An interesting day

So my intestines have been acting up lately and I decided to make a follow-up appointment to see the specialist. The doctor has a good bedside manner, we always talk baseball and cars but I'm under no allusions that we're "friends." He's a bit of a rockstar so you take what you can get when scheduling appointments. I've had some discomfort and needed to see him sooner rather than later so I took a 3:30 appointment on a Tuesday. Taking into consideration the traffic when coming from the burbs, a 3:30 appointment basically puts the kibosh on being productive so I took the day off. I'm tied into my work computer from home so I answered e-mails and such when I woke up, had an estimate with a home improvement guy around 10, got a hair cut around noon, showered, and went to the city. I didn't eat food prior to my appointment in case he wanted to stick anything up my ass sooo by the time he was done with me I was pretty hungry. His office is on 51st right by Radio City. There are some benches on 6th so after the appointment I hung out, vaped, did some Tinder swiping, and tried to decide what I wanted to eat.

Manhattan is different than the other burroughs. People walk faster, smoke real cigs, tend to wear headphones regardless of how they are dressed, and are generally shorter. None of these is a judgement. These are purely observations... but I digress. At some point it occurs to me that I must be near Del Friscos so I decide to have a steak. A quick look on Yelp shows me that I'm only a few blocks away. At this point it's after 5 and the place is jammed. They are 3 deep at the bar so that's out. A quick talk with the host and my hopes are dashed. The wait is 2 hours for a table. I'm offended. Yes, offended. A 2 hour wait on a Tuesday at 5PM is absurd regardless of how delicious your steak is. I leave in a huff, walk outside, and pull up yelp on my phone. This is Manhattan after all and yumminess is everywhere.

I'm walking with my head down as I leave DelFrisco's while looking at my phone and about 15 feet outside of the restaurant I see shoes in my peripheral vision so I stop. I assume the person is going to walk around me, but instead a man's voice says, "We suck this year." It takes me a second to realize that he, like many others before him, has mistaken the logo on my hat for the Yankees. With out looking up I reply, "It's a Mets hat." He then takes both hands, puts them on my shoulders, squares me up to him, and sort of tilts me down a bit. I'm a bit put off by the whole 2 hour wait thing and this guy touching me is out of left field. I look up and am about to say, "What the fuck?" when I see this guy smiling at me. His smile disarms me. There's no other way to put it. He's a not a big guy, maybe 5'6" or so. He's older with gray hair and a mustache. He's tan, has on a collared shirt with a blue blazer, and he's about to light a cigarette. He says, "So it is." We start chatting about the state of NY sports. After a few minutes I learn that he grew up in Brooklyn and now lives in South Florida although, "You always gotta keep an office in NY." We talk smoking vs vaping. He's 62 and since cigs haven't killed him yet he sees no reason to quit now hah.

Overall it was a pleasant conversation which I cut short because... I'm hungry. I tell him I'm going to go eat and this is where things get interesting. He says that he assumed I just ate because he saw me walk out of the restaurant. I tell him about the 2 hour wait. He asks me if I spoke to Jonathan. He sees my blank expression and explains that Jonathan is the host. He then says to me, "If you want to eat here I'll get you the next table." I'm a bit floored by how matter of fact he makes that statement. I thank him and I explain that I think it's absurd that any place other than a museum in Europe has a 2 hour wait so I'm turned off to the place for today. He then says, "Well, what do you want to eat?" I reply, "Sushi." He says, "Have you heard of Nobu?" I reply, "Of course." He then proceeds to give me the name of the manager at Nobu 57. He tells me to go there and ask for the manager and say that he sent me. I shrug and say, "Okay." We shake hands and part ways.

Following his directions I walk up 6th, make a right on 57th, and look for the wood door. While walking there I think this whole thing is a bit odd, but there's no harm in it so I keep going. Upon my arrival I ask for the manager by name. He appears in a minute or two. I explain to him and that "my friend, blank" recommended I speak to him about eating here tonight. He tells me that they're pretty booked and asks me if I'd mind waiting a few minutes to sit down. Trying not to crack a smile I wanted to say "Yup", but instead I told him, "That's fine." True to his word within 10 minutes of stepping foot inside the place I'm sitting at a table. Per the Floridian's instructions I order, "Omakase" (chef's choice) with the caveat that some of the food is raw and some of it is cooked. The staff is very attentive. I don't know if it's due to how I got the table or because their standard service is that good. In short order, wave after wave of food starts to arrive. It's many courses of small plates. A taste of this and a taste of that. 2 hours later I leave with a belly stuffed with a ton a food that I can't pronounce and a huge smile.

I never got the Floridian's last name. I have no idea what the man who chose to befriend me does for a living. Whoever he is the guy must have some serious cash. One thing I can say for certain is that based on 2 of the restaurants he frequents, the man certainly knows how to eat well. On my way home I imagine him shopping in places like this: