The heat and humidity are really here. Summer in New York. Whole sections of town empty out as people with second homes flee to them on Friday and leave the city to a more casual crowd. (Translation: those with a lot less disposable income.) Let 'em go. I like the relative quiet and smaller crowds.
It was so hot this morning that I was tempted to cancel brunch with a couple of friends I hadn't seen in some time and just stay home in the air conditioning. But, no, I caught the E train to the West Village and met the guys at the Cornelia Street Cafe. This is a small, casual spot where the food is pretty good and the bar is great. They have live jazz at night, down in the basement, too. The cafe's Eurocentric by-the-glass wine list is both interesting and reasonably priced...a big pour too. There are a few tables on the sidewalk; although they were in the shade when I got there around noon, trust me when I tell you I didn't feature sitting out there for an hour or two.
The Cornelia Street Cafe is one of those unpretentious little spots where you see celebrities all the time. Actually, it's hard not to see them in the West Village. Seeing Philip Seymour Hoffman there was especially memorable -- it was right before his riveting performance of Truman was released. There was a buzz around him and the film. He looked magnificently happy.
Today, as we lingered over eggs and iced tea, I saw someone who looked sort of familiar come in. The man was huge -- both very tall and rather bulky. A short woman and a teenager came in with him. As they went to the table next to us, the woman looked at me. Susan Sarandon! She looked right at me! So the big, overweight guy was Tim Robbins! He looked like Big Daddy in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." They had really dressed down -- would have looked right at home stopping at a barbecue joint in Petersburg, Virginia. Still, they were stars and we weren't. And the mirror isn't my friend either.
Taken in previous century, I think
They had a hard time even getting the waitress's attention. On this point anyway we could gloat. Our bellies were full.
The big overweight guy shoulda ordered a bottle of Purple and a plate of tofu.
Posted by: Sharaya | June 08, 2008 at 10:53 PM
Here in "provincial" Italy, we would have asked for an "autografo" (signature) to show to friends.
ciao
alex
Posted by: alex | June 09, 2008 at 05:53 AM
Susan Sarandon is short?
Posted by: fredric koeppel | June 09, 2008 at 07:01 AM
Alex, to ask for an autograph would be so out-of-town, You're not even supposd to look at them. It's like looking directly at the sun.
Fredric, she's not tall.
Posted by: th | June 09, 2008 at 07:48 AM
... a sentence that could be shortened to "Fredric's not tall." I'm all about subtext.
Posted by: Fredric Koeppel | June 09, 2008 at 12:20 PM
I had a brush with Mr. Robbins in his lankier days, though I wasn´t introduced. He was working hard on his star-making performance for 'Jacob's Ladder', under the demanding whip of Adrian Lyne, & I was just a lowly extra...ah, fame...what's the epigram say? 'Fama volat...?'
Posted by: David J | June 09, 2008 at 12:49 PM
FK, you are too sensitive. You'd still tower over her by, oh, 2-3 inches.
Posted by: th | June 10, 2008 at 08:50 AM