It was a chilly first night in Midtown Manhattan, and I was visiting New York for the first time with my parents.
After dinner at a cozy Thai place, I headed to the restaurant. It’s a room I will indelibly remember.
It has vast windows that face the corner of 56th and 7th Avenue. Live music was streaming to speakers from the restaurant bar to the entrance. The talented musician’s voice was incredible, and his range was impressive. I intrinsically find joy in listening to music; it’s a natural fresh breath of emotion, allows me to focus, and is medicine for my soul. It also helps imprint this authentic trip into my memory castle, which I forever want to remember.
The restaurant’s location is hard to miss if you ever pass by. It’s grandfathered into its location, as it’s been there since the late 90s. It is known as the Redeye Grill.
I end up sitting at the bar to view the room and have an authentic conversation with the bartenders and a couple of people to my left. I’m wondering how it’s going to be. It’s the middle of February 2022 in New York City, and the pandemic dust is settling, but people are figuring out what the new “social norm” looks like.
I recognize the dynamics of people and social exchanges have evolved. The bartender introduces himself with a crisp accent, says his name is “Felix,” and asks his country of origin. He shares he was born in Venezuela but has lived in New York for 21 years. I quickly explain I’m from out of town. I ask for drink recommendations and get the sweet alcoholic beverage he recommends. As I wait for my drink, I look around the room in awe of its beauty; the warm lighting, the unique sculpture lit up a few feet away, and the lovely hospitality and cuisine nearby. That evening was just the right amount of sensory overload in one of my favorite cities. I told Felix I wasn’t born in the United States but in Switzerland. He asks which part, and I say, Lausanne. His ears perk up, & he imparts he has a sister that lives there.
Two people sit down a few seats away. One asks me what drink I’m having & tell her which one & I highly recommend it.
I tell Felix I’m an American citizen; I don’t feel like an American. He asked me how long I had lived in Switzerland. It was about nine months. I’m slightly embarrassed because he’s expecting me to say more than that.
Partially psychic, knowing the kind of response my response would elicit from Felix, I slightly exaggerate and exclaim, “2 years.” Felix laughs, then shake his head in disbelief and walks away.
I defensively explain myself. I think Felix processed my thoughts. Does it matter, though? Not necessarily, but it may be.
My check arrives. I scribble numbers and sign my name in cursive. Finally, I say farewell to Felix and the two other people sitting nearby. It was a memorable night.
