk when your dress is too tight and you can only move your legs from your knees down) to my date’s awaiting town car and being whisked off to the opera. Ah the opera… such a proper entertainment venue where distinguished ladies and gents get all gussied up in their most glitzy attire and sit for three hours as they attempt to follow the subtitled story. I stayed engaged for the entirety of the show before shocking my system with the stinging New York night air.

After the opera, I wasn’t hungry. In fact, I don’t think my hearty meal had moved from the place it had settled in my stomach. But passing hotdog stand after hotdog stand started to tempt my tastebuds. One particular stoplight was taking its time to change as we idled beside a certain hotdog stand that relentlessly called my name. Without thinking I grabbed my Christian Lacroix evening bag (a gift on the date), asked the driver to pullover, and sprung from the car (quite the sight considering my too tight Dolce and Gabbana gown). I ordered up a hotdog, slathered it with ketchup, hot mustard and relish, and downed that dog on the spot!

Despite the serious price difference between my Four Seasons pre-opera meal and my push cart post-meal, the hot dog reigned supreme in my mind. That’s not to say that The Four Seasons wasn’t a superb meal of extreme quality and masterful preparation, but a good push cart meal is hard to beat!

My point? Sometimes it’s the little things, the chance happenings that are the most thoroughly enjoyed- like a push cart calling your name on a New York night.

 

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